Today, we move onto our next location, and it’s Leela’s first cruise with me solo! Come follow the gorgeous Warwickshire countryside where we find our next mooring spot.
Big Love, Lizbef & Leela ❤️🐶❤️
How I get power from my batteries, my Bluetti portable battery charger, and cooking for free on my stove.
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Lizbef does her final preps on Maggie before finally cruising away from the marina! with the help of friends, she finds her first solo spot along the canal in the beautiful countryside of Warwickshire. Big Love, Lizbef 💕
It’s time to announce it. It’s time to share.
We put an offer down on a boat.
And you know what?
WE GOT ACCEPTED.
I’m sitting here stunned, shocked and not really knowing how to react. It’s the day after the acceptance of our offer and as soon as I heard, I discarded the full pot of tea I had just made and pulled out a bottom of rum.
“We find out today, you know.” I had told Edouard that morning as he prepared to leave for work. I had felt in my gut that we weren’t going to get this boat. I had felt that it would never happen for me. That I could dream, but it would never really become a reality, that maybe I was just being a silly little girl.
Maybe Edouard thought the same as well, telling me to message him at work if I heard anything, positive or negative.
However, later on that day I got an email.
Your offer has been accepted. Please view the attached contract to secure your Amel Euros.
Oh yeah, didn’t I mention that?
I just bought an Amel. I just bought 41ft Amel Euros. I did it. I managed this long dream of mine. The dream where I would scan through pictures of boats in England, hoping maybe one day I could buy one as I watched SV Delos on the couch. That maybe one day I would have that life of adventure. Maybe I would do something like that.
Maybe.
I would never have guessed I’ve ended up where I am. I am not the bravest or the best sailor. In fact- I think I’m pretty rubbish at it. I’ve never really fixed anything up properly, accept from an excellent cup of tea. I’m the writer, the painter, the dreamer.
But here I am, making the biggest leap of my life. Because I can see that person I want to be. I want to be that person people can rely on, to be able to take care of her own ship and crew, to be responsible, to have the adventure burning within me so I can show others that they can do this too.
I want to learn. I want to try. I want to work.
And with the boat I’m sure I will.
So why an Amel?
Apart from the obvious, it’s one of the most respected French brands of boats. My top three favourites are the Dufours, the Beneteaus and of course- the Amel. I had many emails telling me not to go for an Amel. That there were better brands out there, But I didn’t care. It wasn’t just about the brand. It was about the spirit. The message. The memory.
It was a testament to Delos. It was a testament to Brian. It was a testament to my crew. All of them. My Delos family.
And this boat is no ordinary Amel. She’s storm damaged. Which means she has a broken mast and needs new rigging. But I’m willing to put the time, work and effort into her to bring her back to her former glory.
As I sat in my living room, pouring rum into my glass, I called Lisa my crew mate immediately. We stayed on the phone for about two hours until the sky started turning dark as I became more and more emotional about the entire thing. It hadn’t hit me yet. I hadn’t realised.
“What have I done, Lisa?” I said, my eyes wide.
She laughed at me. “You just bought a boat, Liz!”
Yeah. I had. I had just bought a boat.
I waited for Edouard with my heart beating in my chest. I knew he wasn’t ready just yet to leave the land. I knew he was having a wonderful life in France at the moment. I knew all of these things. But I had already clocked out.
“You know it is my dream to buy a boat and sail around the world, Elizabeth,” he told me many times before. “And I will follow you. Just because I am enjoying life now does not mean I will not follow you. I go where you will go.”
And as he walked into the apartment, he could see it written all over my face.
“We got the boat?”
I nodded, my tongue too numb to say it out loud.
“Wow!”
We opened a bottle of champagne and sat on the floor with each other, both of us exhausted, emotional and so so incredibly happy.
I felt like I had done something I could not undo. To have an extraordinary life, you have to make extraordinary decisions. I felt like another part of me had just said,
“Ok, Elizabeth, you want that life, right? The life of you in the sunshine, on your boat, writing and painting to your heart’s content and going wherever you like, yes?”
“Er, yes I would like that please.”
“Ok, hold my drink.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m making it happen.”
“But what? Now? But it’s scary! Maybe we should-”
“Bitch, please. Not making these decisions and staying within four walls is scary. Time to make the tough choices.”
And so the other part of me made these terrifying choices to start a chain of events that would bring me to the place I wanted to be. I did it even if it wasn’t smart, or if I was not prepared.
Because I knew I could make it happen. I knew I would work for it. Fight for it.
So what happens now? Well, if I thought buying the boat was the hard part, I was very much mistaken. The Amel is in the British Virgin Islands. Which means we have to leave France as soon as possible.
Edouard finishes his work contract in March, and that’s also the month I return from Australia.
We have to give three months’ notice on our apartment as well, sell our stuff and downsize to fit anything into our boat.
Wow.
Our boat.
I can say that now.
So today, I’ve been arranging the $3000 deposit on the Amel. Her full total is $8000. The remainder we’ll pay at the end of February, giving us some time to get our heads around everything.
Then the real work will start. We’ll head over, couchsurf and stay with anyone that will have us. She is on the hard at the moment, so we will be paying to keep her there until we can fix her up enough to have her in the water.
And then, the adventure starts. Edouard is incredibly excited to be sailing around the Caribbean and the fact that Delos are going to be in the Caribbean too makes me so happy. I feel so wonderfully happy at the moment, very hungover and very scared. Because I have effectively just bought my first home.
Her name is Pagageno, meaning ‘Magical Flute’, but I think she deserves a new name. A new start.
So if you guys have any thoughts let me know!
The next months will be a hard push of painting, writing, working for Delos and writing The Delos Story and planning on how much everything is going to cost.
We’ve had a comfortable quote on a new mast, taking into account that we will need to source a second hand one. As for the rigging- I don’t think there’s any escaping that.
I’m confident we can make this work.
And besides, anything worth having isn’t easy.
I can’t believe I’m sitting here, as a woman who not so long ago was sad, lonely and living in England and not knowing what I was going to do with my life. I ended up being a sailor with SV Delos, on the most incredible boat, with people and a message that I was so honoured to be a part of. To then find the love of my life, live in the South of France and turn my world upside down again by buying a boat.
But I did it.
My name is Elizabeth Earle, and I am now the owner of an Amel.
Want to help? You can help towards our boat repair fund by donating here! 
You can also help us in this dream by signing up as a Patron. By doing so even for a dollar is a HUGE help. You also get to read early blog entries, extras and videos! Interested? Sign Me Up!
Psssst! We are also now on YouTube! https://www.youtube.com/c/earlewrites
You can also help another way by buying one of my books or visiting my shop of tees or my NEW section of limited edition art prints and original paintings. I hope you like! Much love!
Thank you as always! Lizbef x
There’s a lot of things cooking up at the moment. Lisa and I are heading to London from the 13th of February for a week and then after that, I will be travelling to Perth, Western Australia for nearly three weeks to see my parents.
It’s been a year since I last saw them, waving goodbye as I walked through the airport on my way to join Delos in Africa. It’s strange how fast this year has gone past. I watched some videos of me before I even stepped onto Delos and I don’t even recognize myself.
I often wonder what would ever have happened if I hadn’t stepped on that plane. I’d probably be stuck in a concrete town, trying to cling onto hope that one day my adventure would start.
Or maybe I would have found another way.
I have faith in myself- in my ability.
Maybe I was only ever going to take the choice of going to Africa.
More things are happening on the horizon. Not only am I working on the Delos story, featuring the adventures of Brian, Karin and Brady before they became a team, but I am also working on the sequel to my last novel, The Contract of Maddox Black.
I am busy trying to prepare that for release, but now it’s on a back burner while I throw myself into The Delos Story preparations.
Re-reading and editing the book of Delos has lit a fire inside me as I think of my own boat story. Of how I will feel when I finally buy my own home on the sea. The possibilities are endless at the moment.
Do I buy one in France, go back to England or hope that Delos spot one for sale in the Caribbean?
In France, the only thing I seemingly can afford at the moment is anything under 28ft. For a crew of four, that’s incredibly small. The moorings where we live as well are about 900 euros a month. We had a budget of about two months worth that we could take into consideration. The plan was to find something that needed a lot of work, had been abandoned or had an old owner that just wanted it gone. Anything to give us a chance over 30ft.
We had a couple of amazing projects that did come through, but alas, it was either two much time or money that had to be spent on it.
So I’ve decided to wait and save until March. We’re still researching makes, still talking with sailors, but the day-today search (for my sanity) has paused until I finish a few projects.
I have just started selling my prints and original watercolours, which has been an incredible sensation for me- that people would ever want to buy my paintings. It’s incredible to think that a part of me will be in people’s homes, my brushstrokes and ink immortalized on paper in someone else’s house. I get attached to things like that pretty easily. These paintings and drawings become my friends in a way. I surrounded myself with them in our apartment- my little companions as Edouard went away to work.
But the boat and our future is too important than emotional attachment. And the fact that people want to buy a piece of my creativity means more than anything.
It makes me feel like a real…
Well, an artist I suppose.
Edouard and I had talked about looking in England for a boat. The prices seem to be cheaper, and the moorings are in most places a quid per foot each week. The plan would be to leave France in April/May. To go on a three week road trip around Great Britain as we searched for a boat to sail in June and explored some of the places I love the most.
I’m proud of my country. Maybe everyone is of theirs. I’m proud of our countryside, of our history, of our heritage. And whereas I’m sorry for all of the terrible things that have happened, I am still a proud Brit.
There are some of the most magical places in Britain that you can ever imagine. We’re surrounded by the legends of Boudicca, the Queen of the Celts that burned London to the ground in revenge for the Romans brutalizing her family. The land is immersed in myths about King Arthur, Camelot and the Round Table. Some people say as the trees groan in the wind, it is actually the sound of Merlin groaning inside his oak tree prison as he was trapped by the Lady of the Lake. The woodlands of Sherwood whisper of a man called Robin of the Hood, a man who had once fought in the Crusades with Richard the Lionheart and battled against the rule of King John.
So many legends. So many stories.
It’s easy to think how people believed in fairies, demons, wizards and goblins back in those days.
I want to show Edouard the Britain I love. I want to take him to Stonehenge for Solstice, I want to take him to the Lake District where Beatrix Potter was inspired to write her unforgettable Peter Rabbit books. I want to take him to the White Cliffs of Dover, to Stratford Upon Avon where William Shakespeare was from. I want to take him to my beloved Nuneaton and show him the very town that raised me. I want to take him to Scotland- a place that I have never been and discover the land and heritage together.
I want us to explore my Britain before we head off on this journey of ours. Time is fast approaching and that June date is still solid. It’s been incredible talking to everyone on sailing forums and social media trying to find a suitable boat, and we’ve discovered that for our budget- we’re going to have to go to the Caribbean.
Things are happening quickly and I’m feeling good about it. It means the hard work is paying off. It means it’s happening. There is no waiting. No hoping. There is just doing.
The Caribbean is not somewhere I thought I would ever start my journey. It was a dream. I have so much to thank Delos for, I feel like my heart could burst with love for them every day.
I realise I am probably the last person anyone expected to try and get themselves a boat. Everyone is far more experienced than me who has been on Delos. Far more resilient.
Edouard and I went for a walk the other day to take some time for ourselves. It was along the coast and I couldn’t stop shivering and snuffling into my scarf.
“You were not made to sail, Lizbef!” Edouard laughed.
I looked up at him, ready to throw back a retort. But I thought about it.
“That’s the best thing about it though, isn’t it?” I said. “To do something we weren’t made for? It’s like a cat who wants to learn how to swim. That’s me.”
And I wholly believe in that. Trying to master a skill we know next to nothing about. To attempt to better ourselves.
And yeah- so I’m not the best sailor. I don’t like the cold. I don’t like the wet. And I don’t like the wind.
But I’m going to do it. Because I know the other side of things. To finally see land. To feel the sun on your skin after shivering in three jumpers for two weeks straight. To eat bacon and chocolate pancakes as a celebration of completing a passage. To discover new places, to jump into the ocean just to cool down, to sit on the backstep and shower naked because there’s no soul around- and if even if there was, you wouldn’t give a care in the world.
And to do it with a crew.
With Edouard.
Now that is well worth stepping out of my comfort zone.
I may become the worst Captain since Captain Ron.
But at least I’m going to damn well try.
Delos style.
Love Lizbef x
Want to help? You can help towards our boat fund by donating here! https://www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/earlewrites
You can also help us in this dream by signing up as a Patron. By doing so even for a dollar is a HUGE help. You also get to read early blog entries, extras and videos! Interested? Sign Me Up!
Psssst! We are also now on YouTube! https://www.youtube.com/c/earlewrites
You can also help another way by buying one of my books or visiting my shop of tees or my NEW section of limited edition art prints and original paintings. I hope you like! Much love!
Thank you as always! Lizbef x
Wow. Well we’ve had a very eventful week here in Marseille. The hunt for the boat has become stressful at times and Edouard and I have been researching, traipsing the internet and calling the various ports of the South of France for quotes on mooring prices, enquiring if there are any unwanted boats in the area and anything else we can think of.
It’s been stressful because I don’t speak the language well enough to ask these questions myself, so I feel bad to ask Edouard when he is trying to enjoy as much of the land as possible.
He works for a homeless association called “On Se Gele Dehors” (We are Freezing Outside) at the moment (as well as his full time job) and visit the streets three times a week with a team of people to give food and clothes to those that need it. He would come home tired and quiet and I would be sitting in my seemingly permanent seat by the window and the fireplace, my fingertips hovering over the keyboard as I watch him take off his coat.
I don’t know why I couldn’t completely understand why he was so tired and quiet all of the time after his charity work. I don’t know why I didn’t even take it into consideration as deeply as I should.
But then I went out with him one evening, just the two of us with two of our friends. Edouard collected a bunch of donated food from nearby restaurants, made the soup, bought the bread and made sandwiches, prepared the coffee and stacked his car full of blankets, clothes and anything else he thought we needed.
I didn’t even raise my head from my laptop, so wholly consumed with my work, my research, designing and writing. I was working to create a future for us both whilst he was trying to fight for the future of others.
We went out into the streets to meet the people and I was instantly overwhelmed. A man crying in the streets because he and his family were being forced to leave their home and had nowhere to go. To see a grown man sobbing in front of me, to hear him scream into the night because he had no one to turn to, no knowledge of what he should do, tore my heart apart.
I stared at him, not knowing the language he spoke, but hearing the angst in his cries, it was all I could do but put my arm around him and sit him down at the back of Edouard’s car as he tried to overcome his sorrow.
We then met a man called Arnold (whose dog I attempted to steal) who was drunk but very kind. He stumbled towards us, probably younger than me, asking for another cup of soup because it reminded him of his mother’s when he was young. His dog, shivering, jumped into the bag of clothes I had and swiftly went to sleep. I ended up covering the dog with a blanket in the hope that the drunk man would forget about the dog and I could take it home and give it a new life.
“I’m taking the dog,” I told Edouard stubbornly.
I could see the strain on Edouard’s face as he sought to feed the people coming to the car. His eyes flicked over to my hidden bundle.
“Lizzie, you cannot do that,” he said, his voice in a firm tone that I hadn’t heard before. “It is his only friend. You cannot take that away from him.”
“I don’t care,” I said. “I don’t care if he wants a friend.” In my eyes the dog was cold, underweight and wouldn’t take the dog biscuits in my hand. He didn’t even follow her owner as he stumbled off in the dark to try and help his drunk ex girlfriend as she wailed into the night.
“I’m keeping the dog,” I said again, firmly.
The man returned, falling to his knees at the bag at my feet to stroke his friend on the head. “She is wonderful,” he told me with a wide trusting smile. “Thank you so much for helping us.”
I smiled back guilty. He thought I was a good person, and yet here I was, plotting to take away his only faithful companion.
We left the dog with his friend and I got back into the car feeling a heavy resignation settle in my stomach. Edouard had been surrounded by people all night, asking for his help, sharing their stories as he listened fairly, not judging, not condemning, as I huddled over the body of a sleeping dog.
Taking the dog would have been wrong. But leaving it was wrong as well.
It’s something I still haven’t figured out the answer to.
I suppose I’m just trying to be honest with you all.
“Arnold wants to come with us next time and to help,” Edouard told me as we drove to our next location.
I imagined a scenario where he would start coming with us, getting his life straight, quitting the alcohol- we could help him be heard, find somewhere for him, find a way where he could realise his dreams and have a warm home.
I imagined all of this.
But would I actually fight for Arnold?
But I fight for any of them?
Was I just going with Edouard tonight to give out a few sandwiches, so I could feel better about myself? To convince myself I was a good person? That I had done, “my bit”?
I think that’s why I feel bad. I think that’s why I sometimes feel like I’m not a good person, because I have the time but I don’t use it effectively to help others. I should but I don’t.
We go to a carpark this time.
“The taxi drivers keep an eye on the homeless in this location,” Edouard explains. “They know it is safer here.”
People are huddled together on cardboard with bits of blankets. Others have even dragged thrown away mattresses and made themselves shelter with whatever they could find. We give out food, clothes and sit and talk with them with a coffee in hand.
“Would you like me to bring some books next time?” I ask an old man called Patrick. I noticed that he has pieces of advertisements and newspapers on his makeshift bed to read.
“Oh yes!” he says. “That would be wonderful!”
Someone else mentions that they would like a book and I tell myself that I will come back the next day. That I will make more food for them. That I would try, take time out of my day and attempt to help.
“A man tried to take my dog way yesterday,” another guy told us. “Can you believe that?”
I look at the dog. It’s young, fat enough and seemingly happy and playful. I think back to the dog at our first location and become quiet.
“He’s my only friend,” the man continues. “Who can take away a man’s friend like that?”
Me, I thought. I feel sorry, conflicted and sad all at the same time.
“I thought all of this was supposed to make you feel good,” I said honestly to Edouard on the way home. “I thought helping people was supposed to be a nice thing.”
Edouard looks as exhausted as I feel. We’ve been on the streets for five hours and I feel as though I’ve been trying to water a desert with a handful of water.
“It’s not how it is, Lizzie,” he says truthfully. “But all we can do is try and help the people.”
“Like that man at the start?”
He nods. “I will try and help him.”
We hug and go to bed, our thoughts dark, confused and not knowing what we’re supposed to do to make a difference.
Am I really making a difference with sandwiches and books? I think.
The next day, I don’t go back to the carpark to deliver books and food like I told myself the previous night I would. I don’t research associations to help Patrick, I don’t seek help for the crying man in the street and I don’t look at any schemes that can assist Arnold and his dog.
I do nothing, so fixated on my own life, my own plight of getting my boat, our adventure, our story in going out into the wide world and leaving this place.
Edouard on the other hand calls around to find a home for the man who is due to be on the streets in three days.
“I think I may have found somewhere that can help him,” he says after coming back from another six hours giving food out to the homeless. “I have to go out on Monday as well to help rehome a girl.”
I stare at him as he comes into the apartment, tired, worn and drained. I now understand why he is so exhausted. I hug him, tell him how I respect and admire him, and how much he is making a difference out there.
“People have the time, you know?” he says, shaking his head when I tell him how amazing he is. “I am not amazing. I am just trying…”
But what he doesn’t know, is that he has inspired me. He has made me want to do more. Be more. Try.
Meeting these people on the streets, whatever their circumstances, whatever reason there is for them being there, I know that I can do more to help. Even if it is just handing out coffee or giving them a book.
It’s the small acts of kindness that goes a long way.
I’m struggling with these emotions in myself right now of how I can be a better person. How I can create something bigger. To be a part of something greater.
I want to make sure that when I sail, it’s not just to go and live the adventure and to drink rum. I want it to mean something. To stand for something greater, I want to help the people. I want to be able to make a difference.
I want to create an association that will go hand in hand with our journey. This adventure is about following your heart pursuing your dreams. But it’s also about helping others realise their own. To help someone stand when they’re on the ground.
Those of you who read this, I want to say thank you for being on this path with me for as long as you have. Because sharing this with you all gives me an opportunity to release everything I have inside about this issue, to share this experience with others who I hope will understand my honesty.
I want to make a promise to you guys, that I will endeavour to make this sailing journey of mine mean something. It will be for something greater.
I’m so grateful to be doing this with Edouard, one of the most kind-hearted people I have ever met. I want to do this not just for you guys, the people or for myself, but I want to do this for him as well. I want to help him realise his own dream as well as my own. I want to help him make a difference and help him build something that can make a bigger impact.
We don’t know how this will work, but all we can do is promise you guys that we will do it.
So from the bottom of my heart.
Thank you.
Thank you for being with us on this.
If you want to find more about the association that Edouard works for- you can pop over here! https://www.facebook.com/groups/1301044896624863/
Want to help? You can help towards our boat fund by donating here! https://www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/earlewrites
You can also help us in this dream by signing up as a Patron. By doing so even for a dollar is a HUGE help. You also get to read early blog entries, extras and videos! Interested? Sign Me Up!
Psssst! We are also now on YouTube! https://www.youtube.com/c/earlewrites
You can also help another way by buying one of my books or visiting my shop of tees or my NEW section of limited edition art prints and original paintings. I hope you like! Much love!
Thank you as always! Lizbef x
Ok, so I made a decision.
We got accepted for a £7500 loan and I was over the moon. That meant getting a boat in February, storing it and working on it. We made the decision to move away from the Amel Kirk. Raising the €19000 seemed a world away and other options that were just as good started to arise. Even getting a loan for this amount was impossible- and believe me, I tried.
We decided our budget is £10k MAX for our boat. Edouard is more than capable and experienced at fixing up yachts so we were pretty confident in finding a vessel within our budget to suffice. A lot of the boats in our price bracket then fell to the north of France in Brittany.
We found an excellent one for €6500 and we’re really eager to see her. There are a couple of choices how to proceed.
We find a boat in the Marseille area, do her up here in the hope that we can find a berth that we can afford (some boats have a few months left with their berths included in the price). Once we give the three month notice on our apartment we can liveaboard, keeping rent costs down for mooring fees and any improvement costs.
Or, we get a boat in Brittany. We have free mooring available to us and a friend’s shipyard where we can “do her up” with Edouard’s fellow sailing friends. The only downside of that is the traveling back and forth from the South of France.
Back to the loan.
We got accepted, I had the paperwork sent to my sister to look over and she stopped me.
“Did you know there’s a 12% apr on this?”
“Oh balls!”
That didn’t sound like the 3% I had originally been promised. Now, I don’t exist much on paperwork which is probably why the percentage is the way it is. I’ve taken frequent gaps to travel and work in bars or pay my way through my illustrations. I suppose I’ve had a bit of a wanderlust heart and always followed it. It never went wrong for me.
Until the banks were concerned.
However, I’m not afraid by this.
We’ve decided to continue to save and fundraise until March. We are hoping to then have enough to have our boat. A boat. A sound boat. Whatever number we have, we will work with. Leaving in June is in concrete. It’s happening.
We have the comfort blanket of knowing at least we can get accepted for a loan (hoping the interest percentage drops), pay it off early maybe and avoid the mega charges on it. We want to do this as organically as possible without the help of the bank.
But it’s a good to know it’s there.
We’ll be updating our JustGiving donation page to let everyone know our fundraising goal is now £6000 for the entire boat rather than £6000 for a 30% boat deposit- which was the first choice we were going to go down.
I’ve been working so hard day and night to figure out everything. But it’s been a wonderful process. The discovery, the research, the late night conversations between Edouard and I. I’ll get up in the morning, open my laptop, work for Delos, which I love, start on my own tasks, try to paint and before I know it the moon is out already. I am losing track of the days but it’s ok.
I feel as if I have purpose now.
I have a direction.
I’ve never felt so free in my life making this decision. And of course, there are moments when I realise how scary it is. When I’m walking around my apartment, sitting on my nice sofa or eating at my large kitchen table or flushing the toilet without a problem.
What if something breaks? Everyone will be looking to me for answers, for direction, for guidance, reassurance- I will be the one leading this adventure.
I will be responsible.
Now that’s a scary thing.
With Brian he was always the one who made the decisions. He was the one you could always rely on to fix anything. The one who we all looked up to.
How can I fill those boots?
It’s a thought that keeps me awake some nights.
But then I fall asleep into dreams of sailing my own boat, feeling the ocean skim across my fingertips, letting the sails fly free as we catch the breeze.
There is so much news to share, so many plans and so much excitement. Things are changing all the time- not the core of the plan but in the execution. We want to be smart about this.
We even spoke about going to the Caribbean first and looking for a project boat. Our minds are swamped with the amount of research we have been doing until all I can dream about is boats.
I think I have to get through January, carry on looking, carry on talking with people and continue to do what I do.
The main needs of the boat have not changed. We want something with sound rigging, hull and sails. We have friends who can help with everything else. We are not afraid of fixing anything because Edouard has so many friends and contacts who are willing to help us. It’s a wonderful feeling.
However, I want a do-able project if we’re to leave in July.
The size is non-negotiable, with a minimum of 36ft. We want a crew of 4 people with comfortable places for everyone to sleep. We really want to be clever with the interior to create a comfortable living and sleeping space for extra crew, so the bigger the boat the better I suppose, but not too big that it would be difficult to manage.
In all honesty, the third crew member has already been picked. The fourth will be down to Edouard, but I suppose if that person is unavailable we will have to reach out to find someone else with some experience.
Edouard is an experienced sailor, but I think he would just like an extra person who he knows he can definitely rely on. And I’m not even offended that that other person isn’t me- because I’m still learning. Edouard’s experience far outranks my own and I have to relearn everything again.
But I’m sure it’s different with your own boat. You understand things better. Well, I hope I do!
“So, who’s going to be Captain then?” I asked Edouard one night.
I already knew it should be him, but my pride wouldn’t allow it.
He looked at me with a bemused expression and shrugged. “Well, I do not care, Lizzy,” he said with an honest smile.
“Are we going to have a British flag or a French?” I pressed on, already knowing the answer.
“It depends on the boat.”
“You can be Captain if I have my British flag,” I said. “Wait… but I want to be Captain as well.”
“You can be Captain, Lizzy.”
I frowned and sat back on the sofa. “But that means I have to do everything. People will be looking to me to make decisions…”
He nodded. “Yes they will.”
“Can I be first mate?”
“You can be whatever you want, Lizzy.”
“Ok… Maybe we can both be Captain…”
“Ok.”
“…If I’m Captain, can I have the hat?”
And so dawns the realization of the responsibilities that I will have. I will have to grow up and take accountability for the boat, for the crew and for our direction. I will have to learn weather, countries, direction, sails, knots, navigation- everything.
I will have to grow up in able to run away from the grown up world.
I’m ok with that.
Since we’ve started with this path, a light has grown in Edouard. I think settling in Marseille was at first wonderful for us. We found our peace, our stillness, our time to sit back and reflect on the times we had shared with our friends, the adventures. But then, suddenly we didn’t know what to do ourselves. Edouard’s happiness started to diminish. He hates the city, the fumes, the cars, the anger of the people as they rush to and from work, the clattering of voices filling the air, the narrow streets stinking of ale and other less desired substances.
The city, remains to be beautiful, but has begun to lose some of her charm, mystery and hold of us. In fact, it’s completely gone, washed away by the cry of the ocean as she demands for us to return to her like a jealous lover.
Edouard is eager to return to her. He has always had a connection to the wilderness of the waves, the spray of the ocean salt as he would throw himself in beneath her depths during our time in the Summer.
For myself it’s still confusing. I am newly returned to the sea. As a child I loved her with all of my heart, believing that maybe the ocean loved me back. We had a special relationship, a bond, a trust-
Until that trust was destroyed beneath the black depths. I realized in that moment I was not special. I was not immortal. I was just a human child, naive, ignorant, self important and so very fragile. My body was hurled and twisted below, unable to reach the surface, unable to breathe- unable, unable unable-
Time passed, I grew, and my trust of the ocean weakened but my respect remained.
No one is favoured by the sea.
There is a deep power that resonates through my body as I am in the ocean. I remember a time when I swam in the south of England in my early twenties as a dare for a friend in October. The water was freezing, the depths the blackest I had ever seen. I was like swimming through ink, the clouds dark and murderous above our heads as the seaweed ran past our bodies.
There was a sincere fear in me that my pride wouldn’t allow for me to turn away from. Thousands of years of respect, love and fear from men, women and sailors alike was submerged in these waters. I could feel it within my bones as my teeth chattered.
But I am ready to love her and try again.
I do not rush to the shore as Edouard does. His love is so pure and evident that I believe the ocean rejoices at the sight of him. I do not throw myself within the waves like others.
So I continue to remain in my apartment, working day and night as I fight my way back.
I know she is there, waiting for me as I am waiting for her.
I’m determined to bring people along on this journey. I’m determined to try and change people’s lives. To show them there’s another way. It’s like finding the gateway to Narnia and trying to take others there before the doorway is lost. To prove to them there is a world of fantasy out there. There is a freedom that can be taken.
I want to share an adventure with others. I want to have that moment in my heart that I have always been looking for. To find the placing I have always been dreaming of, thinking of, seeing and feeling in my heart as I dream.
And as you follow my journey I know that I’ll never do this alone.
I know we’ll do it together.
We’re a wolf pack, hunting the dream together.
So let’s begin.
Want to help? You can help towards our boat fund by donating here!
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You can also help another way by buying one of my books or visiting my shop of tees and gifts! I hope you like! Much love!
Thank you as always! Lizbef x