|This photo was last night when the swells were only 15 feet. Today they’re 30 feet!|
After a fitful night’s sleep as a result of loud creaking in our cabin as the sea wafted from one giant swell to another, I gingerly crawled out of bed, exhausted and unsure on my feet on the rolling floor.
Cautiously entering the shower, I gripped the well-placed grab bar hanging on for dear life. Not only did I drop the soap three times, but my Venus razor hit the floor twice dislodging the shaver head.
Usually, when I shave my legs each day, I stand on one leg while bracing the other leg to be shaved on the shower wall. Not today. I shaved half of each leg, the front, the part most likely noticeable. Hell, who’s looking how close I shaved my legs? Tom would notice only if it became braid-worthy.
We’d left the drapes open last night in hopes of getting up early to begin to reset our disrupted biological clocks. A lot of good that did when I didn’t sleep more than three or four hours.
Tom slept through it all. He says that for the first 12 of his 42 years on the railroad, he’d stand atop of the roofs of the boxcars, jumping from car to car as the boxcars were rolling down the track. That’s how he earned his sea legs. Thirty years ago that dangerous practice was stopped.
The most balancing I’ve done had been skiing years ago with my kids and simply walking on my two clumsy legs on ice and in snow for the past 42 years that I’d lived in Minnesota, falling at least once a year.
As the waves have escalated over the past few days we’ve wondered how seasickness has escaped us as many passengers swarm the medical clinic located on our floor, the 10th.We’ve yet to use the patches our doc in Minnesota prescribed before we left. Why not us? I don’t know.
This morning as we wobbled along the narrow halls to breakfast, we noticed the common areas, the hallways and the Garden Cafe, our favorite breakfast spot, were sparse compared to the calmer days when we first sailed last Saturday, April 20th.
As I slid over to the beverage area for our usual routine of me getting the coffee with Tom getting the omelets, the ship lurched and the hot coffee, fresh out of the machine poured all over my wrist and the long sleeve of my shirt.
As I write this now, I am using an ice pack I’ve made on which to place my left wrist, from front and back, while I type single handedly, with my right. No blisters yet, just raised and red. Later, when we return to the cabin, I’ll dig out our trusty medical kit to put on some antibiotic cream and wrap a sterile bandage. See, I am clumsy.
As we sit in our favorite booth, which opened up shortly after we arrived awhile ago, only moments ago we heard plates, glasses and flatware falling to the floor in the kitchen behind us with a loud, “Ooohhhh,” from the crowd who grabbed the items on their tables to keep them from falling off.
A few moments ago, the captain’s voice came over the loud speaker and this time, everyone hushed and listened. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the “Old Man” (as he refers to himself, “old man of the sea”). “We are experiencing 30 (he later told us they were 50 foot waves) foot waves and I appreciate that you are uncomfortable. We are attempting to veer our course, but it looks as if this may continue until after dark tonight. There is nothing to fear.”
|Another shot of a mere huge swells.|
Fearful, are we? No. We’d anticipated that crossing the ocean would be rough. We’re in awe of how our ancestors crossed the sea on ships without stabilizers, navigational equipment, weather reports, doctor clinics and a wide array of safety and emergency equipment. How did they do
it? Many ships didn’t make it.
A few days ago, we made it through the Bermuda Triangle without incident. Safely passed, we were inspired to attend a seminar yesterday about “the Bermuda Triangle, Fact or Fiction” albeit while the ship was rocking and rolling to 15 foot swells, now at 30 feet. We learned, as we’d suspected, that many of the stories as to its dangers, were either coincidence or not, unlike lost ships and planes in other areas of the sea.
Now five hours ahead of the time in Belize, a mere 16 days ago, we have yet to adjust to an upcoming three additional hours. For now, that is a moot point, as we watch the waves engulf the balconies on the first several decks of the ship. Taking good photos is nearly impossible, let alone walking to the 25 feet to get a vantage point at the window.
|Our monkey towel pet awaiting us last night when we returned after dinner, along with a note on yet another time change.|
Tom tried to get some photos today, but it’s impossible to stand still long enough to get a good shot.