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Brainstorm - In elation of the Caribbean vibration



The Caribbeans must be near, as our nightshift attire is now swimming gear. It’s midday with thirty plus degrees, Soul Limbo from Booker T and the MG’s is playing in the back, when I wake from a nap on deck. A scorching sun is high in the sky above the desert sea.

Quite a lush dessert I must say. Sargasses. Spotted as a lonely twig with some needle leaves a day or so after our rescue, now stretches in streaks that can run on for miles. All around us, all the time, blooming adrift the Gulf Stream.

Some of us read it must be a plague, but toxic in high quantities sounds a little vague. For the nose of a resort guest, washed ashore where they want to rest. More of us ponder, if it might be a wonder. For the earth as a whole, these pine twigs of the sea, must be created after all. No matter how they end, giving oxygen for carbon, before settling in sediment.

This philosophical dialogue is ended when Philippe performs a silly dance after handing the serious sailing over to Jean Marie as he goes to nap. El captain (person behind the rudder) must continuously balance the right wind angle while surfing the ocean swell to keep us well. Well above 7 knots and in front of the What’s Next that is. A perfect moment for me to change into the colors of Philippe and sit next to Jean Marie. Our almost retired wolf of the Champs Élisée is doing an awesome job despite not having much peripheral vision. So when I do this, quietly sitting next to him, he starts to speak French to Philippe me. I reply with a “Oui” or “No” and based on his reaction go for an “eeeeh” or “wheee”. This usually doesn’t go on for long before he starts laughing follow by a “putain Duca!”

We’re fishing for well over a week aboard the Rhapsodie but have come to give it up as of today. Not just because we didn’t catch anything, but more so because our fish-affairs worsened over time. Initially all seemed well as we felt the flying fish pity us. Throwing themselves on deck at night, as a gifts from the seas. Foolishly we trowed a daily dozen back to the blue, alive but mostly dead, spitting their gesture of sacrifice in the face. This must have set some angry blood as their kindness turned to enraged driven assaults last night. Like missiles they now target our cockpit and we duck as they go for our heads. We hope laying down our hooks will calm the situation once more.

With the trade winds still medium strong in our back we haven’t changed the sail setup for days. Doing a mere 6 to 7 knots and with Saint Lucia now 252 nautical miles away: we expect to be there Sunday, at break of day!

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