Nothing is for certain, except the day you left and sausages for Thursday breakfast (the kind you hate). We don’t count down the days til home, only can count up how long we’ve been here, been gone. Days stack slowly, but time is always running. Look over your shoulder, the pile is already a mountain. 146 days and counting….

Come on, why don’t you come with us to Amsterdam? Your bags are back in the hostel? Aw, it’s alright. You can get new clothes.

Come on, why don’t you come with us to Amsterdam? Your bags are back in the hostel? Aw, it’s alright. You can get new clothes.

"When I was in Brazilia, I jumped. I have only one life."

— Marcin, 23. Day 2. Thunder Bay.

Waiting in the harbor. For three months. For our paycheck. For our plane ticket to Ukraine, to home.

"When do we leave here? Maybe tomorrow… Maybe day after tomorrow… Maybe day after after tomorrow… I don’t know… Nobody knows."

— Voytek. Thunder Bay. Day 2. 10:43 p.m.

Mariusz, 21, motorman. From Sczecin, Poland. Looking forward to playing soccer with his buds when he gets home.

Piotr, steward, welcomes me aboard. Piotr: 48, Aquarius, unmarried (girlfriend), sometimes listens to Katy Perry when he’s doing dishes, buying a new sports car when he gets home

Piotr, steward, welcomes me aboard. Piotr: 48,¬†Aquarius,¬†unmarried (girlfriend), sometimes listens to Katy Perry when he’s doing dishes, buying a new sports car when he gets home

Waiting for our turn to load. Beating the next level of World at War: Nazi Zombies. Antwerp, Belgium. Vigilia, Day 1, 3:00 p.m.

Waiting for our turn to load. Beating the next level of World at War: Nazi Zombies. Antwerp, Belgium. Vigilia, Day 1, 3:00 p.m.