Day 13: Jan Mayen

Day 13 — Jan Mayen. We left the glacier behind, and after a day and a night sailing southwest along Greenland's east coast, we woke up to Jan Mayen island off our port side. One of the least known and hardest-to-reach European islands, between Spitsbergen and Iceland.

A whole bunch of "northernmost this, northernmost that" records on this trip. Beerenberg, on Jan Mayen, is the world's northernmost active volcano. Partly covered by glaciers, with no harbor of its own, temporarily inhabited by a handful of Norwegian weather and communications staff, the island has only a short airstrip for supply planes.

This volcano is so shy about showing itself that even the ship's first officer told us he's passed it 22 times so far and had never once seen its summit — until today. It was always covered in clouds.

I've been amazed since we left at how we've had such good weather. The sea like glass in the North Sea, the Arctic Ocean, and the Greenland Sea — unheard of, we haven't even felt like we were on a ship. I wonder how long this luck can hold; it's impossible we won't run into some storm eventually, no matter how much of a weather enthusiast our captain is, or how good he is at keeping the ship away from storms that might ruin the vacation of the retirees who pay his salary.

So, because I'm old and wise now, and I've learned the hard way to seize every chance that comes along instead of putting myself through some crisis of conscience over whether I deserve it, like I used to when I was young and dumb, I jumped straight into taking photos — shoot first, ask questions later — figuring it's better to take too many photos than too few.

And a good thing too, because the moment I stopped for a minute to catch my breath and turned my back on it, by the time I turned around to take another shot it was already covered in clouds again.

Otherwise… second day of nonstop sailing, from Spitsbergen toward Iceland. We spotted a few whales here and there, but nothing spectacular, and too far away anyway for decent photo or video quality.

A day that invites meditation, letting your thoughts wander, contemplating the human condition: we could just as easily be on the moon, or lost somewhere in outer space. In this well-stocked capsule we've been living in for two weeks now, the only thing supplied by nature — rather than something we have to carry with us — is the oxygen we breathe.

If the weather were always like this, everywhere, anyone could be a navigator on the world's seas and oceans. A small boat, a sack of onions, a sack of potatoes, and a sextant is all I'd need to sail around the world.

If I also had a tank of oxygen with me, I could be in a pressurized capsule in some foreign galaxy anywhere in the Universe… no ocean, no whales, no family or friends… what would be the most important thing in life for me then, stripped of all the petty worries and trivialities that occupy my mind in day-to-day life, freed of all the illusions and phantoms I've chased my whole life?

A psychologist once asked me how I feel when I'm at sea. It caught me off guard, I didn't have time to dig deeper, and I answered with a cliché: "I feel free."

But I forgot to specify what kind of freedom I meant!

Today I know better. You're free… until some instrument breaks, and fixing it needs a little piece of plastic you can buy for 5 euros at any chandlery in the nearest port. And that's when you realize that kind of freedom is an illusion, because you're still dependent on civilization, even when all you can see around you is water, in every direction you look.

If she asked me the same thing again today, I'd tell her I feel… free of distractions!