The Art of Marital Harmony

Location: Théoule-sur-Mer

Latitude: 43° 30′ 28″ N

Longitude: 6° 56′ 27″ E

As a couples’ therapist in my former professional life, I used to think that I had a solid understanding of the formula for marital harmony. I spent years advising clients on constructive communication, collaborative problem-solving and the delicate art of conflict resolution. Yet nothing in my clinical training prepared me for the ultimate test of relationship endurance: married life onboard a boat.

Ask any veteran boater and they will tell you that boats are relationship pressure-cookers. They take your minor personality quirks, magnify them tenfold, shrink your personal space, and turn simple daily tasks into high-stakes endurance events. In fact, if you really want to test whether a marriage is built to last, forget the expensive couples’ retreat and simply ask two people to anchor a 40-foot yacht in a crosswind, while a crowd of seasoned sailors watches on from the marina bar. If you can survive reverse-parking a boat without filing for divorce by dinner, your relationship can pretty much survive anything.

When my husband and I first talked about cruising the Mediterranean, I had the full ‘brochure boating’ fantasy in mind: wafting around the deck looking effortlessly glamorous, sipping cocktails hand-in-hand, and watching the sunset over the horizon in peaceful tranquility. I couldn’t wait for us to buy the boat.

I soon discovered, however, that the daily reality is somewhat less glamorous. It mostly involves misinterpreting urgent instructions yelled across the deck, narrowly avoiding full-blown conflict over who was supposed to retrieve the swim ladder before it gets dragged along at 20 knots and my husband remaining quietly mystified that, after ten years afloat, his wife still cannot tie a fender on without us having to fish it out of the sea ten minutes later.

 

Alternative Perspectives of Life at Sea

My husband and I are very well-matched, even though we have very different personalities. He is gregarious, practical and extroverted; I am quieter, creative and far happier observing the world than taking it apart. On land, our polar-opposite personalities are a well-balanced triumph. At sea, however, our differing visions of what a boat is for often collide with comical consequence.

For my husband, our boat provides a lovely Mediterranean home-from-home, but also serves as the equivalent of a grand, floating man-shed. It is a sacred sanctuary where he can test out his latest engineering brainwaves, happily leaving components scattered across the deck in a state of open-heart surgery. To his credit, he always cleans up when the job is done - it’s the six hours during the job that require tactical navigation. My daily commute across the deck involves delicately stepping over extracted mechanical components, praying that I don't drop a paintbrush into the open engine bay and trigger a catastrophic maritime disaster.

For me, of course, this boat is my beloved art studio - a calm, inspiring space with panoramic Mediterranean views, where my creative energy can flow undisturbed.

Or so I like to think.

The Challenges of Being Wired Differently

My husband’s latest engineering brainwave is a custom boat controller that allows him to steer, reverse and manoeuvre our boat directly from his mobile phone. I am entirely on board with this concept, mostly because it relieves me of the utterly disgusting duty of handling the - aptly named - slime lines when docking. 

The latest prototype of the controller has been further improved to do very clever-sounding things, like dynamic positioning, which I cannot pretend to understand, but I am reliably informed that it holds the boat completely still in one spot, which sounds wonderfully advantageous for my painting.

However, as any engineer knows, a prototype must be rigorously tested.

Our recent trip to a wide, open anchorage near Théoule-sur-Mer on the French Riviera was intended to be a masterclass in domestic synergy. He would wire in the new controller and run his diagnostics; I would paint the dramatic cliffs and azure waters from the flybridge, with his new invention holding us securely in one place. What could possibly go wrong?

Step one of his testing regime required wiring the upper helm to the systems down below - a job that required him to be in two places at once. Wanting to be a supportive wife and crew-mate, I offered to spot the wires as they emerged through the console. I figured that I could easily paint while waiting, as the sky was turning a stunning shade of orange that I didn't want to miss.

One of the great things I love about painting is that I often find myself in a state of flow, completely absorbed in the task at hand, oblivious to everything else. However, clearly this focus is less than advantageous when the actual task at hand is engineering rather than art.

"The cable should be there by now. Can’t you see it?”, my husband called out from below, his voice carrying that crisp, urgent authority that usually implies we are taking on water, even when he’s merely checking a fuse.

"I can see a stunning apricot sky," I offered gently from my perch, brush hovering over a wash of amber and gold.

There was a brief, heavy silence from below - the classic collision of his world of voltage with my world of watercolour.

Fortunately, right at that second, the wire poked through the hatch, saving me from a lecture on electrical theory and the importance of focusing on the job.

The Importance of Agreeing Priorities

With the hardware finally wired in place, it was time for the true test: the sea trial.

I settled back into my painting, naively assuming our two worlds could now peacefully coexist. I implicitly trusted my husband’s engineering prowess, fully expecting the prototype to work flawlessly and that its magical dynamic positioning feature would guarantee a smooth, motionless painting session.

What I failed to consider - and what my husband assumed was far too self-evident to mention - was that testing a prototype controller involves thoroughly exercising all of its capabilities. Not just standing gracefully still, but also proving its ability to move the boat in every conceivable direction.

So, just as I was mid-way through applying a delicate, precise wet-on-wet wash to capture the apricot sky, a sudden automated engine thrust jerked the boat sideways, instantly transforming my classic seascape into an accidental line of abstract modern art across the flybridge cushions.

Panicking, I jammed my paintbrush into the nearest glass to clean it - only to realise a second too late that this was not my water jar, but the gin and tonic I’d been happily sipping while painting.

I paused, paintbrush still submerged, momentarily debating whether the gin would ruin the bristles, and whether I could still drink it for medicinal purposes if I simply persuaded myself it was an Aperol Spritz.

Taking an experimental gulp, I called out down the hatch as sweetly as possible. “Could you possibly let me know next time we’re going to move suddenly, darling?"

"We’re in the middle of testing a boat controller! What did you think was going to happen?!" he countered from below, completely bemused by my lack of logical reasoning or comprehension of the task at hand.

There are points in any potential conflict - as I learned from my years in clinical practice - when one must choose whether to escalate or de-escalate. There is a time for painting and a time for knowing when to put the sketchbook away for the sake of marital harmony. I recognised instantly which one this was. Just as he will happily motor us to a secluded bay purely so I can paint a sunset, I needed to accept that right then was the time for my art to firmly take a back seat.

 

Opposites Attract

By the time the sun dipped behind the mountains, the helm console was secured back in place, the diagnostic lights were a tranquil green, and my husband emerged onto the aft deck carrying two margaritas.

Out here on the water, my therapeutic background may be delightfully useless during mechanical emergencies - a man covered in grease looking for a metric spanner is rarely seeking an open-ended reflection on his feelings. But as the day winds down, the therapy skills come in handy after all.

He debriefs me on his engineering breakthroughs, while I show him how I managed to mix the exact cobalt hue of the afternoon sea. Very occasionally, our eyes glaze over as we wonder what on earth the other is talking about. But as I don’t know my flathead from my Phillips screwdriver, I can hardly complain when he fails to appreciate the subtle, life-changing difference between a dagger brush and a mop brush. So I nod sagely, reflect back what I’ve heard him say, and tell him what a clever husband I have and how much I love him.

It turns out the secret to marital harmony afloat isn't always avoiding the chaos - it's learning to laugh through the lurches, accommodating each other's passions and knowing exactly when to hand over the margaritas.