From the shores of southern Turkey on the same docks where we bought Tamarisk three years ago, and with no miles remaining in our voyaging plans, there’s no longer any denying that our around the world sailing dream has officially reached its end. Fortunately this end has been a cause for celebration… unlike many exotic pursuits humans might choose to undertake, ours had a clear beginning, an undeniably successful termination, and the most amazing three year experience a human could possibly ask for in between. So in recent weeks we’ve celebrated our circumnavigation with family and close friends, first in Rhodes, and then again here in Marmaris as we’ve been preparing Tamarisk for a new adventure in the hands of a new owner (shameless plug: yes, it’s for sale). So of course this is a particularly bittersweet (perhaps bi-polar) moment… in some ways the highest high we’ve experienced in our voyage, and in other ways the lowest low. There’s a famous quote we think applies particularly well to the moment we find ourselves in today: “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened”.

As we write the final words of this chapter of our lives, we look back on what we’ve learned, how much we’ve changed, and how appreciative we are for the new perspectives we’ve adopted along the way. Overall it’s been an extraordinarily humbling experience… the countless moments of extreme vulnerability in unknown places, with unknown people, or under unknown circumstances is no doubt at the root of this sensation. In three years of voyaging we’ve felt like fumbling amateurs almost every step of the way, constantly beyond the edge of our comfort zone, and rarely feeling any sensation of expertise or even familiarity. That experience day to day for three years in a row of living in an unknown chaos is the one that’s changed us more than any other. It’s forced us to open our eyes and our minds to wider fields of view, forced us to make an endless number of spur of the moment decisions, forced us to adapt, make allies, defend against enemies, break laws, barter with locals, scavenge, repair things, bribe officials, seek shelter, and run like hell. In a word, it’s forced us to sample, enjoy, and suffer a larger part of the human experience than most people will ever get to know. And when we add together our millions of seemingly inconsequential daily experiences, we discover a whole that’s far greater than the simple sum of its parts. The experience as a whole has changed us in one simple but profound way: it’s made us comfortable with the unfamiliar and has put us at peace, despite not knowing what’s going to happen next. That’s a perspective change that we’re incredibly grateful for, and if there’s one reason we’d encourage anyone to pursue their own adventure into the uncertainty of the big blue world, that’s the one.

So the time has come to turn the page and move on to what comes next in our lives. Saying goodbye and moving on is something we’ve become necessarily good at in recent years… circumnavigations don’t work so well any other way. That means this will be our final entry into these pages. We want to extend our gratitude to all our loyal followers who’ve watched our journey, sent words of encouragement, dispensed advice when we were in need, and brought a new dimension to our adventure that was wholly unexpected at the beginning…. your support gave meaning to our voyage, and encouraged us to build this archive that will remain permanently here on these pages.

So to borrow a phrase we’ve used to end countless conversations on the radio with the many invisible friends we’ve met at sea in recent years: Tamarisk Out.

In around 500 BC the Greek philosopher Pythagoras suggested for the first time the idea of a spherical Earth. He lived on the Greek island of Samos less than 100 miles north of our current position in Rhodes. It was the observation of tall ships disappearing over the Mediterranean horizon that first arose suspicions about the prevailing flat earth assumptions of those times. 150 years later, another Greek philosopher Aristotle provided the first convincing proof of the round earth theory using observations in the sky, such as the differing positions of stars when viewed from different locations on land, and the shape of the shadow cast onto the moon during a lunar eclipse. But still it remained a radical and non-sensical theory until many centuries later in 1521, when a sailing expedition led by Ferdinand Magellan finally proved with undeniable certainty that the Earth is indeed spherically shaped. Magellan himself did not survive the voyage, but one of the five expedition boats did… they sailed a ship so far west that they returned to where they started from, leaving the “Flat Earthers” in a state of stunned silence.

So it’s a fitting location here in the Greek islands for us to complete our own experimentation with this idea of a round Earth, very near to where the whole notion came into existence. In May of 2012 we ourselves sailed out of the Mandraki Marina on the north tip of Rhodes and headed west over the Mediterranean horizon. We arrived back here yesterday afternoon, exactly 2 years, 8 months, 5 days, 18 hours and 44 minutes since we last departed. It means we have put 31,892 nautical miles of water beneath us while covering a net distance of 0.0 miles. If our goal was simply to get from Rhodes to Rhodes, we definitely took the long way here.

Of course our journey was never about the destination, it was about the adventure and the experience;.. in those 0 miles of net distance between our start and finish line, an entire world lies in between that we got to experience. We witnessed the good, the bad, and the ugly in people and in places. We experienced Mother Nature in her various forms and moods – punishment by the weather and the sea at some times, rewarded at others with magical moments and stunning views of the Earth’s most beautiful landscapes from vantage points few are fortunate enough ever to experience. We learned about the world from the perspective of its local people, which expanded our thinking and tolerance by orders of magnitude, while smashing to pieces many of our prejudices. And most importantly, we discovered ourselves, who we are, and what matters to each of us.

We are proud of completing our journey but recognize that we did almost none of it alone. We began as very novice sailors, and needed all the help we ended up finding throughout our voyage. We send our most sincere thanks to the outstanding crew that joined us for extended periods along the way: Tuncer (Legend), Rupe, Javier (Tarzan), and Asier (Maestro)… you were extraordinary team members and we are so grateful for our experiences with you. And to the many others who joined us for shorter segments or helped us from ashore or from abeam (John Burnie, Jimmy Swift, Bruce Byall, Uncle Chris, Uncle Bob, Lior, the Rogues, the Shapirits, Yossi, and many others) we thank you too for making our voyage the unforgettable and unique adventure it has been…. if there is one thing we really did do right, it was surrounding ourselves with amazing people. And to our parents, for their support both on board and from ashore (including Pop’s Atlantic Ocean crossing!), we haven’t the words to describe our gratitude to you.

So we confirm the authors of the Bible’s holy scriptures got it wrong, at least in a literal sense, in the books of Daniel, Matthew, Isaiah, and Revelation. And although their errata might be excusable for several reasons, the remaining members of the Flat Earth Society today deserve no such intellectual forgiveness. So yes, it’s true the world is not flat nor shaped like a disc, and there are no four corners to be found anywhere. We testify the thing is in fact a sphere as Pythagoras first suggested more than 2500 years ago.

We’ll enjoy a week or so here in Rhodes with some special guests who are coming to meet us here for a celebration. Then we’ll sail back to Marmaris in Turkey and begin the bittersweet process of passing Tamarisk along to someone with more ambitious voyaging plans than are currently in the cards for ourselves.

In a way, using either of the world’s main artificial shipping canals (Panama and Suez) in a sailing circumnavigation is a form of cheating… the natural world was not formed (or designed?) in this way. The existence of these canals is entirely a result of enormous human or human-made resources: money, technology, equipment, paid labor, slave labor, and countless human lives. Without these canals, the world would be a very different place, and their significance cannot be understated. 8% of world trade now transits the Suez Canal, including two thirds of European oil. It makes up an astonishing 20,000 car haulers, container ships, fuel tankers, and fishing boats each year, with an average canal fee of $250,000 per transit. The ability to move warships through this canal also has huge geopolitical consequences… any attempt to close it or destroy it would be met with a massive response by military assets from around the world. The Suez Canal is one of those things we just never thought anything about during our normal lives in the city, but as we look this enormous machine in the face we realize we’re looking at the gears of a major intersection of world trade and geopolitics.

Our original hope had been to depart from Israel and spend a week or so visiting the Egyptian sites as we paused at the canal’s southern entrance at Suez. But after some deliberation following our recent chaotic experiences in the Middle East, we decided we’d skip it. Since making that decision, there have been several coordinated ISIS attacks with dozens killed in Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula, and just a few days ago the Muslim Brotherhood issued a warning to all foreigners in Egypt: leave by Feb 11, or you risk physical violence. With Egyptian tourist revenue already down 95% since 2011, we kind of understand it all now.

By the time we’re through the canal it will be a three day-process: one day for measuring the boat and paying “canal fees” (bribing every official in the region is probably closer to the truth), and another two days for transiting the 100 mile long canal. We’re slower than the merchant ships, so we’re forced to make an overnight stop at the half way point in the canal. Despite a massive expansion project currently in process, most of the canal can still only accommodate one big merchant ship at a time, so they run in a northbound and southbound convoy system that maximizes the throughput. But the smaller boats like us don’t really count… we just get shoved over near the canal wall, and are mostly ignored by everyone (other than the Egyptian Navy, who appears to suspect us of being Israeli secret agents… or something).

Because of the narrow width, navigating the canal puts us in closer proximity to the big cargo boats than we’ve even been before. The enormity of these things, some four football fields in length, really must be seen to be appreciated. Even more impressive are the mountains of sand piled up on either side of the canal… dredged and piped over many decades of canal expansion projects and battling the endless buildup of new sand blowing off the surrounding desert. Hiking to the top of these sand piles would be good day’s worth of exercise.

As we approach the canal exit, our attention turns to the Med crossing. A wild low pressure cyclonic system is forecast come ripping through the Med in about 36 hours, and we won’t have time to get to Rhodes before it starts to set in. So with just 350 miles to go before our circumnavigation is complete, we face the most intimidating weather forecast we’ve ever had…. beating the cold front’s arrival in Rhodes is the only thing that matters to us right now.

Excitement is starting to build as Tamarisk enters its final few days of repairs and we begin to plan our three day crossing from Greece to Malta. This two week halt period, as well as smaller ones in past months, have been lessons in our own human psychology. Like food and water, motion is now an essential ingredient for our survival…. its absence for us lately feels like a sort of emotional starvation that we need to deal with. That may sound incredible considering we’re parked in the middle of paradise, but we think it’s a normal human reaction when your goals become obstructed by something out of your control.

Our self prescribed treatment program has included a number of ingredients, including exploring the surrounding islands by car, ferry, bus, and scooter. Piers learned about the importance of keeping the scooter upright when he laid it down at 25mph to avoid an oncoming car. The scars on his knees and elbows will be valuable reminders during future scooter excursions. We’ve made friends with the locals and even learned a few words of Greek in the process thanks to some patient dinner time tutoring. We’ve been sailing with our neighbors and we’ve become experts on how to dine in Greece on less than three euros (hint: lots and lots of pork gyros).

We now sit on the slow ferry from Corfu island to mainland Greece as we make our way back towards Tamarisk today in Lefkas. The next couple of days will include odd jobs on the boat and (more importantly) making sure the repair guys finish their work on schedule so we can get to our important rendezvous point in Malta where our parents will join us next week. Jimmy left for his next adventure in India this morning and will try his luck with us again later once Tamarisk has established a better track record for reliability.

We’ve been quiet lately for a reason. We made it back to Tamarisk and tried to make a beeline from Lefkas, Greece to Malta, but quickly realized we had electrical problems that would make our three-day passage risky. So we turned around and put the boat on the dock for repairs that will include removing the engine, reconfiguring the electrical charging system, and replacing all the batteries, among other things. It’s our last chance to get inexpensive boat work done before we cross the Atlantic Ocean and, given the distance we’re about to go with this boat, we’d be stupid to leave here without cleaning things up. But it also means we’re “stuck” in Lefkas for a couple of weeks that we weren’t expecting.

As our friend Jackie reminds us, “I can think of worse places to be stuck”. We know she’s 100% right about that, so we’ve spent the past couple of days exploring all corners of the island by rental car. There is no such thing as being stuck here – you could literally spend a lifetime in these islands and still not have time to see it all, let alone get bored. Porto Katsiki Beach on the west side of the island with its stunning white cliffs and bright turquoise water is just one example of a paradise here that seems more fictional than real even when you’re standing right there on the white sand.

The unfortunate part about our current delay (other than the repair bill) is that our friend Jimmy from the Black Sea Run has joined us for a few weeks of sailing around the Med, which is now on rain check while Tamarisk is disabled. So today we’re off for a day of sailing with our new friend Gabriel who’s parked next to us and wants to make sure Jimmy gets to do some sailing, and make sure Piers and I don’t get too lazy… so gotta run now!

If you ever find yourself sailing north towards Croatia, a few miles off the coast of Albania, trying to bash into a 30 knot wind (that was forecast for 20) and is quickly growing towards a steady 35 knots, we have some advice for you. You probably will have left Corfu (the northernmost island in Greece) about 10 hours earlier and will have noticed you are unable to make even one knot progress north towards your destination with such heavy winds and seas coming straight on your nose. You will be tempted to turn around to Corfu, but it is 10 hours away, meaning the round trip will cost 20 lost hours. You also will be tempted to head east towards Albania which is sitting there a few miles off your starboard (right) side which you think might offer a shelter until the wind dies down a bit. The problem here is that Albania is pretty much still a communist isolationist state that is closed to tourists for all intents and purposes, and didn’t even permit their citizens to have passports until a few years ago. Their territorial boundary is marked in the water with intimidating black flags telling you not to enter their waters. (a shame because you could at least get some shelter if you could get close to the land). Their one short experience with democracy ended when the entire economy collapsed after thousands of pyramid schemes failed – an experience in which the majority of Albanians lost their entire life savings. Then there is their massive mine field area pushing you further and further offshore into the heavier weather, which still contains active ordinances from WWII, and which they have not yet cleared. And why would they, considering how effective it is in keeping people away. With the wind forecast for 20 knots and declining in the early evening you will be tempted to stay out there fumbling around until the wind declines, but with actual conditions now at 35 knots and climbing, you are now clearly in a predicament. Do you continue bouncing around in 35 knot winds hoping for some relief to come, or do you turn around to Corfu and try your passage another day?

Our advice to you in this situation is to immediately turn around and go back to Corfu. What we actually did when faced with this situation on Wednesday, however, was to continue bashing north ambitiously another two hours until we heard an outrageously loud “bang” which sent shockwaves down the mast and through the hull. The hole in the mainsail which holds our reef line (which we use to reduce the size of the sail in heavy winds), ripped completely out of the mainsail, sending the entire sail into the air. At this point the boat is crippled and not safe to sail into the wind, so the choice was made for us. We are now back in Corfu, which is exactly where we would have been if we had followed our own advice.

Sail repairs will take another day or so, then we will make a new attempt to head north into the Adriatic. We no longer trust the marine forecasts at all because they’ve been so horrendously inaccurate and have put us into dangerous situations several times (35+ knot winds on forecasts of 20). Fortunately the conditions should be near-windless for the next couple of days, but we are still going in ready for a battle.

We continue to test the limits of the boat under fairly extreme conditions and we think we are much better prepared for the big ocean crossings each time we go through an experience like this. Nobody ever said sailing around the world was easy, and if anybody ever does say that, they probably haven’t actually done it.

We had to face reality one of these days, and that day came on Sunday. We’ve been falling more and more behind our original schedule and found ourselves questioning whether it was realistic to make it up the Adriatic into Croatia before heading further west towards Italy. If we left it another week, we would probably need to skip the Adriatic and head directly west. But on Sunday we woke up at dawn and set out to save our Adriatic visit by making back lost days. We headed north for the Corinth Canal which would save us 3 days of sailing around the bottom of Greece (while costing us around $500), and we decided to sail all the way through the night to earn back another day. This is the pace we’ve kept for the past couple of days, and is similar to what we’ll be doing for the next three or four days to put us back on schedule.

One may think that 30 hours of non-stop sailing might be tedious and boring, but one would be wrong. The passage from Hydra on the Aegean side of Greece to Kefallinia on the Ionian side was fantastic. You get to see 15 or 20 islands as you weave your way towards the canal and you even get a glimpse at Athens off in the distance. The Canal runs 3.5 miles long and is cut into limestone that towers 79 meters on either side. It’s so narrow that traffic is only permitted in one direction at a time, so you wait at the canal entrance for the signal to proceed, then go blasting through at full speed to stop the canal officials from yelling at you. It’s so narrow that you’d never believe huge tanker ships can transit through safely without hitting the walls, but somehow they do.

After transiting the canal you enter an enormous bay, you look around and you immediately notice that everything is different on this side of Greece. The cities are bigger, the resorts are towering, the sea is flat as a pancake, the winds are tame, the distances between land masses are huge, the temperature is warmer, the land is greener, and there are almost no boats anywhere. The canal literally connects two entirely different Greek worlds.

Sailing through the night requires us to take shifts, which we did for four hours each. The person on watch has enormous responsibility – just one mistake and the ship could be on the shore or splintered by a freighter. This means you’re religious about watching the nav screens and the radar, listening out for radio traffic, and scanning the horizon for ship lights coming your way (a task made difficult by the city lights in the background). But you also have time to enjoy the peacefulness of being alone at sea without any distractions. You notice miniscule changes in the wind, you hear new sounds from the water moving against the hull you never noticed before, and you’re aware of the first hint of light in the pre-dawn hours. You feel completely in touch with your surroundings and for some reason you keep getting a peculiar but tranquil thought in your head that can’t really be put into words, but is definitely related to “nothing else matters”.

Earlier this week the Meltemi dealt us a harsh blow by tearing up our jib in 35 knot wimds and forcing us to abandon our crossing from Syros to Kythnos. After U-turning to Syros for sail repairs and to regain confidence, we left again on Thursday for Round 2 with the Meltemi. Almost all the other boats stayed in the harbor that day because the forecast was intimidating, but we were in no mood to sit around the harbor again – it was time to settle things with the Meltemi. The battle was a doozy and the Meltemi threw down everything she had starting with winds in the low 20’s, but continuing to build until we found ourselves in the discomfort of 35 knots of wind again. With safety harnesses on, storm jib up, and mainsail fully reefed, the wind continued to build but we continued fearlessly…. actually we were crapping our pants, but we continued on anyway. This angered the Meltemi so she kicked it up to 40 knots, then 43 (which, for you yachties, is a force 9 wind). Although we felt we had too much sail for winds that high, we were able to spill wind from the mainsail and just hang on tight while the boat plowed through the waves at over 13 knots. It was a huge relief to enter the shelter of Kythnos when the seas calmed down, then the Meltemi finally conceded defeat.

Kythnos is an island that really appears to be struggling from the economic problems here. The island has around 10 gorgeous bays with little beachfront restaurants, taverns, and beach bars. What’s so unusual is that there’s literally nobody to be found anywhere – little ghost towns in the middle of paradise.

With the new confidence that goes along with beating the Meltemi we set sail from Kythnos early yesterday morning and headed to Poros around 45 miles further west. We literally sailed out of the Meltemi as winds dropped from 25 knots in the morning to around 0 knots by the time we neared Poros. We’re already telling other sailors here we want the Meltemi back (but only because it makes us look cool).

This morning we headed south toward Hydra just 10 miles away, where Benji’s ferry sadly departs from tomorrow morning. As we get ready to hop in the dinghy for Benji’s last night out, we’re faced with the big decision of whether we head south tomorrow for the southern tip of Greece, or go north towards the Corinth Canal (a short cut on the way to Croatia that would save us around 2 days of sailing). We’re behind schedule and should be getting to Croatia already, so one way or another the progress west needs to accelerate.

The Meltemi taught us a lesson the hard way yesterday which we won’t soon forget, and gave Benji some real excitement on his first day of sailing. We left Ermoipolis on the east side Syros in the morning and headed west towards Kythnos. We had prepared for high Meltemi winds (30 knots) meaning our storm jib (sail) was flying while our full size jib stayed rolled up on the furler. We were surprised to find no wind going around the south of Syros so we unrolled the big jib for some extra power (running both jibs at once). When the Meltemi winds re-appeared after we left the shelter of the island we made a critical mistake. We rolled the big jib back up onto the furler but failed to jam off (secure) the jib sheets (the ropes that are used to adjust the sail). The sheets were thus free to flap about. The reason was simple – we had removed the main jib sheets from the jammers so we could use the jammers for the storm sail’s sheets – there is no extra set of jammers for a second jib. With no jammers available we didn’t think to secure the lines for the rolled up jib by tying them off to something else, and that was the serious errata we are determined not to repeat in the future.

In normal wind conditions an oversight like this is meaningless. But as the Meltemi winds cranked up to 30-35 knots, and as we plowed into it at 8 knots (making the “apparent wind” speed over 40 knots) the forces on the rolled up jib became huge, and because the jib sheets weren’t tight it was able to unwrap backwards just a tiny bit, which exposed a
small piece of the sail surface to the wind. That small surface caused it to unwind further, until after a few seconds nearly half the jib came streaming out into the wind. When the sheets then bound up because of the flapping our jib was stuck with a dreaded hourglass shape (see pic) that was impossible to fix in the heavy winds and seas – we could’t roll the sail back up. In an attempt to save the sail from being shredded to pieces by the Meltemi, we turned around away from the wind to reduce the apparent wind speed and sailed back towards the shelter of Syros. Over the next two hours we watched in horror as our jib slowly ripped apart in the wind.

As we spend the next day or two getting the sail repaired we’ll ponder our mistake many times. We have been humbled by the power of the Meltemi and have been given a new fear of 35 knot winds. I’m starting to sense that a humble and fearful sailor is probably also a better sailor, and that silver lining is exactly what we’ll be thinking about when the sailmaker hands us the repair bill tomorrow morning.

Here is a video of how things unfolded.. literally..

The Meltimi winds arrived as expected so we’ve spent the past couple of days in Syros in defensive mode. Just yesterday two huge ferry boats ran aground here, which has the entire marina in a state of mild pandemonium. The winds regularly gust to 35 knots, which makes it very difficult to keep the boat moored on the dock safely. Already we’ve broken two dock lines and are constantly making adjustments to fenders and lines as ropes stretch, winds shift, and as the French ram the side of our boat. That is not a typo… we were rudely interrupted during lunch yesterday when a French couple on their 40 foot sailing boat accidentally slammed into the side of Tamarisk while trying to tie up to our starboard (right) side. It turns out they were uncomfortable on the dock on the other side of the harbor, and came our way seeking a calmer place to spend the night. The problem is that the skipper seemed to have no clue how to go about this parking maneuver in the windy conditions. Instead of putting the nose of the boat into the wind and slowly inching towards us sideways, he decided it was better to come straight at us with the wind to his side, then have his wife jump onto our boat and try to secure their bow line to the nose of our boat before the wind blew him down onto us. The first part went to plan (wife was able to jump onto our boat), but then everything went pear shaped quickly from there, and his boat collided into the side of ours a few seconds later. His next step was to attempt the same maneuver again, which to his surprise (and only his surprise) failed again when his bow slammed into our anchor. As we scrambled onto the deck to assess the situation, he was lining up for a third attempt using his same technique and it was clear a third collision was imminent. At this point we took the rope from the wife, which she was still holding and hoping to secure to our bow, and we threw it into the water. We instructed the skipper to stop and reverse away from our boat as we were not permitting him to tie on next to us after two collisions and in light of the dangerous wind conditions. He insisted on trying again, so our instructions became louder, shorter, and easier for him to understand, pardon our French. After we repatriated the wife back to the French ship using our dinghy, they went motoring off into the distance and the episode was thankfully over.

Benji arrives tonight, which means we’ll be on our way first thing in the morning heading for Kythnos, around 30 miles west of here. The Meltemi winds will be in full force all week, which is keeping many of the more timid sailors in the harbor. For us it means we’ll have our storm sails up for the first time (except for our practice runs with John Burnie a few weeks ago) and we’ll be playing it safe.