I met a man who sails. A sailor. I don't know why he sails. I doubt that he'd know that exactly. It's just something that he does. Alone mostly, aboard an attractive little twin masted, wooden hulled yacht, which I found lolling gracefully at anchor in rustic Zanzibar harbour. At perfect counterpoint to the sturdy dugouts and ancient dhows that ply these pristine waters.

Zanzibar , the mystical ‘spice' island. There is magic here. Veiled whisperings of past adventures seep from the very walls themselves. Many ‘would be' conquerors have left their mark upon this place. Sultans and slaves, smugglers and kings have all felt the island's rhythm. Their often majestic architectural legacy, in some part, remains. M erchants, hunters, soldiers and vagabonds of varying intent have walked these narrow streets, inhaled deeply the island's heady fragrance and like me, leant lovingly into her spicy evening breeze. The same breeze that stirs softly from the Indian Ocean , gently swinging Casey's pretty wooden home in a subtle, nautical dance, the sea bed holding firm her anchor, like lovers clasping hands in a tender courtship waltz. He built her himself. It took a full four years. Very much a labour of love, enhanced, no doubt, with romantic notions of life on the high seas.

At the time of our meeting they'd been on the water for 15 years. For the most part, alone. To me, a daunting thought. To be totally alone in the centre of the vast wilderness that is a living, breathing ocean. One feels small. Vulnerable. At the mercy of... What happens at night, for instance, when you simply must sleep? Who drives the bus? “Oh, you just put her on auto-steer and bunk down” says Casey, with the nonchalant air of one practiced in his art. Auto steer? Can it be that simple? It is for Casey. He's out there, somewhere. Beard blown back by the salty breeze. Eyes squinted toward yet another distant horizon. His weathered seaman's brow creased and lined by countless unimaginable happenings. Riding stoically the swells and troughs that life brings, whilst surviving on auto-pilot and trust. Are we not, all of us, alone on this great ocean of our lives? Free to choose which course to steer, which port, or exotic destination to make our own. All it takes is the desire for adventure and the will to pursue the dream. Courage lies in the leaving of port. Here too, lies the philosophical question, ‘Are we ever really alone?'

Perhaps a topic for another time, for I wish to farewell Casey and his lovely little companion as they ease their way through distant waters, to sights that I shall never see and sounds that I will never hear.

Be free and happy, my friend. Be the adventurer that you are, for all of us who have different oceans to traverse. May the seas be kind to you and the wind blow fair. Should you, one day, decide to dock and roam no more, may you find a suitable companion with which to share old sea stories. May they gentle and calm you when the night fires burn and the sirens call. Perhaps you will, in times of quiet contemplation, think back to our time on old Zanzibar . Two very unique ships, sailing very different oceans and sharing, for a time, safe harbour. Sailors of destiny. Pirates of time.

Go well captain. Stay free.

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