Arrr! With Alex an’ Tom, we already spent a blasted week on th’ SKS practical course a year past. Now we’re settin’ sail fer another cursed week together, this time without a know-it-all sailin’ instructor—just th’ four of us brave sea dogs left alone with th’ wind an’ waves. By th’ barnacled beard of Neptune, we’ll muddle through somehow, or me name ain’t worth a single rotten biscuit!

Arrr! Th’ first few days on this cursed voyage be packed tighter than a canon’s belly and twice as stressful, by thunder! We be peerin’ at ourselves, wonderin’ if we salty dogs be cut out fer a life like this, or if ‘tis time to chart a whole new course afore the sea swallows us whole! Blimey!

Arrr! On Saturday we be takin’ delivery o’ our fine Belize in Lefkas, the scurvy port o’ chaos. Come Sunday’s first light, Sofia storms aboard like a cannonball, and fer three swashbucklin’ days she’ll be standin’ at our side, barkin’ orders as our hard-nosed sailin’ instructor! By thunder, she’ll have us pollywogs reefin’ sails and splicin’ lines ‘til our hands be raw!

Arrr, for our autumn plundering o’ Greece, we set sail by horseless carriage to Ancona, stoppin’ twice for rum and grub, before boardin’ th’ grand ferry to Igoumenitsa! From there, we chart a course deep into th’ Greek wilds, where we’ll lay eyes on our first cursed vessel, arrrr!

Arrr, for th’ past few moons, a monstrous project be stalkin’ us like a hungry kraken in the deep: huntin’ fer our very own vessel fit fer long-haul swashbucklin’ an’ rovin’ th’ wide, blue brine!

Arrr, we’ve hauled anchor and plundered the seas of learnin’ just to figure out how to steer these cursed vessels! Together, we be up to near ten different courses—aye, ten!—plus a whole blasted month on charter ships terrorizin’ the Adriatic off Croatia, and who can count how many barnacle-encrusted books, ramblin’ blogs, rum-fueled workshops, and YouTube scrolls we’ve devoured, arrrr!

Arrr, another wild-eyed scheme fer this sun-blasted summer be a voyage in honor o’ old Giorgo! I laid me greedy mitts on a folding vessel, handed down from me own father, rest his salty soul. This fine canoe be older than a drunken deckhand at port, over 50 years, and finer crafted than any mermaid’s comb! Avast, what a treasure, shines like a chest full o’ doubloons!

Arrr, we be spendin’ th’ blasted summer in our landlubber nest. The sun’s blazin’ like cannon fire and all them scurvy dogs be charg’in a king’s ransom in high season. We flogged our Zurich vessel to muster up enough doubloons for this whole blasted enterprise. With some spoils from that, we snatched up a wee berth in Oberägeri, for by Davy Jones’ barnacles, it be a fair sight up in these Alpine foothills!

Arrr, after near four moons, ten lands, and leagues o’ endless seas, we be droppin’ anchor at home once more. Just in time fer th’ summer holiday shenanigans, by thunder! Hoist a mug o’ rum and let th’ scallywags rejoice!

Arrr, both me and the other scallywag have set foot in Hungary more times than a drunken first mate stumbles to the grog barrel. By th’ beard of Neptune, I commanded a band o’ code-scribblin’ deckhands at Siemens in Budapest, and that salty dog Alex claims distant kin in them Hungarian waters. Blimey!