Oneness Awareness: Historical Seas Tall Ships Regatta
Twenty-two tall ships. Fifteen nations.
Race from Volos, Greece, on the Aegean Sea to Varna, Bulgaria, on the Black Sea with glorious, graceful tall ships under full sail.
Race from Volos, Greece, on the Aegean Sea to Varna, Bulgaria, on the Black Sea with glorious, graceful tall ships under full sail.
Volos: Kaliakra—Tuesday, 11 May 2010
The name Kaliakra is of Byzantine Greek origin and means “good cape” or “beautiful headland.” Kaliakra is also the name of a Bulgarian cape that juts into the Black Sea northeast of Varna. Legend states that when the Ottoman Empire laid siege to Bulgaria, the cape became the last place of resistance, and the last Bulgarian fighters were 40 women who took up the arms of their fallen male comrades. But seeing their eventual defeat, the women made a suicide pact rather than submit to capture. They tied their hair together and leapt off the cliff into the sea.
Sail Training Vessel (STV) Kaliakra was named after the cape.
The vessel is a barquentine, built in 1984 at the Gdansk Shipyard in Poland. She is the property of Bulgarian Maritime Training Centre and is operated by Navigation Maritime Bulgare. Her home port is Varna, Bulgaria, the destination of the first leg of the Historical Seas Tall Ships Regatta, which begins here in Volos, Greece.
Kaliakra is designed for training young naval cadets from Nikola Vaptsarov Naval Academy in Varna. To this end, the vessel participates in regattas organized by Sail Training International (STI) and American Sail Training Association (ASTA).
Royalty from Spain and Norway are among the distinguished personalities to board Kaliakra. The vessel was honored by having its image imprinted on a Bulgarian 1000 leva coin in 1996.
Kaliakra is 52 meters (171 feet) in length with a beam of 8 meters (26 feet). Her hull and superstructure are made of steel. The three masts are steel and fabric. She carries 1080 square meters of sail: five square sails, a main sail, a staysail, a mizzen, and four jibs.
The name Kaliakra is of Byzantine Greek origin and means “good cape” or “beautiful headland.” Kaliakra is also the name of a Bulgarian cape that juts into the Black Sea northeast of Varna. Legend states that when the Ottoman Empire laid siege to Bulgaria, the cape became the last place of resistance, and the last Bulgarian fighters were 40 women who took up the arms of their fallen male comrades. But seeing their eventual defeat, the women made a suicide pact rather than submit to capture. They tied their hair together and leapt off the cliff into the sea.
Sail Training Vessel (STV) Kaliakra was named after the cape.
The vessel is a barquentine, built in 1984 at the Gdansk Shipyard in Poland. She is the property of Bulgarian Maritime Training Centre and is operated by Navigation Maritime Bulgare. Her home port is Varna, Bulgaria, the destination of the first leg of the Historical Seas Tall Ships Regatta, which begins here in Volos, Greece.
Kaliakra is designed for training young naval cadets from Nikola Vaptsarov Naval Academy in Varna. To this end, the vessel participates in regattas organized by Sail Training International (STI) and American Sail Training Association (ASTA).
Royalty from Spain and Norway are among the distinguished personalities to board Kaliakra. The vessel was honored by having its image imprinted on a Bulgarian 1000 leva coin in 1996.
Kaliakra is 52 meters (171 feet) in length with a beam of 8 meters (26 feet). Her hull and superstructure are made of steel. The three masts are steel and fabric. She carries 1080 square meters of sail: five square sails, a main sail, a staysail, a mizzen, and four jibs.
Volos to Varna: Historical Seas Tall Ships Regatta—12 to 26 May 2010
The vessels in the Historical Seas Tall Ships Regatta will compete in three individual races: from Volos, Greece, to Varna, Bulgaria. From Varna to Istanbul, Turkey; and from Istanbul to Lavrion, Greece.
The first race, on which we are about to embark, is divided into two legs. The first is on the Aegean Sea from Volos through Canakkale Bogazi (The Dardanelles), past the city of Canakkale, through Marmara Denizi (Sea of Marmara), and through Istanbul Bogazi (Bosporus Strait); these waters separate Europe from Asia. The second leg is on the Black Sea from Istanbul to Varna.
The vessels in the Historical Seas Tall Ships Regatta will compete in three individual races: from Volos, Greece, to Varna, Bulgaria. From Varna to Istanbul, Turkey; and from Istanbul to Lavrion, Greece.
The first race, on which we are about to embark, is divided into two legs. The first is on the Aegean Sea from Volos through Canakkale Bogazi (The Dardanelles), past the city of Canakkale, through Marmara Denizi (Sea of Marmara), and through Istanbul Bogazi (Bosporus Strait); these waters separate Europe from Asia. The second leg is on the Black Sea from Istanbul to Varna.
Stories within this chapter:
- Kaliakra
- Historical Seas Tall Ships Regatta
- Volos' fishers
- Embarkation
- The start and first watch
- All hands on deck
- Wind party
- Holy place, sacred waters
- Sailing in two languages
- Peace in the still of the night
- War, warriors and rainbow warriors
- The lady is dancing
- Wings
- Anchorage activities
- Nazdrave
- Captain Koludov
- Excessive freedoms and black millions
- Captain's dinner
- PacMen and PacWoman
- Europe to port, Asia to starboard
- International sailing exchange
- Education in Bulgaria
- Tactical decisions
- Show and try to tell
- Beautiful ride
- It just got better
- The finish
- Welcome home, Kaliakra
- Plus the food we ate
Volos: Breakfast—Wednesday, 12 May 2010, 07:30
Unsalted, unbuttered clamshell pasta, chunk of feta cheese on the side, white bread. (Presented as “macaroni and cheese.”)
Unsalted, unbuttered clamshell pasta, chunk of feta cheese on the side, white bread. (Presented as “macaroni and cheese.”)
Volos: Volos’ fishers—Wednesday, 12 May 2010, morning
My palate not sated by this morning’s breakfast, I walk the dock near Kaliakra’s berth and examine the offerings of the local fishers. They are a hardy lot, mostly men but some women, too. And most smoking cigarettes.
Their craft are colorful, weathered, functional, and laden with nets.
Their catch is fresh, some whole and some cut into steaks.
For the most part, these fishers don’t object to me taking photos, but a few turn away to do either necessary or pretend chores. I’m sure that all would prefer that I simply buy, as do several locals.
My palate not sated by this morning’s breakfast, I walk the dock near Kaliakra’s berth and examine the offerings of the local fishers. They are a hardy lot, mostly men but some women, too. And most smoking cigarettes.
Their craft are colorful, weathered, functional, and laden with nets.
Their catch is fresh, some whole and some cut into steaks.
For the most part, these fishers don’t object to me taking photos, but a few turn away to do either necessary or pretend chores. I’m sure that all would prefer that I simply buy, as do several locals.
Volos: Embarkation—Wednesday, 12 May 2010, afternoon and evening
Our bow thrusters are a unique innovation: the outboard motor of the ship’s dinghy.
Two of the ship’s engineers are in this tiny boat, designed for carrying up to four people ashore from a mooring. They have nosed its flexible, inflatable bow into Kaliakra’s starboard side at the aft and are pushing the 52-meter vessel sideways—sort of. When they have it a nice distance from the dock, they motor around the vessel to the bow and push there—sort of. They repeat this process—aft to fore—several times before a harbor tug becomes free from its duties of pulling or pushing other vessels out to sea. The tug’s crew tosses us a hawser and someone secures it to a docking cleat on the stern deck. The winches aboard the tug draw the two vessels close so that its bow, mounted with old tractor tires, snugs tightly to Kaliakra's sterm. The engineers in the dinghy back off to watch the action from their water-level perspective.
It’s nearly 15:00, and we are underway. Among the festive folks to see us off are Argonauts, 50 oarsmen aboard a modern version of the famed rowing vessel Argos of Greek mythology.
We hoist sails and parade, with other tall ships in the fleet, out of the harbor and past a jetty covered with waving people. Then we motor sail past the Greek shoreline, along the length of Pagasetic Gulf, and into the Aegean Sea.
Conversations are relaxed. Kostas, one of the Greek guest crew, talks with pride about a mountain club, of which he is the president, that is working to preserve and promote the history of Greek mountains. The third engineer, a young man named Stanislav, says he is thrilled to be meeting sailors and making friends from other nations.
We drop anchor after dark.
Alexander, the second officer in charge of the watch to which I am assigned—midnight to 04:00 and noon to 16:00—tells me to go to bed. Only a few cadets are needed to make sure the anchor holds during the night. We’ll start the regular watch rotation in the morning—noon, for me.
Kaliakra: Breakfast—Thursday, 13 May 2010, 07:50
Large piece of raisin roll (more likely from a cake pan than a bread pan), one slice of processed white cheese, salami, white bread.
Kaliakra: Lunch—Thursday, 13 May 2010, 11:30
Turkey with gravy soup, white bread.
Kaliakra: The start and first watch—Thursday, 13 May 2010, morning and afternoon
The race is scheduled to start at 10:00, but there isn’t enough wind to propel these great vessels with adequate steerage, so we are delayed until noon, the beginning of my watch. At noon, the race is delayed until 14:00.
We continue to motor slowly toward the starting line with mainsail, mizzen, and staysail raised as wind begins to fill in and cats paws appear on the gently rolling surface of the sea.
Then, suddenly at about 13:40, all hands are called on deck. We raise the four jibs. The wind is blowing nicely at that point—not great, but nicely.
We approach the start line—marked by a red flag on the committee boat and a green flag on the pin boat—with decent speed.
One of the deckhands rings the bell on the foredeck with two pair of short peals: ding-ding … ding-ding. Two p.m. or 14:00 on the 24-hour clock, the second hour of this watch, the start of the race. Less than a minute later, we pass between the two flags. A good start. Any Marconi rigged sloop with only two or three sails to trim should do so well.
Our bow thrusters are a unique innovation: the outboard motor of the ship’s dinghy.
Two of the ship’s engineers are in this tiny boat, designed for carrying up to four people ashore from a mooring. They have nosed its flexible, inflatable bow into Kaliakra’s starboard side at the aft and are pushing the 52-meter vessel sideways—sort of. When they have it a nice distance from the dock, they motor around the vessel to the bow and push there—sort of. They repeat this process—aft to fore—several times before a harbor tug becomes free from its duties of pulling or pushing other vessels out to sea. The tug’s crew tosses us a hawser and someone secures it to a docking cleat on the stern deck. The winches aboard the tug draw the two vessels close so that its bow, mounted with old tractor tires, snugs tightly to Kaliakra's sterm. The engineers in the dinghy back off to watch the action from their water-level perspective.
It’s nearly 15:00, and we are underway. Among the festive folks to see us off are Argonauts, 50 oarsmen aboard a modern version of the famed rowing vessel Argos of Greek mythology.
We hoist sails and parade, with other tall ships in the fleet, out of the harbor and past a jetty covered with waving people. Then we motor sail past the Greek shoreline, along the length of Pagasetic Gulf, and into the Aegean Sea.
Conversations are relaxed. Kostas, one of the Greek guest crew, talks with pride about a mountain club, of which he is the president, that is working to preserve and promote the history of Greek mountains. The third engineer, a young man named Stanislav, says he is thrilled to be meeting sailors and making friends from other nations.
We drop anchor after dark.
Alexander, the second officer in charge of the watch to which I am assigned—midnight to 04:00 and noon to 16:00—tells me to go to bed. Only a few cadets are needed to make sure the anchor holds during the night. We’ll start the regular watch rotation in the morning—noon, for me.
Kaliakra: Breakfast—Thursday, 13 May 2010, 07:50
Large piece of raisin roll (more likely from a cake pan than a bread pan), one slice of processed white cheese, salami, white bread.
Kaliakra: Lunch—Thursday, 13 May 2010, 11:30
Turkey with gravy soup, white bread.
Kaliakra: The start and first watch—Thursday, 13 May 2010, morning and afternoon
The race is scheduled to start at 10:00, but there isn’t enough wind to propel these great vessels with adequate steerage, so we are delayed until noon, the beginning of my watch. At noon, the race is delayed until 14:00.
We continue to motor slowly toward the starting line with mainsail, mizzen, and staysail raised as wind begins to fill in and cats paws appear on the gently rolling surface of the sea.
Then, suddenly at about 13:40, all hands are called on deck. We raise the four jibs. The wind is blowing nicely at that point—not great, but nicely.
We approach the start line—marked by a red flag on the committee boat and a green flag on the pin boat—with decent speed.
One of the deckhands rings the bell on the foredeck with two pair of short peals: ding-ding … ding-ding. Two p.m. or 14:00 on the 24-hour clock, the second hour of this watch, the start of the race. Less than a minute later, we pass between the two flags. A good start. Any Marconi rigged sloop with only two or three sails to trim should do so well.
Looking abeam and astern, I see that all other ships are many minutes behind us. Except for two square-riggers ahead, but they were also ahead of the line prior to 14:00, “a false start,” these sailors say of a term I know as “over early.” One says they will have to go back and start again—no easy task on a multi-sail vessel. But they do not change course, and Nancy, a guest passenger from California and a member of Sail Training International, says square-riggers can take the standard time penalty rather than repeat the start. “They don’t want them in the way of the smaller clippers when they start,” she explains.
“Nice start,” I say to the captain. He offers no comment, his attention focused not on that accomplishment of the recent past but on maintaining our present lead.
With the start of the race being at the midpoint of my watch, I hang out on deck with just about everyone else. We are sailing well, and there isn’t much for most of us to do.
The cadets, officers, and guest passengers celebrate with large group photos on the aft deck. The captain is in the middle of the shot (person on the left in the second photo to the right).
Kaliakra: All hands on deck—Thursday, 13 May 2010, 18:30 to 21:30
After supper, I attempt to sleep, knowing that I must be awake prior to midnight for my next watch at the start of the next day. But sleep doesn’t come easily with my busy mind and sunlight strong through the porthole of the cabin I share with Tony, the cook. Sleep doesn’t come at all when someone sounds the alarm of one long tone: all hands on deck.
I sit up and look through the door to my cabin at Thanasis, another guest passenger who is on the 00:00 to 04:00 watch with me. He’s in his adjacent cabin, also on a top berth, and our two pair of lower legs and feet are hanging over the edges of our respective berths. We look at each other. I seriously consider lying back down. He doesn’t move either, and I sense he is considering the same (non)option.
We both get up and don our deck wear, including safety harness.
“Nice start,” I say to the captain. He offers no comment, his attention focused not on that accomplishment of the recent past but on maintaining our present lead.
With the start of the race being at the midpoint of my watch, I hang out on deck with just about everyone else. We are sailing well, and there isn’t much for most of us to do.
The cadets, officers, and guest passengers celebrate with large group photos on the aft deck. The captain is in the middle of the shot (person on the left in the second photo to the right).
Kaliakra: All hands on deck—Thursday, 13 May 2010, 18:30 to 21:30
After supper, I attempt to sleep, knowing that I must be awake prior to midnight for my next watch at the start of the next day. But sleep doesn’t come easily with my busy mind and sunlight strong through the porthole of the cabin I share with Tony, the cook. Sleep doesn’t come at all when someone sounds the alarm of one long tone: all hands on deck.
I sit up and look through the door to my cabin at Thanasis, another guest passenger who is on the 00:00 to 04:00 watch with me. He’s in his adjacent cabin, also on a top berth, and our two pair of lower legs and feet are hanging over the edges of our respective berths. We look at each other. I seriously consider lying back down. He doesn’t move either, and I sense he is considering the same (non)option.
We both get up and don our deck wear, including safety harness.
For the next three hours, we trim sails while the sun sets as a brilliant orange orb over Greek mountains to our stern—or sometimes not to our stern.
The winds have become squirrely.
When called on deck, we are sailing southeast on a port tack and on a collision course with the shore. We bring the ship about to a starboard tack. The vessel slows. The foresails and the square sails are
back-winding. Quickly, we return the sails to the port tack but don’t change our course. The land that had been ahead prior to our tack is still to our starboard. We’ve just experienced a wind shift of at least 90 degrees; that’s squirrely.
Tacking involves pulling many lines at once. The crew has been divided into four teams, each assigned to a station. My station is on the rail near the center mast, starboard side. I have become knowledgeable about three lines, the bitter ends of which are coiled around bit posts near the rail. These lines are the topping lift for the mainsail gaff, the starboard sheet for the staysail, and the lower of five lines that swivel the five arms on the foremast to which Kaliakra’s five square sails are attached.
Just about everyone speaks to me in English—when they have time to address only me—but Bulgarian is their language of birth and the language they speak to each other—rapidly—to synchronize their actions. So, I learn through observation and repetition. My hands acquire the touch I need so I can turn my eyes to pick up visual clues from the crew chief’s eyes, head nod, or, sometimes, a hand motion that tells me to either pull now!, release the line, or chakaee (wait, wait).
Raising or lowering the gaff’s topping lift is a rare activity that occurs only when the wind picks up or eases, so we do that seldom. Tacking the staysail is the same process as tacking a jib on a sloop but with a much longer line to pull, of course, and with greater strength required—but, still, no problem. But redirecting and bracing the yardarms is a major endeavor that involves my station mates and me hauling on or releasing five heavy lines at once. Crew on the port side of the mast work in unison with us: if we release, they pull; if they release, we pull.
When I see my station mates move to the base of the mast, I take my position at the line that is attached to the starboard end of the lower arm. My action matches theirs: pull to bring the yardarms aft or release to let them rotate forward. In either case, I and another cadet haul on the line to take up slack, then I make it fast with a bit around the post.
Nikos, a guest crewman from Volos, tells me that we are to stay in our station even if there is action at another station. “So we are not in the way there,” he says. That makes sense. I know from sailing sloops that staying put, that is, out of the way, and being on the ready is usually the best way to help.
We are released from the deck a little more than two hours before the start of my watch. I go below to my cabin and fall asleep. I wake up at five minutes before midnight and arrive on deck five minutes after the appointed hour. No one says anything about my tardiness.
The winds have become squirrely.
When called on deck, we are sailing southeast on a port tack and on a collision course with the shore. We bring the ship about to a starboard tack. The vessel slows. The foresails and the square sails are
back-winding. Quickly, we return the sails to the port tack but don’t change our course. The land that had been ahead prior to our tack is still to our starboard. We’ve just experienced a wind shift of at least 90 degrees; that’s squirrely.
Tacking involves pulling many lines at once. The crew has been divided into four teams, each assigned to a station. My station is on the rail near the center mast, starboard side. I have become knowledgeable about three lines, the bitter ends of which are coiled around bit posts near the rail. These lines are the topping lift for the mainsail gaff, the starboard sheet for the staysail, and the lower of five lines that swivel the five arms on the foremast to which Kaliakra’s five square sails are attached.
Just about everyone speaks to me in English—when they have time to address only me—but Bulgarian is their language of birth and the language they speak to each other—rapidly—to synchronize their actions. So, I learn through observation and repetition. My hands acquire the touch I need so I can turn my eyes to pick up visual clues from the crew chief’s eyes, head nod, or, sometimes, a hand motion that tells me to either pull now!, release the line, or chakaee (wait, wait).
Raising or lowering the gaff’s topping lift is a rare activity that occurs only when the wind picks up or eases, so we do that seldom. Tacking the staysail is the same process as tacking a jib on a sloop but with a much longer line to pull, of course, and with greater strength required—but, still, no problem. But redirecting and bracing the yardarms is a major endeavor that involves my station mates and me hauling on or releasing five heavy lines at once. Crew on the port side of the mast work in unison with us: if we release, they pull; if they release, we pull.
When I see my station mates move to the base of the mast, I take my position at the line that is attached to the starboard end of the lower arm. My action matches theirs: pull to bring the yardarms aft or release to let them rotate forward. In either case, I and another cadet haul on the line to take up slack, then I make it fast with a bit around the post.
Nikos, a guest crewman from Volos, tells me that we are to stay in our station even if there is action at another station. “So we are not in the way there,” he says. That makes sense. I know from sailing sloops that staying put, that is, out of the way, and being on the ready is usually the best way to help.
We are released from the deck a little more than two hours before the start of my watch. I go below to my cabin and fall asleep. I wake up at five minutes before midnight and arrive on deck five minutes after the appointed hour. No one says anything about my tardiness.
Kaliakra: Wind party—Friday, 14 May 2010, midnight to 04:00
“When the wind is coming, the party is beginning,” Alexander says directly to me with both hands firmly on my shoulders and a smile on his lips and in his eyes. At 40-something, he is a boy at heart, and he is so right.
When I came on deck at midnight for my watch, the wind was very soft and astern, the sails flapping, our speed negligible. We fussed with the sails, giving them lots of slack to catch whatever breeze might choose to present itself.
At 01:00, the captain walks the port side. He seems to be sensing the same slight tingle of air I feel on my left cheek as I look forward. On his command, we jump into action.
We are only those on this watch, one-third of the ship’s total crew, and so we are responsible for everything at all stations, a skill-expanding experience different from the start of the race yesterday or on embarkation the day before when we were all hands on deck. We trim the foresails, the yardarm, the main, the staysails, the mizzen. Then, as the wind begins to blow harder, we go back and trim them again. And again. And again.
Kaliakra carries only four winches, so trimming involves multiple bodies heaving on lines of one to two inches in diameter. The stronger the wind, the more bodies, sometimes laying flat on the deck as muscled arms and legs and backs accomplish the task of drawing the sail in tight—without the benefit of purchase.
Forty minutes after the wind began to stir, Alexander turns toward me and utters his joyful statement.
Lazar, a burly cadet from Bulgaria, says, “We are the best, the night watch,” and claps his hand on my shoulder. He stands no taller than I but probably outweighs me by 50 pounds that he carries with the grace of youth. His pronunciation, with his tongue rolling his rs and ls, is so different than what my American ears are accustomed to that I ask him to repeat his name, then spell it, before I can understand. When I confirm the pronunciation, “Lazar,” he says, “Yes, Rahzer.”
The party lasts for an hour, and we cruise at a very nice 10 to 11 knots and a heel of 11 degrees. Then the guest of honor departs as quickly and as fickly as she came. Momentum helps us maintain some speed and sail shape as the captain, followed by his night watch crew, goes forward to examine the sails. He decides to leave things as they are.
Another wise decision. A few minutes later, the gusty guest returns, but she is a ghost of her former self—blowing at about 10 knots rather than her former 20-plus. Our speed is 5 to 6 knots, and the deck is much more level.
But we are outperforming Tenacious, the tall rigger from the United Kingdom that had been a few hundred yards ahead of us when the wind first started to blow and is now two or three miles to our stern.
“The Polish (Dar Mlodziezy) and Russians (Mir) are six miles ahead,” Lazer says. “The electronics say they have no wind.”
We are sitting on the stern deck at that time. Most of the watch crew are lying on their backs, taking in the Milky Way, which has come out to play on this cloudless night. One person is seasick (“say-sack” they pronounce it) and vomiting over the stern rail. Alexander checks on her.
With no further sail adjustments to make, I sit quietly amidst rhythmic conversation of the young people on watch with me. Not understanding their language, I absorb the music, flow, and cadence of their words. I smile to silently complement their laughter. It is possible to work four hours at their side and not speak more than a sentence or two.
Our watch ends with a watch meeting on the bridge at 04:00. Alexander says good job in various ways and pats those close to him on the back. He tells us to get some sleep and something to eat. We’ll be on duty again at 12:00.
Kaliakra: Breakfast—Friday, 14 May 2010, morning
I sleep through breakfast.
Kaliakra: Holy place, sacred waters—Friday, 14 May 2010, 10:00
The view on deck consists of three sloops within a mile, a distant motor vessel, hints of high land elevations in a faraway haze, and lots of water.
“Where are the other tall ships?” I ask Nikolai, the boson, who is at the wheel, and Nikos, a Greek passenger. Nikolai raises two fingers and points forward. Nikos says, “Mir and Dar.” Nikolai waves his palm aft. “All the others are behind us,” Nikos explains. I try to ask more questions of Nikolai. “No English,” he says.
Nikos points to a mountain off our port beam, the base of which is completely covered in haze and the top of which is barely visible. “That’s Athos. It’s a state. Have you heard of it?” I have to ask him to repeat, then spell, the word before I comprehend.
“Is it a part of Greece, a Greek state?” I ask.
“It’s a separate state, like the Vatican. Its name means ‘Holy Place.’ There are many monasteries there.”
A later look at the Internet shows a list of twenty monasteries: Greek, Bulgarian, Georgian, Serbian, Russian, and others as well as 12 sketes, which are communities of Christian monastic hermits.
Kaliakra: Lunch—Friday, 14 May 2010, 11:30
Two Bratwurst-size sausages, white beans, tomato sauce, salad, a very bitter white grapefruit, white bread.
Kaliakra: Sailing in two languages—Friday, 14 May 2010, 12:00 to 16:00
This regatta isn’t a race to outperform other vessels as much as it is to perform to our highest ability, given the seas and winds (the conditions and situation) of our position on the water. Crews aboard other vessels are likely doing the same—in their own way.
At 12:30, Alexander, our watch officer, rings the ship’s bell once, marking the end of our first 30 minutes on duty. Today, the voyage is like being on a windjammer cruise. Light winds off the port stern generate gentle two-meter swells. Our speed under slightly flapping sails is 3.3 knots. Some watch mates seek shade; others seek sun. Captain Koludov has his shirt off, leaning against the port rail; his torso is lean, muscled. He is ever observant of the wind and the sails while also conversing.
Alexander leads the watch crew forward to check the sails. Everyone looks up. Alexander waves his arms and hands in a single gesture that originates with his body center and extends to his arms spread. He shrugs. One after another, three crewmen repeat the gesture. The meaning: “Never mind. No room for improvement.” All turn and return to the bridge and stern. The sunbathing or shade seeking continues.
One crewman and I experience a language challenge. “Wot sips aw foost?” he asks. I ask him to repeat. He does, more slowly, but I still don’t understand. After his third attempt, I get it: “What ships are first?”
“When the wind is coming, the party is beginning,” Alexander says directly to me with both hands firmly on my shoulders and a smile on his lips and in his eyes. At 40-something, he is a boy at heart, and he is so right.
When I came on deck at midnight for my watch, the wind was very soft and astern, the sails flapping, our speed negligible. We fussed with the sails, giving them lots of slack to catch whatever breeze might choose to present itself.
At 01:00, the captain walks the port side. He seems to be sensing the same slight tingle of air I feel on my left cheek as I look forward. On his command, we jump into action.
We are only those on this watch, one-third of the ship’s total crew, and so we are responsible for everything at all stations, a skill-expanding experience different from the start of the race yesterday or on embarkation the day before when we were all hands on deck. We trim the foresails, the yardarm, the main, the staysails, the mizzen. Then, as the wind begins to blow harder, we go back and trim them again. And again. And again.
Kaliakra carries only four winches, so trimming involves multiple bodies heaving on lines of one to two inches in diameter. The stronger the wind, the more bodies, sometimes laying flat on the deck as muscled arms and legs and backs accomplish the task of drawing the sail in tight—without the benefit of purchase.
Forty minutes after the wind began to stir, Alexander turns toward me and utters his joyful statement.
Lazar, a burly cadet from Bulgaria, says, “We are the best, the night watch,” and claps his hand on my shoulder. He stands no taller than I but probably outweighs me by 50 pounds that he carries with the grace of youth. His pronunciation, with his tongue rolling his rs and ls, is so different than what my American ears are accustomed to that I ask him to repeat his name, then spell it, before I can understand. When I confirm the pronunciation, “Lazar,” he says, “Yes, Rahzer.”
The party lasts for an hour, and we cruise at a very nice 10 to 11 knots and a heel of 11 degrees. Then the guest of honor departs as quickly and as fickly as she came. Momentum helps us maintain some speed and sail shape as the captain, followed by his night watch crew, goes forward to examine the sails. He decides to leave things as they are.
Another wise decision. A few minutes later, the gusty guest returns, but she is a ghost of her former self—blowing at about 10 knots rather than her former 20-plus. Our speed is 5 to 6 knots, and the deck is much more level.
But we are outperforming Tenacious, the tall rigger from the United Kingdom that had been a few hundred yards ahead of us when the wind first started to blow and is now two or three miles to our stern.
“The Polish (Dar Mlodziezy) and Russians (Mir) are six miles ahead,” Lazer says. “The electronics say they have no wind.”
We are sitting on the stern deck at that time. Most of the watch crew are lying on their backs, taking in the Milky Way, which has come out to play on this cloudless night. One person is seasick (“say-sack” they pronounce it) and vomiting over the stern rail. Alexander checks on her.
With no further sail adjustments to make, I sit quietly amidst rhythmic conversation of the young people on watch with me. Not understanding their language, I absorb the music, flow, and cadence of their words. I smile to silently complement their laughter. It is possible to work four hours at their side and not speak more than a sentence or two.
Our watch ends with a watch meeting on the bridge at 04:00. Alexander says good job in various ways and pats those close to him on the back. He tells us to get some sleep and something to eat. We’ll be on duty again at 12:00.
Kaliakra: Breakfast—Friday, 14 May 2010, morning
I sleep through breakfast.
Kaliakra: Holy place, sacred waters—Friday, 14 May 2010, 10:00
The view on deck consists of three sloops within a mile, a distant motor vessel, hints of high land elevations in a faraway haze, and lots of water.
“Where are the other tall ships?” I ask Nikolai, the boson, who is at the wheel, and Nikos, a Greek passenger. Nikolai raises two fingers and points forward. Nikos says, “Mir and Dar.” Nikolai waves his palm aft. “All the others are behind us,” Nikos explains. I try to ask more questions of Nikolai. “No English,” he says.
Nikos points to a mountain off our port beam, the base of which is completely covered in haze and the top of which is barely visible. “That’s Athos. It’s a state. Have you heard of it?” I have to ask him to repeat, then spell, the word before I comprehend.
“Is it a part of Greece, a Greek state?” I ask.
“It’s a separate state, like the Vatican. Its name means ‘Holy Place.’ There are many monasteries there.”
A later look at the Internet shows a list of twenty monasteries: Greek, Bulgarian, Georgian, Serbian, Russian, and others as well as 12 sketes, which are communities of Christian monastic hermits.
Kaliakra: Lunch—Friday, 14 May 2010, 11:30
Two Bratwurst-size sausages, white beans, tomato sauce, salad, a very bitter white grapefruit, white bread.
Kaliakra: Sailing in two languages—Friday, 14 May 2010, 12:00 to 16:00
This regatta isn’t a race to outperform other vessels as much as it is to perform to our highest ability, given the seas and winds (the conditions and situation) of our position on the water. Crews aboard other vessels are likely doing the same—in their own way.
At 12:30, Alexander, our watch officer, rings the ship’s bell once, marking the end of our first 30 minutes on duty. Today, the voyage is like being on a windjammer cruise. Light winds off the port stern generate gentle two-meter swells. Our speed under slightly flapping sails is 3.3 knots. Some watch mates seek shade; others seek sun. Captain Koludov has his shirt off, leaning against the port rail; his torso is lean, muscled. He is ever observant of the wind and the sails while also conversing.
Alexander leads the watch crew forward to check the sails. Everyone looks up. Alexander waves his arms and hands in a single gesture that originates with his body center and extends to his arms spread. He shrugs. One after another, three crewmen repeat the gesture. The meaning: “Never mind. No room for improvement.” All turn and return to the bridge and stern. The sunbathing or shade seeking continues.
One crewman and I experience a language challenge. “Wot sips aw foost?” he asks. I ask him to repeat. He does, more slowly, but I still don’t understand. After his third attempt, I get it: “What ships are first?”
Martin (pronounced Mar-teen) finds me and asks if I will help him learn more about Kaliakra. He has the book that contains images of all the ship’s masts, sails, and rigging. The callouts are in both Bulgarian and English. For the next 2.5 hours, we teach each other. By the end of our time together, we both know terms such as grot mayta (pronounced grote machta), which is the main mast; foq mayta (foke machta), the foremast; grot, the mainsail; foq ctakcel (foke stocksell), the fore staysail; klnBep or kliver (cleaver), jib; bom kliver (bohm cleaver) inner jib; and bom bram kliver (bohm brahm cleaver) outer jib. I later learn these are Deutsch words that entered into the vocabulary of Eastern European and Russian sailors through the influence of former Tsar Peter I (Peter the Great) who employed German and Dutch mariners to build the Russian navy at the end of the 17th century.
Martin is from Sofia, 800 kilometers from a beach. He’s never been aboard a sailing vessel before. Walking the deck of our floating school, I show him the difference between shrouds and stays and the purpose of spreaders. Together, we find a part of a vessel I had never heard of before, the jimp sailing, a small work platform near the top of the main mast. Together, we are learning.
Of special interest to him is the martinkhala (martingale), a metal pole that extends from the bottom of the bowsprit downward to where it connects with the center of a heavy cable that runs from the fore end of the bowsprit to the lower part of the prow. He covers up the last five letters of the word for this part of the ship and says, referring to the first six letters that remain, “This is my name. Mar-teen. Wot ees eet for?” I explain that it holds the cable in place and that the cable is called a bobstay. I explain that, in English, the short form of Robert is Bob. I point to the martingale and say, “Mar-teen.” I point to the bobstay and say “Bob, short for Roh-bert.” He smiles gleefully. “Oooh, I like that.”
I ask how to spell a word I have heard many times while handling lines and which I presume means “stop.” He says yakan (pronounced chakaee), which actually means “wait.” Then also teaches me cmpn (spree), which means “stop,” and DaBan (davaee), which means “go.” Oh, I, too, like this.
Kaliakra: Supper—Friday, 14 May 2010, 16:45
Rice with pimento, bits of meat, mushrooms, and very salty black olives; individually packaged cake; tea; white bread.
Kaliakra: Peace in the still of the night—Friday, 14 May 2010, 22:22 through watch
I am roused from sleep an hour earlier than desired by the call for all hands on deck. There, we tack. An hour later, we cross the finish line for the Aegean leg of the race. Another hour later, we have all the sails down and are motoring toward Canakkale Bogazi (The Dardanelles).
Martin is from Sofia, 800 kilometers from a beach. He’s never been aboard a sailing vessel before. Walking the deck of our floating school, I show him the difference between shrouds and stays and the purpose of spreaders. Together, we find a part of a vessel I had never heard of before, the jimp sailing, a small work platform near the top of the main mast. Together, we are learning.
Of special interest to him is the martinkhala (martingale), a metal pole that extends from the bottom of the bowsprit downward to where it connects with the center of a heavy cable that runs from the fore end of the bowsprit to the lower part of the prow. He covers up the last five letters of the word for this part of the ship and says, referring to the first six letters that remain, “This is my name. Mar-teen. Wot ees eet for?” I explain that it holds the cable in place and that the cable is called a bobstay. I explain that, in English, the short form of Robert is Bob. I point to the martingale and say, “Mar-teen.” I point to the bobstay and say “Bob, short for Roh-bert.” He smiles gleefully. “Oooh, I like that.”
I ask how to spell a word I have heard many times while handling lines and which I presume means “stop.” He says yakan (pronounced chakaee), which actually means “wait.” Then also teaches me cmpn (spree), which means “stop,” and DaBan (davaee), which means “go.” Oh, I, too, like this.
Kaliakra: Supper—Friday, 14 May 2010, 16:45
Rice with pimento, bits of meat, mushrooms, and very salty black olives; individually packaged cake; tea; white bread.
Kaliakra: Peace in the still of the night—Friday, 14 May 2010, 22:22 through watch
I am roused from sleep an hour earlier than desired by the call for all hands on deck. There, we tack. An hour later, we cross the finish line for the Aegean leg of the race. Another hour later, we have all the sails down and are motoring toward Canakkale Bogazi (The Dardanelles).
Kostas and Kostas, two of the Greek guest passengers, men in their 50s or 60s, I imagine, and now grizzled with a few days growth of beard, sit at the port rail, singing love songs and ballads of people’s troubles. Their barely functional quality of voice is far surpassed by the passion of their message, offered to the still black night and the gently rolling black waters.
One Kostas, who speaks his opinion on many subjects, says we are passing between Troya on the starboard and Gallipoli on the port. He is surprised I don’t know of these towns. “Very historical places,” he says. I ask him to spell the names. “Oh, Troy,” I say. “Yes,” he replies, “and Gallipoli means ‘a very nice place.’” In fact, the name derives from the Greek kallipolis, the word Plato used to identify an ideal city, his utopia.
The other Kostas, who has previously given me a history lesson on the mountains around Volos and the mountain club started there nearly a century ago, asks the purpose of my passage aboard Kaliakra, and I outline my entire journey. This Kostas, the historian, translates much of my answer for Kostas the speaker.
The subject of peace arises. “All people want peace,” says Kostas the historian. “It’s the governments who make money selling weapons.”
Kostas the speaker tells about the Turkish prime minister visiting Greece earlier today. These men and the four other Greek men and one Greek woman have been in frequent mobile phone contact with people ashore. Speaking a few English words, he adds knowingly, “They made good peace agreements today, but the military …” and his thick accent goes beyond my comprehension. I try to confirm, asking, “Does the military disagree with the government leaders?” “No,” he says, “they don’t disagree, but they have weapons they want to use.”
After a few minutes of quiet in a world illuminated by only a few of the ship’s instruments on the bridge and brilliant stars passing their light through hazy clouds, Kostas the historian says something about Philadelphia, Boston, and New York. His daughter is there, studying music therapy. She is going to get married in Volos this summer, then she and her husband will make their home in Wales.
Less than two hours into our four-hour watch, there is nothing to do but stay awake. I accept this as a time of introspection, contemplation, and meditation. Specifically, I use Yuen Method to direct healing energy to my body, which has been experiencing a sore throat, cough, and slight headache—the result of not enough sleep, starting with my overnight stay in the Dusseldorf airport, I’m sure. Then I switch to JinSing acupressure, holding each of my fingers associated with confidence, acceptance, forgiveness, commitment, and the heart.
At 03:30, Alexander asks me if I want to steer, and I round out my watch at the helm, holding course at 75 degrees, with the rudder turned 2 degrees to port to offset a slight breeze and current.
Kaliakra: Breakfast—Saturday, 15 May 2010, 07:30
Salami, feta cheese, tea, white bread.
Kaliakra: Lunch—Saturday, 15 May 2010, 11:30
Chicken kabobs, French fries, salad of cucumber and cabbage, chicken broth, an orange, tea, white bread.
One Kostas, who speaks his opinion on many subjects, says we are passing between Troya on the starboard and Gallipoli on the port. He is surprised I don’t know of these towns. “Very historical places,” he says. I ask him to spell the names. “Oh, Troy,” I say. “Yes,” he replies, “and Gallipoli means ‘a very nice place.’” In fact, the name derives from the Greek kallipolis, the word Plato used to identify an ideal city, his utopia.
The other Kostas, who has previously given me a history lesson on the mountains around Volos and the mountain club started there nearly a century ago, asks the purpose of my passage aboard Kaliakra, and I outline my entire journey. This Kostas, the historian, translates much of my answer for Kostas the speaker.
The subject of peace arises. “All people want peace,” says Kostas the historian. “It’s the governments who make money selling weapons.”
Kostas the speaker tells about the Turkish prime minister visiting Greece earlier today. These men and the four other Greek men and one Greek woman have been in frequent mobile phone contact with people ashore. Speaking a few English words, he adds knowingly, “They made good peace agreements today, but the military …” and his thick accent goes beyond my comprehension. I try to confirm, asking, “Does the military disagree with the government leaders?” “No,” he says, “they don’t disagree, but they have weapons they want to use.”
After a few minutes of quiet in a world illuminated by only a few of the ship’s instruments on the bridge and brilliant stars passing their light through hazy clouds, Kostas the historian says something about Philadelphia, Boston, and New York. His daughter is there, studying music therapy. She is going to get married in Volos this summer, then she and her husband will make their home in Wales.
Less than two hours into our four-hour watch, there is nothing to do but stay awake. I accept this as a time of introspection, contemplation, and meditation. Specifically, I use Yuen Method to direct healing energy to my body, which has been experiencing a sore throat, cough, and slight headache—the result of not enough sleep, starting with my overnight stay in the Dusseldorf airport, I’m sure. Then I switch to JinSing acupressure, holding each of my fingers associated with confidence, acceptance, forgiveness, commitment, and the heart.
At 03:30, Alexander asks me if I want to steer, and I round out my watch at the helm, holding course at 75 degrees, with the rudder turned 2 degrees to port to offset a slight breeze and current.
Kaliakra: Breakfast—Saturday, 15 May 2010, 07:30
Salami, feta cheese, tea, white bread.
Kaliakra: Lunch—Saturday, 15 May 2010, 11:30
Chicken kabobs, French fries, salad of cucumber and cabbage, chicken broth, an orange, tea, white bread.
Kaliakra: War, warriors, and rainbow warriors—Saturday, 15 May 2010, 15:30
We are motoring through Canakkale Bogazi and passing Canakkale, a Turkish city divided by this strait that, like Istanbul farther upstream, has land and inhabitants in both Europe and Asia.
The first obvious features on the Asian side are neighborhoods of pastel-colored, multiple-story homes that rise in miniature concordance with hills in the background. The second obvious feature is a fortress, then another that marks the mouth of a tributary river. The next obvious feature are people, many of them, walking under community pavilions and canopies along the water front—a characteristic I saw often in Spain and Greece
Yanko, a young Bulgarian who is Kaliakra’s third engineer, asks if I have seen the movie Troy. He points out the wooden horse that was used in the movie and given to this city; it sits near the waterfront with its head reaching the eaves of a three-story building, taller than some masts in the adjacent marina.
On the other bank atop a hill is a large Turkish flag: red with a white crescent and star. Nearby is a monument etched in white and brown into the hillside. It probably measures 40 or more meters in height and might be four times as wide. The words are unknown to me, but the image of a human holding a rifle conveys a convincing message.
I ask Nikos, one of the Greek passengers, if he knows the meaning of the words spelled out in all capital letters: DUR YOLCU. He doesn’t, but he suspects it’s a monument to soldiers lost in battle. (Later, after our voyage, he sends me an email with the translation, which confirms his earlier assessment: “Stop passerby! This soil you thus tread unawares is where an age sank. Bow and listen. This quiet mound is where the heart of a nation throbs.”)
Nikos expresses a wish that there be no more soldiers killed in war. Maybe his wish will be granted. As we pass the large Turkish flag, we are overtaken by a shipping vessel that bears the same banner. Crewmen aboard wave in our direction; we wave back. And, now astern, we see a sloop sail out of the Asian side of Canakkale. It has a sunshine yellow deck and cabin cover and large diagonal rainbow stripes, a white crescent moon, and two white stars covering much of an off-white hull. The vessel is outfitted with kayaks and a dinghy. “They are rainbow warriors,” says Nikos with a smile.
Kaliakra: Supper—Saturday, 15 May 2010, 17:00
Stewed spinach in a white cream sauce, white bread.
Kaliakra: The lady is dancing—Sunday, 16 May 2010, 00:00 to 04:00
The wind is 26 knots off our starboard beam. We’re flying only a five sails: grot (mainsail), goren marcel (main upper topsail), dolen marcel (main lower topsail), grot ctakcel (main staysail), and bom bram kliver (outer jib). Our speed is 8.5 to 10.5 knots. We are heeled 10 to 15 degrees. The lady is alive, working, dancing. And cadets are at the helm.
A large fire blazes atop a hillside to our port. It’s a great night for sailing; not so good for a fire.
At 30 minutes past midnight, the wind shifts to our stern and we adjust sails accordingly. The heel is now only 3 to 5 degrees. The ride smoother. The lady now sashays to a different tune.
Kaliakra: Breakfast and lunch—Sunday, 16 May 2010
I’ve not been feeling well since coming aboard—tired, headache, cold symptoms. Having taken a Tylenol PM before going to bed at 04:00, I sleep through breakfast and lunch.
We are motoring through Canakkale Bogazi and passing Canakkale, a Turkish city divided by this strait that, like Istanbul farther upstream, has land and inhabitants in both Europe and Asia.
The first obvious features on the Asian side are neighborhoods of pastel-colored, multiple-story homes that rise in miniature concordance with hills in the background. The second obvious feature is a fortress, then another that marks the mouth of a tributary river. The next obvious feature are people, many of them, walking under community pavilions and canopies along the water front—a characteristic I saw often in Spain and Greece
Yanko, a young Bulgarian who is Kaliakra’s third engineer, asks if I have seen the movie Troy. He points out the wooden horse that was used in the movie and given to this city; it sits near the waterfront with its head reaching the eaves of a three-story building, taller than some masts in the adjacent marina.
On the other bank atop a hill is a large Turkish flag: red with a white crescent and star. Nearby is a monument etched in white and brown into the hillside. It probably measures 40 or more meters in height and might be four times as wide. The words are unknown to me, but the image of a human holding a rifle conveys a convincing message.
I ask Nikos, one of the Greek passengers, if he knows the meaning of the words spelled out in all capital letters: DUR YOLCU. He doesn’t, but he suspects it’s a monument to soldiers lost in battle. (Later, after our voyage, he sends me an email with the translation, which confirms his earlier assessment: “Stop passerby! This soil you thus tread unawares is where an age sank. Bow and listen. This quiet mound is where the heart of a nation throbs.”)
Nikos expresses a wish that there be no more soldiers killed in war. Maybe his wish will be granted. As we pass the large Turkish flag, we are overtaken by a shipping vessel that bears the same banner. Crewmen aboard wave in our direction; we wave back. And, now astern, we see a sloop sail out of the Asian side of Canakkale. It has a sunshine yellow deck and cabin cover and large diagonal rainbow stripes, a white crescent moon, and two white stars covering much of an off-white hull. The vessel is outfitted with kayaks and a dinghy. “They are rainbow warriors,” says Nikos with a smile.
Kaliakra: Supper—Saturday, 15 May 2010, 17:00
Stewed spinach in a white cream sauce, white bread.
Kaliakra: The lady is dancing—Sunday, 16 May 2010, 00:00 to 04:00
The wind is 26 knots off our starboard beam. We’re flying only a five sails: grot (mainsail), goren marcel (main upper topsail), dolen marcel (main lower topsail), grot ctakcel (main staysail), and bom bram kliver (outer jib). Our speed is 8.5 to 10.5 knots. We are heeled 10 to 15 degrees. The lady is alive, working, dancing. And cadets are at the helm.
A large fire blazes atop a hillside to our port. It’s a great night for sailing; not so good for a fire.
At 30 minutes past midnight, the wind shifts to our stern and we adjust sails accordingly. The heel is now only 3 to 5 degrees. The ride smoother. The lady now sashays to a different tune.
Kaliakra: Breakfast and lunch—Sunday, 16 May 2010
I’ve not been feeling well since coming aboard—tired, headache, cold symptoms. Having taken a Tylenol PM before going to bed at 04:00, I sleep through breakfast and lunch.
Kaliakra: Wings—Sunday, 16 May 2010, 12:00 to 16:00
We are at anchor at the east end of Marmara Denizi where it meets Istanbul Bogazi, the Bosporus Strait, that flows between Istanbul’s two land masses, the European part and the Asian part. I count 52 other boats anchored here: freighters, tankers, container vessels, tugs, tall ships, sailboats. More are coming in.
Mir is 500 meters off our port beam. Tenacious is to our port stern. Shabab Oman is to our starboard stern; the sound of bagpipes and drums emanate from her deck. Kostas the historian whistles as he plays a fishing line through his hands off the stern.
We will be here two days, until it is time for us leave for the Black Sea leg of this race. The captain tells me that some shipping vessels are waiting for supplies or orders to their next destination while others are waiting for down-bound traffic to clear. Vessels are allowed passage through the narrow strait in only one direction at a time, he says.
A small seagull flies by. Sunlight silvers its wings. Its body reflects green tones from the sea. Its appearance is ethereal. Its flight is eternal. It has no time schedule. It needs no orders. It has attained its rite of passage.
Kaliakra: Anchorage activities—Sunday, 16 May 2010, late afternoon
More vessels have come to anchor in the eastern tip of Marmara Denizi. As late afternoon sun glints off the water in front of our bow, I attempt to record a video of the ships. The lens does not do justice to the scene.
Nancy, a Californian and the only other American on board, is sitting on the bridge with three cadets. Each is tying decorative knots. She’s working on a miniature thump mat with string toned in soft yellow and blue. The cadet to her left is making a key fob with red and black string.
Of the cadets, she says, “I just want to hug them all.” Then, to me, “You wrote a great book.” She’s referring to Brain Tumor, my medical memoir about a time in my life when a benign tumor growing within my head completely changed my life for the better. I had loaned a copy to her only four hours earlier, and she already read it in its entirety.
Kaliakra: Nazdrave—Sunday, May 16, 2010, supper
In the mess hall, my watch mates are gathering for supper. “Nazdrave,” I say as I enter the room. The others reply in kind. This is the traditional Bulgarian greeting when someone enters or leaves a dining room. It is comparable to “cheers” or “salud,” literally a toast to good health.
Tonight’s meal, my first food in 24 hours, is rice, beef bits, and more jalapeno peppers than any one meal deserves. “It’s very hot,” understates cadet Lazar. Deni, who is sitting back-to-back to me on benches that leave no room between them, turns and says, “My lips are burning.” Someone else advises, “Eat lots of bread.”
The bread, of course, is white bread—and only white bread. I take two slices, toasted, along with three cups of black tea, eating the white and brown parts of my meal and leaving the greens unforked. Interestingly, a lemon rind on my plate offers a welcome bitter taste to offset the spice.
Second officer Alexander, my watch officer, tells me we won’t stand watch at midnight tonight. He tells me to get a good night’s sleep. I promise to obey his order. But before going to my berth around 23:00, I transfer photographs from my camera to my computer and prepare a PowerPoint presentation that I will show to the crew the next evening.
Kaliakra: Breakfast—Monday, 17 May 2010
I sleep through breakfast.
We are at anchor at the east end of Marmara Denizi where it meets Istanbul Bogazi, the Bosporus Strait, that flows between Istanbul’s two land masses, the European part and the Asian part. I count 52 other boats anchored here: freighters, tankers, container vessels, tugs, tall ships, sailboats. More are coming in.
Mir is 500 meters off our port beam. Tenacious is to our port stern. Shabab Oman is to our starboard stern; the sound of bagpipes and drums emanate from her deck. Kostas the historian whistles as he plays a fishing line through his hands off the stern.
We will be here two days, until it is time for us leave for the Black Sea leg of this race. The captain tells me that some shipping vessels are waiting for supplies or orders to their next destination while others are waiting for down-bound traffic to clear. Vessels are allowed passage through the narrow strait in only one direction at a time, he says.
A small seagull flies by. Sunlight silvers its wings. Its body reflects green tones from the sea. Its appearance is ethereal. Its flight is eternal. It has no time schedule. It needs no orders. It has attained its rite of passage.
Kaliakra: Anchorage activities—Sunday, 16 May 2010, late afternoon
More vessels have come to anchor in the eastern tip of Marmara Denizi. As late afternoon sun glints off the water in front of our bow, I attempt to record a video of the ships. The lens does not do justice to the scene.
Nancy, a Californian and the only other American on board, is sitting on the bridge with three cadets. Each is tying decorative knots. She’s working on a miniature thump mat with string toned in soft yellow and blue. The cadet to her left is making a key fob with red and black string.
Of the cadets, she says, “I just want to hug them all.” Then, to me, “You wrote a great book.” She’s referring to Brain Tumor, my medical memoir about a time in my life when a benign tumor growing within my head completely changed my life for the better. I had loaned a copy to her only four hours earlier, and she already read it in its entirety.
Kaliakra: Nazdrave—Sunday, May 16, 2010, supper
In the mess hall, my watch mates are gathering for supper. “Nazdrave,” I say as I enter the room. The others reply in kind. This is the traditional Bulgarian greeting when someone enters or leaves a dining room. It is comparable to “cheers” or “salud,” literally a toast to good health.
Tonight’s meal, my first food in 24 hours, is rice, beef bits, and more jalapeno peppers than any one meal deserves. “It’s very hot,” understates cadet Lazar. Deni, who is sitting back-to-back to me on benches that leave no room between them, turns and says, “My lips are burning.” Someone else advises, “Eat lots of bread.”
The bread, of course, is white bread—and only white bread. I take two slices, toasted, along with three cups of black tea, eating the white and brown parts of my meal and leaving the greens unforked. Interestingly, a lemon rind on my plate offers a welcome bitter taste to offset the spice.
Second officer Alexander, my watch officer, tells me we won’t stand watch at midnight tonight. He tells me to get a good night’s sleep. I promise to obey his order. But before going to my berth around 23:00, I transfer photographs from my camera to my computer and prepare a PowerPoint presentation that I will show to the crew the next evening.
Kaliakra: Breakfast—Monday, 17 May 2010
I sleep through breakfast.
Kaliakra: Captain Koludov—Monday, 17 May 2010, 10:00
Note: throughout this manuscript, I generally refer to people by only their first names. Exceptions, however, are persons whose rank or position in life warrant identification by surname. Captain Stanislav Koludov is one of these people.
Captain Koludov is on duty and the shade of the bridge proves to be a good place for a conversation. I explain that I wish to write about him, and he grants me permission to record our conversation.
He was born in Plovdiv, Bulgaria’s second-largest city, he says, but grew up in Varna on the coast of the Black Sea. His father was in the Bulgarian Navy (NaviBulgar), and Stanislav grew up with the dream of sailing too. Even his kindergarten school was called “The Little Sailors.” Students wore sailors’ uniforms, and Stanislav had a dream: “Being on a ship, being a captain.”
Later, as a youth in school, he set his dream aside and studied technical subjects. But when it came time to choose a college, he found the naval academy more financially attractive than a technical school. He entered the academy in 1997 and graduated in 2002, working on training vessels and other ships as part of his education as well as, later, his career.
Upon receiving his chief officers’ license, Stanislav received a providential offer to be chief officer (responsible for all on-deck activities) on a Bulgarian commercial vessel that was docked in Germany. The only challenge was that he had to report for duty within two days. He accepted the offer.
Born in 1978, Stanislav became a captain very recently, in March 2010, appointed to that position on Kaliakra at the young age of 32. “We have a popular Bulgarian saying. ‘Every boy has a dream to become a sailor. And every sailor has a dream to become a captain. And every captain has a dream to become, at least, Magellan.’ Some of my friends are calling me Magellan. Maybe they are wishing for me to fulfill the next step of the dream.”
He states that Kaliakra was built to be a training ship. “It’s acknowledged worldwide that it’s better for future officers to get their first voyages on a sailing ship. Sailing ships are where you start to understand life at sea in all aspects—the basic principles and skills, like working on a team, leadership, and understanding the elements that govern your life when you are at sea. You understand these when you are on a small vessel (like Kaliakra) because you are entirely dependent on the water and the wind. The cadets learn to rely on each other and to follow orders. These are the basic skills needed to be a sailor, and they are the same for every ship.”
Many of the cadets aboard Kaliakra have never set foot aboard a ship or boat—of any kind or size—before. So teaching safety is a big factor.
“The first rule is to never push,” Captain Koludov says. “We are a racing ship. So we try to always to do our best but not endanger people. We train them slowly in basic principles, with things they can learn easily.” Such as coiling lines, which was their first assignment while in port in Volos.
“The big thing is to move slowly because we don’t know what skills they have. Their physical skills might be limited. They might be worried about working aloft, about being close to the sea. Some of them are not, and some of them are. The first thing is to overcome their fears, teach them to do their jobs, build their confidence. When we see they have basic skills, we step them up to another stage to do more complicated things. It also keeps it interesting for them. They learn these skills, and it becomes quite exciting.”
The ages of Captain Koludov’s young charges—about twenty of them—are 18 to 22. The ship’s crew also consists of three deck officers, a helmsman, two experienced young men who have been cadets in recent past years, three engineers, a cook, and nine guest passengers, some of whom also stand watch and work shoulder to shoulder with the cadets.
Most of the cadets have not paid their own passage but are sponsored by the shipping company that owns Kaliakra. They will train not only aboard this vessel but also on other ships and they will receive a maritime education. In exchange, the cadets have signed a contract to work for the company for either three years or five years.
“There is a shortage of labor in the maritime industry,” Captain Koludov explains. “Shipping companies are experiencing difficulty recruiting people, especially officers, because sailors have to so spend much time away from their families.”
I compliment the captain for his way of managing by walking around the deck, helping to pull lines, tweaking the sails, and showing this skill to cadets who want to learn the nuances of sailing.
“I was the chief officer just two months ago so that was part of my job,” he observes. “It is something I am more familiar with and more accustomed to. When I am on the bridge and I see these young people out there, I simply can’t help myself. I go there and teach them things.”
Because the cadets are only a decade younger than Captain Koludov, the question of losing or gaining greater respect by working with them so closely enters the conversation. “Some people think it’s not the captain’s job to step in,” he states. “People have to know that the captain is the captain and in a higher position. All of them know I am superior in rank. But on a ship like this, I don’t think there is a place for such a big gulf.”
Captain Koludov’s dream for his future is to sail Kaliakra as much as possible (not be in port too much), to continue to compete in tall ship races, to find other voyages to help cover expenses, and to make each voyage positive and pleasurable. “It’s the people who make the atmosphere of the ship,” he says. “The ship may be beautiful, but it is the attitude of the people who are on it that makes the ship attractive or not.”
Note: throughout this manuscript, I generally refer to people by only their first names. Exceptions, however, are persons whose rank or position in life warrant identification by surname. Captain Stanislav Koludov is one of these people.
Captain Koludov is on duty and the shade of the bridge proves to be a good place for a conversation. I explain that I wish to write about him, and he grants me permission to record our conversation.
He was born in Plovdiv, Bulgaria’s second-largest city, he says, but grew up in Varna on the coast of the Black Sea. His father was in the Bulgarian Navy (NaviBulgar), and Stanislav grew up with the dream of sailing too. Even his kindergarten school was called “The Little Sailors.” Students wore sailors’ uniforms, and Stanislav had a dream: “Being on a ship, being a captain.”
Later, as a youth in school, he set his dream aside and studied technical subjects. But when it came time to choose a college, he found the naval academy more financially attractive than a technical school. He entered the academy in 1997 and graduated in 2002, working on training vessels and other ships as part of his education as well as, later, his career.
Upon receiving his chief officers’ license, Stanislav received a providential offer to be chief officer (responsible for all on-deck activities) on a Bulgarian commercial vessel that was docked in Germany. The only challenge was that he had to report for duty within two days. He accepted the offer.
Born in 1978, Stanislav became a captain very recently, in March 2010, appointed to that position on Kaliakra at the young age of 32. “We have a popular Bulgarian saying. ‘Every boy has a dream to become a sailor. And every sailor has a dream to become a captain. And every captain has a dream to become, at least, Magellan.’ Some of my friends are calling me Magellan. Maybe they are wishing for me to fulfill the next step of the dream.”
He states that Kaliakra was built to be a training ship. “It’s acknowledged worldwide that it’s better for future officers to get their first voyages on a sailing ship. Sailing ships are where you start to understand life at sea in all aspects—the basic principles and skills, like working on a team, leadership, and understanding the elements that govern your life when you are at sea. You understand these when you are on a small vessel (like Kaliakra) because you are entirely dependent on the water and the wind. The cadets learn to rely on each other and to follow orders. These are the basic skills needed to be a sailor, and they are the same for every ship.”
Many of the cadets aboard Kaliakra have never set foot aboard a ship or boat—of any kind or size—before. So teaching safety is a big factor.
“The first rule is to never push,” Captain Koludov says. “We are a racing ship. So we try to always to do our best but not endanger people. We train them slowly in basic principles, with things they can learn easily.” Such as coiling lines, which was their first assignment while in port in Volos.
“The big thing is to move slowly because we don’t know what skills they have. Their physical skills might be limited. They might be worried about working aloft, about being close to the sea. Some of them are not, and some of them are. The first thing is to overcome their fears, teach them to do their jobs, build their confidence. When we see they have basic skills, we step them up to another stage to do more complicated things. It also keeps it interesting for them. They learn these skills, and it becomes quite exciting.”
The ages of Captain Koludov’s young charges—about twenty of them—are 18 to 22. The ship’s crew also consists of three deck officers, a helmsman, two experienced young men who have been cadets in recent past years, three engineers, a cook, and nine guest passengers, some of whom also stand watch and work shoulder to shoulder with the cadets.
Most of the cadets have not paid their own passage but are sponsored by the shipping company that owns Kaliakra. They will train not only aboard this vessel but also on other ships and they will receive a maritime education. In exchange, the cadets have signed a contract to work for the company for either three years or five years.
“There is a shortage of labor in the maritime industry,” Captain Koludov explains. “Shipping companies are experiencing difficulty recruiting people, especially officers, because sailors have to so spend much time away from their families.”
I compliment the captain for his way of managing by walking around the deck, helping to pull lines, tweaking the sails, and showing this skill to cadets who want to learn the nuances of sailing.
“I was the chief officer just two months ago so that was part of my job,” he observes. “It is something I am more familiar with and more accustomed to. When I am on the bridge and I see these young people out there, I simply can’t help myself. I go there and teach them things.”
Because the cadets are only a decade younger than Captain Koludov, the question of losing or gaining greater respect by working with them so closely enters the conversation. “Some people think it’s not the captain’s job to step in,” he states. “People have to know that the captain is the captain and in a higher position. All of them know I am superior in rank. But on a ship like this, I don’t think there is a place for such a big gulf.”
Captain Koludov’s dream for his future is to sail Kaliakra as much as possible (not be in port too much), to continue to compete in tall ship races, to find other voyages to help cover expenses, and to make each voyage positive and pleasurable. “It’s the people who make the atmosphere of the ship,” he says. “The ship may be beautiful, but it is the attitude of the people who are on it that makes the ship attractive or not.”
Kaliakra: Excessive freedoms and black millions—Monday, 17 May 2010, 11:00
Being at anchor on a sailboat of just about any size often leads to conversation on subjects other than sailing. Some of them can be seriously political. This one, with Nikos, is set in the context of Greece’s bankrupt financial state and the European Union’s 110 billion euro bailout one week earlier.
While often jovial and usually smiling, Nikos also has a serious side. Within his first few sentences, it becomes immediately obvious that he has something to say about his beloved homeland. Having recently finished my interview with Captain Koludov, I have my digital audio recorder with me. I ask Nikos’ permission to capture his comments, and he agrees.
“From 1967 to 1974, we had a hounda, a military government,” Nikos states. “Your CIA had a lot to do with that. They took Communists to concentration camps on the islands. That’s why there were student riots. We did a lot of rioting then. People didn’t like the military government, but they weren’t ready to give up the things Communism offered.
“Politicians offered jobs. They built the public sector to be very large. And people in private business couldn’t compete with the public sector. Then there was globalization, an invasion of Chinese products. Then bigger corporations from Europe and the U.S. came along. And things didn’t go very well. There was no planning by the politicians. We found ourselves owing money—both the citizens and the government. That is what is happening now (the reason for the bailout).
“Our people don’t know the difference between freedom and excessive freedom. When we were under the hounda regime, people lost freedoms and were imprisoned and sent to exile because of their beliefs. But when you have democracy and think you have the power to vote and to say, then you don’t care what the person next to you wants and believes. So we became excessive; we began to value our individual freedom more than the freedom for everyone. You can see that in everyday life.
“People moved away from things like their religion and their way of thinking that was more pure. We got corrupted by time and lost the meaning. I’m not talking just about religion, but everything.
“The number one thing that government can do is try to get rid of poverty. They should do that, but they don’t do that. They are greedy politicians. They were given foreign money to feed the people, but they keep it as if it was their own money. They say, ‘Come and work for a year or six months and you get a job.’ This was like being an apprentice. It was not a proper job. But the people say, ‘This guy gave us work. Vote for him again.’ The politicians are making black millions out of it. Dirty money. Black money.
“We hope that things are going to start to change toward the common sense, but idiots are involved with public policy. They are very selfish. These are the ones who disregard the public and look for their own excessive freedoms; they are idiots.”
Postscript: After our voyage and after I drafted this story, I sent an email to Nikos, asking if he was comfortable being quoted as calling people in his country “idiots.” I based my question on the definition of that word as it is used in American English: to be stupid or foolish.
Nikos replied that I could quote him in entirety. His comfort was based on the original definition of “idiot,” a definition that strengthens his point. He wrote: “‘Idiot politicians’ are those who decline to take part in public life in favor of their private life (idiotiki zoi in Greek). In other words, they stupidly look at their own business.”
He sent a quote from the Internet that laid the foundation for this definition: Idiots were considered to be people who declined to take part in public life in the democratic government of the polis (city state), a decision that was considered dishonorable. Idiots were seen as having bad judgment in public and political matters. Over time, the term idiot shifted away from its original connotation of selfishness in regard to wellbeing of the populace and came to refer to individuals with overall bad judgment.
Kaliakra: Lunch—Monday, 17 May 2010, 11:30
Two hamburgers, French fries, salad of lettuce, cucumber, and tomato, white bread.
Being at anchor on a sailboat of just about any size often leads to conversation on subjects other than sailing. Some of them can be seriously political. This one, with Nikos, is set in the context of Greece’s bankrupt financial state and the European Union’s 110 billion euro bailout one week earlier.
While often jovial and usually smiling, Nikos also has a serious side. Within his first few sentences, it becomes immediately obvious that he has something to say about his beloved homeland. Having recently finished my interview with Captain Koludov, I have my digital audio recorder with me. I ask Nikos’ permission to capture his comments, and he agrees.
“From 1967 to 1974, we had a hounda, a military government,” Nikos states. “Your CIA had a lot to do with that. They took Communists to concentration camps on the islands. That’s why there were student riots. We did a lot of rioting then. People didn’t like the military government, but they weren’t ready to give up the things Communism offered.
“Politicians offered jobs. They built the public sector to be very large. And people in private business couldn’t compete with the public sector. Then there was globalization, an invasion of Chinese products. Then bigger corporations from Europe and the U.S. came along. And things didn’t go very well. There was no planning by the politicians. We found ourselves owing money—both the citizens and the government. That is what is happening now (the reason for the bailout).
“Our people don’t know the difference between freedom and excessive freedom. When we were under the hounda regime, people lost freedoms and were imprisoned and sent to exile because of their beliefs. But when you have democracy and think you have the power to vote and to say, then you don’t care what the person next to you wants and believes. So we became excessive; we began to value our individual freedom more than the freedom for everyone. You can see that in everyday life.
“People moved away from things like their religion and their way of thinking that was more pure. We got corrupted by time and lost the meaning. I’m not talking just about religion, but everything.
“The number one thing that government can do is try to get rid of poverty. They should do that, but they don’t do that. They are greedy politicians. They were given foreign money to feed the people, but they keep it as if it was their own money. They say, ‘Come and work for a year or six months and you get a job.’ This was like being an apprentice. It was not a proper job. But the people say, ‘This guy gave us work. Vote for him again.’ The politicians are making black millions out of it. Dirty money. Black money.
“We hope that things are going to start to change toward the common sense, but idiots are involved with public policy. They are very selfish. These are the ones who disregard the public and look for their own excessive freedoms; they are idiots.”
Postscript: After our voyage and after I drafted this story, I sent an email to Nikos, asking if he was comfortable being quoted as calling people in his country “idiots.” I based my question on the definition of that word as it is used in American English: to be stupid or foolish.
Nikos replied that I could quote him in entirety. His comfort was based on the original definition of “idiot,” a definition that strengthens his point. He wrote: “‘Idiot politicians’ are those who decline to take part in public life in favor of their private life (idiotiki zoi in Greek). In other words, they stupidly look at their own business.”
He sent a quote from the Internet that laid the foundation for this definition: Idiots were considered to be people who declined to take part in public life in the democratic government of the polis (city state), a decision that was considered dishonorable. Idiots were seen as having bad judgment in public and political matters. Over time, the term idiot shifted away from its original connotation of selfishness in regard to wellbeing of the populace and came to refer to individuals with overall bad judgment.
Kaliakra: Lunch—Monday, 17 May 2010, 11:30
Two hamburgers, French fries, salad of lettuce, cucumber, and tomato, white bread.
Kaliakra: Captain’s dinner—Monday, 17 May 2010, 17:00
We are fifteen—officers and guests—sitting around a large table in the officers’ dining room, anchored off the coast of Istanbul, Turkey. We are Bulgarian, Greek, American. Our languages mirror our nationalities. English flits in and out. Laughter permeates. We are eating salads of crab sticks, silverfish, black olives, green olives, pimento, jalapenos, onions, and lettuce—and white bread. We are drinking wodka,tsipouro (alcohol made from white grapes boiled to distill the juice) with and without anise, and Coca Cola. Toasts are frequent. Stories abound.
A large framed icon of St. Nicholas hangs behind Captain Koludov. Every sailor has at least one icon of this patron of sailors, he says. Second officer Alexander says he has three. He tells me that when I get to Varna I can get one in the cathedral, in one of the shops there. “Those are authentic, made by people who know. Don’t buy them from the street vendors; they are gypsies and don’t know.”
Kostas the historian takes the last of the tsipouro and rattles the neck of the upturned bottle inside the top of his glass. He says, “The one who empties the bottle gets the women.” Captain Koludov replies, “In Bulgaria, the one who empties the bottle buys the next one.”
Kostas notes that, because I am drinking only Coca-Cola (I’ve also been taking cold medicine and have declined the alcohol), I will be responsible for taking photographs, claiming that the others’ hands will be too unsteady. I tell about designated drivers in the U.S., and Nikos says, “We have those in Greece. They are called taxis.”
Kaliakra: PacMen and PacWoman—Tuesday, 18 May 2010, 07:00
Nancy, Kostas the speaker, Christos, Visilis, and I are walking the deck. There are seven places (eight if you count the bridge, but we don’t go there) to cross from one side of the ship to the other. So, it is possible to take a straight line the length of the ship (40 paces) or traverse or weave a loopy path around masts, stowage areas, and coiled lines.
We each wear a different color jacket: yellow, red, blue, orange, and slate.
We are walking simultaneously but not together, our speeds not uniform. Sometimes we fall in line with each other, but often we do not. Much of our passage way is too narrow to pass another walker. So when two of us approach, one will turn to avoid a collision.
We are PacMen and PacWoman.
Kaliakra: Breakfast—Tuesday, 18 May 2010, 07:30 Six long slices of salami, two large slabs of feta cheese, packaged cream-filled croissant, white bread.
Kaliakra: Lunch—Tuesday, 18 May 2010, 11:30
Lentil soup, chicken, French fries, salad, oranges, very sour grapefruit, white bread.
We are fifteen—officers and guests—sitting around a large table in the officers’ dining room, anchored off the coast of Istanbul, Turkey. We are Bulgarian, Greek, American. Our languages mirror our nationalities. English flits in and out. Laughter permeates. We are eating salads of crab sticks, silverfish, black olives, green olives, pimento, jalapenos, onions, and lettuce—and white bread. We are drinking wodka,tsipouro (alcohol made from white grapes boiled to distill the juice) with and without anise, and Coca Cola. Toasts are frequent. Stories abound.
A large framed icon of St. Nicholas hangs behind Captain Koludov. Every sailor has at least one icon of this patron of sailors, he says. Second officer Alexander says he has three. He tells me that when I get to Varna I can get one in the cathedral, in one of the shops there. “Those are authentic, made by people who know. Don’t buy them from the street vendors; they are gypsies and don’t know.”
Kostas the historian takes the last of the tsipouro and rattles the neck of the upturned bottle inside the top of his glass. He says, “The one who empties the bottle gets the women.” Captain Koludov replies, “In Bulgaria, the one who empties the bottle buys the next one.”
Kostas notes that, because I am drinking only Coca-Cola (I’ve also been taking cold medicine and have declined the alcohol), I will be responsible for taking photographs, claiming that the others’ hands will be too unsteady. I tell about designated drivers in the U.S., and Nikos says, “We have those in Greece. They are called taxis.”
Kaliakra: PacMen and PacWoman—Tuesday, 18 May 2010, 07:00
Nancy, Kostas the speaker, Christos, Visilis, and I are walking the deck. There are seven places (eight if you count the bridge, but we don’t go there) to cross from one side of the ship to the other. So, it is possible to take a straight line the length of the ship (40 paces) or traverse or weave a loopy path around masts, stowage areas, and coiled lines.
We each wear a different color jacket: yellow, red, blue, orange, and slate.
We are walking simultaneously but not together, our speeds not uniform. Sometimes we fall in line with each other, but often we do not. Much of our passage way is too narrow to pass another walker. So when two of us approach, one will turn to avoid a collision.
We are PacMen and PacWoman.
Kaliakra: Breakfast—Tuesday, 18 May 2010, 07:30 Six long slices of salami, two large slabs of feta cheese, packaged cream-filled croissant, white bread.
Kaliakra: Lunch—Tuesday, 18 May 2010, 11:30
Lentil soup, chicken, French fries, salad, oranges, very sour grapefruit, white bread.
Kaliakra: Europe to port, Asia to starboard—Tuesday, 18 May 2010, 10:00 to 13:30
Istanbul. A city located on two continents, divided by the Istanbul Bogazi (the Bosporus), and connected by two bridges and many ferry services. A city prized in history, once controlled by Greece and before that the namesake of the Byzantine Empire. A city of 12.8 million people (the fourth largest in the world), modern buildings of glass and gray, ancient mosques and fortresses, and a few pastel stuccos that might be older houses.
The Bosporus is a winding, 30-kilometer (48-mile) strait that links the Black Sea with Marmara, the Aegean, the Mediterranean, the Atlantic, and the rest of the world’s great oceans. A strait that connects the people of southern Russia and Eurasia to the rest of the world’s great populations. A strait heavy with commercial freight vessels.
But, for now, Kaliakra and the rest of the Historical Seas Regatta fleet, along with five companion sloops, have total right of way, the only vessels here—except for a half dozen Turkish coast guard boats and an ambulance boat that herd us upstream. Two coast guard helicopters monitor from above. Some of the tall ships are flying a full set of sails.
Kostas the historian, Nikos, Thanasis, and I are enjoying the spectacle from the crow’s nest, about ten meters above Kaliakra’s deck. Some of the crew climbs aloft and, standing only on a single line, secure sails to the yardarm above us.
Kaliakra: Supper—Tuesday, 18 May 2010, 17:15
The watch for me and my watch mates has been changed to 04:00 to 08:00 and 16:00 to 20:00—the sunrise and sunset watch. Wonderful. To eat when Tony, the cook, has prepared meals means that we go below to the mess hall, one or two at a time, during our watch.
Tonight, they serve ravioli, Fanta orange soda, and white bread.
I finish just in time to go topsides for the start of the Black Sea leg of this race at 18:00. Next stop: Varna.
Kaliakra: Breakfast—Wednesday, 19 May 2010, 08:00
Sliced bologna, provolone cheese, chocolate covered cookies, chocolate cake frosting (dipped out of the jar), white bread.
Kaliakra: Lunch—Wednesday, 19 May 2010, 11:30
Eight-inch fish (not deboned, everything but the head and tail), French fries, salad of cabbage and tomato, white bread.
Kaliakra: International sailing exchange—Wednesday, 19 May 2010, 16:00
Nancy has sailed on numerous tall ships and is influential in Sail Training International (STI) and American Sail Training Association (ASTA). She wants to utilize her influence to work out a sailor exchange program between Bulgarian youth and the U.S. Coast Guard sail training vessel (STV) Eagle. She says the young men and women on board Kaliakra have told her that their country is poor; they are disillusioned because privatization has not provided the comforts they had experienced with Communism.
Kaliakra: Supper—Wednesday, 19 May 2010
White beans in a sauce with a few bits of ham, white bread. Zydo brand chocolate-covered wafers for dessert (zydo means “miracle.”)
Istanbul. A city located on two continents, divided by the Istanbul Bogazi (the Bosporus), and connected by two bridges and many ferry services. A city prized in history, once controlled by Greece and before that the namesake of the Byzantine Empire. A city of 12.8 million people (the fourth largest in the world), modern buildings of glass and gray, ancient mosques and fortresses, and a few pastel stuccos that might be older houses.
The Bosporus is a winding, 30-kilometer (48-mile) strait that links the Black Sea with Marmara, the Aegean, the Mediterranean, the Atlantic, and the rest of the world’s great oceans. A strait that connects the people of southern Russia and Eurasia to the rest of the world’s great populations. A strait heavy with commercial freight vessels.
But, for now, Kaliakra and the rest of the Historical Seas Regatta fleet, along with five companion sloops, have total right of way, the only vessels here—except for a half dozen Turkish coast guard boats and an ambulance boat that herd us upstream. Two coast guard helicopters monitor from above. Some of the tall ships are flying a full set of sails.
Kostas the historian, Nikos, Thanasis, and I are enjoying the spectacle from the crow’s nest, about ten meters above Kaliakra’s deck. Some of the crew climbs aloft and, standing only on a single line, secure sails to the yardarm above us.
Kaliakra: Supper—Tuesday, 18 May 2010, 17:15
The watch for me and my watch mates has been changed to 04:00 to 08:00 and 16:00 to 20:00—the sunrise and sunset watch. Wonderful. To eat when Tony, the cook, has prepared meals means that we go below to the mess hall, one or two at a time, during our watch.
Tonight, they serve ravioli, Fanta orange soda, and white bread.
I finish just in time to go topsides for the start of the Black Sea leg of this race at 18:00. Next stop: Varna.
Kaliakra: Breakfast—Wednesday, 19 May 2010, 08:00
Sliced bologna, provolone cheese, chocolate covered cookies, chocolate cake frosting (dipped out of the jar), white bread.
Kaliakra: Lunch—Wednesday, 19 May 2010, 11:30
Eight-inch fish (not deboned, everything but the head and tail), French fries, salad of cabbage and tomato, white bread.
Kaliakra: International sailing exchange—Wednesday, 19 May 2010, 16:00
Nancy has sailed on numerous tall ships and is influential in Sail Training International (STI) and American Sail Training Association (ASTA). She wants to utilize her influence to work out a sailor exchange program between Bulgarian youth and the U.S. Coast Guard sail training vessel (STV) Eagle. She says the young men and women on board Kaliakra have told her that their country is poor; they are disillusioned because privatization has not provided the comforts they had experienced with Communism.
Kaliakra: Supper—Wednesday, 19 May 2010
White beans in a sauce with a few bits of ham, white bread. Zydo brand chocolate-covered wafers for dessert (zydo means “miracle.”)
Kaliakra: Education in Bulgaria—Wednesday, 19 May 2010, 19:00
Yanko is Kaliakra’s third engineer, which means his watch runs from midnight-to-04:00 and noon-to-16:00. He’s 21, energetic, and willing to learn from the experienced seamen who are his superiors and mentors. He is also grateful for his education.
“High school students in Bulgaria receive a scholarship of $10 per month,” he says, “and they don’t learn if they don’t want to. They take classes in card playing.”
Yanko was in these types of classrooms. But he taught himself English by reading English books with a dictionary in hand, looking up every word, and by watching English movies.
He got all As in high school and earned two university scholarships that pay him a total of $90 per month. He’s in his third year of university study, and his classes cost $120 per semester. Most of his classes are in engineering, but he also takes physical education.
He worked three months on a commercial vessel last summer and earned $500 a month, which he says, “Is a lot of money.” He spent it on clothes first, then food, then on parties and girls. “You need money to have girlfriends and happiness,” he says.
Kaliakra: Tactical decisions—Wednesday, 19 May 2010, 19:30
Forty-five minutes before sunset, and we are going 3.5 knots—in the right direction. A half hour earlier, when I went below for supper, that was not so. Our necessary course to the required waypoint was 330 degrees (north-northwest), but we were going 15 degrees (north-northeast) at zero to, maybe, one knot. The term “going nowhere fast” came to mind.
To our starboard, two hours before that, Dar Mlodziezy had, in effect, turned around, choosing a tactic of sailing southwest—at negative velocity made good, aka “the wrong direction”—in order to gain a better westward approach toward the waypoint.
I had mentioned this to Captain Koludov, asking why. “It’s a tactic,” he said. I questioned the validity of sailing extra miles, adding, “At least we are still going in somewhat the right direction.” He nodded, yet he looked at Dar, and I could tell he was considering that tactic, too.
“How far to the waypoint?” I asked.
“Thirty miles.”
“A lot can happen in 30 miles, Captain. If we get a favorable wind shift …” I let the sentence drift, not wanting to be an insubordinate passenger yet hoping he would continue on our current course because, well, … because that felt right to me.
Now, on deck again, I walk to the gyrocompass on the corner of the bridge. Captain Koludov is nearby. “Nice speed. And in the right direction,” I say.
“Yes,” he replies with a slight smile.
“It looks like Dar made the wrong decision,” I add before thinking maybe I should not.
“It’s a decision I almost made,” he replies, and the gleam in his eye is stronger.
A few minutes later, I am standing by the stern rail with Nikos, who is on this 16:00-to-20:00 watch with me and who had observed Dar’s tactic with me earlier. He says that twice in the last 30 minutes (while I was below eating) our captain almost made the decision to tack and follow Dar. “We had the lines in our hands, and both times the captain decided to wait. The wind came up and shifted just a few minutes ago,” Nikos says.
Ah, patience, I think. And trust. And luck. And a word of gratitude for the great gods of the wind for favoring us this time. We are being drawn across the water by the glory of Nature.
Yanko is Kaliakra’s third engineer, which means his watch runs from midnight-to-04:00 and noon-to-16:00. He’s 21, energetic, and willing to learn from the experienced seamen who are his superiors and mentors. He is also grateful for his education.
“High school students in Bulgaria receive a scholarship of $10 per month,” he says, “and they don’t learn if they don’t want to. They take classes in card playing.”
Yanko was in these types of classrooms. But he taught himself English by reading English books with a dictionary in hand, looking up every word, and by watching English movies.
He got all As in high school and earned two university scholarships that pay him a total of $90 per month. He’s in his third year of university study, and his classes cost $120 per semester. Most of his classes are in engineering, but he also takes physical education.
He worked three months on a commercial vessel last summer and earned $500 a month, which he says, “Is a lot of money.” He spent it on clothes first, then food, then on parties and girls. “You need money to have girlfriends and happiness,” he says.
Kaliakra: Tactical decisions—Wednesday, 19 May 2010, 19:30
Forty-five minutes before sunset, and we are going 3.5 knots—in the right direction. A half hour earlier, when I went below for supper, that was not so. Our necessary course to the required waypoint was 330 degrees (north-northwest), but we were going 15 degrees (north-northeast) at zero to, maybe, one knot. The term “going nowhere fast” came to mind.
To our starboard, two hours before that, Dar Mlodziezy had, in effect, turned around, choosing a tactic of sailing southwest—at negative velocity made good, aka “the wrong direction”—in order to gain a better westward approach toward the waypoint.
I had mentioned this to Captain Koludov, asking why. “It’s a tactic,” he said. I questioned the validity of sailing extra miles, adding, “At least we are still going in somewhat the right direction.” He nodded, yet he looked at Dar, and I could tell he was considering that tactic, too.
“How far to the waypoint?” I asked.
“Thirty miles.”
“A lot can happen in 30 miles, Captain. If we get a favorable wind shift …” I let the sentence drift, not wanting to be an insubordinate passenger yet hoping he would continue on our current course because, well, … because that felt right to me.
Now, on deck again, I walk to the gyrocompass on the corner of the bridge. Captain Koludov is nearby. “Nice speed. And in the right direction,” I say.
“Yes,” he replies with a slight smile.
“It looks like Dar made the wrong decision,” I add before thinking maybe I should not.
“It’s a decision I almost made,” he replies, and the gleam in his eye is stronger.
A few minutes later, I am standing by the stern rail with Nikos, who is on this 16:00-to-20:00 watch with me and who had observed Dar’s tactic with me earlier. He says that twice in the last 30 minutes (while I was below eating) our captain almost made the decision to tack and follow Dar. “We had the lines in our hands, and both times the captain decided to wait. The wind came up and shifted just a few minutes ago,” Nikos says.
Ah, patience, I think. And trust. And luck. And a word of gratitude for the great gods of the wind for favoring us this time. We are being drawn across the water by the glory of Nature.
Kaliakra: Show and try to tell—Wednesday, 19 May 2010, 20:30
My watch is over, and I am showing my PowerPoint presentation in the mess hall. A dozen cadets and guest passengers are sitting or standing near my computer, laughing and smiling when their images or those of their close friends come up on the screen. I take more pictures with the intention of adding them later.
Afterward, some of the cadets ask if I have pictures from other sailing adventures. Do I? You bet. I pull up electronic files of my voyages on other tall ships and racing vessels: Schooner America, Pride of Baltimore II, Highlander Sea, Royal Clipper,60-foot trimaran and fastest sailing craft on the Great Lakes Earth Voyager, ultra-light racing trimaran Accipiter, and Captain Dave’s sloops, Mega and Feelin’ Good.
I show slides from the International Festival of the Sea in Portsmouth Royal Naval Yard (England) from 2001. Hoots arise when a picture of Kaliakra appears. How ironic, I think, to have unwittingly taken a photo of this vessel then, nine years earlier, and to be sailing on her now.
People ask for copies of the PowerPoint and my email address, so I bring out my business cards. They write their contact information in my notebook. Stronger, more lasting bonds are formed. I hand out postcards with an illustration of Michigan that I had purchased en masse prior to my journey exactly for moments like this. I find a scan of the Great Lakes on my computer and show where Michigan’s two peninsulas fit into that great watershed. Kostas the historian, whose daughter is the U.S., points to places he has been: Pennsylvania, New York, Niagara Falls, Chicago. More bonds form.
He and another Greek, Visilis, are civil engineers, and Yanko, Kaliakra’s third engineer, are among the group, so I decided to tell a joke. Visilis doesn’t speak English, so Christos translates.
The joke is about a group of engineers who are arguing about which type of engineer designed the human body. In short, the structural engineer credits his profession because of the body’s excellent skeletal structure (time out for translation); the mechanical engineer takes credit because of the body’s muscular system (time out for translation); the electrical engineer claims credit because of the body’s tremendous nervous system (time out for translation); the communications engineer praises the body’s communication’s system (time out for translation). “Finally,” I say, “the civil engineer makes a statement that no one can argue with …” (time out for translation) “who else but a civil engineer would put the waste disposal system right next to the playground.”
The translator turns to me. “What is playground?”
“Uh, recreation area,” I reply.
“What is recreation area?”
Everyone is looking at me, expectantly. No one is laughing. “The sexual part of the body,” I offer tentatively.
The translator translates. They don’t get it. He asks for help from Yanko who offers another explanation. The expression from the others can be generalized as blank.
Okay, I decide, there is only one way left to deliver this dying punch line: visualization. I stand up and point to my genitals: “Playground.” I turn and point at my butt: “Waste disposal system.”
The translator laughs—a little. He translates.
“Oh,” some say.
Visilis looks at me. I wonder if I have offended him.
Later, I ask Christos and Kostas to offer my apology.
They say, “No problem. It is okay,” and, with large smiles, clap me on the back. Christos gives me a Greek bear hug. With thick accent, Kostas adds, “The joke is good but with translation it takes time, you know.” He's being kind.
Kaliakra: Beautiful ride—Wednesday, 19 May 2010, 23:30
Six knots at 320 degrees (the optimum direction), flat seas, growing moon, a few clouds, comfortable temperature. Dar is far to our stern. Other tall ships are even with our port beam. We are in the thick of the race with a day and a half to go. To quote other oft-quoted adventurers, “It doesn’t get any better than this.”
Kaliakra: It just got better—Thursday, 20 May 2010, 04:00 to 09:00
At this moment, this race is in our hands, ours to win or lose.
At 04:00 under black skies, our speed is up to 10 knots, we are sailing a perfect course of due north to the waypoint, and, with a 12-knot wind off our port bow, we are heeled a very efficient 15 degrees to starboard.
To understand a 15-degree heel, consider that, when standing, your ankles are always either flexed or pronated; when walking upright along a 30-inch companionway, your right foot is scraping the right wall and your left shoulder is scraping the left wall; when walking from one side of the ship to the other, you are dealing with an incline twice the pitch for which mountain truck drivers are warned to “test your brakes” or “use low gear.”
At predawn around 04:30, the UK’s Tenacious is ahead and off our port bow by 1.5 miles. Russia’s Mir is 5 to 7 miles astern. And Poland’s Dar Mlodziezy, which had been near us before making a mistakeful tack, is, as second officer Alexander says, turning astern, “Pashoo.”
“We have to catch Tenacious,” Captain Koludov says. And we do. At 07:00, Tenacious crosses our bow no more than 300 meters ahead. With more square-rigged sails and fewer triangular foresails and staysails than Kaliakra, she does not point to windward as well as we do. And more than an hour later, at 08:15, when we tack to round the waypoint, she is at least a mile to our starboard beam. When we complete the tack, we are immediately that far ahead, and the UK vessel is still going north, perpendicularly away from the waypoint.
Both vessels have, in fact, overstayed the waypoint in order to safely keep it on our port, per race instructions, after we tack and start toward the finish line in Varna. Our captain has been properly cautious. We are now headed at 235 degrees. The waypoint is ten miles ahead at 225 degrees. To get to Varna, we need to sail 260 degrees (south of due west), but the winds are too westerly to allow us to go directly there.
We are sailing well, the best we can with the winds that Nature is giving us.
Kaliakra: Breakfast—Thursday, 20 May 2010, 07:45
Two Forza brand croissants with cocoa cream, a slab of salami, tea, white bread. (Self-served because I stayed on deck after breakfast time.)
Kaliakra: Lunch—Thursday, 20 May 2010, 1:30
Two bratwurst-size sausages, French fries, combination of cold corn, onions, and black olives in a ketchup sauce, white bread.
Kaliakra: Supper—Thursday, 20 May 2010, 17:30
Chicken stew, white bread.
Kaliakra: The finish—Thursday, 20 May 2010, midnight
Our apparent visible lead of this morning has vanished due to a major factor of sailboat racing: waterline. A vessel’s speed is determined, in part, by the length of her hull at the water. Both Tenacious and Mir are much longer vessels by far and have overtaken us.
The race committee has declared that the race will end at midnight, regardless of each vessel’s position on the course. The reason: all need to be in port in Varna the next morning for the beginning of shoreside celebrations there.
At midnight, Alexander notes our position on the GPS and calls it in to the race committee a few minutes later. A few other vessels—some in our class and some in other classes—are ahead of us. Two or three have actually crossed the finish line. We are close. With another couple of hours, we might also cross. But the winds are dying, so who knows? Wind: that’s another chief characteristic of sailing, after all.
And the chief characteristic of sailors—at least most of them I know—is that, while all appreciate winning and earning a burgee (a “brag flag”) to fly aloft while in port, the most important element is to have a good time and arrive safely ashore. That, we have done and will do.
After helping drop sails, I turn in and go to bed.
My watch is over, and I am showing my PowerPoint presentation in the mess hall. A dozen cadets and guest passengers are sitting or standing near my computer, laughing and smiling when their images or those of their close friends come up on the screen. I take more pictures with the intention of adding them later.
Afterward, some of the cadets ask if I have pictures from other sailing adventures. Do I? You bet. I pull up electronic files of my voyages on other tall ships and racing vessels: Schooner America, Pride of Baltimore II, Highlander Sea, Royal Clipper,60-foot trimaran and fastest sailing craft on the Great Lakes Earth Voyager, ultra-light racing trimaran Accipiter, and Captain Dave’s sloops, Mega and Feelin’ Good.
I show slides from the International Festival of the Sea in Portsmouth Royal Naval Yard (England) from 2001. Hoots arise when a picture of Kaliakra appears. How ironic, I think, to have unwittingly taken a photo of this vessel then, nine years earlier, and to be sailing on her now.
People ask for copies of the PowerPoint and my email address, so I bring out my business cards. They write their contact information in my notebook. Stronger, more lasting bonds are formed. I hand out postcards with an illustration of Michigan that I had purchased en masse prior to my journey exactly for moments like this. I find a scan of the Great Lakes on my computer and show where Michigan’s two peninsulas fit into that great watershed. Kostas the historian, whose daughter is the U.S., points to places he has been: Pennsylvania, New York, Niagara Falls, Chicago. More bonds form.
He and another Greek, Visilis, are civil engineers, and Yanko, Kaliakra’s third engineer, are among the group, so I decided to tell a joke. Visilis doesn’t speak English, so Christos translates.
The joke is about a group of engineers who are arguing about which type of engineer designed the human body. In short, the structural engineer credits his profession because of the body’s excellent skeletal structure (time out for translation); the mechanical engineer takes credit because of the body’s muscular system (time out for translation); the electrical engineer claims credit because of the body’s tremendous nervous system (time out for translation); the communications engineer praises the body’s communication’s system (time out for translation). “Finally,” I say, “the civil engineer makes a statement that no one can argue with …” (time out for translation) “who else but a civil engineer would put the waste disposal system right next to the playground.”
The translator turns to me. “What is playground?”
“Uh, recreation area,” I reply.
“What is recreation area?”
Everyone is looking at me, expectantly. No one is laughing. “The sexual part of the body,” I offer tentatively.
The translator translates. They don’t get it. He asks for help from Yanko who offers another explanation. The expression from the others can be generalized as blank.
Okay, I decide, there is only one way left to deliver this dying punch line: visualization. I stand up and point to my genitals: “Playground.” I turn and point at my butt: “Waste disposal system.”
The translator laughs—a little. He translates.
“Oh,” some say.
Visilis looks at me. I wonder if I have offended him.
Later, I ask Christos and Kostas to offer my apology.
They say, “No problem. It is okay,” and, with large smiles, clap me on the back. Christos gives me a Greek bear hug. With thick accent, Kostas adds, “The joke is good but with translation it takes time, you know.” He's being kind.
Kaliakra: Beautiful ride—Wednesday, 19 May 2010, 23:30
Six knots at 320 degrees (the optimum direction), flat seas, growing moon, a few clouds, comfortable temperature. Dar is far to our stern. Other tall ships are even with our port beam. We are in the thick of the race with a day and a half to go. To quote other oft-quoted adventurers, “It doesn’t get any better than this.”
Kaliakra: It just got better—Thursday, 20 May 2010, 04:00 to 09:00
At this moment, this race is in our hands, ours to win or lose.
At 04:00 under black skies, our speed is up to 10 knots, we are sailing a perfect course of due north to the waypoint, and, with a 12-knot wind off our port bow, we are heeled a very efficient 15 degrees to starboard.
To understand a 15-degree heel, consider that, when standing, your ankles are always either flexed or pronated; when walking upright along a 30-inch companionway, your right foot is scraping the right wall and your left shoulder is scraping the left wall; when walking from one side of the ship to the other, you are dealing with an incline twice the pitch for which mountain truck drivers are warned to “test your brakes” or “use low gear.”
At predawn around 04:30, the UK’s Tenacious is ahead and off our port bow by 1.5 miles. Russia’s Mir is 5 to 7 miles astern. And Poland’s Dar Mlodziezy, which had been near us before making a mistakeful tack, is, as second officer Alexander says, turning astern, “Pashoo.”
“We have to catch Tenacious,” Captain Koludov says. And we do. At 07:00, Tenacious crosses our bow no more than 300 meters ahead. With more square-rigged sails and fewer triangular foresails and staysails than Kaliakra, she does not point to windward as well as we do. And more than an hour later, at 08:15, when we tack to round the waypoint, she is at least a mile to our starboard beam. When we complete the tack, we are immediately that far ahead, and the UK vessel is still going north, perpendicularly away from the waypoint.
Both vessels have, in fact, overstayed the waypoint in order to safely keep it on our port, per race instructions, after we tack and start toward the finish line in Varna. Our captain has been properly cautious. We are now headed at 235 degrees. The waypoint is ten miles ahead at 225 degrees. To get to Varna, we need to sail 260 degrees (south of due west), but the winds are too westerly to allow us to go directly there.
We are sailing well, the best we can with the winds that Nature is giving us.
Kaliakra: Breakfast—Thursday, 20 May 2010, 07:45
Two Forza brand croissants with cocoa cream, a slab of salami, tea, white bread. (Self-served because I stayed on deck after breakfast time.)
Kaliakra: Lunch—Thursday, 20 May 2010, 1:30
Two bratwurst-size sausages, French fries, combination of cold corn, onions, and black olives in a ketchup sauce, white bread.
Kaliakra: Supper—Thursday, 20 May 2010, 17:30
Chicken stew, white bread.
Kaliakra: The finish—Thursday, 20 May 2010, midnight
Our apparent visible lead of this morning has vanished due to a major factor of sailboat racing: waterline. A vessel’s speed is determined, in part, by the length of her hull at the water. Both Tenacious and Mir are much longer vessels by far and have overtaken us.
The race committee has declared that the race will end at midnight, regardless of each vessel’s position on the course. The reason: all need to be in port in Varna the next morning for the beginning of shoreside celebrations there.
At midnight, Alexander notes our position on the GPS and calls it in to the race committee a few minutes later. A few other vessels—some in our class and some in other classes—are ahead of us. Two or three have actually crossed the finish line. We are close. With another couple of hours, we might also cross. But the winds are dying, so who knows? Wind: that’s another chief characteristic of sailing, after all.
And the chief characteristic of sailors—at least most of them I know—is that, while all appreciate winning and earning a burgee (a “brag flag”) to fly aloft while in port, the most important element is to have a good time and arrive safely ashore. That, we have done and will do.
After helping drop sails, I turn in and go to bed.
Varna: Welcome home, Kaliakra—Friday, 21 May 2010, morning
I awaken to the absence of motion and realize I have slept through our arrival in Varna and through breakfast.
The sun has greeted us royally here in Kaliakra’s home port. And so have the port authorities or the race committee or whomever is in charge of assigning dockage. Kaliakra has the prime spot next to the port authority building where visitors can easily find her. Today and over the weekend, several thousand will come aboard.
Welcome home, Kaliakra.
I awaken to the absence of motion and realize I have slept through our arrival in Varna and through breakfast.
The sun has greeted us royally here in Kaliakra’s home port. And so have the port authorities or the race committee or whomever is in charge of assigning dockage. Kaliakra has the prime spot next to the port authority building where visitors can easily find her. Today and over the weekend, several thousand will come aboard.
Welcome home, Kaliakra.
