Jun 21, 2026 · 34 min · 15 segments
Meet your captain & narrator, find out why we chose to abandon the stage for the sea, and why we chose to sail within the Indonesian archipelago. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and…
Gray PhilistineHost
I'm in the bathroom of a notary office in a Dutch village, giving myself a quick sponge bath after traveling from a gig in Wales the night before.
The notary, the sellers, and an agent are seated around a large oval table just outside the door, stewing in that awkward silence that looms over any life-changing transaction.
I'm trying to dry off with toilet paper, which is doing what it always does, disintegrating into those little spit wads that cling to your body hair.
I finally make myself presentable, take a few deep breaths, and open the door to the future.
Their best friends, or possibly only friends, are the two geriatric dogs waiting outside in their car.
After confirming the last minute arrival of the final 10,000 euros this morning, we sign a stack of documents in Dutch.
70 tons of riveted steel, built in 1947 by the East German Communists to catch fish for a hungry post-war proletariat, refitted in 1967 for salvage diving, abandoned for many years, stripped of the hull and reborn in the late 80s.
She spent her last years in the icy fjords of Norway, and she is now my responsibility and bound for a very different climate on a very different mission.
After a decade of research, dead ends, and indecision, I have now crossed the threshold of no return.
The biggest and likely final project of my life has disembarked from the hazy realm of dreams to solidify into a very real thing.
Boat owners have a saying, a cliche really, that the two happiest days of your life are the day you buy a boat and the day you sell it.
I'm in the bathroom of a notary office in a Dutch village, giving myself a quick sponge bath after traveling from a gig in Wales the night before.
The notary, the sellers, and an agent are seated around a large oval table just outside the door, stewing in that awkward silence that looms over any life-changing transaction.
I'm trying to dry off with toilet paper, which is doing what it always does, disintegrating into those little spit wads that cling to your body hair.
I finally make myself presentable, take a few deep breaths, and open the door to the future.
Their best friends, or possibly only friends, are the two geriatric dogs waiting outside in their car.
After confirming the last minute arrival of the final 10,000 euros this morning, we sign a stack of documents in Dutch.
70 tons of riveted steel, built in 1947 by the East German Communists to catch fish for a hungry post-war proletariat, refitted in 1967 for salvage diving, abandoned for many years, stripped of the hull and reborn in the late 80s.
She spent her last years in the icy fjords of Norway, and she is now my responsibility and bound for a very different climate on a very different mission.
After a decade of research, dead ends, and indecision, I have now crossed the threshold of no return.
The biggest and likely final project of my life has disembarked from the hazy realm of dreams to solidify into a very real thing.
Boat owners have a saying, a cliche really, that the two happiest days of your life are the day you buy a boat and the day you sell it.
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