June 21, 2012

Journal notes:

• I don't like the lounge chair
• One of the cranes is broken
• Getting to know the captain

Pictures:

Chief Engineer and Electrician working on the #2 crane

My alarm rings at 0600.  I turn it off and, seeing it's still dark outside, remember that the ship's clock went back an hour last night.  I set the phone back and am very glad to have the extra hour, being tired from drinking last night.

After my shower, I take the stairs down to the mess for coffee.  Eric is there, eating his customary four slices of buttered toast.  Finding nothing to say, I return to my cabin, put on sunscreen, and head to the deck to read until lunch.  I see a few birds circling us, but it's nothing new, so I don't take any pictures.

At lunch, the captain calls down to the kitchen and the cook asks Eric to come up to his office after he finishes.  "Just me, or all of us?" he asks.  "Only you," answers the cook.  I am puzzled at first, until I remember that the Euro Cup is going on, and decide the captain means to congratulate him on France's performance in yesterday's game.

In the afternoon, I sit on the deck and read.  I try out the lounge chair, but decide the padded mattress is too soiled (from absorbing bunker exhaust, by the looks of it) and too well insulated for the tropical heat.  I resort back to the mesh folding chair, which is more comfortable, despite being unable to lay down on it.

Around 1730, I look up from my book to see the electrician and chief engineer walking along the number two crane, from above the bridge, toward the control booth.  They stop to inspect the winch, spending several minutes on it, before disappearing into the crane tower.  I return my chair and come up to the bridge, where the captain is sitting, watching the men outside.  "Trouble with the crane?" I ask.  "Yes," he frowns, "and the shore crane is out of order in Lautoka.  If the number two crane is not fixed, we can't unload."

He confides in me that shore leave comes too short these days, especially on a container vessel.  "In Philadelphia, we go seven hours up the river, have six hours in berth, then another seven hours back down the river."  He wishes there were women on board.  "Not like that.  You get two or three women on board and all the crew fall in love with the same girl.  It can be bad.  But to have women on the ship is good, because it's something different.  When I was in the navy, it was all men on the ship."  He wishes he had more female friends, but the life of a seaman doesn't afford it.  "I want to bring my family on board, to see the bridge, but I cannot.  My son is very small, and he will want to push all the buttons."  He laughs.  "That would be very bad."  He talks about how things change when you have kids.  "I used to go to the park and see only the girls.  'Oh, how nice that one looks.'  Now, I don't see the girls, I only see the children.  'Oh, don't run so fast.  Don't pick that up.  Be careful.'"  "Give it another ten years or so," I tease him.  "Then you'll go back to only seeing the girls and not the children again."  He laughs, shrugging.  "Maybe."