We would have loved to spend more time in Australia and explore it thoroughly, both by land and sea, but time is running out and I need to get to Bali as soon as possible, because the season for crossing the Indian Ocean is coming to an end. We have just enough time to stock up on supplies, do some laundry, rest, take a quick tour of Thursday Island, and, above all, buy jerry cans of diesel to ensure we have a good supply on board.
We checked the weather report and saw that there will be very little wind, if any at all. We won’t make it to Bali on our current range under engine power; we don’t expect to be able to sail. The Sofía has a 200-liter diesel tank, and I set sail from Spain with nine 20-liter jerry cans as a reserve. Here in Australia, we’ve increased the reserve to a total of 18 twenty-liter jerry cans. We need to find an alternative to Bali that’s fewer miles away and doesn’t take us too far off course, since I want to set sail from Bali to cross the Indian Ocean.
Looking at the nautical charts of Indonesia, we see that there is an island with a port of entry and good logistics—each country has specific ports where entry formalities (customs, immigration, and health checks) can only be completed. The island is Timor, and we will arrive in the city of Kupang, 1,200 miles away. The ‘Sofía’ is at anchor, ready for the next leg of the journey.
We set sail with a favorable current and a 17-knot tailwind. We unfurled the ‘Sofía’s’ sails and began to cover ground. We shut off the engine and enjoyed the last views of the Australian landscape. Our mission for the first few days is to conserve as much fuel as possible. In theory, we could make the entire crossing under engine power with the diesel we have on board, but it would be very tight, and as long as there’s wind, we’ll take advantage of it. Little by little, the crystal-clear water will give way to a muddy seabed.
I regret leaving Australia behind without having fully immersed ourselves in its flora and fauna, its customs, and its onshore adventures. In these moments of sadness, I remind myself that the priority of this round-the-world trip is to sail and cover miles heading west; I’ll have time for a second trip where the number one priority is sightseeing and getting to know new cultures in depth. Or so I’d like to think. However, so far I’ve had it all: miles sailed and unique experiences, getting to know different cultures and learning more about myself. Now I can say with certainty that you don’t truly know yourself until you’ve spent several days alone, grappling with your personality through both the good times and the bad. With each mile, I’m getting to know every corner of my personality and my thoughts.
On the third day, the wind dies down and we have no choice but to start the engine. The sea calms down and becomes as still as a lake. The sunrises and sunsets are a true spectacle: the sky is painted in every shade of orange, red, and violet. We don’t miss a single one. At night, the sky is full of stars; we see several shooting stars and are blessed with a full moon, which lights our way. There’s no traffic, and, aside from the noise of the engine, we can rest peacefully—though we always keep watch. Dolphins usually appear at dawn: they play for a while at the bow and then leave us alone.
Honestly, I don’t want to reach Kupang. It’s Itxi’s last voyage on board; she has to return to Spain to get back to her job. It’s been an incredible six months. It’s not easy living together 24/7 on board, in such a small space where comfort depends on the state of the sea. We’ve gotten along really well; it was her first time living on board for so many months. I’ve enjoyed watching her adjust, little by little, to the rhythm of life at sea. Thanks to her, I’ve learned to take things more calmly, slow down, relax my naturally planning-oriented mind a bit, and live a little more on the fly—always keeping an eye on the weather in case we need to act. She has filled the ‘Sofía’ with joy; even in tough times, she never lost her optimism, and she made me feel more confident in myself. She stepped out of her comfort zone for six months, and I think I managed to make her feel at ease and enjoy the ‘Sofía,’ the ocean, and sailing.
The wind still hasn’t picked up, and we’re making our way toward Kupang very slowly. We got lucky and caught two medium-sized tuna. Since the sea is as flat as a pancake, we took advantage of the opportunity to cook up a few different dishes with the tuna. We started with rice topped with cherry tomatoes, avocado, and chunks of tuna marinated in soy sauce. We devoured it. Then we grilled some tuna fillets and served them with a side of boiled potatoes. We finish off the tuna by preparing a tataki. Hopefully we’ll catch some more fish before we reach Kupang.
As we approach Kupang, the number of fishing boats is increasing, and they’ve become a hazard at night because they rarely carry navigation lights or only turn them on when they sense another vessel approaching. We didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. At dawn on the 10th, we arrived in Kupang Bay and dropped anchor in 18 meters of water. We’re happy to have made it, but at the same time sad: our months of sailing together are coming to an end.
Before Itxi catches her flight back to Spain, she helps me get the ‘Sofía’ ready for my solo voyage to Bali. We go on a big shopping trip, fill up on diesel, do some laundry, and explore the city a bit. We spend our last day on board, resting and making the most of our final hours together. I take her to the airport, and, fighting hard not to break down, we say goodbye. Thank you, Itxi.
I head back on board and start doing some maintenance work on the ‘Sofía’ to keep my mind occupied. In a couple of days, I’ll be setting sail for Bali. The ‘Sofía’ feels empty.
