Renan

ARRR! Me dream be t’ embark on a grand voyage ‘cross th’ globe in a horseless carriage, while me wife dreams o’ sailin’ ‘round th’ world, says I! So, let’s dive into th’ briny world o’ sailin’.

We sailed our beloved Mitsubishi Van from Europe to Mongolia and back, coverin’ 20,000 kilometers—a journey we loved, by Davy Jones’ locker! However, time has caught up with us, and now we crave creature comforts: a cozy hammock, a shower, th’ poop deck, a galley, quarters, air conditionin’, heatin’, and high-speed internet. We’ve grown accustomed to these luxuries, and we don’t want t’ give ’em up. Aye, we be old, and that’s fine, says I! A camper, as much as we adore it, simply cannot provide all th’ amenities we now rely on. To satisfy our needs, we’d require a massive vessel—perhaps a truck or a bus weighin’ 10 to 20 tons. Some adventurers opt fer such vessels, despite th’ hefty fuel consumption and th’ curse on th’ environment.

Alternatively, a sailin’ vessel weighin’ 10 to 20 tons—with a sail, o’ course—can effortlessly meet our requirements and allow us t’ navigate th’ world at no cost fer fuel, AVAST!

All we need t’ do be t’ learn sailin’—a skill as old as human civilization itself. How difficult could it be? Enter Renan:

Renan, captain of th’ sea, will be our skipper fer a week in Ibiza. At 62, Renan commands a Comar Comet 12 from th’ 1980s. He has a lady friend in every port and likes partyin’ hard—a detail that might become relevant later in this tale, I tells ye!

We meet Renan on Friday evenin’ at Marina San Antoni in Ibiza. We start with rum, th’ finest rum in th’ world, obviously. Renan be Cuban. The ship, though old and weathered by rough seas, appears t’ be in good and safe condition. Renan shows us how t’ operate th’ poop deck, that’s our trainin’.

Th’ first night, we stay in th’ marina and be annihilated by mosquitos. Th’ next day, we sail t’ Cala Benirrás, known fer its hippie beach. Renan’s lady friend runs a yoga school there. We sail upwind—or rather, we use th’ engine. Th’ waves make me seasick, and I struggle t’ keep from throwin’ up.

In th’ evenin’, Bea joins us, and Renan cooks Cuban-style chicken and rice fer us, claimin’ it’s th’ best in th’ world. Bea explains that th’ hippies won’t be playin’ their drums on th’ beach today. Even hippies need a day off t’ recover from their free-spirited lifestyle, I suppose.

Renan takes Bea back ashore with th’ dinghy and isn’t seen again ’til 4 o’clock in th’ mornin’.

Yesterday, I learned th’ importance of takin’ anti-seasickness medicine before th’ symptoms start. Today, we be able t’ sail, and it be truly relaxin’: th’ boat sways peacefully in th’ wind, and th’ waves splash quietly against th’ hull. I could get used t’ this. Whatever pills Renan gave me, they be workin’ wonders.

We sail back t’ Platja des Jondal. Th’ plan be t’ continue sailin’ ‘round Ibiza, but th’ wind be not in our favor. Additionally, Renan’s Cuban friends be anchored at Platja des Jondal, which might be influencin’ our course.

Once we anchor in Jondal, we need t’ go ashore because we’ve run out o’ essentials: beer and cigarettes. Renan shows me how t’ operate th’ dinghy and lets me steer. It’s terrifyin’ and, due t’ th’ waves, not as easy as it looks.

After supper, Renan leaves us t’ play dominos with his mates. Once again, he returns at dawn.

Next day we sail t’ Formentera where we have an awesome dinner. Well we don’t really sail much, there be just not enough wind or enthusiasm by our captain.

Next day Renan be sick. Shit happens. He’s spendin’ all day in his cabin. That’s an opportunity fer us t’ see how we feel when we do what liveaboards do most o’ th’ time: Chillin’ at anchor. It’s awesome and not one bit annoyin’:

Next day Renan be still sick and can’t get up. We be concerned and urge him t’ see a sawbones. Maybe he got dengue fever from a mosquito we where bitten by in th’ first night. Aye, they have dengue now in Ibiza. But he insists that it be nothin’ and he will be fine tomorrow.

Because I’m bored I want t’ take th’ dinghy t’ steer around a bit. Renan showed us th’ basics a few days ago and he says I can have it. After a few rounds th’ engine dies and I can’t get it t’ start anymore. Luckily I’m close enough fer rowin’ back t’ th’ boat. But now we be trapped on th’ boat with no way t’ leave and a captain that be just not able t’ do anythin'.

Next mornin’ Renan be still sick but able t’ leave his cabin. He says he has t’ give up and will steer back t’ Ibiza harbour where a friend of his be located that can help us.

Indeed his friend be very well organized and apparently a professional. Renan says we can stay aboard fer th’ rest of th’ week, but he can’t sail anymore. We say thanks, but no thanks: we prefer t’ leave now and move t’ a hotel. He insists, that we have t’ pay everythin’. It’s really not his fault that he got sick, these things happen and we have no problems so far with it, but this be very lame of him. We pay it anyways, as we came t’ th’ conclusion, that he needs th’ doubloons more than we do. Also we kinda like this guy, and we pity him a bit. We fear he doesn’t want t’ go t’ a sawbones because he can’t afford one, or because he does not want t’ hear what th’ sawbones will undoubtedly tell him: stopp drinkin'.

Well, that be not a very successful sailin’ week, we didn’t learn a bit of sailin’. Nevertheless we learned some valuable lessons:

• We can definitely imagine t’ live aboard such a ship. A more modern one, with a bit more space. It be peaceful, and if ye find yerself somewhere it be not: Ye can just leave.
• Be very careful with th’ grog, everyday there be an opportunity fer a party and an excuse t’ get drunk. This can become a bad habit and many liveaboards have a curse.
• We cannot learn sailin’ this way, we have t’ go t’ a professional sailin’ school with instructors who know what they be doin'.
• Never, and I mean never, go t’ Ibiza in peak season.

Th’ rest of our vacation we stay in th’ hotel in Sant Antoni and explore Ibiza with a rented horseless carriage.

Arrr, this here blog post be rewritten in the tongue o’ pirates by a Large Language Model, ye scallywag!