All the Roadrunning

Every now and then cruise ship crewmembers are treated to a special occasion, one so welcome and so refreshing, so anticipated and so extraordinary.  It is that glorious occurrence when a ship is docked in one place for twenty four straight hours.  And it is not due to a lack of creativity, but rather as a mark of straightforward description, that we label these rare and most celebrated events simply as, ‘overnights’. 

Three days ago we sailed down the Elbe River and into the port of Hamburg, arriving at the tide influenced hour of 2:30am.  As the side thrusters snugly nudged the vessel alongside the pier at the Grasbrook Cruise Terminal, I slept happily in my cabin.  I am certain that a smile was upon my sleeping face, my subconscious being fully aware that we would be docked in this German city for over 24 hours.   

Of course I had work to do, tours to operate, guests to disembark, a Tour Office to open in the afternoon.  But all of that would certainly not engulf the entire 24 hours, nor would I choose to let it.  There would be free time, oh yes!  Free time in the outside world, free time for me to run around in childish wonder, to bathe in normalcy and to forget about formalities and restrictions.  Even better, this was Hamburg!  This was not Southampton or Brooklyn, our typical ports of call, where I rush off the ship to spend my two hours of free time buying soap and blueberries.    

At 6pm this past Wednesday, the work day was complete and my team and I gathered outside of the ship to meet our local tour operator who had invited us out for a drink.  Before long we were in a car, already giddy at being inside such a small form of transportation, driving through the crowded streets, passing warehouses and statues of numerous Wilhelms.  Eventually we reached the scenic Alster Lake in the city centre.   

At this point, we could not contain ourselves, practically delirious at the notion of an evening outside. To those of you who do not work onboard a cruise ship, our evening outside will most likely seem dull, unworthy of mention, just another night.   

But sitting at an outdoor café, at a shiny silver table, under the authentic sun and in actual fresh air, with a fountain shooting water high into the sky in the middle of the lake and bicycles, pedestrians, ice cream stands, pigeons, traffic lights and public buses surrounding us, could be described as pure bliss.   

Before long, our mugs were full of Holsten Lager, and we began rambling on about how different these pigeons looked from those elsewhere, how well-timed were Hamburg’s traffic lights, how nice were the aprons of the waitresses and how beautiful was the building across the street, a building that was one of the ugliest I have ever come across.  But our brains were simply unwinding, adjusting to normalcy, trying to spit out any remnants of its usually intense and solely work-related focus.  And the result was just pure gibberish. 

Our tour operator sat quietly nodding her head, smiling politely, probably wondering why she had even invited us out, as we laughed and giggled and spoke about our favorite shoe lace colors.  I give the tour operator credit, she stayed with us for almost two hours before taking her leave, informing us that she needed to return to her office to complete some paperwork.  We knew she hated us, but we accepted her excuse, fully aware that we would have done the same.  Anyway, we still had five hours left to continue feeling like free human beings.   

Only minutes after wandering off in the direction of St. Michael’s Church, we discovered a far more spiritual place to spend some time – a German wine festival.  Under the shadow of the elegant clock tower rising out of the Rathaus (Town Hall), hundreds of large tents housed hundreds of food and wine stalls, with long wooden tables and benches, servers dressed in liederhosen and accordion players bouncing around while tugging on their suspender straps. 

Granted, this festival was not exactly what one might envision as typical for this part of the world.  Instead of obscenely large mugs of beer, blond braided waitresses carrying ten of these mugs in each hand and platefuls of sausages, we were soon sipping Stuttgart Riesling, commenting on its complex  qualities and munching on pretzels and omelets.  We did clink our glasses loudly as often as possible and swayed sloppily to the music, just as the movies had taught us to do, but in the end, we were the only people in the vicinity doing so.       

We drank several bottles, we sang several songs.  We sat there at that table for three straight hours, laughing uncontrollably, simply because we had no rules, no strict codes of conduct, no restraints imposed upon us.  Passersby asked us where we were from and after baffling them with our motley mix of nationalities (USA, Ukraine, Nepal, UK, Canada) we explained where we worked.  This led to photographs and stories and in certain instances hugs and kisses and in certain of those instances, unwanted hugs and unwanted kisses. 

By the second bottle and the ninth plate of pretzels, Hamburg soon became our favorite port, our favorite city, our favorite place in the entire world.  “I could live here” we all said at some point.  In the end it could have been Hong Kong, Dubai, Athens or Reykjavik, and at various times over the years it has been those places as well.  But on this night, our world was centered on Hamburg, a fascination brought on simply because this city allowed us to drink its wine while dressed in jeans and t-shirts. 

At half past one in the morning we piled into one of those typical all-beige Mercedes taxis found in Germany, and rode back to the ship.  Being surrounded by beige during this short ride, images of my all-beige cabin began painfully popping into my head, the first sign that the 2am all aboard time was no longer somewhere far off in the distance.   

Every time our ship visits Hamburg, we receive an unforgettable welcome and farewell, with crowds of up to 100,000 people coming out to see us.  Cameras flash more rapidly than at the Super Bowl, locals ask uniformed crewmembers to pose for photographs and to sign autographs.  And tonight was no different. 

Upon arrival at the pier, we were greeted by a mob of several thousand people, all wanting to bid farewell to our ship.   As I pushed my way through the crowds to the security booth at the entrance gate, I stared up at my glowing ship, all lit up with its blue and white lights, its gravitational beauty beckoning me home.  The security guard checked my crew ID and opened the gate, allowing me to walk into the large empty space next to the ship where only we selected few can enter.  

Walking up the gangway, my night in Hamburg suddenly lay behind me and it was my cabin, my tiny shower, my neatly pressed uniform that awaited me now.  And only seconds later, as I took that first step back onto the ship, Hamburg simply faded away completely, no longer my savior, no longer my favorite city in the world.  My gibberish immediately returned to polite, scripted greetings as each step along the route to my cabin seemed to choke out the last of my freedoms.   

Ordinarily, the end of an ‘overnight’ offers as much of a reason to mourn as its beginning ignites us to rejoice.  But this time, after the Riesling had worn off and I had stubbed my toe as usual while trying to turn around in my bathroom, I had only to glance at the itinerary calendar hanging on the wall of my cabin.    

On August 27^th we shall ‘overnight’ in Hamburg once again.
     

This entry was posted on Saturday, August 2nd, 2008 at 9:11 am and is filed under Return to Ship Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.