Category: Travel

by Amber, aka d’FEE dee-VAH

The winds were only slightly less gusty than they had been at the start of the previous day’s race.  But it was  enough that I no longer was fighting extreme lulls. As the other sailors raced back and forth around me, I used the time to set my harness lines and find out how the wind was going to play on the start of the course. At the Skipper’s meeting they had warned that it had shifted to a more north direction, so I set a course that would get me a closer start to the starting boat and allow me to make a bee line to the shore.

Eventually the sails once again started to amass in the direction of the starting line. This time, however, everyone was a bit more open and staggered giving themselves an opportunity to get up good speed.  I hung back a bit to allows those that this was “serious business” for to have their space, and so that I could witness that infamous rabbit start this time from the water. As my watch hit the 60 minute mark I again saw the farthest sails start to break away, I raked back my own sail got up speed and headed toward the start.  I again was slow across the starting line.  I had miss judged my starting direction and had to ride downwind with my sail wide open, bleeding air. Eventually I got my line back and was able to set my course. As I crossed the starting line, my heart lept again! “YESSSS!” I was back!

by Amber, aka Defi Diva  (and in your best pseudo French accent, say d’FEE dee-VAH!)

As I pulled myself and my gear from the rescue boat and sloshed toward the shore, I looked out at the distant sand dunes through a brown gritty haze. The sand was whipping in finger-like strands along the beach. I had been in a similar wind many years ago at Virginia Beach.

Having at the time just newly acquired the 4.7 Ezzy sail I was now sailing, I didn’t bother looking at the forecast that day.  I just knew it was windy and I wanted to go out and give my new sail a try.  I had been staying at a hotel on the beach that day so rigged in the shadow of the building. As I moved my board and sail toward the water, I could feel the sand scouring the skin at my ankles where my wet suit and booties did not quite connect. “That hurts!” I remember thinking before I dismissed it and plunged into the waves.  Not having ever really surfed waves, my naivety provided me with resolve that I would probably now lack. As the wind that day was a side shore and blowing from the north, I quickly made it out past the break and into the deep waters. At that point my brain engaged and I thought that perhaps it was not wise for me to be out in these conditions. I struggled to turned the board back toward shore spending more time in the water and waves than on them. Having just
also newly acquired water starts, it took several attempts before I was once again up and riding in the direction of land. The “non–windsurfing” colleagues I had been traveling with came to the shore to help me with my gear, as I had been blown down shore quite considerably. That evening they teased me relentlessly during dinner. But after I got home a few days later I checked the wind for that evening, it had been blowing 50 mph.

by Amber, aka Defi Diva

Having never ridden a bull, I can only guess that what I was experiencing out on
the water was very similar. During the Skipper’s meeting they had warned that
the launch area and the waters up to the starting line were “a bit gusty”. I
suppose the term “understatement” would be appropriate. As my board lurched and
stalled, I alternated water starts and uphauls in my attempt to make it to the
starting line. Prior to the race I had visions of what it would be like to see
and experience the thrill of the infamous rabbit start. But those visions had
evaporated as I concentrated on just simply moving my board in the direction of
the starting line. I never saw the speed boat pass, nor the jockeying of the
serious racers to be the first off the mark. Instead, I cursed the fact that I
had rigged too small a sail, and it would not be possible to go back and change
it out. The mantra of “Rig big or go home!” echoed in my head right up to that
first race. But, they had warned that the wind typically blows 5 knots faster
at the first mark, so I thought I had better play it safe this first run out.

About 10 minutes after the race had started and all the sailors where but small
flashing dots on the horizon, I finally managed to crossed the start line. I
suppose the benefits of being the last to cross the starting line is that you
have it all to yourself. You don’t have to worry about crashing into other
sailors or the wind being taken from your sail. It was a quiet almost peaceful
experience. And despite the fact that my start would in no way qualify me for
sport icon of the year, I was elated that I had actually officially started my
very first Defi race!

Defi Wind 2013 Official Video – Day 1

http://vimeo.com/65960357#at=0

by Amber aka Defi Diva

The next morning Els, Bart and I headed over to the venue in time for the 10am skippers meeting. There was still no wind, but we both nevertheless packed our gear in case there was an off chance it picked up later in the day. The Skipper’s meeting is every bit the show it was depicted on the web.   A big board of the coast was suspended in the middle of the stage and Philippe Bru, the Defi’s main coordinator and host, would give a detailed over view in French of the race.  Even though I only understood about 10 words during his overview, I was still captivated. Perhaps star struck is a better term. “Whoooa!, I’m REALLY here! I’m really at Defi! And there is Philipee Bru!!! Whhhoooaaa! I wonder if I can get my picture taken with him? That would be sooooo coool!”  One of the other coordinators provided somewhat of an English translation, which amounted to the “cliff notes” version of what was being put out in French. Luckily, Bart would also interject on occasion to point out a few details that were missed in the translation.

The race is predominantly 40 Km in length.  A fast boat starts at a marker and draws a wake line in the sea on the way to the starting boat. Between the marker and the boat, sailors are free to start once the speed boat passes. (Starting before the boat passes might result in death…. never the optimum condition for a race.)  The sailors then sail 10 km along the coast to a white marker, jibe the marker, race back to the starting boat, jibe the starting boat, race back to the marker and then return to the finish line. Or as Philipee Bru puts it, “Derriere, Bouee, Derriere, Bouee, Arrivee!” (If only it was that easy…)

by Amber, aka Defi Diva

In the middle of the night I awoke to a menacing howl. It became apparent that the Tramontane was also awake, and it was now coming down from the ice capped mountains in a thundering roar. My little #43 Bungalow shook as the icy winds banged at the door and windows. I pulled my little blanket closer around me. This was the wind I was expected to windsurf in the next day?! My thoughts raced. Was my little gear small enough? Should I even get on the water? “No….” I thought, “If this is the wind tomorrow, I’ll have to suck it up and not race. The wind is the wind, and one has to know their limits.” (And I had learned mine several times over during the years.)  So I tossed and turned for the rest of the night, shivering in the cold, and desperately hoping to hear signs of the Tramontane’s abatement.

By the next morning, the winds had died down from the previous night’s gales. The forecast for the day was looking good, low 20s (knots) with gusts to mid and upper 20s. The sun was coming out and the breeze appeared steady. I ate two large bowls of French Corn Flakes and drank my instant coffee as I pondered what things I would need to take along for the day.  Across the way at #4 Bungalow, Bart and Els were also stirring and getting ready in anticipation. “Did you hear that wind last night?”, Els asked in a shiver. “Yeah, that was insane!” I replied.  We both looked at each other knowingly, nothing had to be said, that was not a wind to be reckoned with.

by Amber, aka Defi Diva

I was back to #43 Bungalow again before noon, and having completed my main objective for the day I decided to rent a bike and take in the French country side in a more leisurely manner.  I ended up riding my bike along the very well established bike paths back toward the city. The paths were for the most part dedicated for bike and pedestrian traffic, making for a very safe and easy ride.  I went back to visit the afore mentioned “city center”, “ruins”, “castle”, “canal”, etc, but this time I took the time to stop and enjoyed them.  My meanderings took me along picturesque flower strewn vineyards into the city where historic buildings edged small narrow streets. I road around the ancient castle that over looked the small town and over to the canal.  I followed the canal again down to the race venue, only simply to enjoy the ride, then turned around and followed water front back through the city. The city water front is lined with restaurants, bars, shops, and apartments.  I dodged
people and their dogs at every turn. It was a beautiful day and everyone was out enjoying it.

On the ride back to #43 Bungalow I found another grocery store and stocked up with a few more essentials before returning home. Camembert cheese for 1.30 euro!!  Ohh! La! La! (Luckily I had thrown in my BABA canvas bag at the last minute, it proved essential for shlepping my cheese and breads as well as  various windsurfing accoutrements.) I finally got back to #43 Bungalow later that evening and sat out on my porch to enjoy the “spoils” from my day’s adventure. The Greek yogurt was to die for. I made a sandwich from the fresh bread, thick in cheese and tomato. (Swoon!)  And then I topped it off with a bowl of French Corn Flakes, only because the whole milk I bought was so delicious it was like having desert.  I went to bed late that night with a full belly and looking forward to breakfast.

by Amber, aka Defi Diva

I woke up the next morning in my #43 Bungalow to bright sunshine streaming through my open window, and a mosquito buzzing in my ear.  I covered  my head with the blanket in hopes that he (or I guess “she”) would go away.  It was 8 am. I had slept the clock around and still wasn’t sure I wanted to get up. The mosquito’s insistence in finding available skin for breakfast however soon convinced me otherwise.  In fact, I was hungry and ready to have my own breakfast. The night before I stopped at the little store just out side the camp and bought a huge box of French Corn Flakes that would put Costco to shame (apparently the French like their Corn Flakes), some milk, and a few other tidbits.  I fixed my breakfast and settled down out on the little porch to ponder my day ahead.

It was promising to be a picture perfect French spring day, bright sunshine, perfect temperature, and …. no wind.  I had given myself an extra day in my itinerary up front to explore the area and hopefully find where exactly this race of some 800 windsurfers could be found.  I also thought it might be good to give the waters a test ride, however with absolutely zero wind and none forecasted for the next day or two testing the waters was “right out”. I wasn’t exactly keen on driving the Thingy any more than I had to as it was unwieldy to maneuver in small spaces and everything around me seemed small. (Where is a Walmart parking lot when you need one?!! ) But the problem was that I had no idea where anything was or in what direction I should travel to find the site.

by Amber, aka Defi Diva

Luckily the military had trained me well when during my first deployment to Iraq I was unceremoniously dumped on the tarmac in Kuwait with 6 military bags and a weapons case.

“Ma’am, you’ll need to check in at the terminal headquarters about a quarter mile down the road.”
“What about my gear?”
“…Yes Ma’am, you’ll need to check that in as well…”

So my quarter mile turned into about 3 by the time I arduously leapfrogged my bags to the terminal.  I think they call these relived war stories “flashbacks”.  And I indeed was having them at the Toulouse Airport.

After having sorted out my car rental and offering my house, 401K, and all my gold jewelry up for collateral to Hertz, I had found my luggage and began pondering the movement of it.  The luggage came into the main conveyor system and was easy enough to throw on one of those luggage carts they have at the airport.  The next stop took me to the oversized luggage conveyor and when I finally found it I was elated to see my three wonderful bags sitting there waiting for me.  They made it!!!! The relief washed over me.  It was like I found my long lost dog. I wanted to rush up and give them all great big hugs. But in respect for public decorum, I refrained and offered them a little pat and smile instead.