En Route : Leaving the Noise Behind

“...Just trying to find something real in all the noise...”

 

Bruce Springsteen, Deliver Me From Nowhere

 

The Present Moment

 
We all carry more into a journey than fits inside our backpacks and luggage. Clothes, cameras, passports, and chargers can be packed and repacked until they are finally compressed into bags, but the rest of what we carry comes with us in less orderly ways. Frustration, uncertainty, exhaustion, unfinished conversations, decisions postponed for later, the accumulated noise of daily life - all of it boards the plane too – even if you are trying to leave it behind.  No departure happens in isolation. Every moment is interpreted through the ones that came before it, and sometimes the weight of those earlier moments leans so heavily into the present that the world itself begins to feel obscured.

 
That was the state I was in when we left for Sint Maarten. I wanted to be excited. I knew, rationally, that we were doing something extraordinarily fortunate: crossing the Atlantic once again aboard Wind Surf, returning to a ship and a form of travel that had meant so much to us the year before. Yet beneath that knowledge was a deep tiredness I could not quite shake. The frustrations of the previous months had not disappeared simply because the reservations were made. Instead, they came with us through the rain, through the airport, and into the long sleepless hours before departure.
 

En Route

 
Today began, or rather yesterday continued, amid a rain storm – which is typical west coast weather for this time of year – grey and wet. Our hope had been that as we arrived in Toronto and Pearson International Airport at 2:30 AM, the conditions would be different....unfortunately, they were not.

Having made our reservations yesterday afternoon, we had packed quickly and stayed awake all night to get a connecting flight out of Toronto to the Dutch and French Caribbean island of Sint Maarten.  As a result, the early morning hours of the day felt long.  We watched the airport slowly wake up and begin to fill with people.  As a way to stay awake, I amused myself by looking up where some of the destinations on the departures board were that I’d never heard of before.   In contrast, Sean simply opted to have several cups of coffee. 

 
Eventually, our gate was posted, and we were allowed to make our way through security, where Sean “enjoyed” their usual attentions as they went through his camera gear and searched his electronics.  With each of his cameras and lenses entirely swabbed and checked, we were eventually free to wander the terminal for 3 and a half more hours – the long gap between our arrival, passing through security and our final flight.  Around us, we were surrounded by other passengers and flights heading for warmer destinations such as the Caribbean, Mexico and the Mediterranean.

 
As usual, we walked through much of this waiting time. Perhaps it is a habit left over from trails, or perhaps it is simply our way of resisting the strange passivity of modern air travel. If we were going to spend the next several hours folded into narrow seats, breathing recycled air, and surrendering ourselves to the machinery of airports and schedules, then I did not want to spend the time beforehand sitting still as well. Walking gave us something small but familiar to do. It lets our bodies remain active for a little longer.

 

By 9:30 AM, we were airborne, taking off over Lake Ontario and making a tight circle that gave us a clear view of the CN Tower, Rogers Centre and the familiar Toronto skyline.  The landscapes beyond, which were a faded brownish-green, were signs that though it was technically spring, much of the region was still caught in winter’s grip.
 

Toronto to Sint Maarten

 
Having made our plans so close to departure, we had opted not to pay the extra cost to choose our seats on WestJet. I still find this one of the more absurd features of modern travel. You buy the ticket, pay the fuel surcharge, pay for luggage, pay for carry-on, pay for food, and then are invited to pay again for the privilege of choosing the seat you assumed came with the original ticket. All of this while hoping your bags have been placed on the same aircraft as you.

 
To our surprise, we were given seats side by side, which initially felt like a small victory. Modern flying, however, rarely allows any victory to remain uncomplicated for long. Air travel has never felt glamorous to us, at least not from the crowded back of the plane. It is less a journey than an endurance exercise: too many people compressed into too little space in uncomfortably small chairs, surrounded by video calls without headphones, films played aloud, strong perfume, restless knees, snapping gum, and the general impatience of people who all want to be somewhere else.

 
Perhaps that is what bothers me most about flying. It moves the body but rarely carries the spirit with it. Unlike walking, sailing, or taking the train, it offers almost no sense of passage. There is no unfolding of landscapes, no slow adjustment, no time for the mind to catch up with the body. There is only departure, compression, waiting, and arrival. Considering that Sean once held a pilot’s license for two and four-seater planes, I think it says something about the current state of air travel that neither of us particularly enjoys flying anymore.  Seated and strapped in, all I could think of was a quote from Seinfeld years ago – “serenity now, serenity now…”.
 

The World from 35,000 ft.

 
The direct WestJet flight from Toronto to Sint Maarten lasts just over four hours, and much of it is spent above the Sargasso Sea. Once we were airborne and first the city and later the continent had disappeared behind us, the world below simplified into cloud, water, light, and distance.

 
It was a partly sunny day, and we could look down through fluffy cotton ball clouds to the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean below.  It was fascinating to observe the clouds from above - some piled high like meringues, others looking like they'd been combed upwards into little peaks like whipped cream, and still others appearing as darker, softer grey smudges.

We also noticed the whitecaps.  From 35,000 ft in the air, the swells looked almost solid, like pieces of flotsam bobbing along on the vast blue surface of the sea.  A single wave would stay visible for upwards of 10 seconds, the changes in its shape so slow they were almost imperceptible right up until it finally vanished. The perspective from a ship is so different - where it looks like waves crash and break against the bow in one fluid motion - there and gone in a moment.

It was also interesting to watch the shadows on the ocean's surface.  In a minimalist seascape, where the scenery consists only of sky, water, and light, there is nothing to distort or break up the clouds' shadows.  The sea acts as a mirror, reflecting back shapes almost perfectly.  Perhaps this simplicity is what draws people back to the sea time and time again, and what shapes those who spend their lives sailing on it.

As we approached the island of Sint Maarten, we began to notice long streaks of golden-brown seaweed stretched out below us.  Despite the waves and whitecaps, the lines of Sargassum, after which the Sargasso Sea is named, formed long lines that were evenly spaced and parallel to each other.  Along the thin lines, many of which were kilometres long, teardrop-shaped mats were strung out like beads on strings.  These intricate patterns were shaped by wind and tide, but we couldn't help marvelling at their precise organization in such an active and fluid environment.
 

Arrival in Sint Maarten

We arrived in Sint Maarten a few minutes early, making the long, low approach over the turquoise sea to the dauntingly short runway just after 2:00 PM.  

While we waited for a gate to become available, Sean spotted a small American Kestrel hunting on the grassy strip between the runways.  We watched as the small hawk, with its Egyptian-looking black face markings, caught and consumed what looked like a lizard.  Being welcomed to the island by such a beautiful bird felt like a promising way to begin a much-needed break.

As we exited the aircraft and stepped onto the tarmac, a wave of warm, humid air immediately embraced us, wrapping around us like a familiar, comforting blanket. The heat and moisture clung to our skin, the sea breeze carried the faint salt scent of the ocean, and almost instinctively, I let out a long sigh. All the tension that for months I had been carrying began to slip away, and a sense of relief spread through me. Nothing had been solved, exactly.  The frustrations and decisions that we had to make were still there, but for the first time in weeks, they no longer seemed to be pressing quite so hard against my chest.  The weight of the past months started ever so slightly to shift and give me space again.

Prior to boarding, we had completed the electronic entry form for Sint Maarten, so after a short 20-minute wait to get through the biometric scanners, we were through the airport and being ushered into one of the many taxis waiting outside.  As with our first trip on Wind Surf, we had decided to stay near the Cruise Terminal at Great Bay Beach, which is a 20-minute drive east of the Princess Julianna International Airport.

This time the driver took a different route to Philipsburg, taking us through the main tourist district around the airport instead of up into the scrubby and forested hills.  This area had many hotels, and a surprising number of slightly dodgy-looking bars and Casinos.  It is also where the famous beach is that airplanes clear by only a few meters when landing on the island, giving the tourists standing below a thrill.  This was our first look at this part of the island, and it had a much different feel than the community around Great Bay Beach.

As we drove across the island, we began to notice that most restaurants and businesses were closed for Easter Friday.  This began to concern us a little, as we had been planning to buy something for dinner from a grocery store.  

The very friendly and helpful staff at the Horizon View Beach Front Hotel told us that grocery stores were indeed closed until tomorrow, but they let us know that the restaurants along the beach boardwalk were open and even recommended a few, which we greatly appreciated.

Relaxing in Sint Maarten

After checking in and freshening up, we headed down to the familiar oceanfront boardwalk and made our way to the Greenhouse Restaurant, an open-air bar and eatery where we sat in the shade, under the ceiling fans, relaxing and enjoying a couple of cold Carib beers and a delicious warm goat cheese and tomato salad.  To our surprise, we recognized one of the passengers from our first voyage on Wind Surf last spring.  When we greeted this friendly gentleman from Nanaimo, BC, we discovered to our delight that he will be aboard again this year!

We passed a few happy hours simply relaxing. A soft sea breeze was blowing, gentle music was playing, birds were calling in the trees outside, and we were surrounded by warm, happy voices and laughter. It felt like the exact opposite of the cold, noisy, dirty, impatient, pushy, and over-stimulated city we had left behind. What a wonderful reminder that there are other ways to live during this one wild and precious life.
 

Evening in Sint Maarten

 
By evening, the past two long sleepless days were beginning to catch up with us.  Regardless, as the sun set and twilight descended, we made our way to the beach.  The course white sand was still warm from the day's sunshine, and the turquoise blue waters gently lapping the shore felt nice and refreshing.  Slowly, the stars began to appear in the sky above, and lights around the bay began to blink on, sending long shimmering trails across the water. 

We slowly walked the length of the beach.  Soft music drifted out from a few bars and restaurants along the boardwalk, and a scattering of people were out and about, both young and old.  Quiet laughter and soft voices mixed with the soothing sound of the waves on the beach and the breeze in the palm fronds overhead. 

The pervading sense was one of peace and calm, far from the crowds and chaotic racket of civilization.  It felt surreal to have been transported to a place so completely different than the one we'd left just a few short hours before.

As we turned back, tantalizing smells of Indian cuisine wafted down the sand, mixed with the sounds of live music.  Struggling to stay awake, yet not wanting this beautiful night to end, we were seduced up into the Bold Buddha Restaurant below our hotel for a nightcap.  As we stepped onto the beachside patio, we were greeted by enthusiastic waves from Tina and Michael, two lovely passengers we recognized from last year's transatlantic crossing, and we were soon introduced to Donna, a friend who was travelling with them.

We sat on the patio for a while, listening to a young woman with a beautiful voice singing in both English and French, and feeling incredibly blessed to be there.  When we sailed on Wind Surf last year, we quickly realized that many of the other passengers and crew already knew each other. However, somehow it hadn't occurred to me that we might recognize anyone ourselves this time.
 

The Second Voyage

We rarely do the same trip twice.  In our lives, new journeys usually mean another trail, another route, another province or another country, which translates into another long line drawn across the map.  When you travel somewhere for the first time, every experience is brand new, arriving without memories, nostalgia, or the possibility of comparison.  

Of course, this means that returning to an experience carries a bit of danger. The first transatlantic crossing aboard Wind Surf had been shaped by circumstances we could not have planned and personalities we could not have replaced. Entertainment Manager Matt O’Brien and Captain Trevor Bailey had both left strong impressions on us, not only because of their roles aboard the ship, but because they helped give that particular voyage its character. The weather, the diversion, the uncertainty, the humour, the music, the conversations, and the sense of shared adventure had all combined into something singular.

 

It would be unfair, both to this voyage and to ourselves, to expect that experience to happen again. The sea does not repeat itself, even when the route appears similar. Ships carry new moods, new crews, new passengers, new weather, and new versions of ourselves. We were not the same people who had boarded Wind Surf the year before, and this would not be the same crossing. The task, then, was not to compare every moment against memory, but to stay open to whatever this voyage was ready to become.
 

Pilgrimage At Sea

 
Beyond our nervousness of repeating this experience, we were struck by finding so many people that we already knew who were themselves also stepping back on board Wind Surf.  Until now, the experience of walking into a place and being greeted warmly by familiar faces had happened most often on the Camino de Santiago. On those trails, strangers became companions with surprising speed. You might meet someone on a long climb, share a table in a village, lose them for days, and then find them again farther down the way or years later on another route – as though the world itself had arranged the reunion. 

It is a special thing to find a group of like-minded people to share an experience, stories, and time with, especially when they are people you wouldn’t normally meet within the confines of your everyday working life.    

 
Standing there in Sint Maarten, being welcomed by people we had met during last year’s crossing, I felt a little of that same Camino magic. We had not even boarded Wind Surf yet, and already the voyage was beginning to feel less like a repeat and more like a continuation. Not a second attempt to recreate what had happened before or relive a past gone by - but a new chapter shaped by familiar faces, remembered routines, and the possibility that the sea, like a pilgrimage route, sometimes brings people back together.
 
What a lovely way to begin another adventure!
 
See you on board!