Dear readers of this blog,
It is with great pleasure that I offer in flashback story published stuff anyway, an amazing story Transat mode "same same goal different "from what you already know ... to say nothing, or almost ... But let me begin at the beginning ...
There are about a year (yes, it would be in May 2009 if I remember correctly ), a team of some revelers had begun to head across the Channel into a long weekend, but failed miserably ... 2 times: this will remain etched in the annals as "THE" Brighton-Fecamp (Editor's note: contraction of Brighton UK, town of arrival and Fecamp Normandy real city of arrival.)
This text does not tell them story ... well, not quite.
Yes, not quite as it is a part of this team that had decided to postpone it for a tour of one year with the racket. If you have not heard before, it's normal, you were hidden ... shame, perhaps, finally, we do not know too much.
Well, anyway, this time for me, my young tourist landed Paris subway, no way to fail. Yeah, it's damn bad!
In 2 words, I present myself, Fabrizio, the cousin of Adrian (well, one of many), present on the first crossing in which we failed miserably and the farewell party for those who were there (No. 24 in the track). This story is my version of our transatlantic return (embellished, viewed from another angle, categorically denying certain facts and does not budge other incriminating statements).
I was saying, no question, this time not to succeed. The auspices are good: the Icelandic volcano caused me not only 2 hours late, everything is ready, this time it's good! The cheese has survived, no lost luggage, go! Marigot Ferry Terminal Arrival (too happy to negotiate the exchange rate of 1 € = $ 1 charged by taxi) is a cousin ... um ... but recognizable bearded man who greets me. The hullabaloo is worried valve, and it is still on site. Borf, no big deal, walk a bit. We are Saturday night, and apparently on Friday night was very very difficult to digest (one night on the Dutch side of the island).
Sunday, waking at 6am, too motivated to go running, I wake Adrien while others send me gently graze. 6:12, arrive at the top of the fort ... I cry ... 6:30, 6:55 ... ... too hot water, out of pity ... 7:15: Back to the racket. Well, on va y aller plus mollo les prochains jours…
Marigot, son fort, son port, sa légendaire « Flibuste » (LE bar), les ships côté Hollandais, les derniers préparatifs, la dernière bière, la dernière gueule de bois, et Mercredi 12 Mai, départ de la transat retour, au près ! On devrait en avoir pour 4 jours, puis pétole et du portant.
Je me vois obligé d’ouvrir une petite parenthèse sur le près (prononcer « pré », à la mode du Raffût).
Le près, c’est quand on remonte au vent. C’est marrant, il y a de la gîte, des vagues, le vent et les embruns dans le visage, une sensation de vitesse, c’est exhilarating. Yes, but ...
The night is cold, it is wet all the time, we took showers, the vessel is soaked even inside, it bumps, it's still holiday, no way to cook Non non, we Recogne, no way to sleep because it shakes in all directions, short, close, it's funny that the first 24 hours ... Oh yes, and close, even if none of us demeaning to admit, it "promotes" seasick
So we share. The winds should be favorable, allowing us to sneak between tropical waves without much advance to the engine, sea legs, on y croit, on est gonflés à bloc. Le plein de magazines est fait, on a de quoi tenir. Oui mais voilà… 2e jour. Nous venons de finir le quiz FHM du mois sur « Quel séducteur êtes vous ? » (Pour les réponses, voir à la fin de l’article), quand soudain, gros bruit, grosse vibration. Il est 17h et l’étai avant (qui tient le mât) vient de lâcher, arrachant du même coup l’enrouleur du Gênois pour finir dans les filières. C’est la cata, on affale, on fait demi-tour…
Bon… Un petit air de déjà vu… Brighton nous poursuit…
15 Mai, 4h du Mat, arrivée à Marigot au moteur. Tout est fermé until Monday, no repairs possible by then ... Borf, okay, as long as the Filibuster is open. Cultural weekend based on Canal + Multiplex Football (Julien is apparently a regular at the bar), card games, and buvage beers.
Monday is the day of miracles! We did everything, almost everything in the day. Trudge up the mast to the forestay answer or end (14 m, is high in fact), quality repair, yes sir, for less than 20 € from the reel, the sails, hang up and unhook everything and reraccrocher all, phew, it should be good ! We all deserved the Filibusters that night!
Tuesday, May 18: Second departure. Weather very favorable (Yeah, to see). Same scenario: 3 or 4 days to close, then the bearing.
Friday, May 21: (I copied the text message log for this part) "The pillows, clothes, mug any disease stinks. I take: the close is good, but it's even better when it stops "One crew member, quarter 22:30. NB: we are always close, it's wet.
an aside on "disease". Upwind, the boat taking on water, water drop everywhere, windows, roof, floor, in the cushions, clothes. In short, everything is soaked, and ... it has an unfortunate tendency to feel ... call this smell, "the disease". The disease can be cured only by the laundromat. But at sea, palliative treatments for delaying the inevitable, even regain a semblance of life exist, including drying cushion, and washing clothes by hand (as long as they please after drying!). Except that close, these treatments can not be properly applied, and it quickly becomes hellish! We come to pray for no wind (no wind, not normally top) ...
Mais là où ça devient réellement gênant, c’est quand l’eau potable, allez savoir comment, chope la maladie et devient sérieusement impropre à la consommation. On s’en fout, on la boit quand même, faut économiser… certes, mais on a beau être des beaux gosses (voir le film pour ceux qui ne connaissent pas), une eau goûtue au point de sentir un mélange de pneu, de pourri, d’eau noire du port, de sel, et de vieux, mais vraiment surtout de pneu, on s’en lasse jusqu’à risquer la mutinerie ! Heureusement, notre vaillant skipper a eu la bonne idée de mettre l’eau sale en quarantaine après qu’un membre d’équipage atteint de folie passagère a décidé de balancer l’une de ces bouteilles à la mer d’un geste d’une rare violence que nous ne décrirons pas ici par respect pour ce membre (moi en l’occurrence)…
Mardi 25 Mai : miracle !!!!! « le vent se calme, la mer aussi… putain que c’est bon. Par contre, c’est toujours le près. » Notre Skipper, Adrien dans le livre de bord.
Du coup, on fait péter le confit de canard et le foie gras pour fêter ça ! Bien mal nous en a prit ! Les plus chanceux ont mis 48 h à digérer - nos pauvres estomacs déshabitués ! Ah oui, et Saint-Emilion, Grand Cru classé 2002. Il était time! It is almost in the middle of the Atlantic, and it was as close! Besides, did not stop Manu handed at all, and under cover of a sore throat, it dries its quarters!
makes me think that I have not touched the quarterfinals! Every night, in increments of 2 hours (2:30 Now that Manu is sick), a crew member is responsible for the boat and good works.
In practice? It is harnessed in wax in the process of freezing, have to shower, watch the stars and think about all the strange things we never took the time to consider. The quarter 2 and 3 (from 11:30 to 3:30) being the worst, a rollover is considered based 1,4,2,5,3. Yes, like we were not understood nothing, but we did manage it anyway.
between two parts of Blitzkrieg (game of the year 2011, invented on the boat made of raisins and other nuts to the studs, patent filed yet so we still will not give you the rules), cushy reading, swimming (once for the style, in order to say I swam in the middle of the Atlantic with 5000m depth), and other high cultural activities based nap, regardage of Dikkenek (movie of 2006 - personal view 2.7 times during the recliner) on continue à avancer avec de temps en temps un Supertanker au large, qui malgré les supplications d’Adrien à la VHF ne nous lâchent pas une seule caisse de bières à la mer.
Oui mais voilà, un beau matin, c’est la claque…Boum !
Je ne vais pas re-rentrer dans les détails hautement techniques de l’accident, mais plus dans la façon de vivre ça de l’intérieur. Ben oui, le poissard, c’était moi ! Ils me l’avaient bien dit d’ailleurs, y a que avec moi que ça merde (Brighton-Fécamp, l’étai au bout de 1,5 jours, les 10 jours au « pré »), bref, il s’en est fallu de peu que je ne finisse with an anchor around the neck to the bottom of the ocean. It seems there what we were doing the "Satan" on the vessel two centuries ago of that, one who was bad luck. Long live the progress so far as I'm concerned. Tired
a morning maneuver that has a max sauces, I am tab (the real one, not the expression, the trick where you block the ropes) and then ... bam ... According to the memoirs of olives that had wake up (later published memoirs), I literally stolen. I emerge
therefore lying in the cockpit, without knowing who or where I am, ears ringing comme dans le Soldat Ryan. Des gens me parlent, mais je ne comprends rien, je n’entends qu’un bourdonnement. Je tourne les yeux, et vois le regard terrorisé de Julien. Entre temps, Adrien s’est jeté sur moi pour me faire me semble-t-il un point de compression au niveau du crâne. Merde, il a du sang plein les bras et me demande si ça va… Re merde, c’est sûrement un empannage. Quelle tronche peu bien avoir mon crâne ?
Maxi merde, on est au milieu de l’Atlantique, et le prochain hôpital est à 7 jours de mer au moins… Ca y est, j’ai le crâne explosé, comment vais-je m’en sortir ? Et une douleur sourde se réveille dans mon bras… Reremerde! In a jiffy, Adri me a compress using a small piece and a piece of fabric, looks at me with a smile and told me that this is not deep ... Well, you still have verify that I have not broken arm. Ready to remove the wax from my sleeve? Uh ... actually means. I can not feel my arm there. My right wrist is blue, but no open fracture, or broken arm ... Oufffffffffff!
Adri starts to be too happy to have the opportunity to sew me up (thank you cousin!), And me too happy to be alive! Really, it's an incredible feeling. Well, I do not advise you to try as much, but the big banana as a smile in the photo where you shave before I sew, it's not phony!
Well, it certainly will make me a war wound near the front, but at least it will give me a story to tell. If no head trauma, and my wrist is recovering well, we could all laugh about a great beer to Horta and Flores. And that's what we did for that matter, Horta and Flores.
Mis-apart from the worst quarter of my life in many jibes downwind and our Genoese returns last night's crossing (my accident not only earned me two days of sick leave cushy), the end of our Transat is pretty nice, complete with dolphins, hunting for jellyfish floating neon pink (no, we had no illegal substances on board, I can confirm), large dips and surges 6m we look at this with disdain. It's cold, but our reserves are held and rum a nice day:
EARTH !!!!!!!!!!
Finally, large clouds symbolizing the earth.
We leave the baffles, made a huge fart Soundtrack Gladiator, we Oliv jokes spell mythical Melon Melech (out of respect for children who read this blog, I will the spare), Ju continues to rave about me as mythical phrases they also Dikkenek (you might not understand - indeed, nobody outside of the boat was included), Manu out the bottle of Pastis and Adri bursts a huge Cuban cigar ...
is the end, we arrived after a short trip to 17days, we arrive, women, beer, ...!
The following is another story, I leave to those who have also been told, being less lazy than me when it comes to writing.
Looking final word, the sentence would sound fair, would explain in two words all the hollows of my story, which justifies the fact that we have not caught one fish and we are fed tuna and canned sardines, which you communicate the unparalleled taste of rice with ketchup fashion racket, and pasta, tomato sauce rusty - Transat sardines ... Showers rare and painful blows bucket of cold seawater and salty, the sweet smell of the disease (oh no, that I did) , parts of belotte and skat (Belote German) or even asshole feverish, Ju and why it happens always end at -400, dishes by headlamp, cooking harnessed the meadow, our unique and disastrous attempt to get the mainsail spinnaker, all these little things that make a transatlantic what it is, that in saliva, which rill, we do longer, we would like it to last time and again, fat jokes sailor, this outfit is great and I'm missing ...
If you had the chance to sail aboard the hullabaloo, if this good contagious atmosphere took you to the heart, if you remember toast Mista entices, then you also have to understand ...
Fabrizio, live from Paris ...
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