Mediterranean Adventure

It's been so long since I last wrote so I apologise but it's been an eventful few weeks. About two weeks ago we left Corsica and crossed the Tyrrhenian Sea to Rome. It was an early start and by 6.15am I was in my swimming costume, climbing down the ladder at the back of the Zubenel to swim ashore, untie two ropes then swim back to the boat in preparation for our departure to Italy. The weather had been very windy over the previous few days and we had heard that strong winds were predicted for Bonifacio that afternoon so we set off early to outrun them. As we left the sheltered waters of Bonifacio the swell was about a metre high - not too bad but certainly not flat calm. The next hour was spent navigating our way carefully between the rocks and small islands around the coast near Bonifacio. As I had plotted the route and set our waypoints, I was particularly nervous about the voyage - it would have been as much my fault as Skipper Phil's if anything had gone wrong. Thankfully, with Philip at the helm and me adjusting the course on the GPS according to his instructions, we cleared the rocks with ease and headed further out to sea.
A few hours later, just an eighth of the way through the journey, the winds started to pick up instead of relent, as we had hoped, and with that came even larger swells. We spent the next 18 hours riding a rollercoaster of 12ft (4m) high waves which raced up behind the boat, lifting us high into the air and then rolling us down the other side, dropping us at the bottom to be lifted a few seconds later by the next wave rolling in. There was nothing to do but sit in the cockpit and hold on. I did try to sleep on my bunk but I was either bucked out of bed or scared myself witless every time a wave crashed against the side of the boat. Luckily most of the swell just lifted us up and down and didn't break over the stern but the gunwales got wet on a number of occasions.
I'll be honest with you, I wasn't happy. The swell was frighteningly high, the wind was howling around us at Force 6, gusting 7, and what made me the most nervous was that these conditions hadn't been predicted so how did we know it was going to get better and not worse? All these thoughts raced through my head and in the end, after a large wave had tipped the boat so steeply I nearly fell out of my seat and a cleat had been ripped off the boat by a strong gust causing the mizzen sail to gybe, I went down below, talked to the skipper and - I will confess - had a bit of a weep. I was out of my comfort zone and out of control of the situation; I was scared.
Skipper Phil was very reassuring though and did his best to calm me down. Texan Jerry was equally a tower of strength, staying up with me throughout my watch and me through his so that we weren't left alone on deck. It was only when the winds died down at 4am the next morning that he confessed he too had been very scared.
In hindsight, we were in no serious danger. The conditions were uncomfortable and we all had to be careful not to put ourselves as risk, just sit still and sit it out. As this was my first time in those kinds of seas, it was pretty nerve-wracking.
The plus side though is that I achieved another one of my aims as I saw dolphins playing in the bow wake of our boat not just once but three times on that trip. The second time the sea had calmed to just a Force 5 wind and 6ft swell so I edged myself forward closer to the bow so I could see them more clearly. It was an uplifting experience seeing them darting about in the waves, turning and twisting back on themselves with such agility. We humans onboard, in comparison, were struggling to stay upright as the boat pitched up and down in the swell.
By the time we arrived at our marina at the mouth of the Tiber, I and my fellow crew had had about three hours of sleep, were sunburned and knackered. All we wanted was to tie up the boat, plug in the water and electricity and take a long hot shower. Sadly, it was only after we had tied up the boat (alongside a beautiful wooden sailing boat that had just been refurbished which added extra stress to the berthing procedure) that we were told by the marina staff they didn't have hot showers, or indeed any showers at all. That bit of news really knocked our morale. It sounds silly maybe but we had been sailing for more than a month and I had had three or four hot showers in that time, all of them on land. For the last few weeks I had been dreaming of standing under a power shower that spewed water that was warm enough not to take my breath away. I had hoped that I would be able to fulfill my dream at the marina and felt I deserved the reward after a scary crossing. Sadly it was not to be.
I was so exhausted that I collapsed on my bunk and slept most of the day. In the late afternoon, the three of us decided to explore and took a long, hot walk along a busy main road to find a bus stop which would take us into Rome. Our marina was just at the mouth of the Tiber near the former Roman port of Ostia Antica so it took about 90 minutes to get into the centre of Rome. The next morning, refreshed and a little less emotional, I set off with the men to catch a bus, then a train then a metro into Rome. I don't speak Italian beyond 'hello' and 'thank you'. Most of my holidays have been spent in France where I can speak the language. It was, therefore, a bit of culture shock to be somewhere where I couldn't understand a word of what was I could hear or see. Nonetheless, most people were patient and helpful, like the bus driver who didn't charge us for boarding without a ticket as he said wanted to save us paying 7euros each for a single journey whereas they only cost 1euro if we bought them in advance. And the woman at the ticket office at Ostia Lido Centro who told us which direction to take to reach Rome. I felt stupid and out of my depth when having to ask people questions in English and getting a flood of Italian in reply that I could barely understand. Eventually though, after a false start on my behalf, we made it to Rome and headed to the Vatican City.
Up until I went to the Vatican I would have said I was a spiritual person but not religious. I confess, though, that I had a religious experience in the church. It was not because I was entering the home of the Catholic faith, but because I finally got to see faith in the flesh in the form of Michelangelo's Pieta.
By the time we arrived at the Basilica it was half an hour before closing, the church was practically empty and quiet so I had an undisturbed view of the most moving, beautiful sculpture I have ever seen. It was simple, pure, elegant and evocative. I could feel a mother's grief as she held her dead son in her arms. Michelangelo's brilliance had taken a cold, inert material and made it malleable and full of energy. He had captured the spirit of the Resurrection: Jesus' body may have been dead but his spirit emanated from the marble and made it feel alive. It seemed incredible that man had the ability to create such a thing of beauty, had the vision to look at a piece of marble and see the sculpture inside it. As I stood in awe I thought there must be a God for man to be able to create something as beautiful as this.
After what seemed like 10 minutes of gawping at the statue, I heard a gentle clearing of the throat and saw Texan Jerry approaching. My reverie broken, we began to talk about the sculpture and how disappointing it was so have to view it behind a screen since it was attacked some years ago by a member of the public. A fellow visitor heard our conversation - an Australian woman backpacking alone around Europe for six months while her husband stayed at home. She was a fellow sailor and when she found out I was sailing with two men she recommended I read a book called The Reluctant Mariner about a woman who set off with her husband on a round-the-world voyage and how she got used, eventually to life at sea. As we left the church and went our separate ways, I thought how much I admired someone who could just jack it all in and travel alone; at least I had the companionship of my fellow crew.
The next morning we set off early to discover the remains of Ancient Rome. I had never really been that interested in Roman culture before coming on this trip. Now I understand what all the fuss is about. The Coliseum from the outside was breathtaking. Viewed from the inside it was even more impressive and our Italian guide made the place come alive when he described the ambience and the people who would attend the games. The most enlightening moment for me though was seeing a collection of 2000-year-old everyday items that people had dropped or lost among the seats. They had been swept away after the games, washed down drains and lost for millennia before being excavated and put on display. Hairpins whittled out of wood; bone-carved needles so the women could sew in between bouts; clay dishes to eat olives from; sets of dice. It made me wonder what kind of things people may find when they excavate Wembley Stadium a few thousand years from now - plastic water bottles; Biros and loose change. Maybe even the odd mobile phone that has slipped out of someone's back pocket.
That afternoon, after escaping the heat of the day by lingering over lunch in a nearby cafe, we continued our Roman pilgrimage with a tour of the Palatine Hills and the Forum. This is where Rome was founded and where the Roman civilisation that I know about - from Cesar onwards - was based. Again, I was mesmerised as we stood at the top of the hill overlooking the Forum, the heart of the city of Rome, and saw not just the remains of temples and important government buildings but places where the ordinary citizens of Rome ate, shopped and slept. I was stunned to see how well preserved most of the remains were despite being thousands of years old. Following the tour we strolled down the hill and through the Forum, literally following in the footsteps of ancient Roman citizens.
The next day was Sunday. Befittingly, we had a day of rest. Well, a break from sightseeing at least. While the skipper stayed aboard working on various maintenance jobs, Jerry and I decided to mooch about Ostia. I was glad for the rest as I had a lot on my mind. The crossing to Rome had taken its toll on me physically and emotionally. My legs were so covered in bruises that I was too embarrassed to wear shorts - I felt like people were staring at me out of pity thinking I was being battered. I was also tired of the relentless effort required to live aboard a boat. To cook I had to spread my legs and brace myself against the fridge and the sink so I was balanced enough not to be knocked over by a wave. To make a cup of tea at sea we had to tie the kettle to the stove so it didn't slide off. I had to wash my clothes in a bucket or pay 10 euros a time to take them to a launderette. Plus I was not happy about having to endure a three-day crossing to Greece if we risked running into the same kind of weather we had experienced a few days earlier. I wasn't the only one thinking like this: Jerry felt much the same. We knew more crew were arriving at the end of that week so after much soul-searching and discussions, Jerry and I decided that we would leave the boat when the new crew arrived.
I had achieved all the things I had set out to accomplish - I had slept at sea, I had seen dolphins and I had sailed so far out that I couldn't see land. The trip has confirmed my love for sailing and ignited my interest to complete my day skipper qualifications but it had also exhausted me and I felt it was better to leave then than continue on unhappy. Skipper Phil was understanding. In fact he said he had been expecting it. That night the three of us went out for a rather sombre meal, then spent the following few days sightseeing and reminiscing about our time on the boat.
On Thursday 16th July, I left the Zubenel. Skipper Phil waved Jerry and I off and we headed on a long train journey from Rome to Nice via Milan and then to my sister's home in Narbonne. A few days before Jerry flew back to Texas - to air conditioning and ice - I took him to Paris to show him my old haunts and to wave him off at the airport.
So my Mediterranean adventure is over. I have had an amazing summer, a wonderful experience and met lifelong friends. And I have no regrets, about embarking on the voyage or leaving when I did. The Zubenel will always have a place in my heart and the sights she has helped me see, whether they be a moonlit crossing or a deserted anchorage or a 12ft wave racing towards her stern, will never be forgotten. And neither will my fellow crewmates, Skipper Phil and Texan Jerry.

This is the blog that I wrote after our 24-hour sail to Corsica last week. I couldn't find an internet cafe that let me download the message from my USB stick but now I have. So although this message is not in chronological order, I thought I would add it in so you can get a feel for how I was feeling on that fabulous trip over here.

1st July. 11am. Sailing along the west coast of Corsica from Calvi to Porto.
I am back in love. I love the sea, I love sailing, I love the Zubenel. I even have a grudging appreciation of the dinghy now I'm not the one having to drive it. After a relatively tough few days in Villefranche, Philip made a welcome return to the boat on Saturday evening and since then all has been very well. We set sail for Corsica early Sunday morning after some excellent manoeuvring of Zubenel into a fuel berth in Villefranche marina where we filled up with fuel and water for the 24-hour trip across the Med from the French mainland to the Ile de Beaute. The sea was calm, with light winds predicted for the entire crossing, so we hoisted the jib and then took shelter from the blazing sun in the shade of the mizzen sail and settled down for the journey. When I first planned to go on this trip, the part I wanted to experience most was the three-day stretch from the heel of Italy to Corfu as I had never sailed out of sight of land before. Even the initial 24-hour leg from Gruissan to Marseille was always within sight of land. Within a couple of hours of leaving Villefranche, the mainland had melted into the distance and all I could see around me was the deep blue sea. It was exhilarating to think we were so far out and I am rather proud to report I wasn't nervous at all. So much so I even headed down below for a snooze on my bunk to catch up on some sleep before my four-hour night watch that evening. I wasn't even bothered when, after my sleep, Skipper Phil and Texan Jerry told me they had seen three sharks swimming near the boat. They were convinced they were sharks as their fins stuck out clear of the water and they were about 10 foot long - too large for dolphins. Considering that every time Skipper Phil and I go for a swim off the boat, we repeat the mantra. 'There are no sharks in the Mediterranean' before we plunge off the side, I am surprised how unconcerned I was.
In the afternoon the wind changed from a northerly to a westerly, perfect for our journey. We sat in the cockpit, listening to the Beatles on the CD player and watched the waves go by. At one point I moved up to the bow and sat with my legs dangling over the side, being mesmerised by the waves as they crashed against the boat. Each wave carried a number of clear, oval-shaped objects like large contact lenses, with a smaller pod in their centre. Skipper Phil thinks they were fish eggs. Either way there were too many of them to be rubbish tipped overboard, although it was a sad sight to see so many plastic bags, bottles and containers floating along. I spotted at least eight on our journey, which I suppose isn't bad for a 90-mile trip but they shouldn't be there in the first place.
That evening the winds picked up nicely, from a Force 2 to a Force 3 gusting to Force 4. As the skipper went below for some sleep before his 4am to 8am watch, Jerry and I settled down for our stretches. The sails billowed and the Zubenel picked up speed from 4.5 to almost 6 knots. At this rate we would shave at least four hours from our journey time. Although officially my watch was from 12am to 4am, I was too alert and excited (and yes, nosy) to go to sleep so I sat up with Jerry and watched the waves get larger and the wind get stronger as the moon rose over the sea.
There were far more boats out with us than I had seen on my only other night sail of the trip, from Gruissan to Marseille, so there was much more to concentrate on. I am glad there were two of us on this watch as we could discuss what we could see and decide whether we needed to change our course to avoid another vessel or not. I tended to get a bit nervous and want to wake the captain whenever I saw a light in the distance but Jerry was more measured and helped me realise that we had plenty of time to assess the situation before having to raise the skipper from his bunk. During the night we saw six large passenger ships - be they ferries or cruise ships - as well as numerous fishing boats and one unidentifiable object that I did call the skipper to see. I am glad I did as he didn't know what it was either but we didn't have to worry too much as it soon shot out of our way. I am convinced it was an alien marine craft but Skipper Phil reckons it might have been a large fishing boat tied up alongside a smaller vessel. I prefer my theory though.
By 1am, Texan Jerry's watch was well and truly over and I was feeling more confident, so he headed below to try to sleep while I snuggled up in the corner of the cockpit seats, swaddled in as many clothes as I could find. The wind was cool and blowing hard and the waves caused spray to splash in my face occasionally, so I was glad I brought my sailing jacket with me. The freshness helped me stay alert too.
At first I admit I was a bit nervous being up there alone, in the dark, in relatively lively seas. I was like a little rabbit - my head kept popping up over the top of the cockpit seats, scanning the horizon and then ducking back down into the warm. But after I had safely negotiated our way past and around three huge passenger ships and numerous fishing boats, I relaxed and was soon standing between the wheel house and the mizzen mast, in a safe and secure spot in the middle of the deck where I could hold on as the boat bucked over the waves and could also see all around her. Just before 4am, when my watch was due to end, I watched a wave, larger than the rest and crested with white foam, come barrelling alongside the Zube. I thought it might cause a bit of spray, but it hit the wake of another wave and the collision caused a surge of water to come up along the side of the boat, climb two stairs and head straight for my feet! That made me feel like a real sailor - standing on deck at night as the wind howled and waves lapped against my legs. I felt exhilarated, alive and very, very happy. I was also knackered. So on the stroke of 4am I headed down to tell Skipper Phil his watch was starting. I made him a warming cup of tea then headed below for some kip. Down below, the waves caused the boat to pitch forward and backwards so much that my stomach kept lurching as I lay on my bunk. It was like being on a rollercoaster or in a plane when it drops a few thousand feet in a second. Illogical though it is, I hate rollercoaster and planes but was nothing more than mildly amused by the sensation when I felt it onboard the boat.
After a few hours of sleep I headed back on deck to see how we were progressing and ended up staying up for the next 40 minutes as we made our way into Calvi harbour. By 7am we had lowered the anchor and I, exhausted, headed down below to sleep on a bunk that didn't keep trying to throw me out of bed.
Sadly my sleep was broken by the harbour master of Calvi zooming out on a speedboat to shoo us off his harbour - apparently we had to pay to stay - so by 9am we were pootling round the headland to a pretty, secluded bay just a mile from the town, where we stayed for two nights.
Right now we are on the move again, to Porto. I won't rattle on any more about Corsica just yet but suffice it to say it is hot, pretty, and the people are very friendly.

Bonifacio, July 6th.
Well, Skipper Phil wasn't joking when he said I was going to swim to shore to tie the Zubenel to a rock next time we moored. I did exactly that yesterday afternoon on our arrival in Bonifacio. Many times. I was only supposed to secure two ropes ashore but we had a few problems getting ourselves into position... The idea was that we were going to tie up in a narrow inlet just off the main thoroughfare into Bonifacio town. The space where we were to stop was a channel about 100m long and about 40m wide, wide enough to get two boats anchored comfortably one on either side of the channel, while leaving enough room for other boats to pass down the middle. Skipper Phil had described the anchoring procedure to Jerry and I and I felt I understood what we had to do, although I couldn't picture what the place would look like. Unfortunately, I don't think we did really understand because what followed was a catalogue of errors that sound funny now but at the time were quite nerve wracking!
It started with Jerry at the anchor, hearing the instruction to 'let all the chain out' and then doing exactly that - right to the very end of the line. That meant we had 80 metres of chain out in only about 20 metres of water. Too much to be effective because it had pooled in a big puddle on the sea bed and wasn't helping to keep us secure. At the same time, I was in the water, trying to swim to shore to tie the back of the boat to a rock or a ring in the rock face. Unfortunately my rope was too short so I got half way there but could go no further. Philip then decided to reposition the boat to get closer to shore, leaving me safely at a distance from the boat, but nonetheless being towed around after it as I was still hanging onto the rope to help myself and also stop the rope getting tangled in the propeller. Once I'd figured out that lying on my back was the most comfortable position to be towed in, I was fine. For a while. But then Philip realised Jerry had let too much chain out and when he tried to bring some back on board, the chain got caught around the winch and wouldn't budge. By this time I had been in the water for about five minutes and was getting tired, so Phil hauled me and the rope aboard and I went to help sort out the anchor chain. Eventually we got that fixed through brute force and a hammer, and then a kind Frenchmen from a nearby dinghy came to our aid, taking the rope I had originally been hanging on to and driving it ashore in his boat. Unfortunately, his outboard motor packed up half way to shore. And then so did the bow thrusters which are little propellers that sit in the bow and help move Zubenel's 38 tonne bulk from side to side. By this point, we were in a bit of trouble. The anchor wasn't holding us at the front and the Frenchman was still trying to secure a rope from the stern to the rocks so we were drifting... Luckily the Frenchman did get the rope ashore, after tying another one around it to make it twice as long. Then it was my turn to get back in the water with more ropes to secure them to various points on the shore. I did this three times and by then we thought all was well. So aboard I climbed, dripping wet but with adrenalin pumping. Suddenly there was a thud and the boat shook. We looked behind us and the Zubenel was bumping into the rocks behind us. I went back into the water wearing a snorkel mask to check out our theory and could just see the rudder against the rocks. This meant the anchor wasn't holding us securely enough at the front of the boat, so with every gust of wind or bit of swell, we were slipping backwards. It wasn't an urgent issue but we needed to correct it if we could. So Skipper Phil yanked up some more anchor chain and eventually it held.
It had taken us two hours to secure the boat. We were exhausted. Nerves were frazzled and I was a bit tired from all the swimming. Although I was also quite proud of myself as up until recently I've been nervous about swimming in water out of my depth, and of snorkelling, but I did both yesterday without a second thought. If I'd had seen jelly fish I might have thought twice though...
Anyway, the drama didn't end there. We got through the night without a problem but today it was clear the anchor still wasn't holding us properly, so we decided to move to over to the left a little, in the space left by a yacht which sailed off this morning. This time the whole thing went much more smoothly. We let out enough anchor but not too much. We only needed two ropes ashore to hold us. And Skipper Phil fixed the bow thruster problem after finding that a fuse had blown. The reason the fuse had blown? A rope attached to a weight sitting on the sea bed (used to tie up smaller yachts) had got caught in the starboard bow thruster. After diving down to investigate and cut the rope, Skipper Phil decided he was so confident the boat was securely moored, he was going to head into town to send a few emails. He's also taking us out to dinner tonight as a reward for all our hard work yesterday.
With the 20:20 vision of hindsight, the events of yesterday don't seem that dramatic or frightening. But I must admit I was pretty nervous when I was being towed behind the boat yesterday. I was at least 20 metres away from her, but it was hard to hold on to the rope as my left arm was pulled over my head at full stretch above my head and the more the boat moved around, the harder I was finding it to hold on. I didn't want to get tangled in the rope and pulled underwater, or worse, closer to the boat where I couldn't swim away. So I erred on the side of caution and told Phil I was tired. He hauled me about three feet out of the water, enough for me to swing my leg over the side of the boat to climb aboard. He's a strong man!
Today has been a much calmer and far less eventful day. It looks as if we will be in Bonifacio for a few days as there are Force 7 Westerly winds predicted for the next few days and these can cause large waves and difficult sailing conditions. So we will sit out the weather and wait for the winds to drop before heading to room. This time we will be in a marina so will have hot showers and limitless electricity to enjoy. It will be bliss!

Took a two-hour train journey into the mountains today to visit the ancient capital city of Corscia, called Corte. took the train at 8am with Skipper Phil (Jerry stayed home to wash his 'whitie tighties' as he'd run out of clean pants...) and we watched the landscape change as we meandered into the hills. Beautiful scenery, all viewed from the bliss of an air-conditioned train. Spent the past few hours getting lost in Corte's winding side streets, popping into medieval churches and wandering around the town's excellent museum. Well worth the early start to get here. Just had lunch and am letting it settle while I write this. Hope all is well with all of you. Will write more when get to Bonifaccio in a few days. Apparently the way we anchor there is that I swim ashore with a rope in my hands and tie the 38-tonne Zubenel to a rock. Not sure if the skipper is winding me up or not but in a few days I will be able to tell you!
x
Lucy

This is just a quickie as I have 10 mins to precis the last four days. Left mainland France last Sunday morning and headed over to Corsica. Was at sea for about 20 hours and the first time I've ever sailed so far out to sea that I can't see land. Was exhilarating. Saw sharks swimming 10 metres from the boat. Sat up for 16 hours straight on watch. Got bumped out of bed by a wave hitting the side of the boat and got soaked up to my ankles by another one when it hit the deck where I was standing on watch. All good fun!
Corsica is lovely - wild and remote in places. We have stayed in two anchorages where there were no signs of human inhabitance at all and all you can see at night are the stars and the moon. Now in Ajaccio, the capital, about to take a tourist train around the city. Have written a long blog but this computer won't let me copy it off my USB so you'll have to wait for that entry.
Just wanted to say - great news on Dad's exam mark and Louise's house sale. How was Blur? And how was the holiday, Sophie?
Love to all.
Will write more later.

xx
L

These last few days have been the most challenging of the trip so far. And they've happened when we've been at anchor, not while we've been sailing at all. Not what I expected. Let me explain.
A few days ago (I think it was about Wednesday but all days pass in a blur at the moment), I was visiting Monaco with Skipper Phil and Texan Jerry. Phil was having a good time but was clearly missing his girlfriend, Gillian, who had started the trip with us but could only stay for a week initially. While sitting on a bench eating ice cream, we discussed how he could see her before we sail away from the French mainland this weekend. We decided that he should return to Languedoc for a few days, leaving Jerry and I to look after the boat. The only thing he was concerned about was leaving me in charge of driving the dinghy which has an outboard motor and is something you have to get used to driving. I told him not to worry and that I would drive us back to the boat that night and he would see that I could handle the boat, so would feel confident leaving us on the Zubenel for a few days. Now mum, if you are reading this, please don't panic at what I am about to write. It sounds worse than it was. But my little plan to impress Phil with my boat-handling skills didn't quite go as well as I had hoped. As we approached Zubenel we were driving into quite a swell and the dinghy was bouncing up and down. As I came alongside the boat, I asked Jerry to tie a rope around a post on the Zube to secure the dinghy. Unfortunately I didn't knock the motor into neutral and Jerry was fighting to hold onto the boat against the 4 horse-power engine. Unsurprisingly he couldn't hold on, tumbled into the boat and on top of me, who by this time was also trying to hold onto somewhere on the boat. His weight on me forced me off the stern of the dinghy and at one point I was suspended between the Zube and the dinghy, with my backside hovering just above the waterline, and the propeller which was still roaring below me. I had visions of me falling in and getting shredded by the prop and that was the only thing which kept me hanging on. It felt like a minute or so but was probably just a few seconds before captain Phil realised what was happening, dragged Jerry off me and then hauled me back into the boat where I sat, shaking for a few seconds. I was unscathed apart from a huge bruise on my arm, and thankfully so was Jerry, but it really frightened me. Nonetheless, I drove the dinghy round to the other side of the Zubenel and we tied her safely alongside before piling aboard. I needed a cup of sweet tea and some hugs from my crewmates to calm down. Then I spent the next few hours analysing what I had done and how to avoid it in the future.
The next morning Jerry and I faced our fears and took Phil ashore in the dinghy, and safely drove it back on our own too. This time it went like clockwork - we were prepared and calm and came alongside with no mishaps. Once on the boat, we high fived and hugged with relief! Since then I have driven the dinghy to and from the boat another three times. Each one presents it's own challenges. Parking alongside other boats is interesting and I have provided much amusement to the quayside diners as they watch me try to reverse the dinghy out of a crowded marina at the end of an evening, but at least we have never had any incidents like before.
The only other eventful thing that has happened on the Zube was that we had such bad weather on one evening - Thursday - that I got about two hours sleep and Jerry about the same as the boat rocked from 10 degrees to port, then 10 to starboard in a large swell that went on in the bay ALL NIGHT. I managed to cook a meal in those conditions, tying the saucepans onto the side of the cooker so they didn't slide off the top. It was exhausting and demoralising and draining being the responsible one on the boat. If Philip had been there we would have moved to a more comfortable anchorage point but Jerry and I couldn't do this so we sat it out. But about 3am when both of us were wide awake as we'd fallen out of our respective beds due to a particularly violent swell hitting the boat, we pledged that the next night we would spend on dry land. Last night I luxuriated in crisp white sheets in a local hotel. I took four hot showers in 24 hours - my first touch of warm water for three weeks - and lay in bed last night watching coverage of Michael Jackson's death on CNN. Apart from the latter, I enjoyed every moment! Don't get me wrong - I am still enjoying my trip but this has definitely been the most difficult period and made me realise how much I still have to learn about sailing and how much I appreciate all that Phil does as skipper.
Right now I am sitting in an internet cafe in Villefranche. I've just watched The Lions lose to South Africa in the last seconds and am waiting for Skipper Phil to return to the town after his romantic few days with Gill. I am glad he went for myself as it meant I had to take more responsibility, but I am very very glad that he is back.
Tomorrow we should leave the French mainland and push off for Corsica. That will be a 24-hour sail. Let's hope the winds are with us and we don't rock and roll the whole way there!