Even on Sunday morning in a church down south, the melody of Amazing Grace never sounded so good. Each day, as the sails were hoisted and the spiritual anthem echoed throughout the ship, the S/V Mandalay prepared to sail. No matter where he was, each passenger made his way to the upper deck to watch six or more burly men pull and tug ropes until the nine (or less depending on wind need) sails stood at attention. We watched, head uplifted, mouth dropped in awe of the stamina and power it took to get the grand old lady under way. The melody proclaimed we were moving, to another island, to another port. We had no clue of the time of day, just the fact that in the middle of the Southern Caribbean, we were changing course and what would happen between now and then didn't even matter. We had wind whipping through our hair, a bloody mary in hand, and we were open to anything. We were living on . . . ish time.