Getting a Run in at Lunch (Gibraltar)

Cruise life generally means working split shift, meaning several hours working, several hours off, followed by several hours working again, in one day. For me, I generally work around 7am until noon and 4pm until 8pm.

People on land hate the mere idea of this.

When you work on a ship, it is perfect… because lunch is ashore.

Today I spent “lunch” racing up the Rock of Gibraltar, literally. I found some mention of a hiking trail online and off I went.

The cool thing about ship life is that you can just do that, leave the office and do something awesome like hike The Rock of Gibraltar at lunch. The stupid thing is that you absolutely must be back to the ship by sailing or, you are fired. Period.

This perspective does not at all do justice to how amazingly steep this hill is.

I decided to do a loop, meaning I would go to the furthest point one way and back a different way. As I had no idea how long this would take, it was a bit of a risk. If I mis-calculated, I would be jobless. Hence, I raced up The Rock.

Trail along the ridge line.

"Slipping is ill-advised." Queen's English for "Slip and you f^%*ing die." That building at the bottom is six stories high, just to give you an idea how dramatic the incline is.

Any trail where the birds are resting below you is a precarious.

The view which really made it worth it.

 Obligatory Gibraltar monkey shot. There are somewhat domesticated monkeys at the top of Gibraltar.  (They are somewhat domesticated the same way the monkeys in Malaysia are. They are fine, unless they think you have something tasty. Then all bets are off.) To the left of the monkey is my ship in the background.

And finally, the monkey showing us the door at the funicular back down to the town. (Sane people take the funicular up instead of running up the south side of the ridge. )

What Time(zone) Is It?

Through my years working on cruise ships, I have acquired obscure adept ability to tell you what time it is in other time zones. This comes with years of practice, changing time zones, one hour at a time.

When you live on a cruise ship, you very rarely spend a week in one time zone. You often travel east to west or west to east switching time zones. To people not accustomed to this practice, you might wonder, how do you coordinate over 1000 people changing their watches. For the crew, we get these silly, but very effective, little reminders on our doors the day before a time change.

The reason why this guy is dancing and on a green card is because tonight is an hour back. An hour back means an hour more to sleep in, and everyone likes that. (Though to be honest, it tends to mean a great night out at the bar so you stay up two hours later, negating all benefits. But let’s just pretend you actually get an hour more of sleep.)

Today, I am in Spain. I was asked what time it is in LA. I look at my watch, see it is 3pm locally, and can tell you in an instant it is 6am in LA. I do this calculation at least once a day, in whatever time zone I am in.  I also often do the offset between the ship I am on and the other ship. The calculation today is easy as we are GMT +2 and the other ship is GMT +3.

At this point, I have been in every time zone of the world, including the weird 0.5 hour times zones like Newfoundland, Canada, parts of India and parts of Australia. I know ridiculous obscurities like which time zones choose to adjust for daylight savings and that Israel changes does spring forward on Fridays not Sundays. All of this is really more than any one person should know.

And this is just standard for my position and my experience.

Anyway, as I walked through my cabin door, happy to see the happy dancing alarm clock on a green background, it occurred to me how mystifying it would be to most people that a dancing alarm clock on green paper could bring a smile to my face so I thought I would explain.

Happy Hour Back.

Stupid: Hours forward, an hour less of sleep.

Cool: Hours back, also generally an hour less of sleep, but theoretically, an hour more of sleep. 

Back? Home? Again?

It is 5am, in Bordeaux, France, where I sit writing.

I was not supposed to be here. I left my ship in Iceland two weeks ago for what was supposed to be the last time, for the third last time.

And yet here I sit, having just flown back from LA.

I am an addict. I am a ship life addict. I have had a terrible relapse this year.

As I sit in my cabin, waiting for dawn so I can walk the banks of the river and perhaps pick up some café coffee, I thought I would tell you what it is like to be a rock star. (Not that I actually know… but bear with me.)

One of the glorious appealing things about ship life is the welcome upon your return. I received an email, two days before my arrival, welcoming back and informing me that the red carpet had been cleaned for my arrival. (This was from my bosses’ boss. Someone who should basically only know my name… but the ship is small and my laugh is large.)

Upon return, you are literally welcomed with open arms by everyone you pass. You feel like returning royalty.  Perhaps you are tempted to think there is something special about me that makes people welcome me with open arms. There isn't. This is just the way it is.

For me, the hugs of welcome are generally followed by, “I need your help with…” but that does not make me feel less loved. Perhaps it makes me feel more so because I feel useful and needed.

As I walked through the corridors last night, hugging people, getting made fun of by my family for returning so quickly and my signature laugh, I knew I was home.

What is perhaps hardest about this, is this time, I really do think it is the last time.

Cool: Home, on a ship, in Bordeaux, France with the love of friends and the love of colleagues.

Stupid: Knowing that for me, this comfortable amazing place, with people I love, is not the foundation for a better tomorrow and that it is, in fact, time to go.

P.S. As I walked through my masters’ graduation two days ago, in my brief, twelve-day whirlwind through home, I was stunned to find out how many people were reading my posts. In my last hurrah, I do hope to share with everyone more stupid things and cool things of ship life.

Pictures from a rainy Bordeaux morning: