Landfall

Land. Earth. Terra Firma!

The fullest day yet.

Last night on watch, land was visible in the light halos the islands make on the horizon. They could be mistaken for moonlight beams between gaps in the clouds. But when you look closely that seems wrong. The light shines not from above but as a reflection on the water, even though land itself is still not yet visible. See if you can spot it above.

My last watch was wonderful. I barely slept, my mind racing and nerves going. The excitement of reaching land kept me alert and energized. I spent my four solo hours staring in long spans at the stars and lip-sync serenading a stormy petrel that came to sit on the stern of the boat. He stayed for the whole four hours - I must be pretty good.

The sun came up in a huge burst, sending streaming rays across the sky between big fluffy clouds. Ah, yes, this is what a sunrise looks like in my mind’s eye. Land was there, at first a whisper and then a big green inescapable presence. Lush rolling hills and low, scattered white buildings along the turquoise bays. We passed many scuba boats on our way into the bay.

We are out of most everything at this point. Running on dregs of lunch materials and protein sources. Definitely happy to be coming to shore - but the rest of the watermelon, fresh from the fridge, and half a can of Coke was a fun landfall treat.

In order to reach the marina in Sint Maarten’s Simpson Bay, we would need to pass through a drawbridge that has set scheduled for inbound and outbound traffic. We were hoping to make the 1130 opening but were quite literally 5 minutes late. So, instead, we dropped anchor right in the bay and started the process of deep cleaning the boat. At 1500, we were finally able to enter the bay and dock at the marina, Nam Thanh’s home for at least a few weeks.

After a little more cleaning and logistics, Jan and I went for a walk, seeking cold drinks and AC. We found no AC but stopped for cold drinks from a grocery store, then a smoothie from a little pink juice shack, and later a fruit tart from a French Bakery overlooking the lagoon. We sat, shared our tart, and took a second to let it sink in. We’d made it. We’re here. A rainbow greeted us as we looked across this narrow part of the bay. There we say Nam Thanh, and we realized we’d walked over a mile to maybe come 100 yards, guesstimates to the top of the very convenient dinghy dock just for people like us. Time to bring out the dinghy.

The little pink juice shack, by the way, enchants me. The woman who runs it looked me in the eyes and greeted me with the biggest smile asking me how I was in a way that seemed to me that she genuinely wanted to know. It felt strange to make such direct eye contact but completely friendly and warm. It made me wonder when the last time was that I’d been intentional about making eye contact with a stranger. She makes smoothies out of basically any fruit you’d imagine to find on a Caribbean island and, when you order, she highly recommends adding milk. The smoothie was exceptional: creamy, cold, fresh. Will be back to get another. Sint Maarten’s license plates read “The Friendliest Island.” Apart from the slightly chaotic driving culture, and my general lack of experience with other islands, I would wholeheartedly concur.

Back at the boat, after building the dinghy and dodging some scattered rain, the three of us went out in search of a dinner spot along the bay. While many of our original ideas didn’t pan out, we ended up docking the dinghy somewhere kind of random and walking through town until we came across an Indian restaurant. We feasted on samosas, shrimp tandoori, spicy paneer-laden curries and much garlic naan. Sint Maarten’s food scene is incredibly multicultural. Steak houses, shawarma, crepes, sushi, pirate-themed beach bars, high-brow French cuisine, Caribbean & seafood, Burger King and Dominos, and every other restaurant seems to be a Chinese food joint.

After a good meal, some planning for the few days we have left together ahead of us, and a walk back to the dock, we had a short dinghy ride home in the dark, guided back to Nam Thanh by the distinct warm glow of the Vaan logo on her beam.

We’ve come such a long way…

About 2200 NM since Cabo Verde. Then 800 NM before that from Tenerife. We’ve spent 4 weeks together now, 17 days of which are attributed to the Atlantic crossing itself. On the Atlantic crossing, we motored for maybe a total of 3 hours, otherwise our mileage was entirely powered by wind. As far as our generator? We only ran it a handful of times, using a mere 8% of our available fuel. Otherwise, we generated energy with the electric motors and solar. What a ship. What a ride. There are still things to do. A boat to clean, some small things to fix, a friend to see, an island to explore, a conclusion to write…

For now, freshly showered, I’m going to read until I fall fast asleep - through the night and with my hatch wide open, perfectly cool air blowing in - knowing I just did something worthwhile and wonderful.

E