Pacific Crossing - Panama To Austra
Full on Sailing and island hopping mode
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Panama City Shower
Rooftop Salsa Night In Panama Ciudad
Casco Viejo Famous Rooftop Bar
Panama City Sunrise
Day 1 Pacific crossing
Day 1! Downwind, good conditions, however still adapting to the rhythm of the sailor
Pacific crossing Day 2
We catched a big yellow fin tuna.
We put up the parasailor sail in front and went about 10 knots. Sashimi tuna was amazing.Food is great. I slowly adapt to the routine. My nightshifts start at 4am and goes 3 hours. Played a lot with Jason. 13 years old son. Almost full moon. We have to hit direction Galapagos soon. Too much south
Day 3 Pacific crossing
We put up the parasailor and went with downwind!! Beautiful sunsets and sashimi from fresh caught tuna.
Full Moon Sail
4am night shift. My sea sickness is almost gone. Surprisingly good wind. 3 more days until Galapagos. FullMoon is a beauty!!
Day 6 of crossing the Pacific
Calm sea 🌊 and after the first 3-4days of sea sickness, finally no bad stomach feeling and I start enjoying it even more. We had a poker game and yam yam chinese balls with a sweet bean paste. No fish
Day 4 Pacific crossing
Barbecue on board!
Day 7: Pacific crossing
We went swimming to clean the hull from barnacles, no fish caught today. We played poker and now we are about to cross the equator. We motored the whole night as we can't sail into the Galápagos at night and need to slow down.
We swam in 3,000 miles deep ocean. Beautiful blue colors.
Sea sickness came back a bit because of the slow movement and long waves in the Pacific
Santa cruz - islas Galapagos
Arrived in the harbor
Giant tortoises 🐢 walk
I met more Giant turtles 🐢 than human
Roof top apartment
Time to take a rest and work on Saris course
Isabela Lava tunnel
Walking into a lava tunnel on Isabela Island felt like stepping inside the Earth.
What used to be flowing lava is now frozen in motion above your head. You can literally see how the island was formed. The outside cooled, the inside kept moving, and what’s left is this hollow tunnel.
It’s quiet. Heavy quiet.
At times you crouch through narrow sections, then suddenly it opens up into huge spaces where your light barely reaches the top. No noise, no signal, just you and the rock.
And the crazy part… this isn’t ancient in the way we think. It’s young. Still changing.
Walking back into daylight felt almost unreal.
Makes you realize how much is happening beneath the surface that we never see.
Cerro de media luna
Highest point on the Galápagos islands
Anchorage - Santa cruz with babysharks
Sunset swim
Highland View Ecofarm
Beautiful place especially with kids:) easy a 1-2 hour spend.
Lava Cave/tunnel gold shimmering moss
1. Day: Pacific crossing
My night 🌙 shifts for this crossing are from 10pm to 1am. For me. Very comfortable
Day 2: Pacific crossing
First nightsift was a test to my stomach and I swolled a pill just in time to not puke...so I assume. The current changes from being behind to 4knots coming from the side...with big rolling waves...we drift down south instead of west, which left the boat in a shaky motion. I saw a comet or big shooting star. Next day 2 still adapting to the sea...we head south now motoring the first 3 days as much aa possible to hit the trade winds.
Day 3: Pacific crossing
Our main sail rope snapped and broke..seasickness due to rolly and shaky conditiona and the ongoing repairs. Beautiful stars and rain during the day
Day 4 Pacific crossing
Quiet and relatively stable sailing conditions today. Still a lot of rolling and shaky movement, but nothing compared to the last few days. Seasickness has also been the best since we started, probably helped by the smaller waves.
We caught a wahoo and a mahi-mahi and made fresh sashimi on board. The moon is getting smaller every night, and I honestly can’t wait for the new moon out here in the middle of the Pacific.
We currently have the Code Zero sail out and are cruising southeast at around 6–7 knots, pretty much perfect conditions before eventually entering the stronger eastern trade winds.
Also, banana bread is being baked almost every day because we bought what feels like half a banana tree in the Galápagos… and now they’re all turning yellow and falling off at once.
Day 5: Pacific crossing
Today has been a series of unfortunate events. First thing in the morning we found a snapped bowsprit cable. A totally unexpected incident. That renders the Code 0 sail unsafe to fly. We had to take it down and change the sail plan to a reefed main and jib.
Martin was lowered down in a bosun chair below the bow to take the bowsprit off. That was an operation but not too stressful. The question now is how we are going to jury rig the bowsprit to make it strong enough to hold the Code 0, without the right tools and spare parts when we are 2200nm away from the destination.
While the captain and crew were working out a plan, we found the oven and cooktop were off. Then we realised the whole boat lost power, except for the navigation instruments. After all checks returned no results, the only option is to call our electrician as a matter of urgency.
Without power we have no starlink, which means we can't communicate effectively. Having a backup plan with starlink mini and a portable solar panel, we test it out but find the signal is unstable, going in and out.
In the meantime Martin tries to fire up the generator, but the battery is flat due to non-use for a few months. The pull cord breaks on first pull because of corrosion. Such misfortune! He has to then open up the generator to fix the pull cord.
The stress is immense, the double risks of damaged bowsprit and power failure weigh heavily on us. But everyone stays calm, not even an expletive word is uttered. After rounds of trying I get a connection on starlink mini, minutes later the generator is started and the regular starlink is working. Our electrician responds straight away with trouble shooting. After an agonisingly long time to fix everything just to be able to communicate, the solution to the power issue comes instantly.
Tomorrow we will continue to work on fixing the bowsprit.
Day 6: Pacific crossing
The wind and swells picked up overnight, so the reefed main sail and jib work perfectly in this condition. Captain and crew finished the replacement bowsprit line, just waiting for the seas to get calmer before installing it. If current conditions continue there's no urgency to fly the Code 0 sail.
Plus it's the captain's birthday today and mother's day too. We all need a relaxing day! Jason and yvette baked a chocolate banana birthday cake, it's delicious with vanilla ice cream from the freezer.
The sea also sensed our celebratory mood. Just before sunset the fishing line went off like crazy. For a moment we thought the fish would be too big to pull in. With the crew's expert handling to slow the boat down under sail, the captain pulled in a 75cm skipjack tuna.
Day 7: Pacific crossing
The seventh day at sea began with repairs:
By now, even the smallest task on the boat carried a strange weight to it. Nothing was simple out here. Tightening a line, checking a sail, repairing a damaged part of the bow, everything happened while the floor beneath your feet constantly moved, groaned, and resisted you. The ocean never stopped reminding you who was in control.
We spent part of the morning fixing the front section of the boat. Salt crusted on our hands. The wind carried spray across the deck in short violent bursts. And somewhere underneath the routine of passing tools and securing ropes, I noticed something else creeping back into my body.
Not the violent seasickness from the first days. Not the kind that leaves you bent over a railing, emptying yourself into the sea.
This was quieter.
Subconscious almost.
A strange heaviness sitting somewhere behind the eyes. A dull lethargy. The body adapting, but never fully relaxing. I had stopped taking seasickness pills today after relying on two, sometimes even three a day during the rougher first week. I wanted my body to find its own balance again. But maybe balance out here was an illusion.
After the repair was done, the boredom arrived again.
Not normal boredom. Ocean boredom.
The kind where time stretches unnaturally.
There is nothing except water. Endless water. No trees moving in the wind. No streets. No mountains in the distance. No feeling of progression except numbers changing slowly on a GPS screen.
One day feels like three.
The boat shakes constantly. Every movement, every step, every attempt to rest comes with another slam of a wave against the hull. The sound never stops. Creaking ropes. Crashing water. The low humming pressure of the wind. Even silence is loud out here.
And slowly, after a week together in a confined floating space, conversation itself becomes exhausting. Not because of conflict. Simply because my social battery feels empty.
Day 8: Pacific crossing: boredom
I am sitting in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, under a sky so full of stars it almost looks unreal. The Milky Way stretches above us like spilled paint across the darkness. Thousands of meters of water beneath me. No land for weeks. No city lights. No roads. No escape. Just wind, waves, and this tiny floating piece of fiberglass carrying us across the biggest ocean on Earth.
A dream.
A dream I had imagined so many times before.
And yet… I am bored.
That realization almost made me laugh.
Human beings have a remarkable ability to normalize the abnormal. Give us enough time and even the extraordinary becomes routine. The first nights at sea felt overwhelming. Every wave felt massive. Stomach rumbling with underlying seasickness. Every sound from the boat carried meaning. I stared at the horizon for hours, unable to believe where I was.
Now I walk across the deck half asleep, make a tea, check sails, watch another sunset, another flying fish disappear into the dark water, and my brain quietly whispers:
“Okay… what’s next?”
It is strange how quickly wonder fades when repetition enters the picture.
Maybe that is one of the greatest lessons of long journeys. Not the storms. Not the danger. But realizing that happiness cannot survive on intensity alone. Even dreams become daily life eventually.
The Pacific does not care about my expectations. It does not perform for me. It is just endlessly there. Beautiful. Violent. Empty. Repetitive.
And maybe that is why crossing an ocean changes people.
Because after enough days surrounded by nothing, you hopefullu stop chasing constant stimulation. My thoughts become louder, I think of my future, my current travel, I paused, I begin to question. My emotions become clearer, backflashes of all the good and the ugly that I am gratefulto have experienced... I begin noticing smaller things and patterns. The shape of clouds outisde and inside. The mood of the sea and my own.
Day 11: halfway there! Dolphin surprise.
Halfway there.
1,500 nautical miles were behind us since we had left the Galápagos Islands. Another stretch just as long still separated us from the Marquesas Islands. Ten days at sea were already behind us. Probably another ten still ahead. In total, we had now spent eighteen days on the open ocean since leaving Panama.
The morning began with turning the very last leftovers of banana and soursop fruit into pancakes. Yummii!!!
Right after that, we continued with what had by now become our almost symbolic toilet repair mission. Under the watchful eyes of “Bob” or “Bobi” — our red-footed Red-footed Booby who had apparently decided to become part of the crew. He sat there for hours, head slightly tilted, as if analyzing our complete technical incompetence.
For two days we had been trying to unclog that damn pipe.
We poured acid into it. Hydrochloric acid. Blew pressure through the pipes manually by literally blowing with our mouths into the toilet drain. Poked cables through it. Sweated. Swore. Debated. And honestly, this was exactly the kind of problem that probably could have been solved a lot more calmly somewhere in a harbor with solid ground beneath your feet instead of in the middle of the Pacific.
Eventually the captain gave up. At least for now.
The wind was good, so instead we decided to hoist the Parasailor and take down the Code 0. Immediately the mood onboard changed. Everyone automatically moved into position. Hands. Lines. Commands. Concentration. This time everything worked surprisingly smoothly. The Parasailor pulled us forward calmly and powerfully, as if the boat had suddenly decided to sail itself.
After lunch, which we prepared afterward, I fell into a complete food coma. My body simply shut down. I dragged myself onto the foredeck and sat there half lethargic for at least two hours. Unable to move. Just me, the endless Pacific, and Bobi staring at me with the same stoic expression he had previously used on the toilet situation.
Day13: nothing broke. Good mood and 1000
We have been sailing for almost two weeks now.
I’m sitting alone on my night shift while the boat keeps pushing west through the Pacific. We are finally down to our last thousand nautical miles. Saying “last” changes something mentally. The distance still sounds enormous on land, but out here it suddenly feels manageable. Reachable.
The waves today were around two meters high, but the wind stayed with us the entire day and hopefully keeps doing so. After all the repairs, broken sails, strange noises, and constant uncertainty of the last days, everyone onboard has started appreciating simple things much more.
Stable wind.
No repairs.
No alarms.
No surprises.
Just sailing.
And honestly, we really needed that break.
The whole crew did.
I can also feel my own energy slowly returning. Last week I had been stuck in some strange state between exhaustion and sleepiness, constantly low on energy no matter how much I rested. Maybe it’s simply another adaptation phase the body goes through during long passages like this. The ocean slowly rewires your rhythm. Sleep becomes fragmented. Time becomes strange. Your body never fully relaxes because even resting requires balancing against constant movement.
Day 17: Pacific Crossing:
I was grateful for a cold rain shower this morning and having a pretty epic Viking moment standing on top of the boat in the pouring rain, worshipping the sky like a maniac
After the first rain front passed over us, the true wind completely collapsed. We suddenly dropped to barely 3 to 5 knots of wind. Basically a floating parking lot. We rolled in the sail and turned on the engine, which honestly turned out to be very lucky timing.
Only about 20 minutes later another possible squall moved through and instantly pushed the wind from around 5 knots to up to 26 knots. That would have pushed our Code 0 close to its limits. Losing another sail out here would be an absolute nightmare.
So… this time we got lucky again.
The sunset exploded into every colour imaginable. Orange, pink, purple, deep red, golden reflections on the water everywhere. Meanwhile the captain made his famous Coke Chicken. Yes… chicken in Coca Cola sauce. And yes… somehow it’s actually ridiculously good haha.
What still feels surreal is that we have not seen another boat out here for almost two weeks now. In the first few days we passed maybe three large commercial ships. Since then… nothing. Not even ships on the AIS anymore.
Just endless blue.
Day 20: Pacific Crossing: 🐬 dolphins
What a beautiful final day before seeing land again.
The Pacific suddenly felt almost gentle. Sun all day, almost steady wind, and finally the waves coming mostly from behind us instead of from the side. The difference this makes onboard is enormous. The boat moved calmly, almost stable for once, without the constant violent rolling that had accompanied us for so many days.
So. Today... everything felt light.
Then, around 140 nautical miles before reaching the first island of French Polynesia, the first signs of land life appeared.
Birds. White long-tailed tropicbirds circling above us. They are beautiful creatures.
After weeks surrounded almost exclusively by water, suddenly seeing birds again felt strangely emotional. Like the ocean itself quietly informing us:
You’re getting close now. And then came the dolphins. A huge group of them racing toward the boat. Different from the ones we had seen earlier during the crossing. Grey bodies, pale almost white snouts, moving effortlessly through the water around us.
What a spectacle. Nobody even needed to say it out loud anymore.
Land was near. Only one more night shift left.
Tomorrow morning, when I wake up, there will already be mountains on the horizon. Real land. Solid ground close.
Honestly, I felt relieved more than anything else. I sat for long at the bow looking at the dolphins and just thinking we almost made it.
The whole afternoon we made dumplings together onboard. The captain’s wife is Chinese, so this was about as authentic as dumplings can possibly get while floating somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
It felt almost strangely domestic considering where we were.
Meanwhile Jason and I probably played our hundredth round of "Cabooo" while the sun slowly disappeared behind the ocean. By now the game had become part of daily life. Same cards. Same jokes. Every day...but so much fun and good to kill time.
The captain had started feeling slightly sick though. Maybe he had now caught wh
Day21: Pacific Crossing. Laaaaaaand
I woke up and my first thought was:
Damn… I missed it.
Was I too late already?
I remembered there had been around forty-four nautical miles left to the first island when I went to sleep. I still had the blinds in my cabin closed, so half asleep I quickly checked Google Maps on my phone.
And then I realized: The island was literally right next to my window.
I threw open the blinds and there it was. Massive. Misty. Covered in fog and morning clouds.
I got so excited I basically jumped out of bed and rushed outside. The whole boat was already awake and moving around chaotically.
Land.
Finally land.
And what a view. And what a relief..
No — honestly — this was probably the most beautiful island I had ever seen in my life.
Huge cliffs rising vertically out of the ocean. Deep green vegetation mixed with golden grass and black volcanic rock. Palm trees everywhere. Sharp ridges disappearing into clouds. It looked absurdly rich in nature. Almost unreal.
Like somebody had sat down and designed the perfect tropical island from imagination. ...Jurassic Park. That was my first thought.
As we slowly entered the bay, the captain grabbed a shell horn to greet the few sailboats already anchored there and the locals onshore. There were maybe four other boats in the anchorage.
The captain had a pretty bad cold though, so his attempt sounded less like some majestic Polynesian arrival and more like what Germans would call a “Rohrkrepierer” — basically the sound of a broken engine coughing itself to death.
Jason tried next and did significantly better.
Then it was my turn. After three failed attempts and almost passing out, I finally managed to produce an actual deep horn sound echoing through the bay.
Our official greeting to the island.
The small village itself was still hidden behind the rocks from where we anchored. Only a few tiny figures could be seen walking in the distance along the shore.
Mountain hike on Fatu Hiva
Wat a beautiful and rich in nature island
Homeless in Nuku Hiva
Sleeping under the biggest tiki in the Marquesas
Living in Nuku Hiva in the mountains
I live in the most beautiful place on earth
Village school feast - dance of kids
Nuku Hiva with my dog
My host dog and I ❤️