There is something about reaching a new chapter of a journey that makes you pause and look back.

This week we sailed from Leros via Amorgos, Ios and Folegandros before finally reaching the Peloponnese. Every mile west feels like we are slowly entering a new phase of this adventure. One that we have been looking forward to for quite some time.

One of the reasons for heading west is that many of the families we have met along the way are gathering there as well. After weeks of moving from anchorage to anchorage, it feels incredibly special to reconnect with people who truly understand this way of life.

At the moment we are anchored in what can only be described as a Caribbean style bay. Crystal clear water, surrounded by nature, sharing the anchorage with our friends aboard Joanna 2. Being together with people who live the same floating life brings an instant sense of familiarity.

When the wind takes over

The only thing we did not bargain for was quite how relentless the wind would be.

The forecast was clear, and it was exactly why we hurried through the Cyclades. Even so, living through several days of gale force winds is something entirely different.

The boat is safe, but the wind keeps reminding you that you are only a guest out here. It roars through the rigging day and night, making sleep light and restless. Last night was one of those nights where every gust pulled me awake again.

It is funny how wind has a way of turning you inward.

The cost of moving forward

Looking back, it is no surprise that we are all feeling tired.

Earlier this week we completed a fifteen hour passage. Sailing through the Cyclades is anything but relaxing. The conditions constantly demand your attention. Wind speeds jump from eight to thirty eight knots, sails need trimming almost continuously and every decision requires focus.

Those are beautiful sailing days, but they also ask a great deal from both body and mind.

Now that we have finally stopped, my body is making it very clear that it needs rest more than anything else.

Staying close to ourselves

The coming days look much calmer, so we will simply stay here.

Slow mornings. Swimming when the wind allows it. Conversations with friends. Time to recover.

Being around other boats is something I genuinely enjoy, yet it always brings a different dynamic. It asks me to stay close to myself rather than automatically adapting to everyone around me.

Yesterday I saw exactly the same thing happening with Philou. She suddenly found it difficult that other people had opinions or expectations. Add a week of fatigue to that, and emotions quickly find their way to the surface.

Perhaps that is all part of slowing down as well.

Looking ahead

Soon we will continue towards the Ionian, where even more familiar boats are waiting.

It will be busier than what we have grown used to over the past months, and that will take some adjusting. But it also means sharing anchorages, dinners, stories and sunsets with friends we have missed.

For Edwin, staying grounded always seems to come naturally.

For Philou and me, it will probably remain something we consciously practise.

But that is okay.

Because every new chapter of this journey teaches us a little more about where we are sailing to, and perhaps even more about who we are becoming along the way.

Sometimes the strongest winds are the ones that quietly guide you back to yourself.