Or: hotels and suitcases: to do and undo them is life. Frivolous purchases by the Prof. Goodbye Bimini. Rough sea. A boat in danger. Problems with the cars. Will we stay here? On the horizon the lights of "civilization" appear. Miamarina.
February 21st
It is nine o’clock. It’s been quite a long time since streaks of undisturbed light have entered the room, cheering it up with many colours. We lazily get up and pack the suitcases. If we don’t leave tonight we will have to sleep on the boat, because the room was paid for up to today.
So this morning we have to leave. Let’s pack the suitcases, again! How many times have I packed them? Hundreds of times. It is always difficult. To unpack them is much easier. How many times have I unpacked them? Hundreds of times. In between packing and unpacking the suitcases, a parenthesis of time is hidden, narrating instants in a life, moments of sadness because of a departure, moments of happiness because of a return, and then we go, that’s how it always is. I should have become used to it, having led this kind of life for years, but… every time I leave... Hurry up, Menconi!
Let’s go, Prof, I’m ready. A waiter loads our luggage onto a cart. The trip from the hotel to the boat is quite long. So we are lucky that someone has given us a hand.
At the boat we find our friends. We drop the luggage and choose a bunk. The whole stern is reserved for the Prof (wonderful).
Then, having sat down together for a huge breakfast, which puts us all in good spirits, we decide to go around and take some photos, even though we are leaving the boat unattended.
At a small market Sironi and the Prof buy a straw hat, I buy a necklace of coconut seeds and other expensive trifles.
Unfortunately prices are high everywhere, especially here. So I just watch. But I do buy some postcards. Sironi, tell me, what is the sea like today? I ask. “The Captain told me it is becoming less rough”, says Sironi; he also says that perhaps this evening we will be able to leave, “He called early this morning, to check on the boat and so we spoke a little, he seems quite smart”. After walking up and down the only road in the village, we return to our boat, while Sironi takes our passports to the Customs to get approval for our departure.
On board the time passes quietly.
I stretch out on the bow deck and sunbath.
I know I have to go back to Milan to breath in wagon loads of fog, therefore I can’t resist making the most of the weather we have here. I also think about my business, I keep my eyes closed and nobody disturbs me.
I can hear the sound of activity; below somebody is talking, I must have fallen asleep... I look at the clock, it is five thirty p.m. I go down to see what’s happening.
The Captain is talking to Sironi and the other two. I come closer. "At 6 p.m. we will leave", I hear them say. Okay. We can go and get ready. The Captain disembarks again.
It is six and the Captain returns on board followed by a girl; now I understand why this is the time he wants to leave!
We unfasten the ropes and slowly leave the pier for the last time, we let the current take us, goodbye Bimini. Another boat follows us. It is the Captain’s friend who is going to accompany us. Sailing away, the island becomes just a stripe of land disappearing on the horizon in a sea of fire. Now it’s getting dark. One hundred metres away from us, the other boat follows, like a ghost. The two Captains keep in radio contact. The sea is very rough, but compared to yesterday it is not so bad. However, it is still not calm enough to allow us to stand up safely, so we all four sit on the sofa, using our feet as props, a bit like the kids game of statues. Only the girl is on her feet as she stands against the Captain’s armchair, she is twittering on and on to the young American, who, all of a sudden puts the autopilot into operation, in order to listen to her more comfortably.
Time passes. It is 8 p.m. local time. Mossatich is hungry so, with difficulty, he gets to the galley, and by supporting himself against the walls he manages to put together something we can chew. Milk and biscuits. For the Prof the meal is fine because, more importantly, he has something to drink. I don’t want anything because I am feeling rather sick, it would be impossible for anything to pass down my throat, I stay quiet.
Now here we go. With the coming of the darkness, the pitching of this floating trap increases, and the noise of the waves breaking against the bow (and too often in my opinion) resembles a car crashing against a post. We look at each other.
It seems to be a problem of ours. We sigh. Now the girl dozes quietly on the nearby sofa. The intercom croaks. The Captain takes the microphone and says "hello". It is his friend calling. They are talking, or rather shouting, excitedly. The boat slows down and then I realize that something has happened; Sironi goes out and walks toward the stern to see, what has happened. The Captain reverses and heads towards the other boat. I go out and see the other light far away in a sea of black ink. Paolo, what has happened? The Captain says that the boat following us has something wrong with the engine. He says that we will tow the boat while they will repair it. We approach; it is a difficult manoeuvre at night even with a calm sea but with a sea like this it is really dangerous. We have to throw a rope, and to do so we have to be very near... while the Captain holds the rudder, Paolo launches the bag and they catch the rope. It is secured and the boat is ready to go again. Now I am wondering if those gentlemen want to be towed in order to save the naphtha. No, they would be mad to do so. But then, this is not Italy! However the feeling of tension is increased. I smile bitterly. We go slower, of course; it will take an eternity. The Prof takes advantage of the bustle of activity to go to sleep; having a compartment in the stern all to himself, he can finally stretch out with his belly up, and breathe deeply. Mossatich does the same, and disappears, swallowed by a berth in the bow. Paolo and I are still awake. We don’t trust the Captains very much. Here we go. We navigate very slowly, but we keep going. Then we hear an awful snap... a terrible noise right at the stern... we both run out, and the Captain slows down. The cable has broken.
The Prof, also startled, comes out to find out what has happened. It is nothing important Prof, I say, it is just the cable. He goes back to sleep. The same dangerous manoeuvre of one hour ago is performed, and then we continue. As the of the microphone croaks again, we stop to recover the towing cable. The engine of the other boat has been repaired so we can now go full steam ahead.
It is a good time to try and get some sleep, so I go first. After a while I get up and call Sironi... It’s your turn to sleep, I say, I’ll take over the watch. Everything is all right my bearded angel he says, and he lies down on the sofa. He can finally have a good sleep. From now on, the crossing is quiet, and despite the nausea, I sometimes fall asleep too. I am far away, looking inside myself; like looking into a kaleidoscope. I see enormous boredom, and a great sadness attacking me from within, all these things have come together, because leaving Bimini has saddened me more than I expected. I get up, I sit down, I yawn, I look, I listen, I rest, I scratch myself, I beat my head, I wake up, I fall asleep, I wake up again. My God, it’s never-ending.
After what appears to be a century I go out, as I look towards the horizon I see a weak light; since I cannot talk to anybody, I imagine it is the reflexion of the lights of Miami, I do hope so. Yes it is, and it is also midnight.
At two o’clock on 22nd February as the boat arrives back in Miamarina.
I give the Captain a hand as he approaches the pier; then he thanks me and tells me that he has to go and report our arrival to the Customs. Okay, I understand. The trip is over.
I relax. Now I can go down in my berth and stretch out.
February 21st
It is nine o’clock. It’s been quite a long time since streaks of undisturbed light have entered the room, cheering it up with many colours. We lazily get up and pack the suitcases. If we don’t leave tonight we will have to sleep on the boat, because the room was paid for up to today.
So this morning we have to leave. Let’s pack the suitcases, again! How many times have I packed them? Hundreds of times. It is always difficult. To unpack them is much easier. How many times have I unpacked them? Hundreds of times. In between packing and unpacking the suitcases, a parenthesis of time is hidden, narrating instants in a life, moments of sadness because of a departure, moments of happiness because of a return, and then we go, that’s how it always is. I should have become used to it, having led this kind of life for years, but… every time I leave... Hurry up, Menconi!
Let’s go, Prof, I’m ready. A waiter loads our luggage onto a cart. The trip from the hotel to the boat is quite long. So we are lucky that someone has given us a hand.
At the boat we find our friends. We drop the luggage and choose a bunk. The whole stern is reserved for the Prof (wonderful).
Then, having sat down together for a huge breakfast, which puts us all in good spirits, we decide to go around and take some photos, even though we are leaving the boat unattended.
At a small market Sironi and the Prof buy a straw hat, I buy a necklace of coconut seeds and other expensive trifles.
Unfortunately prices are high everywhere, especially here. So I just watch. But I do buy some postcards. Sironi, tell me, what is the sea like today? I ask. “The Captain told me it is becoming less rough”, says Sironi; he also says that perhaps this evening we will be able to leave, “He called early this morning, to check on the boat and so we spoke a little, he seems quite smart”. After walking up and down the only road in the village, we return to our boat, while Sironi takes our passports to the Customs to get approval for our departure.
On board the time passes quietly.
I stretch out on the bow deck and sunbath.
I know I have to go back to Milan to breath in wagon loads of fog, therefore I can’t resist making the most of the weather we have here. I also think about my business, I keep my eyes closed and nobody disturbs me.
I can hear the sound of activity; below somebody is talking, I must have fallen asleep... I look at the clock, it is five thirty p.m. I go down to see what’s happening.
The Captain is talking to Sironi and the other two. I come closer. "At 6 p.m. we will leave", I hear them say. Okay. We can go and get ready. The Captain disembarks again.
It is six and the Captain returns on board followed by a girl; now I understand why this is the time he wants to leave!
We unfasten the ropes and slowly leave the pier for the last time, we let the current take us, goodbye Bimini. Another boat follows us. It is the Captain’s friend who is going to accompany us. Sailing away, the island becomes just a stripe of land disappearing on the horizon in a sea of fire. Now it’s getting dark. One hundred metres away from us, the other boat follows, like a ghost. The two Captains keep in radio contact. The sea is very rough, but compared to yesterday it is not so bad. However, it is still not calm enough to allow us to stand up safely, so we all four sit on the sofa, using our feet as props, a bit like the kids game of statues. Only the girl is on her feet as she stands against the Captain’s armchair, she is twittering on and on to the young American, who, all of a sudden puts the autopilot into operation, in order to listen to her more comfortably.
Time passes. It is 8 p.m. local time. Mossatich is hungry so, with difficulty, he gets to the galley, and by supporting himself against the walls he manages to put together something we can chew. Milk and biscuits. For the Prof the meal is fine because, more importantly, he has something to drink. I don’t want anything because I am feeling rather sick, it would be impossible for anything to pass down my throat, I stay quiet.
Now here we go. With the coming of the darkness, the pitching of this floating trap increases, and the noise of the waves breaking against the bow (and too often in my opinion) resembles a car crashing against a post. We look at each other.
It seems to be a problem of ours. We sigh. Now the girl dozes quietly on the nearby sofa. The intercom croaks. The Captain takes the microphone and says "hello". It is his friend calling. They are talking, or rather shouting, excitedly. The boat slows down and then I realize that something has happened; Sironi goes out and walks toward the stern to see, what has happened. The Captain reverses and heads towards the other boat. I go out and see the other light far away in a sea of black ink. Paolo, what has happened? The Captain says that the boat following us has something wrong with the engine. He says that we will tow the boat while they will repair it. We approach; it is a difficult manoeuvre at night even with a calm sea but with a sea like this it is really dangerous. We have to throw a rope, and to do so we have to be very near... while the Captain holds the rudder, Paolo launches the bag and they catch the rope. It is secured and the boat is ready to go again. Now I am wondering if those gentlemen want to be towed in order to save the naphtha. No, they would be mad to do so. But then, this is not Italy! However the feeling of tension is increased. I smile bitterly. We go slower, of course; it will take an eternity. The Prof takes advantage of the bustle of activity to go to sleep; having a compartment in the stern all to himself, he can finally stretch out with his belly up, and breathe deeply. Mossatich does the same, and disappears, swallowed by a berth in the bow. Paolo and I are still awake. We don’t trust the Captains very much. Here we go. We navigate very slowly, but we keep going. Then we hear an awful snap... a terrible noise right at the stern... we both run out, and the Captain slows down. The cable has broken.
The Prof, also startled, comes out to find out what has happened. It is nothing important Prof, I say, it is just the cable. He goes back to sleep. The same dangerous manoeuvre of one hour ago is performed, and then we continue. As the of the microphone croaks again, we stop to recover the towing cable. The engine of the other boat has been repaired so we can now go full steam ahead.
It is a good time to try and get some sleep, so I go first. After a while I get up and call Sironi... It’s your turn to sleep, I say, I’ll take over the watch. Everything is all right my bearded angel he says, and he lies down on the sofa. He can finally have a good sleep. From now on, the crossing is quiet, and despite the nausea, I sometimes fall asleep too. I am far away, looking inside myself; like looking into a kaleidoscope. I see enormous boredom, and a great sadness attacking me from within, all these things have come together, because leaving Bimini has saddened me more than I expected. I get up, I sit down, I yawn, I look, I listen, I rest, I scratch myself, I beat my head, I wake up, I fall asleep, I wake up again. My God, it’s never-ending.
After what appears to be a century I go out, as I look towards the horizon I see a weak light; since I cannot talk to anybody, I imagine it is the reflexion of the lights of Miami, I do hope so. Yes it is, and it is also midnight.
At two o’clock on 22nd February as the boat arrives back in Miamarina.
I give the Captain a hand as he approaches the pier; then he thanks me and tells me that he has to go and report our arrival to the Customs. Okay, I understand. The trip is over.
I relax. Now I can go down in my berth and stretch out.
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