At about seven last night the boat started moving in a way which was different from before. We were no longer rolling gently and predictably from side to side. Instead, we pitched and rolled at the same time, tracing big circular lines, some fast, some slow. Things started falling off tables. Doors started slamming. It became impossible to walk in a straight line.
At first I was just scared, holding on to the table and not quite being able to believe that the boat could swing so dramatically without capsising, Then I was scared and felt sick – travel sick and like there was something stuck in my throat. I tried standing on deck and looking at the horizon (the recommended non-chemical cure for sickness), but it was just terrifying seeing the boat swing from side to side and pitch forwards into the waves. So, having smugly held out with only “sea-bands” to protect me, I gave in to the inevitable and took a seasickness pill, and started to feel a little better.
When it got so dark that the horizon disappeared I got up and told the sailors that I was going to bed. “So early?” asked the captain, to which I replied “I'm escaping”. He countered with “but there's nothing to escape from”. I think he meant “there's nowhere to escape to”.
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