I like to get up early on the ship (just 45 minutes after Scott….which is outrageously early) for some unknown reason.  It could be because we continue to move our clocks back hour after hour???  Or, I just like to head to the gym when the faculty and staff are in there.  Or….it is just time.

I rarely see more than 3 people on my way to the gym.  Our crew members are already up working to polish the ship, vacuum the carpets, and get everything just right.  They are the magical people who must place these white bags.  I have never seen anyone with them in hand. Not once have I caught the elves who place the bags.  I wonder if their staff memo says, “Oh wow.  Get those white bags out.  It is going to be a rough one for our passengers who do not really know how to ride the waves.”

You know what your day will look like based on the placement of these little white bags.  If you wake up and see them strategically stashed around the ship…..first thing in the morning….saddle up.  These bags are out by 5:45 am.  If you spot them, it is most definitely a “white bag day”.  Gulp! 4-5 meter seas are in our direct future.  Ahhh……

No one told me.  I had no time to prepare.  Who is in charge around here??

On our way into Kobe, Japan.  A notoriously bad stretch of seas, we were in 8-9 meter seas.

This means your feet leave the ground while you are walking around.  You will be woken from a deep sleep with the feeling that you are levitating above your bed, only to be slammed down and held there a few minutes later.  It will take your breath away.  And then, you go back to sleep.  Some part of our minds already know there really is no way out of this.  Sleep some more and wake in a more gentle time.   Items move back and forth across dining tables on their own accord. Clothes exit closets.  Shampoo bottles rattle around the bottom of the tub after falling from the ledge.  Passengers disappear for the entire day.  Others whisper that the seas have gotten to them as you meet them trying to get up the stairs. Some you will not see on these types of days as they are cabin bound. Lunch is attended by very few.  It is a white bag day.  A day to hold on.  A sick type of day.

I plead, “Please waves.  Please, get organized.”  Organized waves are more of a rocking sensation.  They come along every 20 seconds or so.  It is like climbing a gentle hill only to be allowed to coast down the other side.  Again and again, rhythmic like.  Rocking.  Soothing.

Unorganized waves cannot be predicted.  They slam against the ship from either direction. They can push on the port side, and then the next one hits near the rear.  They slam you into things, take your breath away, and make explosive noises against the hull.  They are loud.  Even in the middle of the night. You cannot tell where the next one is coming from.

Those white bags days keep me away from my “office”.  My office is in a secret place behind the stage, the very last stop toward the front of the ship ( I am certain there is a “sailing term” for the front of the ship.  Is is “aft”??) where the waves pound. You can hear the water from my chair.  It wants to be let in.  I saw a dribble of water coming under the massive metal door…on one of these white bag days.  I quickly moved to the 8th deck and donned my life vest.  It seemed the ship was coming undone that day.   (Please see photo for the real picture of my office.  Lights! Camera!  Action.  Those lights get hot fast.)

As our friendly British captain announces over the loudspeaker, “Please keep one hand for yourself and the other for the ship.”  Aye-aye, Captain.   I have no idea what you could possibly mean.  I would like to keep both of my hands, thank you very much.  I am of no use to anyone else right now.  It is a white bag day.

I dream of a helicopter with a basket that has my name on it.  Get me to solid ground.  Now.  Please.  I will throw myself into the basket and meet my shipmates on land.  It is that type of day that your head hurts, just a bit.  It is the brain attempting to make sense of this bucking bronco.  It aches.  And, your stomach is just not going to settle.  Soup for lunch.  Yes.  Soup.

Those white bags are what nightmares are made of.  They just show up and announce what is coming our way. If they are out, the seas will get you.  El Mar.  It means business.  And, has an agenda that is known to very, very few.  (My amazing young passenger friend, Nico, was willing to show their usefulness to the camera.  Mind you, this is just for the camera. I will give him a brief tutorial on getting that bag opened before you need it.)