Piratas do amor

20 people. 6 days. 1 big, old ship. In a place I’ve never been before: The Netherlands.
I’m a filmmaker and a sailor, let’s try it with some strangers in a distant land?

This trip, no. The sea, has been the ultimate teacher.

Some days were tough. The harsh rain pelted in our eyes. The waves making a bitter, green concoction out of our stomachs. But this vessel is old, like 105 years old. The type of Viking ship that needs 8 people to power the ropes to move anywhere.

So, you swallow your pride. If you’re bickering with your neighbor, you quickly call a truce and use your energy to stir the boat in the right direction. You learn to surrender to time, and love the wet mess you’re in.

But the highs? Were unworldly. There’s a synchronicity when the wind, currents and our own collective strength can move literal tons of weight in our favor. This is when our thoughts are given away with the breeze. When the girls dance together to ABBA, and sang to the blue sky above us. When we talked philosophy and asked the sun questions as we baked below it.

I truly learned the North Star from our bonfires and stargazing. We meditated in the mornings on sandbars and skinny dipping often followed. I memorized silly European jokes as we played cards under kerosene. And this group of strangers, hour by hour, slowly and subtly, became my family.