Week 1

Dear Friends,

My new number: (305) 632-3549. Hold on to my old number too! I will eventually revert back to it.

My experience on this cruise ship, the M/S Glory, has been so exotic that I wanted to wait at least a week before I penned any definitive opinion. Integrating here has been more challenging actually than the Peace Corps, because there is no hand holding. Whereas in the Peace Corps I had a training group that learned to integrate with me, here I am on my own. There are two others that signed on with me with whom I have become friends, but my department is small so am still challenged to make friends and a life for myself on the ship.

Misperception abounds. I arrived at the ship with my suitcase and guitar in hand. The only other white guy approached me to ask me a question: "You must be English." He is now a friend of mine. He is Serbian and his name is pronounced "STANK-off." My shaved head and my suit must have engendered me with an English gentility. "Will you be playing for us?" asked the guests as they passed. "No," I apologized, "I'll be putting you on TV." As you all know, I have not been on a cruise before. I did a double take. My training group – small and brown. The passengers (i.e. "guests") – big and white. I can count on one hand the American co-workers I have met aboard this ship.

My boss, a taciturn but good-natured Romanian, Ionut (pronounced "Yo NOOTS") guided me out of the main office to rush me to training. I waited for over an hour to board the ship, and as soon as I sign my life away for very little money (for an American – I must add this), I was already late. This has been exemplary of my experience here; learning rules that are not written down as I go. Even those that have been here a while still practice caution: not wanting to risk breaking a rule that may or may not exist. Ionut provided me with my uniform – YES! A black collared shirt and khakis and I can where whatever shoes I want – as long as they are black. My deep-seated concerns about physically being able to do the job are all but gone.

In our rush to get to an orientation setting that did not orient me (I found a map of the ship to take with me two days later), I quickly shoved my luggage into a closet. To my shock I accidentally woke up some guy that snuck into the closet for a quick nap. The guy's name is Chris, a Canadian. He is my roommate. It was NOT a closet. "So what do you do?" He asked. "I'm a filmmaker." "Oh that's cool, that's cool," he replied. I wrote a script once. I even went to LA." "So how'd that go?" "I ended up here. What do you think?"

My audiovisual team consists of Ionut, the manager, and Bisera (Serbian), Kirk (American/Jamaican), and myself. With the exception of Kirk, I thought my team hated life. Not Kirk though. He's a dude, a good guy, and a patient trainer. Kirk loves the women. My team did not ASK for me. I was simply assigned to the ship. "How did you get the job?" I explained the process. "I hate you," Bisera snapped (this was the very first time I met her), "I had to work so hard to get this job. I'm not kidding. I really hate you." What? No warm welcome? My team is beginning to warm up to me. Being an American does not help my cause.

What's wrong with being an American? First, let me say, categorically, DO NOT CONFUSE A HUNGARIAN WITH A TURK. Yes, they are from pretty much the same part of Europe. No, most of us could not tell the difference, but centuries of warfare and occupation says you must tread carefully. "It's ok, you're an American," someone will say. "No please, I really would like to know." "You're an American. You wouldn't understand." Yes I am an American, with a degree in foreign affairs from a top ranking school, but I still will confuse a Hungarian with a Turk. What the Europeans don't understand is that us Americans pretty much own our own continent. So excuse me if we don't know the ins and outs of Serbian history. We are extremely culturally and geographically isolated from the Europeans who are all up in each other's business.

Attila the Hungarian forgave me. We met last Wednesday at a party and talked to the wee hours of the morning. "David, David, listen to this documentary idea. Perhaps you can help me make it. I want to take Americans, big fat Americans, and strip them down naked. Then we will humiliate them. We will shout at them 'why are you so fat? Look at you, you are a pig!' Of course, they will then lose weight and we will document how that changes them."

… … Wow. Just really – wow.

In Attila's defense, we were both piss ass drunk at the time. But I think his sentiment about American gluttony is shared with most of the crew. More than the Peace Corps, here I find myself a representative of the American people. This time I'm on defense. But what can I say about American obesity? The facts are all too obvious on the top deck. "They should not call it overweight," Attila points out as we exchange volleys, "it is overfed!" Clearly. And I can make no excuses for the over… fed, loudmouth, boorish guests that draw attention to themselves on this ship. (This categorization you all of course!) In a way, the whole idea of a cruise ship pains me. Is our quality of life in the US so poor that we need to sit on a ship in the middle of the ocean just to feel relaxed? I think so. We spend our lives stressed out sitting in chairs and eating processed foods and inhaling carcinogens. I draw a comparison between the Americans on the top of the ship cherishing their few free minutes and the rest of the world serving them from below, and though I try to find fault with the cruise line for running a sweatshop, all I can see right now is a world out of balance.

"David, David…" Attila beckons me closer. "There is something not good on this ship." I asked him what he meant. A ghost? "One night I was standing out at the bow of the ship in the blackness," he continued. "I sensed a presence that wished to hurl me over the railing and into the sea. This was not my imagination. Since then it took me months to go back to that deck. This ship" says Attila, "is not like other ships, there is an unhappiness here. You can see it in the crew. Ask Druggy, he knows. Ask Druggy." I have not yet asked Druggy, but I think I understand.

There is a social order here: officers, staff, and crew. I am staff and have "deck privileges," but I think the majority, the crew, are not allowed in most areas and so they live out their contracts out of the sunlight, most of the time beneath the sea. They work very long hours. A beautiful (crew) waitress came to clean my table. "I didn't see you at the disco yesterday," I opened. "I could not," she said in an Eastern European accent, not looking at me, "I have to work, I work many hours, I have so many tables to attend. When I do not work I am so tired." She left my table abruptly. I though she could have cried.

My night talking to Attila was my best experience so far. He was willing to overlook my calling him a Turk. I told him it was the best conversation I have had since joining the ship. So many languages, so much bustle; it is hard to make friends. "My friend," he replied, "It is not coincidence that we have met. You will learn a great many things on this ship. This is the best conversation I have had in eight months!" This ship is dream for a documentary filmmaker like me. I have always wanted to travel and see the world and, strangely, the world has come to me. But I am fearful of when my next good conversation will be. I found, I think, a good friend in Attila, only to say goodbye. His contract ended last Saturday. He is already gone.

Ok, enough musings for now. Just the facts: I like my job. It will get very repetitive and tiresome, I am sure, but for now I am still learning and interested. I will simply state that it is arguably the very best job on the cruise ship and leave it at that. It has been a process, actually, to not feel guilty about such peachy job (with the exception of a decent salary) amidst so much grueling labor. But I have found some consolation in that there are also many here that simply sing or dance for a living.

The food is – not good. The guy who hired me that told me that we eat the same food the guests eat told a big fat lie. Still, I'm not that picky. I am working out regularly and am able to eat every 2-3 hours to put on weight.

I am not a good videographer. So says Ionut flatly in front of my team after I came back from shooting my first tour: snorkeling off a catamaran. He's right too. I've been out of practice. It does take practice. Somehow I managed to forget most things that I learned in film school all at once. I am not too worried. I'm pretty sure it will come back to me and it will be hard not to learn something shooting here on a regular basis. I just wished Ionut whispered it in my ear.

My room is really extremely small. I get the top bunk, which can be dangerous when you are liquored up on a moving ship. The only time I feel claustrophobic is when exiting an airplane, but living in such a confined space is kind of neat. However, I do lose all sense of time.

There is no way around doing damage to my liver on this ship. At least I am sparing my lungs. Everyone drinks and smokes here. It's what people do.

I have gotten completely lost on this ship literally and figuratively. Going from the bleak crew hallways to the elegant guests quarters is surreal – like something out of the movie Brazil. I don't spend too much time on the guest side. I always have to be in uniform. Moreover, it reminds me of a lazer tag maze in that there just isn't a nook or cranny to hide in where you can feel completely at ease. It ain't no pleasure cruise.

I am not allowed to get involved with guests. If I do so I'll have to be prepared to get kicked off the ship. I had the feeling that the performers were, as a whole, an unsavory bunch, but I got to know some of the dancers last night and was pleasantly surprised. Hopefully more to come… Don't forget about me while I'm gone.

All my best,
DSM

P.S. Yes I do get seasick.