Each passing day, the voyage grows more languorous. L'Austral's dwellers have long slipped into their routines by now: reading in the observatory on deck six; walking the treadmill on deck five; lounging outside by the saltwater pool; maybe catching up with a movie in a stateroom; or dozing by the bar with a cappuccino or cocktail on deck seven as the ship seesaws over the broad wind-tossed sea. Each lives, as we all do, in the mind of his or her own language and culture, thoughts and memories in French, Aussie, Kiwi, German, Malagasy, Swiss, Irish, American.

After sailing 11 ships and ferries since Cyn and I began this odyssey, we continue to marvel at the people we have met. Each of its denizens are there because they are slightly different. Navimaggers (Patagonia) are not the same Australis (Tierra del Fuego) passengers. Australis was entirely different from Cunard’s Queen Mary II (transatlantic New York to London). Our voyage to Antarctica attracted one sort of passenger and the Hurtigruten trip through the Panama Canal still another. And now there was Ponant’s transatlantic voyage. Yet another breed of inveterate traveler; another take on the world.

On our Vagabond Adventure so far, Cyn and I have sailed on six ships, each one different from the others: the Queen Mary II (Cunard), the Roald Amudsen (Hurtigruten); Navimag’s Esperanza, Austalis’s Ventus; the Ocean Diamond by Quark and now Ponant's L’Austral steaming, or rather dieseling, us across the Atlantic. Each plows the world's waters in different ways, ranging from 1930’s style cruise ships to expedition ships, to hybrids in between.

Ponant’s L’Austral is a handsome craft, part expedition and part cruise; 7 decks, holding about 225 passengers with a crew of 125 or so. It is nothing like the immensities of Carnival or Disney or Princess, yet provides everything you could want: library, theater, several bars, lounges, restaurants, gym, spa, desks for lounging. I only missed having an outdoor deck that would let me walk the full circuit of the ship.

Francis is 82-years-old and suffers from a rare disease that has destroyed his vestibular system. "Eet eeze in my sheenes," he explains in his thick French. (Meaning it's a genetic affliction.) Even with perfect balance, navigating your way from place to place on an undulating ship can be a challenge, but Francis does this with a smile and perseverance, and occasionally a cane.

Today is a big day as we continue across the Atlantic. At 5 PM we will sail from the southern portion of the planet into the northern hemisphere. The captain here insists that anyone who is on the ship and hasn’t yet crossed the equator must be initiated into a right of passage that goes back hundreds of years. (Paying passengers may volunteer but aren’t required. Many did. I was spared because I already crossed by ship last fall on my way to Lima.)

The doldrums were a serious concern for sailors until the end of the 19th century because in these waters sailing ships (especially the slower ones) could be caught for days or even weeks in torrential rains, thunderous squalls, wild seas or flat calm. All of this could demoralize a crew and that could make them feel powerless and frustrated. (This the likely source of the Equatorial Crossing Ceremony which you will learn about soon.)

We are traveling at a speed of 5 knots, a little less than top speed) and we have crossed roughly 800 miles of the Atlantic as we head to Lisbon. I always wondered where the term “knot” came from. Here’s the story from the United States Ocean Service and NOAA: “Knots are used to measure (nautical) speed. One knot equals one nautical mile per hour, or roughly 1.15 statute mph.

Sunset. Day 4 of our transatlantic Vagabond-Adventure. The captain informed us that as of noon today we had traveled a total of 800 miles, were somewhere west of Rio de Janeiro, and we’re looking at 4000 miles of the Atlantic ahead before we arrived in Lisbon. This put us roughly at the same latitude as Johannesburg, South Africa, and floating over water nearly 6000 feet deep.

When sitting down to dinner we are met with table linen, beaten stainless steel charger plates, enough utensils for a platoon. The mostly Indonesian and Philippino waiters are kind and outgoing and move from the kitchen to table with broad smiles wearing white pants and snazzy jackets with gold epaulets on their shoulders. They all speak multiple languages. The evening menu is simple: carrot soup, carpaccio with onion and parsley, steak or halibut or salmon or chicken. And, of course, a wide variety of two many desserts. Restraint is in order.