Sargasso sea

I dream of lush tropical landscapes. We are in the middle of the Sargasso sea, the only sea with no coasts. Only the 1000-mile map on Channel 40, that tracks our progress, shows any land at all. The closer focus maps just show the circled arrowhead symbol that represents the ship on a deep blue-black field that represents the abyss to the west of the mid-Atlantic ridge. In the Captain's noontime navigational and meteorological report, the nearest point of land was 500 miles away in the Azores, and there were three miles of water below our keel.

I wish I could just sit on deck and enjoy my last few days of ocean, but packing (blech! ptooey!) must be done by Friday afternoon, and there are voyage-end celebrations that focus more on food than drink. Like a brunch this morning at which the Captain will autograph the back of my souvenir delft plate. And I will meet with Vera (see "A steel magnolia" from a few days back) at afternoon tea to learn more about her. And there are only four more days of Bingo, my gambling indulgence, at which I usually win almost enough to pay for the costs of my Bingo cards.

But I will still find time to sit out on the deck and watch the Sargasso sea roll by.