Hue to Hanoi: letting the train take the strain

In Hue we elected to tackle the next leg of our route by train. We were looking forward to getting back onto the rails again, rather than onto yet another bone-rattling, leg-twisting, ironically-named ‘sleeper bus’.

The photojournalist Tim Page, who’s rattled along a few Vietnamese railways in his time, puts this better than me:

Train travel allows the mind to wander, the eyes not really focusing on the passing countryside, the heady clackety rhythm becoming white noise, a mere sound tapestry to meditate upon…On a train you actually have a sense of getting somewhere, denied the traveller sealed in an aluminium tube zooming across the sky.

Inside the small dusty waiting room, we occupied an entire row of flimsy plastic seats, our enormous bags dwarfing the slender locals hemmed in around them. I poked my head around the door to glance at the platform: it was uncomfortably quiet, hardly a soul moved, let alone a train.

As the minutes ticked by and the time dragged well past our designated departure time. Still no train.

The locals seemed unconcerned, dozing in the seats, nonchalantly sipping green tea and gazing at the traffic outside.

Finally, 50 minutes later it was action stations: a guard stirred, a tinny loudspeaker croaked out some kind of announcement and we were allowed onto the platform. People plus baggage began shuffling onto the platform. Hardly a great swarm of people like you’d have to contend with in China, more a trickle of the unhurried.

A group of men crouched down on the platform, lay a battered old briefcase on its side and immediately started playing cards. They fingered their dirty old dong notes whilst others crowded around, watching the gamblers.

A young couple strolled up and settled down on the bench next to us, resuming the cooing they had been so rudely interrupted from back in the waiting room.

And still no train.

I began to wonder what it could be that was causing such a severe delay. Mexican bandits? The wrong type of snow? Richard Branson?

Finally, an hour later than scheduled, the noise level seemed to pick up, passengers stirred and, to much whistling both from its driver and the sundry guards on the platform, a train appeared, its headlights piercing through the descending gloom.

The dusty green carriages hauled up in front of us, the grimy windows obscuring the interior. We quickly boarded, hauling our bulky loads through the narrow corridors as the rabble pressed up eagerly behind us.

Peering into our cabin we found it already occupied: a large family, big enough to fill a small village stared back at us, their grubby kids sprawled all over the beds. Cue frantic hand signals and pointing at beds and tickets before finally the guard came along and turfed these stubborn train gypsies out.

Although ‘soft sleeper’, our cabin didn’t quite live up to our expectations: it held six beds rather than four, crammed in so that each bed had about two and half foot of space between it and the one above. Grimacing as I adopted a contortionist pose I squeezed my slim frame into a bunk at the top, hauling my pack up behind me.

There was a jolt, and we started moving: ten hours through the night to the capital.

A short night, abruptly ended at 5.30am. Raised voices, doors slamming, a knock at our door: we’d arrived. Hanoi.

THE DO’s AND DON’Ts OF ASIA

Sun, sweat and scooters; trains, temples and tours; bananas, buses and lager. The tourist infrastructure in Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand and Laos turns traveling into a wonderful holiday. However, alongside the tourist trade come touts and tricksters to be wary of. So to supplement your Lonely Planet/Rough Guide (delete as appropriate) here are World in Slow Motion’s top tips for S.E. Asia:

Do:

• Take a sheet sleeping bag. There is a curious lack of bedding in these parts.
• Carry plenty of U.S. dollars cash. They are a useful back-up and the currency of choice in Cambodia.
• Drink bia hoi on plastic chairs in the street in Vietnam. 20p for a glass of draught lager.
• Drink fruity drink and coconuts with a straw. You can spot a fruity drink stall by the glasses of chopped fruit to which condensed milk, coconut milk and balls of sticky rice are added and served with crushed ice.
• Eat amok. This creamy Cambodian curry is the among the best food in SE Asia.
• Take the sleeper bus. A bus with beds is a sight to behold and an experience not to be missed, but don’t expect to have a good kip.
• Have a massage at Seeing Hands in Siem Reap or Phnom Penh. These blind masseurs know what to do.
• Help out at Big Brother Mouse. Either chat with the children in English or buy one of their books to help promote literacy in Laos.
• Get up early to see monks collect alms at sunrise, a special sight in Luang Prabang, Laos.
• Go to the flag lowering ceremony in Hanoi, Vietnam. A triumphal affair every night at 9pm at the Ho Chi Minh memorial.Learn to say “no thank you” in the local language to keep the hawkers and touts at bay.
• Stay at Golden Temple Villa in Siem Reap. Excellent value and unlimited free bananas make it a winner.
• Stay at Hong Thien Hotel II, 46 Chi Van An Street, in Hue, Vietnam. Tien at reception is very helpful, but don’t book a Halong Bay tour through them (see below).

Don’t:

• Stay at Greenfields in Hoi An, Vietnam. Poor value and dreadful service.
• Rely on your guidebook for accommodation and eating recommendations. Use the Web, get tips from others and explore by yourself to find some real gems.
• Go on a Halong Bay, Vietnam, tour with Tuan Linh travel agency. These tours are sold through Kim Adventures and various hostels in Hanoi. The boat is broken and the guides lousy. If your boat is called the Duy Tan Junk 02, don’t get on it. Electricity is intermittent and the motor may give out.
• Use the travel services at Victory Queen Hotel (formerly Old Darling Hotel), Hanoi, Vietnam. They take a whopping commission without telling you.
• Buy shoes at Cham H’Mong, 495 C’ua Dai Street, Hoi An, Vietnam. They fall apart within hours.
• Buy your Cambodian visa at the ‘Cambodian Consulate’ in Aranya Prathet, Cambodia, it’s a scam. Buy it at the desk once you’re through Thai immigration.
• Take any price as given – accommodation, food, things – all are up for negotiation. Pay what you think is fair.
• Sleep at the back of a sleeper bus. The bounce prevents sleep.
• Lose your temper with a local. If you cause someone to lose their temper they will lose face and make your life very uncomfortable as they try to regain it.
• Expect a peaceful sunrise at Angkor Wat, Siem Reap. You will be joined by hundreds of tourists all jostling for the same perfect sun-rises-over-ancient-temple photo.
• Wear shorts and sandals in Khao Yai National Park, Thailand. The leeches will eat you for breakfast.

We are sailing…

So, farewell Asia.

After four months on the road and rails across this mighty continent, from the low mountains of the Urals to the warm waters of the South China Sea, we will finally bidding a farewell to this huge, diverse chunk of the planet.

Tomorrow we set off into new waters…literally. For the next two weeks our new home will be the CMA CGM Hugo, a container ship sailing across the Pacific Ocean, from Hong Kong to Long Beach, USA.

Beyond the ocean lie the delights of another continent: North America?

But first we have the small matter of a large pond to cross.

Laying my trusty Michelin out last night I realised that the Pacific covers a good third of the planet. It’s going to be a long and (hopefully) fascinating voyage.

See you on the other side…

This week signified the beginning of another leg of my round the world adventure as I finally dragged myself away from my home in Tonga and put myself back on track to reach Australia. I have not only found a new boat with which to continue my journey, but have pulled off the nautical equivalent of being picked up by a limousine, and am currently heading west on a yacht which represents all that is indulgent about being rich.

However, I think that I may be one of the only people in the history of sailing to step aboard a huge luxury catamaran for an all expenses paid cruise to Fiji and immediately burst into tears. What an opener, I know you’re all on the edge of your seats now; how did she end up on a luxury yacht? Why was she crying? Who is this Bob and what has he done to the poor budgies?

International hitchhiking is something that I had never really considered before I set out on this adventure. It sounds like the sort of thing that would be impossible, especially as someone who prior to sailing from Mexico had no experience at all. But actually I had numerous offers of passage to Fiji and beyond during my extended stay in Tonga. Some were more promising than others and some were basically just sleazy old dudes hoping to entice young women out into the vast oceans. You have to stick to your gut instinct with these things so when Bob approached me in my local pub I almost thought it was too good to be true; free passage to Fiji you say? On a luxury catamaran no less? I don’t have to pay for food? You insist on doing all the cooking? It just didn’t sound real, but two days in and life aboard Averone couldn’t get much sweeter.

My new home is a 47-foot catamaran with my own cabin and private bathroom, a flat screen television and DVD player; 3 showers, 6 fishing rods, umpteen bottles of wine, and crisp gin and tonic on tap. Apart from the copious amounts of rum on board this vessel is much more “fabulous darling” than “yo ho ho”, but the saving grace of life aboard Averone – which should earn me at least a little piratical kudos – is the presence of our captain, big bald Bob the budgie smuggler. Sounds good doesn’t it?

Big bald Bob is a brilliant bloke, a very rich moustachioed Englishman who sold his business a few years ago and swore never to work again, opting for opulence and extravagance at every opportunity. He is of the opposite school to me when it comes to comedy beards and claims that these “gnome-like sailors” have got it all wrong. This morning as I tucked into my weetabix he strolled into the galley in nothing but a pair of Speedos, worn in the embarrassing Dad style and announced “I hope you don’t mind my budgie smugglers at this hour”.

This is a man who claims that the smell of cigarette smoke before lunchtime makes him vomit yet he will quite happily catch, kill, and gut a fish before breakfast. He makes my former captain seem uptight and ridiculous, and has totally changed my outlook on sailing as he serves champagne and sushi for lunch, or stops everything to watch the sun go down with a nice cold drink.

Yesterday Bob caught a fish on one of the many rods that are permanently streamed from the stern of the boat.  Vegetarians looks away now: this one was a Mahi Mahi, a massive square headed beast of a thing which flashed a vibrant display of blue and green as it tried to fight off the hook before being hauled onto deck where it proceeded to thrash wildly, spraying the entire deck, and all of us with its blood… charming. But when that same fish becomes your lunch only a few hours later it’s pretty hard to complain.

As I sit here writing this email I am sporting a rather fetching gimble belt which for those of you no familiar with fishing accessories (such as I was only days ago), is a belt into which you put a rod when you are trying to pull a fish in. That’s right folks, Bob is teaching me how to catch fish. So hopefully I will soon be recounting you with tales of my triumphs over nature and the many fish dinners I have created.

We’re half a days sailing away from the shores of Savu Savu in Fiji where we will stay for a few days before heading off to cruise the islands. I will probably stay on Averone for a couple more weeks taking in the sights and sounds of the many Fijian islands before I finally bite the bullet, swallow my pride and (possibly, maybe, if it’s the last resort, because I am ridiculously broke) fly to Australia where the grown up world of jobs and responsibilities await me.

I can almost hear you all draw breath, that’s right, Kate ‘I’m never going to fly again’ Andrews may be on the brink of admitting defeat and taking to the skies for the final leg. Here come the tears! Oh well, no shame, I’ve managed 11 months, 17 countries, 14,000 miles and no flying to date, so I am going to shelve my ideals momentarily in order to get my bank balance out of the red. Please send all gloating emails to www.at-least-i-tried.com.

Not only have we been able to receive emails from the boat for the last three weeks, but the level of detail we can see with Googlemaps and the satellite tracking the boat is amazing.

• TOP: I’ve started fully zoomed out so you can see that they are in the middle of the Pacific:
• MIDDLE: Now here’s one showing the island that they’re anchored next to.
• BOTTOM: And finally here’s the really amazing one!

Note that the boat didn’t actually sail right across the island as the blue line suggests! The reason it goes across is because the satellite takes a reading every day or so and then draws a straight line between two points.

Thanks of course to Google for making all this possible. If you want to have a play around yourself, you can do so here.

However, I am sad to report that my encouragement has fallen on deaf ears and none of my fellow crew have taken up the challenge. I have grown my eyebrows into a new style but you wouldn’t know it to look at me, and anyway it’s just not the same. A wasted opportunity I say, wasted.

Don’t be fooled though, the voyage has not been without excitement. Where we’ve failed on the facial hair front, we’re more than making up for it in the exciting realm of falling over.

Let me paint you a picture. Imagine you are doing something very ordinary, like for instance cleaning your teeth, or using the toilet, showering, cooking, you know the usual. Now imagine that the entire world is tipped on a 45 degree angle, and is rocking back and fort like a see-saw of doom. Fall on your face, bump your head, get toothpaste in your hair, rip down the shower curtain…now that’s entertainment.

The only solution is to hang on for dear life on anything that you can get your hands on. The result of this is an amazing dance which I’ve named the Pacific Shuffle: put your arms in the air, thrust your hips, and now stagger all over the place like some kind of possessed upside down weeble wobble. All with a bemused look of incomprehension on your face. Beyonce eat your heart out.

Now take sleeping, something that we all take for granted, the simple primordial act of laying your head on the pillow and shutting your eyes, drifting into a calming dream of tropical breezes and gentle lapping waves. Except that this sea is not calm, it a bastard evil demon of doom that is hellbent on keeping you awake at all costs. You might just get comfortable in one position and starting drifting off when all of a sudden you find yourself rolling down the boat, slamming into whatever obstacle lies in your paths.

Some nights I actually went to the extreme measure of using elastic bungy cords to secure myself to my bed. Great for the stomach muscles, not so good for sleeping. And that’s not even mentioning the noise, water sloshing, boat creaking, ropes whipping, head banging. Pissed off is an understatement. I have never in my life been so irritated by inanimate objects; I have called the sea a wanker, the cupboard door that will not stopping banging a loser, and the fridge, ah the fridge that just won’t stay closed, milk carton falling out every time you open it, well I’ve called it several things, none of which are suitable for your innocent little ears.

And as for the sailing part of this expedition you will be happy to read that I have learnt the basics of how to make the wind blow us in the right direction. I have not unfortunately climbed any rigging, but I have scrubbed the deck and I do intend to shout “land ahoy” when we finally see some later today. But on a daily basis there isn’t really much to do. If the wind blows at the same speed from the same direction for 48 hours then all you ever have to do is press a button every once in a while on the autopilot.

All in all the trip so far has not be especially exciting, but all this is about to change as we are a mere 100 nautical miles from Les Marquises, our first stop of many. Once I’ve finished writing this, I will go and sit on deck staring at the horizon until my beloved land comes into sight. Apparently land has a particular smell, I’m not convinced about that one but I’ll let you know. So this time tomorrow I will be doing a different kind of staggering, thanks to the legendary land sickness that often follows long periods at sea. And I will be staggering first, towards a bar because I really really want a cold beer, second, to somewhere that sells ice cream, and third, well frankly, I might just lie on the floor and appreciate the stillness.

If you’re reading this then it means I made it to land and have found my way to an internet café, I’ve had rather a lot of time on my hands so it’s all sort of poured out of me. In summary it was about boats, and beards and bastard things that go bang. So now I am landed for four of five days before we set sail again, this time to Tahiti. But the longest leg of the journey is finished, and if we keep this speed up we should be in Oz before the end of June, bring it on!

P.S. land smells like wet trees and reminds you of everywhere you’ve ever been. It’s weird that I’ve never noticed before. And another important piece of news is that the locals here are covered in mad tats, warrior style, don’t let anyone ever tell you that tattoos aren’t cool.

We won’t actually make it to land tonight as that will require blowing up the dinghy and motoring in (this is because there is are only anchorage points here no Marina) but tomorrow I should be putting my feet on dry land for the first time in over 20 days. I will be on the phone faster than you can say Skype. So I will be on land for my birthday, bonus!

Anyway, I’d better go as I’m half way through cooking dinner.

Kate xxx

I wrote that a few hours ago and it hasn’t been sent yet so I thought I’d add a little update. Consider me whelmed. As we approached land I suddenly understood what everyone has been talking about, it does have a smell, like a forest, wet and fresh. And totally bizarre as it seemed to conjure a thousand memories at once. We are now at anchor and I am experiencing the very weird sensation of not moving, not rocking back and forth like a bloody pendulum, although if I shut my eyes I can still feel the rocking motion, like how the beat lingers in your ears after a rave.

The bay is nice and sheltered and we have just enjoyed a celebratory drink in the calm sea. We’ll head for land first thing but I have the distinct impression that I wont be able to sleep tonight as I am now very excited. I’m going to take advantage of the calm and sleep tonight so that as soon as I open my eyes I can see the island in all it’s glory. For now I’ll have to be content with staring at shadows. From what I can tell Nuka Hiva has a pretty dramatic landscape, and a very tiny town. So excited!

I am a sleepy sailor today, having done the 8-10 last night my brain kept me awake until gone midnight then I was back on 2-4am. And then, as if your prayers were answered, we got wind at 5am, fast, boat rocking, bed shaking, sleep depriving wind. So we’re moving along at a good speed but I am tired as a badger.

That’s all for now. If all goes well we’ll be on the Marquesas in a few days. Please please please please (James Brown style).

Despite the inevitable anti-climax of crossing an invisible line (comparable to new years eve in many ways, I almost felt like linking arms and singing Old Lang Syne), I am delighted to report that yes the water now drains down the sink in the opposite direction and everything is upside down and dolphins wearing top hats ride unicycles on the waves.

To mark the occasion of our crossing, Lena, my female companion on Esprit who will be sorely missed when she alights in Tahiti, donned some rope for hair and grasped a trident cleverly made from duct tape. And in the full maritime glory of Neptune, whose whim has determined our trip, she baptised us one by one, so I can now proudly add a Maritime Doctorate to my list of lifetime achievements.

The Duldrums have performed exactly as advertised and we have been doing rather a lot of floating these last few days. This morning though it seems that Neptune was smiling upon us from his crustacean kingdom, his seaweed semi detatched, whatever you want to call it, and we were graced with 12 knots of wind from the south east, just enough to put up the spinnacker (another failed spelling attempt). This is a large and very colourful sail made from what looks like parachute silk, designed to catch the light winds as they idle past us, pulling us towards our destination. A realistic estimate puts us at anchor in around 5 days.

It will be great to put my feet back on dry land although now, with my sea legs firmly in place I’ve been warned to be wary of land sickness, what a cruel twist of fate, you get used to one thing and then the rules of play are changed. Oh well, with the end in sight I can start to think about what awaits me on the islands. My trusty lonely planet doesn’t rave about Nuka Hiva but it sounds as good a place as ever to restock and relax for a few days before we start our island hopping towards Oz. The longest leg after this shouldn’t last more than a week, so with this under my belt I have a feeling that the time will fly. Before I know it I’ll be job hunting in Australia.

Talking of once in a lifetime opportunities I took a shower on deck under a tropical storm yesterday. There’s not many people who can say that they’ve lathered up in a rain storm in the middle of the Pacific. And also, one of the benefits of the duldrums is that with the motor off we were calm enough last night to fire up the bbq. That’s right, I cooked steaks off the back of the boat in the middle of the biggest Ocean on earth!

Theatrical timing came into play and within seconds of the words escaping his mouth Phil relieved himself onto the roof of the cockpit, spattering the newly washed deck with his offering. To say that Michael was unimpressed is an understatement and he subsequently spent the best part of an hour chasing this bemused animal around the deck, hose in hand, frantically spraying me, my clean laundry, the sails, the rest of the crew and himself in an attempt to set Phil in flight. Each success was short lived as the bird, less stupid than we originally thought, did a full circle and promptly returned to sun himself on another corner of the boat. As I’m sure you can imagine this provided a welcome distraction from the tedium of sailing, and increased the number of things to look at from 3 (boat, sea and sky) to four (+ Phil the boobie bird).
Today I baked more bread. This trip is turning me into a regular housewife. All very well to pass the time for now but if the crew think this will continue once there’s land in sight they’ve got another thing coming.

In other news:

Michael practised shouting “land ahoy” today. I would give him 7 out of 10, but he has a week to perfect his style so there’s plenty of room for improvement.

A flying fish flew straight into the window of the cockpit last night, then rebounded off the plastic thus projecting itself back into the water. Quite a party trick I’d say. Also, small squid things keep appearing on the deck, edible you think?

Well, funnily enough I didn’t feel much of anything. Granted a lack of water would be a major inconvenience and I suddenly cursed myself for a) passing up my opportunity to take a shower the day before, and b) not bringing baby wipes with me. But I think that I was better prepared to cope with the discomfort of not washing than my fellow crew, seems that litter picking in the filth of Glastonbury sin shower for 5 days, and volunteering in a water challenged Nicaraguan village i.e. bathing in a river for a month is good life experience. The Western world is too hygiene conscious anyway, Kills 99% of germs my arse, there’s nothing like washing your hands and having a good cup of tea to keep nasties at bay. Besides, washing your hair too often strips away natural oils don’t you know, I’m cultivating my very own amino acids, whatever they are.

I think a situation like that helps to put things into perspective; yes we would be severely rationed but so long as we were frugal there was no reason to think that we would go thirsty. And a salt water wash, while not as refreshing fresh water is better than nothing.

I will reiterate though that it really did make me take a good look at the energy and water I use everyday and where I could use less. For instance, the taps were powered by a pump that used power that could be better used elsewhere, the solution? A foot operated pump that spits out a thin stream of water when pressed, more than enough to wash your hands yet significantly less than a tap would pour out in 10 seconds of use. Needless to say I am still using the foot pump since the power has come back.

The only thing that did bring me a little discomfort was the prospect of 2 weeks without the faithful mp3 player. A two hour watch in the middle of the night with only the sea for company can drag. There’s only so much life evaluation you can do in a fortnight, sometimes you just want to sing along to Marvin Gaye and think about nothing more taxing than the perplexing question of whether fish sleep, and if so do shut their eyes, and stop swimming and if this is case do they sink or float? Answers on a postcasd to 11 degrees 30 minutes North, 126 degrees 00 minutes west, PO Box the Pacific Ocean.

In a totally cliche and pretentious manner I did think about our plight in terms of a microcosm of global warming. The Yacht (our fragile society) sailing out into the big unruly Ocean (the Natural World) just hoping that the fossil fuels we are relying on for our existence don’t let us down, with only enough sustainable energy sources to provide for a fraction of the needs/wants we take for granted. And to top it off we’re just hoping that the sea on which we’re sailing (the environment) doesn’t go mental and throw us off course…

I’m sure you can see that I have too much time on my hands. But seriously, it seems so obvious to me that we’re all massive idiots not paying enough attention to how much shit we would be in if our “engine” really breaks down. Without a paddle is an understatement, we might as well not even have a boat.

More life altering observations later.

So, in the briefest way possible:

In answer to your question, no engine does not warrant the use of flares, and seeing as though we haven’t seen any ships at all in over a week they would be wasted. In case of emergency we would contact our various puddle-jump friends with whom we check in with on the radio daily. At least two of them are only a day or so sail away so if worst came to worst we have a back up.

Yesterday marked half way.

Wasted opportunity in that none of the imagination-devoid men on this yacht are utilising the opportunity of being this far from civilisation to cultivate comedy beards. If I were a man I would almost certainly be experimenting with a variety of piratical styles including, a Jolly Roger goatie, a Blue Beard full facial crumb catcher, or a Jack Sparrow dreadlocked affair complete with beads. Wasted says I, aaaarrgggh!

Very rough night last night, you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone eh? A bed that doesn’t move all night long, what a luxury. It’s like being in a hammock that is strung up between two washing machines, mounted on a bucking bronko, on a train, on a seesaw, balancing on the edge of a cliff…

Yesterday was a bit of a dark day on the Esprit as the engine put up a fight when we went to start it (we run it every morning for an hour or so to charge the batteries while we run the desalination system), and then promptly overheated. A blown head gasket? Replaceable but certainly not a job to be undertaken at sea. So with a sense of grim acceptance we started to calculate how much water we were holding in the tanks, what instruments consume the most energy, and how much the solar panels and wind turbine can really generate.

With eight days between us and Mexico, and fourteen to Les Marqueses, it looked as though we were facing the rest of our voyage on heavily rationed water. This would mean two weeks of living in close confines with five unwashed and grumpy sailors, unable to take showers or wash our clothes, all while steering the boat by hand. While I would love to paint an image of us roughing it in the days preceding this disaster it would be misleading. We had until that fateful moment been living to a very nice standard, showers every other day, a change of clothes when necessary, and sweet bliss, an autopilot system.

I had not realised how great an invention an autopilot really is, that is until we realised that it’s little blinking lights, and the reassuring “wurrr” as it adjusts the rudder were consuming enough energy to make us several litres of water every day. And so the autopilot went off and I had my first taste of commanding the yacht, not a particularly grueling task once you get a feel for the rudder but controlling it round the clock on two hour shifts, 2 of those hours during the night? Needless to say I did not relish the opportunity.

And how savage to be surrounded by water, literally one of only three things you can see (water, sky, boat) but have to ration it so much. The worst thing is that the sea water can’t even be used to wash yourself, something to do with ions means that conventional soap or shampoo just wont cut it in salty water. And to top it all off being at sea means that you are constantly covered with a film of salt. On a hot day I feel like I am being cured into some sort of delicious meaty snack or a dry roasted peanut, except I am not delicious or edible, just dirty.

As you can probably imagine, when Michael, our captain, mechanic, and guru emerged after I don’t know how many hours from the engine room with a sorry look on his face we feared the worst. But this morning, against all the odds, and despite having almost no sleep he found the problem (something to do with a water cooling system), and not only that but fixed it! We are so happy to have a mechanic for a captain. You could almost forgive him for being an Australian who constantly teases me about being a “bloody pome”. We can shower, we can wash our clothes, I’ve never been more enthusiastic to do some washing up in all my life!!!

That’s all. I’m so glad I waited to write this message as I almost wrote one last night with the dire message “engine broken, must save energy, no more emails, reply only in emergency”. I bet you would have loved that.

I do look out on the sea on a daily basis and reflect on how unbelievably huge the ocean is, and what an incredible opportunity I have been given in this voyage. But a reality check is necessary. Slow travel doesn’t meet the demands of modern life that we are so accustomed to; I haven’t used my mobile phone in 8 months, although I am writing you an email, there is no facebook, no google, we don’t have a microwave, most of our power is generated by solar panels and a wind generator on the back of the boat.

We have to make all of our water with a desalination system that is extremely energy intensive, and showering is a challenge to use as little water as possible (think a couple of litres). We have only as much food as we could store on the yacht, if it runs out we have no more, I have been making our own fresh bread from scratch, and growing yoghurt with the help of powdered milk and the heat of the sun. Our gas is rationed so the kettle can only ever be filled as need demands, and although we occasionally run the engine to top up the batteries, the majority of the time we rely solely on wind to take us to our destination. If ever there was a crash course in sustainable living this is it. Even I, who thought I was pretty clued up about where I use the most energy is my life has had a few surprises.

As you can probably tell I have been in reflective mode. That’s another thing, besides sea water, that we have in plentiful supply, time. I have thought about most things in my life; memories, aspirations, friends, career options, approximately 3 times, and I will probably most likely think about them all a few more times before the journey’s over. On that note, I think that everyone could use some of this forced solitude, looking out at the sea in the dark, to get a clearer idea of what to do with life.

Today is day 8 or something like that, I have lost all track of time. We are moving south west with a speed over ground of 7.2 knots, the wind is 15 knots coming from the north east. The barometer reads 1014 and is holding steady. The sea has a north easterly swell of around 6 feet, there’s a band of low pressure sweeping in from the east. I just had a bowl of Special K and I am reading a good book.

In other news I had a day off yesterday (i.e. no day shift) so I did my washing, which is another feat of extraordinary balance with a bucket on the side of the boat, legs braced against whatever I can put my foot on to hold myself steady, had a shower, which I escaped from wound free this time, baked a loaf of bread and used up some old bananas to make banana bread. Cooking is a great distraction from the boredom, I’m glad I don’t have too much competition in the kitchen because cooking meals occupies me for several hours everyday.

I did my first solo night watch last night which is good. Until now Michael, El Capitano, has been doing my shift with me, just in case I crash into the oh so many obstacles in this enormous ocean. It was a little scary because if a freak wave somehow came into the cockpit and swept me overboard there would be no-one to raise the alarm. Nevertheless, I did a sterling job, even if I do say so myself, and successfully kept the yacht on course.

Really it is just a matter of altering the autopilot a few degrees here and there, and keeping an eye on the radar for any approaching ships (which by the way there have been none for 5 days now, nothing, not even a dinghy, or a freighter way off in the distance, nada) so it’s not all that exciting. Basically it involves sitting there in my pyjamas, watching the phosphoresce in the wake of the boat, eating pistachio nuts (mmmmmm delicious salty goodness), listening to my ipod (Dhafar Ysuusef is classic middle of the night middle of the ocean thinking about how small I am in the scale of things and the problems facing humanity fodder) and drinking tea out of a thermos.

I cannot stress just how unexciting this sailing across the Pacific lark is. Daily life revolves around not falling over, desalinating water, who ate the last biscuit, making jokes about the lack of ships, pretending we have other places to go e.g. I’m going to the beach this afternoon…the bow of the yacht, or the balcony, my favourite…standing sort of behind the cockpit looking out over the yacht and moving your legs with the motion of the boat like a real life surfer dude bro yo, or the back garden…the stern. I’m having fun though so no complaints. My book is good, the wind is strong, the banana bread was excellent.

It is day 6 of the Pacific leg of our voyage and I am bored. Apart from the constant weeble wobble effort to remain upright there isn’t much to do so I have been committing my time to mastering the art of living at a 45 degree angle. My attempt to shower was rewarded with a bump on the head, my sleep is frequently disrupted by rolling half way across the boat, and cooking dinner (on a cooker that is mounted on hinges – video to follow at a later date) is reminiscent of that beer advert where everyone is leaning backwards, funny to watch I’m sure but bloody hard work. Walking is the equivalent of a running uphill (or downhill depending on the swell), sitting down is like doing sit ups, and as I write this email I have my left leg braced against the fridge to hold myself in my seat. In short, my concerns about not getting any exercise were unnecessary, I am going to leave this yacht with abs of steel. Oh yeah!!!

I’m getting to grips with the sailing, climbing the riggings, scrubbing the deck and all that jazz. The wind is erratic at the moment to say the least, hence all the rocking back and forth shenanigans, but we’re making good time so no complaints. My watch was from 6am to 10 this morning so got to see the sunrise but alas no whales yet. And we haven’t seen any dolphins since day 3, boooo.

And in other news, did you know that the best way to avoid seasickness is to eat all the time so your stomach is too busy to notice it feels weird. And another little factoid: the Pacific Ocean is bigger than all the land masses on earth put together, how interesting. So I realised that in order to receive emails I would have to write some so hello, what are you doing? I wonder if it is more interesting than sitting in the middle of a massive ocean with nothing to look at but sea and sky…

While at sea even the simplest task becomes an extraordinary display of balance, with all of us leaning back or stagging forward with the motion of the waves. Brushing your teeth for instance is far from easy and involves bracing yourself against the sink one moment, before you are thrown across the small bathroom, arms flailing wildly to get a grip on something, then after you regain your composure the boat lurches forward again, resulting in a hilarious display of pelvic thrusting better suited to a scene from the Full Monty. And all under the red light (compulsory so as not to interfere with navigation after dark) which serves to make the scene even more bizarre. Sea sickness is being kept at bay, no vomit yet which is always a bonus.

Saw about 40 dolphins! You wouldn’t get that from a plane. I feel smug.