Location: Tarragona, Spain
Crack! The sound of my pocket whip resonated throughout the cabins as I woke everyone Indiana Jones style. Some loved it, some hated it, but it sure did the job as the crew was up and at ’em at 7:34 sharp (I was a little late getting up as my guitar had fallen onto my face in the night, blocking my ear from my alarm). But it couldn’t stop us; we dined on Tom’s finest yogurt and granola, which he had slaved away in the galley, preparing for an entire 10 minutes. The yogurt was scrumptious, and the granola added a complexity to it that I could only describe as spiritually awakening. Seamanship was first on the docket; learning about our ship of immense size is an integral part of our journey to becoming a professional crew. But enough about that; our tomfoolery and shenanigans are what you good people are here for.
Our shore experience began with climbing a flight of stairs that seemed taller than Everest. As we reached the top, we could see the main course of Tarragona, a street with an abundance of cafes, monuments, and beautiful ocean views. A group of us, consisting of myself, Dan, Edward, Eliza, Audrey, MacDonald, and Brendan, descended upon a local trinket shop, purchasing moon goggles and poker chips to help us look fly and gamble away our emergency money, respectively. We then embarked on the part of the adventure we looked forward to most, the beautiful Playa Milagros beach. The crystal-clear waters were even more enticing than Tom’s finest yogurt. We dove through the waves like the dolphins we had seen on passage many times before but with slightly more grace. The chicken fights will be written about for centuries to come, but the body surfing not so much (I nearly sustained intense bodily harm). The main event rolled around 2 o’clock when a game of football was played. Dan turned into prime Peyton Manning. Luke looked like the son of Lawrence Taylor. Eliza recorded multiple catches while in jeans. Lukas was flagged over what felt like 10,000 times, and Watson became the commander of the no-fly zone with multiple pass breakups and an interception. When the time came to end the game, we all made the trek back to the boat. We must have looked like a group of absolute hooligans, strolling into the marina we share with yachts of two to three hundred feet, dressed in sandals and wet swim shorts. Alas, uniformed polos are not for us, we are dressed in t shirts, awesome glasses and even immaculate robes (Boston & Max).
As we chowed down on a dinner of Carbonera, cheffed up beautifully by Claire, I thought for a moment. Aren’t we a bunch of lucky kids? The answer is yes.
Love You.