The boat

Ovni 32

At last

fsm

My first boat, as a kid, was a Flying Junior. Moving freely from beach to beach, with old or new, crazy or wise friends made me love sailing forever.
Later on I’ve taken up sailing again very intensely, with bigger boats, managing them, crewing, teaching, delivering, and more.
The natural outcome of this was to take full responsibility of a boat. It's a significant step that I mulled over for years, because ownership comes with more freedom, but also with a series of obligations, concerns, and responsibilities.
The COVID pandemics accelerated my decision; this period, suspended in a bubble of near-confinement—months during which travel was impossible, where we were forced to comply with rules we didn’t fully agree with—finally broke the stalemate and pushed me to focus my thoughts on seeking the maximum possible freedom.
I began looking for, desiring, truly feeling ownership of a small boat—perhaps not brand-new: a limited budget reduces commitments, obligations, and dependencies. Smaller size makes management and repairs easier. With this new direction, navigating hundreds of listings became easier, and after a few weeks the boat I believe best matched my idea of sailing and freedom emerged: the Ovni 32.
A simple, spartan, robust boat—legendary among extreme sailors and explorers—with two key features: an entirely aluminum hull, which makes it solid and durable, suitable for long voyages even in harsh conditions; and most importantly, a lifting keel, which allows it to reach unusual and very shallow seabeds, to enter small ports that other sailboats can't access. For me, that’s the real key to being and sailing freely.
Sailing doesn’t just mean to me traveling at sea, studying waves and wind, but also exploring places, connecting with those who live there. I’ll be able to arrive by sea and dock in a quaint fishing harbor—or simply lay up near the shore, without imposing the presence that a boat can signify, but letting myself be welcomed.
Similarly, in the little time (I hope!) that I won’t be sailing, I’ll be able to keep her nearby—thanks to her size, even moored in the Arno, just a few minutes from my home—much simpler.
A boat like this means thinking little of comforts, rather focusing on limiting consumption and impact. And that’s how I like to live.

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FSM

Found it on a popular classifieds site in France. She seemed a healthy boat, with a honest owner. I bought it without a professional survey, because the virus prevented me from it. As only 100 Ovni 32 were built, it's rarely found on the market, and it usually sells quickly. So I couldn't let it slip away, and I took the risk. I liked the tiller steering (many boats have a wheel steering system, which is bulkier and more complex). I don't know much about her history, except that she went on an Atlantic voyage, to Caribbeans and back. It's registered in La Rochelle, a legendary sailing destination, and was in the port of Cap d'Agde, known for different reasons. Her name didn't thrill me (Saint Branchs), so I decided to change it, without worrying about nautical superstitions. I had thought of the name for some time, during the crossing of the Indian Ocean: FSM, an acronym that I like very much because it is polysemic, with some meanings that I feel are very much close to my life and thoughts. I leave to friend the option of finding new meanings.

Other boats of the same model have sailed extensively: one did the round the world tour, another one explored the Caribbeans for years (Riflessi caraibici), etc etc.

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