Through the Strait of Gibraltar

We went through the Strait this morning and it was the busiest the deck has been since we boarded.

There is a thing that happens on a ship when it passes somewhere famous. Officially nobody cares. Practically, everybody who is not on watch finds a reason to be outside with a phone. Tiny had a reason involving a lashing inspection. Yuki had a reason involving nothing at all and did not pretend otherwise.

The Strait is narrower than I expected and wider than the map suggests, which is a contradiction I cannot resolve. Spain to port, low and brown and dotted with white. Morocco to starboard, higher, hazier, more serious looking. The Rock itself came up as an abrupt grey wedge and then went by, and for about twenty minutes we were surrounded by traffic in every direction: ferries cutting across, tankers stacked up in lanes, a couple of small fast boats doing something I did not ask about.

The bridge went quiet in the way a room goes quiet when the people in it are concentrating. I stood at the back, well out of the way, and watched Priya work a busy plot with a total absence of drama. She did not look up. That is the correct behaviour and I still found it faintly annoying.

The water changed colour on the other side. It is the Mediterranean now, warmer, bluer, and by all accounts about to get very hot indeed.