The Near Future

TOMORROW I'LL BE IN SPAIN AND SOON MOROCCO

stay tuned...

The Atlantic Ocean

Time on the ship is moving at a different pace.  Each day is a week, but somehow I can't find time to blog.  At the same time, I couldn't tell you exactly what there is to do on the ship.  There are classes and lectures, of course, and there is a great deal of time spent looking out at the vast Atlantic Ocean and conversing with other voyagers. 

The ocean is unfathomably large.  It almost appears as a 2-dimensional photograph or painting because there are no landmarks or points of reference in the water.  Occasionally, a plastic bag or a piece of sea-plant will float by, and it will be mildly interesting because there is nothing else to mark the distance of the water except the relative size of the swells and white caps in the distance.  As the other voyagers and I look out onto the ocean, we often mention the colors.  The colors of the ocean are amazing.  When there is nothing else out here to distract the eye (or much apparent pollution), the colors of the ocean become more vivid and distinguishable.  The wake behind the ship is a constant baby blue, marking our path far behind us.  When you look out the window, the sky might be grey and cloudy, so the ocean reflecting it becomes grey-er.  Then, you look over the edge of the deck outside, right into the water below, and it's every shade of blue with bold streaks of white where the ship breaks the uniformity of swells that stretch as far as you could possibly see.  In the evenings, many voyagers gather outside after dinner to watch and photograph the sunset.  As the sun sets, the water is the most impossible shade of purple.  Looking at the water in the evenings, you think that the ocean must be dyed that color.  You can never see into the water; it's too deep.  There is no visible sea life.  It's just the top of the water and the sky with various clouds, commanding the landscape.  On very dark, overcast nights, you can't see anything further than a few feet out from the sides of the ship, giving the impression that we might really be alone out here.  Maybe we're not on the Earth's ocean at all but in outer space.  Then, I bring myself to look over the edge and, by the ship's light, I can see white where the ship breaks the water and remember that the ocean is still there, even if I can't see it.

People saw dolphins a couple of times at the beginning of the voyage.  One day, I saw another boat.  Finally, we passed the Azores.  Everyone came out to watch them pass by because it was the first time we had seen land since Halifax.  At the beginning, it was difficult to adjust to the idea of being away from land, but as we approach Spain, I am feeling a little nervous for the change.  I just got used to being on the ship!  It's very exciting but very hard not to have a familiar routine.

My first day on the ship (posted a few days late)

Today was very confusing.  Today, I boarded the MV Explorer, and we set sail for Cadiz.  I woke up in the hotel this morning feeling inexplicably pessimistic about my decision to come on Semester at Sea at all.  I didn't know any of the other participants, and by their choice of meet-and-greet venue (the over 19 bars) I felt strangely unwelcome by them already.  But something changed when I set foot on the ship.  I finally began to meet my peers and was able to begin to imagine what my life would be like on this program.  I was excited about this beginning.

At the same time, it dawned on me that living on the ship would also involve many physical adjustments.  For example, my cabin is tiny, even by Simon's Rock standards.  There is also the fact that the ship is moving.  Of course, it is moving from port to port, but it is also "pitching" and "rolling" as we sail.  Everyone is working on their "sea legs" because it is difficult to walk in a straight line.  We are falling down or bumping into each other and the walls.  It's difficult to imagine what this might be like if, like me, you have never actually been on a ship before.  Think of an airplane in turbulence... except all the time.  I find the movement of the ship surprisingly relaxing to fall asleep to, but during the day, it is quite disorienting.  I should also mention my moment of shock when land faded into the horizon.  It was only then that I realized I am in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by water, and I will not be able to get off the ship until we arrive in Spain.  Wow.

All of the realizations that I mention in this post--the feeling of getting on the ship for the first time, the small cabins, the pitching and rolling, the ship's isolation--are things that I had read about or thought of before.  But it is very, very, very different to feel them happening to you.

Halifax activity to present:

Ride shuttle-bus to hotel with other Semester at Sea-ers; immediately go out to lunch and a walk with a non-student voyager; accidentally nap until it's almost dark; check the date to make sure I didn't sleep through Thursday; walk around the waterfront area; unable to get into Bon Voyage event because I am six months under the legal drinking age in Halifax; watch Mad Men and eat Oreos by myself while the other students meet each other at the 19-and-over event.

Now I am listening to Lily Frost, and things are looking a little better.  Will make an effort to meet more people tomorrow.

Airports of Canada

Today is a very long and backwards day.  It feels like yesterday and tomorrow smooshed together because I decided that it would be a good idea to take a red-eye flight to Halifax.  On the first flight, I dreamed about packing...

Still Packing...

It is the night before I leave, but I am still packing.  I can't say I didn't expect this to happen.  After all, I don't leave until 7:15pm, so there is plenty of wiggle room for procrastination.  However, I am a little disappointed in myself for being so disorganized for such an important moment.  My packing process has been something like this, over the past two months:  


think that packing is something I should plan ahead for/ read various packing lists online/ imagine various outfits and scenarios/ imagine consequences of packing too much or too lightly/ compile a list in my mind/ write down several variations of the list on various media around the house/ make a pile of objects that might be on a list (this is when I started the blog)/ add and subtract from the pile (Sunday)/ stuff the pile into two duffle bags that do not have holes in them (Monday)/ write blog post while I consider my next step (present)


The contents of those two duffle bags probably requires as much additional editing as the above, overly detailed list.  


Ultimately, I am having trouble packing because I have no way of fully knowing what is in store for me in the next 3.5 months.  A Semester at Sea requires so much planning and preparation, but nobody can completely explain to me what I am preparing for.   This semester will be an experience like no other.  I won't know what is happening until it does or until its all over.  There will be so much information to absorb about the places I go, the people I meet, and about myself--how I react to the changing environment.  How am I supposed to pack for that?  We'll see.

First Blog Post: 3 Days

There are only three full days left before I fly to Halifax to begin my adventure at sea.  I don't know how I feel about this.  It is both a long time to wait and a short time to do all of the things that must occur before I get on that airplane.  Tonight, I must add to the pile of objects on my bed and visualize how they will fit into two suitcases and one carry-on.  The dog is asleep on the carpet at my feet.  I am enjoying this blogging thing so far, if for no other reason than I can avoid packing for a few more minutes.