The Sailor’s Atlantic Adventure

From the moment I was a child, I felt the ocean call out to me in ways I couldn’t fully understand at the time. Growing up in the quiet archipelago, the endless blue stretching to the horizon was more than just water; it was a symbol of freedom, adventure, and discovery. I would sit on the edge of the rocky shoreline, watching the sunlight dance on the waves, imagining myself aboard a sturdy vessel slicing through these waters, feeling the wind press against my face. Those days, filled with stories told around campfires and memories of family trips on small boats, planted a seed deep within that refused to fade. No matter how many years went by, that dream of sailing across the Atlantic remained a spark—a stubborn, per-sistent flame that refused to be extinguished by life’s practicalities. It was a quiet hope carried in my heart, waiting for the right moment to ignite into action.
Growing older, the obstacles seemed insurmountable at times; doubts crept in, and the opinions of others often clouded my vision. My ex-wife’s disapproval added weight to my fears; she thought my ambition was reckless, an unrealistic

pursuit. Yet inside, I knew this was more than just a whim – it was a calling I couldn’t ignore. In secret moments, I would cradle my old nautical charts, tracing routes and imagining how it would feel to be out there alone at sea, facing the vast, unpredictable ocean. Those quiet, solitary hours fuelled my resolve, reinforcing that this dream was my own, a truth I needed to embrace regardless of outside opinions. In those moments, I realised that the journey toward that dream was as important as reaching the other side of the Atlantic itself.
Back in my youth, my love for the water was woven into every aspect of my life. Living near Airisto, I learned early on how to read the waves and trust in the sea’s language. Our small wooden boat, with its creaky Olympia engine, was my first real experience of independence. I remember how my grandfather, despite his grumbling and salty language, handed me the first rudder, teaching me to respect the power of the currents and the importance of patience. His white captain’s hat seemed to carry the weight of all those tales of the sea, fuelling my own fantasies of someday sailing beyond the horizon. Every trip, no matter how small, felt like a step closer to that distant, shimmering dream – one I held onto fiercely despite the doubts that occasionally crept in. It was in these humble beginnings that the seed was planted, nurtured by warm summer days and endless stories of adventure, all of which formed the foundation of my lifelong passion.