Welcome aboard Spritz: what it’s like to live on a 32 feet sailboat | BITE

Step aboard Spritz, our 1975 sailboat: ten metres that serve as our home, office and travel companion. Here’s what it’s really like to live, work and sail aboard her.

Spritz is our home, our means of transport and, very often, our office too.

She is a 1975 Deerberg Beryll, measuring 9.75 metres — around 10.5 metres if you count the bowsprit that was added later — and probably the most important thing you need to know about her is that Spritz is closer to a tent than to a house.

There is no hot water. No air conditioning. The shower is outside. The bathroom is tiny. The galley is so awkward that we often prefer to cook on the companionway steps, on top of the fridge or directly in the cockpit.

And yet we live here, we work here, we sail hundreds of miles aboard her and, most importantly, we feel at home.

Since over the next few months Spritz will also welcome some of the people joining us on our journey to Portugal, we thought it was finally time for a proper introduction.

So: welcome aboard Spritz.

From Paddy to Spritz

We found the boat almost by chance on Boat24.

It was 2024, and we were looking for a sailboat within our budget. Of all the boats available at the time, this old Deerberg was the one that convinced us the most — because of her style, her character and, quite simply, what you might call her vibe.

Not without a few reservations, of course.

In May, we flew to Greece to see her in Volos. A few months later, in September, we went back to buy her and begin the journey that would eventually bring her to Italy.

Back then, however, she wasn’t called Spritz.

Her name was Paddy, after the Irish whiskey.

Her previous owners had told us her story and, when the time came to rename her, they jokingly asked us not to break at least one tradition: the alcoholic names.

We couldn’t have chosen a better one.

Sami and I have always been big fans of Spritz and, especially before we even became a couple, we accumulated a probably less-than-respectable number of evenings getting drunk together while drinking it.

And so Paddy became Spritz.

Come aboard

The forward cabin: our home

Starting from the bow, you’ll find our cabin.

This is where Sami and I sleep.

Calling it a separate bedroom would perhaps be slightly generous: there’s an arch separating the cabin from the rest of the boat, but no actual door.

When we need a little privacy, we therefore rely on one of the most sophisticated technologies developed by humankind over thousands of years:

a hanging bedsheet.

It works surprisingly well.

The forward cabin is still our private space and, in everyday life aboard Spritz, this is our bed.

Things can change while we’re underway. During longer passages, especially when we’re working in shifts, berths can be shared on a rotation depending on who’s off watch.

On a boat, spaces rarely serve just one purpose.

The saloon: kitchen, dining room, office and guest bedroom

Moving aft, we reach the real heart of life below deck: the saloon.

This is where we eat.

This is where we work.

And this is where we keep some of the equipment we need while sailing: handheld radios, gloves, life jackets and everything else that needs to be within easy reach.

It’s also where we’ve scattered 220V sockets, USB-A and USB-C ports to power the frankly embarrassing number of electronic devices we’ve somehow managed to cram into a boat built in 1975.

The current layout is slightly different from the original plan. Part of the seating area on the port side, next to the bathroom entrance, was sacrificed to make room for an additional fridge.

The saloon can also be converted into a bed and, considering we’re talking about a boat from the 1970s, it’s actually fairly comfortable.

It doesn’t have lee cloths, though, so it’s not somewhere we’d recommend sleeping while sailing with the boat heeled over or in rough seas.

When we have guests aboard, we’d therefore prefer to use the available aft berth and keep the saloon as a shared living space. In theory, Spritz can accommodate four people, but for longer passages, three is probably the ideal number.

Because ten metres can sound like a lot of space.

Until you put four people and two 50-kilo dogs inside.

The galley, or: why we cook everywhere except in the kitchen

Spritz has a galley.

Technically.

In practice, it’s small, cramped and fairly awkward to use.

Over the years, we’ve therefore developed a rather flexible definition of the word “kitchen”.

Sometimes we cook on the companionway steps. Sometimes on top of the fridge. When the weather allows it, we cook directly in the cockpit.

Our main appliance is a Ninja multicooker, which we now use for almost everything. We also have an induction hob when we need it and, as a backup, two alcohol burners.

The original boat fridge isn’t particularly powerful, so we mainly use it for drinks and fruit. The additional fridge also has one of those tiny freezer compartments that probably exist solely so fridge manufacturers are allowed to write the word “freezer” on the box.

Even washing the dishes requires some adaptation.

While sailing, we use a portable battery-powered shower pump to collect seawater, fill a flexible bucket and do the first wash in the cockpit. We only use fresh water for the final rinse.

We use the same principle for laundry.

With different buckets.

We feel that’s worth specifying.

Sixty litres of fresh water completely changes your definition of “waste”

Spritz’s main freshwater tank holds just 60 litres.

That water has to supply practically everything: the sinks and the outdoor shower.

To extend our autonomy, we carry around another 100 litres in separate jerry cans, some of which are also reserved to make sure Godot and Freyja always have enough drinking water.

For the time being, we mostly drink bottled water ourselves.

We also have a watermaker aboard, although it isn’t currently operational. In the future, we’d like to get it running again, install a proper drinking-water filtration system and add a second freshwater tank.

In the meantime, we’ve learned something very simple: when you only have 60 litres of water, you suddenly realise just how much you use without even noticing when you live on land.

The concept of taking a shower changes too.

During a long passage, you simply don’t shower.

Before leaving or when we arrive somewhere, we jump into the sea and then use a small amount of fresh water to rinse the salt off. When we stop at a marina, we use the facilities ashore.

At some ports and water points, we can connect Spritz’s plumbing directly to an external water supply. These are wonderful moments when a seemingly infinite amount of water suddenly starts flowing from the taps.

That’s generally when the showers, laundry and major cleaning sessions begin.

The bathroom: small. Very small.

There’s no particularly romantic way to put this.

Spritz’s bathroom is tiny.

It has an electric toilet and a small sink, and moving around inside requires a certain degree of physical coordination.

Going to the bathroom is probably still the most uncomfortable part of life aboard.

But you get used to it.

The shower, meanwhile, is outside on the aft deck. We’ve installed a circular shower curtain that provides at least the vague impression of privacy.

In the middle of the sea, it works perfectly.

In a marina, slightly less so.

Spritz has no hot water and no air conditioning. During summer, we have several fans scattered around the main living areas and, although ventilation below deck isn’t fantastic, it has so far been enough for us to live and sleep comfortably enough.

Comfortable?

No.

Liveable?

Absolutely.

Electricity, on the other hand, is something we have plenty of

If we have to be careful with water, we decided to take a completely different approach to electricity.

Spritz has a 12V, 900Ah lithium battery bank, primarily charged by around 800W of solar panels mounted on the aft arch.

That’s enough energy to power our everyday life, our computers, Starlink and most of what we need.

Electric cooking is what puts the greatest strain on the system, which is why we’re planning to add a small petrol generator as an emergency backup.

Thanks to Starlink, Spritz has also become our office.

Normally, Sami works from the saloon while I set myself up in the cockpit. When it’s time to actually sail, the computers go into a dedicated locker where they stay protected.

The result is a contrast we rather enjoy.

We live on a boat built in 1975, with no hot water, and sometimes wash ourselves using a bucket.

But we have satellite internet, almost 11 kWh of nominal battery capacity and can join a work video call from the middle of the sea.

Priorities.

The cockpit: our second living room

When the weather allows it, much of our life moves outside.

Spritz’s cockpit isn’t huge and its layout isn’t particularly flexible, but it’s large enough to eat, work and cook in, thanks to a table we can install when needed.

You just have to remember that the space is shared with two other members of the crew.

Godot and Freyja.

To protect them from the sun, we rig a large sunshade using the boom as support, so there’s always somewhere shaded for them to lie down.

When the weather is cooler, they take over the rest of the deck.

While sailing, they like to lie on the side decks or at the bow, watching the waves and getting hit by sea spray.

We still don’t understand what they find so entertaining about it.

They seem perfectly happy.

Living aboard with two giant dogs

Godot and Freyja are as much a part of the crew as we are.

They both have their own life jackets and are now used to sailing, even when conditions become less pleasant.

At night while we’re underway, they stay below deck in the saloon for safety. In port or at anchor, they generally prefer sleeping outside.

Godot, specifically, has officially claimed one of the saloon benches as his own.

During longer passages, they have an artificial-grass mat for toilet breaks. When we’re sailing close to shore, we try to take them ashore regularly using the dinghy.

Spritz doesn’t have a bathing platform or even a proper swimming ladder.

We did, however, find a solution: an inflatable platform designed to help dogs climb back aboard from the water. It supports more than 100 kilos, so inevitably we started using it too.

We also bought a fender that doubles as a ladder.

It sounded brilliant.

It wasn’t.

It now lives aboard in the role of emergency solution that’s better than nothing.

And what about the stern?

The aft section contains two single berths.

The port berth has, in everyday life, almost entirely lost its dignity as a bed and become our storage area.

When you decide to live on a boat 360 days a year, you need somewhere to put tools, spare parts, equipment and all those things you might need when the nearest shop is a few hundred miles away.

The starboard berth, however, remains available.

That’s the one primarily reserved for guests.

For anyone joining us on one of our upcoming journeys, though, there’s one essential rule:

travel light.

A backpack or soft duffel bag around the size of a gym bag is ideal.

Space is limited, and once you’ve unpacked a hard-shell suitcase, it simply becomes a huge, useless object that somehow still needs somewhere to live.

Joining Spritz means becoming part of the crew

Anyone joining us on one of our sailing trips won’t be a passenger.

They’ll be part of the crew.

That means taking part in everyday life aboard: cooking, keeping things tidy, helping with routine tasks and, most importantly, sailing.

During passages, we organise watches. Generally, three hours when we can rely on the autopilot and two when we have to steer manually.

And everyone does everything.

When weather conditions allow, that also means taking the helm and actually sailing Spritz.

There are, naturally, a few rules.

There’s no smoking aboard, especially below deck. Alcohol is absolutely fine in moderation when we’re safely in port, considerably less so while we’re underway.

And then there are the rules concerning Godot and Freyja.

Actually, there’s only one:

don’t piss them off.

Simple.

Spritz isn’t a floating house

Spritz comes from another era.

And it shows.

Her design belongs to a time when a boat of this size wasn’t necessarily trying to replicate an apartment on the water.

Many modern boats are designed around comfort at anchor and in marinas. Spritz, at least in the way we experience her, feels like the opposite.

She’s closer to a tent than to a house.

Space is limited. Privacy is relative. Water has to be rationed. Taking a shower requires planning. Going to the bathroom requires physical abilities you didn’t know you had.

And yet there’s something that, for us, makes up for all of it.

We trust her.

That doesn’t mean we think Spritz is indestructible or capable of handling absolutely anything. A boat is still a boat, and the sea will always be far stronger than we are.

But we really started to understand what she could do during one particular passage.

We suddenly found ourselves with around 30 knots of wind from astern and the mainsail fully open.

What followed were about five extremely stressful hours.

For us.

For the rigging.

Probably for everything else aboard.

Spritz just kept sailing.

No drama.

It was one of those moments when you start looking at an old boat differently.

Since then, we’ve changed countless things, and we’ll change many more. New sails, new standing rigging, a new engine, electronics, batteries, an autopilot. We’ll keep breaking things, fixing them and probably breaking something else shortly afterwards.

But underneath all the technology we’ve added, there’s still a boat built fifty years ago.

She may not be the most comfortable boat in the world.

We don’t have hot water.

We shower on the aft deck.

We cook on the stairs.

We share ten metres of boat with two enormous dogs.

And Sami’s favourite place, if you ask him, is probably still somewhere ashore, as far away from Spritz as possible.

Mine, however, is right here.

Lying on the side deck, in the shade of the genoa, while Spritz keeps sailing beneath me.

Preferably towards the next place we never planned to end up.