Two weeks traversing the Atlantic

Two weeks at sea 

It took two weeks to get to the Acores, Portugal. During the first week, all was calm and pleasant, but it seemed that people stated to separate into two groups. Our captain seemed a little too enthusiastic to do everything. Taking long hours steering, and tacking by himself, putting the sails up and down without saying anything, or asking for help.
It was interesting to see how almost sneaky he was about it. Quite pleasantly letting us steered when there was no wind, and in the moment he will start steering 3 minutes later after he realized how hard it was, he would turn on the motor. Once his shift finished he would tell the next person, that they were using too much gas and turn it off, making them  steer in a no win situation.
I don’t know how many times I offered for me to take his place at the wheel, but he rarely would say yes. But would always sheepishly ask another crew member to please help him out.
It felt like I was being setup on something. I supposed I realized my predicament when the bacon was cooked. The bacon had stayed in the fridge for a long time, maybe due to knowledge  that if you cooked it, you would be the bad guy FOREVER. At last the bacon could wait no longer and our captain cooked it. Strangely enough he served me, but served no one else. He quickly gave me the bowl with smash potatoes and the bacon  underneath it. I got nervous and realized there were 3 pieces of bacon in my own bowl, and got really scared. I went to the kitchen where two other people were serving themselves and asked if people had enough bacon. There wasn’t enough, so I took out one and gave it to Marc and said that there were more on the bowl on the kitchen for the other person, but to leave one for Thad.
I felt scared, for two reasons, if he was being nice to me, the fact that I was scared of his niceties is not a good sign. Second, if he was setting me up, he could say how I put so much bacon on mine and possibly how he only had one pice or maybe even none. In one word, unconfortable.
His constant battering of other people made me angry, maybe because I was the only other person that understood Spanish. His indirect battering about us made me at one point even clap at what he was saying. I had seen this before, in Cuba. Our captain becoming the supposed victim of 3 (starving) americans.  Cuba should have been the first clue that he would play the victim. What else could I do?  

Once we reached the Acores, the jokes about being stranded here started. I supposed we knew he was just on land long enough to check that all the money was wired to him.  

Jokes became reality. He sailed without us. We were stranded in a flowery Paradise. 

Angela Arvizu

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