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Après une centaine de lieues que nous avons parcouru, courant tribord amure, toutes voiles dehors, les vents sont tombés, la mer s’est calmée. La chaleur était moite, étouffante. Alors que nous étions sous voiles à très faible allure depuis deux jours, Diogo, à la longue-vue, découvrit un spectacle étonnant.
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I was only 20 years old when we left. First we docked in Faial, in the Azores, it was a warm summer evening. The next day we set sail due South-West, our hearts full of hope to find the forgotten paradise. After one hundred miles with starboard tack current, in full sail, the wind dropped and the sea became calm. The heat was moist and almost unbearable. After two painfully slow days with weak winds, Diogo spotted something with his spyglass. It wasn’t Antilla, but a thick and brown layer that seemed to cover the sea. We carefully headed towards the strange mass. Slowly, we found out it was floating seaweed, everywhere, as far as the eye could see. We started slicing through the algae, the boat gradually slowing down, until we were trapped. Here and there we could see floating pieces of tree and wood. Our caravel was becalmed, its sails brought down. The time seemed to stretch on forever. It took us several weeks to navigate through this strange carpet, looking for Antilla. Slowly, we faced the truth, and headed back North-Est to find a little wind. Slowly, the seaweed cover thinned out, leaving here and there isolated patches, and suddenly it was gone. 150 miles later, guided by sea birds, we approached two familiar islands. Corvo and Flores were welcoming us back to the Azores.
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