“
You know what a ship is don’t you? It’s not a hull and some rope and some sails that’s what a ship needs what a ship is…is…freedom”
More than laughter, more than companionship, more than almost anything else…it turned out I needed peace. Somewhere where I could just be me, without anyone hounding or even speaking to me at all, where there was no noise, and no chatter and no…anything.
Peace can be so hard to find ship-side, you learn to search for that little still place inside yourself instead, because finding it from an outside source just don’t happen very often.
Except when you’re lucky of course.
San Diego is a maritime city, much like Victoria only bigger. It has a lot of interesting things to see, including the zoo of course, and countless other sights along its waterfront. It’s also home to the “Unconditional Surrender” statue depicting one of the most famous moments in history: the spontaneous swooping kiss of a solider to a nurse in celebration of the war finally coming to a close. The statue soars skyward in the shadow of the USS Midway, which has been turned into a museum.
Which brings me to my point; San Diego hosts one of the best maritime museums in the world. Only it’s not housed in a building, it’s an actual fleet. Everything from military ships and submarines to the magnificent Star of India and HMS Surprise. I could see the masts reaching skyward from my office window, and here I was trapped on the wrong side of the glass. Thankfully I have wonderfully understanding co-workers, and Jersey was willing to stay on board after her desk hours so that I could go out on my dinner break. Some things are worth giving up dinner for.
Having paid my admission fee I wandered up the visitor dock, listening to it creak under my feet. There were staff still on duty, but since the museum closed at 8 and it was almost 7, you could tell that they were in closing mode. Plus there were still a few straggling school groups about and they had their hands full dealing with them. That was fine with me, I prefer to wander these places myself. As I stepped onto the deck of the HMS Surprise I took a long, deep breath – letting the mixed scents of varnish and tar and rigging and salt clear my head. I could nearly feel the tension run out of my muscles.
Beyond the HMS Surprise was a much more ominous sight: a restored Soviet submarine, still functional but now resigned to a living museum piece. You could actually descend into its depths, but just walking past it made my stomach queasy, and when I stood at the top of the stairs and looked down at the descent it felt like trying to walk through a physical wall. Like the air had thickened. Much like the sensation I got when trying to enter the Vietnam tunnels. Now, as then, I’ve learned to listen to that feeling – besides submarines aren’t what I had come to see.
Instead I continued my way further down the dock, across the deck of the ancient paddle wheeler that serves as the museum’s gift shop and onto the far pier where they house the America’s Cup sailing ships. Including the California. While technically still a ‘tall ship’, the Californian is small, and doesn’t draw as much attention to herself as her more ostentatious sisters. She and the dock around her were completely empty, but the gates were open and the hatches up. The wind was coming up, and the rigging was starting to talk, speaking of storms seen and races won.
I could look across the dock from where I was standing to the other side of the harbour where our own ship lay tied up to the passenger dock. The flagship is home, she puts clothes on my back and memories in my diary…but as far as personality goes? She’s not the same (er, don’t tell her I said that). She may have personality of a sort, but she has no voice.
And sometimes, I just need to hear that voice…