The journey, not the destination

One of my favourite childhood memories was that of taking the ferry across the North Sea to Sweden. Each summer our family would take the car over on one of the DFDS ferries from Newcastle or Harwich, in England, to Gothenburg in Sweden, a sailing of some 26 hours.

Only the other day I heard a journalist remark that people today seem to travel in time, rather than distance. Thinking about it now, a journey that takes 26 hours by ship is now flown by most in under 2.

Citing the usual depressingly familiar cost-cutting excuses of 'high fuel prices' and 'competition from low-cost airlines', I heard with great disappointment from my father this evening that DFDS have closed the England-Sweden ferry routes.

I know for a fact that this news won't even bat an eyelid with any of you, and I wouldn't even expect it to, yet upon hearing the news this evening I was absolutely gutted.

I spent countless carefree summers as a child visiting my relatives in Sweden, and one of the most enjoyable parts of those holidays was always the ferry journey itself. Boarding, finding the cabin and exploring the ship. Pulling away from the port, waving at strangers on the quayside, heading out to sea and watching the land grow ever smaller until the sky merged with the sea. The rhythmic pulsing of the engines, the gentle roll of the boat in high seas, the fresh clean air and wind upon my face when up on deck. Oil rigs twinkling in the darkness, way past my bedtime, and getting lost in the endless corridors of what at the time seemed like the largest vessel in the world to my little feet. Simple experiences I know, but to me these seemed like an incredible adventure.

The most magical part of the journey would always be the final few hours before we docked in Gothenburg; sailing up the Danish coast, rounding the tip of Denmark and the slow, precise navigation through the archipelago of islands on final approach into the port of Gothenburg. We'd stand up on deck on this mighty ship, sailing past the countless small rocky islands, some no larger than the houses that were built rather precariously upon them. Looking down into the water I'd see Jellyfish drift past; it always used to confuse me them being this far north, until my dad told me about the Gulf Stream... The memories roll on.

I know these things aren't lost forever; but that cohesive experience I will never be able to repeat or relive now, which came as an unexpected, crushing shame. I'd always hoped to take the ferry over again one day. It's like someone just stole a part of my childhood. I'd sort-of always expected it to be there, forevermore.

I'm taking to the skies again soon, in less than a week. But I need to learn to slow down, and take the scenic route once in a while. To enjoy the journey, not just the destination. The world can look beautiful from high above, but often it's even more so down there in the detail, and at a pace at which it can be truly appreciated.