Renan

My dream is to embark on a journey across the globe in a camper, while my wife dreams of sailing around the world. So, let’s delve into the world of sailing.

We drove our beloved Mitsubishi Van from Europe to Mongolia and back, covering 20,000 kilometers—a journey we loved. However, time has caught up with us, and now we crave creature comforts: a comfortable bed, a shower, a toilet, a kitchen, a living room, air conditioning, heating, and high-speed internet. We’ve grown accustomed to these luxuries, and we don’t want to give them up. Yes, we are old, and that’s fine. A camper, as much as we adore it, simply cannot provide all the amenities we now rely on. To satisfy our needs, we’d require a substantial vehicle—perhaps a truck or a bus weighing 10 to 20 tons. Some adventurers opt for such vehicles, despite the hefty fuel consumption and environmental impact.

Alternatively, a sailing vessel weighing 10 to 20 tons—with a sail, of course—can effortlessly meet our requirements and allow us to navigate the world at no cost for fuel.

All we need to do is learn sailing—a skill as old as human civilization itself. How difficult could it be? Enter Renan:

Renan, captain of the sea, will be our skipper for a week in Ibiza. At 62, Renan commands a Comar Comet 12 from the 1980s. He has a lady friend in every port and likes partying hard—a detail that might become relevant later in this story.

We meet Renan on Friday evening at Marina San Antoni in Ibiza. We start with rum, the best rum in the world, obviously. Renan is Cuban. The ship, though old and weathered by rough seas, appears to be in good and safe condition. Renan shows us how to operate the toilet, that’s our training.

The first night, we stay in the marina and are annihilated by mosquitos. The next day, we head out to Cala Benirrás, known for its hippie beach. Renan’s lady friend runs a yoga school there. We sail upwind—or rather, we use the engine. The waves make me seasick, and I struggle to keep from throwing up.

In the evening, Bea joins us, and Renan cooks Cuban-style chicken and rice for us, claiming it’s the best in the world. Bea explains that the hippies won’t be playing their drums on the beach today. Even hippies need a day off to recover from their free-spirited lifestyle, I suppose.

Renan takes Bea back ashore with the dinghy and isn’t seen again until 4 o’clock in the morning.

Yesterday, I learned the importance of taking anti-seasickness medicine before the symptoms start. Today, we are able to sail, and it is truly relaxing: the boat sways peacefully in the wind, and the waves splash quietly against the hull. I could get used to this. Whatever pills Renan gave me, they are working wonders.

We sail back to Platja des Jondal. The plan was to continue sailing around Ibiza, but the wind is not in our favor. Additionally, Renan’s Cuban friends are anchored at Platja des Jondal, which might be influencing our course.

Once we anchor in Jondal, we need to go ashore because we’ve run out of essentials: beer and cigarettes. Renan shows me how to operate the dinghy and lets me drive. It’s terrifying and, due to the waves, not as easy as it looks.

After dinner, Renan leaves us to play dominos with his friends. Once again, he returns at dawn.

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

Next day Renan is sick. Shit happens. He’s spending all day in his cabin. That’s an opportunity for us to see how we feel when we do what liveaboards do most of the time: Chilling at anchor. It’s awesome and not one bit annoying:

Next day Renan is still sick and can’t get up. We are concerned and urge him to go see a doctor. Maybe he got dengue fever from a mosquito we where bitten by in the first night. Yes, they have dengue now in Ibiza. But he insists that it is nothing and he will be fine tomorrow.

Because I’m bored I want to take the dinghy to drive around a bit. Renan showed us the basics a few days ago and he says I can have it. After a few rounds the engine dies and I can’t get it to start anymore. Luckily I’m close enough for rowing back to the boat. But now we are trapped on the boat with no way to leave and a captain that is just not able to do anything.

Next morning Renan is still sick but able to leave his cabin. He says he has to give up and will drive back to Ibiza harbour where a friend of his is located that can help us.

Indeed his friend is very well organized and apparently a professional. Renan says we can stay a board for the rest of the week, but he can’t sail anymore. We say thanks, but no thanks: we prefer to leave now and move to a hotel. He insist, that we have to pay everything. It’s really not his fault that he got sick, these things happen and we have no problems so far with it, but this is very lame of him. We pay it anyways, as we came to the conclusion, that he needs the money more then we do. Also we kinda like this guy, and we pity him a bit. We fear he doesn’t want to go to a doctor because he can’t afford one, or because he does not want to hear what the doctor will undoubtedly tell him: stopp drinking.

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

• We can definitely imagine to live a board such a ship. A more modern one, with a bit more space. It is peaceful, and if you find ourself somewhere it is not: You can just leave.
• Be very careful with the alcohol, everyday there is an opportunity for a party and an excuse to get drunk. This can become a bad habit and many liveaboards have a problem.
• We can not learn sailing this way, we have to go to a professional sailing school with instructors who know what they are doing.
• Never, and I mean never, go to Ibiza in peak season.

The rest of our vacation we stay in a hotel in Sant Antoni and explore Ibiza with a rented car.