Crossing Continents

The ferry left at midnight.

Or it was supposed to. I boarded at 10:30, made my way to the four-person cabin, and promptly fell asleep. I woke up at about 6:00 and marvelling at how smooth and quiet this ferry was. None of that deep rumble and side to side swaying on the seas. Truly a welcome marvel of modern naval engineering. Then I heard the engines start.

I shot out of my cabin and onto the deck in disbelief. We hadn’t left Tangiers yet!

The next 26 hours were…long. There’s really nothing to do on a ferry except sleep, eat, and wander the halls aimlessly. Many people didn’t pay for cabins, so passengers were strewn in the hallways and corridors throughout the ship, huddled under thick colorful Moroccan blankets. The “lounge” area especially was transformed into an anthive of cacophonic snoring.

And on the second night, I learned that naval engineering still has not compensated for what some amusingly refer to as “choppy” seas. Choppy as in what was that “boom” noise and sudden jerk: a torpedo?! Is metal supposed to groan like this? How far can this thing list from one side to the other before it rolls over? Will I ever be able to walk in a straight line again? Should I be eating this croissant given the lurches in my stomach? Deep existential questions of that nature.

When the ship docked in Barcelona some 36 hours after I had boarded it, out of all the hundreds of passengers I was quite literally the first person off.