At the beginning of December, we leave the Canary Islands, heading for Santa Cruz in Tenerife. Tiboulen is ready.
The engine and generator have been serviced, and a spinnaker pole has been installed to make downwind sailing easier. The boat's interior is spacious, ideal for storing provisions; we’ve stocked up, the fridge is full, and outside, nets filled with fruit are hanging.
For months, we’ve been dreaming of this moment, ever since the Jeanneau competition, and today, it’s becoming a reality: we’re setting off to cross the Atlantic.
The Sailing
The first few days are tough: we’re making good speed, but the nights are short. Tiboulen, despite minimal heeling, remains comfortable at sea, but as the swell grows, sleep becomes more challenging.
The crew is tired but motivated, and the miles are ticking by. Life aboard feels good—almost normal—with space to cook, play guitar, enjoy card games outside, and find private corners to rest.
But the weather quickly takes a turn for the worse, becoming increasingly stormy. On the fourth night, squalls appear on the horizon—clouds heavy with electricity that can bring violent winds.
We take precautions, leaving just a sliver of the genoa unfurled for the night. A few hours later, we’re hit by gusts nearing 60 knots. The boat holds up, the sail remains intact, but this is just the beginning of our troubles. The next 48 hours are spent zigzagging between lightning strikes.
Our strategy is simple: we motor ahead, with equipment displayed on the tablet, tracking the squalls on the radar, avoiding them as best we can, and crossing our fingers.
The winds lash out from all sides, sometimes dangerously close—a strange, powerless sensation.
The Decision
The weather looks calmer to the south, so we decide to divert to Cape Verde to escape this electrical zone.
After three calmer days of sailing, first by motor and then by sail, we finally reach Mindelo, on the island of São Vicente.
The crew is relieved. Tiboulen never faltered; once again, this boat inspires confidence, forgives mistakes, and reassures.
We had planned to meet family and friends in the Caribbean for Christmas, so this change of course is hard, but it was the wisest decision.
After this leg of the journey, Arthur decides to leave the adventure. He was happy to have discovered sailing during these four months between La Rochelle and Cape Verde.
We shared unforgettable moments both onboard and ashore.
Cape Verde
Cape Verde, though not part of the original plan, is a delightful discovery. We enjoy São Vicente and the neighboring island of Santo Antão, going on hikes, kitesurfing, meeting turtles, and exploring the archipelago.
After 10 days at sea, life on land feels good. We take time to advance our educational program and plan our exchanges with schools.
Soon, we’ll meet the students from the school in Tartane, Martinique. They even told us there’s an anchorage right in front of their school—a happy coincidence!
We then head to Boa Vista, an island east of the archipelago, where we spend a week in the beautiful anchorage of Sal Rei. The crew feels rejuvenated.
We return to Mindelo to resupply the boat and prepare for our second departure for the crossing.
We meet many student crews, some of whom also participated in the Jeanneau competition. Not holding grudges, many of them are still sailing on Jeanneau boats, forming a stunning starting line on January 10th, just off the port.
This time, we’re ready.
