Nicola Rodrigues fell in love with a men, her husband John, and a dream, saling around the world and drifting from island to island in the Caribbean.
Imet John in 2001 when I gatecrashed his party for top advertising clients in London’s Soho. On our second date he said he wanted to sail around the world one day, and asked if I’d like to come too. He was in the process of buying a clipper, anticipating coastal sailing for a few seasons.
We named her Serafina in a force 10 gale. On our second sail, on November 5th in a force 3 gale, we toasted hundreds of firework displays. A few days later John proposed and we realised that one day was now. We sold the clipper and began the search for a suitable boat for a round-the-world trip.
In March 2002, the day after we found Moonshine, a Westerly Corsair, everyone in my department was made redundant. The redundancy money paid for the refit; we were married in May and sailed in July. 25,000 miles, eight years, two hurricanes and two sons later, I’m writing about my experiences.
Sailing on your own boat, on your floating home, through the Caribbean is very hard to beat. Caribbean islands have such different characters, whether they are French, English or Dutch. The Isles de Saintes, with their intriguing anchorages and excellent restaurants, are the perfect place to go for a snorkel or indulge in a long lunch and snooze.
As I turned on the radio the other morning, hoping Chris Evans would pep me up, the Doobie Brothers’ Long Train Running blared out. I suddenly remembered that it was, to the hour, to the day, nine years since we had sailed into Jolly Harbour, Antigua, playing the Doobie Brothers. I felt a rush of elation and triumph, the high I had experienced knowing we had sailed across the Atlantic, we four: my Canadian cousins, Ashley and Emony Nicholls; John, my husband of five months, and I. It had been twenty-three days from Santa Cruz de Tenerife to the 4am haze of Antigua on the horizon. Twenty-three days of rolling from 30 degrees to 30 degrees, all day, every day, cooking, sleeping, all across the empty ocean.
The first three days out into the Atlantic, an unexpected storm hit us from Africa. John took the sails down to almost nothing. The rigging screamed. The boat was tossed about. Two of the crew were prostrate with seasicknesses.
Finally, after three long days and nights, the storm abated. The initial fear of being hundreds of miles from land gives way to the fascination of watching twenty foot waves, which time after time after time, for days on end, seemed about to engulf the boat, then slid under the keel. We felt like children who had just had their bicycle stabilisers removed.
From start to finish we knew where we were, since the GPS told us. Still, we felt the joy of ancient sailors who knew they were safely across this immense sea, and that this time at least, they were not going to sail over the edge of the world. The four of us were the earls of the ocean and queens of the high sea. Land ho! Yee ha! Gradually as we approached we smelt the land and “lush green.”
Antigua was our first landfall. My mother and I celebrated “significant” birthdays at the Admirals Inn a few days later. Celebrations continued with our friends at the Shirley Heights Jump Up as steel and reggae bands played through the sunset into the night. The faster the rhythm, the stronger the rum!
On Christmas Day all the jolly sailors toasted their crossings with champagne around the flagpole in Nelsons Dockyard. Antigua, it’s claimed, has one beach for each day of the year. It certainly has variety, whether at the historic dockyard where Nelson careened his boats; the cruise ship terminal with the gift shops in the capital St Johns; Dickenson’s Bay’s amazing long beach or the fine dining at Harmony Hall near Green Island.
St Lucia
Dolphins are always a thrill. Off St Lucia there were so many it seemed we could walk, well, easily jump from dolphin to dolphin. They bring a great sense of joy and comfort and often come at a challenging time during a voyage, at a time when we are particularly exhausted, or a part has failed. John remains convinced they respond to him playing U2 very loudly; I’m not so sure.
Whether child or adult, we were all enthralled when they joined us. We clapped and sang to them, hanging over the rail, delighted with their leaps and games. The best game was when they swam sideways looking up at us, from a few feet below. Excited squeals went up. “He’s looking at me”. “No me”. Whoever they were looking at, it certainly felt like they were looking out for us all.
Guadelope and Martinique
Guadeloupe and Martinique are both large French islands, but very different. It was off Martinique, when I was five months pregnant, that an accident caused our anchor to crash overboard between Diamond Rock and a hard place, the island’s southern cliffs.
Thankfully a dive boat was passing. A French voice shouted out, “Do you want three strong men?”
“Yes!” came my reply. In my dodgy French and best gesticulations I attempted to explain our predicament. Three muscular men dived into the three-foot swell, swam across, scaled the boarding ladder, and helped John (who had mashed his thumb) haul up the chain. Cheers came from the dive boat as the anchor appeared. They shook rust-covered hands with John, then swam back through the swell. James Bond or what?
Barbados
The Easterly winds blow boats from Europe to the Caribbean, and Barbados is the landfall before most head north to the main island chain. On our third season in the Caribbean with our children, instead of heading south to Venezuela, we changed our plans and headed north with them. A crash into the Easterly winds landed us in Barbados, where we secured our US visas. Barbados proved to be a gem. Harrisons Cave is a spectacular underground network of awe-inspiring, cathedral-size caves. Also worth a visit is the Barbados Life Reserve. Look out for the boa constrictor in a cage of elegant, lacy wrought iron, while nearby, iguanas dwell with rabbits.
St Martin
For yachties, St Martin is an excellent place for fixing boats, which we did, many times. One of John’s happiest memories is relaxing in the cockpit (pre-children) watching the comings and goings of Marigot Bay off French St Martin, and then taking lunch at Enochs, a cafe on the front near the market.
British Virgin Islands
Even after five extensive visits to the BVI, several months in all, we still want more. Our recommendations would be to explore the trail through the Baths (and take amazing pictures), enjoy a Painkiller cocktail on Cooper Island, watching the sun set over Tortola, snorkel off Peter Island or dive the RMS Rhone, then escape the crowd by heading to Anegarda, “the sunken island”, a little bit of the Bahamas in the BVIs. n
NICOLA RODRIGUEZ, SAIL AWAY, How to Escape the Rat Race and Live the Dream. Published by Wiley Nautical. www.sailawaybook.com
