Reflections on the Sea

So, today has been rough - quite literally. Our Atlantic crossing was super nice - it only got bumpy a little bit toward the end, when we were all so used to sailing that it barely bothered anyone. This is less than a 24 hour sail, so I kind of thought it would be pretty mild. (So did the book fair, because they didn't do a full packdown!) Instead, it has been our roughest sail yet! Definitely my roughest, but I talked to other people who have been on the ship since it's been sailing, and they agreed. I hardly get seasick, but this one got even me down - I spent the entire afternoon and evening lying on my bed just waiting until it calmed down or I felt better. Also I was trying to avoid Deck 5, which is supposedly the place that moves the least, so it's where sick people congregate. I told my dad that it looked like a triage center or something - so many people lying on the floor or huddled in small clumps, looking pale and miserable. It's either mildly amusing or traumatic when you walk through, depending on how you yourself feel. :-P

Oh, but THAT was earlier. It's all over now. I've finally started feeling better, so I went upstairs to eat, since, you know, I hardly have today. I sat in the empty dining room (literally the first time I've seen it like that!) watching the water, which came so close it looked like it wanted to eat me. It was somehow so scary and so appealing that of course I had to go out for a better look.

Sometimes I really wish I had a better command of language, and this is definitely one of those times. I know for a fact that there is something really beautiful to be said about the Mediterranean at midnight in the moonlight. The alliteration isn't even planned; it's natural. Doesn't that just prove my point?

The most I can say about it, though, was that it was spectacular and terrifying and huge. I couldn't see how big the swells were, but I could see whitecaps all around, glowing blue in the moonlight. Ferocious wind, clouds backlit by the moon, sea spray in the air . . . and the unpredictable motion of the ship. From the inside, it just feels dizzying, but outside I could really see how the ship was getting tossed around by the water and the wind - like a toy, really. We charted our course, we trained and prepared, but we have no control over this - this Mediterranean midnight.