Travel Reference
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I had on my running shoes fortunately and started to climb up the ratlines on the side stays.
I ascended on the windward side, as the ship was heeling slightly to leeward. Hand over
hand and one rope rung at a time, I made my way slowly to the top.
The horizon opened up the higher I climbed until, when safely on the platform, I looked
about and could see forever. The glittering, morning sea stretched out for miles around as
the old vessel gently wafted along in her splendor. It was breathtaking and magnificent. I
could do this for a living I thought, if only! In the distance I could see Virgin Gorda Island
and some other grey land masses. I could see the fishing boats out as well. Sea birds flew
all around us, and it was a picture postcard day: the warm, tropical wind played on my face;
it was so good to be alive. It certainly was a lot breezier up here than on deck. I had noticed
this on Déjà vu's smaller mast. I made my way carefully down and grinned at the crew,
“Wow, it is amazing up there!”
“S' amazing,” mimicked Gavin in his usual, witty drawl; he was rewarded with a round of
laughter from the deck hands. The sail was a memorable one, and we made good friends
with the crew of Lady Ellen. All too soon we had to bid farewell, and we wished them all
the best luck with their venture.
“Now that's a sailing boat,” I said, almost sadly. Déjà vu was a toy compared to Lady Ellen.
We were sitting in a little, white taxi bus that was taking us back to the other side of the
island. I was staring glumly out the window looking at nothing in particular.
“Yes, but remember that a large professional boatyard put that ship together with an army
of workers who have been doing it all their lives. Plus, it was paid for by the Danish gov-
ernment.” He could see I was a little depressed by the whole affair. “I'd say that we were
most fortunate to have had the chance to sail on a boat like that for free!” He was right of
course.
A couple of days later, we sailed back to Tortola. We cleared customs, bought some fresh
provisions, and decided not to continue on to the U.S. Virgins but to set sail for the ABC
Islands en route to the Panama Canal. I was keen on leaving the Atlantic Ocean now and
getting bored with days of lying around doing little else but sunbathing and spearfishing.
Western man appears incapable of doing nothing. He always must show results at the end
of his day. Only happy when he is breaking his back or working his fingers to the bone.
Where did we inherit this madness? And why?
I think psychologically we were both depressed by the lack of women in our lives. Having
met the lovely, Danish Gretchen, we both felt the emptiness of being single. We thought
how idyllic it would be to share this unique experience with a lady friend, but that of course
would be impossible on this little boat. Still, there was always tomorrow. Another place, an-
other opportunity awaited us. Thank heavens for horizons … and day tight compartments.
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