The story of how I ended up on Sailing La Vagabonde!  I spent 10 days onboard with Elayna and Riley as I helped them sail from Malta, west to Tunisia in Northern Africa.  

My eyes opened softly, as I lay there, hands cupping my face and the left side of my body nestled into the sand.  The river close by was dancing along the stones and I could still feel a little warmth from the night fire glowing.  I slept deeply although unsure how many hours of rest I got.  A couple of the boys were up and silently boiling water over the fire, the rest were still sleeping. 

We woke with the morning sun peeking over the horizon and still wiping the sleep from my eyes, I stood up in the dawn light to receive the day.  I was tired.  Tired in my body and in my mind, but I also felt strength.  Persistence.  Endurance.  We pack up our belongings and smoke a little before we head across the plain like so many hazy figures before us.  

Unsure if I slept good or not.  The night passed too quickly for me to not have a got a good chunk of rest, but I remember being awake and restless most of the night.  Either way, my eyes were opening and a small cup of tea was held in front of me gently.  I sat up to drink and observed for a little while.  

We woke with dawn, birds chirping in the trees and the moon still high in the sky. It was a relaxing morning, sitting on our mats, drinking tea, swimming and chatting leisurely.  I dip into the river, feeling a little safer from the crocodiles in the daylight.

I was tired and grumpy and our day started while it was still dark.  I didn’t particularly want to go as I only managed to grab a few hours of sleep because I was up all night finishing my highly addictive book.  So with sleepy eyes I threw on some clothes, burnt my tongue from drinking my coffee too quickly, and in the darkness found the way to our Tuk Tuk to take us south to Okanda.  

ou sort of step into another world when you walk through the Wooden Gate. A much welcomed escape from the intensely hot, humid streets that never cease to stop hurrying in the city of Colombo, Sri Lanka. A thick and intricate canopy of trees, climbers and hanging ferns weave a jungle that surrounds the house and provides protection from the ever-glowing sun. You tread softly on the cool cobblestones beneath your feet, and your head ducks in between hanging vines and branches. In the middle, strong but humble, sits a rustic two story home; very artistic, complemented with hues of blue and orange.

Our last evening in Wanaka passed like any other, although the closet was empty, our bags were packed and our room felt very empty and sterile. And in the morning, it was that strange feeling of walking out of a room you’d spent so much time in, knowing it would continue to be, but without your energy, giving thanks for what it has given you and knowing your time there had come to an end. And it was time. I was ready.