The Frenchie

By Capt. Jean Braure

CAPT. JEAN BRAURE has been interviewed on local Virgin Islands’ radio stations (WVWI), Channel 12 TV Station and many stories have been written in local newspapers (Caribbean Boating, The Virgin Islands Daily News).
Jean was told to write his souvenirs, some chronicles of his adventurous life shared by friends, sailors and mountaineers alike. He has lived all his life in the Virgin Islands. He qualified to represent the Virgin Islands team at the Olympics in 1984 in the Soling class and in 1988 and 1992 in the Tornado class.
He still climbs high mountains at 75. He will never retire. He still competes in local races, sailing his Freedom 40 “Mumu Sunset,” from sunrise to sunset.
These two “activities” are unique for a Virgin Islander, more accustomed to a traditional way of life than to challenge Nature.
Jean is a Free Spirit who does not fit in a conventional life.


This book is more a series of humoristic accounts of Jean’s adventures. It is also an introspective into the weakness of the human being facing Nature.
He has promised his family tens of times not to climb anymore or to sail offshore. Jean is unable to keep his promises. Jean is the “Enfant Terrible” of the Virgin Islands.
He obtained a Master’s Degree in French Literature at Middlebury’s College, Vt.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781532093647

Capt. Jean Braure

From Paris to the Olympics, Jean Braure, who is called the Frenchie by his competitors, relates his sailing success and misadventures at sea. The book is a series of humoristic accounts of his real adventures and an introspective look into the weakness of human being who is facing the ocean. Jean has been interviewed on the Virgin Islands’ radio station WVWI and on TV channel 12. Many stories about his daring actions have been published in newspapers like Caribbean Boating and the Virgin Islands Daily News. The Frenchie was told to write some his chronicles about his adventurous life, which he has shared with many Virgin Islands sailors. He has lived all of his life in the Virgin Islands. This enfant terrible of the Virgin Islands is a free spirit who does not fit into a conventional life. He obtained a master’s degree in French literature at Middlebury’s College in Vermont.

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Copyright © 2020 Capt. Jean Braure.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-9365-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-9364-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020901480

iUniverse rev. date: 03/12/2020

Contents

The Frenchie

French-German Collision at Sea

The Two Brothers

A Beautiful Day in the Virgin Islands with My Dog

Racing with the Saint Thomas Yacht Club

Sinking in San Francisco

How to Win a Race during a Gale because Poseidon Must Have Been on Board

Crossing the Atlantic

The Frenchie Waits for the Sun

The Frenchie in Frenchtown

Hurricane Tail from Newport to Bermuda

Three Swedish Airline Pilots

Saved by Two Frenchies

The Story of Caravelle Rock

Jo La Frite, or Jo the French Fries

Pachamama

The Rolex Cup

To Challenge the Best

Delray Beach, Florida

Driving to Kingston, Canada

A Road Trip to the 1984 Olympics

Saba

Pan American Games in Venezuela

US Championship in Galveston, Texas

US Championship in Galveston

Training and Breaking in the Yacht Club

Winning the Trials to Represent the Virgin Islands at the Olympics in Barcelona in 1992

Northern Europe

The Race in Holland

The Golden Fleece

The 1984Olympic Games in Long Beach/Los Angeles

1988 Pusan, South Korea, Olympics

The Olympics in Barcelona

These memories are dedicated to all the sailors who raced with me and to all the dreamers like me, who love the sea, and to Rafael, my grandson; my daughter, Murielle; and my wife, Choupette, who contributed to and supported my passion for the sea.

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The Frenchie

I was born in Paris between the Eiffel Tower (altitude 320 meters) and La Seine, the romantic river that reflects two thousand years of history. This explains my attraction to high altitudes, which I talked about in my book The Sailor Who Climbs Mountains.

My love for the sea must have begun on Lake Leman in Switzerland when I was nine or ten years old. On the rocks around the famous Jet d’eau, unruly schools boys (I was one of them) splashed each other or chased the beautiful white swans, which was of course forbidden.

Later on while in a Paris high school, I had to study Latin, which did not unfurl my dreams to unlimited horizons and blue skies. I was dreaming of underwater adventures with J. J. Cousteau or of repeating Ernest Shackleton’s discovery of the South Pole. I needed open space and an unlimited ocean to fulfill my teenage dream.

My first desire was to go to America. It was so vast in comparison to France. I kept repeating some verses from Baudelaire which I translate from the French.

For the child, in love with maps and old charts

The universe is equal to his immense appetite

How big is the world by the clarity of candlelight

How small is the world when one recollects

Perhaps, my hunger for evasion and travel justified my departure from a boring nine-to-five job in a concrete building surrounded by other concrete structures. I decided to improve my English, so I joined a school in London where I met my wife, Choupette. My dreams had no limits, but reality caught my reverie as soon as I left the Old World.

Haiti, Choupette’s birthplace, was my first destination. After some adventures in the land of Toussaint Louverture, we traveled to Florida and stayed for a year. I worked as a maître d’hôtel at the Golden Gate Hotel. While there, I took dinner reservations in the afternoon with a French accent, which enormously pleased my food-and-beverage manager. I worked in a tuxedo and commanded Cuban waiters and busboys.

At 7:00 p.m., distinguished guests of sublime prestige and high distinction (owners of horse racetracks and canine competitions) walked into our superb dining room, which was filled with music. Men of a certain age and prestige were escorted by young and glamorous beauties. The orchestra, with its violins and a golden harp, was direct from Napoli.

I was in charge of everything that could be set on fire (that is, from the menu) like cherries jubilees or crepe suzette. I also sliced wild trout in front of the Greek tycoon who owned part of the Golden Gate Hotel. Champagne from Reims was a must with Black Forest pastry from Germany, followed by an armagnac with a hand-rolled Partagas cigar from Santa Clara. At night, I dreamed of the open spaces in the Caribbean Sea.

One day, we moved to the Virgin Islands, where I could satisfy my passion: the ocean. Before I could do so, however, I had to earn a living. I heard of a position for a French and Spanish teacher.

Now I taught Puerto Rican kids, who could not pronounce standard Spanish but could beat me in Caribbean slang. But they had to pass high school tests and write standard Spanish. My class was a combination of English-speaking kids who could not care less and Latinos who believed that they deserved As because they communicated with their parents. In my French classes, I introduced French singers, from Edith Piaf to Barbara. My success was instant.

Meanwhile I studied for and passed my test for a captain’s license. I became a charter boat captain and left All Saints Cathedral School. Sailing became my life, and people started to call me the Frenchie.

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French-German Collision at Sea

We were racing sailboats from Saint Thomas, Virgin Islands, to Virgin Gorda and back. The race was organized by the Saint Thomas Yacht Club. The exact date it occurred has been lost on the white rollers of Pillsbury Sound.

After a glorious first-place finish on day one, we raced back the next day in magnificent trade winds, which pushed our blue, white, and red spinnaker to Saint Thomas. On a horizon that was colored by an orange sunset with seagulls cracking and joking at me, we saw a yacht sailing toward us.

After a while, I recognized it as my friend’s yacht. He was a Swiss-German speaking English with a Teutonic accent. Then Walt called me, saying, I have the rrright-of-way, Frenchie!

Obviously, his accent was more Swiss than German. I know this because my grandmother was Swiss-German. His accent was rough like the Eigerwall in winter, with vertical passages full of ice. My French accent