Foreign Soil

Let me start with a reassurance. We are both well and in good spirits despite what you are about to read.

Two frightful experiences have overshadowed an otherwise enjoyable first few days on foreign soil. The first occurred en route from the USA, the second before we logged a single mile aboard Windleblo.

Somewhere over the Atlantic on Delta flight 270 from Boston to Heathrow early last Wednesday morning, Jocelyn felt the need to use the loo. But she didn’t quite make it. Between row 42 and the rest room, she blacked out.

Oblivious in seat 42B, I was nudged from my slumber by a nearby passenger who advised, “Your wife has just keeled over.” Looking behind me, sure enough there was a commotion. Suddenly awake, I dashed aft, dodged an onlooker, and was at her side.

She was erect, with the aid of two flight attendants. Her eyes glazed and skin cool and clammy, I recognized the symptoms of shock and eased her back to a prone position. A voice over the onboard PA inquired whether any passengers had medical credentials. None responded. It seemed my ski patrol first responder skills would have to do.

She was AOx3 (alert and oriented to time, place, and circumstances) so that was a relief. Her pulse was strong and respirations normal. I asked the flight attendants if they had any oxygen for her. A few minutes of pure O2 pinked her skin nicely as she complained of being “really tired.” Several moments later, we helped her up and, after finishing her trip to the rest room, escorted her back to row 42, oxygen bottle in hand.

As a precaution, we requested that paramedics greet us in Heathrow. They boarded the plane before anyone got off and put her through a full assessment, including a blood pressure check and mobile EKG. Hearing her story, it seems she had simply fainted. I suspect dehydration, cumulative “getaway” stresses, lack of sleep, and two glasses of white wine contributed to her condition. In the end, the paramedics pronounced her “normal” and fit to continue her travels.

None-the-less, our first shock had been delivered.

Our journey continued with a long layover in Heathrow, a short flight to Goteborg, and then a long bus ride to Orust where we finally gazed upon Windleblo sitting proudly in a berth at her winter storage cove. We found her in immaculate condition and were very happy with how her handlers had kept her.

But our delight with their treatment of us eroded steadily over the next few days. It all stemmed from an unfortunate misunderstanding caused primarily by the language barrier.

Thursday morning, we were greeted by Johannes, the proprietor, whose English is so-so. And of course our Swedish is close to nil. After pleasantries, I asked if he would present the final bill so I could pay him. Despite my earlier email appeals, I had only received a partial bill. Consequently, I could not wire the money to his account in advance of our arrival as I would have preferred. Though a very competent boat keeper, it seems the business end is not Johannes’ strong suit.

A similar circumstance occurred last year, so I was not concerned. Like last year, we would simply go to the bank where I would take out a cash advance on my credit card, to be immediately deposited to his account. I again asked him for an updated bill, but he did not produce one, so I assumed what he had sent was all of it.

At the bank that afternoon, our difficulties escalated. It seems the bank policy had changed. They would no longer issue cash advances on credit cards. I would have to withdraw money from the ATM to pay him. We returned to his office where I presented him with the cash. That’s when he started getting ugly.

I am still not sure why – perhaps past clients had welched on their debts to him – but suddenly he seemed to deem us untrustworthy. It turns out indeed there was an updated invoice, which he thought we were trying to avoid. And of course we only had enough to cover the payment amount we were aware of.

He knew we wanted to leave the next day for the Hallberg-Rassy regatta that weekend, so shortly after we returned to his facility, a lock and chain appeared tying Windleblo to the dock. Suddenly, we were in a B-rated horror movie, incarcerated in a dark hollow by a mad Swede.

We appealed to him to allow us to leave for the weekend and return Monday with the final cash payment. Alternatively, we would wire the balance, which would arrive by next Friday. He would hear none of it. When we tried to reason with him, he would issue incomprehensible Swanglish mutterings, disappear for a “sandwich break,” or take a lengthy phone call. All the while, Windleblo remained chained to his dock. The weather turned dark and nasty.

There was nothing for it but to go back to the ATM to withdraw more money. But alas, another complication arose. U.S. Homeland Security limits how much money can be withdrawn from an ATM in a 24 hour period. We were trapped. We took out the limit each time, but still two days passed before we could raise the full amount we owed.

Meanwhile, the Friday night opening of the HR Regatta weekend festivities came and went. The joyous beginning of our third Scandinavian season had been compromised. Our momentous send off from Sweden had been marred. The second shock had been delivered.

Upon final payment Saturday morning, Johannes finally opened the padlock and removed the chain from our boat. We were free! We wasted no time leaving, even though several tasks remained on the punch list of work he owed us. We didn’t care. We just wanted to get away from him and his maddening treatment.

As the skies cleared, we made our way six miles west under motor to find the regatta starting outside Hallberg-Rassy harbor in Ellos. We joined the last place boats and completed one and a half of the two cycles around the race marks, crossed the finish line, eased into the harbor and moored. We were back in the nest.

Vickie Vance, our American friend and (now former) HR Parts owner greeted us warmly as we enjoyed the After Sail festivities, including a reception, Yard tour, scrumptious dinner, and awards ceremony. Despite our late start, we were not disqualified and were congratulated as the “crew with the longest trip home,” receiving several valuable prizes for our efforts.

Our season kick off back on track, we are doing our best to pretend we imagined our two nightmarish shocks. Our optimism about the days ahead has returned. We expect to disembark for Denmark later this week after some further shake down and provisioning.