Mediterranean Voyage: From Mallorca to Sicily

Life’s Initiations in a Sea of Uncertainty:

Attuning to Your Inner Compass

The Sea

I need the sea because it teaches me.
I don’t know if I learn music or awareness,
if it’s a single wave or its vast existence,
or only its harsh voice or its shining
suggestion of fishes and ships.
The fact is that until I fall asleep,
in some magnetic way I move in
the university of the waves.

–Pablo Neruda–

Voyage.  I like this word.  What it signifies, the ambiance it emotes.  Certainly feels like this summer has been one long voyage, navigating seas of inner and outer struggles, while trying to maintain my inner compass set at PEACE.  

The season was an intense one.  I am not the same person I was going into it.  I have traveled to new places, new depths, and discovered much within my own treasure map.  This time away from my London routine has only deepened my inner relationship with myself, continuing the dive into deeper self-love.  

It was mid-June and the “Med Season,” (as it’s called in yachtie terms,) was underway.  The freelance chef jobs started pouring in, and my beloved Mallorca was beckoning me back into her arms.  It meant leaving the London routine and rhythm I had garnered––the novel’s editing flow, weekly writers’ meetups, tango milongas, live Blues nights, and my regular walks in Hampstead Heath.  I would have to shimmy away from it all for an unknown time and season– along with the man my heart still longed for.  But who was I to say no to sea time and fast cash?  My mermaid scales and bank accounts were drying up, so the call to plunge into this adventure proved timely.  

Cooking for ten has its challenges, but all so easily soothed by the view out my galley window, gazing onto the beauty that is Mallorca.  I experienced her landscape like never before, marveling how each corner and cala (cove) of her showed off her unbelievable coast.  All of it was a feast for the eyes…dry rocky scapes, lush, leafy dark-green forest, terracotta towns rising from the mountains’ girdle, sea-stacks molded and carved over time, sapphire and emerald coves cooing to be discovered…

One week charter over, (which oddly felt like a lifetime) … four-day recovery and onto the next . . . I was off to San Remo, Italy to join the next boat as a relief chef.  Two full days of provisioning and we were off, cruising south along the entire length of Italy until reaching port in Palermo, Sicily.  Full-on menus and nonstop days, again only soothed by tired glimpses onto the beautiful backdrop before me.  Sicily boasts lovely islands off its northwestern coast––the Aeolian Islands––with notable places like Lipari, and the infamous Stromboli– where if you’re lucky you can see the volcano spewing lava at night.

We made our way over Sicily’s northern coast, through the Messina straits and around to the popular Taormina, with more stunning views at anchor, while watched over by the distant, Mount Etna, volcano.  After 9 days––which again felt like I’d lived a mini lifetime––the trip finished in Syracuse, guests departed, and I had four blessed hours for my exhausted limbs to explore.  Little did I know the city boasted a rich Greco-Roman history, evident in much of its architecture, as well as plenty of ancient ruins and artifacts.  Later, the crew and I celebrated our freedom, toasting to sunset, and I said my goodbyes.

From there I was repatriated back to Palma for recovery-sloth-mode.  I hopped on a fast ferry from the port, and in two hours was in Ibiza to join my Persian girlfriends who’d just arrived from Germany.  Work hard, play hard…. Eat, drink, dance, sleep, beach, recover, repeat… is pretty much how it goes on this island– and that we did!  

By Monday I was back to Palma for the week and delving into my literary endeavors, submitting my novelette and loads of poetry to literary magazines for future publication… Luckily this efforting turned fruitful… (more on that coming…)  

Next charter from Palma was eleven days, cruising more of the Balearics.  It’s nothing short of fate, the people who enter your path at certain times in your life.  The ones you get placed with in work and end up sharing another mini-lifetime together for the rest of trip.  One great thing about yachting is you will meet different people from different corners of the world.  I got paired with my amazing Malay/Aussie stew, Amanda and a hilarious Captain from Denmark, to complete the dream team!  She ended up being a soul sister and I’m so grateful our paths collided. 

I’ve said it before, internal battles are a real thing…and with the London man maintaining his distance, I was enduring random, unexpected rounds of sadness.  My heart didn’t understand why it couldn’t express the love it felt for the one it loved. Why he could not meet me on that plane.  My mind often toiled, unable to comprehend how when we had such a strong connection and loved each other dearly, it could not be so for us.  It felt like I was in purgatory during the time away, or better yet, in jail…like I was being punished, sentenced to this time of not having what I yearned for.  At times this shadow would creep over me, casting its bleakness over my experience, even when I was in the midst of Mediterranean magic.  Amanda was there for me with her positive energy and presence, and we bonded while lifting each other up and holding space through the processing life was presenting us.  

We set off for Ibiza and docked right in the heart of Old Town.  Day trips were to the beautiful Formentera, a lovely spot to serve guests a fresh lunch on anchor.  The captain really knew his way around and showed guests amazing anchorages and sunset cruises.  It was there at the magical, Sant Josep de Sa Talaia, where we witnessed arguably one of the most exquisite sunsets I’d ever experienced–aside from Greece’s “rainbow sunsets,” and Africa’s safari sunsets.  Something about this place boasted an energy we could all feel and would end up never forgetting.   

Rinse, repeat.  Recover, write, edit.  With four days until my next work trip, I got to enjoy Palma and a bit of the Spanish culture I loved so much.  Beach, live Flamenco music, vino tinto, and girlfriends were just what my soul needed.

I was back to port in Palermo for the last work trip of the season where I’d be cooking for 6 crew and around 8 guests for 18 days straight.  Again, a diverse crew, Italian captain, two Croatians, a Colombian, Mexican, an English stew, and demanding American guests.  Each day brought its own challenges as we were always on the move, keeping to the itinerary and navigating the challenges behind the scenes.  Breakfast service was often chaotic, and I remember one morning in particular where tensions were high.  It was yet another morning when the stews and myself were at our wits ends. The all-so-expensive Miele coffee machine, was acting out again in high-maintenance fashion, refusing to work and putting out cappuccinos after ten minutes, and I too had to get out six plates of smoked salmon benedict all at the same time.  None of my eggs wanted to poach properly, there was a request for more avocado toast, and apparently the egg I boiled the Misses was medium and not soft.  When you’re sleep deprived and your body and soul are exhausted from the fourteen-hour days, the ability to manage stress diminishes and you end up giving into the chaos without a shred of grace.  To top it off I was having a morning wave of intense emotion from unwillingly thinking about my ex.  Rushing, I went to make more avocado mash and plunged the immersion blender into the cup and somehow also into my finger.  The next moment blood is gushing, and the pain intensifying…and breakfast was still not out.  Did I mention it was also the full moon eclipse?  Wrapping a wad of paper towels around my finger, which I feared would need stitches, the girls and I finally got the coffees and the breakfast out . . .

That’s when I gave myself a voluntary time out.  That’s when I realized that I had been giving way too many fucks– all at my own expense.  Along with the “shredding” of my finger, I realized that being too wrapped up in my emotions had made me carelessly hurt myself.  From that moment, I was done!  I cut it loose, cut him loose, cut myself loose, and was freed at last from my shadowy emotional prison.  I took a long hard look at myself and realized all the ways in which I overly aim to people-please––guests, crew––without realizing– all at my own expense, and chose self-love.  Miraculously, I was healed of the hovering cloud, and luckily too, my finger would heal just fine without the need for stitches. Another mini-lifetime was lived.   

The days dredged on, and the only things that saved me were podcasts, music, and the laughter and connection with my stews.  But the most beautiful gift came when we were rounding off the southeastern corner of Sicily and a pod of dolphins showed up to cruise with us.  They were smaller in size, grey backed and extremely playful.  They jumped and twirled in our wake, putting on a grand show.  They stayed with us for probably 15 minutes, moving up to the bow, swimming with expert agility.  That gift was the most extraordinary thing I’d ever witnessed at sea.  

 

A three-hour cruise south from Sicily and we arrived to the Maltese island of Gozo.  I could hardly believe my eyes as I looked up from my galley window to find a dramatic view of high, limestone cliffs––an exotic, rugged beauty––caves and arches etched and carved by centuries of elemental forces.  It was one of those sights where you wanted to stop and stare in awe . . . but alas, I had to get dinners out on time.

That night at anchor, after dinner service was all cleaned up, I snuck away to the bow with my tea, and sprawled on the teak where no one could see me.  Within seconds I heard the sounds of fireworks and looked out to see them blasting away over the main town in the distance.  I later came to find they were celebrating their annual PRIDE holiday. I relished those fireworks, celebrating how far I’d come enduring the challenges pushed my way.

The last days of trip were winding to a slow close, and we made our way to the historic Valletta Grand Harbor of Malta’s main island.  What a grand entrance that was!  I had never seen anything like it.  The first thing you see is a gleaming fortress, centuries-old, of golden limestone walls protecting the city.  Further in rose historic architecture, with Baroque buildings, ornate churches, decorative facades and domes.  It felt like stepping back in time.  We slid slowly past massive moored, motor and sailing yachts and tucked into our berth.

Within each mini-lifetime of each boat at sea I was pushed to grow like never before.  I weathered the challenges joining each new boat brings, adapting to different appliances, different dishes, different places for provisioning, different guest and crew dynamics ––to the best of my ability, that is.  All while overcoming the inner challenge of “a heart on hold.”  A heart longing for its expression, longing for its equal.  The sea truly had been my university––like Neruda says––and in the end I had arrived at my destination of peace and with a much deeper sense of myself.

Love on Hold

All this time a love on hold
Paused between a world of time
Blocked before a stream of longing
The dew gathered in this, the becoming

My heart imprisoned
 A shaft waiting to be screwed, 
A shovel waiting to plow…
If only I’d known how to dig out the roots of you
Gnarled and nestled, comfy in my chest soil

I should have read the fine print
Could have weighed polarities 
Yet it seems my eyes saw only fantasy.
The good, positive, beautiful
Relying on sensations too electric to overlook–
 oh, how your energy spoke warmly/warmed to my skin

You didn’t know?  
I waited for you
Cause that’s what a heart like mine does feeling what’s real.
But even this time away didn’t make you miss me
Avoidance has always been your game
Repress as you may, there’s no denying the karmic tie

Thanks to all this 
 my soil has been ground anew.
Thanks to this love on hold I had to hold
Primed and ready, my grounds fertile,
for all this time I waited, I was being prepared
To discover myself in ways never known
 My care, my courage, my ability for alchemy
An initiation to greater opportunity 

Can you fathom what you have done, putting my love on hold?