No Moby Dick – Atlantic Ocean

Every night we have lost an hour in the crossing of the Atlantic. It has made my energy all wonky and although I have still kept up my exercise, my balance is a little off.

I have had a few too many desserts and I think it may be time to put the brakes on. To be perfectly honest, I am getting a little sick of food anyway. There is just so much of it on these trips and it seems like it’s always time to eat.

Luckily I have devised a strategy that is keeping me away from half the mealtimes and all the snack times. On the daily schedule which the Cirque de Towels accompanies on my bed every night, I can plot my route. I circle activities which occur simultaneously with the almost constant food offerings that are held in rooms far from the troughs.

Last night I learned how to play Apples to Apples which I think is a grand game. Then a group of us played Yahtzee long into the night. I liked my new friends who seemed to all have the same type of sense of humor as I.

Tomorrow we get into Funchal and many have commented on how excited they are to set foot on land again. I don’t think the boat has been overly unstable but I suppose I don’t tend towards seasickness. There was one night which was rather rocky but I didn’t realize how bad it affected other passengers until I spotted the “sick bags”. Similar to the ones in your seat pocket on airplanes, they were provided by the dozen attached near every stairwell.

One of the favorite topics of conversation that seems to always come up at lunches is who has endured the roughest seas. Inevitably, the table will go round listening to each others horror stories, trying nonchalantly to top it. I have begun to realize that like fish stories, these tales of shipboard trauma can often be exaggerated. I now study the face of the wife sitting next to the buffoon who bellows “I remember the time…” Usually, her thin knowing smile and here-we-go-again sigh tells it all.

Grateful for safe passage.

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