SawasdeeKat

There was a strange sensation leaving Rio de Janeiro, a feeling that sat somewhere between relief and gratitude. The carnival had been everything we expected and nothing we could have prepared for. It was a whirlwind of feathers and sequins, of sweat and samba, of bodies moving as one through streets that throbbed with life. We emerged from that experience blinking into the daylight, lucky to be alive and in good health, clutching our memories like precious jewels. Brazil had

Perhaps they were drugs wrapped in mint clothing. Perhaps it was something else entirely. We politely declined, but he smiled with his gold teeth in a way that suggested refusal was not an option he recognised

The Long Goodbye   wow.. when I wrote the draft for this blog it was about 10 days ago... so much can happen in 10 days which make that subtitle so poingant... (read at the end) The silence on Sawasdeekat had become a living thing. Not the peaceful quiet of a calm night watch, but a dense, prickling fog of resentment that filled every corner of the saloon more completely than any sea mist. The jovial crew who had joined us in Gibraltar were now distant memories, replaced by f

Now being invited to fight a crew member 1,000 miles from land was not my ambition during this voyage (in fact it is probably high on ones worst nightmares… along with leaking boats and power failures but we had those already!) So I just stood there looking at him as he raged on..

The great Atlantic is proving less a challenge of waves and wind, and more one of tangled human currents, and tomorrow, the 24th, promises behaviour that descends from the merely baffling into the truly bizarre.

..and we discovered a curious chain of command: a direct request from Pookie would often be met with a muted resistance,

The Atlantic starts not in the water, but in the mind. For us, it began in a Tangiers customs shed, sweating over a drone we'd decided didn't exist. Then came the orcas, the snapped fishing lines, the mysterious leak, and the 60 bags of gluten-free crisps for a First Mate who promoted himself. Our 2,700-mile blank page was already filling up with salt, egos, and crisps.

I find that panic is a remarkable motivator. I became a portly, grey-haired comet. I grabbed my rucksack, locked up and ran out into the main street.

In that moment, it wasn't just relief I felt. It was a profound gratitude... I (we?) genuinely needed a drink. I believe the term is "a stiff one."

In the adrenaline-soaked silence that followed, I made a classic, stoic miscalculation. The pain was a beacon.

The atmosphere didn't just crackle; it drenched you in pure, uncut electricity. We had, by sheer, beautiful accident, stumbled into the ranks of the Canavall.

The plan was elegant in its simplicity. Slip away under the stars, let the night do the hard work, and wake to the emerald coves of the Costa Rei.

As we fought our way out into the deepening indigo, a surreal spectacle unfolded to our starboard. There, lit up like a floating Vegas casino, was the luxury superyacht ....

The days that followed were a different kind of storm, one that no nautical chart could predict and no engine could outrun. The bright Mediterranean sun was replaced by the relentless, sterile glow of hospital lights, which, rather than enhancing,  bleached the colour from everything they touched.

Time and tide weather the Body's vessel, but it is our own choice that decides whether we set sail for adventure or lie at anchor watching life from the harbour.

hen, the wind deserted us. It didn't just die down; it left a note, moved out, and changed its number. The sea became a vast, oily mirror, leaving us no choice but to motor. For 25 miles, the engines were our only soundtrack.

The Adriatic here shifted through a spectrum of blues that defied simple description. From a pale, milky aquamarine over the white sand to a deep, resonant sapphire where the sea grass forests swayed. It was the kind of water you see on a postcard and assume has been digitally enhanced, but here it was, real and shimmering, cradling our hull like we were floating in a vast, tranquil aquarium.

"Time and tide weather the Body's vessel, but it is our own choice that decides whether we set sail for adventure or lie at anchor watching life from the harbour" Sat here typing this blog I want to first say a big “ Welcome back to Sawasdeekat ”, my personal, and fly-on-the-wall account of our sailing adventures as we (Pookie and I) try to get our catamaran round the world.   We left you last episode in Monfalcone which had been our home, our dusty, industrious nest for the

A Weekly Blog of the crazy and often expensive misadventures of Heath and his MasterChef wife Pookie as they try to sail around the world.

If you recall our last thrilling instalment – a saga involving frigates playing target practice, customs officials with the moral compass of a weathervane in a hurricane, and an engine that abandoned its post with the cowardice of a ship’s rat