Swashbuckling on the high seas

TALL SHIP TALESAS FAR AS I was concerned, this was going to be an adventure unparalleled since Vasco da Gama set sail. It didn't matter that the journey was a mere five days long, a crossing from Roscoff in Brittany to Dublin, through well-mapped seas with full creature comforts. Oh no. My maiden voyage aboard the French training ship Belem, a three-masted barque, would be a perilous undertaking.

Barefoot, I would carry out orders and hoist myself up vast rigs to fix entangled sails with staggering agility. (Okay, I watched The Pirates of the Caribbean– again). My imagination went into overdrive and I pondered purchasing a cutlass. But where? Ready and packed, I set for Roscoff.

Sailor’s Log

Day one, my bunk, 11pm

We leave home port shortly after breakfast. The engines propel us away from the wharf and into the channel, making my first shift from 10am to noon easy. We have little to do, other than maintain our due-west course using the wheel at the helm, which is tougher than it seems. It gives the crew and trainees time to mingle.

The Irish group are an interesting bunch. Among the eight men and six women are seasoned sailors who have done this sort of thing before – amateur yachtsmen, members of Dublin clubs, and first timers like myself. There are two young students heading into sixth year, an engineer, who is father to one of the girls, a couple of IT guys, a teacher, an employee of the Irish University Association, and two women who survived the sinking of the Asgardin 2008, Síle Mongey and Noeleen Hurley. There are also an economics consultant, a banker and an employee of the Irish stock exchange; I will blame these three if the ship starts to sink.

As we sit on the spar-deck after lunch, listening to a brief about the workings and intricacies of the Belem's22 sails, three French fighter jets tear past us and play in the skies for 20 minutes or so, which adds to our high spirits.

Then the day passes calmly until mid-afternoon, when a cry rings out and a controlled sense of urgency takes hold. The wind is right and the sails need to be adjusted quickly. The crew yell instructions and the trainee teams assemble at different points as directed. Ropes are loosened and others pulled before being refastened. In 15 or so frantic minutes, the Belem’s sails are angled to best catch the wind. The engines are turned off and we take off into the evening and the rising, swelling sea.

Sailor’s Log

Day two, the mess, 11.50pm

I misread today’s rota, and am rudely awakened at 3.50am by a team-mate reminding me we are on the 4am to 8am shift. It turns out to be an exhilarating few hours, staggering up to the helm in magical light, with the world around us tipped between night and day. The light on the horizon intensifies and the stars are still shining in greater numbers and more brightly than I have ever seen before. If looking out over open seas doesn’t make you feel small, looking up at the heavens certainly will.

The Belemcrashes through the waves, heeling slightly to starboard. Each group is charged with keeping watch at the bow or steering at the helm, with others standing by, ready to assist with the sails. We rotate on the hour until 7am, and then every 20 minutes until 8am, with a stunning sunrise thrown in for good measure. I am sad to go off duty, but glad of breakfast and sleep.

That afternoon, the commandant delivers an interesting account of the 114-year history of the Belem, a merchant ship that made 33 Atlantic crossings between 1896 and 1913, carrying Brazilian cocoa, West Indian rum and sugar. In 1914, the duke of Westminster converted it into a luxury yacht and in 1921 it was acquired by Arthur Ernest Guinness, who took his wife Marie Clothilde and their three daughters, known as the "golden Guinness girls", around the world in 1923. It has been a training ship, with 16 officers and men chosen from the French merchant navy to work with up to 48 trainees, since the 1980s and has sailed to Ireland several times since.

The crew is constantly at work on maintenance and repair. They are all more than willing to explain what it is they are doing, and it is this casual learning environment that allows new French and Irish alliances to be formed. Amid the sailing jargon, apologies are logged regarding Thierry Henry, for instance.

In the late afternoon, the wind picks up, and the ocean reminds us who is in control. The swell increases as does the Belem'sstarboard heel. I have a very broken sleep thanks to the motion and the racket of the wind and the rigging, but I am able to hold on to my dignity and head up on deck for the midnight to 4am shift.

Sailor’s Log

Day three, the spar-deck,

11.30pm

This shift is busy. It is very windy and quite rough, though it doesn’t rain. At one point, a sail gets caught and needs releasing; minutes later, another needs tightening. Later on, the wind shifts and many changes need to be made. It is the most challenging shift so far but the experience is paying dividends, and I find myself more and more comfortable with the manoeuvering of the ship. But I am glad of relief at 4am.

I get my wish of being allowed to climb the rigging just before lunch. With all my false bravado and seafaring blaggarding, I have forgotten just how petrified I am of heights. A stepladder is enough to make me nauseous and yet here I was in harness, in front of everyone, supposedly eager to climb into the clouds.

One crew member shoots up the rigging and high into the sky like a homesick angel, leaving me in my harness to oh-so-slowly make my way up. He has grown an impressive goatee by the time I arrive. Still, I did it and will no doubt boast about it for years to come.

I wish I could describe what the view up there is like but I spent all my time looking up to avoid looking down.

As the winds die down, the commandant decides to head closer to the Irish coast and anchor for the night. A few miles off Wicklow we manage to pick up Irish television in time for the World Cup final. After that long and gruesome match, we head up to the spar-deck for music and dancing, and assault my fellow travellers once again with my worst school French as we celebrate Spain’s victory.

Sailor’s Log

Final leg, Tuesday, 1.20 pm

The familiar shape of Howth emerges through the mist and small craft change their course to come say hello. The commandant orders his officers to spruce up, and they return in gold braided suits with proud smiles on their faces, the men now charged with preserving the Belem'sproud history. We've had a blast. Trainees and crew stand tall on the spar-deck and a deckhand starts a sing-song, our soundtrack for the final glide up the Liffey to the Samuel Beckett Bridge, where crowds are waiting as we dock in time for Bastille Day. Le jour de gloire est arrive!

-This year marks the 50th anniversary of the Alliance Française in Dublin, the largest Alliance outside Paris and Brussels, with more than 5,000 students registering each year. To celebrate, it teamed up with the Belem Foundation to organise the Roscoff to Dublin crossing. The festive French Market on Spencer Dock remains open today and tomorrow. alliance-francaise.ie