Acceptance, adaptation and perseverance

First time I saw Tres Hombres in Amsterdam I was humbled by her. She was quiet and gently rolled by the quay. Yet, simultaneously, she was screaming something I couldn’t quite get at the time but it felt important and real. I was curious.
Getting on board for the first time, just as a visitor, felt strange. It was like stepping into someone’s old home. There was a story in every wooden plank, character in each rope. One by one I got to meet the crew. They shared salty wrinkles, hardened hands and torn clothes. They talked about whales, and storms, and pirates tales; but their eyes had seen things they could not express and I could not even start to imagine. Their laughter was bright and loud, their gaze though, was sharp and serious. What did they learn? I had to find out.
I’ve never sailed before. I am afraid of heights. I would be useless on deck or up on the mast. But I have cooked before. So I had a plan: Maybe I’m not a sailor, but I shall be the sailors‘ cook.
Now, m

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