Despite planning and preparing for this adventure for the last 6 months, it was still a big rush to stack, pack and rack all of the loose ends on Don Quixote II. It really is something special to have your whole life wrapped up within one big floating parcel. Not sure our parents would agree entirely with that statement as their lofts bulge with bag after bag of our ‘precious’ trinkets that we cannot take or bear to part with.
Our families had gathered for the last of the post wedding BBQ’s and it was slowly dawning on me we really were heading off. Each time I glanced at my loving mum, Val, I wondered how many looks we had left before there would be no more. Even though Pete and I had nearly totalled double figures for the amount of leaving parties/speeches/drinks we had been a part of, we knew the final wave from Heybridge Basin would be the tear jerker, and as the day raced on my stomach was beginning to reconstruct the gravity pull that only a hair raising roller coaster ride can create.
With most of the essential items packed away; best china, Schwarz ornaments and chandeliers, I sensed the boat was being prised away from the nook she had sat in for the last few weeks since gaining her new polished skin. Warps and springs were taken apart, accompanied by the sound of the opening lock gates and chin scratching debates as to which was the best way to manoeuvre Don safely away from the mooring. My attention flitted between my devoted mother, standing anxiously on the quay alongside supportive faces that had gathered to share our departure (or just check that we were really going at last!), and the immediate jobs that needed doing. Don won. I stayed on her and guarded her polished topsides safely into the lock.
By now a small crowd had gathered and the skies turned dark; not really the cheery, sun lit afternoon I had pictured but it did not matter as the atmosphere was overwhelming. Champagne was sprayed, (not bounced of her body as some suggested!) and it was then we placed our final footprints on the lock side to say our farewells. I flew into my mum’s arms, the tears no longer sustained but I did attempt to laugh with them rather than lose myself in a sea of sadness. I heard a wail, an outcry of pure love from behind and knew it was for my husband ,from his father. Making my way around the shoal of supporters, words of great encouragement and well wishes were sent and received, along with the compulsive swigging of champers. I heard the final chinking of the lock gates and knew Don Quixote was in danger of missing her tide. My eyes searched for my mum for one last hug but she was lining herself up for a fantastic departing photo opportunity at the end of the lock. Jeers and shouts reminded me of our boat and I saw my hub on board waiting for me. The wind pushed the boat out of reach and with one hand clutching a half drunken bottle I took a leap of faith, praying that I would make the distance. I did, somehow!
As we pulled away, I was glad the rain trickled down on us as it watered down the tears and melted sadness with joy. Pete yelled goodbye to the great British weather and left a sea of arms waving from land as if in need of rescue,
Just the rain, with images of people celebrating and the sounds of support saw us out past the withies and into the same water that would amazingly carry us, someday, to the Caribbean.
That was how we left. And then we had our own private moments with wells in our eyes and swelled hearts reminding us of how much it all meant to us, and all those close. That was when we looked each other in the eyes, chinked bottles and said ‘cheers’ (and splashed a sample over the side for Neptune).
Our adventure had begun.
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