Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
of salvaged goodies that were slightly damaged, singed, or unsellable due to fire damage.
Included were cartons of cigarettes and canned food. The French sailors with us went for
the Goloise and Gitane cigarettes, and I went for the Marlboros.
It is hard to imagine cruising without smoking. I had noticed how the majority of sailors
smoke, and in the early days I had wondered why. When I had started cruising, I had been
off smoking for about four years. Within the first month of sailing however, I had started
again, due to the boredom associated with long, drawn out periods at sea and at anchorages.
The whole story of cruising is one long laze about. One is not conforming to the usual nine-
to-five treadmill that we people from industrialized nations are used to. So when we are
confronted with this overpowering amount of time out away from the workaday world, our
whole psyche slows down. One has to undergo this cruising metamorphose, or it could ruin
your cruise. It happened to me, and I saw it happen to many others. I am aware of several
sailors who would absolutely howl in protest, and of course there are always exceptions to
the norm. But generally speaking, cruising sailors drink and smoke socially as a means of
dealing with this laid-back lifestyle. Well, perhaps it's not as tough as it sounds.
It was sailing days and nights like these that will always remain in my memory. Dry decks,
dry clothes, dry boat, dry bunks. Heaven. The weather was hot in the day and warm and
sultry in the evening; the breeze was delicious on sunburnt skin. The seas were flattish but
with a pleasant roll as Déjà vu sauntered along in ten knots of trades.
We were visited by a small school of dolphins one day. It was always a thrill to see these in-
telligent animals galloping over to see us. They always seemed to have young ones around
and to watch them all play was such a joy; how agile and fast and funny they were, always
smiling at us and so polite and magical, truly one of Creation's great achievements. I would
go and sit on the end of the bowsprit thrusting out ahead of Déjà vu with my feet dipping
in and out of the water as we wafted along, and the dolphins would come screaming out
of the water from great depths and lunge at my feet, always deliberately just missing me.
I knew they would never hurt or even touch me; they would just absolutely love to play.
It was always so sad to see them finally depart, what characters, certainly one of my fa-
vorite animals in this enormous world. A future friend of mine's mother would always say
regarding animals, “the more I know humans, the more I love animals.” I'm sorry to have
to agree with her most of the time. It would be dolphins that saved the day for us in the
Galapagos group.
It was nights like these that inspired me to take my guitar out of its case, tune it up, and play
softly as I sat on watch. It was the greatest setting I could imagine: out under the purple,
night sky with a thousand million stars glittering about listening to the soft whoosh of the
boat as she eased along through the dark waters with a glass of wine, a cigarette close at
hand, and my sweet, old guitar singing back to me. It transported me to another place. I
