Steering into the blue unknown

Two months after her first report about moving from Galway to a yacht on the Mediterranean, Phillida Eves describes life on their new boat

'Stand by to tack" calls Tedd in our square-rigger sail training tradition. Nine-year-old Oisín turns Kari's wheel to starboard and announces: "Helm's down." Kari, our 48-foot sailing yacht, turns into the wind, and six-year-old Cian and I watch as the wind catches the other side of our large genoa sail. We ease out the sheet as Tedd hauls in on his side.

Whoosh. There is a loud tearing sound.

"Dad! Stop! The genny's ripped!" calls Oisín urgently. Cian and I stare open-mouthed as the patch of sky at the front gets bigger and bigger through the hole in the sail. Two-year-old Soracha, realising something momentous is happening, claps her hands and shouts: "Well done, well done!"

Last July we rented out our house in Rosscahill, Co Galway, and flew to Malaga, in Spain, to live on our newly purchased 30-year-old Nicholson ketch. We had been dreaming, planning and packing for this adventure for two years. When, thanks to amazing help from friends, we finally arrived at Knock Airport to fly out I felt as though I had climbed Mount Everest. It was a wonderful sense of relief and achievement.

Kari was tied up in the marina in Almerimar, near Almería in south-eastern Spain. From the start it has felt so normal and so crazily fantastic to be living on a boat. The first morning, I played the Special Olympics song May We Never Have to Say Goodbye and sat crying. It was so exciting to be here and so sad to be leaving family and friends.

We arrived into the hottest summer in Spain for 50 years. Another mountain of tasks awaited us. The boat was dirty and full of the previous owner's stuff, and a lot of the equipment needed to be repaired or serviced by Tedd. Small tasks felt monumental in the heat and humidity, and we kept banging ourselves in the small spaces. Tempers and language flared at times.

Oisín and Cian protested. "We don't say bad words when we bash ourselves." So we borrowed from Tintin and Captain Haddock. "Billions of blue blistering barnacles."

Oisín and Cian embraced their new way of life from the minute they stepped aboard and are wonderful to have around. They feel completely safe and have great freedom in the marina. Oisín skippers the dinghy; Cian ties it up and lets go. Teddies go up and down the mast with ropes and karabiners, and we had Kari Fever, our version of Cabin Fever, with Lego characters walking the plank.

Soracha is more of a handful, but after some major adapting by both her and us, things have settled down, and she is a pleasure to have aboard. She is a delight, lying in her paddling pool on the back of the boat and bathing her Duplo family. Poppy, our Springer spaniel, is the most social of us all, with friends all over the marina.

The days went by when we had hoped to be out sailing and exploring, and instead we were cleaning and waiting for spare parts that were promised over and over but never arrived. We tried to take it in turns to mind the children but couldn't seem to get any space to finish anything. I missed my friends terribly and at times felt overwhelmed and scared about what we were doing. It was easy to get things out of proportion.

Then friends came to stay, Tedd fixed the air conditioning and a live-aboard family with 15-month-old twins sailed into the marina. Things felt so much better. Great chats, good laughs and reassurance from Gwen and Laura; and the twin's parents encouraged us, saying that the first three months were the worst, and told wonderful stories of sailing with their babies in Turkey.

We started doing day sails between jobs. It is such a thrill to be on the Mediterranean as a family, on our own boat, in our own home. We have slowly become more confident and have ventured further and for longer and in stronger winds. We have anchored Kari at beaches, jumped into the sea and swum around our floating home. We've gone ashore in the dinghy and had barbecues on the beach. It's lovely to snuggle up in the cockpit as we are sailing and sing along with Oisín on his guitar. Soracha is remarkably pragmatic about staying in our enclosed double bed, listening to tapes and playing with toys, for the first hour or two of our day sails.

Next week we are leaving the comfort of this marina and day-hopping our way to Barcelona, 400 nautical miles northwards, where we hope to find work for the winter. Our supportive school, Galway Educate Together National School, in Newcastle, has begun the school year without us, and the boys found the change easier than I did. We will start more formal home-schooling when we reach Barcelona or maybe go to Spanish school; meanwhile, the kids are learning so much in many ways.

Cian says it's the best holiday he's ever had, and the best thing is it's going to go on for a long time. Tedd and I are so pleased to be doing what we've wanted to do for so long. ¡Vaya tela! ¡Que me siento feliz!

phillida@eircom.net