And again. We set out to sea and the rituals and routines of land life fade away. All that matters is the ship, the watch, the sea. Time gains an entirely different meaning; how long until you are on watch, how long until you're off again. Needs become simple: hunger, relief, sleep. The importance of taking care of others increases, and taking care of yourself becomes a responsibility to the ship. Sleep so you can be awake for watch. Eat so you will have energy for watch. Everything leads up to and surrounds the times you are responsible for the safety and direction of the ship. Your world shrinks to its length and breadth, while simultaneously expanding to the horizons. Anything for the ship, and she will take you anywhere you care to imagine, and show you things you never expected to see.
And so, with a rumble of the engine as we pull away from the dock, the rocking of the ship as we rise and fall in the swell, the flap of canvas and the splash of waves against the hull, we return again to the sea. To Corsica! To Sardinia! To Italy! To Greece! We now traverse the waters of Homer's Odyssey, the waters of ancient legend and the birthplace of sailing itself.
Blink and you're in a different world. One moment, a busy subway, the next, an ethereal forest of granite pillars, raising to the heavens as rainbows shimmer through the stained glass windows of Gaudi's unfinished masterpiece. You round a corner and suddenly a medieval town towers above you, standing high and proud on limestone cliffs, beset by siege, wind, waves, and time. Scamper along its battlements and you can still almost hear the twang of arrows loosed, the cries of the Aragonians below as hot oil rains down from the ramparts.
Predawn departure, running from winds named by ancient Greeks, whipping the seas into a fury. Footsteps pound on the deck at midnight, hands scramble over unfamiliar lines, learning by doing, shouted orders over howling winds.
We duck into safe harbors of crystal blue waters where windblown rocks with wild features stand sentinel, or Circe's grotto awaits our arrival. We sail past the islands of the Sirens, quietly straining to hear a whisper of song, joking, but also, somehow, completely serious. For this is the land where Rome held sway, where Pompeii met its brutal end, where Bronze Age ruins sink below the sea and then rise again.
So now I sail on this sea of legends, with a crew of teenagers in tow, my ears full of high school gossip and drama. One minute, we gape at Byzantine castles, the next minute, students debate the merits of a perfect Instagram profile. We sail on.
