Who would have thought I'd end up here, on a Greenpeace ship in the Atlantic Ocean? (Actually come to think of it, my high-school teachers probably had some inkling after I organised a protest on the school’s front stairs, but that’s another story). In any case, here I am, trying to get used to the rather surreal life on the Esperanza - and just between you and me, trying to convince the Mexican cook to whip up some of his national food.
Yesterday we set off from Falmouth, Cornwall, after a largely successful expedition in the search of Cornish Pasties (for those who don't know, they are fatty pastries filled with steak and vegetables, or cheese and broccoli if you're not carnivorously inclined). Cornwall lived up to its reputation - everyone was lovely. I even spotted a little old lady who seemed to be quite a Greenpeace fan. She was sighted walking around town in a luminous Greenpeace t-shirt several times and it is rumoured she even left a note wishing us well at the harbour security checkpoint. People in Cornwall - including the bed and breakfast owners, newsagents and the Oggy Oggy Pasty Bakery man - seem to hate the bottom trawlers as much as we do. Cornwall is also a highly recommended source of Mushy Peas - we discovered them at a the delightfully named fish and chip shop "Smack Alley's".
We finally set sail on Saturday, and even though we will miss those pasties it was a relief to be going to sea. I was assigned to what I am told is generally referred to as "the stinky boys cabin". Now, of course, three nice nice-smelling females inhabit it.
First up were chores. In a bid to make myself useful I dutifully signed up for chores after breakfast, and waited for the bosun to decide my fate (I was secretly dreading getting toilet-duty). Luckily he took pity on me and I was assigned the relatively laid-back task of cleaning the lounge, although it was in a bit of a post-party state, and covered in about 134 copies of The Guardian which we had all eagerly devoured the day before as our last connection to the world at large.
I have never sailed before, so before lunch I swallowed a couple of seasickness tablets. We were heading into a Force 8 storm - talk about baptism of fire. Kindly crew members tried to sell me bogus theories such as "if your father doesn't get seasick, it means that you won't".
I nervously downed a few cups of lemon and ginger tea and then headed to the bridge to catch some of the spectacular view - made quite spooky by the glowing Russian control panels: a relic of another era. At least I could be sure the ship would actually hold together - it had obviously seen tougher times.
The weather soon turned to what one crew member affectionately termed "vom-vom weather". In my native Australia we call vomiting a "technicolour yawn". As such, I was trying desperately to avoid adding another rainbow to the side of the Esperanza. I managed to keep my dinner down but couldn't do much else - even holding a conversation was difficult when the person you were talking to was suddenly whisked to the other side of the room, usually at a very different angle to the one you last saw them at. The last thing I wanted to do was look at a computer, so fighting gravity like some drunken astronaut I stumbled into the lounge.
The bosun recommended the ancient Scottish remedy for seasickness - a shot of whisky - since I was apparently by this point so pale that I was indistinguishable from my white t-shirt. After this I called it a day and decided to attempt a shower.
It was really difficult to keep my towel dry while hanging off the shower walls - and yet stay at least partially upright. I realised this was probably not a very smart thing to do. Hurtling across the alleyway in nothing but a towel is also probably not very smart. Luckily by this time of night most people were either succumbing to the famous Scottish whisky remedy or clinging to their bunks for dear life.
A peaceful night’s sleep in Stinky Boys Cabin was not to be, however, since closing your eyes doesn't seem to diminish the violent movement of the ship. Funny that. The next day dawned bright and clear with the southern coast of Ireland basking in the sunlight. As I stood on deck feeling decidedly windswept I could only think "this is the life". The sea looks rich and blue today and it’s easy to see why what we are doing is so important.
It was also the day for fire training. This involved testing out the large fire hose near the helihanger and dressing up as a tellytubby. Check out the immersion suits if you don't believe me!
Today is my last day on the ship as I will disembark on the wild west coast of Ireland. I am so sad to be leaving - but I will be following from my far less exciting desk.
