11 more days left.
By the numbers anyway, today was day 101, with the last day being 112. At the moment the actual number of days left doesn’t line up with the calendar count, because we’ve still got several time zones to cross before reaching Fort Lauderdale. But trust me, it’s 11 more days.
Two more ports, 8 more sea days. 6 of those sea days being the crossing back to the states. Once we haul anchor in Funchal four days from now, the cruise will be basically over. As our captain last year said, the crossing marks a slow return to reality. A rebirth back into the real world.
For those of us returning home at the end of this cruise, it marks the re-gathering and temporary reconstruction of our shore-side lives. The facing up to and dealing with the many issues that have inevitably arisen during our absence – there are always finances to deal with, family to reunite with, friends to reacquaint with and multitudinous errands to run.
There is also usually about six days worth of laundry to be done, and a list to be made for the next time we go out. And in my case, I have to search for a new laptop, my old one has – after nearly 6 years of faithful service – finally given up the ghost. Then we pack everything up, fold everything into neat piles, and put the suitcase by the door so that it’s once again ready to grab.
There are phone calls to make, hospitals to visit, dances to attend, mail to open and – goddess forbid, taxes to figure out.
In most cases we cram all of this into a few weeks, before we once again stand on the airport tarmac and look back at our old life as we fly towards our new one. We run from one life to the other like birds flying south for the winter and north for the summer.
Those of my friends who only know me shore-side I am convinced would sometimes not recognise me ship-side, and vice-versa. There are times I feel like two very different people, two lives contained in one being. You can try as best you can to reconcile one life with the other, and if you’re lucky you’ll succeed – but there is always something that doesn’t quite jive. Something about you that has to switch on or off when you walk down the gangway, and on or off when you walk back up it.
And I…as ever…am still…well “a little afraid to go home”….