Life at Sea

Philosophers and the wisest scholars of the time used to believe that the seas were each separate and disconnected, like lakes between states, landlocked. Indeed, to travel to different oceans was to traverse land and deserts and mountains to reach different beaches. Similarly we are cut off from the rest of the world, except for occasional emails and word-of-mouth news of what’s happening in the world; we are equally alone and disconnected. See the world, circumnavigate the globe, this is my story and life aboard a ship at sea. Besides the romantic and different feeling about traveling the open ocean, there is a reality that is much more difficult to explain than those portrayed by the romantic movies about ships and the sea. Few others can claim the adventure of circumnavigating the world over in a ship, tossed around by the waves and currents. This is my life at sea. I assume that only at our homecoming will we then realize how much the sea and our travels have shaped and changed us as voyagers.

We are but a small dot on the map of the world. I can’t help but feel insignificant as we circumnavigate the globe. We have seen much of the world, but we have missed much, much more. As we travel through different continents, cultures and people, we discuss how insignificant our small lives and influences truly are. It’s almost defeating. To see the world as a flat piece of paper takes away so much from the power of these beings, these humans, and their societies and cultures they create. But when you see the creativity, intelligence, determination, hard-work and success of the students aboard this vessel, your faith in the power of the individual is reignited.

We pitch and roll at sea. Up and down, left and right. Just like a yo-yo, with no control. Indeed, it seems like the waves and currents dictate our emotions and our feelings. When the sea is as flat and calm as a lake, the ship comes alive with music and conversation, planning and reflection of travels past and future. At other times, when the sea is rough, it’s like someone has shaken a normally vibrant ant hill. People retreat their cabins to rest and take care of their sea-shaken bodies. We eat less, and the hallways are somber. Even I fell victim, who bravely but foolishly declared that I was not seasick this entire voyage. Until the Yellow and China Seas, I was medicine and puke-free. Indeed, we are the sea at its best and worst.

One of the amazing facets of life at sea is the journey between ports. The trends and the differences are alive—Brazil to South Africa, India to Burma, and China to Japan. Between governments, politics, food, and languages, the differences and similarities between people and places come alive. Travel by ship is slow and monotonous. Unlike airplanes that whisk us around on a moment’s notice, the ship is rather methodical and calming. The time differences change only by an hour at most each day, and we have time to process our adventures and plan for our futures. There is no jet lag between ports, only waves and time.

There are two amazing, perfect times at sea for me—one arriving at port, and the other leaving. These are my favorite times at sea for different reasons, one for possibility and the other for my fellow travelers and their stories. Each port, the morning before we arrive, I wake up before dawn to see the rising sun over our arriving port. As the purples and oranges and reds fill the sky above the bluest of seas, I am always filled with anticipation about the possibilities of adventure, culture and new people. A whole unknown adventure is hidden and we are curious to explore. Like past explorers and adventurers, the unknown and yet spontaneity of travel are laid out before our feet, a land undiscovered. No reading or planning can fully explain the possibilities or expectations. We are like sailors, who used to navigate their ships by intuition and feeling. In order to be successful, we must listen and follow the birds, gaze at the stars like the Southern Cross, and trust ourselves and the constant sun overhead. My other favorite time is upon our departure from port. Students, staff and faculty are aglow, full of amazing stories and experiences as they enter the gangway. The hallways are packed all night as we discuss and tell our favorite stories from port. We talk about the people, the history, the culture, the music and everyone’s different adventures.

On most days at sea, I watch the setting sun. On occasion I wake up for an early sunrise—the day ready with promise and excitement and the first burst of orange signaling a new day. Still, sunsets are my favorite, when the sky turns into an artist’s palate of bright oranges and red hues and purple hazes. An audience gathers each day around 6 o’clock or 18:00 hours to watch this remarkable show. Despite my greatest intentions, pictures cannot capture the grandiosity of the setting sun and vibrant colors on the horizon over the sea. No horizon will match the sea’s beauty.

We have crossed some of the most powerful and influential currents and oceans in the world. The rocky southern Atlantic Ocean, the two currents fighting for control on the Cape of Good Hope, the calm, serene and warm Indian Ocean and the mighty, vast Pacific Ocean, dotted only with islands here and there.

Time is an interesting and complex concept on our voyage. Not only did we experience 2 consecutive April 20ths, but we lose track of day and time each day. As we circumnavigate the world, the hours are added to the clock one hour at a time, meaning we have many 23 hour days and we are constantly seeking nap times. By nature of navigating east, we lose hours and times and indeed days as we move east back to the States. On April 20th (the first), we crossed the International Dateline in the Pacific Ocean, meaning we repeated the day for the first time in my life. I felt like Bill Murray in the movie “Groundhog Day.” Even worse, on April 20th the first, we were 17 hours ahead of the East Coast. By April 21st we were a mere 7 hours behind! We had crossed the International Dateline in the Pacific Ocean.

The sea is teaming with wonderful life and animals. Flying fish flee from the quick moving bow of the ship as it cuts through the water. They glimmer green on the blues of the ocean as they jump between crests and waves. Dolphins form huge groups, rising to the surface to breathe in unison on the horizon. On one occasion, while eating off the Deck 6 aft Dining Room, we spotted a whale. Three times it rose to the surface and spouted its great blow hole before returning to the depths of the water. I can only imagine the life we don’t see. Deep ocean depths of 12,000-20,000 feet hide the strangest and darkest creatures of all.

The M.V. Explorer is a marvel of a ship. The fastest passenger ship in the world, she is a world away from ships of the past. “Those who would go to sea for pleasure,” the English sailors said, “would go to hell for pastime.” Life at sea was profane and hard. They faced storms, lightning, freezing temperatures, fire, and sudden death at every turn. To be at sea was hellish: maggot ridden food and rum, dingy, rat-infested foul-smelling holds, and the greatest killer scurvy. Travel at sea has changed so much, yet the numbers of folks who have circumnavigated the globe have not. To circle the globe is as magical and unbelievable as it was 200 years ago.

The sea is still a world unexplored, like space. Research and study continues, and for my small part, I helped our new friend Dave on our trip between Brazil and before South Africa. He joined us for a short stint to deplore buoys measuring water temperatures and currents for global warming research. Currents, I learned, are as vital to weather, rainfall and our global health as rainforests and biodiversity. I dropped the buoy into the water like a dead body overboard with a student. Attached to a tire, buoys like this one are distributed around the world, collecting shared data for the scientific community.

We’ve passed over the Equator twice, the Prime Meridian once, and the International Dateline. We joke that if you look closely, you can see the yellow line in the sea. But if the Bridge didn’t remind us about these arbitrary divisions in the world, we would be none the wiser.

Science continues to develop, and we are wiser about our world. We now know the oceans are all connected, a vast sea world of unknown. While we live in a world that increasing smaller and more connected, the sea represents a world where there is so much more to learn and explore—an unknown realm with much potential. Like our arrival and departure from a new land, there is an indescribable feeling of excitement, curiosity and sharing in circumnavigating the world. Looking out from Deck 7 aft, it’s hard to believe the world isn’t flat. The smooth horizon looks like it stretches forever. One big ocean. One small world.