15:55.1S 5:43.1W

It would be too easy to begin by saying “St Helena - you know, the place where Napoleon was exiled after the Duke of Wellington gave him a bit of a spanking in 1815” so I’m not going to do that…

D’oh, just did! (Sorry Monsieur Bordes… couldn’t help myself!)

It’s hard to ignore the fact though as for such a tiny community, just 4000 people, the reference to Nepoleon is not without its historical significance. It would be grossly unfair though to dwell on that when St Helena is so much more…

Being one of the remotest places on earth and having no airport, that St Helena is so inaccessible is its most treasured asset. This, as plans to build an airport are stalled yet again, is the subject of much heated debate among the Saints. To my mind, the island has been locked in an historical epoch that is as charming as it is infectious, welcoming and humbling. It’s a fascinating social study into an uncomplicated, untainted, civil way of life. Far from being a Luddite existence though, the islanders are forward-thinking and resourceful whilst recognising that their greatest economic potential could easily be the annihilation of a unique culture, an identity, a snapshot of a selfless and noble era. With an airport will surely come tourism and that, sadly, will be the island’s demise. Ironic, I know, coming from a tourist such as I am but as it is, the islanders enthusiastically embrace (literally!) the trickle of yachties who find refuge here on their way from South Africa to Brazil or the Caribbean. From my rather selfish perspective, it is an absolute treasure. I can sum it up, from experience, by telling you that it’s the sort of place where, when eating out, you don’t look for or ask for an empty table, you find an occupied one and join them. That’s always been so amongst cruising yachtsmen but here, it’s just the way it is… just fantastic.

Forgetting, or rather ignoring the economic pressures for a moment, let me tell you about my experience on the island since arriving yesterday morning. Eh? Just a day and a half! The list is abridged, bullet-pointed for the sake of keeping me reigned in but it is still exhausting and astonishing to think that this is just my second day on this unbelievable jewel of the British Empire…

• I’ve already done the island tour with Larry (the guide) and a couple of English chaps from the delivery crew of a 50’ Lagoon catamaran. I won’t go in to too much detail now but it was absolutely fascinating. Larry is a font of knowledge whose enthusiasm was fuelled by our obvious interest. The tour covered all the places associated with Napoleon’s exile here and I’m ashamed to say that I am now more knowledgeable about ol’ Bonaparte than I am about our own Duke of Wellington or even Admiral Lord Nelson for that matter… Shameful! Honestly, I’ll save the details for the book but Napoleon’s time on the island was a fascinating insight into the delicate socio-political balance of extending a respectful hand of civility to an unquestionably brilliant General whilst maintaining the shackles of incarceration. It is all beautifully restored, original and presented with a charming subtlety that betrayed one or two little-known historical facts whilst shattering more than a few common misconceptions. History has never really ‘floated my boat’, so to speak, but I filled eight pages of my notebook with anecdotes and information not just about Napoleon’s exile here but about the islander’s historical struggle to become economically self-sufficient; beset such as it was with the disastrous introduction of non-indigenous bugs, termites and, well, Dacron, Spectra, Dyneema, Kevlar… polyester, polypropylene and nylon ropes that marked the end of the flax industry. Mile after mile, acre after acre, entire mountain-sides are covered in a lush blanket of the stuff which once provided a flourishing export industry of flax and flax rope but since 1966 is now obsolete and out of control. My notebook also reminds me to mention my new friend Jonathan… He doesn’t look a day over 175 years old!
• Yes, Jonathan… I met Jonathan on the tour yesterday just as I met the encyclopaedic minds of Trevor Magellan and Ivy Young. Jonathan though is worthy of his very own bullet point. You see, Jonathan is a giant tortoise whose home he shares with four or five much younger tortoises and the Governor of the island at Plantation House. They’re brilliant! What more can I say – they’re just the most pointless, ugly animals that seem to have escaped the effects of evolution and yet they’re personable, comfortable with human contact and, well, brilliant. It’s coincidence that I had found turtles on Ascension and then tortoises on St Helena. Turtles are indigenous to the islands although Jonathan and his family were introduced. I made the mistake of course of calling Jonathan a turtle but was quickly corrected (by Larry, not by Jonathan – he’s a tortoise and can’t speak… Jonathan is – not Larry!) Still with me? Yes, they’re both mammals and look very much alike although turtles live mainly in the water… I think. Let me know if I’m wrong! Anyway, at 176 years old, I’m told that Jonathan is the oldest tortoise in the world although I don’t think it’s a claim made with any certainty. Seems reasonable though don’t you think?
• I’ve already made so many friends on this island. Only last night, I was enjoying a Ginger Beer (don’t be childish) in the Consulate Hotel bar with some friendly South African sailors when I was introduced to the hotel owner Hazel (amongst others) and within fifteen minutes, had been invited to dinner at the famous Anne’s Place just down the road. Hazel’s hospitality is legendary and I’ve been invited to use the hotel facilities as I wish. It is impossible to walk the short distance of Jamestown’s high street without stopping to talk to someone. Really, it’s like nothing you could even imagine. Everyone waves to everyone else in passing. Even the children ask “Hi, how are you?” and mean it! With Hazel’s help, I’ve already made arrangements with the fisheries department to try and fix my (now quite serious) anode problem… no, it’s not medical – it’s nautical. In fact, it sounds like I may even have found someone prepared to dive under Canasta to try and fit a couple of ‘home-made’ anodes to the worryingly anodeless prop.
• I’ve already been invited to appear on local Saint FM radio that broadcasts to St Helena, Ascension and Triston Da Cunha. I think I shall restrict the next dice-throw to Cape Town in South Africa or, in Namibia; Walvis Bay or Ludovitz. Armed with these three options, it looks quite likely that Miss St Helena will be throwing the dice live on the radio. There is even a chance that if I’m prepared to stay a little longer than planned, I could do a double-header interview on air with Zac Sutherland, the 17 year old American circumnavigator who is currently on schedule to be the youngest person in history to sail single-handed around the world. He’s in Cape Town now and will be heading this way very soon.
• Just this morning, I was invited by the local library to bring all the books I’d read and swap them for a selection reserved exclusively for visiting yachties! I duly swapped an equal number of books and having filled my bag, asked if they’d like to check how many I’d taken. They laughed and said that they’d give them away if asked so they weren’t so bothered about stock control. There was never any question of price – they were free, a gift! So too at the lovely Dulce Robertson’s ‘arts and crafts’ shop. I bought a couple of books written by Dulce’s husband but when I noticed she’d been working through a book of Sudoku puzzles, I asked if she knew where on the island I could buy such a thing. “Oh, don’t buy them” she said “I’ve got more than I know what to do with at home. Come in on Friday morning and I’ll let you have some of mine”.
• I know I’m going on… sudoku, reading books, boring stuff, but the point I’m making is that this place is like a film set – like I’m in a movie where nothing seems quite real. It’s just not possible that such a socially agreeable place can exist in real life. The Georgian and Victorian facades of Jamestown’s high street set against the magnificently volcanic landscape. The old cars; Avengers, Maxis, Mk1 Escorts, Capris and Bedford trucks, the apparent indifference to fashion, labels, social posturing. All these things make St Helena unique and I feel privileged to be here.

So that’s been my experience so far. Well actually, that and more as I haven’t even mentioned my new friend Paul who runs the most remote distillery in the world. I didn’t mention the Frenchman who sailed here, ran out of money and by all accounts (I should be flattered that he hasn’t yet approached me), is selling Viagra to fund his sail back to France! How can I not mention the flight of stairs ‘Jacob’s Ladder’ that starts in the valley of Jamestown and climbs 699 11” steps to the top of the hill without a single resting place? There’s a race each year to climb the steps and the record, I’m told, is 4m 12s. I’ve yet to climb it although I intend to (at a more leisurely pace I think). I should mention too the island’s lifeline RMS St Helena. She’s the only ship bringing supplies and visitors to the island and is due to arrive tomorrow morning. It is a massive event for the islanders and her arrival will be met with much ceremony. Okay, that really is it. I’ve gone on long enough and having just read back over what I’ve spent the past four hours writing, it might sound as if I’m about to take up residency here and abandon the ‘Where to Next?’ project! Not so. Yes, it’s a pleasure to be here but in a few days, Canasta and I will be moving on (mind you, I’ve yet to meet Miss St Helena although, having thrown a two this afternoon, I’m not permitted to shave for another two weeks and I’ve already got a rather Neanderthal growth of facial hair!). I’m getting excited about Cape Town, particularly after speaking with the South African crews here on the anchorage.

More soon then but for now, I’m signing off…