We finally made it to Brockville.
Since 2021, the idea had been floating in the air like a sail in the wind. We dreamed of Kingston, it’s true — ambitious, without realizing that our sailboat, Ceilidh (yes, in Gaelic it means something like a gathering of friends with music), has many qualities, but speed is certainly not one of them. Once we accepted that, Kingston was off the map, and a more realistic plan took its place, though still without a clear destination. We named that first journey Trip to Nowhere21. And what a wonderful "nowhere" it turned out to be.
Everything was new. First time going through the locks, first nights aboard, first poor decisions with a taste of learning. We were literally first-time sailors. Shelley and Collard were with us — Collard was in his own boat, Jablier. We discovered a bay right after the locks, and since then, that’s where we usually spend our first night up river: Porto Seguro.
On that trip, we spent a night there, then made our way to Prescott, where we anchored just to grab a beer at an Irish pub (of course). We slept near a beach and ended the journey back in our beloved bay. Simple as that. And unforgettable.
There was a small moment of chaos — of course there was. We were approaching the bridge that, to Brazilian eyes, looks a lot like the Hercílio Luz. Rory was with Collard on his boat and called me, asking me to film us sailing under the bridge with the GoPro. I handed the tiller to Shelley, assuming she knew how to steer the boat… and well, she didn’t. The result: we bumped into Collard’s boat and ended up stuck together, spinning in the middle of the St. Lawrence River. It was scary for a few minutes — or seconds, I can’t really say. But it became a great story to tell. No one was hurt.
I remember people climbing aboard Collard’s boat with muddy boots, our attempt to explore the bay’s cliffs (spoiler: just weeds), and the meals Rory and Shelley prepared — especially the jambalaya, which was a bit too salty and spicy, but forever engraved in my and Collard’s memory.
Later that same year, in 2021, we went back to the river. Without Collard this time, but with Kayla on board. Kayla, like Rory, learned to sail when she was a kid and has that deep connection with the water — something you don’t really learn, you just feel.
This time, the adventure started early: less than 5 km from the yacht club, I hit the bottom of the river with the hull. Another scare — and another story for the collection. But the highlight was a sunset photo session. We were anchored in the bay and decided it would be beautiful to take pictures of the boat on the water at dusk, using Kayla’s amazing camera. So Rory, Kayla and I rowed to a tiny island that separates the bay from the channel where boats pass. We took the photos, but the current was strong and nearly kept us from returning to the boat. I was sitting on a buoy, holding the camera like a trophy, doing my best not to let it get wet. We learned a lot that day.
After that, three years passed without big sailing trips. Weddings, travel, busy summers. But 2025 arrived. And with it, the opportunity to finally reach Brockville for Canada Day — a tradition of ours: spending the holiday with friends on our boat, watching the fireworks reflect on the water.
And this time, no bridges, no collisions, no sneaky currents. Just us, the river, and that good feeling of being exactly where we’re meant to be.
We decided to sail to Brockville and stay at the Tall Ships Hotel with our friends. On June 29th, the weekend my vacation started, we set off on our adventure. Early in the morning, we left the yacht club. The day wasn’t warm, but with a pillow and a blanket, I spent most of the trip sleeping, while my red-bearded captain sailed us calmly to the locks. It was exactly what I needed. The passage through the locks was smooth, and afterward, we decided to head to a partner yacht club where we could spend the night. The next day, our friends Chris, Joe, Roohi, and Maya would join us onboard.
I must admit, I got a bit nervous. You know those adventure movies where the explorers are in a narrow river surrounded by vegetation, and suddenly arrows start flying? Only the arrows were missing. The river was shallow and narrow, with trees submerged below, and I was at the bow trying to guide Rory. We arrived at 4:04 p.m., but the place had closed at 4:00. We could still dock for the night, but we chose to return to our Porto Seguro. That place was just too weird, and we didn’t want to have to go back there the next morning.
We anchored, ate a delicious burrito that Rory had made, and watched a beautiful sunset while listening to A Luz de Tieta, sipping Coronas and playing dominoes. A peaceful night followed, watching Castle on the boat before bed.
The next morning, with the sun already strong early on, we had our traditional boat breakfast: salmon with cream cheese and crackers (since I don’t like bagels). We sailed to Prescott to pick up our friends. And it was only when we were already in the middle of the river that we realized how much we’d missed these trips.
We refueled the boat, and soon the whole group was together. Great conversation, card games, and lots of laughter. A few hours later, we could see our hotel, the Tall Ships. I have to say: arriving at the hotel by boat and docking at the marina was surreal. I felt rich and sophisticated (okay, we won’t mention that there were million-dollar yachts there… and none of them were ours, haha). I almost felt like Meryl Streep in the “Money, Money, Money” clip from Mamma Mia. Yes, baby!
The hotel was wonderful. We met up with the rest of the group: AJ, Megan, Campbell, Andrea, Brooks, and Sully. The view from our apartment-style room was perfect. We had dinner by the river, snapped a few elevator selfies, and then went up to the rooftop pool, where we spent a few relaxing hours before ending the night with board games and laughter.
The next morning, breakfast was courtesy of the Carriers: McDonald’s delivered straight to our room. After breakfast, we took a walk around the hotel area and visited Brockville’s historic railway tunnel.
Built in 1860, it’s the oldest railway tunnel in Canada. For years it remained forgotten, a secret beneath the city’s feet. But today, restored and lit up with colorful lights and ambient music, it’s become a must-see attraction — especially since it was just steps from our hotel. Walking through that tunnel felt like moving through a corridor of time — and it was impossible not to think of how many journeys, like ours, might have started or ended nearby, on the banks of the St. Lawrence.
After the tunnel, Megan and I went for another short walk and soon rejoined the group for another Brockville classic: Don’s Fish and Chips. Everyone who heard we were going to Brockville insisted we had to try it. It’s a humble trailer, but according to the locals, it serves the best fish and chips in the region. And they were right — totally worth it. Approved by me and Rory, who lived in Ireland — the mecca of fish and chips. We ate while the kids played in the park, flew kites, and had a blast.
Back at the hotel, it was time to visit the Aquatarium — an interactive center that celebrates the St. Lawrence River ecosystem and the 1000 Islands region. We thought it would be just another aquarium, but we ended up spending hours exploring the tanks, otters, beavers, and simulators. I actually had to pull Rory away from one of the games that simulates a hydroelectric plant — he wanted to come back the next day to finally “beat the game.” The Aquatarium may be designed for kids, but adults have just as much fun. We left with a clear feeling: Brockville wasn’t just a stop — it was a full destination.
We spent a few more hours at the hotel pool. Later, Rory cooked dinner for everyone — a delicious pasta. Then we all got ready for the fireworks show. The guys picked the marina as the perfect viewing spot. They promised 15 minutes of fireworks, and it delivered. It wasn’t like New Year’s Eve in Copacabana or even Floripa, but it was charming. And Rory and I love watching those little moments together. Our Canada Day felt complete.
The next morning, we almost had a disagreement. I wanted to finally go see the 1000 Islands — our dream since 2021. Rory wanted to take the kids to see the beavers again. In the end, he agreed. And later, he thanked me. It was beautiful.
The 1000 Islands had always been our goal, even though for a long time it seemed out of reach. An archipelago with over 1,800 islands scattered across the St. Lawrence River, between Canada and the U.S. — some with castles, others with just a single tree, many uninhabited, all with a mythical charm. Ever since we heard about the region, we were fascinated by the idea of sailing through those islands, anchoring in hidden bays, watching the sun set over the water, feeling like we were in a postcard. Reaching them with our own boat, after years of postponing, felt like crossing a dream off the map — not in a rush, but with soul. I already want to go back.
We sailed upriver for over an hour, and it took only ten minutes to return to the hotel, which reassured us that the way back would be easy. But we still had a full day in Brockville, and we intended to enjoy it.
We returned for a delicious lunch made by Chris, met a couple of his friends and their daughters, who spent the day with us — park time, pool time, and in the evening, we visited the 1000 Islands Brewery to end our trip on a golden note.
The next morning, we began our journey home. AJ and Megan had already left. Andrea drove off with her boys. Our destination was Prescott. On the boat, we played dominoes, chatted, laughed. And once in Prescott, we stopped at the same Irish pub from our first trip, where I had a delicious linguine. We said our goodbyes and set off for the final leg of our adventure.
That last night was romantic. Just the two of us, the river, the sky, and a few bottles of wine. A perfect life beside the one I love.
The next morning: breakfast, locks, and homebound. No rush. No urgency. Just a heart full.
I don’t know if it was the sound of the water against the hull, the soft breeze dancing with the sails, or the laughter filling the boat — maybe it was all of it combined. All I know is that, on this trip, time stopped being a race and turned into presence. The final destination didn’t matter much, because each curve in the river offered us something: a view, a good silence, a sunset, a new memory.
Brockville welcomed us with history, with friends, with beers and fireworks. But what truly remained was the feeling of wholeness. As if something that had been paused inside us had finally begun to move again.
And that’s the magic of traveling by boat — you move slowly, without guarantees, but when you arrive, you realize the best part wasn’t the place. It was the journey. It was the company. It was living all of it beside the one I love, with a light heart, a grateful spirit, and a life map increasingly filled with small, priceless treasures.
I already want to do it all over again. Even if it’s not the same — and it never is — I know it will be beautiful. Because when you sail with love, the destination is always worth it.
Because in the end, it’s not about the destination. It’s about being there — fully, lightly, sailing through memories, smiles, and that peaceful joy only those who love the journey truly understand.
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