Thursday, March 9, 2006

Sailing is horrible again. Oh my God. What a nightmare. The San Blas Islands were the most incredible place I've ever seen, and visiting them is the highlight of this trip so far. We would have missed them if we'd flown. The sailboat is a gorgeous little boat. The captain turned out to be very cool, and his girlfriend is awesome. The rest of the people on board are great. But sailing - it sucks.

Yesterday morning we prepared to set sail, knowing it would be approximately forty hours of non-stop sailing before we hit Cartagena. I chopped up some ginger and made a huge batch of ginger tea for everyone in the cute little boat kitchen. It's really a great kitchen, nicer than what you'd find in some NYC apartments. I drank a bunch of the tea, but again my faith in ginger failed me and I took a chewable Dramamine.

We took off at around noon, and it was just as swell-y as it had been the last time. M. managed to cook a late lunch/early dinner under those conditions, so either she is amazing or the swells weren't as bad for others as they were for me. I couldn't be anywhere near the food, which would have looked good to me just a few hours earlier. Once we were moving, the look, the smell, ugh. I was not feeling very well at all. I went down to the captain's room and lay down on the bed.

We'd offered the room to others a couple of times, but no one took us up on it. I didn't feel any less guilty about having the good room while others slept on the deck, but at that point I didn't want to argue. I lay down at about 3:00 p.m. and did not leave the bed all night. I didn't sleep, I just sort of closed my eyes and blanked out. It's what I imagine hibernating must be like.

My body cooperated by not even having to go to the bathroom. That was good, because going to the bathroom on the boat while it's moving is no easy feat and if you're not careful you're likely to end up bruised, covered with urine, or both. (I asked Michael if he sat down in there, but he refused to admit to it.)

Eventually it got dark, and lights went on upstairs, but I didn't move. I tried a couple of times, but when I stood up, I felt sick and lay back down again. After a while Michael came down and lay down next to me. I remained in that purgatory between sleep and wakefulness all night. Every time I started to fall into actual sleep, the boat would tip and I'd roll awake.

In the morning there was breakfast. Paul peeked down the stairs and waved his grilled-cheese sandwich. "Megan, breakfast?" My misery made me extremely emotional, and I was deeply moved by that. But I couldn't eat.

I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, took another Dramamine and went back to fake-sleep. Some time in the afternoon Sepi came and lay down next to me. I was glad someone else was using the good bed. I had to wedge my hand under the mattress to keep from rolling back and forth, but it was soft, and mostly dry. I couldn't hear or see any of the others and I wondered what they were doing out there.

After about twenty-four hours in the cabin, I tried going up on deck. The breeze was nice, and I could see the horizon for the entire three hundred sixty degrees around us, something I've never seen before. And there were people to talk to.

This worked out ok until I got splashed one too many times. So then I tried reading in the dining cabin. It was hot, and I wanted to lie down. So I went back to the bedroom and lay down. The waves were never-ending. The rocking and rolling were constant.

I felt seasick, and I felt guilty about the others up on deck. I was afraid Michael would fall overboard and I wanted to go warn him to be careful, but I felt I couldn't get up. As it got dark again, I worried about the others up there getting splashed. I worried they were seasick and vomiting. I worried they were tired and mad at me for hogging the bed. Anything outside the room was a complete mystery to me. I had absolutely no idea what was going on up there.

M. seemed to have hurt herself, or else she was sick, or both. She was lying on the floor whimpering. But I couldn't ask what was wrong, I could only lie there and feel it was wrong that she was not in her own bed, because I was using it.

Even without actual sleep, time passed faster when I was lying down and blanked out, and I did not feel the worst of the seasickness. And then it happened again. It stopped. The boat had stopped, the rocking and rolling and pitching and free-falling had stopped. We were still.

I knew we must be at Cartagena. But I didn't leave the bed. Why would I, when I could finally actually fall asleep?

 

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Chichime, San Blas

Beautiful Chichime. San Blas Islands.

Palm tree.

Inside the cabin, reading. Me, Suzanne.