Drömlivet har också en baksida - om livet som långseglare

Text and photo: Anki Palerby Hjelmqwist

I had been longing for a long time. Not for another new bay, another beautiful island or another evening with a sunset over the Mediterranean. This time I was longing for someone from home. For various reasons, one of my adult sons had never visited us on board abroad. Not once. But then suddenly the stars seemed to align.

Table of contents

A break from everyday life

The timing couldn't have been better. The chronically tired father of a toddler needed a break from everyday life. A few days without the hassles of diaper changes, babysitting, and the endless logistics that come with having a toddler.

But just when everything was booked and ready, life, with its usual ability to throw a wrench into the machinery, struck. He developed a high fever. Until the day of departure, it was uncertain whether he would even be able to come.

But he did. And suddenly we were standing there at the small airport in Corfu, hugging each other. Long-awaited. Finally on board. On the Frog.

A small world at 38.5 feet

Our boat Lazy 🐸, commonly called Grodan, is a 38.5-foot Dufour Grand Large from 2005. For us, she is our home, means of transportation, living room, bedroom, kitchen, swimming area and sometimes workplace.

For a visitor, she can be something completely different. Her own little floating world. And it's actually quite amazing to be able to lend your everyday life to someone else for a while. What has become completely normal for us can suddenly become the big experience of the day for a land crab.

Waking up and diving straight into the crystal clear water. Taking the dinghy ashore as afternoon turns into evening and finding a cozy restaurant. Sitting on the bathing dock at the stern and feeding colorful fish with dry bread. Not knowing exactly where to anchor the next night. Letting the weather and wind determine the direction of travel for the day.

For us it's everyday life. For someone else it can be a magical adventure. And maybe that's why I enjoy having visitors so much. I get to see my own life again.

The art of having guests on a boat

So what is it like to have visitors on board? Like so much else in life, it's all about the relationship.

On a boat you get close to each other. Very close. There are no real doors to close around you, no long corridors to disappear down, and no way to go to your own room if you get irritated. But if you like each other, it can be absolutely wonderful.

I would love to spoil anyone who comes to visit for a few days. Show us our favorite coves. Cook and drink something delicious. Take a swim together, with a little mischief and play. Find that little restaurant that you would never discover from a charter bus.

And above all, I don't want to stress. That's actually one of the most important things when we have visitors. We rarely plan so that we have to be in a certain place for a certain time. Our guests are told which island they are going to, but sometimes not until just before departure which island we are on.

This way, the weather decides. If it's too windy and rainy, we stay where we are. If the sea is rough, we wait. Because no one should have to set off on a risky voyage just to meet someone at the airport. Not having to rush is a luxury we've learned to appreciate.

Three days that became so much more than three days

My son could only stay for three days. Three days is really nothing. But if you fill it with new places, warm water, boating, and time together, three days can suddenly feel like quite a lot.

One hot afternoon we were motoring between two bays. That's when we got the idea. A fender went into the water. Search for a boat!

My son jumped in after me and I saw his face change. That expression that comes when you suddenly realize that life can be pretty amazing. I looked at him. He looked at me. And our eyes sparkled with the sun's reflections in the water.

It lasted a short while. But it was one of those moments that you know will be remembered fondly. I think we both understood it even then. We created a shared memory for life.

Life on board is not always a postcard

As amazing as it is to have those you love on board, there is another side to long-distance sailing life. A side that is rarely seen in pictures.

Anyone who believes that life on a long-haul yacht only consists of endless morning swims, rosé at sunset and carefree days has never had to find a new and safer anchorage when the wind suddenly whistles in and decides to change direction. Or while sailing had to hunt for a new engine part across half of Europe when some gadget "gave up".

Experienced sailors know that life on board can be both heaven and hell. And sometimes the two can be very close to each other, even succeeding each other on the same day. Before I met my Captain and eventually became a long-distance sailor myself, I had two sailing trips in my luggage. One of each kind.

The first was when, as a young mother with children aged four and five, I visited my then-in-laws on their sailboat in Italy. They had become sailors in their later years and had taken their 30-footer through the canals of Europe down to the Mediterranean. Unfortunately, it was not at all the wonderful sailing experience I had imagined. I counted the days – then the hours and minutes – until we would get to disembark.

My second sailing trip was the exact opposite. A spontaneous trip in a private charter boat with three other fun-loving women. We hit the hottest week of the summer in the Stockholm archipelago and the water was 22 degrees.

As we glided towards the pier in Sandhamn, the other crew members began to look for our captain. We emphatically explained that seamanship was not in the cards. Since then, I have come to understand that it is not in the same way to always know where you are going.

There is a flip side to the coin.

Because no matter how lovely it is to wake up in the warmth when the autumn darkness descends over Sweden, the longing is always there somewhere. It lies at the bottom of a mental box and rattles a little gently. Until someone at home needs it. Then it comes out. Friends. Family. Children. Grandchildren.

People you love and who continue to live their lives in another country, while you yourself sit in an anchor bay and look at turquoise water.

And when someone back home is having a hard time, when you really want to be able to show up with a hug, help, relieve stress or just be there, then the distance suddenly feels much longer than on the chart.

It's the part of your dream life that's rarely seen on Instagram. You can have chosen exactly the life you dreamed of and at the same time miss someone so much that it hurts.

And then the grandson came

When we moved aboard, we didn't have any grandchildren. I used to say I was quite happy about that. Not because I didn't want grandchildren. Quite the opposite.

But I knew that the decision to leave Sweden would have been much more difficult if there had been a little person back home who I longed for with all my heart.

Now she's here. My first grandchild. And I'll readily admit that she changed something in me that I hadn't really anticipated. Suddenly, time at home feels even more important. It doesn't necessarily have to be longer, but it is more important. Because I still believe in quality over quantity. I have for a long time.

Even before we moved aboard, we chose to sail in the spring and fall and spend the summers in Sweden. Partly because the Mediterranean can get quite hot during the height of summer, and partly because we don't want to miss the Swedish summer. But above all because that's when the people we love have time. Then we can be together and socialize, not just via a screen.

Maybe this is what freedom is

I have sometimes thought that freedom is about being able to leave everything. Now I rather think that freedom is about being able to choose what you want to return to. We have chosen the sea. The heat. The winds. All the new people we meet along the way, many of whom are time millionaires, just like us.

We have chosen all mornings because we don't know exactly what the day will hold. But we have also chosen Sweden. The family. The friends. The summer evenings. The grandchild. Celebrating Christmas and New Year at home.

And maybe that's why I no longer see them as two opposites. We don't have to choose between life here and life there. We can try to weave them together.

Sometimes the fabric gets a little uneven. Sometimes the threads almost break. Sometimes I miss them back home so much that the most beautiful sunset in the Mediterranean feels insignificant. But then someone comes aboard. A son. A friend. A family member. And suddenly the worlds meet.

Three days on 38.5 feet can then become a bridge between different lives. And when the plane takes off and I'm standing there waving, I no longer think so much about the distance. I think about the morning swim. About the laughter. About the sun glint in the water. About that fender bath behind the boat. And about the fact that we could actually see each other.

Because maybe that's the best thing about living your dream life: Understanding that the dream is not a place. It's the people you want to share it with. And when we part ways, I try not to think "goodbye." I think: See you soon!

Follow Anki here:

Anki Palerby Hjelmqwist

Anki is a freelance writer, author and digital life coach who loves travelling. She has lived in various countries, such as Lebanon, Poland, Egypt and Morocco, and later in life became a full-time long-distance sailor (despite her recurring seasickness!), after meeting her husband Janne. With their boat Lazy Frog, they have sailed from Sweden down the Atlantic coast, across to the Canary Islands and Madeira, and are currently in the Mediterranean, in Sicily. Join her on her adventures, both on land and at sea!