You must forgive me. I had grand aspirations for this report. Having recently completed the longest passage of our journey-a 400-mile odyssey across one of the most notorious stretches of water in the Western Hemisphere-there was much to tell. I had already outlined a narrative and written the first paragraphs.
I wanted to tell you what it's like, alone, 40 miles off the Colombian coast, with waves breaking over Gypsy's stern as the hot pink sun disappears behind the gray horizon of water unbroken. To describe the wonder, when the sun eventually rises, of discovering her decks littered with scores of flying fish. I wanted to articulate the joy one feels, watching a pod of porpoises frolic in the bow wake, chasing each other back and forth, when the only other contact over the previous two days was via sideband radio. And I wanted to tell you about Fabio and his niece Alysandra, the Italians on the sloop Quasar II, which accompanied me on the journey. Fabio's cheerful voice on the radio was a constant assurance that as vulnerable as I might feel, help was never far away.
But to be honest, I've lost my enthusiasm for the story. We arrived in Cartegena Monday at dawn, acrid smoke from the oil refinery and burning garbage spilling across the harbor. I found my way to Club Nautico, a small marina tucked along crumbling fortress walls in this 500-year-old city, and tied Gypsy at the dock. After a brief visit to the central city, I returned to the boat for my first night of continuous sleep since leaving Aruba four days earlier.
The following morning I wandered into the marina, where a number of people crowded around a television, watching CNN en espaņol. Early reports from New York showed footage of one of the Trade Towers crumbling from the damage of an airplane collision. Shortly thereafter, the second tower collapsed in a cloud of dust. I sat down, uncomprehending and numb with horror, as events unfolded over the ensuing hours.
When I started the Gypsy Report, my intention was to document our voyage-to trace the progress and maturation of boat and crew as we sailed west. But I feel now like I need to step out of character and address you all as friends and acquaintances. It has taken several days to process what transpired last week, and I have so much more to come to terms with.
The coverage here is pretty much as I imagine it broadcast around the world-stark, sympathetic, but unapologetically brutal. I am sickened by the constant barrage of images-slow-motion footage of planes colliding with towers from every perspective-but I cannot stop watching. Every shop and every public building has a television tuned to the catastrophe. In the streets and in plazas, people crowd around the latest newspaper editions, reading and discussing in animated outrage. When people learn that I am from the United States, they want to discuss the events, ask my opinions, offer condolences. I am shell-shocked and exhausted. I returned to Gypsy last night and started crying, and couldn't stop.
I hope everyone who receives this dispatch is safe and healthy, and somehow finding your way back to the secure and familiar in your lives. I hope loved ones are safe and healthy, and if not, that you take heart during these difficult times. We have all been changed over this past week, and the healing will take time. My only other wish is that somehow, somewhere, some goodness can prevail from this monstrosity. Otherwise, I am at a loss.
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September 15 - The Horror
