If, like the gathering that appears around lunch time at the stern of the yacht I am running, you are intrigued by the reality of yachting; let me paint a picture for you.
This is my version of yachting. A bit rusty some might say, but still wonderful.
After four years in this alien world to most, on both sides of the Atlantic, I am about to take on Japan, it’s own fledgling yachting scene, and a new hemisphere. To leave without acknowledgement would be unimaginable.
The truth of yachting is the people that work for it, it’s relationships, and the possibility it offers to those who participate. Owner, crew, or otherwise. Travel by yacht is unparalleled.
I have often written that the real excitement that yachting offers is in it’s mechanism to travel in a different way. Arrivals are different by yacht, whether to a remote cala, or a bustling town quay.
For me there are memorable arrivals. Unglamorously, Lymington, after a hairy, wonderful, balls to the wall downwind run across the channel from France whilst learning to sail. Chased by a storm, but reaping the benefits of it’s strong winds, it doesn’t get more exciting.
More glamorously, Taormina. Dropping anchor and heading ashore into the town high above for cocktails and dinner at the Hotel Metropole. Looking down on the yacht safe and settled a thousand feet below. It’s sight and a strong martini combining to ease my mind.
Firsts form part of the richest of tapestries. An arrival in Marstrand, Sweden. The bow draped in ice and the end of my first eventful yacht delivery. Arriving in St Lucia after a long and testing transatlantic. There are too many memorable firsts to list.
If you’re thinking about going sailing, you probably should.