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As we put distance between ourselves and Cape Town outside company became sparse. The occasional fur seal surfaced and gamboled for our entertainment, and some albatrosses and shearwaters circled the ship gliding effortlessly on the wind perhaps seeking interaction to supplement their solitary existence. Very occasionally in the Southern Atlantic commercial shipping will pass but other than that our companions were the ocean, the stars and the weather and would be for some considerable time, St Helena was seventeen hundred miles away.
Now it was one thing to sail in the under the protection of Cape Bay but once into the open ocean the rolling and pitching comes into play and almost inevitably for the new crew this brings the onset of sea sickness although for reasons I shall describe shortly, most of it goes unreported. Sea sickness effects people in different ways, it can be purely a matter of feeling nauseous, maybe a headache and for some just feeling a little off colour. But for those poor buggars who suffer the full blown symptoms it can be unrelenting misery. A grey pallor mirroring the ocean’s pallette is often followed by violent vomiting which repeats until the stomach empties in its entirety. Further wretching bring a thick yellow bile to bear which causes severe discomfort and the acid reflux burns the gullet. Headache and dehydration add to the nightmare and nothing relieves the misery until the sea calms and the body readjusts to its new environment. I have suffered the worst of this scourge in the English Channel on my first ever Tall Ships voyage and if God had put out his hand and said “time to go” I would have given it serious consideration.
A number of so called over the counter medications and old wives tales provide supposed prevention or relief. New crew come on board adorned with bracelets and ear patches, laden with tablets, ginger biscuits and lucky charms to avoid debilitation but realistically eating regularly, staying well hydrated and being busy is as good as advice as any. I decided to follow the latter on this occasion which, on reflection did not work out as I had intended.
The first evening Marianne the cook served up Hungarian goulash with red cabbage and raisins, and as ravenous as working on the ocean makes you, two servings of this savoury dish was at best risky, at worst perilous in terms of the likely outcomes. As I clambered into my bunk the ship heeled over to port and I was suddenly overwhelmed by a sensation akin to getting off the ‘Big One’ at Blackpool Pleasure Beach. We have all drank the twelve pints of lager, got to bed only for the ceiling to inexplicably spin, and a precarious trip to the big telephone becomes inevitable. My circumstances were trickier in that the whole cabin was in motion, it was pitch black and I was somewhat disorientated. As I got out of my bunk the ship rolled and I stumbled the length of the cabin coming to rest in a heap at the foot of the toilet door. No time to nurse wounds as other more pressing matters needed to be attended to, namely the Goulash surge rocketing from the pit of my stomach. I dragged myself into the toilet just managing to open the lid of the toilet as I wretched violently and the tidal wave of Hungary’s favourite dish crashed afore me. But the sea had no respect for my predicament as the ship lurched to port side and I banged my head against the bulkhead only for it to tip the other way and I felt a hefty thump as my head hit the sink. Of course the discharge of my gastric contents continued unabated during this marine assault and in consequence only about fifty per cent hit its intended target.
I felt a damp lumpy sensation around my knees as the aforementioned goulash ebbed and flowed around the toilet floor and together with a stifling pungency my initial relief was quickly replaced with an urgent desire to clean up before my cabin mates returned from watch. And where were the J cloths or double strength ‘Bounty’ in my hour of need. No where to be seen of course and I spent the next half hour piecemeal sopping up the mess with thin toilet roll, becoming queasier by the minute. Job done I spayed a considerable amount of my Lynx deodorant to mask any trace of my indiscretion.
Now as I say most sea sickness goes unreported as most men like to appear strong in adversity.” Stomach like iron me” or “Never effects me” are commonplace retorts but interestingly as we sat in the deckhouse the following morning I noticed a couple of the crew rubbing their temples and picking toilet paper from behind their fingernails!!!
Anyway we are all getting to know each other as we make our way up the Atlantic and hopefully honesty will prevail as friendships develop over the coming weeks. There is a great mix on board and I am looking forward to interesting conversation and debate as well as improving my sailing skills, although I have to say I think the Captain has me down as a lost cause.
Hope all is well with everybody at home, we are sailing towards St Helena and are about 500 miles off the Namibian coast. For anybody who is interested you can follow the ship on www.barkeuropa.com
Doddy
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