Wanderlust - What Four Years at Sea Taught Me About Our Relationship to the Ocean

C2 Proficiency · Multiple Choice Reading · Ready for C2 Proficiency Workbook, Macmillan

You are going to read a newspaper article about life at sea. For questions 1–6, choose the answer (A, B, C or D) which you think fits best according to the text.

It was on day 11, I think, that I stopped getting out of bed at all. I had already let my hygiene standards slip to the point that a large knot was starting to form in my hair. Later my mother would have to cut it out with scissors. She didn't mind. We were all in the same boat. I was nine years old, and nearly two weeks into sailing across the Atlantic with my family. Including my little sister, there were four of us aboard a 52 ft yacht – our home for four years, in which time we got from Dorset to New Zealand. The longest period we spent entirely at sea was 21 days, and we did so twice: from the Canary Islands to Barbados, and then from the Galapagos Islands to French Polynesia. The first trip I remember spending mostly in bed, below deck in the dark, forging a new relationship to time. I grew used to observing the ebb and flow of my thoughts with a languor that today would probably be praised as meditative. The days slid by, mostly unbroken except for meals and milestones: quarter-way, halfway, crossing the equator, which we marked with little parties. Not long after the sun had gone down, you'd go to sleep – partly because artificial light drained the boat's battery, and partly because the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner another day would pass, and the sooner you would arrive. When we finally reached Barbados, and set foot on land for the first time in three weeks, my knees wobbled, bracing for the next wave that didn't come. Most people have no more personal connection to the sea than the odd trip to the seaside. A more intimate relationship can be incompatible with conventional ways of life and maybe – the knot in my hair might attest – its quality. At the same time, it changes you in a very profound way. It was only relatively recently, I'm embarrassed to say, that I realised that my experience was not universally shared – that not everyone has known the open ocean, with no land in sight in any direction for many miles. Just endless sea, sometimes even indistinguishable from sky; an expanse of grey or blue, entirely uninterrupted, except by you. It is hard to convey what that feels like, the effect that it can have. You feel dwarfed and insignificant, of course – but the mind cannot hold on to reverence for long. I remember it more often playing tricks on me, registering patterns and shapes in the movements of the wave – my brain determinedly generating interest, overlaying meaning, as though it could not make sense of there being only water everywhere. Yet, in imagining a life at sea, most people seem less inclined to think of tedium than terror. Many have told me that the thought of being stranded in the open ocean is one of their greatest fears; I'm not sure that they would single out being lost in a forest, for example, or on a snowy mountain in the same way, though all three landscapes are alien and potentially dangerous. In fact, the first question I am most often asked about my childhood is, 'Were there any storms?' or, more to the point, 'Were you scared?' The answers are yes, only one, a freak occurrence overnight; and no – I slept through it. My parents were highly risk-averse, setting out for sea only when the weather forecast was favourable and they had supplies – food, medical, electrical – in order to be ready for every eventuality. There could be a genetic predisposition towards how we feel about travelling the seas: DRD 4-7R, the so-called 'wanderlust' gene, is thought to be present in about 20% of the population. Even if my parents have wanderlust in their DNA, I'm not sure it was handed down to me. Though I spent the first half of my life sailing, I acquired none of the skills – I couldn't even manage a bowline knot. I have blamed it on my being a child, but the truth is I have never had any interest in boats beyond as a means of accessing the open ocean. I still feel a strong connection to the sea. When I am struggling to get to sleep I play ocean sounds through my phone: a crude attempt to simulate the limitlessness, even transcendence, I remember feeling out in open water. You can be claimed by the sea without drowning. I feel its absence on a bodily level like a mineral deficiency.

to lament the lack of facilities on board

to illustrate her lethargy during a tedious journey

to highlight her parents' unconventional approach to child-rearing

to refute a misunderstanding about the glamour of seafaring

Why does the writer give the example of a knot in her hair?

liberated by having so much time to think.

frustrated with the monotony of the journey.

impatient to reach her destination.

weakened by the sea's constant motion.

During her first three-week voyage, the writer suggests she felt

Her inability to fit in with the norms and standards of the rest of society.

The awareness that few others had experienced such isolation.

Her awe at the vastness of the ocean in contrast to her own irrelevance.

Her experience of seeking significance in seemingly meaningless emptiness.

Which aspect of the open ocean does she suggest had the most profound impact on her?

Most people are irrationally obsessed with the exaggerated risks.

The sea is safer than some places that provoke less terror.

Her parents' recklessness put the whole family in great danger.

Sea travel can be relatively safe with meticulous preparation.

What point does she make about the dangers of life at sea?

her need to spend time far from land.

the insufficient maritime skills she acquired as a child.

her deep-seated desire to explore remote destinations.

her likely possession of the DRD 4-7R gene.

The writer attributes her own fascination with the sea to

She longs to return to her former nomadic lifestyle.

She regrets her lack of enthusiasm during her family's voyages.

She accepts that the monotony shaped her character.

She feels bitter about the psychological dependence they created.

What seems to be the writer's current attitude to her childhood experiences?

What Four Years at Sea Taught Me About Our Relationship to the Ocean

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