It’s 8am, as I listen to a chorus of nose blowing from the train-load of commuters traveling to Brussels, I am miles away in my thoughts.
I loose myself in the pleasure of anticipation, mentally manipulating potential sailing itineraries.
It helps block the revulsion I’m feeling for the passenger opposite me as he starts mining his nostrils to pass the time.
I have plenty to smile about… good grief there he goes again with the end of his pencil!!… should I say something?
And people wonder why I like sailing solo….
Back to more pleasant thoughts of itineraries.
I still have a lazy summer to pass in the Mediterranean, island hopping through Greece but bearing ever so slowly westward via Italy, Malta, Tunisia, Mallorca and Gibraltar. Then it’s through the legendary “Pillars of Hercules” and on to the Canary Islands by November.
Should I follow the “milk run” to Santa Lucia? No… I want to see South America… Natal Brazil via Cape Verde, and the Island of Fernando de Noroha sounds much more interesting…
At this point my plans are subject to change on a whim, but I’m surprised to discover numerous constraints governing my choice of travel destinations. Natures timetable of prevailing winds and currents, or the likelihood of storms including hurricanes, impose limits on my decisions.
If I sail to Salvador it will be three months before the winds are favourable to continue north. If I travel west to Aruba or on to Colombia I’m stuck until the trade winds gentle in April leaving precious little time to reach Bermuda.
The train stops… Two new passengers make themselves comfortable beside me, and in what appears to be choreographed synchronization they take out their handkerchiefs to trumpet their arrival. Does everyone have a cold today?
How I wish I were sailing…