The Untold Tales of a Sailor at Sea

Chapter 1 Happy Birthday

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. Mark Twain

It is a beautiful, warm, April spring day as I carry my luggage and joining papers, with passport in hand, up the gangway. I am to begin my sojourn as a crew member on my very first contract onboard a luxury cruise ship. I am thrilled to be joining as a member of the Entertainment Department, and I am still in awe as I gaze at this giant, eighteen-story-tall luxury cruise ship. I realize I am finally living my dream. This is my thirtieth birthday present to myself coming to fruition. My heart palpitates with excitement as my hands sweat with nervousness trying to keep a grip on my heavy luggage. My mind is absorbed in imagining what is to unfold for the coming weeks of my first experience of life at sea.

A few months leading up to my thirtieth birthday, I was finally settled into a new apartment and career. I asked my girlfriends what they had planned for their milestone thirtieth birthdays. I was living the mundane life of routine, had finally paid off my heavy student loans, was out of a toxic relationship, and finally felt free to start a new chapter. I was eager to find ways to celebrate my upcoming birthday. I decided to do some research and exercise some financial foresight for my upcoming milestone. I asked around, discovering what many people did to memorialize their big birthdays. One girlfriend said she lived at home until she saved up enough money to buy herself a new car upon turning thirty since that was her dream. Another girlfriend told me she would buy herself many diamonds for her hand as she thought she never would find a man to grace her with enough diamonds in her future marriage. Yet another girlfriend told me she took her first trip to New York City and blew all her money partying for her big milestone.

After months of surveying the people around me, I concluded I wanted an adventure that would provide lifetime memories and usher me into a new chapter. I really did not want anything materialistic; I just wanted to make some meaningful memories. One day as I walked home from work, it dawned on me that I should take a cruise all by myself and make some happy remembrances far away at sea where nobody knew me. A small part of me wanted to escape my life here on land—the trials, tribulations, traumas, and bad relationship that led me to this point.

I was excited at the idea of doing something adventurous all by myself, so after work I went straight to the travel agency and purchased a single ticket for a Caribbean cruise. Being a solo traveler for the first time outside of the country, I learned very quickly that single supplement charges run up the bill very quickly. After a week in the Caribbean, I came home to open my credit card statement and see an astonishing $6,000.00 expenditure for only seven days at sea! I was back in financial debt. I could not believe I had put myself back in that situation after six years of paying off my large educational loans and moving expenses. I was utterly dismayed as I looked at my bill. Shaking my head, I thought to myself, “I don’t even drink alcohol. How is this total even possible?” After a few moments of shock, while still holding the bill, I immediately decided that I would not pay again for having fun at sea. I got the brilliant idea that I wanted to be a part of the adventure and excitement of working at sea. My determined hunt for an escape on the ocean started that day. Now, eight months later, here I am walking up to the immigration checkpoint at the airport armed with my cruise line joining papers, passport, and a one-way ticket to an American state to join the ship.

I am pulled aside for interrogation into Room B. I panic as my heart starts to race. The officer asks why I only have a one-way ticket, followed by countless questions. I slide across the table my joining papers and explain that as a crew member I am only given a one-way airplane ticket because I must finish my contract and complete my duties in order to be given a return ticket home. The immigration officer picks up the telephone and asks me to leave the office. As I sit anxiously alone in the waiting room, I continually look at my watch and think, “I do not want to miss my flight!” If the officer refuses my papers, I will be stuck forever on land to live a boring life of routine, teaching clients at the community gym. I am lost in my thoughts when the door opens, and the officer comes out. “I called your company; you are good to go. Have a great contract,” he says in a stern voice as he hands me back my papers. I am so relieved. Finally, my adventure at sea can start!

After walking up the steep, inclined plane to the top of the gangway, I pull up to the security guard and show my joining card. I follow the other joining crew members and place my luggage on the conveyor belt for security screening and walk through the metal detector without a hitch. The first two weeks on this luxury cruise liner is a whirlwind to say the least. I work in various roles that change every day within the Entertainment Department. I have a lot to learn and many on-board training sessions to attend. I am like a deer caught in headlights every day. My mind is swimming to grasp the sailors’ colloquial lingo that is new to me, and every day I try to navigate through the labyrinth of corridors, feeling like a rat in a maze.

Throughout my entire contract, my thoughts often go back to the movie Titanic I saw in early 1998. I also frequently reflected upon my past as it has been since I left my toxic relationship. I now realize I have somewhat recovered and survived physically, emotionally, and mentally from that abusive situation. With much determination, I currently focus on my intent to make new memories living this new chapter of my life. Every day I experience long and demanding days at sea, but the work ethic required is nothing new for me. Each day I start at 7:00 a.m. and get to bed just after midnight with only a few short breaks to eat meals in between shifts. With the passing days, I slowly learn that a demanding long day of work coupled with constant noise, assaults on one’s senses, and basic life deprivations over an extended period will challenge any soul at sea, whether sailing as a passenger or a crew member.

Many times, after my shift, I get lost trying to find my cabin. Working at the back of the ship, called the stern, and navigating through crew corridors behind camouflaged doors in order to get to the front of the ship, called the bow, is a feat. Tonight, I am scheduled to work till 1:00 a.m. and I am alone. Finishing my shift, I start my 600-feet journey back to the bow of the ship from the stern. At this time of night, most crew members have already finished their duties and are at the Crew Bar hanging out in the open-spaced lounge with other crew members, dancing, partying, and relaxing with drinks and cigarettes. There are not many crew members around the rest of the ship for me to ask for directions. Unfortunately, I am lost again trying to find my cabin. The majority of cabins for crew members are located several decks below from the passengers quarters and are numbered differently than the passenger cabins, and there are so many watertight doors in each zone along the way in the bowels of the ship.

Early this morning, the Captain had announced to the crew that we were headed into rough seas, and that meant in the evening all watertight doors would be closed. I did not think much of the announcement until this very moment as I navigate my way. I am now on Deck Three below the water line, and as my feet land on the bottom of the flight of stairs, I see a closed watertight door in front of me. It is a dead-end. Immediately, the scene from the Titanic comes flooding back into my mind. How do I get to my cabin? It is 1:20 a.m. and I want to sleep. I am so tired, and I must get up to work in less than eight hours. I walk back up the flight of stairs and try to find another that leads to Deck Three. I end up on the starboard side where the cabin numbers are labeled with odd numbers. After turning left, right, right, left, right, I lose my sense of direction. At every turn, I come up to a watertight door and I cannot get to my cabin, which is an even numbered cabin. Having an even numbered cabin means I need to get to the portside of the ship. I am stuck on the starboard side, meaning I am on the right side of the ship.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out how to get out of this maze. A frantic feeling drains me as I look at my watch. It is now 1:45 a.m. and I feel trapped in a maze. I feel so helpless; all the crew corridors are quiet with sleeping crew members and there is no one around to ask for directions. I feel tired, lost, and alone, and the little girl inside me just wants to cry. I know crying will not solve my problem, so I tell myself to buck up and correct the situation. I think to myself, “There isn’t a crybaby in this thirty-year-old woman!” I have cried enough in the previous chapter of my life. I am determined. “God help me!” I cry out loud in frustration as I navigate towards the exit sign.

I finally find a flight of stairs leading up to Deck Four and I climb them in the hope of finding another crew member for help. I walk up and down the main crew corridor. The main corridor stretches the entire length of the ship, just one deck below the passengers’ quarters; is called the i95. It stretches from the bow to stern, all 804 feet. Not one single person is in sight. However, my watch reads 1:55 a.m. and I do not know what else to do, so I cry out to God, “Help me, Lord. I need help. Please send someone to help me.”

Squinting down the long i95 corridor on Deck Four I see an officer in white with stripes on his shoulders about 300 feet ahead heading my way. “Excuse me, sir, could you please help me?” I ask sheepishly in quiet desperation. His kind eyes and soft voice soothe me, and he replies, “What can I do for you?”

“I want to go home, and I cannot find my cabin. Please help me, I want to go home and sleep,” I plead.

He smiles and replies, “You must be a new joiner and are lost.” His eyes move to my name badge over my left breast. “Well, hello Lincee. What is your cabin number?” I do not even remember to look at his name badge which lists his name, his country, position, and rank. I just want help to get to my cabin. The kind officer walks me to my cabin as I share with him my frustrating journey since my shift finished at 1:00 a.m. He explains to me how the cabins and watertight doors are laid out in the maze. My mind tries to focus on his words, but I all want to do is take a hot shower, brush my teeth, and sleep under my warm blanket in my cold cabin under the waterline. I forget all he says to me; I just thank him.

I finally get to the top bunk of my bed and try to fall asleep, shivering under my blanket as I listen to the waves splashing against the other side of my cabin wall. The sway of the ship creaks with every swell of the ocean on the other side of my bunk. A cold, chilly air fills my cabin and, even with my blankets up to my chin, there is no relief as I drift off to sleep.

The next day, I work a long day entertaining the passengers all over the ship in different stations, and again I am the last one in my department to lock up. Unfortunately, I find myself in the exact same situation as last night, heading towards the bow in hopes of locating my cabin. I feel like a little kid trying to find my house on the street, yet I cannot remember how to walk home. I try desperately to recall the officer’s directions and explanation from the night before about the watertight doors, but I cannot even remember his name. All his words and directions are floating mixed up in my mind as I search every corridor and flights of stairs in hope they lead to my cabin. I look at my watch and I know my roommate is already sound asleep, so I cannot even dare call the cabin to wake her up and ask her to come pick me up on the i95.

It is already 1:20 a.m. as I stand in the corridor trying to decipher the map of the crew corridors. An officer comes walking down the i95. As he approaches me, he interrupts my thoughts and smiles as he walks towards me. Suddenly, I remember the officer who helped me last night is named Michael, but this officer is not tall with blonde hair as he is. This officer is shorter and has brown hair, but he smiles at me and says “Hello!” to which I am shocked.

I learned very quickly about rank at sea. Officers of higher rank generally do not talk with crew of lower rank unless they are in the same department or a crew member’s direct supervisor. I look at his name badge and learn he is a Bridge Officer of second rank. I guess the lost look on my face makes him cheerfully ask me the question, “Well, hello, Lincee. Are you lost?” His eyes move from my face to my name badge then back to my eyes.

I reply in dismay, “Yes, I am lost AGAIN!” with a bit of embarrassment.

“Let me help you. What is your cabin number?” he replies in his thick Croatian accent.

I suddenly feel relieved and answer his question to which he replies, “Why don’t I show you a shortcut to your cabin and give you a quick tour, too, since you are a new joiner?”

I feel tired but relieved that perhaps I just made a friend. Making friends at sea is a bit hard for me since I am a quiet introvert and often spend time observing my surroundings. I am not quite the social butterfly at sea like I am on land. Back home in North America, I am an extrovert. On land, I am the gym instructor, confident in my element, personally training clients to reach their fitness goals. Yet here at sea, I am new. I feel lost and out of my element trying to build a new life and identity for myself. A hint of trepidation and shyness lies within me when it comes to dealing with ranks and positions depicted by colours of uniform.

I follow beside the handsome Croatian Bridge Officer and we chat as he takes me up to the top deck at the stern of the ship. As we walk up another flight of stairs in the passenger corridor at the back of the ship, I tell him, “My cabin is on Deck Three at the front of the ship. My cabin is in Zone One, not Zone Five at the back of the ship.” Even though I often get lost and lose orientation, I know we are going in the opposite direction, far from my cabin. He reassures me that he is showing me a shortcut from where I originally started as he opens many camouflaged doors labeled for crew. He keeps looking at the ceiling and the tiny labels on each door. I do not think much of it; I just follow him for this tour of the ship. There is no other crew around at the back of the ship at this time of night.

Each door labeled “crew only” has a tiny marker with numbers and code words on the top corner unbeknownst to many passing passengers. Behind many of these crew area doors and corridors, there are no cameras. Cameras are generally only placed on the ceiling in passenger public areas. The officer and I are now at the back of the ship and it is already 1:30 a.m. We can only hear the propellers and engines below, pushing the cruise ship forward. I can hear the wake of water splashing behind the ship as it sails along the cold, Alaskan waters.

He finally finds a door labeled for crew that opens to a flight of stairs heading down; there are no cameras in sight. I step over the ridge and the heavy door slams behind me. I am relieved to be out of the Alaskan cold air. Behind the heavy steel door, I no longer hear the wake of the water nor its splash against the ship though I can still feel the engine shake the entire back of the ship beneath our feet.

Suddenly, this Croatian Officer pushes me against the wall at the top of the stairs, grabs my wrist, and holds it against the wall. With his other hand, he very quickly rips the zipper on my uniform and pulls my panties down. His heavy body pushes up against me as he unzips his own white officer trousers. I can feel his hard penis pressing against me. I push him away with terror in my voice and eyes. I yelp, “Stop, stop, NO, NO! What are you doing? Please stop!”

No one is around, and no one would be able hear my shouts for help even if I screamed at the top of my lungs. I feel so helpless. This officer wants his way with me, and I cannot believe I thought he genuinely was helping me with a short cut tour to my cabin. His hand glides down from my wrist and grabs a fistful of my left breast. He squeezes so hard that it hurts. I keep shouting “NO, NO, please stop!” as I fight back. His strong body holds me up against the wall. I am terrified. With all I have, I push and fight back.

I left a life of abuse and violence back home, and on this ship all I wanted was to start a new chapter and make new memories. From all those years at the gym, training, lifting weights, and pumping iron, I am built solid with cut muscles. I am not about to let myself be raped! I fight back with anger in my voice and blurt out forcefully as I push his face away from my lips, “Why? Why? You said you would help me, give me a tour and shortcut!” Keeping his body still up against mine, he replies as I push his hands away from between my legs, “I gave you a tour, now it’s my turn to tour your body!” His voice is full of angry lust, dripping with a sailor’s hunger for sex.

“Lincee, I want you. I want you now! I need to feel you! I want you so bad!” the officer continues, breathing heavily against me. I can feel his penis hard up against me as I push him away again. He quickly and forcefully grabs my hand, and down the flight of stairs I am thrown.

The only way a crew member can get the release he needs without being caught is to put another crew member to silence. Putting a crime to silence means throwing the victim overboard at the back of the ship where no cameras are running, and no screams can be heard above the loud engine and the propellers chopping up the water. This is the best option for those guilty as no accountability is necessary for committing a crime at sea. The propellers will suck the body under the ship and chop up any evidence that a crime has been committed. No one would suspect anything happened if I were silenced as such. To throw a fellow crew member or passenger overboard would silence any story, leaving the perpetrator free to walk innocently.

Being the strong weightlifting instructor that I am, this officer quickly realizes he will not be able to throw me overboard if I am conscious and fighting back. I certainly do not want to be fish food for Alaskan salmon. The officer quickly learns he cannot fight my strength, but he still wants my body badly. He remains a threat every day going forward.