I’ve spent the last week cruising the Mediterranean on a
gorgeous gulet boat with a group of people I will never forget. I had been
nervous for months about who I would be contained to a boat with, but I got to
travel with some truly brilliant people. One in particular became a fast
friend, and another really made the trip shine.
The days were as lazy as you might imagine – sun, swimming
and sleep, with the occasional shift in order. Me, I was the oddity cheerfully
writing on my laptop when others were dozing or reading. Apparently it takes
more than eight days for me to wilfully do little to nothing. Still bent on
‘how can I make the most of this time’, it seems.
That being said, I’ve got the skeleton of what I hope will
be a cracker of a book. Boat politics, drama, and of course, romance.
I went scuba diving. And sucked at it. Throw me into the sky
from 2,000 metres, sure, let’s do this – but put me in a suit that covers
everything but my face (then cover my face with something else), weigh me down
under water and insist I breath through a Darth Vader mouthpiece? Get stuffed.
I went through with it. All my photos have fear-eyes, but I
ticked the experience box. I insisted on two emergency surfaces and spent half
the dive too freaked to turn my head, but I eventually enjoyed myself. After my
instructor put a frikkin’ sea anemone on my hand – enjoyment was a while after
that.
Those little buggers have squishy sucker feet, and it walked
on me. Having had one of its friends bury a 6cm long barb in my toe which I
couldn’t get out for three weeks, I was understandably uncomfortable with its
proximity.
I’ve seen a sunken city. Lycian tombs. An old castle. I’ve
snorkelled, leapt off the boat and accumulated more bruises than looks kosher. We’ve
had a party nearly every night, and I’m managing about four hours of sleep a
night. And on one of those nights, when I hadn’t even had a drink, I fell.
Spectacularly.
I broke three toes. My foot hit the side of
the boat so hard it shattered one of my toenails, and the bruise on my back
makes people lurch away from me, horrified. I ruptured some blood vessels. Ask me if you want photos - I don't want to force that picture on anyone.
Now, think of what you’ve read so far. The exploring. The parties.
The getting in and out of small boats to be shuttled to islands… add broken
toes, and a constant rolling, lurching boat.
The glorious, constant pain. But what can you do?
Apparently you can use a naked lady stirring stick as a
makeshift splint. No kidding. When I get back to port I’m going to get a raised
eyebrow from a doctor, I’m sure – ha!
My parents were sympathetic and alarmed when I told them,
but I have a tiny suspicion they weren’t too surprised. This kind of thing – a
ridiculous injury or incident – happens too often to shock anymore, I think. Before I left for my trip I had a fight with a table and ended up with bruised ribs. I'm that kind of girl. I'm pretty sure the captain was keen to get me off the boat - every time I walked past him he shot out a hand and said, 'Be careful!'. Haha.
It has been wonderful relaxing (in my own way), meeting
amazing people, and getting a greater understanding of life on the ocean. The
crew live and breathe it, and that kind of connection with something – that
complex, deep magnetism – has resonated with me.
It’s been an entirely different pace from any other trip
I’ve been on. And if I were to write a book about this last week that was more
fact than fiction, it would have all the romance of the great love stories, all
the upheavals of different personalities forced together, and a protagonist who
just couldn’t stop smiling.
On to Athens next for four days of leisure and history. Then
ten days in the Greek islands with sand, sun, and hopefully a legitimate
splint.
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