Life at Sea Part 7: Plague and Port

No, we did not get the plague, but the alliteration was too hard to pass up. We did get sick. I use the first-person plural because when an illness appears on a ship, it is the entire ship’s problem. This compounds with sea sickness and leads to a generally miserable time. We harp and focus heavily on sanitation for these reasons. There are rubbing alcohol dispensers at the entrances to the mess and in every public bathroom. We do a deep ship clean every sail at least once. We do two if the voyage is longer than 10 days. This involves getting the dust and grime out of every nook, often taking about two hours if everyone is helping. We encourage regular showers, but when the waves get bad, that activity becomes about as effective as a water park in a bathroom where the only drain is in the shower. Regardless, pack 75 people onto a 60-meter vessel, 48 of whom are teenagers, and you are bound to end up with at least one sickness rolling through the ship. Sadly, one of the most recent bouts was with a particularly nasty stomach bug that took more time to spread. This meant we were getting one or two people sick at a time for a long time. I am uncertain where patient zero got it, considering we spend 80% of the time at sea. We do our best and move through with hopefully stronger immune systems. Tough it out, feel awful, and wait to get back into the rigging until it has passed. The last thing you want is the person above you leaking.

On many of the longer sails, the routine begins to feel more like an aul than a meditation. This is exacerbated by our conservative timeline, which allows more time between ports than is needed. We ended up doing a bunch of unnecessary turns and intentionally slowing down to arrive when we said we would. We even spent a day completely adrift off the coast of Florida. Mind-numbing. On our most recent Atlantic crossing, we had a number of storm systems that prevented this, which was an incredible boon. Never thought I’d be so happy to hear that a storm was incoming. We made it to the Azores four days ahead of schedule to avoid a particularly nasty low-pressure system predicted to cross our path. Helming during 5–10-meter waves is anxiety-inducing, but it was the first time I felt I was truly guiding the ship, fighting swells, tearing sails, and attempting clear headings. Every time we reach a port and take that first step on solid ground, it is the greatest relief. All the hardship becomes a fun story in the rearview. We get to see and experience the variations of sea culture worldwide. The development of different peoples to solve the problem of our limited swimming capacity has had many different influences, as can be expected as soon as the original goal of contact is achieved. Still, each place manages to hold on to an identity with nuances in the industry. In Horta, the paths are tiled with intricate patterns depicting flowing paths and sperm whales. In Cuba, the port opened onto a grand plaza with cafes and a cathedral. In Bermuda, we parked on the main road directly across from a pub with one of the famous white rooves of the country (Literally every building has a white roof). The ocean is the uniting force bringing all these cultures together. Many times forcefully, but the commonalities brought by the surging surf and torrential winds carry and perforate, yielding a respect for the fickle life bringer that is the sea. Let port remind us why we set sail in the first place.