Image: Eugénie Nottebohm at the helm
“I think the wild calms me: the sea is like being at home, it’s my element, where I feel at peace.”
The various natural harbors along the Argentine Patagonian coast, when named, sound with a slight French accent: Camarones, Puerto Deseado, Ushuaia, or Puerto San Julián. Eugénie Nottebohm was born in Switzerland, but at the age of fifty, due to the fate of an illness that compelled her to no longer postpone her dreams—finally—she took to the sea. Since then, she has been traveling the world aboard her sailboat, a Contessa 32, named Giulia. In January of last year (2024), she even crossed the dreaded Cape Horn with a crew of three women.
But the journey didn’t just reach the coast of Argentina: she also embarked on writing a book that portrayed her experiences of recent years in sailing and in life. It also has an eloquent title: My Transformation… Which Could Be Yours. “I never thought I could get sick; until that moment, I had a very healthy life,” she says. In these pages, she recounts how she overcame her health problems—without a doubt, sailing was a turning point in that—from her beginnings in the North Sea in Holland, Belgium, and England to her first solo crossing to the Azores.
This adventurer, who was born the same year as the French May and the Prague Spring, to a Panamanian mother and Belgian father, graduated in Biology and earned a doctorate in Neurobiology from the University of Brussels. She also has another passion: painting. Her works can be seen on the deck of her sailboat, and she has even received an award for her work as an artist. She is now planning her next voyages, which include the entire coast of Chile, an excursion (if possible) to Easter Island, and even a crossing to the Marquesas in early 2026 when summer dawns in the south: new adventures that will be recounted, perhaps, in her next book. Because if there’s one thing she’s conscious of, it’s leaving her mark.
Image: Eugénie Nottebohm in Salvador
How did you get started in sailing?
I started sailing in Belgium, alongside partners I’d had at different times. I liked it so much (I didn’t want to be the woman who accompanies her man) that I went to train at a French school in Brittany. I took various courses, and it was very good because that region is known for its very complex waters—there are different types of tides, different currents, and a rocky coast—so I learned a lot of things that were quite difficult to navigate.
Later, I sailed a lot in the North Sea in Belgium and in Holland, too, with the coastline of dikes and branches of the sea: that’s a wonderful learning experience. You can do it in different stages until you hit the open sea.
Drawing by Eugénie Nottebohm: Giulia in Spanish port
To what extent is your profession as a biologist compatible with your passion for sailing?
Sailing fits in with my biology studies because it’s a natural environment like water. Everything related to observation is closely related to that: observing the tides, looking at the clouds, observing what happens with climate change—these are all part of my training.
Image: Sailboat Giulia
How did your health problems affect your decision to go sailing solo?
In 2015, I got sick. At the time, I had a partner, and our dream was to sail around the world on his boat. But we broke up, and I went to recover at a friend’s house—who’s also a sailor—in the Azores. While I was at Camille’s house, I met three very young, adventurous guys who weren’t lifelong sailors, but who were traveling on their boat. When they left the islands, I started crying with sadness: “They took my dream,” I said to myself.
Then I thought I could do it too. My friend encouraged me to buy a boat and take up sailing. “Why don’t you buy a boat yourself?” Camille insisted. She had never considered it.
Image: Eugénie Nottebohm in Guadiana river
What were your first voyages? What precautions did you take for those initial voyages?
At the time, I told my ex-partner about the project. We had become friends, and he offered to sell me his own boat. It was nice because it was a sailboat I knew very well; I had sailed it, and we had made many modifications together. So it was like a gift for me to have a boat where I didn’t have to start from scratch; it had already been a part of my life. I think it also gave him peace of mind that I was sailing on this boat and not another one whose condition we didn’t know would be there. He was certain that I would take good care of it and prepare it well for a voyage around the world.
Image: Eugénie Nottebohm, first navegation
What happened next?
I did it all very slowly: first I started sailing with one sail, then with two, later with all the sails fully deployed, but always little by little. At first I did it in protected waters, then in locks, later in a more open area or in an arm of the sea but without seeing the coast. All the longer trips were made in a flotilla (several boats crossing together) and always with the peace of mind that if anything happened to me there would be a boat alongside or nearby to rescue me.
After chemotherapy, when I felt better and stronger, I decided to go it alone: it was three full weeks in Holland. The hardest part (I always say this) was casting off.
Image: Eugénie Nottebohm, alone with Giulia
But once you cast off, you never stopped.
(Laughs) When I decided to cast off, the longest I’d sailed was 30 miles, and I’d never sailed at night. So I opened up: first I sailed 50 miles, then 120 miles, then I went from one place to another without seeing the coast, but when I really took the plunge was to visit my friend (the one who had cared for me during my illness) in the Azores. I left England, traveled the entire coast, on an 800-mile journey.
Then the pandemic hit, and my boat was anchored in the Guadiana River. I had health checks on my way to and from the Azores and Portugal.. When I recovered, I resumed sailing from Portugal after two years (when the ports opened) and continued to Cape Verde, crossed the Atlantic, and reached Salvador de Bahia. From there, I went down through Victoria, Búzios, Para Ti, Floriánopolis, Rio Grande do Sul, and Punta del Este to come to Argentina. I had an aunt here I wanted to visit and a family, very good friends of my parents, who were sailors and were also waiting for me.
Image: On board Giulia
What were the greatest dangers on those journeys?
People think the sea is dangerous, but you reduce sails, heave-to, check the forecast, take an alternate route if the wind is from behind, and look for another course or a more comfortable wind until the bad weather passes. I make plans A, B, C, and D: if I don’t feel comfortable, I figure out how to resolve it. The truth is, the biggest danger is other boats, crossing shipping lanes, and being close to the coast. On the open sea, under normal conditions, you have many options.
I really like being alone on the high seas; it doesn’t drive me crazy; I really love it: I’m very observant, very contemplative, and I’m a painter. When I was little, there were some conflicts at home, and I would go off into the forest alone. I think that’s why the wilderness calms me: the sea is like being at home; it’s my element, where I feel at peace.
Drawings by Eugénie Nottebohm:: Biscaye
How did the idea of writing a book about your illness and then the adventure of setting out to sea come about?
When I bought this boat and left the shipyard in England, they told me: ‘There’s an Englishman, John Kretschmer, who wrote a book you’ll love.’ They insisted that I read it because he had made a trip from New York to Cape Horn on a Contessa 32, the same as my sailboat, called Gigi. But the book was out of print, and I couldn’t find it. A while later, when I arrived in Patagonia, very excited about the voyage, I anchored my boat in front of Estancia Harberton (in Ushuaia, Tierra del Fuego) and greeted the crew of a very large sailboat that was anchored next to it.
The next day, I saw them coming ashore on a rubber boat and asked if they could take me with them: it turned out to be him. He looked at me and was excited: he had recognized my boat. He gave me his book, and we became friends. When I finished reading it, I told him: ‘It’s a good thing you read it afterward because I would have been very scared to sail if I had read it.’ I’ve never known before!” But we also talked a lot about that: how books leave their mark, tell a story, and help us learn about other things from the same perspective.
This book describes how the illness changed my life and also how sailing helped me get back on track. I was very open about what I felt, not to make people feel sorry for me, but to make it clear that when you go through such difficult situations, there’s also an aftermath: you can find the energy to change.
Image: Cape Horn
What difficulties do women encounter when they want to get started in ocean sailing?
In Argentina or Chile, for example, there are many activities for women now. But when a woman, a captain, arrives alone somewhere, it’s a problem: I’ve heard sexist comments. In Brazil, although they told me to be careful, that never happened to me: in ports, they’re very respectful of women, they admire us, and they help us when we disembark. I was very surprised that such unpleasant things do happen here. However, luckily, that’s changing around the world.
Image: Cape Verde
Doesn’t that happen in Europe?
No, not at all. In fact, it was two male friends who encouraged me to sail solo. When I bought the boat, all my friends came over to hang out, and when the novelty wore off, they always saw me at the mooring looking for crew for my boat, until one day they told me: ‘But if you already know how to sail, you have to dare to go out alone.’ They gave me many tools to do so, and one day I launched into short solo voyages. That region, in particular, is very protected, and you can take it step by step, not all at once—that’s also the good thing.
Drawing by Eugénie Nottebohm: Entering Deseado Port, at night
How do you prepare the sailboat for these ocean voyages? How do you forecast the weather or what instruments do you carry on these voyages?
The best secret I was taught is to fully prepare the sailboat before any voyage. For example, on my voyages, I write down everything I’m going to encounter on that trip: the buoys, the lighthouses, their height, the colors of their lights, how I can distinguish them if it’s nighttime, and any course changes. I record it in a notebook, like a logbook, where I write down, from the start, what I’m going to encounter, what I’ll encounter later, what will happen if I turn that way, in a bay if I’ll see this or that thing. I record all of this alongside the nautical chart.
But the advantage of making these notes beforehand is that you’re more aware of what you’re looking for or what you need to focus on. It also means I don’t have to go into the cockpit to check the nautical chart: an instructor told me that a good navigator prepares everything, so you know everything that’s going to happen, and with that notebook in your pocket, you can check it out. This way, you spend 95 percent of your time off the boat and the other 5 percent in the cabin. I also realized that by writing everything down, I can create a kind of movie of what you’re going to see, and that helps a lot with memorizing it.
Image: Beagle channel
And what about technology?
For coastal navigation, I carry a Navtex, and for ocean navigation, I also carry a satellite phone. I check the weather forecast twice a day: once in the morning and once at night. With that data, I predict my course. Observation also helps me a lot because, as they always say, a forecast is a prognosis; it doesn’t mean it will actually happen, so I pay close attention to what I see. Because many times it doesn’t happen the way they say it will. Just in case, I also have a couple of contacts of sailing friends on land, in case I have questions, so they can do a more detailed analysis. It’s very helpful, when I’m in a place, to see how the forecast matches reality. Experience and observation are fundamental in this regard.
Image: Anchoring in Habberton
What are your next plans?
My plan is to continue the journey to Polynesia. I realized I love sharing, but I also like being alone. In Puerto Deseado, I met a partner and new friends. He encourages me to do it: maybe later I can travel by plane and we can meet up there to share those landscapes and places because it’s much nicer to do it as a couple. But in the middle of the ocean, I also prefer to be alone. Right now, the boat is in Puerto Montt. The idea is to sail around Chile to leave the boat near where I’m departing. In early 2026, the idea is to continue along the entire coast, and I’d like to stop at Easter Island. I’ll see about it later, if possible, and then cross the Pacific.
Image: Buenos Aires
And what did your friend Camille say when you arrived at the Azores Islands on your own boat, after having encouraged you to do so?
It was an incredible moment: his entire family was on the dock, waiting for me to disembark. I was happy.
Drawing by Eugénie Nottebohm: Solent
From “Bluewater Sailors (Navegantes Oceánicos)” we thank Eugénie Nottebohm for her collaboration with this fascinating interview.
Eugénie is an example of personal achievement, for whom the sea and sailing have been one of her greatest motivations.
Congratulations, Eugénie, and we wish you good luck and “fair winds and following seas” in your next adventures.
You can get more information in the following links:
L’ Art itinérant d’Eugénie: https://www.instagram.com/eunogal/
Eugénie Nottebohm auteur: https://www.instagram.com/eugenie_nottebohm_auteur/
Mi transformación: https://www.amazon.com/-/es/Eugenie-Nottebohm-ebook/dp/B0DTFL1PT9
