Guadeloupe
The skipper Konstantin made it clear that we should leave Guadeloupe. The catamaran maneuvered between the islands to Jacques Cousteau’s Underwater Reserve. This French marine biologist made Pigeon Island famous when he declared this area one of the world best diving sites. The waters surrounding the island are now protected as an underwater park.
Normally, the reserve would be teeming with divers but not at the time of the pandemic. We saw only a couple of boats in the lagoon. The strong current prevented the catamaran from coming close to the shore. Dmitry ventured into the water while Konstantin struggled to keep the catamaran in the same place. As soon as Dmitry returned on board after a quick swim we sailed away.
The waves started rocking the catamaran when we were in the open sea. The usually turquoise waters of the Caribbean turned grey. I would not call it a storm, just rough seas. A wave would lift our boat, list her to one side, roll under the hulls, then list to the other side and drop her until the next wave again picked up the boat.
My nausea was back. I tried to fight motion sickness thinking that I could last until the next stop not knowing when exactly it was going to be. After 2 hours of seesawing in the heavy sea, I asked Konstantin when we would see land. He said that we were going to Barbuda and would probably reach it around 3 a.m.
Antigua and Barbuda is an independent country which consists of 2 large namesake islands and a few islets. Barbuda, the smaller out of the 2 main islands, was farther from us. Konstantin did not want to stop at Antigua where we could face issues with immigration authorities. It was safer, he believed, to go to the sparsely populated Barbuda.
This meant at least 8 hours more at sea. The wind was cold and strong and I could not stay in the cockpit. Going down to the stuffy cabin would make my condition worse. All portholes had to be closed to prevent sea water from getting in while the boat was moving. I took a Dramamine and hid in the saloon.
Dmitry volunteered to cook dinner. The frying pan bounced on the stove and had to be clipped to it so it would not jump off. We ate and waited. I listened to an audiobook on my phone until it lulled me to a drowsy state. The others were not in the mood for drinks as it was all previous nights. Konstantin watched the boat’s progress on the computer and checked the sails from time to time, the rest just hung around with nothing to do.
I kept glancing on the screen. The average boat speed was 7 knots; the estimated arrival time fluctuated between 2 and 4 a.m. as the wind shifted. The heaving, rolling and swaying continued non-stop. I knew I would not last until Barbuda.
‘Can we go to Antigua please?’ I pleaded with Konstantin. He looked at our 2 other teammates expectantly. They hardly said anything but their faces expressed consensus or perhaps it was how I wanted to see them. Konstantin silently changed the course to Antigua.
We went along a shallow bank. I waited for Antigua as if it was a Promised Land. When the catamaran was in Antigua and Barbuda’s territorial waters, we called the coast guard on the radio and I asked permission to drop anchor in the marina. Somehow, communications with the authorities everywhere was made my responsibility.
The response was ‘yes’. I repeated my request because they said nothing about quarantine or even a yellow flag. Their answer again was a plain ‘yes’. So, we pressed ahead.
With my communication job done, I relaxed a bit and this was when I could not control my stomach anymore. I flew downstairs to the bathroom and threw up, then returned to the saloon feeling weak.
We reached the Pigeon Point marina at 11 p.m. which was a lot better when going to Barbuda. Everyone went to bed, me too. The first thing in the morning would be to clean that bathroom.
