Lerwick, Shetland Islands

Current Location: Shetland Islands, UK
Current Coordinates: 60°′″N 1°′″W ( just barely west of Greenwich)
Listening: I've Got a Feeling, by The Beatles, off of Let it Be (1969)
Next Stop: Stornoway, Scotland






Gitana finally parted with Norway on Tuesday morning June 24 around 0945. Our passage from Maloy, Norway to Lerwick lasted 38.5 hours. We encountered Beaufort Force 5 and 6 winds that mainly came from the NNE/ E directions. A stagnant high pressure system sitting off the coast of Norway gave us decent conditions. In-flight meals included a chicken stew and a penne pasta dish that went over quite well with the two other guys. Those of you who are aware of my past culinary deficiencies would be both proud and surprised to know that I have become quite a good cook. Or maybe, the other guys are just telling me that so they don't have to endure being thrown around the galley by waves while trying to chop up onions and potatoes that have to be thrown into a boiling pot of water that is fortunately on gimble atop the stove. Cooking at sea should be an olympic sport.

During one of my watches just as twilight had fully set (finally it gets dark!) in I saw in the distance what first appeared to be a large ship. However, after I took a bearing on the object on the horizon, I noticed that it was not moving. I also observed a more intense than usual glow coming from the object which actually made me a bit nervous. I had this mental image of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, thinking that perhaps I was sailing into a nuclear test site or something apocoplyptic like that. My fears subsided as soon as Jack popped his head up from the hatch and pointed shouting, (much like a little child spotting an ice cream truck) "there it is, the bastard!" "Bastard" sounded like this--"bahhstud!" I had forgotten Jack's eagerness to see the North Sea oil rigs up close and was delighted both in his satisfaction and with the reality that I was not about to meet my maker. The closer I came to the rig the more it looked like an enourmous skyscraper jutting up out of the water all aglow like a Christmas tree. It was one of the most amazing things that I have ever seen. I couldn't help but select John Williams' "The Imperial March" on my ipod as we sailed by the rig that looked so much like something out of Star Wars.

(photo borrowed from the internet)

We arrived in Lerwick, Shetland Islands at 2330 (11:30 pm) on Thursday night June 26. After cleating everything off and securing the boat we all went to sleep, exhausted after 38.5 hours at sea. Glad to finally be out of Norway and thrilled to be in Great Britain once again (2001, 2003, 2004), I shouted "God Save the Queen!" from beneath the hatch before closing it and crashing in my berth.






The next morning I came uptop and noticed that it felt like fall. The air was crisp and it was about 55 degrees-- a welcomed change of climate coming from Norway where it felt like winter. To hammer this point home, think of what Virginia feels and looks like during the month of February--that's what Norway was like virtually the entire time I was there with the exception of a few days where the sun's rays were intense enough to burn my hands as I scrubbed the deck. Hands still on the mend. It seems as though the seasons are moving in reverse as we move further south--Norway was winter, the Shetlands feel like fall, and I'm sure that by the time I am in North Africa in late July that it will feel like summer.






The harbor is located conveniently in the center of Lerwick. Shops, cafes, fishermen selling their catch, and strolling families all line streets that wind through the town's center in a grid-like fashion. The Union Jack flies high above the Port Authority terminal from which ferries bound for the Orkneys and points further south leave on a daily basis. Shopkeepers, waitresses, and other townspeople are nice, all classic embodiments of the British sensibility and disposition. We ate dinner at the Queen's Hotel the first evening where I had lamb for the first time ever. At the disappointment of my Skipper and senior crewmate, I refused to eat haggis. It's interesting that the male fascination with making/forcing one another to eat vile things doesn't recede with age. All the "dudes" out there know exactly what I'm talking about. After dinner that evening I went walking around the town looking for an authentic pub--not a nightclub, not a bar, or anything similar to the meat- market diveholes found in most large cities. I was searching for the real experience here. The way one determines the autheticity of a pub in Great Britain is to listen to the freqency with which patrons use the word "bloody" and/or how often they drop the "F" bomb. After sticking my head into the Douglas Arms for only a moment, I decided that the language was sufficiently offensive and decided to enter.




(photo borrowed from the internet)

Warning: Op/Ed piece begins here.

I was spotted for an American the minute that I walked into the door--Newbies, Carhart pants, and a North Face backpack all contributed to my walking advertisement American consumer aura. I figured out very quickly that not many Americans come to Shetland. I was a sort of a novelty in this setting, and quickly became a reluctant ambassador and defender of all things American when all that I wanted was a pint of real Guinees Extra Cold beer. But 5 pint deep Nathaniel Smith saw other reasons for my visit to his regular watering hole on this particular evening. "Where in the States do you hail from?" he correctly asked from an almost uncomfortable distance across the bar. "Richmond, Virginia, about two hours south of Washington, D.C,"I replied, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. I also explained how I got to the Shetlands and that I was on a 2.5 month sailing trip from Norway to Sicily. But Smith wasn't too interested in my voyage and quickly shifted the topic of conversation to politics, more specifically to the recent European tour of our President. "You know your man was just in the U.K--stood side by side with Gordon Brown, the bastard!--again, "baahstudd!" I was quick to correct Smith that while George Walker Bush might be the President of my country, that he was most certainly not "my man." The conversation went further, but I'll spare you the heartburn.






Smith appeared to be at least 80, old enough to have been marked by or perhaps even a part of the Second World War. Here I was in his pub--for him, a personifcation of American relative youth and virility. For me, Smith was an aged (and slightly drunk) European Statesman, a personification of post war European Politics and attitudes about war and the desirability and use of military power. Smith used words that I won't reiterate here to describe the incongruency of our President's willingness to start war with his reluctance to fight in one. Again, all I wanted was a cold beer, but what I got was conversation about the implications of American foreign policy.

What I saw with Nathaniel Smith and what I believe to be paramount for all of Europe is a general distaste for war and the politics of good vs. evil-- the irrefutable antithesis of the policies set forth by the Bush administration. But President Bush is not alone responsible for this kind of thinking.






In the United States much is written about the "Greatest Generation"--Americans of Smith's generation who served in World War II who rid the world of Adolf Hitler and Japan, known as the "axis powers." Men and women from this period did exactly this--they saved the world from the forces of undeniable evil and oppression. They are absolutely to be credited for this. I believe, though, that their legacy (while an important part of American History and character) is what's affecting our relationships with the rest of the world. Unfortunately, we can no longer view the world through their eyes. Some powerful members of the baby boomer generation including Mr. Bush have inherited from their parents this kind of "good vs. evil" attitude about the world. In fact, Bush's use of the label "axis of evil" to describe the governments of Iraq, Iran, and North Korea is no doubt an appeal to this sort of oversimplification of global politics.


My experience with Nathaniel Smith in that pub brought me to this conclusion: The notion of "American Exceptionalism" that inspired this nation at its inception is now compromising its relationships with the rest of the world. The Bush administration has gone to great lengths to perpetuate the American Post WWII tendency to consider the world in clear cut binaries--good vs. evil, right vs. wrong, friend vs. enemy ("you're either with us, or against us"), and perhaps most significantly, Christian vs. Muslim. The total effect of this is a foreign policy that has alienated Europe (certainly including our drunk European Statesman Mr. Smith) and much of the rest of the world and also one that reveals the ironic weaknesses of a nation that boasts the most powerful military machine in the history of the world.

Again, I love America deeply and I believe strongly in its future. This is precisely why I am eager to see us change our foreign policy, amonst other things. It is also precisely why I have chosen to move to Florence, Italy to study foreign policy this fall.

Note: Op/ Ed piece ends here.

For a while I've owed you a more detailed description of John Charles "Gentleman Jack" Nye, the other crew member aboard Gitana until we reach Cork, Ireland. Jack is 84 years old but has the energy of someone half his age or less. He appears to be in good health, so much so that it is hard to believe that he is truly as old as he claims to be. But his age shows when you look at his hands. Jack's hands were toughened shoveling coal aboard a British destroyer in the Pacific during the Second World War and by working with metal and heavy machinery in the years following his stint in the Royal Navy. The same hardened hands now tend the same helm, lines, and rigging that I am responsible for aboard Gitana.

As I've said before, he's a real Dickensian character who finds commensurate truth in the Neoclassical wit of Alexander Pope and the many bawdy limericks and maxims that he recites regularly. He also loves to wear his Canadian tuxedo--fully aware of the implications of this fashion in popular culture.









Mike told me that Jack doesn't talk about his time in the Royal Navy during WWII unless you prod him. Last night at dinner I did just that. Jack opened up about his time in the war, telling of Japanese Kamikaze "dive bombers" crashing into his ship, leaving Sumatra in 1944 after being relieved by American forces and about two of his friends who jumped overboard after learning that the Luftwaffe had bombed their families and destroyed their homes back in Great Britain during their absence. The most amazing fact here is that Jack was 17 when all of this began. In describing all of this Jack still spoke as if the events had happened yesterday, the memories and awesome images coming back to him some 65 years later in a small Italian restaurant in the northernmost territory of his native country.


Jack eventually left he UK because he was put off by the rise of the Labour party and the expectations amongst the British public that "the government owed them something." He tells the story of a bar fight in Surrey, South England on July 5th, 1945 when he refused to acknowledge the election of Labour Party candidate Clement Atlee who replaced Winston Churchill. Shortly after the barfight Jack moved to Canada where he started Nye Manufacturing LTD, a metal fabricating business that his two sons now run. By the way, Jack won the barfight.







Above all, the most important thing that you need to know about John Charles Nye is that he is at peace when at sea. Even after his tragic experiences during the war and an unsuccesful and nearly fatal attempt to cross the Atlantic by himself (to mark his 80th birthday), Jack can't wait to be by himself on watch, looking out at the horizon at oblivion, curious and unafraid of what's ahead. I sense that this trip for him is also a pilgrimage--a fearless journey into his past where he is for one final time confronting his successes and failures, his demons, reconciling the uncertain future conjured up by his youthful imagination with the path that he has followed and the choices that he has made in the many years since his first experiences at sea in the Royal Navy during WWII.

It's late Saturday night now and the pub that i'm typing in has turned into one of those diveholes I described earlier in this post. It's time for me to go.

We're likely not leaving here for Stornaway before Tuesday. We've got winds coming from the south and the southwest at Beaufort force 5 and 6 through Monday and there is a low pressure system that might be moving in later that evening. To clarify, Stornaway is about 210 miles southwest of Lerwick via the North Minichs, part of Isle of Lewis. I'll do my best to give more information tomorrow, but for now, I'm being overwhelmed by the crowd of party goers overtaking this pub. Cheers!

"There has been a good deal of comment—some of it quite outlandish—about what our postwar requirements might be in Iraq. Some of the higher end predictions we have been hearing recently, such as the notion that it will take several hundred thousand U.S. troops to provide stability in post-Saddam Iraq, are wildly off the mark. It is hard to conceive that it would take more forces to provide stability in post-Saddam Iraq than it would take to conduct the war itself and to secure the surrender of Saddam's security forces and his army—hard to imagine."

Paul Wolfowitz, House Budget Committee testimony on Iraq (February 27, 2003)

So Long, George

Current Location: Maloya, Norway (poor weather, forced to stop)

Current Coordinates: 61° 56' 18 N, Longitude: 5° 6' 48 E

Next Stop: Lerwick, Shetland Islands

Listening: "Deacon Blues," by Steely Dan off of 1976's "Aja," ABC Records

George Carlin died today. Though he was most well known for his controversial comedy routines about religion, politics, and sex, there is another less popular dimension to the man that I hope you will join me in celebrating today. George Carlin was a decent man, an honest man, a human being of rare and good will who never hesitated to speak his mind or express what was in his heart with the simplest and most direct (and often offensive) language. Carlin battled drugs and alcohol his whole life, but managed to get ahold of himself in his final years on earth which ultimately made him a more intense, honest, and hilarious person. Carlin's choice of material was fearless, carefully deconstructing, criticizing, and poking fun at the flaws and quirks of the human condition.

Much of what I wrote in my last entry was inspired by an essay Carlin wrote in the wake of his wife's death. In fact, I almost incorporated it into the body of what I was writing. Here it is now.

This is the George Carlin that I'd like to remember. A passionate man who had a quick wit, a way with words, and an honest charm.

Rest Peacefully, George. Heaven is a funnier place.

"The Paradox of Our Time," by George Carlin

"The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness. We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things. We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less. These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete... Remember; spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever. Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side. Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent. Remember, to say, "I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind. AND ALWAYS REMEMBER: Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away."

Amen George.

On Passion

Current Location: Alesund, Norway

Current Coordinates: 62°28'10"N 6°9'30"E

Next Stop: Lerwick, Shetland Islands

Listening: "The Divided Sky," by Phish, 10/31/94 Glens Falls Civic Center

Quick General Update:

I'm still in Alesund, although it looks like we'll finally be clearing out of here tomorrow around noon. Mike and I checked the forecast this morning and it looks like we've got decent conditions ahead, at least ones good enough to push us across the open ocean to the Lerwick, Shetland Islands. The passage will take us approximately two days of straight sailing. For those of you paying close attention (thanks by the way), expect another post on Wednesday or Thursday of next week.

Our autohelm is finally fixed after a week of waiting around on Frank in Oslo. We got the device back and did everything we could yesterday during a 4 hour day trip around Alesund to make it malfunction. There was no "link failure" between the autohelm and the GPS, so we're assuming that there might have been a weather related problem with some of the electrical contacts between the two devices that has now sorted itself out.

We sail to the Shetland Islands tomorrow. I'm very excited to finally get to Scotland.

The Reality of Passion

Moments after boarding Gitana almost a month ago now, Skipper Mike handed me an essay that Robert Pirsig (Zen and the Art of Motorcylce Maintenance, Bantam, 1975) had written called "Cruising Blues and Their Cure" that was originally published in Esquire magazine in May of 1977. In it, Pirsig calls into question the popularity of sailing as an "escape" activity and supplants conventional romanticism with concrete, realistic images of what life at sea is really like. He writes, "Everything is breaking down on this boat," and "money is running short," and "the people back home were friendlier, and most notably and ironically,"all this is just running away from reality."

However, ask Pirsig points out, all of this calls into the question the true nature of reality. In our society the word "reality" informs a lifestyle structured by a 40-hour-a-week 9-5 job where car payments, mortgages, "reality" tv shows at night, online dating, and church on Sunday define the perameters and the dimensions of our existence. But I believe that our complete subjectivity to this way of life is a symptom of a much greater problem.

I believe that in America we have replaced passion with convenience.

But before we can understand our misunderstanding of reality, let's look more carefully at another word. Hold this spot.

In theological terms the word "passion" literally means "suffering." When we talk about the Passion of Christ, we're referring to the pains and suffering He endured for sake. We're told that Jesus Christ suffered for humanity because of our imperfection, because of our mortality and because of our fallibility (See "Abba-Solution"). Islam, too has a word that approximates the same meaning--hold your breath--it's "jihad," a word that has taken on all sorts of sensational and zealous meanings in America since 9/11. But "jihad" literally means "struggle," which invariably involves some degree of suffering. Now that we've arrived at a more thorough (but perhaps less user-friendly) understanding of the word "passion," we're ready to deal with my claim.

In America we have gone to great lengths to minimize the amount of passion in our everyday lives. The internet and vast media that we subscribe to effectifvely distance and protect us from eachother. There is less real interaction and very little willingness to move beyond our comfort zones (e-zones?) where we might encounter an "unsecure connection" with a real live person. (I debated using the word insecure before connection, but I fear that I'm starting to sound too critical.) We have replaced real adventure with web surfing, emotion with emoticon, down-time with friends with downloading alone, and so on. In our relationships we have replaced commitment with "let's see if this works out," "us," with "me" and "I." We prescribe drugs that even us out, lift us up, drag us down, and as always, we drink too much. We do all that we can to smooth out the ups and downs, turn down the volume, and lessen joy and pain that are neccesarily constant companions in life's journey. I'm fearing that the total effect of this kind of reality is that we are replacing love with apathy, life with death, and much needed passion with convenience.

But the sea has waves, and like it or not, this is where we're forced to endure ups and downs, weather storms, and trust shipmates with our lives. If things get nasty, (and they do) we're forced to manage with the resources and conditions present--there is no "logging off" or "reset" button. There are no numbing agents, no synthetic highs. We are forced to deal with our failures, our weaknesses, our regrets, and yes, our successes too. The permanence of the sea forces us to weather the storms of our ephemeral lives. And, thankfully, it forces us to be passionate once again.

If you go back to my description of Skipper Mike, you'll see where I've described him as possessing a "stoic spirituality" that I initially mistook for cruelty or callousness. After having been at sea with him, I now have a much greater appreciation for Mike's spiritual nature and for his understanding of what reality requires of us.

"When the doors of perception are cleansed, man will see things as they truly are, infinite."

--William Blake, English Poet, 1757-1827

PS-- If you haven't done so already, do yourself a favor and click the link above in the "listening" section that says "The Divided Sky." Some of the fugue stuff going on at the beginning is a bit esoteric and hard to follow but if you endure (or if you fastforward) you'll watch the guitar player channeling divine energy during the last 5 or so minutes of the clip. That, my brothers and sisters, is passion.

Alesund

Current Location: Alesund, Norway

Current Coordinates: 62°28'10"N 6°9'30"E

Next Stop: Lerwick, Shetland Islands

Listening: "Beauty of the Rain," by Dar Williams

General Update:

Alesund, Norway is a quiet and tidy port town that looks like something out of a Disney movie. The entire city burnt to the ground in 1904 when gale winds blowing from the sea fueled the flames that were consuming the town eventually destroying all of the old wooden buildings. The city was rebuilt in the "Jugendstil" or Art Nouveau architecture style, which was largely a reaction the the academic art of the 19th century. The style is "characterized by organic, especially floral and other plant-inspired motifs, as well as highly-stylized, flowing curvilinear forms" (Wikipedia).

Our passage from Kristiansund to Alesund went relatively smoothly (no sea sickness). We encountered WSW and SW headwinds but managed to stay on course by motoring 95% of the way. Being eager to fly his full sail suit, Skipper was less than satisfied with the conditions at sea. After leaving the harbor at Kristiansund, the first 35 miles of our passage were in the open ocean. The day was clear and sunny and the clouds were huge--part of a high pressure system that was responsible for the pleasant (minus the wind direction) weather that we were enjoying. After reaching waypoint 6 of 18 we had made our way into the famed Norwegian Fjords which were absolutely beautiful. Sheer cliffs plunged sharply into the sea on both sides creating the illusion that Gitana was being swallowed into the landscape. Luckily, she wasn't. The picture below is of the mouth of the Fjord where it is widest.

During a lull I had a very brief conversation with Mike about his "tonal" problems, which went surprisingly well. This happened shortly after Skipper began barking at Jack (who has trouble with numbers and spatial things) trying to teach him how to interpret the GPS and use it to determine and plan courses. I simply pointed out to him that it is often difficult to absorb information when an instructor is shoving the lesson down your throat. The power structure dissolved for a moment. Mike looked at me slightly stunned and then conceded that in the past, "women have told me the same thing, Paul." I guess that makes me either female or correct, which in my experience can often mean the same thing. With this experience I've learned that I would make a terrible soldier, deconstructing and questioning everything all of the time. Don't blame me though, I'm a child of the American "self-esteem" movement. Haha. Also, I'm not trying to demonize anyone, but I am trying to make my account as verisimilar as possible.

We entered Alesund harbor at 2345 Sunday night and managed to find a berth at a floating dock in the center of the town. We tied up and went to bed, exhausted after a long day at sea. The above image is the view back out into the sea from the entrance of Alesund's harbor. The below image is where Gitana is "parked" this week. That's her there in the foreground on the right.


I've been in Alesund now for three days and I'm ready to move onto the Shetland Islands where the dollar is stronger and the beer is cheaper. A typical draft beer costs 65 kroner--that's 13 bucks. This is truly the most outrageously expensive country that I have ever been to. Unfortunately, we might be stuck here for a while for two reasons. First, our autohelm has not been working (Mike describes this predicament with much more colorful language) so we've sent it down to Oslo where some brute named "Frank" is supposedly fixing it. Jack thinks that 'Ol Frank is using what he likes to call the "BFH" approach--the "h" stands for hammer--to fixing our faulty gadget. Let's hope it comes back soon in one piece fixed. Our second problem is the weather. We need strong N or NE winds to blow us over to Scotland, but the forecast is giving us nothing but S and SW winds through this coming weekend. Oh yeh...and because marine electricians and engine technicians are doing some maintenance on Gitana, the galley is closed which means that I have to eat all of my meals in town. As stated, everything is astronomically priced. I'm learning how to stretch a Kroner.

I went up on top of Aksla today. This is the large hill that overlooks the city. The panoramic views remind me of the views from atop Folegandros and Santorini in the Greek Isles, except the weather is much different. It's about 55 degrees and rainy right now. See below.

Being in Norway has given me a much greater appreciation for Norman and Viking Culture and its impact on the west. History teaches us that the Vikings were these uncivilized and barbaric oafs that sailed around and pillaged, destroying everything that they got their hands on. In part, this is true. But history does not tell us how efficient and organized the Nor-men were, how disciplined and tough they were, and what great sailors they were. These guys really knew what they were doing.

History also tells us that the emergence of a quasi-feudalistic system throughout Scandanavia and the arrival of Christianity both led to the demize of the Viking people. But the Vikings didn't simply vanish. Vikings were absorbed into the larger culture and became Danish shop owners, Norwegian carpenters, English sailors, Icelandic fishermen, and so on. Come to think of it, the Normans (of the Norman conquests) were vikings, too. The Normans swept across what is now Great Britain and quickly established themselves as a civilized people capable of creating order. Norman influence even spread to Wales--which is where my surname--"Evans" comes from.

That being said, part of my journey up here in Norway is trying to find the Viking deep within me. The beard is a start, but I think I'll need a few more pounds and perhaps a "BFH," as Jack would say.

"Abba-Solution"

On the occasion of his 50th birthday one of the best men I know called together his friends and family for dinner at an Italian restaurant in Richmond, Va. Not being a particularly outgoing or loquacious individual, this man had always preferred to float at the periphery of the room at cocktail parties and at family gatherings like this one and had almost never put himself at the center of attention. But on this particular occasion our man stepped to the forefront and spoke from his heart with class, humility, and deep sincerity to the room full of guests.

"Each of you in this room is very important to me and I am lucky to have you in my life. This is why I want to ask the following of you--please forgive me."

The room was completely quiet as our speaker paused and glanced around the room, almost making eye contact with each person. The weight of what was said effectively set in.

"Also, please know that because I love you--I forgive you. "

At this point I glanced around the room and tears were streaming down the faces of dinner guests both young and old, friends and family members, women and even some surprising tears from typically phlegmatic grown men. Time froze, and the almost tangible emotions that were floating around the room fused together into the most magnificent moment of reconciliation.

It almost sounds like fiction, but this moment unravelled exactly as I described. And I can assure you that our speaker is real, too--he's my father, Chuck Evans.

When you're a young boy, you think your father is the strongest person in the world, like some sort of domestic Heman. He's an everyday superhero, an infallible immortal who is capable of removing the boogeyman from your closet only moments after ridding the entire world from the forces of evil (Cobra, girls with koodies, Darth Vader, etc) and doing all of this just moments before whipping up the best batch of french toast you can imagine.

But it's only after you begin to weather the ups and downs of adulthood (I would say manhood but what i'm describing happens to both sexes) that you begin to fully appreciate and love your father for both his strengths and his weaknesses. When this kind of maturity sets in, you come to see not only the mythic character that he was while you were growing up. You also begin to love him because of his fallibility, because of his mortality, and in the case of this story, because of his courage to admit his subjectivity to these two facets of the human condition before his family and friends.

Since he is and has always been my primary male role model, I'm going to follow my father's example here. I've lived enough now to have made some mistakes (you know who you are), so here goes......

Each of you reading this blog is with me on this journey and I love you. Please forgive me for my transgressions, for when I have been selfish, for when I have caused hurt either intentionally or unintentionally. I am thankful that you are a part of my life.

Also, I forgive you, too.

Come to think of it, all of this rather reminds me of another Fatherly supplication.......

Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name,

Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven,

Give us this day our daily bread,

-And Forgive Us Our Trespasses-

-As We Forgive Those Who Trespass Against Us-

And lead us not into temptation,

But deliver us from evil.

For Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and Glory,

Forever, and Ever.

Amen, Dad. Amen.

Happy Father's Day. I love you.

--Paul

Kristiansund

Current Location: Kristiansund, Norway (340 NM southwest of Bodo)

Current Coordinates: 63 07 09 N 007 42 45 E

Next Stop: Alesund, Norway (75 NM south)

Listening: "Ultravisitor," by Squarepusher (see "PS")

Quick General Update: I am now in Kristiansund, Norway after my very first sea passage of 340 nautical miles. I am very tired, and I believe that the sea sickness that set in within hours of leaving Bodo has cost me a few pounds. I'm feeling resilient though, regenerated by new scenery and the probability that Gitana will be in Scotland within the next week or so. Even if Scotland doesn't have better weather, at least it will cost me less than 12 bucks for a decent draft beer. We encountered Beaufort force 6 seas on the way down which is consistent with 25-30 knot winds. We are now exactly 1/4 of the way to Cork, Ireland. Skipper MJ continues to be a hardass, an even more exaggerated version of himself at sea. Our autohelm malfunctioned about 20 NM's outside of Bodo so we were forced to steer by compass the entire distance between the two ports. This meant that Skipper was barking at the helmsman from the hatch above his berth beneath the cockpit every 5 minutes for about 57 hours--"you're off course!!!!!"

I'm learning quite a bit about Gitana, my shipmates, navigation, and myself along the way.

There is much more that I'd like to add, but I'm limited by the availability of internet access and the amount of energy that I have left after a day of keeping up with the pace of things. For instance, I need to tell you all about John Charles "Jack" Nye--the third member of our crew who served in the Royal Navy during WWII and then moved to Canada where he started his own steel fabricating business. Jack is 84 years old and has the energy and enthusiasm that you would expect from someone my age. An eternal optimist, Jack finds commensurate truth in the neoclassical wit of Alexander Pope "hope springs eternal" and the often base and offensive language of the many limericks and bawdy maxims he recites regularly. I can't do him the justice that he deserves in just one paragraph, so wait for another entry on "Gentleman Jack" to come soon. A real Dickensian character, that man.

I also need to tell you about the experience of being at sea. Quite a bit has gone through my mind during the several 4 hour watches I have done so far. More to come once I reach Alesund.

--Paul

"The computer can't tell you the emotional story. It can give you the exact mathematical design, but what's missing is the eyebrows."

--Frank Zappa, 1940-1993

PS--Think of your fondest memory of being young and then listen to this.

The Garth Factor

Believe it or not, Garth Brooks is HUGE up here. Last night I was walking back towards the boat on the waterfront and a band of drunken Norweigan kids were swaying arm-in-arm singing,

"She had a need to feel the thunder To chase the lightning from the sky, To watch a storm with all its wonder, ragin' in her lover's eyes.."

...all of this with Norweigan accents adding another layer of humor to the situation. This song is called "That Summer" and it is off GB's 1992 album "The Chase" which produced 3 top ten hits including this one. I remember Garth's heyday in the states was at least ten years ago so it was a surprising blast from the past to hear this song again in Bodo, Norway of all places. Garth can be heard in pubs throughout Bodo on a nightly basis. ".....Ain't goin' down 'till the sun comes up...!"

Turns out that Norweigans not only pay attention to American pop culture but they are also very interested in American politics as well--for the exact same reasons. I overhear conversations about the Democratic primary fight that sometimes get heated, although I don't understand what people are saying except for the occasional "Obama" or "Clinton." The tabloid newspapers that are placed in the most prominent positions in the newstands are the ones with pictures of the two American candidates with animated and often furious looks on their faces. They pay as much attention to who's up and who's down as we do and as much press coverage is dedicated to candidates' affiliations with controversial religious figures and unfatithful spouses, and so on.

It's interesting to be able to watch America from an outsider's perspective. When you're an American at home in the States your perception of reality is clouded by corporately owned media networks with their own agendas and fluff (but enjoyable I might add) tv shows like "American Idol" and "Who Wants to Marry a Dysfunctional Alcoholic Chef? (I made that one up)" and so on to the point where it's nearly impossible (or desireable) to try and make sense out of the disorder and overstimulation. The problem is that we get our entertainment and our news through the same channels and media and subscribe to whichever sources reinforce our own personal biases. We then fall into a sort of lull, where we either become impervious or indifferent to what is really going on and to what the real consequences and implications of America for the rest of the world are. We fail to see how other people see us.

But it's interesting when you discover that people in other countries have the same problem sorting out America. It's as if America is for Norweigans (and for the rest of the world including Americans themselves?) the greatest soap opera where politicians and pop stars are of equal interest and newsworthiness, where American Sensation, Sex, and Scandal is packaged and repeatedly sold to us (U.S.) driving us further and further into financial and moral bankruptcy. They can't wait to find out what entertainment and information we're going to subscribe to and they can't wait to see exactly how we're going to package, spin, and buy into it. They get a real kick out of watching us buy, mix, and drink our own kool-aid. This self-destructive process is the real entertainment for the Norweigans and other Europeans that I've encountered up here. I then see them celebrating images--like Ol' Garth--that perpetuate the stereotypes that we spoon feed to them--images of cowboy entertainers and cowboy politicans.

But really, I do love and believe deeply in America. And I also happen to really like Garth Brooks--especially when I'm with drinking beer with a large group of friends in the summertime. But as I sail throughout Europe this summer and as I study in Florence this fall and into next spring, I hope to encounter people celebrating images of America that do us justice. I'd like to see images that truly represent American virtue and uniqueness, images that celebrate American equality and opportunity, hope and possibilty.

Dr. Phil--yet another American Cowboy--always says that "you treat people how to treat you," and I think that occasionally he makes a good point. That being said, I think that it's time for America to rethink how we are portraying and presenting ourselves to the rest of the world. As a de facto American Ambassador, I intend to represent an America that is willing and prepared to renegotiate its place in world politics and world culture--one that believes in its capacity and obligation to make the world a better place for all.

“Myths and legends die hard in America. We love them for the extra dimension they provide, the illusion of near-infinite possibility to erase the narrow confines of most men's reality. Weird heroes and mould-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of ''the rat race'' is not yet final.”

Hunter Stockton Thompson, 1937-2005

"The floggings will continue until the morale improves!"

I've been in Bodo for one week now and the boat is still not in the water. Bodo itself is nice, with beautiful scenery, nice people, and pleasant cafes and pubs that stay open very late because of the 24 hour a day light. But the experience aboard Gitana has been entirely different.

Mike Johnson is Gitana's skipper. He's a sixty-three year old man with a booming voice and a face well weathered by years at sea. Grey hair that may have once fallen down into a pony tail has thinned and retreated to higher latitudes. His eyes are steel blue and he has enormous hands that do not shake. He stands 6'4" tall and has a lean build. He has dined in Cuba with Gregorio Fuentes--Twice. (C.f. Hemingway's "The Old Man and the Sea"-Fuentes is the real life "old man"that inspired the novel). He gets a rise out of waking his crew up every morning by playing an old Edith Piaff tape loudly over Gitana's PA...."Non, je ne regrette rien...."

But the most important thing you need to know about Skipper Michael Joseph Johnson is that he is a hardass. Mike spent six years with the U.S. Army paratroopers in the early 1960's before moving to the UK where he worked as a boson (boatswain) training RAF recruits on British merchant ships. He is the only American to ever have done anything like this--work for a branch of the British navy without actually being a citizen. His knowledge and skill aboard ship is matched only by his eagerness to play the role of skipper, a role that seems to remind him of his place in the world and also one that satisfies his need to impose some sort of order in his life and within the lives of those aboard his vessel. There is a stoic discipline to Skipper Mike that can be mistaken as cruelty or callousness. But the moment you step off the boat and into a more casual setting the power-distance dimension vanishes and you are spending time with one of the coolest dudes you'll ever meet.

Unfortunately for me, however, my time with Mike Johnson over the past four days has been entirely aboard Gitana. Shortly after Piaff (see above) and a cup of what Mike likes to call "Cowboy Coffee," I have been ascending topside in my foul weather gear and rubber boots and immediately falling to my knees where I remain all day--scrubbing Gitana's teak wood deck with steel wool and small brushes. My hands are bubbled up with blisters from sun (don't read this part mom) and my knees are scraped up, but the past few days getting intimate with teak has awakened a new spirituality (or at the very least, humbleness) in me. I've been thinking quite a bit about the spirituality of posture while srubbing. What was at first an unintentional genuflection has become an outward manifestation of a faith in a Power that I believe has sent me to this remote place of Norway aboard a ship run by a captain who might be crazy by all normal standards.

Perhaps Skipper Michael Joseph Johnson's stoicism derives from an early and complete understanding of this kind of physical spirituality, or perhaps he's just as I said--a hardass. I'm eager to understand more about him and I'm confident that I'll acheive this gradually over the next 2.5 months aboard Gitana. A real character.

So with my first post I left a quote from Aleksander Solzhenitsyn. Here it is again:

"Long periods of well-being and comfort are in general dangerous to all. After such prolonged periods, weak souls become incapable of weathering any kind of trial. They are afraid of it. Yet it is a fact that difficult trials and sufferings can facilitate the growth of the soul. I know there is a widespread feeling that if we highly value suffering this is masochism. On the contrary, it is a significant bravery when we respect suffering and understand what burdens it places on our soul. "

Solzhenitsyn wrote this as a prisoner in a Soviet labor camp run by the Gulags. I certainly do not presume to compare my experience to his, but I will say that spending four days straight on my hands and knees probably been the closest I've ever been to forced labor.

I posted the quote on Friday--the morning before I started scrubbing. In retrospect, I guess I have to eat my words.

Stay Tuned--Paul


"...Those who see sailing as an escape from reality have got their understanding of both sailing and reality completely backwards. Sailing is not an escape but a return to and a confrontation of a reality from which modern civilization is itself an escape. For centuries, man suffered from the reality of an earth that was too dark or too hot or too cold for his comfort, and to escape this he invented complex systems of lighting, heating and air conditioning. Sailing rejects these and returns to the old realities of dark and heat and cold. Modern civilization has found radio, TV, movies, nightclubs and a huge variety of mechanized entertainment to titillate our senses and help us escape from the apparent boredom of the earth and the sun and wind and stars. Sailing returns to these ancient realities."

Robert Pirsig, "Cruising Blues and Their Cure"
Esquire Magazine, May 1977