As I type this, Ricky’s guitar and backpack sit before me, ready for his departure first thing in the morning. This photo was taken on the day I had a long walk on the hillside above Funchal. Alas, I had left a very unhappy crewmate back on the boat. He was a bit shaken from the experience of sailing over from Portugal, a bit sick from rolling around in an uncomfortable anchorage, but the main issue was time. We were not moving fast enough. I was basically looking at the intolerable situation of rushing to cross the Atlantic or loosing a crewmate. The choice was simple though the decision hard, Ricky had been great fun. I decided to stay on in Medeira for a week and Ricky got the next flight to Caracus, Venezuela.
So here I am, 23 days from Christmas, tied up in a Marina surrounded by confectionary lighting wondering just what the hell am I going to do next!? The Horn beckons like some Siren curse but Panama offers herself sensibly like the social entangled compromise that she is. Oh why did I buy a boat called Compromise!? Why couldn’t it be something like Bold Adventurer or the True Path? Well there is no shame in taking things slowly and that is exactly what I have to do now that I am on my own again. The Atlantic crossing will have to wait.