Optical Illusions and Elephants

Edinburgh, Scotland. It was a cold sail to the land of kilts and haggus, but we made it wthout a single case of hypothermia. As Edinburgh was the last port of call while saiing the Sorlandet, many of us spent a great deal of time on board rather in port. It was interesting to watch the transition through out the year. As we first stepped foot on land in the Azores, each persons goal was to get as far away from the ship as possible. We wanted to see the ports and learn of their history or culture but now we wanted to be with her, the ship and our home. 

I spent a lot of my time with metal bright (acid wash) and brasso, but that doesn´t mean that I didn´t go into port at all. Edinburgh is a grogeous city. The closes are crowded with wondow openings and hanging baskets. Each stone seems as if it were placed with the upmost care. Even the new city contained achetecture that is not even comparible to that of Quebec City. 

While the castle was beautiful, the real joy came from sipping coffee at the Elephant House where JK Rowling wrote her first Harry Potter books and Camera Obscura where my brain almost split open trying to make sense of the world around me.

A List of Gratitidue

The end is quickly approaching. With only one port left before the grand arrival in Kristiansand I wanted to post a list of gratitude. There are so many people who have helped me along this journey. They have allowed me to grow into the person I am now and have aided me in my discovery of the oceans and tall ships communities which I will forever strive to be a part of. Below are the names of those who have, in some way or another, provided assistance:

- My parents for raising me in a family that allowed growth and exploration. You created a passion for learning and exploring in a daughter that will never forget where home truly is.
- My extended family. To all the grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles who have been my biggest supporters from day one.
- Bev for being one of the kindest strangers I have ever met. I am so happy to now call you a friend.
- WVYC for following my journey and supporting me before I took off but also for growing my passion of sailing from when I was little.
- My neighbours for the kind donation that caused my jaw to drop. Thank you a thousand times over.
- All the friends and the kind strangers that helped me financially so that this journey and dream of mine could come true. How can I ever repay you for your kindness?
- Mika and her family for hosting me in Chiba, Japan. I was able to see Japan but also to live it through your willingness to show me all that your beautiful city has to offer.
- Jeff and Charo for providing me the comforts of family when my own parents couldn't travel to Cadiz and visit the Sorlandet. I love you as if you were my own parents.
- Jan and Scott for hosting me in the Dominican Republic. Your house provided all the comforts that any sailor might desire for a few days rest before venturing back into the crazy seas.
- The Maritime Crew for guiding me, being my mentors, and growing the passion that I have for sailing: Drew for teaching me how to use a marlin spike and how to make my first splices, whippings, and servings, but also for showing me that it is possible to have a career in the tall ships industry; Jason for all the laughs and for being my punching bag when all I needed was to let off some steam; the Captain for providing us a safe journey and enlisting in me a type of trust that I have never experienced before coming aboard; John for all the talks that opened my eyes to a new and different perspective on life; Erin for believing that I might just have what it takes to be a deck hand, and to all the other maritime crew that made this past year what it was.
- The teachers that were more than just teachers but parental figures and friends that I felt comfortable enough to talk to about anything; Jenn and Megan for being the ears that patiently listened to all my rambles; Bryn for the friendly competition in the board games that acted as an escape from the sometimes chaotic banjer life; Chyzyk for the laughs and the really bad jokes but also for the bear hugs that warmed my heart every time; Kim for teaching me that there is no right or wrong in our society but also that sometimes we just need to deal with it; and Rafael for his comforting words that caused tears to roll down my checks (they were tears of love).
- My friends on the ship, my floaties, for helping me grow into the confident and ambitious teenager that I am today and for putting up with me through thick and thin. You are and always will be my family.
- My friends back home who send me messages and emails and keep me up to date on the life that I will soon return to.
- You, the person who I may or may not have ever met, but continues to read my blog and follow my journey.Thank you for being the inspiration to keep writing. I cannot show my gratitude in words alone.

Thank you.

Seas of Orange

Amsterdam, Holland. Seas of orange crowd the streets as I make a feeble attempt to walk off the ferry. It's the craziest time of year for Holland citizens - King's Day. At every corner a musician is blaring their punk rock or smooth classical music and the chants from surrounding crowds echo through the canal tunnels as booze tipping over the rims of plastic glasses and beer cans stains the cuffs of my pants. The streets are lined with residents who have each taken up a square piece of property and are attempting to sell their belongings on what the king calls the "free market".

This sounds like a nightmare for some, but as an annual celebration in honour of the king, I take every moment in and breath steady. "It will be over tomorrow and for now there is no better option but to party", I whisper to my friends who are also wide eyed and bushy tailed. 

King's Day (also Queen's Day if the queen is in power) is the monarchy's holiday in the Netherlands (Holland). Every year on the day of coronation people take to the streets and adorn themselves in orange as a sign of admiration for the royal family. It is the only time of year that residents can sell their belongings without a permit and so they take the opportunity to clean out their houses - it's essentially a Salvation Army that stretches for miles and miles. It is said that rather than belonging to the monarchy, King's Day belongs to the people and as for what I have seen, I couldn't agree more.

It was a great opportunity to be able to participate in a national celebration and despite feeling as if my insides would tear away from every morsel of my body which attempts to contain them, I returned to Sorlandet with a feeling that can only be described by the warmth that glowed in the veins and arteries of my body and the strength that was contained in the grasp of my friends arms as we cheerfully walked home, linked together with the bonds of friendship and family. We survived King's Day - it was a blast.

From Modern to Traditional

Brest, France. The city of today. There was no story to be told from the crisp clean-shaved buildings that resided on the streets. The city was eradicated in World War II and rebuilt via the combination of German efficiency with American aid. To most, it was not the France they expected. It was city replicated from the midst of a picket-fence paper town. Every street was identical to the next. Only in certain alleyways was there any sign of culture or pride; people came and went, trains passed by on rumbling tracks, the buses kept to their planned schedule, and I was bored.

Having had enough of the late 20^th century town, I took a train to Quimper. Located two hours from Brest in the bottom of a valley, the city was crowded with broken closes (a walk way between buildings), canals, iron railings, and crooked rooftops. The gothic tower, instigated in 1240 and finished in the 1800s, rose to a bone chilling height so that the width of a football field was need for it to be seen properly.  I spent the day eating macaroons, baguettes with cheese and meat, and fifty cent crepes. The sun shone through the gaps of spring trees and blooming bushes as my friend and I hiked up the side of the valley cliff to watch the shades of orange, red, burgundy, crimson and yellow dance on ice particles and copper fields. The conclusion of a delighted day came calmly as I pressed flowers into books and watching country sides pass as the train slowly raddled along its ordinary path to the perfectly modern Brest; to the temporary dock of my temporary home. 

The Loss of a Brother - Rest In Peace

This blog that I have kept as I travel in my teenage years has, for the most part, been about the places I’ve visited and the adventures I have had. Rarely do I write of the people I have met or the personal struggles of adolescence, but last night I was notified of the passing of my crew mate, friend, brother; James.

In the evening he veered off the road while riding his motorcycle and hit multiple side street objects. James, a first year university student, was declared dead at the hospital later that night. It was surreal to be delivered the news at colours that gloomy morning. I let my jaw drop and for the few minutes that we stood there the only words that echoed in my head were persuasive voices telling me “it’s not possible” and “she must be lying”. I shakily walked away only to collapse against the wall of the galley house with a burning salt liquid running down my cheeks.

The following few days were, at times, a struggle. It’s hard to think that our lives can end within seconds. Each day could be the last. I’ve been told the same thing over and over again as I make friends, lose friends, move away, say hello, say goodbye. They always tell you “Carpe Deim”, to treat every moment as if it’s your last and that sometimes what you say to someone may just be the last thing they hear.

James,

Inspiration; they say that’s your middle name. Usually I’d play devil’s advocate, but this time I can’t. It’s true. You taught me to see the other way. I wasn’t the only one. You grasped the heart of every soul who walked in your presence.

I’ll never forget all the times that we lay down next to each other under the stars so that I could feel the warmth radiating from your spotted skin. We would talk for hours about how unjust this world is but how at the same time it brings with it all the wonders and joys of life. We talked of how dreadfully weird people are but we’re just the same, if not more so. Insanity was the basis of conversation and that made us sane in its consequence. I’ll never forget how you were there to listen when my mouth did nothing but run and how the words you spoke left an impact on my constantly moving train of thought.

You touched the hearts of everyone you met and you changed a little part of this world. There is something to be said of those who can leave doing what they love.

Your fellow floatie,

Sophia.

If you’re reading this blog, make sure you show the people you love that you appreciate them. It doesn’t need to be any great sign of admiration, bouquets or chocolate, just a hug will do. Know that while you may sit comfortable in the moment, time is a tricky thing. Within seconds the pocket watch might slip and the tock might no longer tick. I didn’t believe it was possible until I heard about James. 

Shining Bright - Food for Thought

Class Afloat is a microcosm of real society. Each person is drawn from a different background and has a different story to tell. We rarely change who we are, rather our lives and attitudes are amplified in a microscope that’s angled directly on the most minuscule parts that even in the dimmest of lights, continue to shine clearly.