It’s past 9pm when I catch up with Lizbeth and some friends in a bar, in the district of Cours Julien. I rushed from rugby to be on time, so I didn’t take my shower, I’m muddy and stinky when I pass the pub’s door.
Tag: love sailing
I twist and turn in my seat, the stagnant plane air working its way in and out of my lungs as I try and find a vision of peace in my mind. It’s been 27 hours of flying and my eyes snap open as soon as the pilot tells us we’re about to start our descent into Marseille.
Time has come and gone pretty fast here in Australia. I can feel a bubbling of anxiety rising up in my chest knowing I’m going to say goodbye to my folks again.
Another week is gone and I’m no longer in France. I’m in Australia, baby!
I’ve returned from London exhausted. After a 5am start, we got a train back from Nuneaton, to London Euston, to take a tube to Heathrow, to then get a plane back to Marseille, to get a bus to Marseille train station, to then get a metro, so I could walk the rest of the way home.
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!
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!
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