Backpacking Experiences before Social Media Boom

The time of my life I most often recall is the month I worked like a galley slave on the open Atlantic sea.  The year was 2003, I was 23 years old, and I took the job on a whim, desperate for adventure, finding myself?  Maybe danger? Anything.

There was only me, the captain and the first mate.  Our goal was to deliver the boat, a 41-foot catamaran, sailing it from the catamaran factory in Les Sables Dionne, France, through the Bay of Biscay and across the Atlantic, finally arriving in South Carolina.  Between the three of us we had about half a dozen novels; the most advanced technological entertainment device, an AA battery operated Sony Discman.  I finished the books in a week, and the batteries on the disc man died even sooner than that.

The talk was scarce as we worked in separate ongoing eight-hour shifts, adjusting the sails, steering the boat, making sure we did not smash into a passing freighter, stray buoy… sleeping whale.  Or maybe we hated each other?  But after a week the conversation was nothing more than a grunt and tap on the shoulder.  We ate our boiled egg, filled our mug with tea and took a seat at the open-air helm by the stern.  And for eight hours we just sat there alone with nothing but a compass, staring off at endless ocean with only our thoughts to entertain us before retreating to our tiny cabin to sleep.

This is the time I most often recall.  Just sitting there at the helm, nothing in all directions.  No sign of civilization.  Nothing.  And I miss it dearly, especially my shift from 4 am to 8 am.  Spotting a hint of sea life or floating debris.  The moon shining down, a swish of the ocean against the hull and flapping of sails.  Then the slow colorful sunrise.  For a full 30 nights in a row, this was my life.  I was inspired like I never was before.  I can´t put it into words, but I remember it felt good to know I was not the person I thought I was.

Due to storm damage we slowly made our way to the Azores for repairs, a set of islands a few hundred kilometers off the coast of Portugal.  I jumped ship.  I like to think I was nice about it.  The captain did not seem concerned.  He was wasted about an hour after we hit dry land.  The second mate liked my idea and jumped ship too.

We flew to Lisbon then parted ways as I continued on to Amsterdam…