The Lives of Boat Families Sailing the Mediterranean
Rowan is fourteen and doesn’t go to school. She sleeps in a bedroom/corridor 1.40m x 2m and has never visited a hairdresser. Her two brothers share a triangular shaped room touching toes, and weeks go by without any of them putting on a pair of shoes, let alone a school uniform. These are boat kids, part of a dwindling community of families traveling the world by sea.
Building Connections on the Water
Two weeks ago, our sailboat neighbors included an Argentinian family anchored off the west coast of . Like us, they have been full-time liveaboards for three years, but having only one daughter of 12, are even more determined to hook up with other elusive boat families. More recently, our sailboat neighbors included a German and Swiss family anchored off the south coast of who have since, regrettably returned to land. Yesterday we sailed overnight and are now anchored off the coast of catching up with the crew of S/Y Naos, a Russian family from Siberia. They have just completed their first year as liveaboards on a ferro-cement sailboat. Yes, boats can actually be made from cement!
Adapting to the Pandemic
We first met S/Y Naos in at the beginning of the year. Like us, their circumnavigation was brought to an abrupt halt by the . The Spanish lockdown swiftly came into effect while we were preparing our boats for an Atlantic crossing, and the boatyard we were using was forced to close. We were isolated, high and dry on props for seven long weeks without sanitation. The extended state of emergency meant we could only leave the boat for food, so we were forced to make covert trips down the ladder and across the yard to the toilet block, which was illicitly unlocked, maintained, and sanitized by a maverick cleaner. This is how we came to know Dan, Xenia, and their three kids. They too were making furtive dashes across the yard to the toilet block, surreptitiously avoiding the regular patrols by the Guardia Civil. It’s amazing how close bonds can form in times of desperation.
Life After Lockdown
By the time the state of emergency was lifted, the hurricane season had begun in the Atlantic, leading to our six-month hangout in the western with a handful of other families, waiting for the next transatlantic weather window.
Dan was a mechanic in Siberia before embarking on this nomadic life. Xenia is a programmer who still works remotely when she can find the time in between mothering their three boys aged one, 10, and 15. This evening, however, she is sitting on the foredeck of their boat nursing her youngest while hand-stitching a significant rip in the mainsail. Dan is ruminating over a worryingly large hole that has recently appeared in the rudder. Earlier, we both inspected an oil leak in our own engine and diagnosed a crankshaft seal issue. The old sailing cliché applies—cruising life is just fixing boats in exotic locations. Sharing maintenance tips and advice is the epoxy resin of many boat friendships.
Dinner and Community
Tonight, they’re coming for dinner and a playdate in a dinghy they retrieved from a boat yard skip. All that was needed were a few patches to bring it back to life, a lucky find that would have cost them €4000 if bought new. Among liveaboards, another pithy aphorism rings true: one person’s trash is another person’s treasure.
The Changing Landscape for Liveaboards
It’s difficult to gauge the exact number of current liveaboard families because of their remoteness and isolation, but it’s estimated that at the beginning of 2020, the Mediterranean was home to perhaps 20–30. This number has since fallen sharply as the fallout from the pandemic has left many without a sustainable income. If cruising life really is about fixing boats, then sustaining it is about careful budgeting… and pandemics really don’t help.
While those on board S/Y Naos work remotely and occasionally pick up mechanical work when they can, we survive on a budget of around $1700/month (£1300) by renting our home in the UK and a trickle of YouTube advertising revenue. Boat families are as diverse as land families when it comes to wealth and income. Boat prices can range from a sub $13,000 (£10,000) doer-upper to a blank-cheque-booker. However, as many long-time sailors know, it’s not really about what you earn; it’s about what you don’t spend.
Like most liveaboards, we save money by avoiding marinas in high season, create power and water from solar energy, and do our own maintenance—a grossly underestimated expense that many sailing dreams flounder on. New clothes are a luxury (not that you need many!), and hairdresser visits involve a quick trip to the back of the boat with the hair clippers and kitchen scissors. We wash dishes in seawater and only venture ashore to recycle, buy essentials or partake in inland trips and hikes—we do love a good hike. Other than that, we mostly live “on the hook.”
The Connection to the Sea
This transient, barefoot life dream began as a pact between Irenka and I when we first met working as flotilla skippers in and . Admittedly, an unplanned pregnancy isn’t the best thing on which to base a long-term relationship or life dream, but we cemented our combined futures by promising that one day, no matter what, we’d circumnavigate the globe together. Three kids, several unsuccessful business start-ups, a handful of home renovations, and a $235 (£180) wedding later, that dream (and budget!) became a reality, albeit ten years later than anticipated.
We have weathered lightning storms at sea, attacks by dogs on land, and been stung by numerous jellyfish in between. Irenka even lost her hair for several months due to some mysterious illness. So, it hasn’t all been plain sailing. However, while to some, this autonomous, precarious, and unstructured lifestyle may seem indulgent and irresponsible, for boat parents, it is born of a deep desire to share a life of discovery, travel and adventure with their kids.
The Educational Journey
Until recently, we received our fair share of criticism for removing our kids from mainstream education and conventional social structures. It is, after all, social distancing in the extreme. There are no team sports at sea, no trips to the mall with friends, or regular family meet-ups—things that have quickly become the “new normal” for wider society now. However, we have the advantage of living a lifestyle that breeds resilience, collaboration, communication, and resourcefulness—characteristics that can’t easily be taught in a classroom and are sorely lacking in current graduates, according to numerous business surveys. It seems that travel not only broadens kids’ minds but can also increase their employment desirability.
Rowan is academically self-motivated and largely self-taught, spending several hours a day studying for seven IGCSEs and has ambitions to crew on superyachts or join the Royal Navy. Her younger brothers prefer snorkeling and doing backflips off the rigging, so homeschooling can be challenging at times. However, all three play instruments and sometimes even compose music for our family’s sailing blogs. They speak basic Spanish, are socially confident, and physically active. With no dedicated game consoles onboard, our eldest son has taken to programming his own PC games. Their friends come mostly from a multinational scattering of other traveling families who are similarly remote and homeschooled. While many parents lament the intrusion of social media into family life, it is a boon for traveling kids who, like us parents, use it to stay in touch, arrange meetups, and bond through online forums.
A World of Exploration
Our travels have so far taken us back and forth across the Mediterranean, to ancient sites on the / border, erupting volcanoes off the coast of , and skiing in the Spanish and Greek mountains. Yes, Greece and Spain have very reasonably priced ski slopes! Even after three years exploring the Mediterranean, there remains so much we haven’t seen. However, we are itching to visit other parts of the world and meet up with the rest of our sailing community.
Future Adventures Await
The next part of our journey involves a month-long sail through the , down the West African coast to , and over to . After that, we plan to transit the , into the and beyond.
However, who knows how many families will still be out there by the time we get to those far-flung places? Will a parochial concept of “stranger danger” brought on by the coronavirus become so deep-rooted in our global psyche that borders will remain closed? Will transient lifestyles be viewed with suspicion? Or will the recent acceptance of remote working, combined with a rejection of high-density living/working environments, foster a focus on what’s truly important in life and revitalize our community as more families opt to sell up and sail away? I do hope so.
If that’s the case, come on in. The water’s lovely.
Follow Alan and the family’s adventures on their dedicated YouTube channel.
