Visiting Ondine

Sitting here on Sunday night in Bermuda Airport, I’m pondering that
it’s exactly 7 days and 839 nautical miles since I joined Ondine at
Virgin Gorda. Exactly 7 days before that Grant first mentioned Ondine
to me, standing outside the Highbury Barn pub in London – its uncanny
how the trip has turned out as perfect in timings and execution as in
its pure spontaneity. Providence.

For Ondine of course I mean not just the sleek catamaran herself but
the whole Green family shebang – what a team and what a great story.
Best of luck to you all for the remainder of the trip, I’m proud to
have been part of the adventure.

My abiding memories are of nightwatch. You haven’t really seen the
stars until you’ve stood on the deck of a boat at 3 in the morning 400
miles from land on a moonless, cloud-free night. Sharp pin-beams of
light lodged in a vast luminous undergrowth, shades of milky black,
patches of speckled glow, pockets of deep inky nothing. Some familiar
friends – Orion, the Great Bear – the rest a mesmeric forest of
nameless stars and planets just, well, out there.

Like freckles on the sky – thanks Paloma, a beautiful image. And they
are a random scattering. Wise men over centuries have plotted and
named them, imbued them with stories and significance, navigated the
world by them. No need now, they’re just freckles with no purpose,
just a bewitching decorative display.

Many other memories too, for which many thanks to you all. I’ll be
watching for updates on the blog as I return to the reality of my

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