01/14/25 - 01/15/25

 3:17 am

    Despite my best efforts to stay asleep as we set off from our bay, it hadn’t dawned on me that the engine of the boat was just below our sleeping quarters. The loud start and sudden shake of the engine immediately shot H and I awake. Not long before that however we were already tossing and turning as the heat had bared down on us and once again I had awakened to a sweat-covered body around midnight.

    Most of our crew were already up at this point to set sail towards Guadeloupe. I stayed in bed and watched the dark waves crash onto my port window.

6:33 am

    I went up to the deck to see the rising sun and setting moon on opposite sides of us. Antigua was just a small vestige in our wake. It was the first time the whole trip that I had no phone service. Truly out to sea.

    L, B, and R were asleep on the helm seats. The autopilot was steering the boat, creaking rhythmically as it teetered back and forth. The gentle motion of the waves and unsullied breeze must have lulled them back to sleep.

I went back to lay in bed. Rocked to sleep now that the engine was off.

8:48 am

    The crew was fully awake and we all gathered on the deck. N and G reading away. I think this was N’s third book.

    Out here the bright blue waters had deepened to an indigo. The sun sparkled brightly over the surface. Guadeloupe was in our sites but shrouded in rain clouds. As we grew closer the clouds began covering the sun removing the color from our world. The water became like liquid mercury, shiny and grey.

    When we reached the rain it was so beautiful. A reprieve from the heat. The radio station I was listening to played a sound bite from a Leonard Bernstein interview. “Could music die?” “Music can’t die, no.”

    We were making our way past Guadeloupe’s main island and heading south-east to a small uninhabited nature preserve to find a mooring for the night.

1:50 pm

    Truly a remarkable sight! I was looking out onto the bow and watching over R who sat with legs dangling off the bow while we made our descent into Petite Terre, when in the blink of an eye something jumped out of the water. The whole way here we had watched as flying fish leaped and skittered across the waters surface but this was different. It was a dolphin and without hesitation I exclaimed for everyone to hear. I thought I was mistaken until it appeared again then another and another until there was a group of five swimming under and around us, leaping and looping. Their speed was impressive. They were so beautiful, flying through the aquamarine water and staying close as if to lead us where we needed to go. As quickly as they appeared they vanished, leaving us to battle a large swell that greeted us at the opening passage between the small islands.

    We attached ourselves to a mooring that we paid 40 euros for and surveyed our surroundings. Plenty of people laid upon the beach and about five tourist boats were anchored close to shore. There was a lighthouse in the middle of the island. G and R jumped in the water and remarked on the strength of the current. I was never the best swimmer but I also never swam in a place with a current, so what could this mean? I kept asking if they thought I could handle it but the only response I got was that I should try the flippers we had on the boat. But I never used flippers either, I’m sure it’s not difficult, but I convinced myself that it’d be best to try them out later and swim in a way I knew how for now.

    H and I jumped in to swim to the island as everyone else prepared to snorkel, watching us from the boat. The current was strong. The swim, about 200 feet from the boat to the beach, was nerve-wracking. H swam in front of me looking back to see if I was alright. I began to panic when I realize I was drifting further from where I thought I’d end up. When we made it to the beach I was exhausted but relieved.

    Walking along the small beach I regretted swimming over. There was nothing interesting about this beach. The water was murky and the only shell scattered about were large conch not worth picking up. H and I came across a sign completely in french that depicted a trail that lead around the island and to the lighthouse. We stumbled upon the trail when I saw an iguana and tiptoed after it.

    We soon discovered that the only inhabitants on the island were hundreds of iguanas that would pop in and out of the brush and skitter across the path we began walking down. H and I gawked at an iguana sunbathing atop a perfectly sculpted bush. The lighthouse we arrived at was completely abandoned. A few lizards were scaling its walls. I thought of the lighthouse from Annihilation. The dilapidation and eerie emptiness of the land here had me imagining a new version of the book.

    Making our back to the beach we decided to go head back the boat but not before spotting the flippers and hammocks belonging to our crew members at the base of a coconut tree. We assumed they went down the same path we did so to let them know where we went H grabbed a sharp piece of shell and inscribed a short note onto the smooth skin of a green coconut.

    At the edge of the water I stood and looked at the distance between our boat and my safety. It was getting darker now and the swim back looked even more daunting. I was nervous. I looked at the tour boats all pulling up their anchors and motoring away and wondered if we should ask the only boat left if they could use their dinghy to drive us over. H says I shouldn’t be scared and that I could do it. As that last boat left there was nothing more I could do, so we jumped in.

    On the boat, I had to take a minute to sit with what may have been a near-death experience. There was a moment  just before I reached the mooring that sat halfway between our boat and shore that I felt I wasn’t strong enough. I knew I looked at H with panic in my face. I heard my breath grow more ragged. I was being swept away. The current was stronger than earlier, the water darker. I was scared. I felt like crying.

    The wind began to pick up as the sun set. The light on the lighthouse blinked on. A single catamaran joined us for the night and I felt glad. Had we been alone in this place I didn't think I’d be able to sleep.

7 pm

    Our pearl in the sky raised slowly from the horizon. Huge and glowing a golden yellow. This was the full moon we had been waiting for. The stars were twinkling above so clearly. Below in the water the shadows of large fish swam by.

01/15/25

    How many more sleepless nights could I endure? Aside from the heat, the intense wind rocked our boat stronger than any previous night.

    We prepared for departure around 7 am. The large swell that brought us to this island was even larger as we made our way back out to sea. Crashing over huge waves our belongings below deck were sent flying. The magical appearance of the dolphins were a thing of the past.

1 pm

    For our second night we’ve sailed to another small island on the easternmost end of Guadeloupe: Terre-de-Haut. The idyllic town is filled with colorful buildings and had many sailboats in its harbor. From our anchoring I could spot a few water front restaurants I’d like to sit at.

    Our tasks for the day were the following: check into customs, buy groceries and find lunch. After which we’d sail to the other side of this tiny island to find an anchoring for the night.

    Taking the dinghy ashore we discovered that the whole town is in the midst of a siesta. What is the french word for siesta?

    The two grocery stores we mapped were closed till about 3:30. We also quickly discovered that everyone spoke almost exclusively french. Lucky for us R speaks french, unlucky for us this meant splitting up may bring us misfortune. We split up nonetheless to explore a bit.

    N, G, H and I stick around near a small Carrefour which, according to B, is a grocery chain in France. We interpret a sign on the door as saying their siesta is over at 2:30 pm.

    The drainage canals that line the streets had small crabs crawling around within them. As we wandered I counted three orange street cats and one black one. It was so hot. I was sweating through my thinnest tank top and had resorted to using H’s sun-cover as a sweat towel.

At 2:30 on the dot the shop opened and we quickly went inside.

    I have an affinity for grocery stores of all kinds but especially small local shops that carry familiar but foreign things. I loved Haribo candies I had never seen before and finding American snacks that looked like they were stuck in the early 2000’s. Even better are the goodies you can’t get in the states. We buy a selection of cheeses and bread and beer. We bought charcoal to test out the grill we found in a hatch on deck. I picked up a funny named ice cream with a cute mascot from the freezer and G, who speaks elementary level french, asked the cashier what flavor they were: coconut for the green and milk for the blue. In another shop I bought a pack of Marlboros with an image of a young boy standing in a graveyard.

    R handled our customs as the rest of the crew loaded up the boat.

    We released from our mooring and motored off to the other side of the island. The wind was strong. On the opposite side of Terre-de-Haut were two small bays. We moved past one and decided on the furthest bay. The sun was setting in a brilliant fashion over the cliffs that hugged the bay in a crescent shape. There was a small beach, and on it, goats that scurried away and began to climb the slopes on either side of us. We were the only ones here and in fact we were the only boat that could fit here. L watched the swing of the boat as we all awaited direction.

    H and L prepared the grill. R made cocktails. N, G, and I swam to the beach and back. In the morning we made plans to hike from the beach to the town which sat just beyond the hill. I was looking forward to it.

10 pm

    The start of the engine woke me. I went up to the deck to see that we had begun moving. Having stayed up after dinner, L and B began thinking the wind was too strong and that the swing of the boat was concerning. It would be best for us to move. H poked me through our porthole and asked what’s wrong.

    The captains and I are sat in near silence drifting in the dark back the way we had come and maneuvering to the bay we had passed by earlier. Again, empty, with a sliver of a beach and a few houses scattered on the cliffs. B checked the water’s depth and the reading was unclear whether it was 8 feet or 12. Floating and deliberating. To deaf ears, I say that we should just go back to where we had anchored near town. There had to have been  a reason there are no boats over here despite being scenic and quiet.

    L turned the boat around and suddenly we struck something, jolting us and causing a very concerning scraping sound from the haul. Panic. The tide pulled us further aground. The sound, more grating. Everyone shocked and awake was now on deck. We gathered the life vests. My heart was racing. I went to our room and grabbed H and I’s phones, a portable charger, and our wallets and stuffed them into my life vest pockets.

    L directs R and H to get into the dinghy and grab the halyard. The rest of us were directed to stand on one side of the boat. They pulled and we leaned and the tide came in, releasing us. Without another thought L drove us out of the bay, with R and H following behind.

    We anchored between a massing of boats in the harbor just outside of town. The wind was strong even here. In the room, I cried before going back to sleep. I thought of the WQXR radio host this morning, after the finale of Romeo and Juliet played he remarked “Music to match a tragedy’s end”. The boat groaned loudly all through the night.

Playlist

Symphony No. 1 in D minor: III. Feierlich und gemessen, ohne zu schleppen - Gustav Mahler

Love Was Really Gone - Makoto Matsushita

Giselle: No. 21, Andante - Adolphe Adam

Dreamsville - Wes Montgomery Trio