Maggie Shipstead crossed the Atlantic on a ship:
Travel is usually a series of disorienting jump cuts: dreary, dehydrated hours in an airborne metal tube followed by emergence into a new city, new landscape, new climate, new T-shirts in the souvenir shops. Here I had changed continents but wasn’t jet-lagged, having set the clocks on my various devices back one hour on five of the nights at sea, and that felt somehow wrong. I’d been conditioned to expect abrupt transitions in my life, and this one was too smooth, too slow. It had the odd effect of making me feel, at first, like the months away had never happened. Crossing an ocean, it turns out, doesn’t feel so different from floating in place. The world is supposedly shrinking, its far corners made more and more accessible by accelerating technology and expanding infrastructure, but really we’re just making it easier for ourselves to ignore its enormity.
The Dish 