From operating room to ocean

Some encounters stay with you, even if you don’t know why at the time. Years ago, I walked into the hospital in Amersfoort to cover for a colleague. There I met Albert, a passionate oral surgeon with a warm heart and a sharp eye. After my cover job, we always stayed in touch, including with his wife, Anneke.

Although he has since retired, he remains active as a surgeon in Tanzania for his own foundation, MKA-Tanzania. With a mission that extends far beyond the hospital walls, he is committed to elevating oral and maxillofacial surgery in Tanzania. He does this not only by performing surgeries himself, but also by training local doctors and students so they can eventually continue independently.

He once looked skeptically at our plan to circumnavigate the world by sailboat, too dangerous, he thought. Yet, Anneke and Albert faithfully read our blogs, and somewhere along the way, his curiosity turned to enthusiasm. Unfortunately, Anneke didn’t dare join us on this trip and had just undergone knee surgery. Albert, on the other hand, seized the opportunity with both hands and boarded our ship in Fiji. His plane landed at 5:20 a.m., and less than four hours later, we sailed toward Musket Cove. No time to adjust. No day to rest. That’s how we do things here.

The days before, we’d prepared the boat and stocked up on supplies, as the Yasawa Islands, our next destination, don’t have any supermarkets. From the very first moment, Albert visibly enjoyed himself. The swell, the wind, the company, it was a world away from the operating room, but one in which he surprisingly quickly felt at home.

Albert is someone who wants to try everything. Jeroen was completely in his element as he explained all the ins and outs of the boat, from the technical systems to the sailing itself. It was wonderful to see Albert absorb everything.

The next day, we set course for an anchorage at Manta Ray Alley, because one of the items on his bucket list was a manta ray encounter. However, the sail there was anything but calm: thirty knots of wind on a close-hauled course. There he was, standing on deck with Jeroen, while My Motu fought through the waves. At one point, his feet even left the deck, and it was time to seek the safety of the cockpit. Of course, we had our fishing rods out, and we had a bite! Two beautiful rainbow runners, a species we hadn’t caught before. Two bottlenose dolphins also swam briefly near the boat.

After a full day of sailing, 42 miles, we finally found a spot among five other boats. The sun slowly set, and the anchor dropped with that reassuring clink that always means: we’ve arrived . That evening we ate our freshly caught fish with fried potatoes and a fresh salad. It doesn’t get any fresher than that.

For several days in a row, we went searching for manta rays. Sometimes, as many as three times a day, we donned our snorkel gear, jumped in, and let the current carry us, hoping to see those dark shadows appear below us. But no matter how often we peered into the blue, the manta rays didn’t show up. What we did see: beautiful corals, schools of colourful fish, and that endless interplay of light and water that never gets old. Paddleboarding was also one of the activities we tried. It was fun, but give Albert a rowboat.

In the evening, I cooked a wide variety of meals, and then we played Brändi Dog, a strategic and tactical board game played in teams. Because my regular gaming partner is currently in Switzerland, Albert became my new partner-in-crime against Jeroen and Rajesh. He picked up the game surprisingly quickly and even enjoyed it, even though he’s not normally a games person.

We also took it easy on ourselves occasionally: one evening we had pizza at the Barefoot Island Resort. A delicious change from our usual home-cooked boat meals. Of course, a game of volleyball was a must. Always fun to do.

After three days of snorkelling without manta rays, and with the wind shifting, we decided to sail on to the Blue Lagoon Anchorage. Along the way, we caught skipjack tuna. Upon arriving in the bay, the wind continued to blow hard, twenty to thirty knots, but we were in a beautiful spot, surrounded by coral. We decided to go to the resort, explore, and treat ourselves to a cool drink. The next day, the men went for a walk together while I tried to put the final brush to the canvas for a painting that was going to the Netherlands. Albert kindly offered to pack it in his luggage.

Unfortunately, he didn’t feel well the next day. Feeling sick and weak, he stayed on board for a day while we went snorkelling along the coast. The weather remained unsettled; the boat bounced in the wind day and night. After two restless nights, we decided that sailing further north wasn’t a good idea. We opted for safety and sailed back to Manta Ray Alley.

Luckily, Albert recovered quickly, so we could go looking for the manta rays again, and this time we were in luck: less than ten minutes in the water, and there they were, three graceful manta rays, gliding through the water as if they were setting the sea itself in motion. It felt like a gift we could finally unwrap.

The next day we went again. This time, we anchored the dinghy somewhere instead of one of us pulling it along on a line. The current in the passage is treacherous, but Rajesh stayed in the dinghy a bit longer while we swam towards the manta rays. At first, you think: I’ll just swim back. But Albert soon realized that swimming against the current was a different story. He sought shelter near a piece of coral, but couldn’t get back.

From the dinghy, Rajesh saw what was happening and decided to act immediately. He raised the anchor, but before he reached Albert, he encountered an elderly couple also asking for help. The woman looked tired, so he helped them both aboard first. Then he accelerated full speed toward Albert, who was visibly relieved that Rajesh had seen him. A moment later, he was safely in the dinghy, with a broad smile and a quiet sense of relief.

The next morning, a message came in: a major earthquake near Japan. There was a risk of a tsunami in the rest of the Pacific. What do you do then?

The forecast didn’t even sound all that threatening: a maximum of one meter of water above high tide. But with tsunamis, the rule is simple: go out to sea. Only… there was a thirty-knot wind. Outside the reef, it was stormy, and frankly, going out in the dark wasn’t our first choice. Fiji issued an official tsunami watch, but we didn’t receive much more information.

We decided to err on the side of caution. At 7:00 PM, three hours before the wave was expected, we weighed anchor. In the dark, we manoeuvred between the reefs. If it weren’t for the fact that we know this area well and that the maps are accurate, we would never have dared to do it.

Off the reef, things got rough: waves of over eight feet crashed against My Motu from the side, tossing us from side to side. During the day, this isn’t a problem because you can see the horizon, but at night it feels different, more intense, more threatening. Albert started to feel a bit queasy and took our advice to go to bed in the most comfortable spot on the boat. The three of us stayed in the cockpit, eyes on the horizon, ears alert for every message.

Around 10 p.m. came the signal: no more danger. We turned around and set course back to Manta Ray Alley. It wasn’t until around 1 a.m. that we dropped anchor again. We’d sailed out for almost six hours for what turned out to be only a foot of extra water. Still, we were happy with our choice, because what if they were wrong?

The next day we sailed to Vanua Levu, a beautiful anchorage where reef sharks are also found. The 24-mile trip went smoothly, although this time only one reef shark showed up. Albert had also brought a drone for us. Our previous drone had disappeared into the ocean near Maupiti, and after I called to see if anyone had any left, Albert turned up. Rajesh assembled it, and in Vanua Levu, the conditions were finally right enough to test it.

On the beach, Rajesh flew the drone while Jeroen and Albert found and opened coconuts on the spot. That evening, there was a campfire on the beach where the men heard and shared tall tales with many other cruisers. We couldn’t stay long at this beautiful spot; the next morning at 7 a.m., we motored towards Vuda Marina. Five hours of motoring against the wind, bouncing over the waves.

We still had to arrange a few things for Albert’s departure. But he wasn’t going to the Netherlands. Alexis (his daughter-in-law) had rebooked his ticket to San Francisco as a surprise for Anneke, who was in America and wouldn’t see him for weeks. Anneke didn’t notice anything, and it was a huge, joyful surprise when Albert suddenly appeared before her.

Albert, we enjoyed your visit and are proud of how quickly you managed to get to grips with everything.

Albert’s experience on board My Motu in his own words:

I was originally supposed to fly to Panama to sail through the Panama Canal together, but due to health issues, I unfortunately had to postpone that. My Motu sailed on, so when it was finally possible from both sides, they were in Fiji, of all places 🤪 . A further location was almost impossible. Fortunately, I was able to combine the flight with a two-week visit to my son Frank and family in California, which made my second jet lag in Fiji much less of a problem. Jeroen and Aagje were both waving enthusiastically from the other side of the window upon arrival; a warm welcome. After a short drive, we arrived at a sort of shopping mall for water sports enthusiasts where we could forage for food.

The three of us, plus suitcase, backpack, and shopping bags, barely fit in the dinghy; on our way to the boat. Solving the “which boat is My Motu” puzzle was a piece of cake, because there was only one two-master 🤪 , which turned out to be a ketch in technical terms (that’s how I score points with Jeroen 😊 ).

I’m a complete novice when it comes to sailing. I once spent an afternoon sailing on a Lemsteraak in Friesland and twice on a skûtsje, but never on a truly seaworthy yacht, let alone in high waves and strong winds. Jeroen and Aagje enthusiastically explained everything about the boat and its equipment to me, and as a professional mechanic, I was naturally very interested. You could immediately see how enthusiastically and proudly they spoke about it. Throughout the two weeks I sailed with them, that sense of enthusiasm was constantly palpable. You can read their blogs ten times, but by being there in person, you intensely experience their enthusiasm for the choice of their lives! I can only say that I felt that enthusiasm more and more myself, and I became emotional just thinking about saying goodbye. It was truly an experience like no other, one I will never forget and , considering my age, probably never will again.

Now I also had, as Jeroen aptly described it, the “adventure package”: wind force 7 to 8 with two types of waves crossing each other with estimated heights of up to 2.5 meters (just try standing or going to the toilet in that case 🤪 ), a tsunami threat, manta rays with a wingspan of five meters, being in a current that I could not swim against and then gradually becoming exhausted only to be rescued by Rajesh with the dinghy, swimming along with dolphins and curious sharks, chopping coconuts on uninhabited bounty islands, experiencing a campfire with other sailors in the evening, catching tuna and rainbow runners and eating them fresh, and so on.

I found the rocking of the ship incredibly soothing; I slept soundly through it, and during the day, with my nose in the wind, I braved the power of the waves and the ship’s rolling, in a word, amazing. What forces and what violence of nature. It reminded me of the overwhelming feeling you get when you’re a tiny human being atop Mont Blanc or elsewhere among the towering mountains: overwhelming!

I’m often on the water as a rower, but then you’re looking for smooth water and preferably light wind, so you can subtly balance with your center of gravity above the waterline and let the boat glide smoothly. Wind and especially storms make that an impossible battle where all subtlety is lost, a stark contrast to sailing. You can only win at rowing if you’re perfectly in tune with each other. I noticed the same thing with the My Motu team: how well they know the boat. Often tacking and retightening the sails without having to exchange a word, with what to a layman would be a tangle of pulleys and lines, each with its own function. It all went remarkably smoothly; beautiful to see.

I wouldn’t have missed a minute of it, except for my fight against the current, which felt very threatening. Meeting the manta rays was a highlight for me as a nature lover, but so was being able to be together in your intimate family. The reunion after such a long time, the fun, the warmth, the friendship, the games. Brändi Dog , and so on.

Jeroen, Aagje, Rajesh, thank you so much for this unforgettable trip.