When you live on a ship for long periods of time, there are unexpected alterations to the way your brain recognizes patterns.
For months and months at a time, you see the same people from first thing in the morning to last waking moment of night. Whether you see them at the mess or in the hallways, it is roughly the same 560 people, day in, day out, day after day. I don’t know everyone by name, not even half by name, but I know nearly all of them by sight and those I don’t know by sight still stand out ashore for other reasons (like a t-shirt from an obscure port visited half way around the world, but only a month before).
So whether I am in Buenos Aires or Ushuaia, I run into someone I know at the pharmacy, the pub or any major tourist attraction.
This provides many comforts. If I run short on cash, I know that in a few minutes I will run into someone who can lend me some money. If I need a translator, chances are I will run into a multilingual coworker soon. If I just want to chill out and enjoy the scene, I need only stop into the nearest bar and look for a friendly face. If there are no friendly faces, I can get a drink and wait. Some will show up, usually sooner than later.
The result is, no matter where I go in the world, I run into someone I know… St. Petersburg, to Rio… I always run into someone I know.
When you are voted off the island, evicted, thrown overboard… or some other phrase for vacation, you stop traveling with 560 friends.
When I left the ship, along with 11 of my shipmates, I was sitting in the Lisbon airport in their company. They were headed in all directions, Ireland, Russia, South Africa, Uruguay…
One of them pointed and said… “Hey, isn’t that…” He did finish the question. Of course it was not the shipmate he thought it was. We were the only ones traveling home that day.
But so accustom we had become to seeing someone we knew around every corner, that the mind simply assumed.
For weeks after I got off the ship, I have found this to be true.
Here I am in Santa Barbara and despite near certainty that Andrea is in Monte Carlo with the ship, the thought, “Hey there’s Andrea” popped into my mind with the glimpse of a girl here today.
This trick my mind plays on me, assuming I am recognizing people, is a bit odd. It emphasizes one of the unique charms of working on a ship. No matter where I go when I travel with the ship, I always know someone.
It is something I will miss immensely when I leave this lifestyle. Every city I go to, it like my hometown, with all the friendly faces and shared experiences, though none of the physical familiarity. I know I will travel one day in the distant future, and just find the entire experience lonely.
I find the experience lonely now. I am home. I can spend an entire day shopping and not run into a single person I know.
I look forward to going back home, to my other home, wherever that other home is.
Cool: Being at home with all its friendly faces everywhere in the world.
Stupid: Feeling lonely without those smiling faces.
Random Picture of the Entry:
It is common for ports to greet us with local culture. In the Caribbean there is often a steel drum group serenading our gangway. In Russia there is typically a brass band in old style Russian uniforms. In Brazil, we were greeted by these dancers:
(The background is the ship.)
