When we decided to stop traveling on the WTP, I had mixed emotions. Part of me was glad. It meant that we wouldn't have to tackle the many long crossings still ahead on our route, including those infested with pirates; there would be no more storms to battle; we would get to see a bunch of cities in Europe; I would see my dog sooner. An equal part of me was incredibly sad. I miss being rocked to sleep at anchor, the dolphins playing at our bow, getting better at manning dock lines, and yes, I even miss the surge of adrenaline that comes with being on deck during a storm.
On the flight from Colombo, Sri Lanka to Istanbul, Turkey, I was contemplative and prone to short spells of 'sorry, there's just something in my eye...' The sense of things being unfinished was strong and it was tough to think about continuing onwards by land, even though I was also genuinely excited about where the road would take us in Europe. Matt and I had to leave because our visas expired the next day, but even so the temptation was there to get back on the train and return to Galle, and just keep sailing. Once in Istanbul, I found myself still noticing things that matter greatly when you're living on a boat - dark clouds, the wind, the price of pasta - but not so much when you're living out of the pack on your back.
It eventually became easier to think of ourselves as land tourists, but I still miss the days of stepping onto land after days on the boat. You just feel so awesome. There's a certain sense of pride that comes from not showering in days, getting woken up in the middle of the night for your watch, and donning foulies when the weather gets wet. As sailors and cruisers I felt that we were miles apart from the 'regular' tourists who shared some of the same destinations as us. They could go back to their hotel room, take a hot shower, and get into a clean bed. Most times, I rushed through a cold shower, was content to find a cold Coke, and returned at night to a bed that never seemed to get completely dry. It was great.
Another big part of cruising was the community we instantly became part of. We saw the same boats and the same people, and we all got to know each other. From Australia to Thailand we hung with the same pack. We were the youngest crew, and received much good-natured teasing because of it; a fellow sailor told us that we were known among the other boats simply as 'the Americans.'
That sense of community, and really knowing what it's like to live on a boat and have it be your home, makes the news of the s/v Quest hit that much harder. The four aboard - Scott and Jean Adam, Phyllis Macay, and Bob Riggle - were captured when their boat was hijacked on February 19th off the coast of Oman during their crossing from Cochin, India to Salalah. Today, February 22, all four were killed by the pirates. Details are surfacing of what happened, and I expect more will continue to emerge in the days and weeks to come. Knowing details won't make this news any easier, especially for their families and friends. I can only hope that the other boats currently making this crossing, or those planning to make it, will take all the precautions they can and make it safely to wherever their destination lies.