The moment when everything finally feels right

And then… the calm truly returns.

The cyclone slowly moves further away from the area, as if it is gradually retreating from our lives, leaving Fiji behind in an almost unreal silence, with sunlight shimmering across the water once again and that warm, familiar air softening everything around us. No new threat on the horizon, no tension lingering in your body anymore, only that one realization: the work ahead now truly has to be finished.

And Jeroen?

He wastes no time at all.

As if the days of uncertainty and waiting have transformed into pure focus, he immediately continues the moment the modified alignment tool is ready. It almost feels as though everything comes together in this single component, as if this is the final link in a long chain of steps, mistakes, solutions, and perseverance. As if this is the point where everything has to be exactly right before the bigger picture can move forward again.

We want to go back into the water on Monday.

That date hangs quietly over everything we do like a silent deadline.

And by now, it is already Saturday morning.

The days leading up to it revolve entirely around precision. Not the kind of work you simply tick off quickly, but the kind where you keep looking, keep measuring, keep questioning whether it is truly right. Constantly taking a step back, checking everything again, measuring one more time, as if every tiny detail matters, because it absolutely does.

But the moment the tool finally falls into place… something changes.

It fits perfectly.

Not almost, not with a little forcing or adjusting, but exactly the way it was meant to. As if all the earlier frustrations, the remaking of the tool, the endless search for solutions, were necessary to arrive here. As if it had always been made for this moment, and we simply had to find our way toward it.

And then the real alignment begins.

What we had perhaps expected to be difficult and frustrating turns out to go surprisingly smoothly. Not because it is easy, but because everything finally falls into place. With small, carefully thought-out steps, with precise attention to which bolt is tightened when and in what order, Jeroen works his way through it completely.

There is a certain calmness in the way he works.

No rushing.

No doubt.

Only complete focus.

The hours quietly slip by without us truly noticing. The heat, the sounds around us, everything seems to fade into the background while he moves step by step closer to the finish line.

And then, sometime on Saturday evening…

it is done.

Everything is aligned.

From the outside it may seem like a small, almost technical moment, but on the inside it feels enormous. Like a milestone that is not only about bolts and shafts being in the correct position, but about everything that came before it. The searching, the doubting, the perseverance, the starting over when something did not work.

And suddenly you realize: we are one step closer to leaving again.

One step closer to where we truly want to be.

But a new C-Drive system is not the only thing that has changed on My Motu over the past few months.

Far from it.

She has also received a new forestay, an essential component that may not immediately stand out, but will make all the difference in stability and confidence once we raise the sails again. The engine underwent a major service, not only as a precaution, but because this was the moment to tackle everything thoroughly. And during that process, several things came to light that you would much rather discover on land than at sea.

An oil leak that had quietly developed was traced and repaired. A coolant leak, just as dangerous if left unnoticed, was found and fixed. Wear parts such as seals were replaced, the kind of components you never see but that hold everything together. A valve that no longer moved smoothly was taken apart, cleaned, and restored to the condition it should be in.

And during that thorough inspection, something else appeared… something we most likely would not have discovered until much later otherwise.

The damper plate turned out to be almost worn out.

It is one of those parts you normally never really think about, yet it plays a crucial role in absorbing vibrations between the engine and the drivetrain. It is literally the link that transfers the engine’s power smoothly to the propeller shaft. But if it fails completely, the plate can tear apart entirely. And at that moment, you instantly lose the connection between engine and propulsion.

The engine will still run…

but you will not move forward even a single meter.

There was a very real chance this would have happened while underway, at the worst possible moment and in the worst possible place.

Because everything was already opened up and being inspected so thoroughly, we discovered it just in time.

A new one was immediately ordered and later installed, allowing us to tick off yet another major concern with peace of mind.

Those are exactly the moments when you later think to yourself: this is precisely why you do not postpone this kind of work.

Just before going back into the water, the engine impeller was also replaced, one of those small components you could almost overlook without thinking, but in reality it is absolutely vital for the cooling of the engine and therefore for everything connected to it. It is exactly the kind of detail you know can shut everything down if it fails. That is why we decided to replace it at the very last moment, so we could leave without any doubt whatsoever.

The generator received the same level of attention, not rushed or half-finished, but fully inspected, checked, and fitted with a new impeller as well, removing every last bit of uncertainty there too. Everything has to be reliable. Everything has to be right, especially because once we leave again, we will be completely dependent on what we carry with us ourselves.

And then… the focus slowly shifts from the inside to the outside.

Because My Motu has not only taken a huge technical step forward…

she has also undergone a complete visual transformation.

She has been wrapped.

Instead of taking the traditional route of sanding, filling, and painting, we chose a high-quality vinyl wrap, a strong and flexible protective layer specifically designed to withstand life at sea while fitting tightly around the hull. It not only protects her, but instantly gives her a fresh, completely renewed appearance.

And honestly… it feels as though we are looking at a different boat.

The work was carried out by Muni Pillay Signs 52. What would have taken us days, perhaps even weeks of preparation, masking, sanding, and painting, has now been completed to perfection. It has not only saved us an enormous amount of time, but also energy we can now spend elsewhere.

The waterline is once again sharp and clean, the red accent stripe runs exactly as it should, and the name of our boat looks fresh and crisp again. Even the Amel logos near the cockpit have been repainted and look as though they just came straight from the factory, as if time itself briefly moved backward.

Before leaving for the Netherlands, we had already applied new antifouling to My Motu, the protective layer that keeps her clean and efficient below the waterline. But due to all the work over the past weeks, the sanding, fitting, and adjustments, some areas had once again lost their protection. So before she went back into the water, we carefully touched up every one of those spots.

Because if there is one thing we have learned throughout this entire process, it is that you do not do anything halfway.

And then… the moment finally arrives.

Monday afternoon.

Slowly, My Motu is lowered back into the water, centimeter by centimeter, while we watch with emotions that are difficult to describe. It is a mixture of tension and trust, of letting go and hoping that everything we have done is truly right.

It remains a special moment.

Every single time.

We decide to first tie up to a mooring ball, out in the water, away from the busy marina, away from the docks and distractions. Just us and the boat. The perfect place to listen, feel, and test.

The engine is started.

We briefly look at each other without saying a word.

Listening.

Everything is checked step by step, as though we do not want to miss even the smallest detail.

And then… nothing unusual happens.

And that is exactly perfect.

No strange sounds, no vibrations, no unexpected warning signs. Only the deep, calm sound of an engine doing exactly what it is supposed to do.

That first moment of relief is almost tangible.

We cast off the line and carefully motor out of the marina, alert to every sound, every vibration, every tiny signal that might tell us something.

But very quickly, we feel the difference.

The engine runs quietly.

Smoothly.

Powerfully.

As though everything has finally come together.

We test the RPMs and see exactly what we had hoped for:

2700 RPM… and almost 8 knots of speed.

That moment feels like confirmation of everything that came before it.

Yes.

The new propeller pitch is exactly right.

We turn around and head back into the marina, where we dock once more. Not because we have to, but because one final stage still awaits us. The finishing phase. The moment when the boat transforms once again from a project… back into a home.

Inside, the next process begins.

The toilets are brought back into service, the watermaker is tested, the sails are put up, the cockpit covers are back on, and the tools are returned to their proper places. Slowly, the chaos of repairs gives way to calm and order. New tea towels, towels, pillowcases, shower curtains… they may seem like small things, but they are exactly the details that turn a workspace back into a place where you live.

Then comes provisioning.

We make a list.

And another one.

And another one.

Because once we leave, we want to be prepared for everything ahead. We want to be self-sufficient for at least a month, ready to explore the remote islands of Fiji, far away from shops, marinas, and facilities.

We rent a car and spend two full days driving from supermarket to store, from market to storage. Bags, boxes, bottles, and crates pile up until eventually everything finds its place onboard.

And in between all of that, we pick up Barbara and Ralph from the airport.

The reunion feels warm and familiar, filled with energy and excitement. Stories are shared, plans are made, and there is a feeling hanging in the air that is difficult to describe, but instantly recognizable:

we are almost there.

Everyone is working toward the same moment.

Back to the sea.

And then… that day finally comes.

April 22nd.

09:30 in the morning.

The lines are cast off.

Slowly we leave the marina behind, without rushing, without stress, carrying only that deep, quiet feeling that everything is finally right again.

Ahead of us lies the open ocean.

Freedom.

New places.

New stories.

And My Motu… she is completely ready again.