I’ve lost track of time. I don’t know what day it is, and I don’t really care. What I need to do right now is get the fuck away from this mess.
Living on the water feels more right to me than anything I can imagine, but I can’t do it with these retards. The “captain” doesn’t have much inclination to sail his own boat, let alone impart expertise on others. He seems more concerned with ramming every available inch of space with Workaway volunteers to fund his supply of food and broken parts. His “suggestion” to contribute a few bucks daily turned out to be more of a rule. When I realized I ate a third of what everyone else was eating at mealtime, with no say in the offerings, I decided it might be time to make a move before the shore slipped away.
Life seems far more interesting when you step beyond your comfort zone — when you’re doing crazy shit, and feel like at any moment you might freak out. That sums up this adventure so far. I have no idea what each day’s gonna bring, but I’m lovin’ every second of it.
I didn’t share any of my game-plan last post, so let me fill you in on the agenda, if you could call it that…
Next stops: Toronto, Houston, and the jungles of Central America.
Since I have a ton of time on my hands between flights, I may as well play dear diary for a while, though I can’t promise the ramble will be meaningful. Nah, that’s not true, I always find something amusing or irritating to share. Let’s see what unfolds…
First leg, London to Toronto. Check-in was quick and painless. My carry-on glided effortlessly through the X-ray machine, and I did the same through the the metal detector, without a single asshole giving me attitude or grief, or enforcing full body irradiation. Thumbs up to Canada. But be warned, if you have future air travel planned, and haven’t been through the process in a while, I would highly recommend boning up on the endless nonsensical rules that are currently in place before you check your backpack or luggage into Big Brother’s cargo hold.