I grew up on the Atlantic shore and spent countless hours as a kid in row boats
poking up tidal creeks, sailing through salty bays, or swimming in the
Atlantic's surf.  Long Island's beaches remain my favorite in both summer and
winter, and a place my soul feels at home.  But as my dad and I dodged the
incoming waves and paddled out beyond the surf, he'd warn me, "watch out
for the current or you'll be pulled out to sea and wind up in Africa." 

He was right.  From the Hamptons, if you sailed eastward the way the old
mariners did - along lines of latitude, taking their noon sun sights to
maintain their position above the equator - you would wind up somewhere just
north of Oveido, Portugal, having skirted the northern coast of the Azore
archipelago (also Portuguese) along the way.  That would be a monumentally
challenging sail, given the prevailing winds at that latitude, which blow
generally from east to west.  But the currents at that latitude would work in
your favor, unless the healthy draw of the warm Gulf Stream pressed you into
the the North Atlantic current east of Newfoundland, in which case you'd find
the United Kingdom rising over your bowsprit.  Better then to set your compass
east southeast, and head for the South Atlantic Current, which would draw you
south of the Azores and along the coast of West Africa.

Though I made my way to Benin by wide-bodied aircraft rather than sailing
vessel, I crossed the waves nonetheless in early 2006.  Benin shares a gorgeous
stretch of coastline with four other countries that look south over the waters
toward the equator ("under the elephant ear of Africa," as a friend
astutely put it).  It's called the Guinea Coast on most maps, but that's
nothing more than a map makers' convention for a very specific length of the
Atlantic Ocean.  Arriving, I sank my feet into the soft African sand and walked
down to the water's edge to look out over the horizon of the Atlantic marveling
at the ocean as though I'd seen an old friend born anew.

Medieval cartographers and theologians argued for centuries about how much of
the earth was land and how much of it was sea.  Long before the debate was ever
settled,  Portuguese mariners timorously skirted the coastlines of the African
continent, eschewing Christian dogma for trade, and searching for a passage to
the east Indies.  A century later the shoreline of West Africa had been
carefully mapped out, and what would eventually be called Benin was firmly part
of Europe's conscience.  Not until the late 17th century did Cook, Drake, and
Magellan show us just how much sea really did separate the continents,
illuminating the strength and majesty of the earth's oceans.  To some extent
we're still learing about their biological and mineral wealth.  The seas still
divided mankind more than they united right up until the 21st century, when
growing connections throughout the developing world helped unite economic
struggles worldwide, and to this day they separate us more than they should.
But standing there with my feet in the surf, I felt a powerful connection only
a 17th century Portuguese mariner would appreciate: I was thousands of miles
away from home, yet the very same sea that lapped around my feet would take me
home again, if only I knew in which direction to point my compass.

The African coastline at Benin is sandy and smooth, and stands of palms line it
for hundreds of miles at a stretch.  The turqouise water winks brightly in the
scorching noonday sun.  Depending on the day's winds, it can thunder powerfully
along or simply splash up on the yellow sand of the African shore.  A strong
current also called Guinea carries the waters of this stretch of the Atlantic
along the underside of the elephant ear and southward to the South Equatorial
Current that cycles the spinning waters back along the equator under Coriolis'
gentle spin.  But it is the Atlantic and therefore it is home.

It's easy to stand at the shoreline and gaze out to the gentle curve of the
horizon, convinced there's nothing out there.  On the contrary, it's all out
there.  Dad, you were right: I stepped in and let the ocean pull me, and it
took me all the way to Africa.  But let me tell you, the view from the other
side is gorgeous.  But watch out for that current, it's stronger than it looks.