Windhorse Sailing

I lived on Shangri La for a week in Punta Del Este. All the while as I was there, I was missing home and dreading the trip north. I knew what conditions to expect and, although I knew I could manage them, it would be an unavoidable “rough go.” From this point forward the prevailing winds and current would be from the north, most likely in my face. In hindsight this leg of my journey was a comedy of trials, but it was also the coups de grace. After this leg I would make some decisions that were as unavoidable as the trade winds. And like a bad story, the hardships to come were foreshadowed by the few logistics I needed to take care of before I set sail.

Shangri-La moored in Punta Del Este

My first task was to apply for a Brazilian visa. I had heard back in Namibia from a Scotsman that the Brazilians are a funny lot. I could expect to get a hard time as an American because the Brazilians feel they get a hard time from the US over entry visas. “It is the Brazilian sense of humor,” he said. Whatever I was told to expect by the Scotsman and others was reiterated in a book I began around this same time titled ”the Brazilians” by American Page. The author made it clear that the Brazilians live for the moment, but are always aware of their unrealized potential. For decades they have been promised from within and without, a vibrant economy that would become the best in the world based on their abundant labor force and unrivaled natural resources. However, recently they were ranked second, behind Africa’s Sierra Leone, for the largest gap between rich and poor. Their current leader, Lula (Da Silva), who promised to be a man of the people, has apparently sold out like so
many before him. This has further added to the collective chip on the Brazilian shoulder.

On Thursday I planned a day trip to Montevideo two hours away to get a visa at the Brazilian consulate. I ended up staying in Montevideo over night as the consul held up my visa. I was told to return the following day at noon for an appointment with the consul herself. The girl behind the counter assured me I would get it, but I would have to go through the motions. I thanked her and I hoped my smile would convey to her that I trusted her (and I therefore expected her to go to bat for this pleasant American). The joke was now on me.

I arrived Friday at noon and was made to wait until 1pm for the consul to return for lunch. My ally at least assured me that my visa was ready and waiting. When the consul arrived I greeted her with a smile and told her that I looked forward to visiting a country I had heard so many good things about. She sat me down and asked me a few harmless questions, but it was clear to me she just wanted to say something. That something was that 1 in 10 Americans has a criminal record and she considers it her duty to personally check any one she approves. I found it funny, because all the guidebooks had the courtesy to warn me of the high probability of being the victim of a crime in a Brazilian city. My smile was bullet proof. I took my visa and waved goodbye.

Over night I had received an email from North sails in Buenos Aires. The informed me that my new genoa was ready. It was weeks ahead of schedule. I had planned to have it shipped to me at a yacht club in Brazil. I was worried about getting it through customs in Brazil. Generally, things addressed to a “yacht in transit” are not taxed or held up. However, South America doesn’t play that game. They tax everything and hold it hostage till you pay. For example, the sail maker told me that if he sent it to me with a messenger in Punta Del Este, I would be charged another 400$US by customs. Well I wasn’t playing that game. I decided to pay 200$ to take the 3 hour ferry to BA and get my sail.

Since I would arrive after working hours, I had the sail maker deliver the sail to the bag check at the Hotel Hilton across from the ferry terminal. I arrived at 6pm, found a place to eat, picked up the sail and returned to Montevideo on the 8:30pm ferry. The sail is 44.25 square meters and weighs about 110lbs. It was like carrying a bale of wet hay. This trip was no fun. And it wasn’t over.

Buenos Aires from the high speed ferry

When I arrived in Montevideo, the customs agent wanted to see papers on the “merchandise.” I told him that it wasn’t merchandise. It was my sail that I had repaired in Buenos Aires. My bet was that at 11:30 at night this wasn’t worth the trouble, so I smiled and was patient with his questions. I lied that I had no papers. He didn’t know what to do so he held me until the entire ferry had disembarked. Then he called over a colleague or a boss, some big fat guy who was going to try and intimidate me into paying some kind of tax. So I went to plan B. I started yelling. Keep in mind these guys don’t speak English and my Spanish, while good now is limited. When you get angry, you just do it in your own language and let them assume the worst. I played it right. I gave them just enough trouble and they started looking at the clock. After which the proceeded to yell at each other until they finally told me to take my sail and go. I was home free.

By Sunday morning I was back at Shangri-La preparing to set sail. The visa and the sail were a good distraction from the bigger fish I had to fry—the sail north. The good news was that I would have good friends to meet me in Brazil. The not so good news was that even though at this time the wind was blowing 25 knots from the south, it was creating a 10-foot chop against the Brazil current coming from the north. That’s alot of waves over the bow. And the not good at all news was that this was the best I could expect.