Nostos

Billy Pilgrim is our home as well as our vehicle.  We have land homes also, so we got Billy as far as Vero Beach, Florida, tied up at Tim’s generous sister’s comfortable dock, and took a little trip to see our people in this complicated holiday time, and to take care of some land-based business. 

When we were contemplating names for our boat, one name we seriously considered was Nostos.  It means homecoming, and in the Odyssey, is the section of that epic poem featuring the hero returning home from the sea.  Although in the end we chose Billy Pilgrim for the boat name, we still refer to Nostos when talking about the cozy sweetness of our floating home.  Let’s take you on a virtual tour, while I’m still in Massachusetts, with frozen ground under my feet. 

When Billy is a vehicle, we sail from the cockpit, steer the boat, navigate, control the sails.  When Billy is a home, the cockpit is many things: in the off-hours it can serve as a patio or deck might in a summer house.  It’s where you emerge in the morning with your cup of coffee to assess the day.  It can be a ventilated workspace.  It’s a landing space where you sort your groceries after unloading the dinghy.  It can be decorated with colorful lights and be the site of cocktails and snacks after a day of sailing. 

Descending into the boat down the ladder-like stairs, you might first notice the gentle curve of the ceiling of the boat, and the abundance of teak in the cabin’s interior.  Boats, or the people that frequent them, have an extensive set of vocabulary to describe boat things.  Some of that vocabulary is very useful in a space that moves in space, particularly vocabulary talking about locations. Port and starboard, fore and aft, as is generally known, describe the left, right, front and back sides of the boat based on the direction in which it’s headed. So if someone says, “There’s a pirate boarding us on the port side of the boat, aft!”, you know where to look, and the words are very helpful.  Other boating vocabulary maybe doesn’t need to be different than land vocabulary, but I will use it and include a translation where it’s helpful.  So, the boat’s ladder-like stairs are called the companionway.  What I would call walls are bulkheads.  The floor is the sole.  The kitchen, the galley, and so on.  (There are plenty of other nautical words like hockle and baggywrinkle that describe very specific things, but I don’t want to get too bogged down).  So, descending the companionway, you find yourself in our galley. 

The galley has everything we need. Our refrigerator is accessible from the top (foods) and from the side (drinks). We have a beautiful new propane stove, which is gimbaled, meaning that if you’re cooking underway, the stove will tip up and down based on the angle of the boat, and your spaghetti sauce won’t spill. We need to respect the laws of gravity. Anyone who has ever been inside a house I’ve lived in knows that I am not naturally a “place for everything, everything in its place” kind of girl. I am easily distracted by a smooth pebble or an attractive toy sheep, or pretty much anything that catches my eye for its form or its potential function. But a boat is a vehicle, and everything really does need to be able to tuck out of sight; otherwise, it might get launched when we’re moving. Items need to get stashed so they don’t go flying across the room, and each needs to have a place so it can later be found when needed.

Looking toward the front of the boat

Everything on the boat serves multiple purposes. Our saloon (pronounced salon) is living room/dining room/game room/nap room. The green settee (couch) can become a single bed.

Underneath and behind its cushions are places to store all kinds of things: tools, spares, packaged food, supplies, towels, sheets. The engine is under the grey settee, and so is more storage, the hot water heater, water tanks, electrical tools, spare duffel bags, and art supplies.

Our beautiful patterned pillows were designed by my late friend, the sweet and talented Marsha Cristo. My daughter Emma designed the fabric for the curtains. Because of our limited space, we wanted to carry friends and family along with us, so we asked a variety of artistic friends and family if they would draw something for us, and we turned those drawings into plates, so we get a little visit with different people each time we eat a panini (a Billy Pilgrim staple meal).

In the forepeak, or the very front of the boat is the V-berth, which is our bedroom. The Passport 40 came in two designs, one with the head (the bathroom) in the forepeak (where the term head originates). We looked at both variations of Passport, but preferred the shower in Billy’s version. Last year we had new mattresses made—each is its own very complex shape—and it’s super comfortable in there, even if getting in and out can be a little bit of a gymnastic challenge (never mind making the bed!!). We have an aft cabin as well, which can fit two very intimate friends. Back in the salon, our table can lower down and we can make one big bed out of the salon that is less private, but also less claustrophobic than the aft cabin.

At the head of the bed the mattress is king-sized. At our feet it’s not quite 2 feet wide.

When we were docked in Norfolk, Virginia, I found a funny piece of driftwood floating up to the side of the boat. It wasn’t a shiny object exactly, but it caught my attention, so I brought it aboard. After living with it a little while I decided I wanted to paint something on it. We thought I could paint the word Nostos, but then we thought maybe we could find someone who might know how to write in Greek letters.

The next day I was reading my book (Cloud Cuckoo Land), and I came across this passage:

We had asked a question. The universe answered. We had our painting.

—Lesley