The upper deck of the Dodecanese Express
I considered it a half-dozen times before trying.
When the catamaran neared harbour and cut speed, curious travellers stepped out to the top deck and took in the cloudless sky, rugged hills and inviting cubical homes of the next Dodecanese island. As soon as we pulled out of the harbour and the wind picked up, they trailed away reluctantly, heading below to stare at satellite TV feeds of EPH1 Greek News.
But I wanted to stay on deck for the entire trip between islands.
The Dodecanese Express rolled over white-capped waves at 31 knots on our trip from Rhodes to Patmos, bobbing in all four directions like an unpredictable rollercoaster. Two narrow decks with waist-high railings wrapped around the upper cabin, like arms extending from the stern to the bow. Towards the prow, they widened slightly – the “hands” on the outstretched arms – allowing as many as three people across.
We had just left Leros Island and everyone else made their way below deck. I alone remained near the prow of the ship.
As we rounded out of the harbour, the wind slammed against my body. White caps dotted the foreground, the barren hills of Lipsi Island rose in the hazy distance. My hair blew straight back. I felt my cheeks distorting from the wind.
My first thought: “Is it possible to go deaf from wind?”
My second thought: “They would never let me do this on BC Ferries.”
I instinctively grabbed my sunglasses with one hand to ensure they wouldn’t be stripped from my face. The other hand kept a white-knuckle grip on the railing. It was impossible to stand otherwise.
Minutes passed. Occasionally, I thought I heard indistinct words amidst the deafening white noise of the wind.
I remembered once renting a power washer for an afternoon. As the motor hummed, I blasted our stone paths and vinyl decks, wiping away several years worth of moss. Pure water at intense pressure could clean most surfaces at a single swipe. But some residue took more than one pass, or an especially long, intense blast.
We found open ocean, and the wind pressure only increased. I kept my grip. As the gale continued, my thoughts drifted. What residue still clung stubbornly to me? What false identities, what shadowed idols? What could only be scoured away by a fierce wind?
Slowly I lowered my hand from my sunglasses. They stayed put.
I relaxed my grip on the railing and shifted one leg back. I began to lean forward into the solid wall of wind.
Eventually I released the railing altogether and was supported only by my feet and the wind. As long as we didn’t roll sideways, I found a balance, a certain statis.
I pressed into the wall of wind, let it uphold my leaning form. The tension of the moment drained. A smile creased my face. I was learning to stop resisting and simply let the wind support me.
“Holy Wind, support me as I lean in. May your potent movement strip away any stubborn residue that still clings within.”
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