Atlantic Crossing

How a woman in search of a new life crossed the Atlantic on a small sailboat with an old lover.

In the fall of 2003, I bought in Florida, Eidos, a 32-foot sailboat, and spent the winter alone on board in the Bahamas. When my visa was about to expire and the hurricane season was approaching, I decided to sail across the Atlantic with an old boyfriend who flew over from the UK. This is the story of our adventure and my inner as well as an outer struggle to cope with an untested boat, an unpredictable ocean, and a difficult relationship.

Below is the first chapter to whet your appetite or listen to it here.

1. The Beginning 

May 2004 

Mozart’s Concerto No. 5, pours out of the speaker in the cockpit. Drops of sweat run down my neck and chest into the crevice between my breasts and over my stomach. I dip a brush into a can of varnish, its turpentine smell overpowering the scent of the sea, and carefully spread the golden liquid on the teak trim of my new sailboat. I am lost in the moment as I try to match brush strokes to the rhythm of the music.

But it is too hot to varnish any longer. I pound the lid on the can with a hammer and return the brush into an old jar, half full of mineral spirits. Splatters of varnish cover my legs, hands, and bikini. I wet a piece of paper towel in the brush cleaner and wipe off the biggest ones before screwing back the top of the jar. While stretching muscles stiff from sitting on the teak deck all morning, I glance around at the boat. Like make-up on a pretty woman, the shiny surface of the varnish has transformed her into a beautiful yacht. A satisfied grin pushes its way onto my face.

I stand up, raise my arms, take a deep breath and stretch, letting my eyes relax into the distance. There are about forty boats left in Elizabeth Harbour, down from four hundred at Christmas. Soon everyone will be gone. I take off my rafia hat, grab a mask and snorkel off the cabin top, and jump into the sea.

The water is only slightly cooler than the air, but I love the feel of the salty liquid, as I stroke through its surface around the boat. I check the hull, keel, and rudder for barnacles, noting that the bottom paint is still working at keeping them off. I swim to the bow and look up. The word, ‘Eidos’ is stenciled in large letters on both sides against a blue background of the trim. I searched online and finally found the meaning in a Scrabble dictionary. Essence in Greek. There was also a Greek goddess called Aidos but she was a goddess of shame, modesty, respect, and humility and that doesn’t fit. Eidos is not ashamed, modest or humble. She loves to shine. I prefer essence. She is my home, my magic carpet and contains everything I need. According to her designer, she is capable of taking me anywhere in the world. She has the right balance of beauty, strength, comfort, and speed. Big enough for two, yet small enough so that I can handle her on my own. 

A dolphin mother and her baby frolic in the distance. They sometimes swim nearer but she is protective and won’t let anyone close. With my face in the water, I follow the snaking anchor chain, lying on the bottom. My eyes straining, I see the CQR ten feet down, dug deeply into the sandy bottom among the coral heads, holding firmly. I swim back and climb up the ladder that hangs off the stern. I rinse off with a bucket of fresh water and squeeze the remaining drips out of the ends of my hair. 

A man and a woman are motoring in their rubber dinghy from a ketch anchored nearby. They wave and I wave back. The man puts the outboard into neutral, and the dinghy coasts towards Eidos. 

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” the woman says. 
“Yup. It has all the ingredients to make it perfect. Sun, sea, blue sky, and sand,” I reply. 
“Are you alone?’’ 
“Yes.’’ 
“Oh, so you’re a single-hander. That’s impressive.” 
“I had crew from Florida, don’t really like sailing alone.” 
She nods. “My name is Eileen Quinn and I’m a musician, and this is my husband, David. Our boat is called Little Gidding,” she says, pointing to the ketch.
“Hi, I’m Barbara.” 
“How long are you staying in the Bahamas?” David asks. 
“Another month. How about you?” 
“We’re heading south next week. Venezuela for the hurricane season. Where will you go?” 
“Not sure yet. I need to find crew.” 
“Well, perhaps you’ll find someone tonight. I’m organizing a musical evening and potluck dinner on the beach tonight. The last one of the season. Will you come?” 
“Of course, thank you.” 

They slowly motor away toward another boat and I go inside to make lunch. In the afternoon I sit in the cockpit under the shade of the canvas awning and weave palm fronds into a basket, while the sun descends through the fluffy clouds astern. I stop only when my fingers, unused to the movements begin to ache. In three long days, I’ve made three small baskets and two coasters. I find it hard to believe how these objects can be so inexpensive back in Canada considering the labour involved. 

The sound of conch horn echoes through the anchorage. I lift up my head from my work and watch as the sky turns crimson and then, in a blink of an eye, black. Other horns follow. It’s a sunset ritual here and usually, at least one person pays attention. My neighbours’ daughter, who can’t be older than six blows the best, so it’s not a function of lung power. I’d like to make one, but there are only so many hours in the day, and right now my newest obsession is basket weaving. Joy and Bea have been teaching anyone who is interested and almost every woman here is making them. 

I gather up my weaving and step down into the cabin, turn on the light above the galley, and reach past the chart table to flip the switch for the anchor light. The minor chords of guitar strumming waft in from the beach, so I quickly make a salad and fill a picnic basket. I wrap a pareo around my waist, grab a scarf for my shoulders and climb down into the dinghy. A bonfire on the beach shows me the way. Dozens of dinghies are already parked on the sand, others motoring behind me. I step into the shallow water and pull the dinghy onshore. 

Eileen is tuning her guitar while David adjusts the speakers. A small generator hums behind a tree. The picnic tables are laden with food, bottles of wine, plates, and glasses. Candles in jars light the feast. People move in and out of shadows. Children and teens mingle with adults. A woman is nursing a baby in a hammock strung between two palm trees. Conversation and laughter surround me. A group of women wrapped in mummus and pareos are playing Mexican train at another table, an oil lamp illuminating the dominoes. Few people sit on stools around a counter at the nearby beach bar. Several men surround the smoking drum-half barbecue. They have been spearfishing the reefs today and the grill is full of fish. 

I nod to one of them, Paul, who is wearing a t-shirt picturing a skeleton sitting on a bench. 'Waiting for the perfect woman,' it says. He had invited me over to see his new motor yacht a few days ago. 'Oh, by the way, I prefer short hair on women, I hate finding lose hair on the floor of the shower. Would you consider cutting yours?' he had asked me after the tour of his boat. 'Sorry.' I said, wishing I had the courage to add, 'I hate powerboats.' 

Many of the cruisers come to Elizabeth Harbour every winter and know each other well. I’ve been here for the past five months, and recognize a few familiar faces. Sue waves me over. John opens a bottle of wine and fills our glasses. I put the salad on the table. I tell them what Paul said. Both Sue and John have long ponytails. Their boat, Two Dreams, is their winter home. In summer, they ride Harleys. That’s their other dream. Sue pulls a hairbrush out of her bag, stands up, and pulls off the elastic band from her hair. She nods to me to do the same. And then we both brush our hair, tipping our heads upside down and flicking them up, like horses’ manes, laughing. I sneak a look toward the bbq to see if Paul is watching but can’t see in the dark.

“You know,” I say to Sue and John, “considering how transient this community of boaters is, I feel I have finally found my tribe. I’ll miss it. I’ll miss you.” 
“I know what you mean,” says Sue. 
“Where are you going for the hurricane season?” I ask them, as John tops up our glasses. 
“Back to Florida. We’ll haul out Two Dreams and then go riding. Are you sailing to Canada?” 
“No. I am done with Canada. Too far, too cold, and too many bad memories. I need a new life. I want to sail to Europe.” 
“That’s ambitious.”

Greece beckons. Always has. A country of ancient ruins, history, deep roots, where old people are respected. The last time I was there on a holiday, I met a couple on a sailboat just completing their circumnavigation. I decided then and there that cruising would be the best way to explore its hundreds of islands. But to cross the Atlantic, alone? Many people have done it. They’ve written books about it. Perhaps I could too. I’ve done one overnight passage down the coast of Florida after buying Eidos, and several longer ones as crew. At least on the open ocean, there are no rocks to hit. But I am terrified of facing storms alone, getting hurt with no one to help. And loneliness. That’s the worst. 

We speak of our plans for the winter but that’s as far ahead as we’re willing to commit. We mingle with the others on the beach, chat, say goodbyes, exchange email addresses, smile for photographs. I buy a CD from Eileen and thank her and David for the invitation. David mentions that he also is a writer, and wants to do an interview for an article on single sailors he is writing. We promise to keep in touch. 
The music grows louder and Eileen sings her final song. The rest of us gather around and join in on the chorus. 

“I’ve got seashells, 

I’ve got souvenirs 

I’ve got songs I’ve penned 

I’ve got photographs 

I’ve got memories 

But mostly, I’ve got friends."

Tears fill my eyes and roll down my face but I don’t care. It doesn’t matter yet it does, that in a month I’ll probably never see any of these people again, knowing that the sense of community travels with the wind and the tide and can be found wherever boaters gather. I say goodbye to Sue and John, gather up my things and in the dark, alone and miserable stumble to the dinghy.

                                       ~~~/)

Click here to buy the book and read more.

Here are some of the early reviews: 

I didn't get bored. If anything, the story moved too fast. I liked the ending. It felt good that there wasn't a big party to celebrate reaching Europe because every ending is a new beginning, and it felt like you grew as a person/character. You made it feel like the dangers of storms and ships and the boat falling apart are actually a blessing in disguise. If the seas were too calm for too long the characters would probably kill each other. :)

I'll look for your book on Amazon. Loved your last one. 

Read your book Barbara and couldn’t put it down. Felt like I was travelling with you. I hope you write more books. So enjoyable. - Marcia Melvin 

Barbara masters the rare art of mixing smoothly a sailing account with the description of vivid physical sensations, moods, landscapes and her own personal evolution throughout that background. As we accompany her in the ups and downs of this process, we hope that a free, self-confident butterfly will be able to fly out of the chrysalis and enjoy a new life on board "Eidos" her own way. A thought-provoking as well as an enjoyable read not to miss out. - Suni Belliure

Well, I love it! You describe the situation and the atmosphere so well, it's as if I were there watching, as a spectator. And it makes me want to know more... Suni

A fun travel adventure! I'm a sucker for travelogues but know next-to-nothing about the sailing lifestyle. With Molin's book, not only did I learn a lot about boating, but it opened my eyes to a different way of living life that I'd never thought of before. Along the way, the reader experiences the different cultures of the Caribbean, feels what it's like surviving a squall in the middle of the Atlantic, realizes the beauty of the Mediterranean and Greece, all the while enjoying Molin's unique as she surmounts all types of challenges. Definitely a fun read! - R. Duke 

Meantime I am reading your book. It is great! I really love it. While reading I feel like sailing with you on Eidos 😊 I love the book, as it is definitely good literature, but knowing you and Eidos makes it really unique and precious for me. Authentic and captivating to the last page! 😀 Astrid Steen 

A great novel that takes the reader up close on a trip across the Atlantic. With all the fears, worries and the hardships of life on board the small sailboat, which demands everything and the overwhelming joy of having made it. Barbara Molin allows a deep insight into her feelings. Anyone who gets involved with this authentically written book will not put it down until the last page is read. - Dr. Astrid Steen

I absolutely loved the ending. - Nancy Sequest

I just finished your book. I’ve always admired you for your independence and courage, even more so now. You are very brave. I think it was good you had James with you for the crossing, even though he was such a jerk. I remember feeling trapped on a boat with someone making me miserable, and I admire your ability to stay calm and deal with it. Really enjoyed the book. Except I wish it didn’t end. I want to hear all the rest…have you started your next book? I was able to hear your voice, and it was easy for me to picture James having met him in Mexico. It was such an honest account, also brave of you! - Gaylin Wieler

Thoroughly enjoyed reading this fantastic story about crossing the Atlantic in a small sailboat. The adventures and experiences on her journey kept me turning the pages, and I read the book in one day. I hope there is a sequel, as I'd love to read about her onward travels, sailing in the Mediterranean.- Lizzy Bolan

What a woman, what a story! Reviewed in Germany on January 2, 2021 An adventure that captivates from the first page. A woman who takes her fears with her on this journey dares and wins. The author describes in an exciting way how she tackles and solves problems, even though she is on the go with a man independently and confidently. Even with my simple English, I could read this book with pleasure. I look forward to a sequel to what your new life is like on a sailboat. A clear recommendation not only for women. - Ela Kierdejko

This book was recommended to me by my sister, who is on her own sailing adventure at present. It has given me a fascinating insight into the pleasures and dangers of living this lifestyle. The difficult relationship between Barbara and her only crew member added interest to her amazing story. I found it a thoroughly enjoyable read and have now ordered her other book of short stories. - Anthea Mason

I read it over the weekend and really enjoyed it. Being from a landlocked city, I don't get to be on the water very often, but I did a sailing camp as a teenager many years ago, and really loved it. And I've always enjoyed books about people sailing --part of what convinced me to buy this was good memories of having read Kon-Tiki many years ago. 

Anyway, it was engaging, easy to read and entertaining. It felt a little bit like Nomadland at sea. I described the premise to my daughter at breakfast, and she said it would make for a great movie --I agree! 

I do have to admit I think you're kind of crazy now.  That's a real adventure to take on. - C. Sunami

A very enjoyable read!

A great account of a challenging journey describing the logistics of sailing a small boat across an ocean, as well as the emotional ups and downs encountered en route. Written with knowledge and feeling, I thoroughly enjoyed this book. - Marina Harmer

And one from the April 2021 issue of Yachting Monthly:

Notes on how I came to write this book: 

I wrote Atlantic Crossing over ten years, using the ship's log as a reference. At first, I submitted parts of the story to sailing magazines and had the articles published in Sail and 48 North. Over time, I decided that I wanted to remember the whole experience as one and begun putting the manuscript for this book together. I used photos and a video to remind me of the scenery and how it felt, but an experience like this always remains in the bones of the person who lived through it, so it wasn't all that difficult to get into the frame of mind of that much younger woman. 

Many people told me that after reading the story, they hated James, the antagonist. I wondered if I had been too tough on him but after mulling it over decided that no, this is how he was. He is aware of this and even his email signature used to include a reference to his difficult personality: "...by all accounts, I'm a sarcastic, abrasive, tactless asshole - and that's according to my closest friends."

I tried to be fair and showed many of his good qualities as well. Even though we rarely communicate any more, I think of him now and then. And after all, this is my memoir and he is free to write his own version of the story.