CHAPTER 7
THE UKULHAS FERRY
Barbara
The ferry moves forward, leaving behind a white, foamy wake stretching across the waves, and the constant noise of the engine vibrating beneath my feet constantly reminds me that I’m floating on something unstable, something ominous for someone like me.
I lean my back against one of the metal seats on the deck, close my eyes for a moment, and try to match my breathing to the gentle rocking of the boat. Though I realize my mistake when the rocking itself intensifies and my stomach clenches, bringing the little I ate on the plane up to my throat.
“Perfect, Barbara,” I whisper to myself ironically, covering my mouth with one hand. “You shouldn’t have eaten anything.”
I open my eyes and look toward the horizon, because that’s what people who don’t get seasick recommend, though in my case I very much doubt it’ll work.
The sky begins to take on a soft, warm orange hue that reflects on the water’s surface as if it were a painting.
Around me, several tourists pull out their phones to capture the moment while a couple speaks in hushed tones with that magical, unspoken complicity shared only by lovers, and a group of young people laughs heartily, completely oblivious to the ferry’s rocking motion.
“How I envy them right now…” My stomach churns again, and suddenly I feel the food rising back up. I press my lips together tightly, swallow, and focus on breathing slowly and deeply.
The trip, I was told, shouldn’t take too long.
That’s what the man at the ticket window assured me after I’d scoured half the port asking around until I managed to get the last ticket available for the day.
At that moment, I would have accepted anything that floated just to reach the island as soon as possible.
“Although right now, I wouldn’t have minded hopping on one of those seaplanes either…” I murmur, running my hands over my face.
The wind blows harder as we move farther away, ruffling my hair and making it even curlier; it carries with it that intense, pungent smell of saltwater that under any other circumstances I would find pleasant, but which right now does nothing to soothe my queasy stomach.
I lean forward slightly, feeling a cold draft brush against my back, and rest my elbows on my knees.
“Come on, Barbara, don’t even think about throwing up here…” I scold myself, feeling a chill run down my spine. “No, please…”
Suddenly, an older woman sitting right across from me leans over and places her hand on my back.
“First time on a ferry, isn’t it?” she asks me in English.
I can’t tell if it’s a question or more of a statement based on my obvious discomfort.
“Is it that obvious?” I reply with a smile that probably looks more like a forced grimace than anything else.
She nods.
“Stare at the horizon; it always helps in these situations.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do for a while now.”
She doesn’t say another word, but she gives me a warm, understanding smile that, unexpectedly, manages to calm me down a little amid all the unease.
The ferry continues on its way, and over time, the orange hues turn to pinks and purples that blend into the deep, dark color of the sea.
I try to truly appreciate the scene unfolding before my eyes, but my mind is focused only on how badly I want to reach dry land, take a hot, relaxing shower, and rest in bed until the next morning.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, driven by my need to talk to Ingrid, but I have no signal.
The last time we spoke was a few hours ago; she tried to hide the fact that her nerves were keeping her awake and used the excuse that she isn’t used to sleeping without me, but I know not having me nearby for the team’s last game has her upset.
Besides, she must be wondering if I arrived safe and sound, if everything went smoothly, or if I got lost in some airport—something that happens to me all the time.
My stomach churns again, and I need to take a couple of deep breaths, even stand up to let everything settle back into place.
The ferry lurches as it crosses a stretch of rougher water, and I decide to sit back down, clinging to the seat just like the people on the Titanic must have clung to the railings.
The woman across from me smiles with infinite patience.
And then, finally, after more than fifteen minutes, a line of land appears on the horizon—barely visible at first, but gradually coming into clear view.
I had never visited Ukulhas before; Lidia and I stayed on one of the many islands that make up the Maldives when we first met, but I never would have imagined it could look so beautiful from a distance.
The ferry gradually slows down as it approaches the dock, and the motion of the boat eases noticeably, which is a relief.
My stomach is still churning, but when we dock, that’s the last thing on my mind; I don’t wait a second for anyone to tell me what to do.
I practically jump to my feet, grab my suitcase tightly, and rush toward the exit in desperation.
“Excuse me, sorry,” I say as I weave through the crowd. “Excuse me, please…” I repeat politely. “I’m so sorry…” I add as I pass by other passengers.
I make my way through the crowd as best I can while the ferry fills with activity, and when I finally step onto the ramp leading directly to dry land, I smile.
I step off the boat, dragging my suitcase, while the world around me sways slightly, as if the sea had decided to take up permanent residence inside my head.
The air is warm and humid, but a cool breeze gently blows my hair out of my face; the sensation should feel pleasant, but at this very moment I’m just struggling to focus on walking in a straight line without stumbling.
I pass several tourists gazing at the surroundings with fascination; I barely look up from the ground because I’m too busy trying to convince my stomach that everything is under control and that it can relax.
I drag my suitcase across the wooden planks of the pier, and then I see him: a young man in a white shirt with the resort’s logo printed on it is holding a small sign with my last name written on it: Manrique.
“Bless that guy.”
I walk quickly toward him, and once I’m beside him, he gives me a smile.
“Are you Barbara Manrique?”
“Yes, that’s me,” I reply, trying to project an air of composure far greater than I actually possess at the moment.
“Welcome to Ukulhas, ma’am,” he says politely. “Let me take your luggage. The car is right over there.”
I nod in thanks and start walking behind him, grateful to finally be getting away from that hellish ferry.
I don’t even pay attention to my surroundings; I don’t notice the colors blending in the water, nor how the fine white sand of the beach begins to glow beneath the warm light of lanterns.
I don’t need anything else in the world right now except to feel that I’ve left the sea behind, that I’m on solid ground, and to talk to Ingrid.
Because she has always been my anchor and my refuge in the midst of chaos, and on important days like today, when the team is risking everything and I’m not by their side, I realize that I owe her a lot…
no matter how much the past refuses to let me go.