A Month At Sea
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I recently spent four weeks out of six on a ship.
Last spring, I received a cold-call message via my web site. A company that books entertainers on cruise ships around the world was interested in working with me. Would I be interested in giving talks out in the ocean?
I’d looked into this before, a little, because author and astronaut friends of mine did it and wanted to recommend me. They had visited interesting places, sold books, and thought I’d be a good fit. But then the pandemic hit, the cruise businesses shuttered for a while, and I put it out of my mind.
Now I was being offered as much work as I could take on. I’d be an independent contractor, able to choose between different cruise companies. The first company they offered up, Carnival, specializes in journeying around the Caribbean. They had a recently-refitted ship, the Carnival Venezia, which had an upscale, Venetian feel. In keeping with its Renaissance-era theme, they wanted to offer cultural enrichment courses. They were looking for someone who could talk about a variety of subjects – primarily astronomy, cuisine, photography, art, technology, and social media. They thought I’d be perfect. I thought it sounded like a great challenge.
I signed up for a number of journeys without even trying it once. It was a risk, but – it would be a risk in the Caribbean.
I spent many weeks in preparation. Some talks I had ready to go, needing only a little modifying. Others, I was starting from scratch. I worked in my recent changes to my diet and exercise, researching best practices for healthy meals. I drew on my work as a professional photographer going back a few decades. I reworked a presentation I’d given about secret codes in textiles. If nothing else, I figured, I’d have a new arsenal of talks I could use at other times.
It began on my birthday – and it had to be one of the most unusual birthdays I’ve ever had.
I woke up on a redeye flight descending into a New York that was about to flood. A Brooklyn-based friend met me at the airport – a cab ride would be our only chance to touch base, as I was being shuttled to a waiting ship docked at Hell’s Kitchen. What should have been a brief ride took hours. We saw cars stranded in lake-like water depths on the freeway ahead of us, forcing our driver to weave through every imaginable neighborhood and over out-of-the-way river crossings to get us where we needed. I saw more of the Bronx and Harlem than I had ever seen before, and enjoyed catching up with a much longer conversation than I had imagined we’d get.
By the evening I was on the prow of the ship, gliding past Manhattan on the left, and the Statue of Liberty on the right. I was in an area only crew was allowed. Looking up, behind me, deck after deck of the ship curved around. Passengers looked out at the remarkable view in the last light of day. It reminded me of a layered wedding cake. Perhaps it was because it was my birthday, but looking at the Statue of Liberty felt remarkably moving. Had I ever expected to be here on my birthday – living in this country, and now gliding away from it on an enormous liner?
As the sunlight faded and the East Coast receded into a strip of light, I headed to an elegant Venetian-themed bar and contemplated this beginning of a new year for me.
As a contracted guest, I was in an unusual position on the ship. I was in some ways a crew member. Before I left, I absorbed a huge amount of training material about the safety and security of the ship. I signed a seafarer’s agreement. I learned about my responsibilities in case of emergency. My first day aboard was even more intense, except now it was in person. I learned so much about how many people it takes to run what is in essence a floating city. Behind the scenes, people bustled about moving equipment and supplies in a variety of jumpsuits – blue, red, green, orange – reminding me of a rebel base in a Star Wars movie. It looked quasi-military and evoked experiences I’d had on military aircraft carriers. Except this was not about defense, this was all in the service of fun experiences.
There were people from all over the world, in every possible role. Some navigated the ship. Some worked in the engine rooms. Some ran what was in essence a huge, upscale hotel. Others dealt with the enormous logistics of feeding thousands of people every day. I was surprised how many people it took to run everything – but I shouldn’t have been. The place was spotless, and ran with such precision, the guests never knew how much was going on just to keep everything perfect.
Like any small city, the ship created waste. Trash. Food scraps. I learned about the company’s strong commitment to the environment. I saw how food scraps were separated into different kinds, and learned how water tanks reduced them to a nutrient broth. I saw how recyclables were seamlessly separated from trash. It appeared to put most municipalities to shame.
I was also heartened to see what a public commitment the company made to the wellbeing of the crew. There were constant reminders of how to look out for each other. With so many people, many of them very young, arriving in New York from all over the world to work, it was doubtless going to be a tough adjustment for some. So the level of community spirit and camaraderie was lovely to be part of. On my first day, when I often didn’t know where I needed to be, crew members who were very busy would stop, give me full eye contact and attention, and help me find out. It was something I quickly got into the habit of doing too, with crew and with guests.
I met with the entertainment team who I would be working for. Of course, they were British. Gordon, a lovely Scot, showed me the ropes. His boss, Joey, was a cheeky Manc. I did a shipboard television show with them one morning and our humor clicked perfectly as a trio. I wish we could have taken it on the road.
Some of the paperwork I’d had to fill out before the cruise asked if I’d be using a chainsaw, a starting pistol, live animals, or anything pyrotechnic or flammable in my presentations. This had given me an idea of the remarkable variety of entertainment acts I’d be around. It did indeed feel like joining a circus troupe in some ways. There were ballroom dancers, caricature artists, incredible musicians, and comedians aboard. I particularly enjoyed talking with the comedians, who of course have quite different personalities when offstage. They told me a lot about how working cruise lines can be a great work opportunity for them, compared to traveling around the nation playing small clubs.
Guests, similarly, seemed to be from all over the world and from every imaginable demographic. What I loved was how, whether crew or guest, everyone seemed to want to smile and say hello. Not just on day one, but for two weeks.
I’d not been in an environment like that since before the pandemic. I realized that it was, in many ways, what I had been missing.
I felt right at home. And I hadn’t even begun working yet, nor had we reached the Caribbean. That was to come.
