Saint Helena

Saint Helena, 3 February 2016

The 900 meter high extinct volcano disappears slowly behind me. Its barren outskirts do not justice to her lush green interior. An island with mixed appearence that seems to have a similar effect on its inhabitants. Fiercely proud of their land they call themselves the 'Saints' and mean every word of it. They long for the old glory time when more than 1000 windjammers would visit the island every year to get fresh suppies on board, or the time when the Flax industry was striving and provided work for many. Now the remaining Flax is a pest out of control and threatens to indigeneous plants. They sense that the new airport, that will open in a couple of month and planned to transport 10x the population every year into their paradise, will change their way of life again. They fail to act on the potential however, used as they are to a laid back way of life that does not require locks, where people will pay their bills, sometime... with just a promise. Restaurants and shops are open when the owner feels like it and somehow all customers know when that will be, except for the outsiders like the yachties that frequently find themselves in front of a closed door, or empty shelves as the good stuff has just been sold out. The few tourists that arrive have to secure a place on the boat of the Royal Mail Service, the only lifeline of the Saints and that arrives once a month on its round from Cape Town, to the Saints, Ascension and the Falklands. Months in advance the few places on board are booked. All goods arrive in small containers of which the ferry can carry just about 20 piece. Imagine how much stuff had to be shipped in just to build the new airport (including the concrete for the runway)! The most perilous part of the trip of the containers is the last 100 meters on a lighter between the anchorage of the RMS to the shore where sometimes a big swell makes the task of the workers really dangerous.

We yachties can call a small ferryservice to bring us ashore and then have to carefully time our step to the shore to coincide with the top of the swell wave crashing onto the dock. I did it once a little to careless and landed on the bottom of the ferry with a bumped head and a dent in my image as a fearless sailor.

Stamper and Pelagie on a mooring

Four VIP's have and do inhabit the island: Napoleon every house where he ever stayed is very well known and pointed out by the Saints. He does not seem to have become friendly with the locals, it is more a curiostity to them. The emperor was acompanied by two of his generals who prepared his garden of Longwood house. It now features a one meter wide footpath called Avenue Marechal Bertrand. We did visit his grand grave, not anything like the Dome des Invalides in Paris, but for St Helena... A magnificent entrance way, a flagpole and a gaurd house and then the now empty grave in a circular amphitheater. All is maintained by the second VIP, the French consul. His only task seems to be to keep the memory of the great Frenchman alive. I envy his job! He has the largest mansion on the island, just a bit bigger than the British Governours house. Of course VIP nr three lives there and nr four too, claimed to be the oldest living land animal, a Seychelles tortoise of 180 years old. I do remember having seen a tortoise in the Galapagos of 250 year old, but nobody wanted to hear that in St Helena.

The governers house or better a part of the garden

The oldest land animal gets a special diet

Some British cruisers grumbled that they should never have allowed Napoleon's exile be that grand.

Napoleons last home

Napoleon's empty grave

The new airport, built at the cost of 0.5 Million $ per inhabitant, not yet ready to use.

When Julie decided she no longer wanted to continue her travels on board Stamper, everyone knew already about it except me. I learned that when I wanted to check out and was told I was under embargo. As captain bringing her in I was also held responsible to make sure she gets off the island. It was not enough to state that she was free to join me on the onward travel on Stamper. In the end Julie bought an open ticket on the ferryboat and would try to get a lift on one of the other yachties heading for the Caraibean. I sincerely hope she gets that lift. The reason for her leaving are not clear, she states three different causes.

I am now a solosailor heading in one big leap to Sint Maarten, nearly 4000 nautical miles north west and 30-40 days of sailing in light winds. This is 1000 miles further than any trip with Stamper so far. The first couple of days as a solosailor suit me well. Let my mind clear, come in a Zen state where time and distance are unimportant and I concentrate on sailing Stamper is a calm and controlled way. The routine becomes the focus, around that my past, my family and friends are part of the now. When the 40 days become too much, I always have the option to make landfall in Ascension, Brazil, Suriname or one of the Caraibean islands. On day 8 into this journey the first 1000 nautical miles have passed under Stampers keel. We are getting into the low wind area of the ITC, InterTropical Convergence zone, where the tradewinds of both hemispheres meet and are forced upwards. I will be glad for every bit of wind we get for the next 800 miles as the distance is too big to cross with the engine on. So far so good.

Some not published fotos from Cape Town: table top mountain from sea in a partial mist.

Kirstenbosch Botanical gardens