Let me set the scene: There I was, standing on the deck of our newly purchased catamaran, “Sawasdeekat” (which, for the uninitiated, is Thai for “Hello, Catamaran!”—because why not add a little international flair to our midlife crisis?). The ink on the paperwork was still drying when my wife, Pookie, dropped the bombshell: “Darling, I’m flying back to the UK to compete in MasterChef. Try not to sink the boat while I’m gone.” 

And just like that, I was alone in Cartagena, Spain, with a floating home I knew absolutely nothing about. What could possibly go wrong? 

Day 1: “Wait, How Do You Start This Thing?”

The universe wasted no time testing my nautical incompetence. Within 48 hours of becoming a boat owner, the local boatyard, Ascars, called: “We need you to bring Sawasdeekat in for a hull repaint. Oh, and we’re lifting her out of the water. Tomorrow.” 

Now, for those unfamiliar with boat lingo, “lifting out” is exactly what it sounds like—hoisting an entire vessel into the air, which is terrifying when you’ve never even driven the thing. My experience? A few dinghy rides and an overconfidence in my ability to Google “how to pilot a catamaran.” I had no crew. I didn’t know how to start the engines. The boat was 8 meters wide, and the boatyard’s lifting bay was 9 meters. That’s like threading a needle while wearing oven mitts. 

After frantically interrogating every marina resident who looked like they might know what a fuse was, we finally located the magical little boxes that brought the engines to life. Ascars, taking pity on me, lent me two crew members (bless them), and somehow—through sheer luck and the grace of Poseidon - I maneuvered Sawasdeekat into that concrete slot with inches to spare. 

The Storm That Proved the Universe Has a Sense of Humour

As if to mock my brief moment of triumph, Mother Nature unleashed a storm that very night. Trees were uprooted. Properties were damaged. The sea churned like a washing machine on spin cycle. And there was Sawasdeekat, safely cocooned in the boatyard, while I sat inside eating canned beans and wondering if Pookie had timed her escape perfectly. I was really quite worried, the winds outside raged against the boat and shook it on its small wooden blocks. I had heard that during hurricane season, boats on the hard are often tied down to large blocks of concrete, to be honest, sat as I was on this boat shaped fibreglass coffin I really would have liked them to do it to mine that night. As it was all I lost were a few hairs off my head, a pair of shoes and a doormat we'd bought to welcome new visitors onto the boat.

Romans, Revelry, and the Art of Distraction

Cartagena, however, was unfazed. The city has survived Carthaginians, Romans, and probably a few questionable tourist seasons, so a little storm wasn’t going to stop its annual “Cartagineses y Romanos” festival. 

Imagine this: A week-long spectacle where the entire city time-warps back to 209 BC, when Scipio Africanus captured the place. There are fireworks, gladiators, wild animals (hopefully tame ones). Lavish reenactments of Hannibal and Himilce’s wedding (romantic, if you ignore the whole “imminent Roman invasion” backdrop). And, of course, the grand finale—a massive parade where legions march through the streets like they’ve just remembered they left the oven on in Rome.  I wandered through the chaos, half-expecting a tipsy centurion to challenge me to a duel. Instead, I ate incredible food, drank questionable amounts of local wine, and thought, Pookie is missing out. 

Meanwhile, Back on the Boat…

While Pookie was dazzling MasterChef judges with her culinary wizardry, I was engaged in my own form of boat-based sorcery: 

Solar Panel Tetris - Firstly, I redesigned the solar array because, apparently, you can never have too much free energy. Ascars built me a bigger frame, and I felt like a renewable energy warlord. 

Toilet Revolution - The old toilets were straight out of a 1970s caravan nightmare. I replaced them with four shiny new thrones fit for a maritime king (or at least someone who no longer fears septic disasters). 

LED Lights & Oven Glory - Knowing Pookie would insist on a well equipped kitchen and because nothing says “luxury living” like mood lighting and the ability to bake cookies at sea, I also had new ovens fitted and LED lights added around the boat (The ones in the bedrooms even had phone holders and USB charging points!! Get that for posh! 

FlexiTeak Decking: Because Even Boats Deserve a Little Luxury - Let’s talk about boat upgrades - specifically, the moment I decided Sawasdeekat needed a little more “je ne sais quoi” in the style department to keep Pookie happy. Sure, she had new toilets, taps, LED lights, and enough solar panels to power a small village, but something was missing. Then it hit me: FlexiTeak decking.  Because nothing says “I have my life together” like walking barefoot on warm, golden teak while sipping a G&T at sunset.  The transformation was instant glamour - like swapping sweatpants for a tuxedo mid-voyage. 

And there it was, a whole heap of jobs added to that small original reason for lifting the boat out of the water.. which was painting the hull – Welcome to Boat Ownership where EVERYTHING costs 10x what you thought it would, takes 5x longer and breaks again moments after fitting.

Classic Cars, New Friends, and the Joy of Finally Talking to People Who Speak English

Just when I thought Cartagena couldn’t possibly pack in any more excitement—after Romans, storms, and my ongoing battle with boat toilets—the city decided to throw a classic car show into the mix. And let me tell you, if you’ve never seen a row of pristine Shelby Cobras, Jaguar XK120s, and 1950s American Bel Airs gleaming under the Spanish sun, you haven’t lived. 

I wandered through the display like a kid in a candy store, half-expecting one of the cars to transform into Optimus Prime. The curves of the Jaguars, the raw power of the Cobras, the chrome-laden grandeur of the Bel Airs—it was automotive nostalgia at its finest. I may have whispered sweet nothings to a particularly gorgeous Corvette. (No shame.) 

Horses, Fitness Freaks, and the Search for Human Interaction

The car show wasn’t just about stationary beauty—there were fitness demonstrations (because nothing says “vintage glamour” like watching someone do burpees next to a 1960s soft top) and even horse-drawn carriage rides. I considered hopping into one just to feel like a 19th-century aristocrat, but then I remembered I was a man who had recently Googled “how to unclog a marine toilet.” Priorities. 

Then, like a mirage in the desert, I heard it - English voices. Not the broken, well-intentioned Spanglish I’d been using to order coffee, but full-blown, proper English. I followed the sound like a sailor drawn to a siren, and there they were: Krissy and Paul, fellow Brits who had somehow also ended up in this corner of Spain. 

We bonded instantly (or maybe they just took pity on me, who knows), partly because we all understood the sacred importance of a proper cup of tea, but mostly because they were “liveaboards” - people who, like me, had chosen to live on boats, trading land-based stability for the constant thrill of wondering if the bilge pump is working. 

Finally, a Social Life (and a Boat Community That Doesn’t Judge My Plumbing Skills)

Turns out, Cartagena has a thriving liveaboard scene, and Krissy and Paul were my golden ticket in. Suddenly, I went from being “That Lonely British Guy Who Talks to the Buddha statue in the corner about his Solar Panels” to “That British Guy Who at Least Has Friends Now”. 

They introduced me to a whole crew of floating nomads—expats, adventurers, and the kind of people who can fix a diesel engine with nothing but duct tape and optimism. We swapped stories over sundowners, compared marina horror tales, and most importantly, they didn’t laugh (too hard) when I admitted I’d had to radio the coast guard despite not even owning a boat. (Read Blog 002 - a bit of a flop)

Two Months Alone… Then Boom, Community

Pookie flew back between filming rounds, and we seized every moment to explore Cartagena’s hidden gems—seaside tapas bars, historic ruins, and the kind of restaurants that make you question why you ever settled for microwave meals. 

However, after two months of solo boat ownership - navigating storms, Roman parades, and the existential dread of electrical systems - I’d finally found my people. And just like that, Cartagena stopped feeling like a temporary stopover and started feeling like home. 

So, if you ever find yourself alone on a boat in a foreign country, fear not. Between classic car shows, unexpected friendships, and the universal language of “Why is there water in the bilge?”, you’ll find your tribe.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go explain to Krissy and Paul why there’s a life-sized cardboard cutout of a Roman gladiator in my saloon. (Some things are better left unexplained.)

The Moral of the Story?

Buying a boat while your spouse jets off to become a TV chef is either the start of a great adventure or a very elaborate prank. But between storms, Roman festivals, and questionable plumbing choices, I learned two things: 

1. You’re capable of more than you think (even if it involves Googling “how not to crash a catamaran”). 

2. Life’s chaos is best enjoyed with good food, good wine, and a boat named Sawasdeekat. 

Until Next Time….