Another America

I am writing this from Bahia Boqueron, Puerto Rico. I arrived via sailboat yesterday after crossing the Mona Passage from the Dominican Republic.
The Mona Passage is, more or less, the raison d'etre of my invitation to board Ryan Smith's sailboat, the Ventana. It is a long time at sea, eastward into the Trade Winds, with little to no communication and nowhere to anchor until you've finished. It is important to carefully chose an appropriate "weather window" in which to make the cross. We had such an opportunity this week and seized upon it.
I have just spent 75 hours at sea, by my clock. Three nights and two days. There was time when no land was visible under the sun in any direction. I have sailed before, but nothing like this. I felt the oppressiveness of the unending motion upon me after we left our anchorage in Luperon, Dominican Republic. I did not believe that I would get sea-sick. I have never experienced motion sickness. Not in boats, on airplanes big and small, nor motorcycles, rafts, or roller coasters. Somehow this was different. I felt ill immediately and had to cower in the corner of the cockpit to close my eyes and lean against the canvas 'dodger' while the boat bobbed up and down violently and without rhythm.
We motor-sailed through the night, against the wind, against the waves, into the obscurity of a sea greater than 2,000 meters deep. No phone. No internet. No appetite. No stomach to read or play music. And no turning back. That was Wednesday, November 23rd, my 28th birthday.

To be continued...