We woke up one morning to banging and an
uncomfortable up-and-down feeling in the pit of our stomachs. Waves,
white-topped and threatening, were crashing against the ship. A storm was
brewing, the captain announced, so we’d be turning away from that (no more stop
in the Azores) and heading for Funchal, Madeira (a Portuguese territorial
island) instead. The top-floor buffet was closed. The entertainment was
minimal. (Too dangerous, otherwise.) Use the rails at all times. And for God’s sake, be careful, he
implied.
Walking
the corridors was an adventure. First, you angled one way – then, if you
weren’t paying attention, you found yourself leaning the opposite direction.
Barf bags festooned the rails at regular intervals, and trying to climb the
stairs was frightening. I almost went backwards on one step when the ship
lurched. (We took the elevators after that – but what if the power failed?)
Lunch (at
the only available place on the ship) was delicious, but crowded. A plump lady
ahead of us lost her balance, grabbed for a curtain, and it came away in her
hands. Down she went. (Fortunately, she was more embarrassed than hurt.) Dishes
on the table slid back and forth, and regular crashes came from the direction
of the kitchen. (We heard one of the big coffee machines fell, as well as
several trolleys. The downstairs main area was a melee of moving chairs and
tables.)
We had some decisions to make regarding
excursions, so retreated to the library. Fortunately, I didn’t stand too long
in front of the glass cases. A huge bang, and the books literally shot off the
shelves, smashing open the glass doors, and forming drifts on the floor. One of
the ship stewards started to pick the books up – and they did it again.
(Fortunately, they were back on the shelves before the ceiling caved in next
morning, and a flood poured in.) The same bang threw me out of my ‘comfy chair’
and sent me sprawling. Tables and furniture moved across the floor, then
shifted back again.
Now you
have proof – books are dangerous.
The Brick
was unmoved, in more ways than one. After all, he’d seen much worse during his
six years in the Navy. I could also see ship’s employees going on about their
business, with no safety lines on. (Though they staggered around inside, just
like us.) By suppertime, people were being hustled in quickly to the same
restaurant – but the food was good, even if it was served on plastic dishes. (How
the chefs and waitstaff did it, I have no idea – they were amazing.) The
sliding had become so commonplace that you automatically stabilized whatever
was in front of you, whether yours or not.
We went
to bed earlier than usual, and watched some movies. (We’re still fighting to
get off Colorado time, which is five hours earlier than United Kingdom time.) The
drop, then fight to get back up, was unnerving, even cushioned by pillows. (The
Brick thought the waves were 15-20 ft. Have you seen bigger ones? I asked. Oh
yeah, f+ ar bigger.) A few seasickness pills, hours of sleep – and the sun was
out in the morning. Still a little bumpy, but nothing like the day before. Back
to normal – but the ship was heading for Madeira, instead of the Azores. The
captain assured us this was the worst. Given the Atlantic’s reputation for more
temper tantrums than its Pacifying sister, though, this probably won’t be the only
storm we experience during the cruise.
Strange –
I found myself holding tightly onto my glass at suppertime that night, even
while I was eating with the other hand. Apparently I was unconsciously making
sure it wouldn’t slide.
No comments:
Post a Comment