Sailing Times has given me a column. Until now, my contributions at sailing events have generally involved pulling ropes or pointing a camera at things. I’m now expected to put words in the correct order as well.
We’ll see how that goes.
I’m Andrea Azzopardi. I’m from Malta and currently practising as a junior architect. During the week, I draw buildings. Around that, I sail and photograph boats. This means I spend a fair amount of my life looking at very expensive things I don’t own.
Sailing and photography are my two great passions, and I’ve been lucky enough to find a way of combining them. Writing about the whole thing feels like a fairly natural next step, although I probably should have checked whether there were any spare hours left in the week.
I’ve sailed with my family for as long as I can remember. There were dinghies, then yachts, and these days I occasionally race on a Cape 31 on the local circuit with friends. I’ve also had opportunities to race internationally, with Palermo–Monte Carlo still standing out as one of the most enjoyable races I’ve ever done. That deserves a column of its own. We’ll get to it.
Then there’s the Rolex Middle Sea Race. Growing up in Malta, I was obsessed with it from a young age. My dad raced it too. He once did it double-handed and won his class, a detail he has been very careful to ensure I never forget.
My own record reads rather differently: five starts, four DNFs thanks to things breaking, and one finish in what felt like the slowest, most painful sailing conditions known to man. Dad has a class win. I have proof that, eventually, I can get round Sicily.
Joking aside, finishing that race meant an enormous amount to me. It’s since become a big part of my life through photography too.
The photography started at around fourteen or fifteen. I liked taking pictures of nice things, and I loved the idea that a split second could become something you kept forever. Something happened, you pressed a button, and there it was. You could look at it again years later.
Which I have done. Unfortunately.
Some of those early photographs look exactly as though they were taken by a fifteen-year-old with a point-and-shoot camera. On reflection, this is a perfectly reasonable assessment, because… they were.
I still remember my mum and dad buying me my first DSLR. I was so excited. The zoom lens alone was enough to convince me I’d entered a completely different league. The photographs took much longer to catch up.
From then on, I kept going.
Growing up, Kurt Arrigo’s photographs were a huge inspiration. Seeing someone from Malta produce images like that made the whole thing feel possible. I spent hours on his website, studying his photographs with a level of dedication that my schoolwork would have appreciated.
I still do. His photographs are works of art.
Another turning point came while I was racing on an XP44. Alex Turnbull came sailing with us, brought his camera and covered the race. Suddenly, something I’d watched on television was happening on the boat I was racing on.
I used to stay up watching the Sydney Hobart start after a long Christmas lunch. At two in the morning, the prospect of sleep was competing with footage of enormous racing yachts. The yachts generally won.
By about four, I’d still be there, watching the onboard reporters jump off with their dry bags and get picked up by RIBs. They’d been lucky enough, and talented enough, to get aboard a maxi for the start. Then, once they’d done their bit, over the side they went. Apparently, even the person telling the story becomes unnecessary weight eventually.
It looked like an excellent job, although clocking off seemed rather wetter than usual.
Then there was the Volvo Ocean Race coverage: the onboard reporters documenting what life at sea actually looked like, well beyond the tidy photographs of a boat leaving harbour. I still remember one particular video that left a lasting impression on me.
Watching all that, and then seeing Alex working aboard our boat, made something click. I wanted to do that. To document what happened, capture the moments that disappeared almost as soon as they arrived, and tell stories that might otherwise stay on the boat.
Friends in the industry helped me along, and the Royal Malta Yacht Club gave me opportunities to photograph race starts and prize-givings. I was grateful for that trust, although there was a fairly obvious logistical problem: I was usually racing in the events I wanted to photograph.
It’s difficult to cover a fleet properly when you’re busy trying to beat it.
After finishing the Rolex Middle Sea Race, I decided that the following year I’d try documenting it. I photographed one edition, then another, and eventually became an official photographer for the Yacht Club, shooting alongside Kurt Arrigo.
The same person whose photographs I’d spent years studying.
Meeting him was a big moment. I tried to play it cool. I’m not convinced I did a particularly good job, but I’d like to think I at least managed a normal introduction before my face gave the whole thing away.
Since then, photography has taken me further than I’d imagined. I took my first transatlantic flight and went to photograph in the British Virgin Islands. Thanks to Sailing Times, I also had the opportunity to photograph SailGP in Portsmouth.
I’d watched it on a screen, and suddenly there I was, beside it, with a camera, a reason to be there and some amazing people to meet.
Then teams started sharing my photographs, and I even ended up collaborating with SailGP itself on social media. I still occasionally look at that and check that it is, in fact, my name on it.
Those opportunities have meant a lot. So have the people who’ve offered advice, trusted me with an assignment or helped me get to the next one. I’ve got plenty to learn, and I’m fortunate to have people around me who are willing to share what they know.
Which brings us to now: a junior architect, sailor and photographer writing his first column, with the Rolex Middle Sea Race just over a week away.
Once again, I’ll be photographing it for the Yacht Club alongside Kurt. I’ve spent the year practising my poker face. We’ll find out shortly whether that was time well spent.
What I’d like to do here is take you along with me. Share the racing, the photography, the people I meet and the things I learn, with quite a few opinions along the way. Having opinions is the easy part. Getting them past an editor may take some practice.
At 25, I’ve got a lot left to experience. Hopefully, some of it will be great, some of it will be funny, and I’ll remember to take a decent photograph every now and again.
For now, thanks for reading. The Middle Sea Race is coming, and I suspect we’ll have plenty to talk about.
See you out there. Preferably above the water.
