We can say the idea of Atlantic was born in La Rochelle on an afternoon in August 2023. But we can also say it was born 30 years earlier, on a beach in Murter, Croatia. I was 16, on a summer holiday, taking my first sailing course—my first encounter with the sea. High school was behind me, and ahead was a time of high hopes, America’s Cup races, and movies like Wind and White Squall. No internet, just imagination, an old world atlas, and an idea—of Atlantic—to guide me down the path to dreaming.
Many years have passed since then, but that year, 2023, I was working as a captain, transferring new yachts from shipyard in France to Croatia. It was a week of storms over Biscay Bay, the port locked down, and we were bound to wait for the sea to calm. That’s when I met Sebastien—a Canadian, his catamaran moored beside ours. Over dinner, he offered me a job: to transfer his boat to Martinique.
The offer rekindled the old dream, and by November, I would set sail over “the pond.” But in truth, to understand the story of Atlantic, we have to go back three months. To the day my wife left me.
Tales of the Atlantic
1 | A Dream of the Atlantic
We can say the idea of Atlantic was born in La Rochelle on an afternoon in August 2023. But we can also say it was born 30 years earlier, on a beach in Murter, Croatia. I was 16, on a summer holiday, taking my first sailing course—my first encounter with the sea. High school was behind me, and ahead was a time of high hopes, America’s Cup races, and movies like Wind and White Squall. No internet, just imagination, an old world atlas, and an idea—of Atlantic—to guide me down the path to dreaming.
Many years have passed since then, but that year, 2023, I was working as a captain, transferring new yachts from shipyard in France to Croatia. It was a week of storms over Biscay Bay, the port locked down, and we were bound to wait for the sea to calm. That’s when I met Sebastien—a Canadian, his catamaran moored beside ours. Over dinner, he offered me a job: to transfer his boat to Martinique.
The offer rekindled the old dream, and by November, I would set sail over “the pond.” But in truth, to understand the story of Atlantic, we have to go back three months. To the day my wife left me.