Drake Passage/South Atlantic Ocean
13 Dec 2008
Today is the last day of Drake. We are winding the trip down. The cleaning staff of the Prof M crew is in overdrive. We hear the last lectures by Tari and Anjali. Passengers relax in the bar, or deal with their sea-sickness. The young set takes advantage of the sauna, and I join them a final time.
When we awakened, we were already cross the Antarctic Convergence it’s very much warmer outside. Standing on the stern outside our cabin immediately after I roll out of the top bunk and dress, it feels like the climate is different and that we’re in a different sea, though we’ve probably traveled only 150km since I last stood out here. Soon the bridge will be closed to passengers when we reach the Beagle Channel because a pilot takes over the navigation from the mouth of the Beagle Channel all the way to Ushuaia.
The rhythm aboard the Prof M during the Drake crossing is now dominated primarily by mealtimes, with the PA system crackling to life to announce them. I’ve gotten used to Jan, our Belgian hotelier, saying more or less the same thing everyday in his heavy Belgian accent:
“Ladies and gentlemen, good morning, it is 8 o’clock, and that means our crew has a delicious breakfast waiting for you, so please join us in the dining room!”
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is 12:30, and a nice lunch is waiting for you in the dining, room, so please, join us. Bon Apetit!”
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is 7 o’clock, and our chef has prepared a delicious dinner that is waiting for you in the dining room, so please, join us. Bon Apetit!”
Of course, Annika repeats these in Finnish each time.
In the two parallel dining halls are several long tables, perpendicular to the axis of the ship. One side has portholes. Usually, if it’s lunch or dinner, there is a small starter or appetizer dish waiting at each setting. Today there isn’t. Instead, we’re served carrot broth soup. Afterwards, a community bowl of lettuce and red beet salad at each table. For the non-vegetarians there a fish fillet with roasted potato halves. Afterwards, chocolate ice cream scoop on top of small, diced fruit. Coffee, tea brought around by Jessica and the main Russian serving woman. All the food is made from pretty good quality ingredients, but except for the curry we have once, not much spice or intensity. I suppose when the meals are limited, you can’t afford to offend people with bold flavors, because there isn’t anything else to eat except cookies and nuts in the bar.
Usually at breakfast or lunch, Jan will come around and ask who wants a vegetarian version of that night’s dinner. The staff joins us for meals, but never the crew. We never see the crew eat except at the BBQ. We never even see the crew sit down anywhere on the ship. There is a whole separate crew world down below, which we don’t see.
In the afternoon and evening, I spend time in the bar. I alternate between the middle-aged Anglophone guys I’m now friendly with and the younger set.
The Anglophones include: Malcolm, an interesting lawyer and photographer and globetrotter from Berkeley across San Francisco Bay from me; Phil, the semi-retired Aussie farmer who is part of the Kayak Five, and Kerry, a voluble and friendly globetrotter who is also an Aussie. I like to listen to Phil talk, because he uses the craziest Aussie slang, and because his drawl makes him say the word “yeah” with what sounds to me like four syllables. “Yea-uh-er-ah”. Something like that.
The younger set includes: Sarah, the kayaker from Cape Cod; Kathryn, the Canadian who both jumps in the ocean and baths in the thermal bath; Patrick, the Aussie kayaker and sauna-ist; Sielke, the Swiss-German young woman who dances almost as hard as Jessica at the BBQ. Actually, all four are sauna-ists, taking every opportunity to steam together.
Anjali takes a minute to give me a photo she took of me. At first I think it’s not so interesting, but gradually realize it captured the essence of my experience: it’s an image of me from the back, standing alone on deck with cold weather gear, staring by out at the sea and ice. It’s a nice moment we share.
After dinner there is a mad exchange of digital photos, a presentation of the expedition log prepared by the staff (a nice surprise), a showing of a handful of photos submitted to a group presentation by a dozen or so passengers, and finally a screening of the a draft video highlights feature, independently prepared by the ship’s doctor. The doc obviously knows something about video production, but the choice of alternatively silly music (accompanying some clowning penguin scenes) and earnest music (accompanying scenes of soaring majesty, grand splendor, etc.), and the repeated video subject/muse of the young and pretty Jessica in much of the video led me to feel a little embarrassed for our generous doctor… (I wonder if the absence of passengers in the video was to avoid worrying about getting permission from those who were taped.)
We all have last drinks. I buy Malcolm a scotch. The younger set rumored that there might be a second party like the BBQ at Almirante Brown, but it doesn’t materialize.
I wake in the middle of the night to realize that it actually is dark out. The first true night that we have had since the night we embarked.
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