“Mate, let’s make a deal,” I hear someone say coming from the back row, loud enough for everyone in the bus to hear. “Let’s not spend more than 10 minutes sober for the entire weekend!” Everyone was listening, and everyone, except me it seemed, found this to be a terrific idea. “A weekend in Amsterdam for £19!” That had been a terrific idea. One of those I found myself incapable of saying no to, regardless of the small letters at the end of the contract. Nineteen pounds. The figure flickered in my mind like a banner as I tried to figure out a way to put up with what, to me, was a babbling band of baboons locked inside a moving cage. At least the seats aren’t too uncomfortable, I thought. Nineteen pounds. Nineteen pounds. Another wave of laughter and deafening “woohoos” rang in my ears as I looked at the time. 10:52PM. 10 more hours to go. I put my headphones back on and turned up the volume. Nope. Not even that could drain the sound of what was likely to be the preamble of a weekend no one would remember.
It was to be a short trip. A student weekend trip. The bus left Coventry on a Thursday night and would take 13 hours to roll into Amsterdam. At around 1AM, we all migrated out of the bus and onto the ferry. By this time, and much to my liking, everyone’s energy had been drained. Soon after the boat started moving, we all looked like we were going to be sick: Every corridor was littered with bodies of fallen students, desperate for stillness; there was a daunting silence, occasionally interrupted by stomach groans and moaning; the colour of life drained from our faces as we lay across rooms, along corridors and on the staircases. Exhaustion and excessive rocking made me think I was living my worst nightmare. It was like being in a trance. The loud motor echoed around my ears as my stomach groaned, trying to find stability in a painfully slow movement of every point of reference I could find. My body wouldn’t take it much longer, and trying to avoid the storm in my stomach getting any worse, I got up and made my way to the outer deck for some fresh air.
I stumbled down the corridors and crawled up several flights of stairs, trying not to fall on the lifeless, suffering souls, too consumed and absent-minded to realise they were being stepped on. As I opened the door, I felt the cold breeze hit my face and let the rocking of the ship push me towards the edge of the boat. I held on tight to the white, metallic bar that separated me from what would be a quite painful and dramatic death. The infernal noise of the motor was even louder out here, but the closer I got to the edge, the more it faded away. I held on tight to the bar, eyes closed, and felt my stomach settle. The sound of crashing waves took over the roaring engine. It was soothing. I opened my eyes expecting to see the waves colliding against the side of the monstrous ship, but I couldn’t. I gripped the bar firmly. Beyond it, there was only darkness. The limit between the sky and the sea under it was non-existent. There was no horizon, no point of reference. No sign that I was in the open sea. The clouds above me concealed any light the stars might offer. Nonetheless, there was a small shimmering in the distance, so small that even my squinted eyes had trouble deciding whether it was real. The only real points of reference were those I could hear and feel: The crashing waves; the wind on my face; and the light splashing of water on my knuckles.
Suddenly I heard the loud, iron door swing open again behind me. Three guys, holding each other’s arms like old ladies, stumbled onto the deck, one of them already on his knees. I quickly looked back at the open sea. I did not want my peace of mind disrupted by whatever came out of his stomach. Whatever it was seemed to start settling. The other two helped him up and the three of them sat silently against the wall, occasionally moaning.
“It’s too f***ing cold, man”, said one of them. "Let's go back inside".
“Shut up. Out here you don’t have to worry of having my vomit over you.”
More moaning.
They fell silent again and after a while I heard them disappear through the door again. Every time the door opened, a flash of incandescent light shot through from the inside of the ship and reminded me of how dark it was out there. For a moment, I imagined what it would be like to lead a life in complete darkness, a life without sight, subject to all my other senses. I opened my eyes as much as I could, even though I knew it wouldn’t help me see anything beyond the ship, beyond my firm grip on the white, metallic bar. Then, I remembered why I was there. I remembered everything that would come in a few hours, after this dooming darkness and incessant rocking would pass. Nineteen pounds. Nineteen pounds to see something new, something to explore. I remembered why I wasn’t able to say no to the offer. I remembered that any destination, no matter how painful or slow the journey, was food to my wandering soul. I scanned the unending darkness again, left to right, right to left. The faint point of shimmering light I had spotted before was bigger now. It was large enough to reflect some nearby waves. I looked up at the sky and finally, I found the source of light, the cause of that faint, flickering point in the middle of the dark sea. It had been hiding behind the dark clouds and had now found a loophole through which to emerge. A perfectly round torch-like bulb, hanging above me in the dark sky. A source of light that had lit the world since before the beginning of time. I stared at the full moon until I could make out its uneven surface made of craters. I looked back down at the darkness beyond the ship, now tainted with a line of light, reflected from the torch-like ball of floating light. The uneasy thought of living a life without sight started to fade and was replaced by a sense of gratitude and relief. To be able to find light even in the darkest of places, just by opening your eyes and letting them wander, is one of the many gifts of life that tend to go unnoticed. I went back inside and was greeted again by pale faces and grumbling stomachs. I made my way through, smiling. Soon it would all be over, and what was to come would be worth the trouble. At least for nineteen pounds.
We boarded the bus again in Brussels several hours later. It must have been four or five in the morning. No one made a sound. We marched down the steps into the lower decks of the ferry and into the bus like worn out zombies. The bags under our eyes screamed for rest. I stumbled onto my seat and didn’t bother putting my headphones on. I didn’t need them this time. My head fell against the window and my mouth dropped open as my whole body made a last attempt to rest. When I opened my eyes again, rays of sunshine shot through the window and crept into my right eye. Road signs in an unknown language with too many consonants next to one other suggested we were now in The Netherlands. Finally. Golden fields and perfectly ordinary country houses bordered the road and veiled a background of tall peaks and colourful billboards which seemed to belong to the capital. As I checked the time again, the bus driver’s voice across the speakers woke up all the wildlings in the moving cage: “Good morning everyone, it is now nine in the morning. Welcome to Amsterdam.”
It was to be a short trip. A student weekend trip. The bus left Coventry on a Thursday night and would take 13 hours to roll into Amsterdam. At around 1AM, we all migrated out of the bus and onto the ferry. By this time, and much to my liking, everyone’s energy had been drained. Soon after the boat started moving, we all looked like we were going to be sick: Every corridor was littered with bodies of fallen students, desperate for stillness; there was a daunting silence, occasionally interrupted by stomach groans and moaning; the colour of life drained from our faces as we lay across rooms, along corridors and on the staircases. Exhaustion and excessive rocking made me think I was living my worst nightmare. It was like being in a trance. The loud motor echoed around my ears as my stomach groaned, trying to find stability in a painfully slow movement of every point of reference I could find. My body wouldn’t take it much longer, and trying to avoid the storm in my stomach getting any worse, I got up and made my way to the outer deck for some fresh air.
I stumbled down the corridors and crawled up several flights of stairs, trying not to fall on the lifeless, suffering souls, too consumed and absent-minded to realise they were being stepped on. As I opened the door, I felt the cold breeze hit my face and let the rocking of the ship push me towards the edge of the boat. I held on tight to the white, metallic bar that separated me from what would be a quite painful and dramatic death. The infernal noise of the motor was even louder out here, but the closer I got to the edge, the more it faded away. I held on tight to the bar, eyes closed, and felt my stomach settle. The sound of crashing waves took over the roaring engine. It was soothing. I opened my eyes expecting to see the waves colliding against the side of the monstrous ship, but I couldn’t. I gripped the bar firmly. Beyond it, there was only darkness. The limit between the sky and the sea under it was non-existent. There was no horizon, no point of reference. No sign that I was in the open sea. The clouds above me concealed any light the stars might offer. Nonetheless, there was a small shimmering in the distance, so small that even my squinted eyes had trouble deciding whether it was real. The only real points of reference were those I could hear and feel: The crashing waves; the wind on my face; and the light splashing of water on my knuckles.
Suddenly I heard the loud, iron door swing open again behind me. Three guys, holding each other’s arms like old ladies, stumbled onto the deck, one of them already on his knees. I quickly looked back at the open sea. I did not want my peace of mind disrupted by whatever came out of his stomach. Whatever it was seemed to start settling. The other two helped him up and the three of them sat silently against the wall, occasionally moaning.
“It’s too f***ing cold, man”, said one of them. "Let's go back inside".
“Shut up. Out here you don’t have to worry of having my vomit over you.”
More moaning.
They fell silent again and after a while I heard them disappear through the door again. Every time the door opened, a flash of incandescent light shot through from the inside of the ship and reminded me of how dark it was out there. For a moment, I imagined what it would be like to lead a life in complete darkness, a life without sight, subject to all my other senses. I opened my eyes as much as I could, even though I knew it wouldn’t help me see anything beyond the ship, beyond my firm grip on the white, metallic bar. Then, I remembered why I was there. I remembered everything that would come in a few hours, after this dooming darkness and incessant rocking would pass. Nineteen pounds. Nineteen pounds to see something new, something to explore. I remembered why I wasn’t able to say no to the offer. I remembered that any destination, no matter how painful or slow the journey, was food to my wandering soul. I scanned the unending darkness again, left to right, right to left. The faint point of shimmering light I had spotted before was bigger now. It was large enough to reflect some nearby waves. I looked up at the sky and finally, I found the source of light, the cause of that faint, flickering point in the middle of the dark sea. It had been hiding behind the dark clouds and had now found a loophole through which to emerge. A perfectly round torch-like bulb, hanging above me in the dark sky. A source of light that had lit the world since before the beginning of time. I stared at the full moon until I could make out its uneven surface made of craters. I looked back down at the darkness beyond the ship, now tainted with a line of light, reflected from the torch-like ball of floating light. The uneasy thought of living a life without sight started to fade and was replaced by a sense of gratitude and relief. To be able to find light even in the darkest of places, just by opening your eyes and letting them wander, is one of the many gifts of life that tend to go unnoticed. I went back inside and was greeted again by pale faces and grumbling stomachs. I made my way through, smiling. Soon it would all be over, and what was to come would be worth the trouble. At least for nineteen pounds.
We boarded the bus again in Brussels several hours later. It must have been four or five in the morning. No one made a sound. We marched down the steps into the lower decks of the ferry and into the bus like worn out zombies. The bags under our eyes screamed for rest. I stumbled onto my seat and didn’t bother putting my headphones on. I didn’t need them this time. My head fell against the window and my mouth dropped open as my whole body made a last attempt to rest. When I opened my eyes again, rays of sunshine shot through the window and crept into my right eye. Road signs in an unknown language with too many consonants next to one other suggested we were now in The Netherlands. Finally. Golden fields and perfectly ordinary country houses bordered the road and veiled a background of tall peaks and colourful billboards which seemed to belong to the capital. As I checked the time again, the bus driver’s voice across the speakers woke up all the wildlings in the moving cage: “Good morning everyone, it is now nine in the morning. Welcome to Amsterdam.”