In Greek mythology, the newly dead wait at the shores of the River Styx for Charon the ferryman to transport them to Hades. Once the souls get there, they are reborn and gain another body. The Greeks placed a coin in the mouth of their dead before burial so they could pay the ferryman to ensure safe passage to the other side.
The ferry requires no money---like lots of things here, it's free.
I couldn't help but think about that story and reflect on my other ferry trips this weekend as I was taking my third voyage across the Bay.
I think I'd taken a ferry over the Mississippi River at some point as a young child---I'm not sure exactly where or when---but the first trip I really remember was to see my cousins in Fernandina Beach, FL, which is on Amelia Island. Then there have been ferry trips across to New Orleans; the Bremerton, WA ferry into Seattle; the San Juan, WA islands trips; the ferry to Victoria, British Columbia; the ferry across the Rhine to Rüdesheim, Germany. The first Guantánamo ferry trip last October, however, was about a new beginning, a solo (at first) adventure, and I won't lie---it was really scary.
I was absolutely worried about what I'd find. It's one thing when you jump up and make a life-changing plan on your own; it's another when you have school-aged children and a spouse you are dragging along, for better or worse. The first ferry trip over was beautiful---I got to see the ocean, the bay, the mountains of Cuba, the things I can't photograph (the "golfballs," the windmills), beaches, all in one shot. Two of my colleagues met me at the airport and we had a great talk while traveling the Bay to my new home. Hearing about their own paths to Cuba and their adventures in the system made me really feel like I've made a good decision. The light breeze, the smell of salty air, the bright sun---as the ferry slowly crawled toward the windward side, and I found myself much calmer when I got to Ferry Landing.
A couple of weeks later, I took the trip back to Leeward to pick up my three fellas---and sat with a group of young guys whose unit was leaving after a year here. They were sad to go---a couple were at the verge of tears---and as they took dozens of pictures and frantically waved goodbye to their Gitmo friends, I wondered, "Is this how I will feel when I finally take my final ferry trip across the Bay?"
This weekend, I had another great adventure---I went with a group of ladies to Leeward for the night. We took the 1630 ferry, caught a bus to a hotel, ate at the Leeward Galley, then went back to the hotel and played Bunco (most stupid game ever invented---absolutely no skill involved---it's all about the company you keep, and this group is extremely fun), had a great time, and took the 10 am ferry back to Windward the next morning. It's what people here do to get away---they take the ferry to spend the night away from the main part of the base, because at least you don't run into the same people at the same stores around the same time of day as you always do. I've said it before---this place is like Groundhog Day. Sometimes it's nice to have a little change, especially when it's hard to get away from furlough talk and complaints about the internet and lack of bread and everything else here. If you can't beat them. . . run away for a weekend.
I think I'd taken a ferry over the Mississippi River at some point as a young child---I'm not sure exactly where or when---but the first trip I really remember was to see my cousins in Fernandina Beach, FL, which is on Amelia Island. Then there have been ferry trips across to New Orleans; the Bremerton, WA ferry into Seattle; the San Juan, WA islands trips; the ferry to Victoria, British Columbia; the ferry across the Rhine to Rüdesheim, Germany. The first Guantánamo ferry trip last October, however, was about a new beginning, a solo (at first) adventure, and I won't lie---it was really scary.
I was absolutely worried about what I'd find. It's one thing when you jump up and make a life-changing plan on your own; it's another when you have school-aged children and a spouse you are dragging along, for better or worse. The first ferry trip over was beautiful---I got to see the ocean, the bay, the mountains of Cuba, the things I can't photograph (the "golfballs," the windmills), beaches, all in one shot. Two of my colleagues met me at the airport and we had a great talk while traveling the Bay to my new home. Hearing about their own paths to Cuba and their adventures in the system made me really feel like I've made a good decision. The light breeze, the smell of salty air, the bright sun---as the ferry slowly crawled toward the windward side, and I found myself much calmer when I got to Ferry Landing.
Hills, the Bay leading to the ocean---that's our Cuba
A couple of weeks later, I took the trip back to Leeward to pick up my three fellas---and sat with a group of young guys whose unit was leaving after a year here. They were sad to go---a couple were at the verge of tears---and as they took dozens of pictures and frantically waved goodbye to their Gitmo friends, I wondered, "Is this how I will feel when I finally take my final ferry trip across the Bay?"
This weekend, I had another great adventure---I went with a group of ladies to Leeward for the night. We took the 1630 ferry, caught a bus to a hotel, ate at the Leeward Galley, then went back to the hotel and played Bunco (most stupid game ever invented---absolutely no skill involved---it's all about the company you keep, and this group is extremely fun), had a great time, and took the 10 am ferry back to Windward the next morning. It's what people here do to get away---they take the ferry to spend the night away from the main part of the base, because at least you don't run into the same people at the same stores around the same time of day as you always do. I've said it before---this place is like Groundhog Day. Sometimes it's nice to have a little change, especially when it's hard to get away from furlough talk and complaints about the internet and lack of bread and everything else here. If you can't beat them. . . run away for a weekend.
When I was packing to move here, we cleaned out our safe deposit box and I decided I would take one of my Morgan dollars from my Papaw with me, and it ended up as a good luck charm of sorts, stashed away in the lining of my purse throughout the trip. Every Christmas for several years, he gave the grandkids each a coin of some sort. I have a little stack of them---some are worth a bit of money, some are not, but they are all priceless and precious to me, as they are probably the only thing I have with his handwriting on them. I'm not really sure what I believe about fate and destiny, but I can say without a doubt that he influenced several people in my family, including myself, to become teachers. Education brought my family out of the fields and poverty to all over the state of Mississippi and beyond, working as teachers, coaches, librarians, principals, superintendents. I have always felt like teaching was my destiny, brought about by his influence and example.
But this isn't a story about education (nothing makes me rant more than public education in our country), it's all about our crazy journey---and the fact that I took a coin across the Bay on a ferry to start a new life of sorts, well, maybe that's a little bit of destiny, as well. At least I didn't carry it in my mouth. Let's just hope in the end I don't think this place is Hades.
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