A small part of circumnavigating the globe

12.04. – 25.04.2026

As the crowning finale of my four-month Latin America trip: two weeks of sailing in the Caribbean with my father.

After nearly 30 hours of travel – from Guatemala City via Fort Lauderdale (simply the cheapest route) – I arrived at the Kingston marina completely exhausted. The idea still felt unreal: spending the next two weeks on a 12-meter catamaran heading towards Panama. A quick dip in the lukewarm marina pool, a reunion with my father, meeting Petra and Bernd – and then it was off to the anchorage in the dinghy. The Joline was waiting for us there, rocking peacefully in the evening light.

The real daily life on board begins immediately

Bernd and Petra immediately welcomed us into their daily routine. It consisted of considerably less sundowner romance than one might expect. Instead, it involved planning shopping, refueling with diesel, filling up water tanks, safety briefings, and adjusting life jackets. They also had to figure out the best places to buy food for several days at sea. But there was still time for Jamaica: a visit to the Bob Marley Museum, sampling some of the best ice cream in the world, an adventurous road trip through the Blue Mountains in search of the famous Blue Mountain coffee, fruit and vegetable shopping in the supposedly dangerous downtown of Kingston, and a relaxing day at Hellshire Beach.

Five days. Five nights. No land in sight.

The real heart of the journey only began once we set sail: the crossing to Panama. Five days and five nights on the open sea – with no land in sight, no possibility of simply turning back. Luckily, we had hardly any swell and therefore no problems with seasickness. Suddenly, our rhythm consisted only of watching, sleeping, playing games, cooking, and observing the weather. And plenty of time to delve into seamanship – the bible of sailors – and learn the most important knots and sailing vocabulary.

Every night I was solely responsible for the boat for three hours. To be honest, it was a "light" version of the watches: Bernd slept up on deck so he could intervene quickly in an emergency. Nevertheless, there was still plenty of excitement: checking the radar, scanning the horizon, keeping an eye on the wind and sails – and deciding when to wake the skipper and when to let him sleep.

Shooting stars, a dolphin visit, and calm winds

What surprised me most was how quickly this world felt normal. After two days, things seemed completely natural that would have sounded absurd before: sitting alone on deck at night during a new moon, counting shooting stars. Or waking up to the call of the ship in the morning. “Dolfiiiiine!” Being woken up – and suddenly having a whole pod of dolphins right next to the boat in the open sea. At the same time, there were constant little reminders of how dependent you are on weather, technology, and experience out at sea. For example, when on day three or four the wind suddenly died down completely and we had to use the engine. No big deal – but a little reminder: out on the water, the weather has the final say.

What two weeks at sea do to a person

In these two weeks, I understood why people leave their old lives behind and set sail. Not because everything is relaxed or romantic – but because out on the sea, you're forced to focus on what's essential: wind, weather, sleep, food, trust in other people, and the ability to cope with uncertainty.

Somewhere between night watches, card games, and sunrises on the open sea, I found myself calculating when I would theoretically have saved enough money for my own circumnavigation. And I started googling where you can get a sailing license in Berlin.

Thank you, Petra and Bernd – for including me in your everyday life, for the patient explanations and for so effectively conveying this passion to me.

What did I take away from it? Not just a few photos from the Caribbean. But the quiet, persistent feeling: This could one day be my life too.

Miriam