There are seas one crosses through the strength of sails, and others one navigates only through the strength of the mind. For Giancarlo Pedote, ocean sailor and symbol of Solo Sailing, every solo crossing is both: a journey through space and an inner voyage, a challenge to nature and a confrontation with oneself. The ocean becomes mirror and companion, adversary and confidant. It is never just water and wind: it is a dimension in which time crumbles and solitude forces you to look within.
Where there is no one, body and mind must find new balance. Sleep becomes a splinter, a fragment: a few minutes that become oxygen, microsleeps calibrated like a fragile sail that must not tear. Falling asleep means trusting the sea; waking up is an act of discipline. One never truly sleeps – one floats between wakefulness and dream, control and surrender.
A STRICT DISCIPLINE
To endure, Giancarlo Pedote entrusts his body to a discipline that combines yoga, meditation and awareness. The mind must remain clear, able to transform fatigue into concentration. Nutrition, too, becomes ritual: small meals designed to provide energy without weighing down, precise supplementation, measured water. Every calorie counts, every action serves to maintain clarity.
And then, silence. A silence that is never total, because the sea has its own sounds: the rustle of the wind, the lament of the shrouds, the hull vibrating against the waves. But it is a heavy silence, because within it echoes the inner voice. Pedote has learned to live with it, to turn it into a companion rather than a threat. Why sail alone? Because only in this way can one touch the essence of the voyage.
There is no distraction, no filter.
FOLLOWING AN INNER PATH
There remain the man, the boat, and the ocean – in a dialogue made of fear and wonder. The dawns that set the horizon ablaze are the greatest gift; the stormy nights, the hardest test. There are moments when solitude becomes a weight, and others when it transforms into absolute freedom.
His course is never merely geographical. It is an inner path made of wakefulness and interrupted sleep, of silence and sound, of energy that is spent and recreated. It is there, between wakefulness and dream, between the sound of the sea and the heartbeat, that Giancarlo Pedote truly measures the depth of his challenges – not against others, but against himself.
HOW TO TRANSFORM SOLITUDE INTO STRENGTH
In this conversation, Giancarlo Pedote, skipper of IMOCA 60 and competitor in the Vendee Globe, takes us into his inner sea: he tells us how one learns to live with silence, to tame fatigue through microsleeps and meditation, to nourish the body as if it were a sail to keep taut, to transform solitude into strength.
An intimate and fragile journey, where the true ocean to cross is always the one within oneself.
Why choose solitude instead of a crew?
It is not I who choose solitude: it chooses me. It is part of my nature, a condition I discovered gradually and now recognise as natural. I am comfortable in individual activities, but that doesn’t mean I avoid others. I’m a social person, but I need my own moments.
Solitude at sea is not isolation – it is introspection. It is a time that allows me to converse with myself and with life.
What is the most beautiful and the hardest part of a solo voyage in the middle of the ocean?
The hardest part is almost always linked to technical problems. I suffer from solitude only at certain moments: I think of Christmas, when my children open their presents and I wish I were with them. The beautiful moments, instead, arrive unexpectedly: a night full of stars, a dawn rising from nothing, an albatross that accompanies you for hours, dolphins that swim alongside. These are moments that solitude makes even more intense.
How does one’s perception of time change when there is no one to share it with?
Time expands. It becomes longer, slower, denser. There are no phone calls, meetings, deadlines. Everything is measured by the wind, the light, the rhythm of the sea. It is a different kind of time – more authentic.
At sea, sleep is never continuous: how do you manage microsleeps?
Sleep is personal. I follow a rhythm of six short sleeps a day, from 20 to 50 minutes each. Altogether, I reach 4–6 hours in total, in several cycles. Sometimes, however, it happens that I stay awake for 24 hours straight. It’s a return to polyphasic sleep – the kind humans were born with. One must readapt, but then it becomes natural.
Do you train on land to prepare for such an unnatural rhythm?
No, there’s no real training for it. Let’s debunk the myth of setting alarms at absurd hours to “prepare”. When you enter a race, you enter another mental state.
What is your relationship with silence when it’s just you and the sea?
Silence is never truly silence. There’s always the wind, the water, the voice of the boat as it runs. It’s a natural background, not an absence. True silence is the inner one – the absence of distractions, human noises, superfluous thoughts. It’s an essential dimension that brings you closer to yourself.
Which sound lingers most in your memory after so many days at sea?
The sound of the boat moving forward. That quick rustle of water opening and closing, continuous, hypnotic. And then, when you reach land, rediscovering the noises of the world: voices, engines, dinghies coming to meet you. After days at sea, those sounds have a different flavour.
How do you organise food on an ocean crossing?
Unlike mountaineers, we can load more food and more variety. Freeze–dried meals but also vacuum–packed dishes, cured meats, cheeses, dried fruit, energy bars. Managing provisions in a balanced way is essential: the more you can maintain habits similar to those on land, the less you feel the separation.
How important is mental preparation – through yoga and meditation – for physical and psychological endurance?
Very important. Yoga and meditation help me to stay clear-headed, to remain centred. But motivation is the key: without it, no technique is enough. You truly need to be driven by the desire to be there, to face the challenge of Ocean Racing.
Do you have any daily rituals at sea?
Small routines: a few breathing exercises, precise checks of the boat, moments of silence. They’re not superstitious gestures, but anchors of balance.
Is there a moment when solitude becomes almost unbearable? How do you overcome it?
Yes, there are such moments. But they’re part of the adventure. When you’re caught in a downpour and can’t shelter, you can only seek positivity in your mind – think of when the sun will return.
A lesson the sea has taught you that you also apply on land?
Never give up, never resign yourself. There’s always a way to move forward, always energy to reach your goals. And then, simplicity: nature teaches you how little you truly need.
What are you still seeking in the ocean today?
I no longer seek in the ocean, but within myself – there I find the answers. Challenges are never an endpoint, but a journey. The real pleasure lies in knowing there is no final destination, only a continuous going.
If you had to explain to someone who has never sailed what it really feels like to be in the middle of the sea, what words would you use?
It is the majesty of nature revealed through your own fragility. It is the encounter between strength and human vulnerability. It is a full, authentic emotion that strips you bare and makes you feel part of something immensely greater.
