HOW MY SAILING STARTED

SEVEN YEARS AGO , I won the off-road truck race organized by Land Rover in my division.

Instead of going out to celebrate in party, I stayed in my room—introverted, reflecting and mulling over everything that had happened. My mind was somewhere else.

“Is this really happening?” - I kept questioning.

IT WAS DARK, gloomy, and windy autumn day. At that time, I had no idea what I was signing up for.
I tried to study the RYA Day Skipper Sail Handbook, but it didn’t make much sense—after all, I had never sailed before in my life. The day after the race, I was asked to join a previously unknown to me a sailboat.

******

THE NEXT DAY, I packed my backpack and booked a train from Warsaw to the marina in Hel.

*****

Let’s take a step back. I had been working tirelessly on a dogsledding expedition project. I was an active musher, passionate about the Arctic, and fully focused on organizing an expedition to cross Greenland by dogsled. Stil was a challenging project with many gaps to fill.
I met countless people: experts, polar explorers, and even coaches who helped me develop the project.

During one of those coaching sessions, my mentor, Eva, paired me with a man named Paul: a film producer and the owner of an expedition yacht called Malaika—to help me with the expedition. We agreed to support each other with our respective projects.

For a long time, I never had any interest in sailing. To me, it seemed like a glamorous, cheesy lifestyle—women in bikinis, loud parties, fancy boats. All boats looked the same to me.

Nope!!!!

This? I never wanted to be part of that world.

*******

During lunch break, Paul told me stories about high-latitude sailing. He described how the ocean glows at night with his expeditions to Antarctic. As I am northern lights hunter, that image stayed in my mind, whispering: “I want to experience this.”

That image haunted me for months, and I even painted it.

THEN THE ONE DAY, Paul asked me to join his maiden voyage from Poland to the United Kingdom, I instinctively agreed.
My former boyfriend at the time didn’t like the idea but accepted it, on one condition: that I’d be gone for no more than 12 days.

“Promise you’ll be back in 12 days, okay?”

“Yessss!”

On September 30, 2017, I arrived by train at Hel Marina, trying to spot the boat.

“That’s Malaika? She’s… soooooo dazzling yellow?”

Why was she so different from the others? That bright yellow hull! My first impression wasn’t great.

Paul greeted me and showed me aboard. My instinct from previous expeditions told me that despite her looks, she was a solid, serious vessel. I liked her.

We were waiting for a third crew member—the First Mate. Two experienced sea wolves and me, a puppy just there to watch, observe, and learn. Perfect.

But.

The First Mate never came…

“So what do we do?” I asked.

Paul shrugged:
“Set your alarm for 3 a.m. We’re leaving. Just the two of us. You’ll learn everything on the way.”

Two of us?!?!
I knew absolutely nothing. The only thing I’d learnt was how to set the sails into the wind and the names of wind directions. That was it. The rest was a mystery. A total black magic!!!

It was a 50-foot and 30-ton boat—and Paul had packed his entire life into it. He hurried me through tasks, saying, “Don’t touch that.”

Okay, I won’t.

1st October – 03:00

We left the marina, heading toward the Kiel Canal. It was windy—27–30 knots! The ride felt like galloping on a horse. It was so exciting… until Paul called me down to the galley for breakfast.

He’d prepared a delicious spread of vegetables, cheese, bacon, and toast.
But something was wrong.
I couldn’t move.
Food suddenly felt like my worst enemy. I feel out of my body…

Seasickness!!!

I had never experienced seasickness before. This was the worst nausea I’d ever felt. Even dimenhydrinate didn’t help. My head spun endlessly. The world twisted out of shape; I lost my sense of space and control.

I slept for two days while Paul sailed nonstop toward Kiel, zigzagging against headwinds. He stayed awake for two days and nights, watching over both me and the boat.
When I saw how exhausted he was, I insisted on taking a watch so he could sleep. He quickly explained how to use the equipment—trimming, instruments, AIS—and said, “If you’ve ever played video games, you’ll get this.”

Despite feeling sick, I forced myself to learn.
That’s how I got over seasickness—permanently.

BY SUNRISE, we were waiting for permission to enter the Kiel Canal.

“What am I supposed to do?!” I yelled.

“If you can’t figure out knots, just do anything to secure the boat when you jump onto the platform!”

We were in the lock. I jumped off, clueless about handling a 30-ton vessel, and tied a clumsy knot that almost set the boat adrift. We nearly had to swim after it!
I was embarrassed—but I learned that lesson well. Later, I became excellent at docking and securing boats.

ON THE OTHER DAY, we stopped at a marina to meet Paul’s friend, who owned a beautiful modern yacht called Prodigy 2. I felt a little jealous—I preferred modern designs to old-fashioned ones. But I reminded myself: I had a trustworthy and patient captain. That was what truly mattered.

We had a wonderful dinner aboard Prodigy 2.

The next following days, Prodigy 2 departed first, and we followed later.
Sailing through the Kiel Canal was so much fun. The calm waters let me practice—helm control, AIS, autopilot, maps, depths. It was a perfect learning day… until we exited into the open North Sea.

That night, during my watch, Paul suddenly rushed up and shouted,
“Prodigy 2 disappeared from AIS… it’s sunk!”

“What?! Are you kidding me?”

“It’s real!”

I was shocked. My first sailing trip—and a boat we had just dined on was gone.
I texted my boyfriend about it, but instead of comforting me, he told me to quit and come home at the next port. I agreed that I’d disembark at IJmuiden.

Still slowly marching I was having best night watch.
Six hours alone. I monitored the instruments, radar, and AIS, stepping out with binoculars to check lights in the darkness. Exhaustion hit, and I fell asleep—for five minutes.
When I woke up, I saw two 200-meter cargo ships on AIS, just 0.3 NM away!
I jumped outside and started the engine. The sight was breathtaking—two gigantic ships, lit up like Christmas trees, gliding past our tiny sailboat like peaceful titans. I had to illustrate that later (I did that, but lost that illustration).

When my watch ended, I handed over to Paul and finally fell asleep. Then I slept too.
I woke up to violent motion and loud banging—a storm.
It was wild, mesmerizing, and terrifying. It lasted three days, pushing us backward. We crawled at 0.3 knots even with full engine and reefed sails.
Using the bathroom felt like a military mission. Cooking—impossible. It was like living in a tilting spaceship.

“Paul, you have 40 years of sailing experience—do something! Magic!” - I yelled.

“There’s nothing to do. We just have to endure and wait,” he said.

I realized then—there’s no magic in sailing, only patience and respect for nature. Lesson learned.

After three days of relentless sea, we reached Zeebrugge to rest. I jumped off the boat, fed up. I called my boyfriend and said I’d take a train home.
He was angry—it had already been 20 days.

Paul invited me to visit a friend’s boat nearby. The captain, an old sailor, gave me invaluable advice:

“I know you’re eager to return to your boyfriend, but listen. He can wait. Leaving Paul alone would put him in trouble. A sailor’s honor is to stay with the boat until the end. Never abandon it.”

I took a deep breath and decided to continue the journey to Cowes.
Never abandon those who truly need you.

The sail to Cowes was peaceful. I studied the busy Solent, learned right-of-way rules, and practiced reading tides.
After 1,100 miles through mostly stormy weather, we finally arrived. I was proud, eager to return home and tell my (former) boyfriend everything.

But…

When I came home, the apartment was empty.
He had taken all our things, closed our company, and left a note saying it was over with us.

My life collapsed.
And hello to depression.

-AFTERMATCH-

The whole experience my first sailing ever was throwing myself in a deep water, which I very quickly grasped advanced level of sailing. Paul recognised my “price for sailing and finishing mission”, invited me to be fully part of Malaika team. In the end it was my best decision in my life. I lived in this boat for… four years. I immediately took best RYA courses and formed… Malaika Expeditions Company.

Those were best years of my life.