595 years ago today, on April 25th 1431, a Venetian merchant set sail for Flanders. Being the 1400s, this was hardly unusual, but this particular merchant would never make it to Flanders. Instead, he would undergo a harrowing journey of shipwreck, starvation, isolation and death, which would cast him and his crew thousands of miles off course, into the darkest depths of the arctic winter, forge political relations that are still alive today, and forever alter the taste of Italian cuisine.

This is the tale of Pietro Querini: a failed road trip, a maritime disaster, a man remembered almost six centuries after his death for something he never set out to do, and a man who changed the world in ways he could never have imagined.

And, if you give him a moment of your time, he might just convince you to do the same.

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Our tale begins on April 23rd, 1431, with the death of Pietro’s son, a mere two days before the young Captain was set to embark on a four-month European voyage to Flanders. An ill omen? Historical foreshadowing? This personal tragedy would be the first of many hardships to befall this expedition, as the 68-strong crew of The Querina set sail two days later, loaded with Venetian wine and valuable goods for trade.

But, as we know, Pietro Querini and his crew were never making it to Flanders.

Disruptions plagued the start of their journey: strong winds blowing the Querina off course, and a broken rudder forcing them to dock in Cadiz, Lisbon, and later Northern Spain, to restock and repair the damage to their vessel. By the time the Querina was seaworthy again, it was already November—six months at sea and nothing to show for it. But a quick stop at a local church for a blessing from The Virgin Mary herself, and Pietro and his crew were back out to sea, bound, once again, for a Flanders they would never reach.

After only a few days sailing, violent storms off the English coast battered the Querina, snapping the mast and recently repaired rudder, and pushing the ship hundreds of miles off course, up past the western coast of Ireland and out into the Atlantic Ocean. For over a month, Pietro and his crew were left drifting at sea, abandoned and alone, at the whims of the ocean, in a rudderless, unsailable ship, surviving off their pilfered cargo and quickly dwindling rations.

Eventually, running low on food and with no land in sight, the Captain gave the order to abandon ship, launching their lifeboats on December 17th, with the hope that the smaller vessels would be carried closer to land by the rough Atlantic currents. The crew members split into two lifeboats—21 into the smaller, 47 into the larger—diving their rations (which consisted mainly of Venetian wine and rat-eaten biscuits) and venturing out into the open water. Two tiny mastless boats atop the relentless sea. A speck of sand in a vast, churning ocean.

The smaller of the lifeboats would never be seen again.

The remaining 47 men, Pitero included, were now truly alone. In an open-top boat with no means to sail, exposed to the elements and rapidly running out of drinkable water. Many of the crew succumbed to hypothermia and dehydration, and those who didn’t were left to constantly bail water from their slowly sinking raft, further draining their already depleted bodies. Exhausted, dehydrated, delirious and starving, their numbers dwindled, the few who remained growing weaker by the day, watching their fellow crewmates perish around them while they waited—and in Pietro’s case, prayed—for death.

But this was not the end of their story.

On January 4th, 1432, the remaining survivors caught sight of land.

In a last-ditch attempt that claimed a number of their lives, they managed to haul their battered lifeboat to shore and drag thier exhausted bodies to land. Unbeknownst to the sailors, they had landed on Sandøya, a tiny island off the southern tip of the Lofoten archipelago in northern Norway—used for farming pastures in the summer, and as a rest stop for passing fishing boats in the fall. And, unfortunately for our shipwrecked and starving sailors, completely deserted in the winter.

Alone again, the remaining men—once 47, now only 16—cobbled together a shelter from the remains of their lifeboat, and set to surviving in the desolate arctic winter; melting snow for water, eating boiled grass, and gathering limpets along the deserted shoreline to try and stay alive. The first-hand accounts of Pietro and two of his crewmen speak of frozen bodies lying next to still-living men, and maggots infesting frostbitten flesh, as the remaining sailors slowly succumbed to the freezing temperatures and barren, hostile conditions. Which is even more poignant when you remember that at this time of year, the arctic sun doesn’t rise above the horizon, and the entire land is bathed in perpetual night.

But, as Pietro and his men lay huddled and freezing, the second of this journey’s fantastical omens was taking place not too far away.

On the neighbouring island of Røst—itself a tiny fishing village with barely 100 inhabitants—a fisherman’s son had a dream of a cow they’d lost on Sandøya that summer. He must have been an incredibly persuasive little guy, because he convinced his father to sail out to Sandøya to look for said cow. And what does this fisherman find when he gets to his deserted summer grazing cabin? Not a lost cow, but a group of starving Venetian sailors hanging on by a thread.

Pietro and his crew were finally not alone.

Of the 68 men who set sail from Crete, 11 made it to Røst. Where the islanders took them in, fed them, helped, healed, and sheltered them for the next 100 days, through the darkest nights of the arctic winter. They didn’t speak the same language. They had wildly different customs. But they lived alongside each other for 100 days, sharing their food, their lodgings, their hearth fires and their homes, until the snows finally thawed and the sailors were able to begin their journey home.

Their journey home was about as straightforward as their journey there. No direct flights in 1432.

A fishing boat to Trondheim. Another to Bergen. Then on foot across the fjordlands and over to Sweden, where the once-rich Pietro had to rely on the charity of strangers for every scrap of clothing and meal along the way. Once in Sweden, they were gifted horses by a local Lord, and were able to continue their progress south and west, slowly inching closer to home.

In Gothenburg, a busy trading port in southern Sweden, the 11 sailors parted ways. While the remaining men went directly to Germany (the fastest route home), Pietro ventured to England, through Cambridge and on to London, before journeying through Belgium, Germany, Basel and Switzerland, until finally, on January 25th 1433, Pietro set foot back in his beloved Venice.

641 days after he set sail, Pietro was finally home.

641 days.

11 men.

Forever changed.

By a journey none of them intended to go on.

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The legacy of Pietro’s journey is not just one of survival against all odds. Or the unexpected hospitality of a tiny fishing village who took in a group of foreign sailors as if they were their own.

Pietro’s account of his time in Røst is one of the most detailed records in existence of life in rural Norway in the 15th century. And his tale of frozen islands and jagged coastlines directly impacted central Europe’s understanding of this part of the world at the time.

Pietro also returned to Venice laden with jars of stockfish—a style of preserved fish the Lofoten Islands are famous for. This revolutionary dried fish made its way into Venetian cuisine, forever changing the local diet by providing a long-lasting, affordable alternative to expensive fresh fish, and establishing trade routes that are still in use today, with Italy remaining the primary export market for Norwegian stockfish even now!

But alongside this tale of nautical disaster, the incredible feats of survival these men endured, and the long-lasting cultural influence introducing stockfish had on Italian cuisine, the journey of Pietro Querini and his men has another tale to impart. A smaller, more subtle story hidden between the pages of this epic journey, that speaks not to the history books or export markets, but to something more personal, more relatable. More human.

On April 25th 1431, when Pietro set sail for a Flanders he would never reach, he had no intention of altering the European world map, or affecting Norwegian fishing exports in 2026. He didn’t intend to find out how long a person could survive on limpets and boiled grass, or spend 100 days living in a Norwegian fishing village, creating socio-political ties that would forever alter his country’s cooking.

He didn’t plan to do any of this, he just wanted to sell some wine, but this is where his journey took him. And 641 days later, he returned, a completely different man than when he left.

641 days. That’s 21 months. Almost 2 years. Enough time to change a world. Enough time to change a man.

Imagine the Pietro who set sail in 1431: A young noble, a new Captain, mourning the recent loss of his son, excited to prove himself capable as a merchant and a sailor, and make his name in the bustling European markets.

And imagine the Pietro that returned, 641 days later: The Captain, the survivor, the international diplomat, who had journeyed across more of Europe than most men twice his age, who had survived the Arctic, buried men at sea, seen the northern lights and prayed for death, and found a way to make it home.

Now think of the next 2 years lying ahead of you. Where do you see yourself standing on January 25th, 2028? What do you want to do, to achieve, to be, to learn, between now and then? Think of the places you want to visit, the goals you want to accomplish. And, while still holding on to that idea, imagine how everything could change, inexplicably and completely, because of something as simple as a broken rudder.

Anything can happen in the next 5 minutes. And anything can happen in the next 641 days. Planning ahead, setting goals, creating 5-year charts of where you want to be—these things are admirable, a great practice in theory, to help you stay focused, stay on task, steer your life in the direction you choose. But while a plan can be helpful, don’t stress too much about where life is going to take you. So much of it is out of your hands, and so much will happen that you can’t even begin to see coming.

Pietro had no idea when he left Crete what the next 641 days had in store for him, or that he was going to be remembered six centuries later for what, at the time, must have felt like the worst decision of his life.

Wherever you are now, and whatever your goals are for the future—the world is big, and the ocean is vast, and if you keep setting sail, stepping out your door and seeing what lies beyond, there’s no telling where, what, or who you’ll be in 641 days.

So tonight, join me in raising a glass to Pietro Querini (preferably wine, if you’ve got it, and preferably Venetian, if you can). The merchant who never made it to Flanders, and the man who had no idea what the next two years of his life had in store, as he stood on the boards of his freshly scrubbed deck 595 years ago today.

Think of the incredible journey lying ahead of him, all the places he’ll go, all the ways he’ll change, and consider all the things you’ll do, all the places you’ll go and all the ways you’ll change, in the next 641 days.

And who knows. Maybe you, too, will change the world in ways you can’t begin to imagine.

There’s only one way to find out.

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References and Further Reading:

Most of my research for this article came from Via Querinissima, an international association that promotes Pietro’s story through historical research, free resources and sustainable tourism. I am not a trained historian, so any mistakes you find here are my own, but if you’re interested in learning more about Pietro and his journey, here are a few resources to get you started.

• Pietro Querini’s Story, and Querini’s Legacy, by The Via Querinissima International Association. (An overview of the story)
• Insights into the Sources for Pietro Querini’s Journey, by The Scientific Committee of the Via Querinissima International Association. (Here you can find English translations of Pietro and his crew members’ first-hand accounts)
• Pietro Querini’s fateful journey, by Lödöse Museum
• Merchants and Travellers: Pietro Querini, part of Fra Mauro’s Interactive World Map, by Museo Galileo. (Shows the cultural significance of Pietro’s journey on the late-medieval world map)
• Discovering Europe on the footsteps of Pietro Querini, by Consiglio Regionale del Vento and the members of Via Querinissima. (A tourism-focused, but still historically detailed account of Pietro’s journey, and how to follow it yourself through modern Europe)