Domesticity
I made a pact with myself last night. After spending the day seriously regretting my morning decision to not wash my hair on my one day in two that I can use Song of the Whales shower facilities, I told myself to make the most of the biodegradable washing soap that I have brought with me and embrace a swim in the could Scottish bay of Tobermory in which, we are moored. Song of the Whale is a self-sustaining vessel and as such she makes her own water. However, with so many of us onboard we are rationed to a shower every other day. Unable to stand another day with dirty hair and too stubborn to accept the kind offer by Jo to be taken ashore and find a warm shower in the local public facilities, I collected myself on the bathing board located at the vessels stern. Tentatively sticking a few toes into the water I make a decision: a slow entry down the ladder is not going to cut it. So, backing down two of the ladders rungs, I let go and launch myself backwards into the water. My breath is gone as the cold shocks through my body. Stunned into a sudden alertness, which dispels the sleepy stupor that a late night and deep sleep in a small stuffy cabin has induced, I swim briskly around the boat a couple of times until what feels like a million needles pricking my skin is gone, and is replaced with, a more bearable, numbness. Clambering back onto the bathing deck I sit down leaving my feet in a position that allows them to be submersed in the sea as Song of the Whale gently moves with the light swell that has made its way into the bay. Time to try out this biodegradable soap.
Perched in this way I find myself looking out towards the boats moored behind us, and the coastline behind them, which is in turn backed by a dramatic grey sky of varying tones. It is so peaceful and calm here. It feels different sitting at this level, less than a meter from the sea’s surface. Antoine, who has braved his early morning dip for two days running now described it well, he tells me later: ‘you tune in’.
Back on deck and now shivering in a towel, I look around and note other towels draped over the side rails. Moving indoors to warm up, swim shorts and more towels adorn handy metal ladders. As the day progressed, this suggestion of domesticity increased as wet trousers, shoes and waterproofs were draped around the vessel – mostly in our cabins. These draping’s have enabled Song of the Whale to take on a familiarity as our everyday practices have been imported, altered and re-invented in line with the space and resources available onboard.
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