Reflections on Knot Your Average Crossing on Wind Surf

“Sailing is a lifestyle, a philosophy, a passion.”

Jimmy Cornell

 

Sailing across the Atlantic

When we first crossed the Atlantic aboard Wind Surf, everything was new. The ship, the scale of the ocean, the rhythm of sea days, the slow unfurling of sails, the music at Compass Rose, the dolphins at the stern, and the strange pleasure of letting land disappear for days at a time all arrived as discovery.

That first voyage was shaped by anticipation, excitement and the novelty of sailing. We set out for Ponta Delgada and Lisbon, missed both, sailed instead toward Gran Canaria, and eventually disembarked in Cádiz, where the altered voyage opened into fifty-five days of walking across Spain to Santiago and beyond.

This second crossing on Wind Surf was different from the beginning. To return to something loved is not the same as encountering it for the first time. Coming back means that memory comes aboard with you. So do expectations. You remember where you stood for sunrise, which place at the railing gave views of seabirds and dolphins, how the sails looked against a darkening sky, and which evenings seemed to stand out as people gathered at Compass Rose. You hope, even if you know better, that some of the same magic might happen again.

But the sea does not repeat itself. Neither do ships, crews, passengers, weather systems, or the people we are when we step back on board.

The Second Transatlantic Crossing on Wind Surf

This crossing was not about excitement nor novelty in quite the same way. It was about returning to something we loved and were familiar with. It was about deepening the experience. Stepping back on board, we knew Wind Surf. We understood the shape of her days, the value of her open decks, the intimacy of her scale, and the way she places passengers close to the sea rather than insulating them from it. We knew how much we would want to be outside, how quickly sea days would pass, and how difficult it would be to surrender the crossing once land came near. But our past experiences certainly did not make the voyage predictable. If anything, it made us more aware of how much each crossing depends on what cannot be controlled.

For the second year in a row, we missed Ponta Delgada. Last year, weather and route changes carried us away from the Azores and ultimately away from Portugal altogether. This year, we came close enough to feel the islands as a real possibility, only to sail past when wind and harbour conditions made docking unsafe. Instead of a day ashore, we gained more time at sea and arrived in Lisbon earlier than expected, and definitely earlier than we wanted.

That is the reality of this kind of travel. A transatlantic crossing on a sailing ship is not a controlled resort experience with an ocean backdrop. It is travel through weather, distance, wind, sea state, and decision-making that must ultimately defer to safety. In that sense, Wind Surf often reminds me less of a conventional cruise and more of VIA Rail’s Canadian: beautiful, memorable, deeply worthwhile, and best approached with flexibility. You may not get the timing or itinerary you imagined, but if you are open to the journey itself, you may receive something richer than the plan.

It also prompts you to return time and again to once more enjoy the passage.

Embracing Slow Travel

This is where slow travel becomes more than a phrase. It is easy to praise slowness when everything takes place as planned. It is harder, and perhaps more important, when plans change. Slow travel does not mean stress-free travel. It does not eliminate disappointment, uncertainty, missed ports, rough weather, or logistical frustration. What it offers instead is a different way of meeting those things. It asks us to leave room for the world as it is, not only the world as we scheduled it.

In that respect, this crossing gave us exactly what we needed, though not always in the form we expected. It gave us long mornings at the railings, watching flying fish leap silver across the waves. It gave us dolphins beside the bow, whale blows near the horizon, shearwaters and gannets, sea turtles, Henslow’s swimming crabs, rainbows, full sails, and a final sea day rich with life. 

It gave us nights of music performed by talented artists, sea shanties, trivia, crew performances, candlelit concerts, and conversations with people we would never have met on land. It gave us time to sleep, to sit still, to breathe, and to remember that the world can be experienced without constantly responding to it online and inside.

It also gave us reminders that return is never simple. This was the same ship, but not the same voyage. Some familiar musicians and passengers returned, but many of the crew had changed. The tone and rhythm of the crossing were different. The entertainment style was different. The route was different. We were different. The first crossing carried the excitement of discovery. The second carried the complexity of expectation, comparison, and the effort to stay open to what this voyage actually was rather than what memory wanted it to be.

There were challenges, though they are difficult to frame without sounding as though one is complaining that the “beach is too sandy or the water too wet.” Wind Surf remains a beautiful vessel, and the crew were, as always, remarkable. Yet reflection does not have to mean criticism. It can simply mean honest observation.

Observations and Thoughts

The constantly changing daily schedule sometimes made the rhythm of the voyage harder to follow. Trivia, enrichment talks, music, and other events shifted times from day to day in ways that occasionally felt awkward, especially when lectures overlapped lunch, captain’s announcements, or activities on decks. Perhaps we simply like routine, especially on a crossing where time changes already unsettle the body. But a little more consistency would have helped the sea days settle into a clearer rhythm.

Communication around our arrival in Lisbon was also more confusing than it needed to be. Once it became clear that we would miss Ponta Delgada and arrive early, information seemed to spread through a mixture of announcements, staff speculation, passenger rumour, television screens, and hallway conversations. For a day or two, no one seemed entirely sure whether we would dock one day early or two, whether passengers would have to disembark ahead of schedule, or what remaining on board might look like. In the absence of clear information, speculation filled the space. A more direct explanation would have made that transition much calmer for many on board.

In Praise of the Crew

And yet these were small concerns in the larger arc of the voyage. What stands out most, as it did last year, is the extraordinary human warmth aboard Wind Surf. The ship’s classical beauty is obvious, but her real character comes from the people who work on board. Bryan, Laily, and Jacquelyn at Compass Rose helped make the aft deck feel like the heart of the ship. 

Ester and Umi brought warmth to the Lounge. Mella, Eka, Saeful, and Anthony in Veranda and Amphora looked after us with care and good humour. Ben at reception, who also shared in the excitement of whale sightings, became part of the crossing’s daily friendliness. Maria in Future Cruises was helpful and kind – and a terrific dancer. Darvis, our room steward, took wonderful care of our cabin and helped make that low room near the water feel like home.

The musicians shaped the voyage, too. Elaine Eagle’s piano playing and singing were once again extraordinary, and her sea shanty sessions became one of the unexpected joys of the crossing.

Danyi brought energy and brilliance to the violin, especially in his rock performances.

Pure Soul Trio filled so many evenings with music that it made it difficult to go to bed.

Nikki Jayne, the Entertainment and Engagement Manager, brought energy, humour, and a sense of play to trivia, parties, and shipboard events. On a small ship, these people are not the background. They become part of the voyage itself and made it great in the process.

The Crew Talent Show, the line dancing, the paper flowers Eka made from napkins, the smiles and small conversations, the remembered names, and the kindnesses offered in passing are the things that remain. 

They are part of why Wind Surf inspires loyalty. She is not an impersonal mega-ship or a floating city designed to overwhelm through scale. She is intimate enough that people become visible to one another. By the end of a crossing, the ship feels less like a cruise or a hotel and more like a temporary community moving across the ocean.

Final Reflections on Wind Surf

Perhaps that is why leaving her is difficult. Aboard Wind Surf, especially on a repositioning voyage, time moves in a rare way. The days are long enough for restlessness to settle, long enough for strangers to become familiar, long enough for the body to sleep again, and long enough for the mind to stop gripping every worry quite so tightly. The crossing did not give us all the answers we had hoped for. It did not resolve the questions waiting at home or eliminate the decisions that still need to be made. But it gave us time away from the noise. It gave us perspective. It gave us rest.

In the end, our second crossing was not simply a repeat of the first. It was a reminder that no voyage can be repeated, even on the same ship, across the same ocean, with the same destination in mind. The first crossing taught us to love Wind Surf. The second taught us that love deepens when expectation gives way to acceptance.

This was not the crossing we planned. It was not the crossing we remembered. It was not even, in some ways, the crossing we thought we wanted.  And it certainly was Knot Your Average Crossing.

But it was the crossing we needed.

We hope to be back on board in the future. Thank you!

Nautical Term of the Day – Cross Seas: Intersecting wave patterns, often created when waves from different directions meet. A fitting term for a voyage where memory, expectation, reality, and return all crossed one another at sea.