From tropical heat to Dutch cold

(or: how we sanded an entire boat in two days, crossed three continents, and landed straight back into Dutch chaos)

Our last week in Fiji began with the kind of chores you know are coming, yet they still somehow sneak up on you at the moment you are already half in departure mode. It started with removing all the name stickers from My Motu, a fiddly job in full sun, where the glue behaves as if it has earned the right to permanent residency. After that it was time to make the stainless steel shine again: the arch where the dinghy normally hangs, the railings, all the tiny corners you only notice if you have known them for years.

While I was polishing and Jeroen was bent over a section of the railing, a man suddenly approached us. Whether he might make new name stickers for our boat. Jeroen joked, “That is fine, but then you can wrap the whole boat for us as well.”

Without a moment of hesitation the man replied, “Yes please! We have wrapped dozens of boats here already.”

We had not seen that coming.

Ten minutes later we were looking at photos of earlier projects, feeling the wrap material between our fingers, and watching a test patch being applied. The quality was surprisingly good, and the idea that My Motu would already be fully wrapped by the time we returned gave us an unexpected sense of calm. One worry less in a week already overflowing.

But that also meant: time to get to work.

And so the next two days we stood there, in 30+ degrees, sweat running down our backs in little rivers, sanding the entire hull of My Motu. It is one of those jobs you underestimate without thinking, only for it to settle into every muscle you own. While the sun roasted us, we worked layer by layer, mostly in silence, sometimes interrupted by a sip of water or a tired “pff… again?”. It is romance, sailor-style: suffering together, laughing together, keeping each other going.

Luckily, we had one big saving grace in that heat: the marina’s ice machine. Barely a two-minute walk from our boat, we stood there several times a day with our container at the ready, as if competing in a very serious sport: scooping ice at top speed. Cold water was our only survival strategy, and the ice cubes did not only go in our glasses, they were also enthusiastically crunched away.

The very last day in Fiji

On our final day we cleaned the boat one more time from top to bottom: washing, tidying, wiping, checking. We handed out the last of our food supplies to the marina staff, who by now felt familiar.

That evening we had one last meal out. After that we collapsed with exhaustion. Calling it sleep would be generous.

And while we sweated out the last bits of energy, something similar was happening thousands of kilometres away.

Rajesh in India

While we are up to our ears in preparations to leave My Motu safely in her hurricane pit, Rajesh on the other side of the world is busy with a very different kind of adventure. After weeks full of colourful Indian festivals, cheerful chaos, and endless encounters, his celebrations are slowly making way for daily life again. Just as the everyday routine is calling us back to the Netherlands.

Rajesh spends his days from early morning to late at night working on finishing his house. He drives from shop to workshop and back again, tireless as always. He arranges materials for the plumber and electrician, and oversees the contractor who is building the veranda. In between, he photographs weddings, something he does beautifully, and during our FaceTime calls we keep hearing that same warm laugh that is never far away.

What is remarkable is that our days, despite the distance, look very similar. We tell him about hurricane pits, tie-down straps, and gearbox stress. He tells us about cement, bricks, and wedding photos. The three of us live in our own worlds, yet in the same rhythm of busyness, planning, and small victories. And every time the FaceTime image freezes and we have to restart, we just laugh.

Family does not feel far, even with half a world in between. He follows his path in India, we follow ours in Fiji and soon in the Netherlands. But in those short moments of connection, it feels as if we are simply sitting at the same table, sharing the same warmth as always.

The journey to the Netherlands

The next morning, before the sun had properly risen above the palm trees, the taxi arrived at 6:15. At the airport I felt something slide off my shoulders. For the first time in three and a half years, My Motu stayed behind without us, firmly strapped down between car tyres, concrete, and steel. Nerve-wracking, but it also felt safe. We had done everything we could.

The flight to New Zealand was calm. From the air, we saw that impressive coastline again. One last greeting from the Pacific. We set foot on New Zealand soil for just a moment, breathed in the crisp air, and an hour later, we were already boarding the next plane, Hong Kong.

Hong Kong was dark when we arrived, looking like a glimmering scale model: bridges as ribbons of light, skyscrapers glowing like matchsticks. The airport is bright and modern, and the long walk to the other terminal was actually a relief after so much sitting. After a coffee, some staring at departing planes, and two hours of waiting, we boarded the final leg: fourteen hours to Amsterdam.

Sleeping barely worked. Every attempt ended somewhere between dreaming and half-awake limbo.

Back home

At half past six in the morning, we were back in Amsterdam. The cold air hit my face like a slap, but one I recognised. Hanneke was already waiting. After hugs and luggage, we drove back to Ede, our home base for the coming months.

And then something strange happens: you think you need some time to land, but within hours, you are right back in the Dutch rush. We immediately went into town to arrange practical things, and later that day, we looked at a motorcycle for Jeroen. He wants to ride from Ede to Hilversum this winter, mainly to avoid traffic jams. But the motorcycle was no good: the clutch was bad. The first car we viewed was also disappointing. But perseverance wins: at another garage, we found a good car and drove it home that same afternoon. Such a relief to be mobile again. The next day, we also found the perfect motorcycle. Rain pants and boots included: Jeroen is ready to brave the Dutch winter in style.

This week, Jeroen is at Hanno Weet Raad, where he was welcomed with open arms, and after ten minutes, it seemed that he had never left. I will have my introduction at Lagas Tandartsen this Friday. It feels as though we have never been away. From day one, we are back in the cosy, chaotic Dutch rhythm.

The only thing that takes a bit longer to adjust to is the weather. From 30+ degrees to temperatures around freezing, the body grumbles. But with a good cup of tea and a fleece blanket, you feel it again: yes… home.

This coming weekend, we will already be joining birthday parties, drinks and housewarmings.
We are back. In the Netherlands. With family. With friends.

And My Motu?
She is lying safely in Fiji, waiting.
Between car tyres, concrete, and palm trees, just like us, travelling, only paused for a moment.