At the start of October, we hitchhike down from the mountains to the harbour near Cascais. Edward is moored with his boat, the ‘Adela’, next to the marina. We’re excited, because during all our phone calls Edward never made any secret of the fact that he would only decide whether I – and now even whether we – could really accompany him all the way to the Canary Islands once we’d met in person. We meet him at the dinghy dock.
Edward is the very picture of a sea dog. He has long, tousled hair, is tall and broad-shouldered. His face is adorned with a scruffy five-day stubble and his upper body with one of those typical sailor’s jumpers. However, he’s considerably younger than I’d thought: late 20s, early 30s perhaps. He introduces himself to us as Eddy – that’s what his friends call him. Eddy has sparkling eyes, a sharp sense of humour and loves telling stories. I have a good feeling about him from the very first second. We load our rucksacks into the dinghy and chug over to his boat. When we reach the ‘Adela’, Eddy simply says, ‘Climb up there!’ and points to the railing.
About the book
“Hitchhiking to the Caribbean”: The story of Carl Beccard’s three-year journey, which turned him into a sailor, took him across the Atlantic and changed his life. Dumont Reise, 18.95 euros.
I step onto the deck, and there I stand, proud as a pirate. I’ve actually done it. For the first time in my life, I’m on a sailing boat – and what a boat it is. The ‘Adela’ is an expedition vessel with a striking aluminium hull. The starboard side is painted green, the port side red. It’s kitted out for a round-the-world voyage. I’m thrilled by the wood below deck, the chart table and all the instruments. Eddy shows us our cabin. It’s small and cramped, but that doesn’t bother me. What’s far more important is that Lilly and I are on board together – and are allowed to stay here.
As soon as the next weather window opens, Eddy wants to set sail. First to Madeira, then to the Canary Islands. I can hardly wait to set sail with Eddy. He’s just a cool bloke. After finishing school, he did an apprenticeship as a boatbuilder in New Zealand. He then sailed to France on an old Frenchman’s boat to study nautical science in Germany. The boat was the ‘Adela’, which Eddy later took over.
The first night on board is unforgettable. In the evening, Lilly and I, worn out by all the new experiences, crawl into our little aft berth. Everything feels so surreal: the lapping of the waves against the hull, the wind whistling through the rigging, the gentle rocking.
Lilly’s eyes close straight away. But I can’t fall asleep. I’m too full of joy. At some point, Lilly turns towards me and looks at me with sleepy eyes. “I thought you’d been asleep for ages,” she says, half surprised, half smiling, “and then I see this broad grin next to me,” she finishes her sentence. “I just can’t help it,” I giggle, feeling deeply happy. “Blimey, we’re actually on a sailing boat! It’s absolutely mad when you really think about it.” Now we’re both grinning.
A two-week wait for a window of good weather
But the plan for a quick trip down to Cascais is off. The weather isn’t playing ball. Eddy takes it in his stride. “We’ll have to wait for the right weather window,” he explains. That’s just the lot of every sailor. For two weeks, we check the weather forecast every morning, keeping an eye on the wind and waves. Eddy is a good teacher and I’m a keen pupil. I soak up every little bit of information like a sponge. Everything is so new, so exciting. Lilly and I spend the days waiting by cleaning, cooking and stocking up on provisions. We explore Cascais and meet up regularly with other sailors. Eddy constantly has guests on board. On 28 October, my 19th birthday, the sailors on a neighbouring boat surprise me with a cake. They’ve accepted me as one of their own. I’m now a sailor, a buccaneer of the seas.
But there are tensions too. It’s our first time on a boat, but we’re behaving as if we were in a flat. Lilly, in particular, has a knack for constantly leaving her clothes lying around and never putting them back where she found them. This annoys Eddy. Then he grumbles to himself: ‘These young people!’ and directs his criticism at both of us. Eddy explains to us that on a boat, everything has its a permanent place so that it’s immediately to hand in an emergency. Lilly finds that a bit stuffy. It’s fuel for heated debates. I feel torn between the two of them. On the one hand, I can understand Eddy’s point of view; on the other, Lilly is my girlfriend. We’ve grown even closer in the cramped cabin. It would be wrong to say that we’re in love with each other. Rather, our relationship bears the stamp of ‘friendship plus’. Nevertheless, Lilly deserves my support. And so I’m constantly trying to smooth things over and sort things out for her.
When a weather window finally opens up, we do one last big shop. We stock up on provisions for a month. We’ve struck a deal with Eddy: we’ll split the costs of food, diesel and marina fees. And as Lilly and I are chronically short of cash, we can’t resist nicking some of the food from the supermarket rubbish bins. And yes, we didn’t pay for everything in the supermarket either. But then again, we are pirates now.
500 nautical miles to Madeira
At the start of November, the time has finally come. Under a brilliant blue sky, the anchor chain rattles back into its locker as the bow of the ‘Adela’ points out towards the open ocean. Around 500 nautical miles – just under 1,000 kilometres – lie ahead of us. The sea is calm, the wind is light. Eddy hoists the sails and switches off the engine. The ‘Adela’ glides gently across the ocean; the land behind us grows ever smaller and the adventure ahead ever greater. It’s an indescribable feeling. Everything is new to me – exciting and fascinating. I’ve been completely gripped by sailing fever, whereas Lilly, on the other hand, the Seasickness.
The crossing to Madeira is taking longer than expected. We’ve been stuck in a lull for three days. Of course, we could start the engine, but we’ve got time – and it’s full of firsts. I catch my first tuna and jump into the deep blue of the Atlantic. At night, I gaze up at the starry sky, searching for the Seven Sisters, the Pleiades, a star cluster in the constellation of Taurus. Eddy showed them to me. “If we have the Seven Sisters on the port side, we’re on course,” he explained to me. The Seven Sisters become my personal compass. I’m sure they’re showing me the right way. Not just on our night-time voyages, but in life as well.
Lilly and I take the watch together at first. Whilst I’m savouring every minute, Lilly is still seasick. It’s a bit like yin and yang. I try my hand at fishing, whilst Lilly simply feeds them. One day, a fish with a strange beak wriggles on our line. Eddy’s a bit wary; he reckons the fish might be poisonous. Lilly brushes it off: “Oh, nonsense!” She guts it, fillets it and throws it into the frying pan. We both think it tastes brilliant. Eddy politely declines. As skipper, he’d rather not eat any of it. His gut feeling turns out to be spot on. Even though we only find that out much later. As other sailors tell us, we’d apparently caught some sort of pufferfish on the hook. If Lilly had accidentally damaged the liver whilst gutting it, we could have suffered serious poisoning, which can sometimes even be fatal. But it all turned out all right in the end.
After nine days at sea, we reach the island of Porto Santo. It’s a magical moment as a landmass slowly rises from the sea on the horizon. For the first time in my life, I shout, “Land ahoy!” and feel like a real sailor. Stretching out before us is a kilometre-long sandy beach, glistening like gold in the setting sun – which is why Porto Santo is also known as the ‘golden island’.
A stormy voyage to Gran Canaria
All in all, we’ll be staying on Madeira for just under two weeks before heading on to the Canary Islands. We’ve got just under 300 stormy nautical miles ahead of us. I’m looking forward to some action, whilst Lilly, feeling seasick, buries herself in her berth. Because it’s really choppy on this trip. But the calm and contentment that Eddy radiates rubs off on me too. I’m enjoying every wave; I love it when the spray crashes onto the deck and the boat heels over with every gust. This is exactly how I’ve always imagined life at sea.
When we reach Gran Canaria in early December, I’m asleep once again. At first glance, Las Palmas looks ugly, and on closer inspection, it actually still does. A kilometre-long breakwater separates the harbour from the Atlantic. The town’s houses look as though they’ve been haphazardly plonked onto the waterfront. They tell the story of urbanisation that has grown too quickly on an island overrun by mass tourism. Cargo ships lie at anchor in the roadstead, whilst cruise liners blare their horns as they arrive and depart. And yet I’m still impressed. The container port gives the impression of the big, wide world, complemented by a marina with hundreds of sailing boats.
It must surely be easy enough to find a sailing boat here to take me across the Atlantic. In my dreams, I picture myself celebrating Christmas on the other side of the Big Pond. And so far, all my dreams have come true. Why should it be any different this time?
Would you set off on a trip like this on a stranger’s boat without any sailing experience? Let us know in the comments how spontaneously you’d be willing to embark on this adventure.