A part of my latest trip to Norway and Iceland consisted of going from the former to the latter, but not by plane! No, Rouven, the brain behind this trip, had cooked up something quite different: we were going to cross the ocean between the two by sailboat. The ship upon which us three, along with up to eleven others, would embark was called the Tilvera, ‘Existence’ in Icelandic. Besides a sailing youth camp where I spent a week learning how to sail a tiny boat on a water reservoir, I had zero experience crossing an ocean. Yet as an aspiring adventurer and wanting to branch out from just doing stupidly long hikes, it didn’t take me long to agree to go along. Also, because of (predictable) reasons described further down, I failed to write anything during the trip itself, so this is all from memory.
Day 1
On a sunny day in Bodø, we headed down to the pier and boarded the Tilvera, welcomed by the other passengers and Dai, the first mate. To my surprise, I learned that 5 of the 7 others were Dutch. I really had traveled above the arctic circle only to be surrounded by Dutch people again. Dai showed us to our tiny bunk bed cabins where we would live for the next 6 days. Each bed had a storm blanket attached to it, which prevented you from falling out when the weather got rough.
Afterwards our captain emerged. Heimir (what a name!) looked like a viking version of Willem Dafoe, with an accent to match. He and Dai gave us the safety briefing and general information on how the trip would work. They had divided us in groups that would alternatingly take shifts steering the ship and watch for wildlife. I, Pavel, Rouven and Gijs, our fourth member, got midnight to 4 am and noon to 4 pm. This meant we would have to stay up until 4 am every day and sleep in the afternoon. The rest of the crew consisted of Chris, a chatty American and Amaya and Cynthia, a Spanish couple who also served as our (excellent) cooks during the journey.
Once we were all settled in, it was time to head off. Heimir did not want to waste any time as there was a good weather window he wanted to take advantage of. The first leg of the journey would not take us away from Norway yet. First the Tilvera set course to Reine, a village on the Lofoten, for a pit stop.
While wandering the ship, I was perplexed to find most of the instructions and signs to be in Dutch, up to the language on the navigation program on the ship’s computer. I later learned that the Tilvera used to be a Dutch ship, which also explained why the majority of the passengers hailed from there.
My biggest fear starting this journey was seasickness. While I love scuba diving, my body has a strong aversion to anything having to do with the surface of the ocean. So much so that I got seasick while surfing once. Knowing this, why say yes to an endeavor that involved crossing an ocean one might wonder? Well, in the worst case it would make for a great story. Besides, maybe this time would be different and my body would have time to adjust. Definition of insanity and all that. I came prepared however: with me I had enough pills to completely knock out my vestibular system for a solid week plus some wristbands that are supposed to alleviate nausea (still no clue if those actually worked though).
And on that first day, I felt alright. We were sitting up on deck, enjoying the sun and the breeze and I was ready. Since there was not enough wind yet, the sails remained furled and the Tilvera was propelled forward by the engine.
Later in the evening, the Tilvera docked at Reine. Only a couple of days ago, Rouven and I were hiking opposite the fjord that bordered the tiny town. During our short walk in the town, I marveled one last time at the mountains of the Lofoten. I was going to miss this place. Pavel, to his dismay, had discovered my dislike of board games some days earlier and now tried to probe what I thought of chess and sudoku. Luckily, I didn’t kill our friendship right then and there, since I don’t really care for either.
Rouven and Pavel went to the local bar for one last beer. I, not willing to part with another 12 euros for a single drink, stayed at a bench outside with Gijs and Fabian, one of the German passengers. Some of the local kids passed by in a small motorboat. One of them had the urge to keep jumping in the freezing arctic water and did so 5 or 6 times. I really admired his tenacity. The three of us wondered if owning a motorboat here was akin to having a scooter as a teenager back home.
Finally, it was time to head back to the boat. A short while later, we set off for the open sea this time. For some time, we followed the Lofoten westwards. Flocks of seabirds swarmed in front of the rugged coast. I spent most of my time on deck, enjoying the views and the warm sea breeze. That and I wasn’t going to tempt seasickness by going downstairs. Every hour, each of us took turns steering the ship. That first watch was pure joy. As the Lofoten receded in the background, we stared at the midnight sun slowly dropping, but not submerging into, the ocean.
Tired but satisfied, I went to bed. It took me some time to get used to the rolling of the ship, but luckily I was exhausted from the long day, so it didn’t take too long to fall asleep.
Day 2
In the morning, all land was gone from sight. What a weird sensation. Suddenly we were just a tiny, fragile speck traversing a vast emptiness, with a few courageous seagulls still flying alongside us. At noon, Pavel decided we had to have a name for our watch. Quickly he came up with ‘the Puffin Pals’, which the three of us immediately accepted. Helge, one of the other passengers, had brought flowers from Reine. Dai put them in a cup and tied it to the compass above the steering wheel during our noon watch. They would miraculously survive the entire journey.
I had thought it would be me, but that afternoon Jantien was the first to fall victim to seasickness and puke. Not perturbed in the slightest however, after she had gotten rid of her lunch and breakfast, she picked up her book again and resumed reading. This would happen multiple times during the trip.
Since one name was not enough, we needed a second one for our night watch. I christened us the ‘Midnight Mermaids’. Puffin Pals by day, Midnight Mermaids by night.
Day 3-4
The third and fourth day were pretty uneventful. Because of the way the shifts worked, I rarely had a chance to talk to anyone besides Rouven, Pavel and Gijs. The others were often asleep or resting downstairs while I was awake. The exceptions were Boy, Jantien and their 10 year old son Gilles who were often sitting upstairs. Of the seagulls that had followed the Tilvera since the Lofoten, only two remained, which we had taken to calling Steven and Gulliver.
The watches were my favorite part. Sitting outside with the others, watching the horizon and the sunset. Listening to the lapping of the waves. It was at those times I most understood why people sail. On the computer screen inside the upstairs cabin, we could see a map with the course we were following to Iceland as well as the line that showed the route our ship had followed. Heimir dubbed us ‘the Straight Crew’ on account of the line looking so straight whenever we held our watch.
Pavel talked to Amaya and Cynthia about why they like sailing. ‘The freedom’, was their answer. I only partially agreed with this. On one hand, traveling on sea being what it is, you’re not bound by any obstacles besides storms to go in any direction you please. As opposed to something like hiking, where obstacles like mountains, rivers or a lack of water restrict you. On the other hand, you’re still confined to tiny spaces for the entire journey and stepping outside of the ship is hardly a good idea. The sea is in the end a hostile environment to humans and traversing it is a constant battle against the elements. Six days felt like a long time for me to spend cramped with so many other people. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to spend multiple weeks on a boat on end.
‘Oh oh’, Dai ominously announced during our night watch on the fourth day. She studied the computer screen. I was sitting inside to warm up a little before it was my turn to steer. I looked up to her questioningly. ‘We’re about to hit some rough weather’, she said. Oh.. So far I had not puked or felt seriously ill and I was trying to keep it that way. I even felt slightly better than on the first two days, giving me the impression that my body was getting used to the constant rocking of the ship. Maybe it would be fine! Surely it would be.
Day 5
I ended up not being able to get out of bed for a full 24 hours. Only to go to the bathroom did I muster the courage to get up a couple of times, race to the small toilet and jump back into bed before the nausea overwhelmed me.
It started early in the morning of the fifth day. Where before, the movements of the ship would gently sway me in bed, this time I got properly smashed into the hull occasionally. I swear I even jumped up from bed a couple of times. The seasickness pills did not help one bit, besides giving me weird chest cramps. Pavel and Dai, the kind souls, came to check up on me every now and then and brought me water and food. That day, I alternated between superficial sleep and regretting my decision to ever set foot on this ship.
Day 6
But, like all things, it eventually passed. On the sixth day, the weather calmed down slightly (although definitely not completely) and I felt better. The boat still rocked more than it had in the earlier days, but somehow I could handle it better now. I even managed to read a couple pages in my book, a feat that had been impossible up until that point. Simon claimed he had seen land already, but since I suspected the old Dutch man was often full of it, I doubted his story. A while later however, I saw it too. A darker gray mass standing out against the low clouds. Iceland!
Steven and Gulliver were soon accompanied by some Icelandic companions. Crazy that they flew with our ship the whole way.
Before making landfall, we skirted Puffin Island, which was swarming with the iconic birds. We had seen individuals floating on the water earlier that day, but here they were everywhere.
Finally, after a good 1600 km of sailing from Bodo in Norway, the Tilvera slid up to the pier of the small town of Husavik and docked alongside the many whale watching vessels. ‘Sailing an ocean crossing’ was officially off the bucket list! A welcome party was waiting for us. ‘Welcome home Tilvera’ said a banner a few of them held. I did not expect this and I still don’t fully understand why they were there. Maybe Heimir was more famous here than I knew. Or this kind of crossing was rare enough to celebrate. In any case, I was very relieved to once again feel concrete beneath my feet.
Pavel, Rouven, Gijs and I took a short walk in Husavik before the final dinner we would all have on the boat. The clouds hanging low over the town, Husavik looked kind of sad. If it wasn’t such a whale watching hotspot I doubt tourists would have much reason to come here. I was also dismayed to find out there was a PwC office in town. Much like microplastics, it seemed like every place on earth, no matter how remote, was getting infected with consultancy offices. My excitement however for all the stuff we had planned in Iceland over the coming 2 weeks was quickly growing, no matter how forlorn this place looked.
After the last dinner, everyone got the chance to talk and reflect on what the journey meant to them. During Simon’s long winded turn, I was not surprised in the least to find out he was an anti-vaxxer (yes, that has nothing to do with sailing, yet he somehow managed to sneak that in there).
But that was not the end yet. Heimir had arranged for us to go to GeoSea, the geothermal sea baths in town. Perched right next to the ocean, relaxing in an outdoor hot bath was pure bliss after such a long journey. Plus a great opportunity to properly wash up.
‘This is the life!’ Gilles shouted as he jumped in. And he wasn’t wrong.
The four of us stayed until midnight, soaking in the sulphury salt water, when the baths closed.
In the morning, we bade the Tilvera farewell. The ship would continue onwards towards Greenland, but our journey pointed inland.
Looking back on the trip, I have to say I am really, really glad I did it. Being on the open ocean for that long and participating in the day to day life on a sailing boat is something I will never forget. But even casting aside the seasickness that plagued me every day except the last, sailing is hard. Taking care of the sails, steering, having your sleep schedule disrupted due to the watches. Or just even the strain of never being on fully steady ground. I felt like I put in a lot (and I wasn’t even a real member of the crew) but didn’t necessarily get as much out of sailing as I do out of for example hiking or scuba diving. Therefore, for now I abandon any dreams of owning a sailboat and sailing to Antarctica. Instead, as long as my knees aren’t worn out, I will stick to land based adventures. In my head I’ll often travel back to those watches with the Puffin Pals though, when we watched the midnight sun set and listened to the wind.