Talking to some of our guests, I realize that it has been a shared journey in some ways, and very different in others. For one guest, her inaugural voyage across the Atlantic, a life-long dream. For another, the celebration of her twentieth crossing, a kaleidscope of memories. Some have used the time to finish projects - partially embroidered cushion covers and photo-padded scrap-books often lay on table-tops in the lounge or in the library. Others have caught up with sleep, or finished novels that had been left unfinished countless times before, or simply looked out to sea, day-dreaming or making decisions.
That liquid vacuum of time and space changed palpably at 2pm today. The sight of land inspired a whole different kind of activity on board. Like spiders rebuilding webs, those invisible threads connecting us to family and friends were re-strengthened again. In the dining room I came across the comical sight of a line of waiters sitting near the windows, each talking on a cellular phone. Meanwhile other crew members walked around the decks, holding more phones aloft, fishing the air for a signal. Guests type last minute emails. The mail-box is cleared. The Purser counts local currency, strange voices crackle into life on the radio, and the officers unfurl new charts.
Cushion covers are finished, scrap-books closed, novels packed away under layers of neatly folded clothing in suitcases already appearing in companionways.
Its time to go home.
