World, hold on

After almost a month in the harbour of Las Palmas it was time to leave. It was early December and the winds and the current decided it was time to hoist sail and steer for the West Indies. There was not much to do in Las Palmas for an 11 year old – I was not aloud to walk around by myself because the city had a reputation of high crime rates at the time. The crossing would take between two and tree weeks – a long time in a 37 ft sailing boat. A long time without seeing land.

My father believed in learning by doing, and that by giving my brother and I great responsibility would teach us to lead from early on. We all had to steer, so we had four-hour shifts, day and night. I remember so clearly those night shifts I had by myself. The black night was lit up by millions of glimmering stars showing us the way, and I remember the magic of the noctilucales when the waves hit the hull.

During the day I had occupied my self by looking up at the blue sky, admiring the great white clouds and imagining that they were shapes of animals, faces, countries. I remember the dolphins that played by the tip of the boat, and the sleeping whale that I almost hit when steering one afternoon. And I remember all the fly fishes my brother and I would collect on deck in the mornings and the pelican who needed a rest in our cockpit after flying for a couple of days from land. I remember brushing my teeth in salt water to save fresh water, and hanging on to a rope tied to the boat when I had to take my morning shower. I would scream, petrified that there might be sharks in the water. I remember how the breeze got warmer as we approached the West Indies, and I remember finally seeing land: the emerald green island of St. Lucia.

We spent almost half a year sailing among the magnificent islands of the Caribbean. We sailed to the Islands of Antigua, Turks and Caicos, Cayman Islands, Bermuda, Aruba and Curacao. We celebrated the carnival in Trinidad where I danced in the streets wearing a shiny costume with feathers and beads to soca music, calypso and steelpans. We sailed to Cuba and crossed the country in a car from Santiago de Cuba to get to Havana in time for the first of May. I will never forget the day I stood on Plaza de la Revolución together with thousands of Cubans, listening to Fidel Castro preach for his people. I didn't understand much, but I understood enough. The square was silent as a chapel; everyone listened and looked upon him with clear eyes, full hearts.