Sailing time...

We've been underway non-stop for a few days and are now hitting the high seas! Hurricane Ophelia is ahead of us and leaving some nasty weather in her wake. Which means life aboard feels like living on a permanent fair ground. Everything has to be
stowed away or tied down and it seems always in the when I'm asleep something in my cabin will break loose (bottle of perfume, can of Diet Coke, lipsalve) and start rolling very noisily back and forth in a drawer. Showering is an interesting experience
as you try to stay upright, while doing one-handed shampooing (the other hand firmly clamped on to the hand-hold bar). The accommodation runs side to side along 40M (120 feet) corridors, so as you walk along you do a fair impression either of a
cart-horse (upper half leaning forward, climbing up the"roll") or a duck, feet akimbo, desperately trying not to be forced to run down the "roll". Because functional areas of the ship are all on different levels (many decks apart), it makes using the
steep stairs all the time too exhausting, so I have had to "get a grip" on my dislike of - and start using - the elevator, which is the worst ride! It's small (4 peeps max, standing very close together) and metal. Obviously it rolls with the ship,
which is a strange enough sensation, but as it hits the side of the shaft, it bounces back, then the whole process starts again on the next roll - like being sideways in a bumper car. When you finally arrive at the right deck (it's slow), you have to
be really patient and wait for the ship to roll back again before you can open the door - mid cycle (very panic-making the first time you are unable to open the door, before you realise the technique!). Much as I hate cruise-ships, I would be very
grateful for a few of their niceties, notably stabilisers!
Probably because there is total silence all around, you really notice the noise aboard. The engine is - surprisingly - relatively quiet, it produces a rich "burr", sort of like white noise with bubbles, in the background is the swhishy water as the
hull cuts through it, all very rhythmic and soporific. The containers themselves sway with the roll (very alarming to see at first) and creak and cackle like fishwives at the market. They also whistle on certain headings, it's very melodious, a
man-made whale song. There's a permanent, light rattling of bottles and household items (hairdryers, speakers) housed in wooden restraints inside cupboards on tables etc. And into that mix finally, are footsteps, either none or very loud (even with
rubber soled shoes) - depending on which way the walker is headed - against or into the roll. So that's the background, which is then shockingly interrupted every now and again with high, shrieking sounds from lots of different alarm types- usually
something in the engine room which needs attention. The alarms only sound in the public areas, but also in the Chief Engineer and duly Watchman's cabins, my cabin is directly below the Chief Engineer's cabin, so I do hear them all!
The view all round of course is of water and sky. That's it! Yesterday we did pass a smaller vessel (we pass no closer than 1 nautical mile, usually a minimum of 1.5). Last week, entering the Mississippi, I watched a playful pod of dolphins frolicking
alongside (drawn by the vibrations in the water) but haven't seen anything since, although I'm told whales are commonly seen further out in the Atlantic. That will depend on visibility, this morning it was raining massive cats and dogs (lots of pumps
running!) and there was a huge "thrumming" noise as the rain lashed the metal containers. Around 1300 the downpour stopped and along came stunning blue skies with lots of fluffy clouds and a great big orange ball hanging high in the sky. Now a few
hours later we are sailing through the thickest fog I have ever seen (think Sherlock Holmes' London), with practically zero visibility.