We sail along the US East Coast from Florida to Maine. The many contrasts in this vast country never cease to amaze.
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Nassau (BHA) – Somesville (USA)
“Four knots of current!” Floris beams. The plotter tells us that the Gulf Stream is pushing Luci across a calm sea, more than the wind does. The current provides just enough extra speed for us to reach Florida’s flat coastline before the wind dies down. The weak southerly had been propelling us since we left the Bahamas’ capital Nassau two days earlier. We slip into the United States seemingly unnoticed. Cape Canaveral’s traffic control is silent. The Coast Guard is nowhere to be seen. Our smooth entry contrasts starkly with the US’s strict visa policy. We had to fill in a very extensive questionnaire online before visiting an embassy for a face-to-face interview. It took another week for our passports to be returned to us. Now we sail undisturbed through Cape Canaveral’s impressive harbour, past moored cruise ships and two prohibitively expensive marinas. After we navigate through an oversized lock, we drop our anchor on the other side of it. Since customs and immigration are closed for the weekend, we don’t need to report until a few days later. “We’ve rarely arrived anywhere this easily!” Ivar laughs. Floris gives him a bit of a look. “True, but that’s the result of all the work that went into the preparations,” he reminds him.
Blessing in Disguise
The next morning, we paddle ashore to explore the Sunshine State on foot. It’s mid-February and true to its name, the sun is shining. We walk for miles past neighbourhoods with spacious villas and gated entrances, adjacent to fields dotted with rickety trailers. Expensive German cars pass dilapidated pickup trucks bearing Trump 2024 stickers.
Along a six-lane road, we’re surprised and delighted to find a cooperative, organic supermarket. We buy ice cream and rest on a bench in the shade. An elderly lady sat beside us strikes up a conversation.
“Where are you guys from?” she asks.
“My father was also from the Netherlands!” she exclaims upon hearing our answer. “I’m Johanna. I visited once but found it too liberal.”
“Oh,” we respond.
“Things are not going well here either, with all that wokism and illegal immigrants causing crime. But when Trump is re-elected, everything will be better. I believe he’s a good guy.”
“Oh.”
“By the way, how are you getting back to your boat?”
“On foot or by bus.”
“I’ll drive you!”
“That would be nice.”
After buying groceries, we take a seat in Johanna’s car. A “Jesus Loves You” sticker on the dashboard prompts Ivar to re-start the conversation.
“The Pope thinks climate action is important.”
“You’re welcome to come to mass on Sunday.”
“We’ll probably be on our way by then.”
“Too bad. But let me know if you need anything. I’ve got wheels!”
“Thanks, that’s very kind. We’re almost at the kayak.”
“Where?”
“This is where we left it!”
In disbelief we stare at an empty beach.
“For seven years we’ve been leaving it everywhere in the world without any problems,” Floris stammers.
“I’m so embarrassed!” Johanna shakes her head.
“It’s not your fault. Would you mind taking us to the marina?”
“Sure. And call me if you need anything!”
After she has dropped us off, we reflect on our encounter. “She was so helpful, shops at the organic store yet votes for Trump. His support is larger and more diverse than I thought,” Ivar establishes.
We look for Scott, a fellow sailor we’d met that very morning at the anchorage. He said he was moving to the marina and invited us to come over for a drink. His hospitable gesture could proof to be our salvation.
“Of course, I’ll take you back,” Scott says as soon as we have found him and tell him about the stolen kayak. “But first I’ll show you my boat!” The cheerful American is new to long-distance sailing and clearly proud of his recent acquisition. An hour later, we’re in his dinghy in the lock. Even before we toast to the sailing life in our cockpit, we’ve made a new friend for life. Thanks to the kayak thief.
More Friendliness
Our moods are lifted even more the next day. When Floris was 17, he spent a year as an exchange student in the US. He lived with Evelyn and Fred and met their extended family, too. Evelyn’s sister Joan lives near Cape Canaveral and takes us out to a nearby nature reserve. Within a few minutes, we spot our first alligator, followed by turtles and a plethora of birds. When we spot a pelican, Joan recites a limmerick her late mother always recited, even after she reached 100 years of age:
A wonderful bird is the pelican,
His bill will hold more than his belican,
He can take in his beak
Enough food for a week
But I’m damned if I see how the helican!
(by Dixon Lanier Merritt.)
Dangerous Time
The next day we visit the Kennedy Space Center. The Apollo missions that put the first men on the moon are presented in extensive detail, alongside the space shuttle program. Ivar is deeply impressed. “When you see how much went into those programs. It’s all so complex.” His admiration is augmented when we walk through the exhibition about the Artemis project. NASA, in collaboration with private companies, plans to build a lunar base and launch crewed missions to Mars from there. The ambitious plans remind Ivar of scientist Stephen Hawking, who warned that we live in the most dangerous period of human history. He believed that we had developed the technology to destroy our planet but not yet the technology to escape it. “I find space travel fascinating, but I think we should primarily focus on learning how to live on this planet in harmony with nature and each other,” Ivar reflects.
Charleston’s Past and Present
It can also rain and blow hard in the Sunshine State. We wait a full week for favorable winds before we embark on our next passage. Floris has set his mind to exploring other parts of Florida, but Ivar is adamant: “We need to keep moving so we reach Newfoundland by early summer.” Floris gives in, so we set a direct course for Charleston, South Carolina. Thanks to calm seas, the Gulf Stream, and fair weather, the three-day trip is enjoyable and relaxing.
Once moored we head into the city center, where we marvel at impressive mansions steeped in history. The stately, grand buildings are all beautifully maintained. Some are museums, like the Nathaniel Russell House, once home to a wealthy merchant, plantation owner, and slave trader. The wealth of yesteryear is displayed in grand interiors and elegant furniture. The darker side of this history is thoroughly documented in the International African American Museum. Built on the site of Gadsden’s Wharf, once one of the largest arrival points for enslaved Africans in the United States, the museum reveals shocking statistics: in 1861, when the American Civil War began, approximately four million enslaved people lived in the US. Their “value” of three billion dollars represented nearly three-quarters of the national GDP at the time. It explains much about the Civil War’s origins. Soon after Abraham Lincoln, who opposed slavery, was elected president in 1860, South Carolina seceded from the Union. Wealthy plantation owners wanted to continue their practices without federal interference. Not much later the first shots of the American Civil War were fired at the fort outside Charleston. Even after losing the war, the city continued to resist equal rights. Until the 1950s, racial segregation remained the norm in southern states. A turning point came when Rosa Parks refused to give up her bus seat to a white passenger in Montgomery, Alabama, in 1955. Her arrest sparked the Montgomery Bus Boycott, led by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., which lasted over a year. Without African-American passengers, the bus company went bankrupt. While Parks’s act of defiance drew national attention to the fight against racial segregation, the movement for equality had begun much earlier. It was a collective effort by countless individuals who had worked for years to transform society. Parks’s action became one of the pivotal moments that eventually led to crucial civil rights legislation. We leave the museum convinced that the abolition of slavery and civil rights for all Americans represent a triumph of justice over entrenched interests. Could the fight for climate justice follow a similar path?
After our immersion in the area’s turbulent history, we’re delighted to reunite with American sailing friends. During the pandemic in French Polynesia, we quickly formed a close friendship with Tripp and Zach. We swam, hiked, dined, worked, and celebrated together before parting ways. They returned to Charleston via Hawaii while we headed to New Zealand. For our reunion, they organize an oyster roast, a local tradition. Fresh oysters are placed on the grill, covered with wet towels, and steamed until done. Delicious! We talk endlessly about sailing, life ashore, and our future plans. They express concerns about the upcoming elections. We understand and share their worries. Trumpism stands in complete opposition to our beliefs and the sustainable initiatives we’ve witnessed during our seven years at sea.
Notorious Cape
We would like to stay longer, but the north beckons. To proceed, we must pass the infamous Cape Hatteras, where treacherous seas can form when northerly winds meet the northeasterly Gulf Stream. We depart with a southerly wind, first steering an easterly course to catch the Gulf Stream. Once the powerful current carries us along, we alter course to the northeast. Under gennaker, we sail past Cape Hatteras in gentle winds and brilliant sunshine. The contrast between the cape’s fierce reputation and our serene experience could hardly be greater.
Unfortunately, the warm Gulf Stream turns north-east here. We enter colder waters and encounter wetter weather, prompting us to don our sailing jackets and hats. Maritime traffic intensifies, especially near the entrance to the Chesapeake Bay. There’s a constant stream of freighters going in and out. Floris works overtime on the radio, coordinating with a navy ship that crosses our path en route to its base in Norfolk. Once past the entrance, we have the waterway to ourselves. Other sailboats are still in winter storage. When we dock at a Baltimore marina, we see dozens of vessels wrapped in white plastic tarpaulins.
Freak Accident
Baltimore has been on our itinerary since our 2016 departure, because Floris’s host family lives here. Since staying with them as a seventeen-year-old exchange student, he has maintained a close relationship with Evelyn, Fred, and their daughter Joan. They have become his second family. “You made it!” They appear on the dock barely thirty minutes after our arrival. After warm embraces, we pack our bags to stay with them. For a week, they treat us to excursions and dinners. No boat maintenance, no provisioning, no route planning, no weather watching. We relax, though briefly.
“You won’t believe this. The Key Bridge has collapsed!” Ivar reads from his phone. We immediately turn on the television. Just yesterday, we had sailed under the iconic bridge with Evelyn. The container ship Dali had been moored at the quay and caught our attention because of its enormous size and towering cargo of containers. Now we watch in disbelief at the aftermath of the bizarre accident in which the Dali struck a bridge pillar. The wreckage blocks the only access to the port of Baltimore, where Luci is moored, too. Authorities estimate it may take months to complete the clean-up and reopen the port. Our plans for returning to the Netherlands suddenly hang in the balance.
Anxiety and Relief
Evelyn shifts into organizational mode. She arranges for us to give a presentation to the residents of the senior living community and takes us to a nearby natural burial ground. There, we learn all about green burials, in which only biodegradable materials are used. Inspired, we document how sustainability can extend beyond life. You can learn all about green burials in the sustainable solution item that we dedicated to this topic.
After two weeks, the Coast Guard’s daily newsletter announces that they’re opening a passage for “essential commercial traffic.”
“That’s not us but the draft and height limits would allow us to use the passage,” Ivar observes. “We’re the only foreign sailing vessel with a schedule. Let’s ask for an exception,” Floris suggests. He immediately drafts an email explaining that as an expedition vessel, we must reach Greenland in summer before ice makes passage unsafe. We follow up with a call and speak to a sympathetic Coast Guard officer. She responds the next day: “We’re granting you permission because of your unique situation and safety concerns.” We celebrate, although it means bidding farewell to Floris’s beloved host family. Less than 24 hours later, we sail beneath the Key Bridge’s remains. The destruction is staggering. The Dali lies beneath tons of twisted steel as the nation’s largest cranes work to clear the debris. Six road workers tragically lost their lives in the disaster. We sail in silence.
Big Apple
The serenity of Chesapeake Bay returns as Baltimore disappears behind us. Eager to make progress, we sail swiftly toward New York City. The metropolis’s skyscrapers emerge on the horizon, but it still takes hours before we sail past the Statue of Liberty. Now, everything screams for our attention: Manhattan’s impressive skyline, Lady Liberty, bustling ferries, the iconic Brooklyn Bridge. As the tide aligns perfectly for navigating the strong current of the East River, we decide to continue sailing and traverse half the city, admiring the skyscrapers, numerous bridges, and urban energy. Only when we are past Rikers Island, the notorious prison, the pace slows down. We secure Luci to a mooring buoy in Port Washington, a welcoming Long Island town with convenient train access to Manhattan.
Over the course of the next days, we explore the city extensively on foot, by subway, and city bikes. Under brilliant spring sunshine, we stroll the High Line, a former elevated rail line transformed into a linear park. We visit the Climate Museum and take a ferry to Governors Island. Thanks to volunteer tour guide Joyce, we learn all about exciting local sustainability initiatives. The island is home to an urban farm, including a newly established free-to-pick fruit orchard. The Billion Oyster Project is also active here, which aims to protect the coast and improve the water quality by reviving the natural oyster population. In Brooklyn, we learn all about graffiti and attend an open mic evening for up-and-coming (and not so up-and-coming) comedy talent. There is a lot of mockery of Trump, who is currently on trial in New York. Also in Brooklyn, we get introduced to Farm One, an indoor farm that grows local, healthy greens. Its founder Robert Laing explains that rather than poisons, the farm uses natural predators to keep pests at bay. He has also invited inspiring artists, activists, and twins Joe & Sean from Dig Differently. We feel an instant bond with all three of them and resolve to stay in touch.
Another highlight of our time in New York is meeting Naomi Klein, one of our heroines. We attend the presentation of her newest book Doppelganger. With her eloquence and meticulous research on such important topics as capitalism, climate change, and disinformation she continues to be at the forefront of activism.
In Queens we reunite with our friend Court, whom we met in Morocco and the Canary Islands in 2018. We instantly pick up where we left things. Although Court no longer sails, he has maintained that sense of kindness and hospitality that stole our hearts when we first met him.
New York captivates us, which makes departing difficult. Once again, our plans for the summer beckon us to set sail. We are firmly staying ahead of warmer temperatures that are slowly making their way up from the south.
Navigating Newport
Indeed, the further north we get, the colder the seawater gets. As the spring sun warmed up New England’s coast all day, we inevitably get enveloped by thick fog. Never did we experience anything like it, not even in Namibia. We turn on the radar and strain our ears for nearby vessels. It’s eerily quiet, until we approach Newport, known as the East Coast’s the sailing mecca. Now we frequently hear a departing freighter’s foghorn. The sound seems close, but visibility is zero. The radar assures us that the ship is passing at a safe distance, though trusting solely on a screen is unnerving. On the final stretch, bell buoys guide us to the safety of the inner harbour. We anchor among a few deserted classic yachts. The town, too, appears dormant. Empty berths in the marinas confirm that we are still ahead of the season. Instead of watching sailing competitions that take place here in the summer, we have to make do with the local sailing museum. There we learn all about the famous Americas Cup, which stood in the trophy cabinet here for decades until the Australians snatched it in 1983. We are also thrilled to reunite with Yanell and Missy, whom we last saw in French Polynesia in 2020. Since then, they have sold their boat, moved to this area and created an adorable baby boy: Wylder.
The next day we walk through empty shopping streets and past stately mansions. As in Charleston, curiosity draws us into one that’s open to the public. The former summer palace of the Vanderbilt family embodies opulence and grandeur.
“It’s impressive but also grotesque,” Ivar finds. “To me, this mansion proves that wealth distribution and human greed spiralled out of control long ago.”
“We’ve been witnessing unbridled materialism since Florida,” Floris responds. “Big boats, big cars, big shopping malls, and big houses full of stuff. But we knew this about the US, didn’t we?”
“True, but the planet can’t sustain this relentless drive for more and bigger. That’s what concerns me.”
Less is More
The weather remains cold and wet, so we decide to leave the islands of Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket on starboard and sail directly to Boston via the Cape Cod Canal. Aided by the tidal current, we zoom through the canal at lightning speed. A day later we arrive in foggy Boston and anchor in front of the South Boston Yacht Club. The sailing season still has not started but members come every day to have a drink and watch sports matches together. We are warmly welcomed and gifted a club banner.
Not everyone in the US succumbs to the rat race for excess, it turns out. In the suburbs, we meet Stephanie Seferian, known online as Mama Minimalist. She runs a popular Instagram account and hosts a weekly podcast about minimalism. In it, she promotes a lifestyle with fewer possessions but more time, experiences, and fulfilment. The mother of two young daughters explains that she used to spend excessive money on children’s items, which she then spent countless hours organizing. She realized her children didn’t need all that stuff and it only filled up her apartment. When she deliberately rejected consumerism, she found peace. “By owning less, I live more mindfully and I’m happier,” she says.
Her story resonates with us. When we moved from apartments to living on board Luci, sold our cars, and deliberately chose to own less, we could save for our world journey. Throughout our travels, we try to be resourceful with money, as we have a limited budget. We are careful about what we buy, again because of our budget, but also because of the limited space on board. As a result, we could trade possessions for experiences. It’s a choice we’ve never regretted. Less truly means more to us. Thanks to influencers like Stephanie, more people are reaching similar conclusions. You can read the full story about minimalism in a sustainable solution item that we dedicated to this topic.
Overwhelming Generosity
We bid farewell to Stephanie, hoping to see our newest friend again someday. We instantly connected with this down-to-earth, no-nonsense woman who is genuinely concerned about rampant consumerism in her country. Years ago, we had a similar encounter that has always stayed with us. In Totnes, England, we met Marie-Laure, a Frenchwoman who, like us, was fascinated by the Transition Town movement. She revealed that she had come for a second reason. “I don’t trust myself,” she confided. “I was given a suspended sentence in the US for protesting a large gas pipeline through my neighbourhood. To avoid going to jail for another offense, I went abroad.” We immediately thought she was a hero. This middle-aged mother had done something we wouldn’t dare: to get arrested for sustainability and her neighbourhood’s safety. Marie-Laure lives in Boston with her American husband Deacon. They invite us to dinner upon hearing we are in the area. The evening flies by as if we are old friends.
“You’re going to Maine, right? I have family there,” Deacon mentions after dinner. He promptly calls his cousin, the harbourmaster in Camden. Moments later, we are waving at a cheerful face on Deacon’s phone. “Let me know when you’re here and I’ll arrange a spot for you,” he promises. “That’s sorted,” Deacon grins. “I also here you’re going to Northampton. Would you like to borrow our car?” Such generosity is almost overwhelming. We find ourselves constantly expressing gratitude.
The same is true when we meet up with Chris, Evelyn’s other sister. While the laundry machine at her house is cleaning our clothes, she shows us where the first shots of the American Revolutionary War were fired on April 19, 1775. Together, we walk the Battle Road, along which the American Patriots fought the retreating British forces. The area’s natural beauty and serenity veil its bloody past, which started a war that ultimately led to the birth of the United States. After our historical musings, we take Chris for day sail on Luci. Like her sister Evelyn, she can’t wait to have a go at the wheel. Her face lights up, undoubtedly as the sensation of being on the water stirs up wonderful memories. We welcome the opportunity to give something back, having received so much.
Power to Perennial Grains
We next venture into western Massachusetts. Northampton is where Piyush Labhsetwar works as the director of a community farm, Grow Food Northampton. Piyush was introduced to us by Tim Crews, chief scientist and director at The Land Institute, a non-profit organization that develops perennial grains. Tim explained that perennial grains benefit the soil and the climate. As they grow year after year, farmers need to plough less, use fewer synthetic fertilizers and agricultural poisons. The soil life is healthier and it stores more carbon. To see a real-life example, Tim sent us to Piyush.
As we make our way to Piyush’s plot at the community farm, he explains: “My plot borders the river. It flooded four times last year alone. As a result, annual crops didn’t survive and no one wants to farm here anymore. That makes it perfect for my Kernza perennial grain experiment,” he laughs. “I planted the Kernza two years ago. By now the plants have long roots, which help them withstand floods and prevent soil erosion. They retain water longer and accumulate more nutrients. They’ve also survived dry periods, again thanks to their deep roots. Now, in spring, they’re emerging again. In a few months, these plants will match my height,” he predicts.
We observe tall, healthy, robust grass. Kernza clearly demonstrates resilience to extreme weather events, which are intensifying with climate change. The long roots also have more interaction with the soil microbes, increasing carbon storage. We’ve described the benefits and challenges of perennial grains in more detail in a separate sustainable solution item.
Magnificent Maine
A favourable weather forecast summons us to sail directly to Maine. The crossing demands constant vigilance due to numerous lobster cages marked by buoys with long lines. It makes the trip exhausting and we narrowly avoid getting entangled in fishing gear. At the same time, the view towards land gradually becomes more impressive. The coastline transforms from flat to hilly, with countless inlets and hundreds of islands. Our destination is the picturesque town of Camden, where Deacon’s cousin allows us to moor among classic schooners, completely free of charge. Upon disembarking, a neighbour introduces himself and soon after offers his car: “Just take it if you need anything. The door is open and the key is in the ignition.”
“This is the US, too,” Floris smiles. Apparently, it’s safe to leave cars unlocked here. His thoughts go back to our stolen kayak in Florida. What a contrast.
Our schedule allows for one final stop: Mount Desert Island in Acadia National Park. The route is breathtakingly beautiful, winding through islands and natural passages. We anchor at Somesville, and explore the park on foot. For hours we hike through forests, up and down hills and mountains. Atop Sargent Mountain we catch our breath and marvel at the view. We gaze over bright green islands which seem to be scattered haphazardly across a vibrant blue sea. Our time in the United States has come to an end and while we reflect on four months in this vast country, numerous contrasts spring to mind: from sun and warmth to mist and cold, from bustling world cities to untouched nature, from over-consumption to minimalism. Above all, we’ll remember the heart-warming helpfulness and generosity of friends and strangers alike. It felt like sailing from one warm embrace to another.
We wish for these lovely people an inspiring leader who genuinely values humanity and sustainability. But even if such leadership doesn’t emerge, we remain confident that the people will continue to support one another, just as they supported us.
