And then we decided to go to Greenland
We had promised ourselves an easy sailing year after our trip to Svalbard.
But we couldn’t resist.
Our initial plan was to sail around the UK before heading back to La Rochelle to spend Christmas with our families. We could picture ourselves chilling on deck while sipping an Islay whisky, or enjoying the luxury of spending several nights in a row in an Irish fishing village, just because we'd found it charming.
But, from the safety of a marina in Edinburgh, as soon as we felt more rested, we started to look north again. Why not extend our loop to the Faroe Islands and Iceland? This sounded like a no-brainer. A bit more effort for tremendous rewards.
It did not take more than a day for Stefano to reopen the map, look further west, and wonder: “As we will already be in Iceland, why not go to Greenland?”
Greenland? Really? I could feel a chill going up my spine. Of excitement, certainly, but also of fear and anticipated worries. I could still hear the ice closing around Capsula in Svalbard, feel the exhaustion of sleepless nights, and the tension of Arctic navigation.
And once there, how do we come back? It would already be late in the season, and coming back to Europe before the Autumn storms would be a serious endeavour. The only “reasonable” option would be to cross to Canada and over-winter there.
Our relaxed loop around the UK had quietly turned into a North Atlantic crossing. Two, in fact, if we want to come back to Europe. The adventure Pandora’s box: you open it, and it never stops unfolding.
While preparing Capsula under the cold Scottish rain, I can’t help but wonder: do we really need to do this?
We’ve left our jobs to escape the stress and the pressure to perform. But, as soon as we have the opportunity, we head straight into a challenge. Are we just falling into another “look what I can achieve” trap?
A year ago, I would have questioned this.
But something has shifted in me during our trip to Svalbard. I still struggle to describe it. It was intense. It was beautiful. I was touching something essential.
I remember vividly sitting in Capsula's cockpit, with a coffee in my hands, at the foot of Lilliehöökbreen glacier. We had put on classical music. For the first time in my life, I forgot everything but for the music flowing, the glacier towering over me, and the birds flying around.
These were fleeting moments but so powerful that I promised myself I would find my way back to that connection.
Anne - Feb 25th, 2026