Staggering along the jetty we resembled a booze cruise tour.
But if you are looking for an anticlimactic conclusion to the adulation of seeing the friends and family who'd made the journey to Cedros in Trinidad to greet us, and the chilled cola and salted snacks, then a 6 hour wait to pass through Customs and Immigration will do the job.
Waiting for bureaucratic approval our sea tendency of not being awake for much longer than two hours at a time wasn't out of place in the queue of people awaiting approval. Our habit of being naked, or at least bottomless, wasn't so common, and after putting on 'clean' clothes and trying to find the most cushioned position for sore backsides we had time to reflect on the past month and a half.
For me the biggest feeling was one of relief. I learned a huge amount from the time at sea, but I learned over the past several years that planning the ocean row was a labour of love and as was so often repeated in blogs and books, 'getting an ocean rowing boat to the start line is the hardest part of the journey'.
Planning for the cycle required little more than a dedicated training plan, basic technical knowledge, a quick check through Visa requirements, some forward navigational thinking to avoid calf-burning hills where possible, and a little money set aside to enjoy pastry-stops en route.
If cycling took a matter of days to plan, the ocean row was literally two years in the making. Working two jobs across six days of the week and living frugally was still only enough to partially fund the charter costs of the boat, shipping, food, waterproof clothing, electronic systems, safety equipment and a loose kit list that we continued shopping for until the morning of departure.
Without the contributions of Natural Power and Grass Roots Group the journey would not have been possible, and as well as the financial support they helped the project with, they provided a huge amount of promotion of Lap the World and Macmillan which I'm incredibly appreciative of.
We left an hour later than scheduled which just about summed up the overwhelming amount of work the ocean row has posed for several years. But, after so many changes to the route, personnel, even changes to the model of boat we'd use, and feeling grossly under prepared we all took to the routines of life at sea.
The crew took immediately to the demands of the ocean. For myself I was about 36 hours behind, and spent much of that day and a half either vomiting or fighting the urge to vomit until the stabilising effect of a consistent dose of sea sickness tablets.
Ralph being an incredibly experienced ocean rower had learned how best to prepare long ago through several successful ocean rows, but for me, Tara, Jim and Nick in particular, we didn't quite know what to expect of sea sickness, or nudity or the infamous bucket-bathroom.
To our collective surprise it was never an embarrassment, or anything other than a source of humour. Tara handled the dynamic of being at sea with four men brilliantly and showed no signs of feeling isolated as the only female in the crew.
With bizarre tan lines and questionable sores streaking over my lower half she would have been completely justified to take a moment more in the cabin to avoid that unpleasant sight. Saltwater abrasions weren't the only things streaking, by the midway point everyone was almost permanently bottomless to avoid further sores.
On that tender subject, the single low point and toughest aspect of the journey was the debilitating effect of sores, specifically the contact points with the rowing seats.
We all seemed to develop the initial pain within a day or two of each other following several days of intermittent rain during each shift. I remember being barely able to move up the slide during one particular shift with Ralph because the pain was so excruciating. Faced with potentially another four weeks at sea the challenge to physically recover seemed impossible without sitting stationary on the seat and trying to divert all power from the upper body.
Each of us had individual approaches to combat the pain, none are likely to catch on the High Street. My personal choice was for a sleeveless quick drying top, thick socks (to avoid blisters being caused by the foot straps), trainers (again for extra foot stability and protection) and little else, apart from sunglasses during the heat of the day.
And that brings us to the highlight of the journey. Revealing my naked backside to a sheepskin seat cover for the first time was the revelation of the trip. Funny as it sounds, the pain from the sores was far greater than any muscular fatigue.
Prior to departure I struggled to believe that a challenge involving 12 hours of rowing each day and spanning 3,790 nautical miles was, '80% mental, 20% physical', a line repeated by almost every ocean rower who advised us.
Having added our names to the list of successful ocean rows I'll be quoting that same line to any prospective rowers, and point them in the direction of a good sheepskin rug.