If, by chance, you were to meet me at the Casablanca airport or on a boat sailing from Tangiers, you would think me self-confident, but I am not. Even now, at my age, I am frightened when crossing borders because I am afraid of failing to understand strangers.
As a cabin boy on a Norwegian sailing ship I earned five kronen a week in addition to my keep.
It so happened that I was on a German sailing vessel on the way to Australia when the ship was captured, and on the high seas I was made prisoner by the French.
I love sailing but hate cruise ships.
In sailing, I single-hand, and I want to do the Horn. The Horn is the maximum expression of sailing, the way the Iditarod is the maximum expression of running dogs. It's not to write about it; it's to experience the maximum thing.
Sailing a boat calls for quick action, a blending of feeling with the wind and water as well as with the very heart and soul of the boat itself. Sailing teaches alertness and courage, and gives in return a joyousness and peace that but few sports afford.
It is not the ship so much as the skillful sailing that assures the prosperous voyage.
When my brother and I were 11, our father designed a 17-foot boat for sailing around the world. He'd never ventured more than a few miles from the U.S. He'd never sailed - or designed a boat before.
I loved to do sports when I was young. We were on a family holiday and went sailing. I just loved it. And there, you can say, life began to change for me.
I deferred my third-year studies from university to go full time sailing to try and qualify for the 2012 London Olympics, which I did. I tried to go back to the university, but having won the silver medal, I just haven't been able to get back. And now I'm not sure if I ever will.
