SCENES FROM A WET NIGHT
Sun 15 Mar 2020 10:59
-But first of all an introduction is in its place. My name is Malene, I’m 29 years old and from Denmark, and for the next two months I have the honor of being your eyes and ears, and report to you from this wonderful, floating madhouse, life on a boat can be.
If you already sail, my descriptions will probably be well knows situations for you - maybe sometimes a comic relief from daily life. Other time a remembrance of how it felt when you just started sailing (where all this writing will take me/us, the next two months will show.)
And to you how never sailed before: Here is a glimpse of life onboard.
Nighttime on Dawnbreaker. Ancoring outside of Uligamu, Maldives.
Dreaming of fish and diving, when all of a sudden I wake up all wet. Don’t worry - this is not a story of adult incontinence, but a story of life inside a tuna can in 34 degrees. It could have been my own puddle of sweat that I woke up in, and yesterday it was, but somehow the sweat is swimming around the calves tonight - it doesn’t seem right...
Here all windows and hatches are open 24/7 to ensure a constant airflow. The side affects here of: also being aware of water flow from the sky - even at night.
So waking up in bed all wet tonight either means that the rain is quite heavy or that I slept quite heavy through the first part of the nightly gifts from the sky.
Stumbling out of bed I close my hatches, and still half asleep enters the kitchen, to continue my nightly heroic savings of the boat from drowning (some heroes wear capes. Others just a sheet to cover up. I being the latter). But it appears I’ve, quite literally, slept through the storm and all hatches are already secured. In the dark I hear a voice through the open toilet door. “I already fixed it. Do you need help?”. It turned out to be Ivan, the true savior, finishing closing hatches.
I withdraw back to bed and replace my soaked bed linen with my un-needed hero cape, in order not to attract too much sea life to my, just a moment before, drowning bunk. No sleeping with the fishes tonight.
Moments after all is quiet and calm again, except from the sounds of raindrops dancing on the deck above our heads.