Embracing the Realities of Slow Travel

“I for one find it freeing to be at sea and liberating to be away from everything...land is near, but perhaps not yet. Not just yet.”

Captain Noon Hour Announcement

 

Wind Surf Transatlantic Sailing Day 10

Today is our tenth day aboard Wind Surf on this transatlantic voyage, and once again it feels as though our time on board is passing too quickly. The voyage suddenly seems near its end, even though in reality we are only about two-thirds of the way through and still have a full third remaining. Perhaps that is part of the strange distortion of sea time. At the outset, the days feel long - full of weather, meals, music, waves, birds, conversations, and hours standing at the railing. Yet once they pass, they seem to have vanished almost instantly into the wake.

The ocean is full of beauty, wonder, and life, as yesterday reminded us so generously. But such abundance comes with realities. Storms can form quickly and move violently across the sea. Large swells can roll the ship. Wind can alter plans. Navigational decisions must be made not according to what passengers hoped to do, but according to what conditions allow. At sea, perhaps more than in most parts of modern life, daily plans must adapt to the natural world rather than the other way around.

That is one of the truths of slow travel that is easy to romanticize from a distance. To travel slowly is not simply to move through beautiful places with more time to notice them. It also means entering into a different relationship with uncertainty. Walking trails have taught us that weather, floods, reroutes, fires, fatigue, mud, snow, and closed sections can change everything. Trains can run late. Ships can miss ports. Glaciers can be unreachable because of the wind. Oceans can alter plans that looked perfectly reasonable on paper.

Slow travel is not necessarily stress-free travel. It is a way of setting out that offers depth and possibility, but it also requires flexibility, humility, and a willingness to meet the world as it is.

The itinerary is only part of the journey. The mindset matters just as much.

Early Morning on Deck

Sean was once again up early and soon after had showered and was on deck around six-thirty beneath dark skies. Apparently, the sun was slow to appear, yet the morning was beautiful in its own way. The white masts and sails stood out, contrasting against the clouded sky. A black and white photographer’s dream.

Alongside the ship, two small seabirds played in the half-light. Once again, they were too dark and distant to identify, and as the light strengthened, they pulled away from us. It was frustrating, but it was also encouraging. Birds were still present, which left today with possibilities.

While I was getting dressed, Sean came back down and advised me to dress warmly. The temperature may have been around twenty-two degrees, but in the wind it felt much cooler.

By seven, the sunlight began to break through the cloud cover to the east, though it would be another hour before the sky was fully lit up. When it did, the light appeared in long shafts, spilling through gaps in the clouds and touching the water in isolated patches. Later, the morning skies shifted into shades of pink.

Freedom at Sea

Given the protected waters, marine habitats, and small islands ahead around the Azores, we were curious to see whether the day might bring more birds or whales. Yesterday had been so full of life that it was impossible not to hope for more. Once the ocean reveals itself, even briefly, it is difficult not to keep looking.

Watching seabirds, whales, dolphins, and even the large numbers of flying fish we had not seen for a few days, I found myself envying them. Not in any scientific or literal sense, perhaps, but emotionally. They seemed free in a way I have been craving: free from bills, condo fees, medical appointments, property rules, headlines, and the exhausting troubles of the world. I am tired of depressing news stories, tired of watching the rich grow richer while the poor struggle harder, tired of environmental collapse being treated as a topic to be debated, tired of seeing people in our own neighbourhood reduced by systems that seem increasingly indifferent to them.

The sea, the birds above it, and the creatures within it can appear to embody a kind of wild freedom. Yet the longer I watched, the more I knew that this was only partly true. No creature is absolutely free. Every existence has its own realities, pressures, limits, and dangers. A seabird must find food and survive storms. A whale must navigate migration routes, ship traffic, warming seas, and changing prey. Dolphins may look joyful as they leap, but their lives are shaped by needs and risks we can only partially understand.

Perhaps human beings are not uniquely burdened by difficulty, but we seem to make our difficulties unusually complex. We add expectations, anxieties, comparisons, and imagined futures to the realities of daily life. Some of the challenges I am trying to navigate arise from the realities of the world, but others are intensified by my own thoughts, by the way I circle problems, anticipate trouble, and give other people’s behaviour too much power over my internal seas.

I am, in some sense, the pilot of the ship of my own mind. And if that sounds too tidy, the truth beneath it still feels useful. I need to regain my hand on the helm. I need to navigate the realities of our lives without allowing every gust of noise or worry to throw me off course. As I said before, it is all easier said than done.

Breakfast and Dolphin Spotting

After choosing to skip dinner last night, we were both quite hungry, so we headed to Veranda for our usual breakfast. Most people decided to remain inside, protected from the wind, but we sat at our usual table against the windows of the restaurant, where we could watch for whales and birds while we ate.

After breakfast, we stood on the sheltered port side of the ship to do our morning ORCA whale survey. During the first half hour, we saw a few shearwaters skimming the surface, but no marine mammals or flying fish at all. We noticed that the waters looked much greener than they have yet been on this voyage, and for the second day in a row, we saw no Sargassum at all. We must have sailed out of the Sargasso Sea at some point during the past two days.

When the first half-hour ORCA survey was done, we moved to the back of the ship to watch the seabirds circling in our wake. We were standing in the sunshine on the pool deck, watching the light sparkling off the waves, when suddenly we saw a huge, tall whale blow about 1,000 m off the port side. Our first whale of the day, and it was likely a Fin Whale!

I stayed at the back, lying on a deck chair and looking out across the waves, while Sean circled the ship photographing the fully extended sails and checking for any marine activity in other directions. We have been travelling under full sail for 24 hours now. The gentle rocking of the ship, the snap of canvas overhead, and the constant sloshing of the waves against our sides are a marvellously relaxing combination.

Suddenly, a very loud huff made me jump. A small, black whale with a pointed dorsal fin 3/4 of the way down its back had surfaced and exhaled about 10 m off the side of the ship, right beside me! It broke the surface, exhaled, and dove back down in one fluid motion, staying visible for about 2 seconds before diving into the depths, not to be seen again. I don't know what species of whale it was, as the encounter was over almost before it began.

When Sean circled back around, I told him about the whale, and as he looked down into the sunlit green waters, a pair of Common Dolphins came swimming down the side of the ship. Amazingly, he got a photo of one of them during its only breach! What an exciting morning!

The crew, meanwhile, were bundled in thick jackets against the wind, looking frozen. It was mostly the Canadian passengers who remained outside happily, which reminded us of Ambience in Norway, where everyone else seemed to find the weather too cold while the Canadians settled in as though conditions were entirely reasonable.

Crew Drill and Enrichment Talk

After this promising start to the day, we stayed up on deck for much of the morning, listening to the wind and waves and scanning for signs of life. Behind us, the crew had their second set of safety drills, during which they were required to respond to a fictional fire on deck 4 aft. I find it reassuring to know that the crew train so thoroughly and frequently for different scenarios.

At 11:30 AM, we stepped inside for a break from the bright sunshine and chilly breeze, and to listen to Wayne White's talk titled 'The Great Voyages.' As with his other presentations, it was very interesting. He took us through the back stories from various sea voyages, including the mutiny on the Bounty, the voyage of the HMS Beagle on which Charles Darwin worked, the story of the Nantucket whaling ship Essex, and the tale of Robert Peary, the sailor recognized as the first person to reach the North Pole. Once again, we left wanting more. Each vessel and voyage could have filled a lecture on its own. Perhaps that is the mark of a good speaker: not that he exhausts a subject, but that he opens enough doors to make you want to walk through them later.

The schedule of events for today felt a bit haphazard, with the first trivia session occurring at 9:30 AM (before breakfast is finished), the last trivia session being held at 8:45 PM (after some folks go to bed), the first lecture being given from 11:30 to 12:30 (meaning it was interrupted by the captain's noon announcement and lunch), and the second talk being given from 5:00 to 6:00 PM (when many people are getting ready for dinner and a enjoying a pre-dinner drink). As passengers, we simply had to go with the flow, which felt appropriate given the day’s larger lesson. Even aboard a ship, not every schedule runs neatly.

Noon Announcements and Embracing Reality

Halfway through Wayne’s talk, the captain’s noon announcement brought the day’s major news. As mentioned yesterday, the two low-pressure fronts that we have been sailing between will converge over Ponta Delgada tomorrow. Today we learned that due to the rough weather, it will be impossible for us to land in the Azores. Apparently, the forecast calls for wind gusts up to 33 knots, which will make docking and maneuvers in the port too dangerous. As a result, we will be sailing south around the Azores Islands and are scheduled to arrive in Lisbon at 8:00 AM on April 17th, one day early.

And so, for the second year in a row, we would miss the Azores during a transatlantic crossing aboard Wind Surf.

We were disappointed in that, of course. We had been debating excursions, wondering about volcanoes, pineapple plantations, Sete Cidades, and the possibility of finally stepping ashore in Ponta Delgada. After last year’s rerouting to Cádiz, part of us had been especially hopeful that this time we might reach the port we had missed.

Yet a sea day aboard Wind Surf is never a loss. We know that now. If the weather says no, then the weather says no. We will make it to the Azores one day. Perhaps we simply have to sail again.

The announcement continued with our position and progress. Wind Surf had sailed 2,135 nautical miles since leaving Sint Maarten, travelling at an average speed of 10.5 knots. We had 950 nautical miles remaining before landfall in Lisbon. The fun facts for the day focused on the ship herself: Wind Surf can generate her own electricity, filter fresh water through reverse osmosis, and function as a tiny, fully operational, independent city at sea for weeks at a time.

That felt fitting. The port had disappeared from the plan, but the ship carried us onward, self-contained and capable, adapting to the realities around her.

Lunch in Veranda

After Wayne’s talk, we headed upstairs for lunch in Veranda. We had planned to order pizza from the à la carte menu, something we had not tried before, but learned that the kitchen was closed today - possibly due to the drill. Instead, the buffet featured Mexican dishes, including several salads and American-style nachos, which turned out to be a nice treat.

The restaurant was extremely full when we arrived and felt more chaotic than usual, perhaps because the news about the Azores had unsettled people or perhaps everyone had simply appeared at once. We carried our food out to the sunny deck, where it was hard to reconcile the beautiful conditions around us with the weather reality waiting near the islands.

That is one of the strange things about ocean travel. Where you are may be lovely, while where you intended to go may be impossible. The sun can shine on deck while storms gather over the port you hoped to reach. From where we sat, the decision could almost seem abstract. But the captain and crew were not making decisions based on the patch of water under our chairs. They were reading the whole system ahead.

So we ate in the sunshine, watched the water, and enjoyed our time at sea.

Relaxing on Deck

The afternoon passed slowly, and we spent much of it sitting on deck, watching for birds, reading, working on editing photos and writing the travel journal. Quite a few people seemed to be very put out by our deviation around the Azores. While we can appreciate being disappointed, we try to embrace the slow travel mindset while travelling, leaving enough time for unplanned deviations, remaining open to unexpected opportunities, and accepting what comes our way.

The afternoon passed slowly. We spent much of it on deck, watching for birds, reading, and working on our travel journals. Quite a few passengers seemed deeply disappointed, and even upset, by the deviation around the Azores. We understood that. A missed port can be a real disappointment, especially for those who had imagined, planned, and looked forward to that landfall.

At the same time, we have learned through long experience that slow travel requires space for the unplanned. A great deal of life is about dreaming of what might be, but another part is about accepting the world as it is. The two are not opposites. They belong together. We can hope, plan, imagine, and look forward to something, and still be required to meet delays, reroutes, and changes.

The Trans Canada Trail taught us this again and again: winter slush, flooded trail sections, forest fires, road detours, missing links, and the simple reality that the journey took years longer than we originally imagined. VIA Rail’s Canadian often arrives many hours, even a full day, behind schedule on its transcontinental runs. On Queen Elizabeth, high winds altered our approach to Hubbard Glacier. Last year aboard Wind Surf, we never reached Lisbon at all and instead disembarked in Cádiz.

Slow travel does not mean everything becomes easy. It does not remove stress, uncertainty, or disappointment. What it offers is a different way of moving through those realities. It asks for patience and enough flexibility to let the journey change without focusing on the notion that the change has ruined it. Slow travel is more than an itinerary. It is a mindset.

Evening Enrichment

At 4 PM, we went inside to the Lounge to listen to Sabrina’s crew talk about life as a cadet. These officer and crew presentations have been one of the pleasures of the crossing, offering small glimpses into shipboard life beyond the passenger experience.

Afterward, we stayed to listen to Peter Ranelli’s talk, which was titled ‘Age of Discovery.’ As usual, it was a very interesting talk, beginning with the observation that referring to the events of this period as ‘discovery’ was only accurate from a European perspective, and that it is more appropriate to say it was an age of ‘exploration.’ 

 He then began describing some of the major migrations that have occurred throughout human history, from the Polynesian migrations to the Ming treasure fleets to the Viking explorations. Like Wayne White, he reiterated that events during the ‘Age of Exploration’ were motivated by God, glory, and gold (perhaps not in that order), and outlined how Henry the Navigator helped Portugal become a leader in ship building, map making, and navigation.

Partway through the talk, the captain announced that they were going to play the sail away music up on deck to honour the fact that Wind Surf was running under full sail. The timing was awkward, but irresistible. We slipped outside, and sure enough, five of Wind Surf’s sails were again fully deployed. Because we had adjusted course to sail south around the Azores, the booms were angled across the deck, creating a magnificent sight that we had never seen before.

With the sun sinking toward the horizon, the light transformed the sails, rigging, and sea into something magical to behold. After listening to stories of early navigators, explorers, ambition, danger, and longing, standing beneath full sail in the Atlantic felt especially powerful. We were not discovering anything, and we were not facing anything like the risks those earlier sailors faced. But for a few minutes, the old romance of sail was very easy to understand.

Life as Crew

Although the scene on deck was stunning, it was soon time to head inside for dinner. On the way to our cabin, we ran into one of the room stewards in the hall, a friendly young man who is always happy to exchange a few words. We had been hearing passengers express disappointment about missing the Azores, and he shared that disappointment too, though from a very different perspective.

He and many of the crew had been looking forward to stepping off the ship for the first time in months.

He said this good-naturedly, without complaint, but it stayed with us. For passengers, missing a port may mean losing a planned excursion, a scenic walk, or a chance to visit a new place. For the crew, it can mean losing a rare break from the ship itself. A few hours ashore may be the first time in months they can walk freely, buy something personal, call home from land, or simply stand somewhere that is not moving.

It was an important reminder. The same change of plan can mean very different things depending on where you stand within the ship’s life.

When we reached our cabin, we discovered that we had been gifted a beach towel. On Wind Surf, it is not uncommon to find small gifts waiting in the room when we come down to change in the evening. Sometimes they are locally crafted souvenirs, sometimes practical items, sometimes tokens of appreciation. They are small gestures, but they add warmth to the experience.

Dinner in Amphora

Tonight we had dinner plans with Tina, Michael, and Donna. All three have wonderful stories and generous spirits, and we had been looking forward to spending more time with them.

The meal itself was delicious, as usual. I chose the market salad, sesame tofu on rice, and, following Michael’s lead, we both finished with a rich berry trifle for dessert.

It was a lovely dinner, full of good conversation and excellent company. Toward the end of the meal, we received an additional treat: an invitation to have dinner later in the voyage with Hotel Manager Onur and his wife, Ximena. On a small ship, these moments of connection become part of the crossing’s texture. Conversations begun casually on deck turn into dinners, invitations, laughter, and the feeling of belonging, however temporarily, to a floating community.

Trivia and Compass Rose

When we eventually left the restaurant and walked through the Lounge, we discovered that Musical Trivia with Nikki, the entertainment manager, was just beginning. We have been enjoying the trivia sessions throughout the voyage, and a sing-along version sounded too fun to miss. We scored only ten out of twenty, despite being able to sing along with quite a few of the songs, but winning was not really the point. The room was lively, the music was familiar, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

After trivia, we headed back outside. The night air felt warmer than it had all day, inviting us naturally toward the stern and Compass Rose.

Stars shone brightly overhead, and Venus was once again visible behind the ship. We walked some of dinner off around the promenade before returning to the aft deck to listen to Pure Soul Trio late into the night.

Evening Reflections

Today, the course of the voyage changed. Not because anyone wanted it to, and not because the original port of call lacked value, but because conditions required it. The weather around the Azores made docking unsafe, and so Wind Surf adjusted. She did what a vessel and her crew must do. They responded to storms, sea conditions, and the need for safety.

With that said, the reality is that we lost a port, not the voyage. In some ways, the change of course clarified the very thing this crossing has been teaching us: freedom at sea is not the absence of limits. It is the ability to move with reality rather than against it.

It had been a day of change, adjustment, good food, full sails, and warm company. By the end, we were simply grateful to be exactly where we were.

See you on board!

Nautical Term of the Day – Set and Drift - The effect of current pushing the ship off course.