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The wind whipped across my face as we bounced over the choppy waves, a cool respite from the hot and twisting streets of St. Tropez. On Saturdays the center of the city comes alive with a marketplace just magical enough you're willing to rail against the force of the Mediterranean Sea as it tried my ship beneath its sapphire waters to make it to port. 20 people on my 115-ft ship The Odyssey, and at every port I preferred to find my own path among the ancient fortress cities we stopped at, breath in the noise and history off the beaten path. The breath forced out of my lungs as I was brought back to the small inflatable dingy fighting its way over the waves, heading to the ship that seemed to barely be staying a float. A soft cotton scarf, purchased that day, whipped by my face with only a momentary feeling of loss as all focus was on survival. As the motorboat idled to close in on the ship, all laughter ceased around me. In front of us was a vision one would expect to see on fear factor or wipe out. Our beautiful ship was being tossed back and forth like a rag doll, large creaking noises groaned out of her as the top deck just touched the water before she would groan and roll over to have the process repeat all over again. Too dangerous to lower a ladder, our task became an obstacle course with no net. Shoes are discarded, thrown on the bottom of the motor boat or in the satchels strapped across our chests, treasures found on land long forgotten as we face the power of the sea, the adrenaline slipped through my veins as all of my senses heightened. In the blink of an eye two men from our group have already landed securely on board, arms extended back down to me waiting patiently. With a nervous laugh, I stand and wait, down comes the monstrous boat and up my bare foot goes into the porthole, the acrylic surface offering no purchase for my feet. The boys grab my arms in iron grips and I feel my muscles stretch and burn as they try to haul me up. As the boat shifts, I can feel their skin sliding over my hands as their iron grip turns limp. Falling, the breath is forced from lungs as I slam onto the edge of the motor boat, half safely on board half submerged in the water, the boat coming back down right where my leg is in the water; a bruising tug around my waist band and I'm thrown back on to the little vessel, the deck a whisper from shattering my appendage. Soaking wet and running on survival instinct, I step up again; boat comes down, foot goes into porthole, hands grip my arms and as the boat rocks to the other side I am thrown over the railing, the world a kaleidoscope as I roll across the deck stopping as I reach the other side the water an inch away from my face. Sitting up, I crawl to a more secure point and laugh as one by one the rest of the crew is tossed like rag dolls on board. The adrenaline fading, the breeze calms the last of my nerves as the rest of the world comes into focus unbeknownst to the trial just faced. Boarded and ready to sail for gentler waters, the crew and I sit on deck as the sun sets, one lone cream bottle of fig body wash rolling back and forth across the turbulent wooden deck yet never rolling off.