Sail the Atlantic Ocean

“Each sunset differed from the one the evening before. There might be a blaze of orange and pinks across the sky, or it might seem that we’d skate forever over a molten ocean, leaving no trace of our passage but the ripple of wake, surrendered in moments to rollers coming from the direction of Africa. Night comes quickly in the tropics. First a few planets show; then, within a few short minutes, the hazy streak of billions of stars light the heavens. In the dark, we could often find a pinpoint of swiftly moving light—a satellite overhead. It was our only reminder of human ingenuity other than the vessel itself, faithfully carrying us to the New World. And there were meteors, sometimes dozens of falling stars over the course of a watch. Some blinked out almost immediately, while others left a trail of green or red halfway across the sky as they obliterated themselves in our atmosphere.”

“It is the fourteenth day of our trip. We are still 1351 nautical miles away from our destination and I am unusually irritable. When I come out of the toilet, my face white as a sheet, I know why. I grab the water bottle and empty it in one go before disappearing back into the toilet. Two weeks of poor, restless and dream-distorted sleep combined with drinking habits that lag behind rising temperatures are taking their toll. My personal nightmare comes true: cystitis in the middle of the Atlantic.”