The first Daiquiris
It was really a great thrill - on the morning of October 27th - to see the thin strip of the island of Cuba on the horizon. The new world.
It felt bittersweet to arrive. Had it not been for Gianfranco, Papa and Mary, I would have liked to continue sailing like this for years, who knows maybe forever.
And to think that in Genoa I almost didn't want to get on board. At the quay, after having admired, nose up, a large white ship full of people, music and lights, I walked with a determined step to the ladder, happy to have all the documents in order this time.
"Eh no, miss!" the porter chuckled. "That is a liner. Luxury stuff. Your Luciano is further on..." and looking at the flea next to the shining white elephant I was plunged into a gloomy despair.
After a few hours of sailing I had wondered where I would find the moral strength to face 40 days and 40 nights on the Luciano Manara. I wondered if it wasn't preferable to land in Naples and return to Venice.
In curacao, when I returned to the port after visiting the island, I was panicked and clinging to Luigino's arm: "He... he's gone..." I shouted.
"What?" Luigino asked with his usual calm.
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