By the time I awoke from my sleep shift on our second night, we had sight of the atoll where the big city of Male rests. By around 9:00 a.m., we were right at the mouth of the atoll, and the sun was just high enough to give us the kaleidoscope of deep blue, turquoise, white, and green water over various patches of depth. We were easily able to weave ourselves around shallow bommies and sand banks without concern.

Reluctantly, Andrew bends to turn the key on the motor. “I had to turn this thing on, it’s been such an awesome, quiet sail!”

“Well, don’t! we still have plenty of space to sail in the atoll.” I say, peeking over the helm and keeping my eye on shallow spots.

“No, the batteries need some charge. I’ve pushed them pretty low filling our water tanks in the clean blue water and running the autopilot and refrigerator. Kitty! BeeeeeeeeeeeP!” Recently, Andrew has taken to warning the cat before we turn on the engine by making his best impression of the starter key alarm. She looks up at him, narrows her eyes and sulks off to find her shelf in the bathroom, i.e. the quietest part of the boat. Andrew turns the key and though the beep echos his impression, the engine - for the first time in the entire length of our ownership - fails to start. Not a chug, not a cough, nothing.

“Click”

“Click” Andrew scowls and tips his head like a confused puppy.

“Click, hug hugg, huggg, vrooom!”

The engine starts, and we both breathe a sigh of relief, knowing this is only to be expected as Sonrisa has been bored and probably niggling at all sorts of hang nails with nervous anxiety there in Uligan.

"I’ll look at that when we get to anchor,” Andrew says adding it to his list of things to inspect and figure out. So far, we need a new propane solenoid and, of course, the high pressure hose for the water maker. “What the...” Andrew then suddenly realizes our batteries are not charging, either. He dives below, tearing out the stairs from the companion way and digging into the engine room to see if he can fiddle with the alternator and get it working again.

I man the helm, watching the spires of humanity, haphazard bristles of glass and concrete, rise up from sea to sky. The City of Male, known to be one of the most densely populated cities in the world, seems to wave like liquid before my eyes, buildings reflecting equatorial sun from the flat panes of their windows.

Wooden Maldivian boats motor closely by to see what we are all about, and we return their curiosity with our own - noting the unique, giant tillers lashed directly to heavy rudders. They pin the tiller between their legs to steer.

Industrial machinery is busy digging up dirt from the ocean floor to stack atop existing islands and build cosways. Knowing they have approximately zero altitude above sea level for their entire country, thye have already started building up new buildings and space in preparation for what might happen if/when sea level rise occurs.

Occaisonally, I tip my nose under the dodger to gauge Andrew’s general mood. Static electricity of puzzlement and frustration crackles from his person, so I tuck myself back into the cockpit without saying a word. The smoke and diesel fumes tickle burns my throat a little, having been in nothing but virgin sea air for the last three months.

Soon, Andrew emerges with a scowl and begins tearing apart the stern lazarette to access the Infamous Jane Honda - our gasoline generator - in hopes of topping off the batteries before our full bank of lithium batteries are ruined by running them dry. This works, and the generator tides us over until we reach the anchorage and Andrew can focus a bit more.

We sail over to Huhumale, the city/island next to Male and connected by a long and graceful swooping bridge. We hail Rameez on the VHF as our agent had instructed us to do when we arrived. Not long thereafter, Rameeze and his friend Ismile arrive along side to guide first Steel Sapphire, then Sonrisa into the anchorage. We slide along the cosway while countless dive boats, charter boats, catamarans, fishing boats, tug boats, barges, and even small speed boats are anchored, bristling with five ropes and five anchors, each. Rameeze finds us an open space, that seems quite like we are in the middle of the cosway, and we lay both the birthday anchor (Spade/Chain) along with our extra anchor (Aluminum Fortress) with rope - each set at a 60 degree angle to limit how far Sonrisa can twirl. I raise my eyebrow and consider what would happen in this anchorage if any one of these boats got loose and began dragging itself and its five anchors into, around, and over the top of the boats next door.

Chaos. It would be chaos.

As we are positioned with the wind right now, it seems Sonrisa would be the sweep up boat.

“Isn’t this a strange sight.” I comment and Rameeze confirms this anchorage is usually completely empty. All these boats are usually out working with tourists or other economies, and of course they may return to port to change customers and re-stock supplies, but for the most part they are out and about enjoying the islands. They don’t usually overlap like this. But Covid has shut down the entire industry, and all these boats with all their crew are sitting and waiting. I look around the anchorage and sure enough, each boat is fully manned.

“We are all quarantined on our boats. We haven’t been able to go onto land except by special permit, either.”

“You can’t go home with your families on land?”

We learn that if the sailors have family in Male and they wish to go home in Male, they could have gone, but anyone from any of the outer islands were isolated and had to stay on the boat to avoid taking any disease to the outer island. We learn most of the workers here are from Bangladesh, anyway, so they have no home here in the Maldives except aboard these boats. There are almost as many people from Bangladesh living in the Maldives as there are Maldivians! Over the days, we watched as they lived their lives out on the boats, in the anchorage waters, or playing cricket on the breakwater.

Indeed, one evening Andrew got chased out of Grin by one of these storms, forcing him to leave garbage bags in Grin’s hull. Everyone involved deeply regretted Grin filling with “Garbage Saltwater Tea”. Later that week, one of our fellow sailboats dragged through the anchorage, their anchor being popped up by one of the safari boat’s ropes that had grown taut in the wind. We grit our teeth as we receive text messages from the Lady of the boat “We are dragging toward the cement quay!” Luckily, Rameez saved the day going out in the waves and the lashing rain to help them tie up to a safari boat and reset their anchor.

And, it is here toward the end of the week that we learn the sobering news that the Captain of one of Sonrisa’s sister ships succumbed to Covid in South Africa, leaving behind his boat, his wife, and his second circumnavigation-in-progress. With all of the Maldives Covid cases occurring here in Male City, we all carried an uneasy feeling about when the shoe might drop for one of us.

“We need to get our work done and move on out of here,” Andrew says one night. “I feel like I’m playing Russian Roulette every time I go to shore,”

Later that night, we meet up with the crews of Erie Spirit, Fairwinds II, Island Time, and Steel Sapphire to take advantage of one of the best parts about being in Huhumale: Take out food! We all gather on the breakwater, watch the sunset, cheer on the Sri Lankan/Bangladeshi game of cricket going on, chat, and receive a delivery to the jetty of Cheeseburgers or Fried Chicken burgers with fries, and none of us have to wash the dishes! We each discuss plans, with more and more boats receiving their approval to sail into the Seychelles. We get the scoop on where to buy groceries and top up on parts.

Overall, we spent approximately ten days in Male. In the first few days, we could only access shore one person at a time, with a permit, and in the company of Rameeze. But as the week wore on, more and more of the Covid regulations were lifting in Male and indeed throughout the world. Everyone was trying to “learn to live with Covid” and restart their economies. So, eventually, we were allowed to go ashore in Huhumale from 8:00 a.m. until 6:30 p.m. at night. It is illegal to go ashore without a mask, and the purpose is only strictly for provisioning and supplies. None of the cafes were open, we could only get take out. Grocery stores allowed a certain maximum of people inside, everywhere we went we had our temperatures checked and sanitizer placed into our hands.

Having been so completely quarantined, none of us had perfected the art of applying our masks, leaving them alone, and avoiding touching our face and eyes. With sweat pouring into my eyes, the angel on one shoulder smacks my hand as I begin to raise it to wipe the sweat away. I get an internal “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Don’t touch your face!”

This, combined with the odd 45 knot squall blowing through the crowded anchorage inspired us to focus on our business as quickly as possible and get out of there.