Kijana (3 page)

A YEAR AFTER I RETURNED FROM MY SOLO
trip, my book,
Lionheart: A Journey of the Human Spirit
, hit the shelves. The initial prediction by the publisher was for sales of about 20,000 copies, a bestseller by any standards in Australia. By the time it came to publishing, they'd tapped a rich vein of publicity, so the print run was boosted to 50,000. Within 12 months,
Lionheart
had sold more than 100,000 copies, with editions in the United Kingdom, Germany, South Korea and Denmark.

Around the same time, my documentary of the same name was released. Paul had done a fantastic job and it was sold to an international distributor at a very good price. With money from the book and the documentaries, as well as my corporate talks, my appearance in an advertising campaign for a major telecommunications company and appearances at events for organisations, I was able to pay off my debt to Mum. Clearing that allowed me to turn my attention to my next trip.

I already knew the route I would take. I planned to leave Melbourne and sail up the east coast of Australia, heading straight for Papua New Guinea; then on to Indonesia, India and Africa, where the crew would leave the boat on the coast of Tanzania and cross the continent by land while another crew would sail our boat around to meet us on the other side. I wanted to ride camels across the Serengeti Plain, then raft down the Congo River to meet the boat on the Atlantic coast.

Whether all of this was possible, I wasn't sure. But there was no harm in aiming high. From Africa we would head to South America and venture up the Amazon River as far as possible, then through the Caribbean Ocean and Panama Canal to the Galapagos Islands. From there we would stop at Easter Island, then make our way though the Pacific back to Australia. It was the ultimate adventure, and would take up to three years to complete.

When asked by teachers to ‘inspire' their students, I always found it difficult. I was inspired by adventure, but I found it hard to express in words what exactly it was about adventure that captured me. So I intended my next trip, in a way, to do the talking for me. I planned to do this through weekly email updates and documentaries that could be viewed around the world. I figured these would be more effective than me standing in front of a classroom umming and ahhing.

My choice of crew would be vital in inspiring young people. I didn't want to take a crew who already had fixed ideas on what to expect, and the last thing I wanted was to have a hardened sailor on my back. I wanted a crew of novices; people who could show others that such a trip was achievable for anyone. Therefore, highly trained sailors and adventurers were out of the question. The crew would have to be pretty raw, with the trip revealing the emotional ups and downs and the physical difficulties of sailing around the world. I certainly didn't want people to think that it was drinks at five every night after we had spent the day sunbaking on beautiful calm seas. Making your dreams come true would mean enduring some hardship.

But before I could select a crew I needed to turn my attention to other matters – such as a name for my adventure. I searched the web for a suitable moniker to reflect the intentions of the journey. I was drawn to the sounds of Swahili words. I came across several, including hashiki, meaning passion. I liked it, but decided ‘passion' was a bit cheesy and it sounded too much like Contiki, those organised holidays for under 35s. The ‘hash' bit was also a bit of a worry, for obvious reasons.

The only other word that really appealed to me was kijana. It means ‘young people', which pretty much described my idea of the trip. I liked the sound of it, and so did everyone else, so Kijana it was.

I could almost buy the sort of boat I needed with my royalties from the book and documentary, but I still had to find money for food, computers for the office and boat, video cameras, a satellite phone to stream our updates to the website (which needed to be developed), insurance, outboard motors, tents, surfboards, snowboards, dive gear, medical equipment and training.

Some rough income projections showed that if we produced a 13-part television series of Kijana, the income would more than cover everything. But that was down the track. We needed cash now if anything was going to happen.

Our only practical option was to obtain the equipment and financial help through sponsorship. I didn't really want sponsorship and I was especially against having the boat plastered with logos. I wanted this to be an adventure, not an ad venture!

It wasn't that I was opposed to sponsorship, it was just that a group of friends would not normally head off on a journey with such heavy corporate backing. There had to be a balance between ideals and the reality of setting a boat up to be the ultimate adventure platform.

Over the next six months we raised nearly all of what we needed. One of our biggest contributions came from telecommunications giant Telstra, who gave us satellite equipment and agreed to pay our communication costs. In return, we would send Telstra a short, edited video update every week for their website.

Apple computers gave us some of their latest computers so we could start editing a promo tape to help us raise more funds, and insurance company NRMA agreed to cover all our insurance.

In return for the help of these companies, we agreed to display company logos on our website and in our documentaries. We worked overtime to ensure that the boat's hull remained clear of logos.

The schools program, which the
Herald Sun
had run for

Lionheart
, was something we aimed to replicate. The newspaper had produced a map of the
Lionheart
route and an activity kit, which was sent to every primary school in Victoria. For Kijana we expanded this to include newspapers across Australia, with a weekly diary and activity kit that teachers could use in the classroom.

Reach let us use part of their warehouse in Collingwood as our headquarters. In our small corner we proudly stuck an A4 piece of paper on the front door bearing the name of the company that had been formed to run the trip – The Kijana Partnership Pty Ltd.

I was still living at home with Mum and Beau, an hour's drive from the office, where I was spending most of my time. I wanted – and needed – somewhere I could call my own that was closer to the Kijana office. I had some cash, which, combined with a bank loan, could get me a flat and some furniture.

I eventually found a one-bedroom apartment in St Kilda, an inner-city beachside suburb which has always had a fairly seedy reputation, particularly for drugs and prostitution. I was well aware of that, but I didn't realise it would actually take place in the stairwell leading to my flat. I started to recognise the prostitutes who stood by my driveway and, despite being pretty uncomfortable at first, I was soon saying g'day to the transvestites in flat three.

I was finally on my own, and loving it. I could have people over any night of the week without worrying about cramping Mum's style and St Kilda was a great launching pad from which to hit the pubs and clubs. If Beau and his friends didn't meet at my place on the weekends, we usually saw them at the Irish pub on Fitzroy St. Half the time they were refused entry because they were too rowdy, but Chocko, my Sri Lankan mate, often knew the bouncers and could get them in.

One night, not long after I moved in, Chocko, Beau, his friend Harley and I gatecrashed the birthday party of a girl I didn't know. I sat quietly in the corner enjoying the free beer and hoping my cover wasn't blown, when I looked up to see a tall, elegant girl heading our way. I only had time to mumble ‘she's hot' to Chocko before she was onto us. I thought the gig was up, but it turned out Chocko knew her. Her name was Maya and she was the birthday girl.

Chocko introduced us and she thanked me for coming. I stupidly held up my glass as if I was toasting her. Here we go again, I thought. I always managed to act the goat every time I was around a pretty girl. Luckily she ignored me and kept talking to Chocko. My eyes wandered from her mouth to her shoulders and then to her eyes. She was beautiful and I felt myself starting to sway. I put my glass down and took a seat, like some pissed idiot.

More of her friends came through the door so she excused herself to go and greet them. As she turned and walked away, Chocko and I shot a glance at each other and covered our smiles by reaching for our near-empty pots of beer. The speeches began, but I was doing more staring than listening. My attention shifted only once, when Beau lost his balance and nearly landed on one of her family.

Near the end of the night Chocko suggested I ask her out to dinner or over to my place. Surely she had a boyfriend, I said. He didn't think so. Excellent!

* * *

Finding a suitable boat was proving a major challenge. My first preference was to build the Polynesian catamaran I'd dreamt of while aboard
Lionheart
. I had even commissioned some professional plans for a Tiki 46. It was, naturally, 46 feet long with two masts and gaff rigged wing sails. While most catamaran designers were building giant boats that look like a block of flats on the water and cost a bomb, the designer I'd chosen, James Wharram, was into tying the hulls and beams with rope in the traditional Polynesian way, so the vessel could flex with the ocean, rather than force its way through it. James also designed his craft so the layman could build the vessel in his backyard out of plywood, making the dream of sailing into the sunset much more attainable for the average Joe.

Alas, such a craft would take more than a year to build and I had a tentative departure date of only six months. If I were delayed I'd have to wait another nine months for the right season before I could leave. Yet, I still wanted to sail something that would reflect the timeless journey of Kijana. I had great admiration for the men and women who discovered new lands and embarked on epic adventures without modern technology – under sail on wooden boats, navigating by the stars with no electronic communication.

During a publicity tour to New Zealand for my book, I discovered a beautiful schooner at the Auckland museum. It seemed perfect, if a touch big, sporting a topsail on the forward mast which made it look like something Captain Cook would have sailed.

The curator of the museum told me it wasn't for sale and, if it were, it would be well out of my budget. It was occasionally used to take people out sailing and was a prized possession of the museum.

I must admit I was a bit ambitious hoping to buy a boat from a museum, so I turned to a more reliable source –
Trade-A-Boat
magazine.

Trade-A-Boat
was my bible. I first turned to its thousands of advertisements when the idea of sailing around the world filled my head when I was 14. It was where I found
Lionheart
and, once again, its pages revealed what I was looking for – a 54-foot timber yacht that appeared to fit the bill perfectly. She was designed by Captain Pete Culler, an American fishing boat designer of the early 1900s.

She was a cutter-rigged ketch with beechwood decks and beautiful sweeping lines leading to a proud upright bow that gave the feeling she could take on any wave that Mother Nature would throw at her. She had a rear captain's cabin, engine room, main cabin and V-berth cabin up the very front. It was perfect for a crew of five. To top it off, she was built in New Zealand, which boasts some of the world's best boatbuilders.

I flew to Queensland, where the yacht was moored at Manly Boat Harbour in Waterloo Bay. The broker picked us up from the airport and took us straight to the boat. She was absolutely beautiful. (The boat, not the broker.) Her name was
Integrity 2,
and boy did the name suit her. The owner had taken 14 years to build her, and it was obvious he had put a lot of love and time into her. The broker said she was the best boat he'd ever seen and would have bought her himself if the timing were right. For once, I believed a salesperson.

I left the harbour convinced I'd seen the boat that could take me around the world. They wanted $295,000 for her, so I headed home to Melbourne to mull over the price.

It was time to turn my attention to the crew. There were three criteria for crew selection. First, and by far the most important, was the ability to live harmoniously together for up to three years. If the crew couldn't stand each other, Kijana would go nowhere.

Secondly, anyone who came on board had to be prepared to work. They had to be able to sail the boat, maintain watch in the middle of the night, and perform under the pressure of a storm. They also had to be able to take orders.

The third criterion was the specific skills needed to make Kijana work. I needed a cameraman, writer, mechanic, cook, photographer, dive master and first aid expert. However, if I took that many people the bloody boat would sink. So there needed to be a bit of multitasking on board. (I was learning something from hanging around businesspeople.)

The first person I turned to was Mika. She was a leader at Reach and had been over at my place in St Kilda lots of times. She was quiet, but confident, and I liked her a lot. I knew she was a good leader and wasn't shy in front of a group. There was something about her hard work and quiet confidence that reminded me of myself. But perhaps, above all, I was influenced by the fact that she was a girl. I felt the journey needed an even share of guys and girls. And she could write.

I invited her to dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant in Richmond, not because her dad was Vietnamese but because I loved the restaurant. I'd been there many times with my own dad. I didn't plan on asking her to join my crew that night. I wanted to know how good she was at writing, as I knew she had written plays for Reach and I hoped she could write the web updates during the voyage. Halfway through my noodle soup, as Mika balanced a shrimp on the end of her chopstick, I decided to broach the subject of her joining Kijana. I felt pretty confident she was the right person, so it all came out. I felt my face turn red as I asked her and she blushed too but acted quite calm about it. She said she was very interested and wanted me to talk more about it. She finished her meal while I kept chatting about my adventure dream. We walked back to our cars and I said I'd be in touch. She later told me that once she was in her car she let out a scream of excitement and sang at the top of her voice all the way home.