A few days later, a journalist from a national newspaper contacted us. How on earth had she heard about our appointment with the education official? Surely our meeting should have been confidential? Without any intention on our part, I became front-page news. It was very unpleasant to be telephoned by journalists every day, and there were complete television crews on the jetty asking questions that I didn’t feel like answering. I wasn’t looking for fame; I just wanted to sail and be left alone.
When Dutch Prime Minister Jan Peter Balkenende announced publicly on TV that I couldn’t skip school to sail because it was compulsory for everyone in the Netherlands to attend school, Child Protection also began to meddle in our affairs. Dad and I were called to appear in court, and we needed to engage a lawyer. I’d never been inside a court building before and almost laughed when three (!) judges appeared in their black robes and what looked like white bibs. The Child Protection official asked the judges to have me put into a closed institution immediately and to terminate my dad’s parental rights. Fortunately, the court had no good grounds to do so.
In the end, the judges said I was allowed to stay with Dad, but ordered me to remain under the supervision of the authorities. They appointed a guardian to keep an eye on me. This guardian knew nothing about boats or sailing, and he certainly didn’t have sea legs! When he came by, we would laugh at how he clambered on board; he was so clumsy, we almost hoped that he would fall overboard. Once on board, I had to keep watch over Spot, my dog, who took an instant dislike to the man. Spot could sense that we didn’t want this man on the boat. With the truth twisted in all sorts of official reports, and through all the resulting commotion, negative media reports and court cases, many of the sponsors that I had taken so much trouble to find over the past year pulled out. When we were dealing with a second court case a month later, the judge ordered that I was not allowed to leave on my voyage before being tested to see if I could cope psychologically with the voyage. The judge’s decision meant that I stood to lose a whole year, as I’d be unable to leave the Netherlands in the winter. Two months later, a sponsor offered to get my Hurley in top condition for my world voyage, and so I needed to get my boat to a bigger boatyard. This turned out to be too good to be true. It was the last time I would see my Hurley 800: the authorities had taken the boat.
My boat was gone, but the dream lived on. It was so unfair to be fighting against authorities who would go to such lengths. I decided on another plan. I knew that my phone and PC were being monitored by the Algemene Inlichtingen en Veiligheids Dienst (the Dutch state intelligence and security service), so I used another PC and a different email address to find information. Using the internet, I found a broker on the island of Saint Martin in the Caribbean who had a Dufour Arpège 9-metre polyester yacht. It had been left behind on the island because the owner didn’t ever want to sail again. Within a few days I had all the information I needed about the boat. The price was very low and the specifications were right. I calculated that the money from my Hurley 700, together with my savings, would be enough to buy it; and there would be sufficient money left for me to start sailing from Saint Martin. I figured that once I had a boat again and was sailing, the rest would follow.
On 17 December, I collected my savings and wrote a farewell note to my dad. I was afraid to tell him about my plans in case he stopped me. We were in the middle of court cases and I was under state supervision. I took the train to Paris because I was worried that the Dutch passport control officials would recognise me at the airport and would hold me back. I had said goodbye to no one, except my faithful dog, Spot. He wasn’t likely to tell anyone.
Once in France, nobody recognised me, and there were daily flights from Paris to Saint Martin. It all went a lot more smoothly than I had expected. When I arrived at Gare du Nord, I took the shuttle train to Charles de Gaulle airport. It was really easy to buy a last-minute ticket at the airport to Saint Martin with the cash I had and with my new New Zealand passport. Before I knew it, I was on an Air France flight on my way to realise my dream . . .
At the airport on Saint Martin, I walked straight through Customs, and there I was, 14 years old with the tropical sun beaming down on me. Presenting myself as 17-year-old Jessie Muller, I called the broker, who fetched me from the airport, and the next morning I was on board to inspect the boat. The inside was a huge mess, but I had learnt from Dad to ignore this. It’s the structure of the boat that’s important, and technically the boat seemed OK. I was sitting in the broker’s office ready to sign the sales agreement when the phone rang. During a short conversation, the broker looked at me several times and typed something on his computer. He then turned the screen towards me to show me a life-size picture of myself . . . The Dutch authorities had sent out a worldwide search warrant for me — as if I were a serious criminal.
I felt my world crumble. No, I wasn’t Jessie Muller and wasn’t 17 either. The broker was very nice to me. He said he had to inform the police that I was there, but that it could wait a while. He suggested we go to the beach with his wife and child and have some lunch before doing this. When I told them everything that had occurred over the past six months, I felt that I was finally with people who understood and sympathised with me. They were genuinely sorry for me.
The broker felt bad about having to inform the police, but he was worried about his reputation on the island. Late that afternoon, he took me to the Saint Martin Yacht Club where the police were waiting for me.
The next day I was put onto a flight to the Netherlands under police escort. On the plane, two members of the Military Police took over the guard duties, and at Schiphol, the international airport outside Amsterdam, I was again treated like a criminal and was ushered in through a side entrance. I was interrogated for three hours by police and lawyers working for Child Protection, and wasn’t even allowed access to my own lawyer or my parents. I was then taken straight to a court in Utrecht for an emergency hearing, where I was allowed five minutes with Dad and Peter de Lange, my lawyer. I sat in court totally exhausted from my long journey. Child Protection once again demanded that I be placed in protective custody. After a whole day of deliberations, the three judges couldn’t reach a consensus and decided to sleep on it before continuing the next day. I wasn’t allowed to go home with Dad but was put into the care of a stranger. Why him and not Dad or Mum? I soon found out. The man had contacts with the Child Protection and Child Welfare lawyers. I knew what they were trying to do — they were trying to break my will so that I’d give up. The more they tried, the more I was determined to leave this country, so I put on a brave face and continued to fight for my dream.
Then I read in the newspaper that the Child Protection and Child Welfare lawyers had told journalists that my guardian was a family friend. Utter lies! The court session, which took the whole day, was chaotic. Tempers were so high that my mother left the court furious about the proceedings and my lawyer rebuked the judges. When no one could figure out how to continue, I was eventually allowed to go home with Dad. The Child Protection lawyers were seething that they hadn’t had their way. They’d thought up a number of ways to outmanoeuvre us, but hadn’t succeeded. They had used the media to put me in a bad light but still hadn’t managed to put me into protective custody. Unfortunately, the judge did manage to keep me under state supervision. Spot was over the moon when we got home after the two-day court session. It was back to school and back to the weekly visits by the guardian, who, much to our disappointment, still hadn’t managed to fall into the water.
They hadn’t locked me up, so I managed to continue with my plans. I didn’t let the officials, Child Protection, the Child Welfare authorities and lawyers stop me. My biggest problem was that I no longer had a boat and, because of all the negative media reports, there was no new sponsor in sight. My family felt really sorry for me and dug deep into their savings. Within a few weeks, they found a cheap, 33-year-old Jeanneau Gin Fizz, badly neglected but basically sound. I fell in love with her at first sight. She
had a beautiful design; a two-master which would make it easier to handle as a solo sailor, because, while there were more sails, they were smaller and easier to handle.
By now it was spring and we lived very far away from my new boat, which needed a lot of work. We sailed Dad’s boat, on which we were living, to our new mooring in Den Osse, in the south of the Netherlands, so that we could start work on my new boat. There was a huge amount of work to be done and, if I was to leave by summer, we had only four months left to complete it. Together we worked day and night to get the Jeanneau ready and seaworthy. I didn’t mind cycling 13 kilometres to school every day, so long as I could work on my dream. Hans van Dijke, the owner of the water sports business of the same name, helped us when he could. Hans also became my new sponsor.
‘Guppy, you beauty!’ I called when we launched her a few months later on a rainy day in May.
At last!
I stick my fork into a slice of cake that my gran has brought while she stitches Guppy’s canopy. Granddad and Dad have gone outside. I drop my fork and anxiously pace up and down the boat. Right now, the court in Middelburg is swarming with journalists who are waiting to hear the verdict in the sixth court case in the past 11 months. Yes, that’s how often the authorities have dragged me before the judges! In a couple of hours one of the judges will probably be telling them, for the umpteenth time, that I’m to remain under the supervision of the authorities until kingdom come, and this will mean that I won’t be able to start my voyage.
I’m messing about on the boat when I see Dad approaching. He looks a bit dazed.
‘Laura, you’re free to go,’ he says, as if talking about the weather.
He’s just been phoned by our lawyer and still can’t believe it himself. It takes a while before his words begin to sink in, but when they do I burst into tears and fly into his arms, hug Spot and fling myself around Guppy’s mast. My lawyer, Peter de Lange, is on the phone again with Dad to tell him that it will make sense to have all the journalists present at the court come to us in Den Osse, as there will be no way of avoiding them now. In this way, I can give a brief press conference on the terrace of the harbour office and be rid of them all in one go.
I’m told to make myself presentable, and I dive into my cupboard to find a suitable outfit. It appears that I’m making world history and the footage that will be recorded will soon be flashing across the globe. While I’m changing, my mobile phone starts to ring and doesn’t stop ringing for the rest of the day. Friends and acquaintances are all phoning to congratulate me. Shit, with all the excitement, I’ve forgotten to let my mum know! I quickly give her a call. She’s happy for me and swears under her breath. Her eldest daughter, who’s a mere 14 years old, will soon be going on a two-year voyage all on her own. A little later, dozens of cars arrive with journalists wielding cameras and satellite dishes. They want me to sail Guppy around the harbour and I have to smile and pose for the cameras. I have just enough time to gobble down some food before a taxi arrives to take me to the television studio. I once again have to repeat how I feel about the events of this day.
I get to bed very late that night, and that’s when I finally have time to absorb the news. One thought is uppermost in my mind: now that I have been acquitted, I need to de-register myself as a Dutch resident immediately so that Child Protection and other authorities are unable to lodge an appeal. They’ll have to de-register me, whether they like it or not. I don’t want to wait longer than a week before setting off, and don’t want to take any more chances with these scheming authorities. There is still so much to do! Getting food supplies, filling up with diesel and stocking up with all the parts and equipment that we haven’t got around to installing yet. Guppy is not nearly ready, but I want to leave this country NOW. Thoroughly exhausted, I fall into a deep sleep and dream of blue waters and far-off countries.
The journey begins
DAY 1: 4 August
The day has finally dawned! I’m actually leaving today and Guppy will be my home for the next two years. When I wake up at six in the morning and look outside, I notice that there are a couple of camera crews in motion again. Sigh. There are just a few to start with, but soon there are dozens. Even the Russian state television is present. There is also a growing crowd in the harbour of Den Osse. Everyone wants a glimpse of Guppy and me. Hmm. I say farewell to my family for the umpteenth time, and then walk onto the quayside just after nine. Surrounded by dozens of journalists, photographers and television crews who are pushing me closer to the water’s edge, I give a short interview. I answer the same questions over and over again in both Dutch and English. They ask me if I’m scared of pirates (no), how long I’ll be away (two years), and if I think I’ll succeed in being the youngest sailor ever to sail single-handedly around the world (well, I’m about to find out!).
It’s been a week since the amazing news that I was acquitted by the court in Middelburg. How lucky I was to have found a judge, at last, who saw through the games the authorities were playing with me. The judge declared that they were wrong and I was free. I’m de-registered as a Dutch resident in the Netherlands and there is nothing more they can do — or so I thought.
On the day of my departure, my mother and sister are on holiday abroad and it pours with rain. Dad is sailing with me as far as Portugal, because Guppy is not quite ready and still needs some trial runs. Guppy needs to be checked and tested thoroughly before Dad will allow me to continue on my own. Fortunately, Nature’s mood changes and the rain actually stops when we finally set off. I’m followed by dozens of hooting boats up to the first lock. My gran, granddad, aunt, uncle and niece also accompany me in their boats. Not that long ago, I couldn’t have dreamt of this. Past the lock the water gets rougher; it begins to rain again, and the boats drop away. Yet another yacht approaches and fires a flare in salute while the crew shout their good wishes above the sound of the wind.
The Coast Guard launch follows me closely all the way; probably to check that I’m not sailing on my own. As a 14-year-old, I’m not allowed to sail the inland waters of the Netherlands without adult supervision on this size boat. After having been doused with plenty of water along the way, we finally reach the sea lock. A new crowd has gathered here, and they are also shouting their wishes for a safe journey.
We are beyond the locks and into the North Sea before we know it. I stand at the helm with my wet-weather gear buttoned up to the top. I simply can’t sail Guppy out on autopilot on a day like today. The weather is awful; it’s cold with buckets of rain and a 25-knot wind that we’re heading straight into. But this doesn’t put Guppy off; she’s in her element and plunges through the waves. I’m soaked to my underwear within two minutes as the waves wash over the deck. My spirits, too, are a little dampened as I leave this cold and bleak country. This little nation, which has caused me so much misery and hardship over the past year, disappears out of sight and I don’t look back.
On our way, I test Guppy and push her to her limits. This is real sailing at last! Dad is happy with me and lets me do all the work while he watches, because that’s the way it’s going to be when he leaves. After a week of sailing, the wind picks up near Portugal and Guppy sets record speeds for herself. The log shows a regular 9 to 10 knots. I’m enjoying Guppy and the rush of water. Dad says nothing, but frowns.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, ‘I know, but this is so cool!’
At one stage the wind, from the starboard quarter, accelerates to 40 knots and Guppy is surfing way too fast through the waves. She broaches dangerously, turning beam-on to the oncoming breakers. Poor Guppy only just manages not to capsize. Dad had, of course, seen this coming for some time, but had thought: let it happen and she’ll see. He thinks that the best lessons are learnt from experience, and now he also knows that Guppy can take it. I hurry to drop the double-reefed mainsail, and Guppy is now sailing under a half-reefed jib at a speed of 8 knots. I can feel that the windpilot now has her well under control. Dad says I’m pretty stubborn, but from now on I’ll reduce
sail a little sooner. I promise, Dad, honestly . . .
DAY 10: 14 August
After nearly two weeks at sea, we’re finally there. We aren’t taking any chances with the Lisbon harbour authorities, and have sailed past this port for fear of them stopping us. Lisbon is the harbour from which I was meant to start my journey, according to media reports, and we are worried that the Dutch authorities may have informed their counterparts in Portugal that I’m sailing in European waters without a skipper’s ticket. This could be the last trump they might play to stop my voyage. Outside the 12-mile zone you don’t need any papers as you are surrounded only by water and nothing much can happen. Closer to land you need more sailing knowledge and experience, which is why a licence is compulsory within this zone. I had passed my Yachtmaster’s Offshore Certificate exam at the age of 13, but then received a letter saying that, although I had passed, I wouldn’t be issued a licence because I was a minor!
At night we sail into the harbour of Portimão in the south of Portugal, a few hundred miles further down the coast. It’s almost calm. I sail Guppy past a few rocks and can smell land. It’s weird how strong everything smells once you’ve been at sea for two weeks. I smell the scent of flowers, plants and the city. Close to the harbour, I wake up my crew.
One Girl One Dream Page 2