Strong winds, black markers and Dot's Journey

Autumn in Fiji. That sounds almost impossible. When people think of Fiji, they probably picture swaying palm trees, clear blue skies and endless days in swimwear, but shortly after our arrival in Fulaga, a long spell of strong winds begins. The southerly wind in particular brings unusually cold air. Rain showers sweep across the lagoon, the wind howls around My Motu and the temperature drops so much that it sometimes feels more comfortable to be in the water than out of it.

We no longer eat outside in the cockpit, but move to the table in the saloon with our plates. The games are now played inside as well, and at night we suddenly find ourselves sleeping under a thin duvet again, something we rarely need in Fiji. Outside, life in Fulaga seems to have temporarily ground to a halt, while inside all kinds of things are taking shape.

We are safely anchored among the rugged limestone islands scattered throughout the lagoon. The water beneath My Motu is clear and, in a depth of only five metres, the anchor has dug firmly into the sandy bottom. It feels familiar to be here again. Perhaps it is the sheltered anchorage, the remarkable shapes and colours around us or the people we meet here again, but Fulaga still gives us the feeling that there is nowhere else we need to be for now.

Paspoort II is already here, and later we see Skylark again as well. Skylark has now been in Fulaga for two months, and Phil and Jacqui are keen wingfoilers. Not much later, Songster also enters the lagoon, with people on board whom we have known since French Polynesia. That remains one of the most beautiful aspects of this life: sometimes you lose sight of one another for months, everyone follows their own route and you have no idea whether or where you will meet again. Then, suddenly, a familiar boat enters the lagoon and it feels as though you last saw each other only yesterday.

Not long after our arrival, we visit Akky and Helwi for coffee. It turns into a wonderfully sociable afternoon as we catch up, exchange stories and soon begin talking about creativity and art. Akky is very creative too, and we agree that we will paint together soon. The weather is bad at the moment and looks likely to stay that way for a while, so we will have plenty of time in Fulaga; fortunately, we do not have to wait long before putting that plan into action.

During our first creative session, it becomes clear that Akky would especially like to digitise her own work. What I do with words in my blogs, Akky does with her drawings: capture our adventures and memories so they are not lost. As we look through her work together, we discover that the drawings are not simply separate images, but together tell the story of her journey.

That is why we do not start painting straight away, but first photograph all her work. We then transfer the photographs to the computer, carefully sort through everything and arrange the drawings in the correct order: from their departure from New Zealand to Fulaga, where we are now. Page by page, an illustrated travel story takes shape, and together we turn it into a photo book that Akky can later order for herself.

It is wonderful to see how happy it makes her. Sometimes something that has almost become second nature to you can make someone else incredibly happy.

The next day we go to the beach together. This time the roles are reversed and Akky gives me a drawing lesson. She studied at art school and used to teach, so I do not receive just a little casual advice. Instead, I am immediately pushed beyond my familiar way of working.

My dot art is very precise and controlled. I carefully place every dot, and I can spend endless amounts of time working on colours, shapes and details. Akky hands me a few black markers and gives me a completely different assignment: draw boldly and freely. Do not hesitate, do not keep correcting and, above all, do not try to make every line perfect. Simply look, draw and carry on.

Afterwards, we add colour to the drawings with watercolours. This way of working lies completely outside my comfort zone, but that is precisely what makes it so much fun. For two days, we sit together drawing and painting while talking about anything and everything. We talk about art, travel, life, the choices we have made and all the unexpected paths that ultimately brought us here: to a beach in Fulaga, with black markers, watercolours and all the time in the world.

The strong wind that drives us inside is a gift to the keen wingfoilers. The sheltered lagoon, the space and the steady wind make Fulaga an ideal playground. As soon as the conditions are good enough, colourful wings appear all over the water and the men disappear for hours at a time.

I am still practising on a stable SUP board. First, I want to get a proper feel for the wing: understand where the power comes from, discover how to hold it and keep my balance while the wind constantly tries to decide which way I am going. My turns are gradually improving, and my next challenge is to stand up from my knees without using my hands on the board.

That sounds easier than it is. My weight has to remain in the right place, the wing needs to help lift me up, and everything has to happen at precisely the right moment. As soon as one element is not quite right, I am back in the water. Fortunately, even on these cold days, that is usually no great hardship.

Moving on to a real foilboard is still several steps away, but every time something works a little better than it did before, it feels like a small victory.

On one of the rare mornings when the wind has eased and the sun appears again, Jeroen and I first drink our coffee and then climb into the dinghy together. We head to a beach elsewhere in the lagoon and put on our reef shoes for a walk. It is low tide, exposing pale sandbanks and allowing us to wade through the warm, crystal-clear water towards the natural pools. After so many grey days, the colours seem even brighter: white sand, turquoise water and the rugged green islands of Fulaga all around us. Precisely because the weather keeps us close to the boat on most days, such a simple morning walk suddenly feels like a small gift.

On another morning, not only does the rain ease, but the wind also drops almost completely. The sun is shining and the lagoon suddenly looks the way many people probably imagine Fiji. Jeroen and I immediately decide to take advantage of the opportunity and go snorkelling in the Fulaga pass and the false pass. Helwi from Paspoort II and Steph from SV Gisele join us.

We are a little too enthusiastic and discover that we have set off too early. The outgoing current is still too strong to snorkel safely through the passes straight away. Rather than waiting in the dinghy, we first get into the water inside the lagoon. After all the grey and turbulent days, it is a wonderful way to pass the time.

Once the current has eased sufficiently, we head to the pass after all and then to the false pass. That morning, we snorkel first in the lagoon and then at two very different places near the passages leading out to sea. Afterwards, Helwi and Steph are incredibly pleased that they came along. They tell us they probably would never have undertaken this snorkelling trip by themselves and are grateful that we took them with us.

When we collect Steph from their boat, SV Gisele, for the snorkelling trip, we happen to discover that his wife Caroline also paints with watercolours. How special is that? First Akky, and now there is someone else in the lagoon who enjoys painting. It does not take long before we arrange a creative afternoon together.

Not much later, Akky, Caroline and I are sitting together on My Motu. The table is covered with paper, paint, black markers, brushes and dotting tools. We spend the entire afternoon painting, drawing and dotting, each in our own way yet happily working together. Meanwhile, we talk about our ideas, show one another what we are making and exchange tips. I love spending time together in this way. You do not have to sit opposite each other and keep a conversation going constantly; while your hands are busy, the conversations arise naturally.

Meanwhile, the strong wind gives me the peace and time to tackle plans that have been in my head for a long time. While the rain sweeps across the lagoon outside and the men seize every suitable moment to get out on the water, I sit inside at the table with my laptop in front of me.

I begin by completely rebuilding our My Motu website. Our blogs have always been available in both Dutch and English, but the rest of the website was not. For a long time, I wanted the entire website to be bilingual, and I have finally achieved that. Everything is now much clearer, and visitors who do not speak English can read all the other pages in Dutch as well. The stories are easier to find, the interactive map shows our route more clearly and the photography has been given more space. Our blogs, books, sailing route and other creative projects are now connected much more logically.

After about two weeks of hard work, everything gradually falls into place and the redesigned My Motu website is ready to be launched. That moment makes me incredibly happy, especially because I had known for so long what I wanted to change, but had never found the peace and time to actually do it.

For the observant reader: the redesigned website has already been online for a month. That says more than anything about how far behind I still am with my blogs. I am working hard to catch up, but life simply keeps producing new stories in the meantime.

Meanwhile, I continue working on The World of Dots. Making the entire website available in both Dutch and English is a major improvement there too. I reorganise the online shop to make it much clearer and design a new logo in the same recognisable green-and-blue style as My Motu. This gives the website a calmer and more attractive appearance, and it is increasingly becoming the place I had always envisioned: a world where my paintings, books and creativity come together.

As if two websites were not enough, I also begin working on a new website for Aagje Mondzorg, intended for my future temporary assignments as a dental hygienist in the Netherlands. They are very different parts of my life, but the colours and visual style somehow make them belong together.

While the wind keeps us in the same place for days, the table in the saloon increasingly becomes my temporary office. Between shared meals and games, my laptop is almost constantly open, and page by page, everything that has been in my head for so long slowly begins to take shape.

So, if anyone still needs a beautiful new website: by now I know how to build one. :-)

Amid all the websites, drawings and other creative projects, something else happens that makes me every bit as happy: Dot's Journey is finally available.

Dot is a small, colourful fish who travels across the ocean and discovers along the way how important curiosity, courage, listening and caring for the sea are. It is a richly illustrated, 166-page read-aloud book featuring no fewer than 82 colourful, full-page illustrations that bring the story to life. The book grew out of my love of colour, stories and, of course, the underwater world that surrounds us every day during our journey.

Dot's Journey started as just an idea in my head. Then came the first words, the colours and an ever-growing number of sea creatures that Dot met along the way. As with almost everything I create, I kept looking, adjusting and wondering whether it was truly good enough. There will probably always be another sentence that could be changed or a detail to reconsider, but eventually a moment comes when you have to tell yourself: it is good as it is. Dot is ready to set off.

Now that the book is actually available, it feels incredibly special. Outside, the wind howls around My Motu, while Dot begins her own journey into the world. Perhaps that is what I love most about it.

Meanwhile, the days fly by. Every evening, Ralph from Lille Venn joins us for dinner, and a different dish appears on the table each time: risotto, Indian curries, meatloaf with tomatoes and chickpeas, pasta with freshly caught tuna and a delicious pumpkin pasta sauce based on a recipe from Barbara.

After dinner, we stay at the table to play games. Because we are one person short, we cannot play our favourite game, Brändi Dog, so we bring out several card games instead. Of course, the games do not always remain quiet and relaxed. As soon as there are points to win or lose, everyone's competitive side soon comes out.

Later, Phil and Jacqui invite all of us aboard Skylark for a sundowner. The weather outside is still bad, but inside it is warm and cosy, and we have plenty of time to catch up properly.

Steph and Caroline also turn out to enjoy playing games. One evening, they invite us aboard their boat. The card games soon appear on the table, and before long we are playing competitively and laughing a great deal. It is exactly the kind of evening that flies by without us noticing.

Akky and Helwi have now been planning their return trip to Nadi for more than two weeks. Each time a suitable moment seems to be approaching, the weather forecast changes again or it is simply too pleasant to leave. So their departure keeps being pushed back a little further. :-)

Perhaps that is exactly what this stay in Fulaga is doing for me. The weather does not bring life here to a halt, but gives every day a different rhythm. The strong wind is fantastic for the foilers, while the rain and unexpected cold drive us inside at other times. This naturally creates time to be creative, work at my laptop and sit together around the table. And somewhere in between all of that, Dot finally begins her own journey.