Yesterday the Captain got on the PA system--a first in my experience--and described to us the high seas we were soon to face. He was on again today to tell us we'd soon have past the worst. It has been rough at times, with jolts forceful enough to send dishes in the dining room to the floor, but life on board has mainly continued uninterrupted. Seasick folks have had sympathy, and a lot of folks have needed naps. (It's hard to tell--this is true for me and for others--whether the drowsiness is from the seasickness itself or from the seasickness medicines many of us take.) The sea has been spectacular to sea, with large waves rolling and big bursts of spray. This afternoon the sun came out and suddenly two of the seabirds--a brown booby and a masked booby, I think--that have been with us at various times this week rejoined us again, as if we'd become fit to travel with again now that we were past the heavy stuff.
We are two days away from Japan, or will be when we all wake up tomorrow morning (I write this at 9:50 PM local time, though we're setting our clocks back once again tonight), and our longest period at sea for this voyage is soon to be over. It has gone, in my estimation, wonderfully well: we have very good people on board. And my impression is that the combination of good luck and careful, strategic steering by the Captain and his crew have afforded us a smoother ride than we could reasonably have hoped for. Tonight John Tyner, the engineering prof on board, gave a wonderful accounting in the big auditorium room of the way the ship works, information that deepens the impression that it is a marvel. Sometimes more knowledge immerses one in, rather than separating one from, the magical.
This time at sea has been wonderful. To look all around one for this long and see nothing but ocean (I have otherwise only seen a few birds and one ship and a couple of stray pieces of detritus) is an astonishing privilege: as the round disk spreads to the horizon it becomes entirely possible to understand how people once thought you could reach an edge and go over.
But I think we will all be glad to be on land.
We are two days away from Japan, or will be when we all wake up tomorrow morning (I write this at 9:50 PM local time, though we're setting our clocks back once again tonight), and our longest period at sea for this voyage is soon to be over. It has gone, in my estimation, wonderfully well: we have very good people on board. And my impression is that the combination of good luck and careful, strategic steering by the Captain and his crew have afforded us a smoother ride than we could reasonably have hoped for. Tonight John Tyner, the engineering prof on board, gave a wonderful accounting in the big auditorium room of the way the ship works, information that deepens the impression that it is a marvel. Sometimes more knowledge immerses one in, rather than separating one from, the magical.
This time at sea has been wonderful. To look all around one for this long and see nothing but ocean (I have otherwise only seen a few birds and one ship and a couple of stray pieces of detritus) is an astonishing privilege: as the round disk spreads to the horizon it becomes entirely possible to understand how people once thought you could reach an edge and go over.
But I think we will all be glad to be on land.
