Deconstructed at sea

Admist a roaring sea port breeze; wintry and sharp, the clean odorless scent of a sanitized metropolis, a foggy saddened Yokohama Port. As I advanced stupefied, I stopped; standing before me, the white glimmering starboard, majestic and regal: I saluted solemnly, said goodbye.With the slow disembarkment of its members, the most purest of cultures and the most strongest of emotional experiences, ended.

Upon arrival, surrounded by the new age architecture and woven-in highways, we were given a complex lunch box, a labyrinth composed of tiny squares, where each compartment was a flavorful adventure of sweet and sour bites.

1 week later the sky no longer differentiated itself from the sea, the fog was thick and the water still, not a wave in sight, barely wrinkles. 240 young participants of 13 different countries filled the ship.

Day 15, the port was congested, grey, transmitting a humid heated smell of flavorful curry. Contingents of "umeshu" drinking Japanese Youth and Sri Lanken star gazing musicians scattered about, walking, singing; a synergy of excitement and wonder as on this night, the Fuji Maru was in Chennai.

Back on the ship, at 10 am the Mauri Haka blasted out a shout of war. Beaming through their eyes was courage, power and bonds. At 12 pm lunch served an ample array of dishes: miso soup, curry kangaroo, Japanese rice cakes, halal beef stew, soba noodles, and green tea.3 hours later, working in parallel: Japanese calligraphy, Brazilian chapbooks, Peruvian percussion, Arabic coffee, and Indian yoga.By sunset, the Coran was sung: Islam liberated its most precious call. Women sitting in lively bordered prayer mats, covered by veils, repeating cyclically their petitions to Allah, taught us the chants of a contagious spirituality.

The transformation was gradual, the atmosphere drugged us with its charm and the result was the birth of a transcultural tribe, safeguarded by trust and tolerance, isolated in the depth of the Indian Sea.