Maine Diaries: From palm trees to icebergs
Each spring students from
Maine Maritime Academy
set sail on their training ship the State of Maine
for a two-month cruise. One student, Paul Kemp*, has
agreed to share his experience.
June 11-I am huddled on the 04 observation deck wearing a sweatshirt and jacket, and fighting a 30 degree wind chill. I look across the fogged-in ocean at an iceberg the size of a small condo, and think of how lucky we are to be on a Caribbean cruise this year.
Frankly, one can now easily look across the deck of the ship and see where the wave of excitement for cruise broke and recessed back into the ocean leaving a salty trail of tears as we all look longingly for the day we return home. Exhibit one is the quality of work we initially did on the ship and the work we do today, which is equal to that of some early kindergartener eager to see what paint truly looks like when thrown on the floor or wall.
The turning point appeared to occur the day when the painting crew managed to paint over a solitary window on the after house. Yes, one window seems to be of little importance unless the window is that of the boatswain’s room. In all meaning of the phrase, they, er, made a mistake.
I have little hope that morale will improve after Newfoundland when we head back down south for our last leg in the Chesapeake Bay to fabulous Baltimore. I, for one, may attempt to time warp the three days in port by inspecting the inside of my eyelids so I can simply hide from the impending trouble I fear is inevitable that will be the last week of cruise. God help us all, for we surely won’t help ourselves.
Previous posts:
May 5
May 7
May 9
May 10
May 12
May 13
May 17
May 18
May 19
May 21
May 23
May 26
May 28
June 2
June 3
June 6
June 8
*Paul Kemp is a pseudonym. The student has asked that his name be withheld out of respect for those with whom he is sailing.
June 11-I am huddled on the 04 observation deck wearing a sweatshirt and jacket, and fighting a 30 degree wind chill. I look across the fogged-in ocean at an iceberg the size of a small condo, and think of how lucky we are to be on a Caribbean cruise this year.
Frankly, one can now easily look across the deck of the ship and see where the wave of excitement for cruise broke and recessed back into the ocean leaving a salty trail of tears as we all look longingly for the day we return home. Exhibit one is the quality of work we initially did on the ship and the work we do today, which is equal to that of some early kindergartener eager to see what paint truly looks like when thrown on the floor or wall.
The turning point appeared to occur the day when the painting crew managed to paint over a solitary window on the after house. Yes, one window seems to be of little importance unless the window is that of the boatswain’s room. In all meaning of the phrase, they, er, made a mistake.
I have little hope that morale will improve after Newfoundland when we head back down south for our last leg in the Chesapeake Bay to fabulous Baltimore. I, for one, may attempt to time warp the three days in port by inspecting the inside of my eyelids so I can simply hide from the impending trouble I fear is inevitable that will be the last week of cruise. God help us all, for we surely won’t help ourselves.
Previous posts:
May 5
May 7
May 9
May 10
May 12
May 13
May 17
May 18
May 19
May 21
May 23
May 26
May 28
June 2
June 3
June 6
June 8
*Paul Kemp is a pseudonym. The student has asked that his name be withheld out of respect for those with whom he is sailing.
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