Sailing often serves as a metaphor for life. And even more so if you dedicate years of your life to the journey, like Hans Geilinger, one of the few sailors who has truly managed to circumnavigate the world in a twelve-meter sailboat, over twelve years. Born in Switzerland, at thirty-two years old Hans decided to leave his homeland to explore the world and settled in Barcelona, where he worked as an architect and architecture professor. This is where he acquired his first sailboat, Tuvalú, to initially explore the Mediterranean Sea. But in 2011, together with his wife Imma and their sailboat Dufour 40 Performance, they embarked on an adventure that Hans has just compiled in an autobiographical novel also titled Tuvalú.
It is by no means a book exclusively for sailors; it contains no technical descriptions or accounts of maritime maneuvers. Tuvalú is an invitation to live slowly, a tribute to the present, and a provocation to step out of one's comfort zone to find true peace, even in the midst of a storm.
— What is Tuvalú to you?
— Tuvalú is the name of the book I have written, it is the name of my boat, and an archipelago north of Fiji. And these three things are very interrelated.
When my wife and I gave the name Tuvalú to our sailboat —which we initially bought to sail the Mediterranean—, deep down we planted a seed. And although at that time it was unthinkable that we could go to Tuvalú, we had the future hope, the seed within us. And one night, in 2010, in a cove in Greece, the seed began to grow. After a dinner with transoceanic sailors, Imma asked me: "Why don't we sail around the world?"
— And a year later you set sail from the Garraf coast. How was the preparation?
— When you embark on an adventure, be it in life itself or business, you don't really know how it will go. You intuit that it will go well, but deep down there is no certainty. You therefore need an open mind, intuition, and a willingness to experience totally different things. And I suppose this was the purpose: to experience what I had not yet experienced.
In Barcelona, I had my life settled and arranged: the office, the apartment, the family… everything was in harmony. And I had to dismantle everything, emotionally and practically: close the architecture office, terminate the apartment contract, handle bureaucratic procedures… and prepare the boat, give it a refit (a process of renovating and repairing a boat).
— We all know Around the World in Eighty Days, by Jules Verne. The record today, in fact, is 60 days... But you have done it in 12 years.
— Yes, and although we hadn't planned it, the truth is that it was with an intention: to go slow. In our society, we have forgotten the quality of slowness. We have forgotten that if you go slow, you live more, you experience more.
— What a contrast when you then collide with the rhythm of a city.
The longest journey we made without touching land was from Galapagos to the Marquesas Islands, to Fatu Hiva. It was almost five weeks. And in the entire journey, we only crossed paths with two boats. It was us and the ocean. Those weeks, that slowness, offered us a lot: the first weeks we could assimilate and understand what we had experienced in Galapagos (the turtles, the penguins, the experiences...), but then all we had left was to do nothing: just the daily tasks of the navigator and coexistence itself.
"Traveling must be a state: it cannot be arriving at a place"
There, the concept of time was completely different. We had time. Here, however, in our lives in the city, it seems we rarely have time.
Indigenous people, for example, do have time. They welcome you and are there for you. They are not on their phones, thinking about the next meeting or the next task. And this is an immense luxury they have. True wealth is not possessing more, but having time.
— They say that, in Western societies, you can see how rich a person is based on the time they dedicate to breakfast. It is considered that a person with high purchasing power can afford to have breakfast calmly. We could think that indigenous people are tremendously rich. Or that living with that slowness is being tremendously rich, although perhaps it is not precisely economic wealth.
— Absolutely. We have a concept of wealth focused more on possession than on time. Our wealth consists of having a high-end car, a large and beautiful home, a second residence on the coast or in the Pyrenees, and, in the week we have vacation, taking a plane and traveling. Or consuming a trip.
"Exposing yourself to other cultures forces you to know yourself better and to question yourself"
And I believe that traveling must be a state: it cannot be arriving at a place. It is living a journey. Living a moment, an instant. That's why I believe I am still traveling.
— Are you a nomad?
Yes. In my book there is a phrase that says: "Nomads know no borders or limitations. Their homeland is a path." And this defines quite well what I feel.
— What culture has impacted you the most during your journey?
My own culture. Exposing yourself to new experiences, to the sea or to other cultures, forces you to know yourself better and to question yourself. To question your own culture as well.
For example, we think we live in the first world. That we are a more developed civilization, that we represent progress, and we often look with superiority at those countries or cultures that live in a simpler way, that do not have so much economic wealth. But we are very wrong. It has happened to me on more than one occasion that on an island, a native tells me: "This is paradise on Earth." And he was right.
They do not have wealth in our concept, but they have a completely different kind of wealth. We should understand that we are not the center of the universe. We are simply an option.
"It's not about sailing, but about making an inner journey, and the boat is just an excuse"
— During the journey you have feared for your life on more than one occasion. What reflections do you take away after being so close to death?
— Even the worst of storms calms down. Be it a storm at sea or in life, it will calm down, and the sun will rise on the horizon and caress your skin. Deep down, the important thing is to decide to live the moment in the best way. Fear is just an option. It prepares you for what might happen in the future, although it doesn't have to happen.
I have understood that at sea I am only a visitor. And I have to navigate in the conditions that the sea sets for me; I cannot oppose them. So I cannot be afraid of the sea, but I can respect it. —He doesn't say it explicitly, but I suspect he's talking about the sea... and also about life—.
— Is it a recommended trip for all audiences?
— If you don't want to leave your comfort zone or don't dare to live new experiences, then no. But if you dare, it's suitable for everyone. Because it's not about sailing, but about making an inner journey, and the boat is just an excuse. You don't need to be a sailor. The knowledge is learned along the way and, meanwhile, many questions open up to you, because the sea has no filters: it is very direct. It is immediate and infinite, and it forces you to know yourself.
— On the high seas, and isolated from the rest of the universe, the companion is transcendental. How have you managed to live on a 12-meter boat with your partner for so long?
— Life at sea, in truth, is very easy. It is simple, because the objective is usually very clear. For example, reaching the Galapagos Islands. And an important part of getting along with your partner for so long is sharing the same objectives, the same goals, and living them together. On the boat, for example, you have the same objective and you share the path to reach it: you both face the storm —even if one gets more seasick than the other—, and you both enjoy the beautiful moments… And that makes you go as one, coordinated.
— Will you return to Tuvalu?
We would like to. And sooner rather than later, because Tuvalu is experiencing a critical moment: the sea level is rising almost 5 millimeters a year due to climate change, and consider that the highest mountain on the archipelago is only two meters high. The islands continuously sink when there is bad weather, and the wells fill with saltwater, which contaminates the well water. If things continue like this, by 2050 it will no longer be possible to live in Tuvalu, and its citizens will have to be climate refugees. It is very sad and unfair.
— What will be your next adventure?
If I have learned anything on this trip, it is that our plans are quite limited. I have seen it at sea: you can plan, but the sea ends up doing whatever it wants. The important thing is to live in the moment and listen to your intuition.
Now I am with you. Planning the next adventure is of little use to me. And I'll give you an example: we were in Suakin, in Sudan, years ago. One of the biggest humanitarian crises in the world is happening there. And we were there just before the current armed conflict in the country broke out. I remember talking to the driver of the rickshaw (a tricycle driven by a cyclist that transports passengers) who was taking us to the boat, before we left. He, who lived in extreme poverty, like most people there, told me: "Tomorrow my mother might die or my son might have an accident, but that doesn't matter. What matters is the present, that we are here right now."
That was my last conversation with him, before getting on the boat. And I didn't connect to my phone until three weeks later, when we arrived in Egypt. When I turned on my phone, I saw that a war had broken out in Sudan. His words were so true. And they still resonate with me. Tomorrow I don't know, maybe I'll go around the world, but today I'm here, now, talking to you. And that's what matters.