-44.857222, 172.603333

I am in a hurry today to get to the shops before the boat leaves. However today breakfast is chatty, with Jean Guy, Celine, Chief Engineer and Captain all in a social mood.

Jean Guy says that Port Chalmers is quite pretty and worth the walk. I think how ironic it is, that because we arrive at a port without a certain date, or tourist agency, it means that small towns we can stroll straight into are best. In Melbourne Jean Guy and Celine tried to go ashore twice. Once they were turned around at the gatehouse because they were not on the crew list, and the second time they were taken to a Seaman’s club. Despite being at Port for 24 hours they saw virtually nothing and found Port Chalmers a better place to visit than Melbourne.

I answer questions for a while on the size of cities in NZ, and they are amazed at how small we are. The Chief Engineer asks if it’s true we have more sheep than people. I nod, but cannot remember the current ratio – I think it is 7. Sheep appear to be our unofficial national animal, as that is the most common question I get from other nationalities. We joke about how China is going to invade us for our land and sheep, as that is the only thing we have.

Feeling nervous about the time I point to the lookout that can be seen out the window and ask the Captain if I can head up there. He says it’s fine if I’m back on time. The Chief Engineer says that he’s been up there, and it’s a short walk. I tell him that I’d watched a ship come in from up there in January, which seemed to make both him, and the Captain pleased. They see my genuine interest in their ship.

The Captain tells me that we leave at midday, if I am not on board he will sound the horn so I can run.

As I leave the captain tells the Chief Engineer that he is expecting it to be rougher today, and to light an extra boiler. I pause to check if there will be waves and he laughs and shakes his head. He says to the Chief Engineer “we like a lake but she wants waves”. The Chief Engineer says “The passenger likes an adventure”. The Captain says, “I will find you waves”, and laughs more.

Heading down into down, I ponder for the first time how they refer to me. Noone but the Captain has been given my name, and there are 3 passengers on board. Perhaps we are all ‘the passenger’.

Getting up to the lookout takes me 15 minutes, and affords me the first full view of the ship. It looks monstrous but I can’t seem to convey it in any of the photos I take.

Then I head down to the shops, which don’t open til 10am. This is the time I’m expected back at the boat, so I conclude I will just visit the supermarket.

I buy some fruit, as that is what I most miss, some nice wine, and a box of animal biscuits. The multiboards all have earths in their plug, so are no better than the one I already have, and I decide not to buy any breakfast foods. I am on this ship to experience it, and so I shall.

The walk through town is very enjoyable and I snap pictures of the buildings as I wander back to port. Staff at the gatehouse now recognise me, and just wave me through, straight past the safety sign I now see, that says you are not allowed in this area without high vis. I shake my head as it clearly only applies to staff. You are allowed no high vis when you have no idea what the traffic management plan is, and are just wandering around. They do not realise that my day job is in a Distribution Centre, and that I feel naked around large machinery without steel caps and high vis.

At lunch there is icecream instead of fruit, as it’s a special day. I am not sure what is special about it, but am secretly glad I have fruit now stashed in my cabin.

I hear the engines start again at 1200 so I head up to the bridge to watch the tugs attach to take us out to sea. This Pilot seems to build more rapport with the Captain, as there is a lot of laugher this time. Laughter does seem more common in conversations between people with language differences though. It is almost as if laughter is an indication that you understood, and I enjoy the endorphins that all this laughter generates.

Celine, Jean Guy and I are out on the deck with our binoculars taking photos as we head out. Further out the Captain joins us to point out the “sheeps” to them. He is very excited and also takes photos. I wish that I had a toy sheep to give him as a thankyou gift.

Out at sea the Pilot radios the Pilot boat, which then pulls alongside the gangway, for him to drop down. I get photos this time, and it is very evident just how high we are.

There is another ship up ahead, on its way in, and the pilot boat circles to follow us out and meet them. It is another large container ship, for the Maersk line.

Dinner is very quiet that night, and I head up to the bridge to see if we can see any land still. The Chief Mate is there listening to a NZ radio station, but we cannot see land. It is somewhere there on our Port side, close enough that I also still have internet signal.

Back in my cabin at 1930 I notice it’s dropped away, and I will have to head up to the Bridge as normal to get the coordinates before heading to bed.

When I get up there, it is pitch black. There is no land, and the screens are mostly black , so there is no ambient light. The Captain calls out who has just walked in, but is instantly warm when I say hello.

I move over to the screen to see we are very close to Banks Peninsula, and tell him we are close to my home. They zoom in on the map so can point as close as possible where my house is, and the Captain offers to turn their beams on as we go passed so I can see. They all seem very jolly and then he offers me a whiskey. I cannot be sure if this is a genuine offer, or a joke in reference to the fact I had to ditch a bottle, as I’d accidentally breached the allowances for Customs. I decline and laugh to be on the safe side. The Captain draws closer and stage whispers to me that we are both wearing black so we are invisible. Perhaps they are drinking whiskey tonight after all.

I thank them, say goodnight and leave them to their jolly evening. It is time for bed.

-45.81381, 170.6248°

Land is now clearly visible on our Port side, as I head down to breakfast.

Breakfast today is Luncheon Chips, which appears to be chunks of luncheon sausage deep fried, with the obligatory egg sitting on top. This is by far the hardest meal I have had to eat to date. I determine I will buy fruit toast once we arrive at Port Chalmers.

I head up to the Bridge where we are already in sight of the Otago Peninsula. The Captain says we have made very good time, and are early. We are doing 14 knots, which is the slowest we can go, without lighting more boilers. Once we get nearer we will cut our engines and drift, until 1300.

So I head back to the F decks and sit in the sun, where I can see the Alps through the binoculars sitting behind the peninsula. It is the best weather we have had so far, and the sun is very warm. I hear the engine cut at 1030, and the boat stops moving and starts drifting.

Lunch today is Borg – a Russian soup that the Chief Mate and Chief Engineer have been waiting for all week. It is slightly spiced, with carrot and cabbage. It is nice but not worth the talk of the last 3 days. When I finish the Steward asks if I would like meat and potato. I am a little confused as Borg was the only thing on the menu today. The Captain is currently eating chicken drumsticks and hot chips, and he jumps in to suggest I want some of it, and I nod that it does look very good.

While the Steward is off getting some the Captain says to me “The Russians may be happy with soup, but you and I want real food”.

The Steward brings out my plate, which is actually nearly cold. I use the microwave, noting it is standard and I have no idea how the Captain charred bread yesterday.

When the Captain leaves, I stand up to leave a couple of minutes later. The Steward takes my plate and says the Cook would like to talk to me in the hallway.

He comes out, and is a sweaty man that reeks of cigarette smoke. I find it repulsive that he cooks our food, and hope that it doesn’t show on my face. In his hand is this week’s menu and he points and declares, “Menu is Borg, only Borg. Nothing else. You not ask for chicken and chips. It is not on the menu. Not do again”.

I smile and nod, because there seems no point in saying it was the Captain’s suggestion, and I just want to get away from him.

At 1230 I head up to the Bridge, keen to see us guided into Port during daylight. The day suddenly gets overcast and windy the closer we get to land, and when we see the Pilot boat near us, it is bobbing around a lot.

The Pilot is less flamboyant than our Melbourne equivalent, but he guides us through what seems a very narrow and twisty channel. Up above I see our New Zealand flag blowing in the breeze and I wonder when we put that up. I am surprisingly chuffed to have my home flag flying.

The tugs approach us when we are nearing the port, and they look tiny in comparison to the ship. I get a few photos, but it is actually hard to see them without leaning over the side. Nine months ago I had sat on one of the nearby hills and watched a container ship guided in by tugs, and I note it is completely different from this angle. Where on the hill the tugs seemed the main event, from the ship you cannot even tell they are there.

I head down to my cabin to wait for Customs. When the phone rings I head down with my passport to be processed. He checks my passport carefully and asks me lots of questions, particularly about how I found out about being a passenger, and why I would want to do it.

We are allowed to get off, and just need to carry our passport. I ask if I need anything else at the gatehouse like my ticket, as it seems fairly basic. I am told the gatehouse have the passenger list to compare my name to, but to be on the safe side perhaps I should carry my own copy of the passenger list. The Captain prints me one of these.

Upstairs I quickly update my status on Facebook and discover I have friends in Dunedin who I arrange to meet up with for the evening.

There are no guidelines about moving around the Port, I do not have to wear my hard hat or high vis. I literally just grab my handbag and head down the gangway. At the exit one of the crew gets me to fill in a log to say I have left the ship, and at the gatehouse my passport is checked.

Port Chalmers is small charming town, which still has a lot of its buildings from the late 1800s. There are mostly cafes and souvenir shops, and it makes a lovely stroll.

I then meet up with my friends and head out for the night, not getting back til just after midnight. I hope that it is still possible to get back onto the ship. The gatehouse glance at my passport and I move through where the Port is completely silent. It does not appear to go all night as it did in Melbourne which means I should get a very good night sleep.

The clocks have moved forward a third time, as it is Daylight savings, and I realise while there is no banging or rolling that breakfast is fast approaching. I don’t pack away anything tonight, as it cannot fall off, and I get into bed.

-46.7058333, 167.422499

I arrive at breakfast first and the Captain is soon after me. I feel a huge sense of relief it’s him as I am not yet comfortable with the blanket of silence with everyone else. The Captain by comparison is chatty, and at least is always warm and cheerful.

He says good morning in the ringing cheerful tones I am accustomed to, and I point out it is another beautiful day. The sun is shining and the sea is flat. I know that he likes it like this, and doesn’t understand that I still hope for a storm.

He agrees it’s a beautiful day and tells me that I am allowed anywhere on the deck again today. Maybe I will see something?

Breakfast is corned beef with a fried egg on top. I suspect the corned beef is from a can, and it is dry and salty. The captain heats bread in what I thought was the microwave, but soon there is smoke, and the bread is charred. I wasn’t aware a microwave could do that…

Peter the Steward hovers in the background looking helpless, and the Captain takes charge, trying to open one of the windows. He unscrews all of the holds, only to find it doesn’t open, so digs out a bungee cord and ties the door onto the deck open.

The room smells strongly of smoke, but the Steward continues to hover ineffectually while the Captain deals with it.

When he sits back down he tells me we will have a guest in Napier, and that the guest must sit next to him. Unfortunately this means I must move one seat down the table. He is most apologetic, and says he would much rather sit next to me, but cannot afford to offend the guest.

I very much like sitting next to him, as he is pleasant company, but I am not concerned about being downgraded, and I tell him this is fine.

After breakfast I head back to the Bridge to try and work out how far we are from Foveaux Straight. The Second Mate shows me how to zoom in and out on the screen, and says it is OK for me to do it, as long as I leave it as I found it. This pleases me greatly, and then he helps me calculate how far we are away.

At 16 knots, it is still 11 hours to go, and we will not approach until 2100. This disappoints me, and I will not see any of it in the dark, and there will not be a “first moment” for when my country appears in the distance.

He asks if I am waiting for phone coverage because I am bored. I laugh and tell him I love being here. The boat is interesting and the views are beautiful. He says all we can see are containers and they are not beautiful.

I have definitely noticed that I am the only person on board who is enjoying themselves noticeably. Even the cheerful Captain replies that it is not a bad job, and it is too late to change now, when I ask him if he loves his job. I suspect it has a lot to do with the isolation and the duration. It does not appear that the Officers make friends with each other, and we all head to our own cabins after dinner.

The Second Mate tells me that he has been on duty now for 2 months, and has 4 months to go. Hopefully he will get a 3 month break back home, but it depends how busy it is. There is not enough staff, and he is often only given 1 month back at shore, before another 6 months on board.

I can see how this would take the shine off running away to sea.

He offers to take some photos of me on the ship, and lets me sit in the front chair. I don’t know if this is OK, but there are only the 2 of us on the Bridge and it has put a smile on his face.

The rest of the day is very quiet; I spend some more time on deck, have a nap and watch a movie.

Just before dinner there is an announcement on the PA that the clocks will be moving forward 1 hour again tonight.

Dinner is spaghetti bolognaise and salad, which is by far the best meal so far. However both the Chief Engineer and the Chief Mate do not seem happy. There is a spiel in another language while the Chief Engineer indicates heaping on his plate.

He starts to call out “Man! Man! Man!” but the Steward does not notice. The Chief Mate suggests “Steward” may work better, and starts yelling this out.

I’m aware that the Steward got on in Melbourne, as I did, so I helpfully mention that his name is Peter. Both shoot me looks like I have grown an extra head, and the Chief Engineer replies condescendingly “we know”.

This confirms that titles are how everyone is referred to, and I ponder that it can surely only increase the sense of isolation?

I head up to the bridge where can see the outline of Fiordland appearing. We have made faster time that I thought. I try to take a photo but cloud has rolled in and its slightly differing shades of grey don’t really show on the camera.

The Second Mate offers to take another photo of me in the chair, but I decline and just watch the containers rock back and forth for a while, before telling him I will be back later.

Later I pad back up to the Bridge where I take a photo of our coordinates. When I get back to the cabin I go to write them down, and notice my phone has 2 bars. Maybe I’ll check in with the world. As I go to set up they disappear, and I conclude I’m going to bed instead.

-44.0947222, 158.996111

When I wake in the morning my clock has moved forward an hour. This fascinates me, as it looks like a normal analogue wall clock, but I had given up changing it the night before as I couldn’t seem to take it off the wall, and figured someone will help me later. But it seems the clocks are controlled centrally somehow.

Last night the rocking was more noticeable, despite the fact we still have not seen any waves as such. The rocking meant I was better off on my side, curled in a ball to try giving me breadth and stop sliding back and forth. The sliding kept waking me up.

I am hoping for a storm today but at breakfast the Captain tells me that the weather is good, and I am allowed anywhere on deck, as long as I take my hard hat. He says that we often get flying fish in the middle of the ocean as they jump away startled by the boat, and that they can go as far as 200 feet. He says that he hopes I will go look, and that he will ring my cabin if he sees anything.

The only condition to me wandering around by myself is that I don’t jump off the boat. He laughs and waves his finger “No jumping!”

That seems a fairly basic condition and I decide I will definitely spend some time further up the boat.

He also tells me about the walkway around the accommodation tower at D level, as he knows I like to explore, and asks what I thought of my tour yesterday. I tell him I am very impressed at the engine room, and that I had climbed into the lifeboat. I say that it seems very small, but has many seats.

He nods and says that it fits 30 people, and we only have 26 on board including the passengers. I try to imagine us all squished into one boat and cannot. I hope that in the event we need one, we use both lifeboats anyway.

He asks if I saw the boat on the back that we are transporting, and says that would be far more comfortable!!

It is overcast and slightly misty today, but the deck is still pleasant, and there are still unimaginable amounts of water to watch go past. I spend my morning on the deck.

Lunch is my favourite meal, as it has soup and fruit to accompany what is otherwise a basic and fatty meal. Today the soup sloshes around in the bowl, and I unintentionally laugh out loud when the Chief Mate starts angling his bowl to ensure it stays “flat”. He does not see the humour, and as he has been very reserved so far, I decided it is best if I find somewhere else to be.

I head out to the f’cle deck, at the front and decide to spend some time out there hoping for flying fish. I take a few photos trying to capture the boat from this end, but the containers block the view of anything else, and I have to content myself with photos of the anchor chain, and ropes.

I’d really like a photo of the side of the boat, but the sides are thick, and I am worried about my hard hat falling off into the sea if I have to lean over too much. In the end I concede I’m only going to get a photo by hanging the camera over and angling it. I hold it tight and manage to get a photo of the bulbous bow.

I sit for a while looking into the distance that holds New Zealand, but only shows water. Noone knows where I am. Noone needs me right now, there are no decisions to be made, or tasks to be done. And there is noone here that doesn’t need me. I am 100% free.

After dinner, which was quarter of a pizza plonked on my plate, I head up for sunset photos. I am able to get some nice shots, and decide that I no longer need to get up early for a sunset.

The rest of the evening is spent in my cabin before I head up to the bridge for my nightly coordinates. The Captain is not there, and the Second Mate humours me, zooming out the screen so I can see where we are easier. I estimate we’ll arrive at Foveaux Straight tomorrow, and I have mixed feelings about seeing land again.

I head back down 2 storeys to my room, and triumphantly note that I have not used the elevator at all today

Day 3

-41.5005556, 150.808611

Out at sea with a gentle rock, it is dark and I quickly fall sound asleep, only to wake as my cabin lights up. Realising the sun must be rising, and knowing we are heading east, I hoped for some beautiful sunrise photos. Unfortunately I am one deck too low, and the containers block my view. I snap some of the sky in the gap between the accommodation tower and the containers, and promise myself that one day I will get up to the Bridge at 5.30am for a magnificent shot.

After breakfast I seek out the officers/passengers deck area the Captain has told me about. I am disappointed to see it is inset into the boat, like a cave. However I quickly realise this is a blessing as despite the sun, all you can feel is the wind. From the comfort of my deck chair I am able to see the waves, but are sheltered.

Not long after I sit down there is a splash, and I see a lone dolphin jump out of the water. I scramble to get my camera but there is only one more jump, and I miss it. I then spend the morning debating what I saw, as I was under the impression dolphins are social creatures. My expectation had been a large pod dancing and jumping along side the ship.

I settle in to wait for more, as obviously it doesn’t take much to stumble across the sea life in the Tasman. Instead I see a green container ship heading toward Australia pass us maybe 2km away, and then we pass Tasmania which is the last land I will see in a while.

If I had had a nice glass of wine the setting would have been perfect, but noone has mentioned the ship shop at all. I particularly want a bottle of water, which I know will not break. I have a glass back in the cabin, but I am nervous about using it, as the Captain was very specific about being careful with glasses. It doesn’t seem right to bring a small glass up to the deck, as it is bound to fall off somehow.

I was too nervous to mention it at breakfast, as I didn’t want to seem like I was hanging in there for alcohol to become available. At meals we are given water, or coffee, and there is no wine provided or gatherings at night to drink beer like I have read about in blogs. I decide at lunchtime I will ask about water bottles, and if there is an opening for wine I will take it.

At lunch I ask Peter if there is a shop. He nods and takes me to a list of options and gives me a form to fill in for what I’d like. Whatever I pick will be delivered to my cabin that night.

I tick a carton of water, and then skim through the rest of the list. It looks like my options for drink are Fanta, Coke, Water, Cabernet, Vodka or Whiskey. I hum and ha, then tick a pack of Pringles and decide that will be it. Unfortunately I don’t like red wine, and hadn’t planned on drinking spirits on the deck.

After lunch the Captain rings my cabin to let me know the weekly fire drill is at 3pm, but I can stay in my cabin if I would like. I ask where I would go if I’d like to participate, and he suggests I am best off observing from the Bridge.

While I wait I decide to descend to the Upper deck and then back up to the Bridge. It gives me 5 stories down and 7 up as some exercise for the day.

I arrive up to the Bridge slightly early to check the GPS positioning and watch for a while. The Captain is once again the only one there, and he asks me if I saw the whales. I said that I hadn’t which was disappointing, as they had apparently given a show.

While we wait he shows me some more of the screens and zooms out to show me where we currently are. It doesn’t look like we have got very far to me, but I smile and nod.

Next he enquires after my sleep as he does every day, and I assure him it was much better, before he asks me about my shower. I tell him I think it is a very good shower, which greatly pleases him. He tells me to shower lots, as we make our own water. “We can make 25 tonnes of water a day, so shower all day, all day” he laughs. It is obviously something he is proud of, and it’s something I had wondered about.

I wasn’t sure if we held tanks of fresh water on board, and whether I had to be frugal or not, so while I’m not planning to spend the next week in the shower, I am certainly going to be less cautious about saving water.

He then offers me a coffee and starts making it himself, which embarrasses me. The hierarchy is so entrenched on the ship that I am constantly aware of his status, and that we should be differential to him. He waves me off and makes it anyway.

At 1530 he pushes the siren and there is high pitch noise nothing like what I expected. I would not have realised it was the fire alarm if it had gone off previously. The Crew radio him on the bridge for instructions and he says that there is a fire in the mess room, and that they should prepare the lifeboats before attempting to fight the fire.

Soon crew are running up the side stairs and grabbing the codes tucked in behind fire extinguishers required for part of the activity. They are wearing their life jackets and hard hats

The Captain continues to stand there with his coffee and survey the organised chaos. He takes me to the deck to watch them getting into the lifeboat. I tell him next week I’d like to join in, and he offers me a tour afterwards instead. He says they are not very comfortable, and that they launch the lifeboats in port every 3 months, but it is not a well liked drill.

The third engineer is told that once he finishes his duties, he is to take me on a tour around the upper deck, and then to the engine room. Apparently today is a good day, as tomorrow the swell will be bigger. At the moment the ship is too light, and we will sail better after picking up more containers in NZ. I ask if the reason that there number of containers on each side is different, is because they weigh different amounts, and it’s important to balance the ship. He laughs and says that we use the Ballast Tanks full of seawater to do that. He has a good chuckle and says the Port is too slow already; we can’t wait for them to balance the boat.

I don a hard hat given to me by the Third Engineer and we head out onto the upper deck. The hat wobbles on my head, and it is difficult to ensure it doesn’t fall off, let alone imagine it will protect my head from anything. It is narrow and smells like engine oil. It does not feel remotely like a pleasure vessel. Other crew are wandering around in their overalls and hard hats, and smile and wave.

He takes me to the front of the boat, and I am a little surprised at how round the front is. I had aimed to be cliché and get a “Titanic” photo at the peak. I bite the bullet and do a very average version of it anyway.

Then I am taken to the lifeboat, and allowed to get into it. All the heroism and drama of “Captain Phillips” drops away as I realise it is very small, dark, hot and smelly. There are harnesses all the way along, and the spaces per person don’t look like they would even take my width. I decide that next week I am not taking part in the drill.

At the Engine Room the Third Engineer gives me a slightly confusing tour, which is then high jacked by the Chief Engineer after I take a photo of him in the engine room. He is very enthusiastic and I really enjoy my tour with him.

The area is 12 metres high, by 55 long and 20metres wide. However instead of being a cavernous room that I can take a photo of, it is a maze of mezzanine floors, sky walks and machinery.

I am shown the desalinator humming away, the spare piston that is 3metres long, the bilge pump, and 4 generators. After we go passed the lathe I started to lose track and was just seeing machine after machine. But I took photos where I could and enjoyed the fact I was seeing equipment that other people could only dream about.

At dinner we are told the clocks will go forward an hour tonight, as we are getting closer to NZ. I decide to make it an early night in the cabin, after I have collected my daily GPS coordinates.

It is at this point I realise that while my app works without Internet, it only works on land. While in port it had still worked, but now it picks up nothing.

So I quietly head up 2 floors to the bridge, and take a photo of our position before heading to bed.

I only saw my one lone dolphin today.

-38.341625, 144.606938

This ship has the rare benefit for a freightliner of an elevator. I have the aim to avoid using it. I had been prepared to not have one, and I know the 3 storey walk down to meals, and 2 storey walk up to the Bridge can only be good for me. I think I am using it about half the time (and no not only for the upwards leagues).

The crew are warming up, but we still stick with smiles, nods and “good mornings’. Conversations that divert from basic niceties often end up with random responses that indicate they have no idea what I am talking about.

The menu for the Officers Mess is on the door, and I use it to prepare myself for what we are going to eat, as well as the times.

When in the Officers Mess we are served by our Steward, Peter. He is not as socially out going as the previous Steward who got off in Melbourne, so comes across very shy. He hovers to try assist me to do everything, including pouring my drinks. I suspect this has to do with the very formal hierarchy on the ship.

There are 4 officers, and the captain, plus the 3 passengers who eat in the Officers Mess. We have assigned seating, and I always sit on the left of the Captain facing the Chief Mate. The Captain and Chief Mate get additional items with dinner, and often ask for changes to what we are served.

Breakfast was a sausage roll, with very buttery pastry and a kransky in the middle. It sits very heavy in my stomach. I can tell I am going to put weight on, and that walking the stairs is necessary.

The rest of the crew eat at the other end of the floor, in much smaller and plainer rooms. A strong smell of smoke hovering in the hallway indicates it is OK to smoke inside.

Our first day is very static, as the departure time of 1400 is changed to 1800 and then 1900. The Captain complains about how slow this port is, and that the crane drivers are not very good.

In the afternoon I take advantage of the fact the container loading is now at the front, and not as noticeable, to take a nap before dinner.

With the ship leaving at 1900, everyone is prompt for dinner and eat together. All of us have a sheen of sweat on our face, and say they are hot. Once the Captain gets up to check the air vent is working, and says its not very good, the engineers then get up every few minutes to continue confirming there is no cold air, and that we are all very hot.

Dinner is squid, which I have no liking for. But I smile and eat it, as I am determined to live this experience and be grateful for it. Plus I have no wish to offend the people whose world I am exploring.

I head up to the bridge after dinner to with the plan of watching us leave port. I am disappointed that it is getting dark and that I won’t be able to see as much, although the lights of Melbourne twinkle very prettily.

We have to wait for the ANL Wyong to dock first as they come across the front of us. The Captain and I are the only ones on the bridge and he says to me that it is very big. It takes 1000 more containers than the Spirit of Melbourne, which takes 3600. As soon as the ANL Wyong docks, we have two Harbour pilots come aboard. They are in dress uniform, as are our officers, (who are normally in shorts and jandals).

The tug attaches to us and we start our journey out of the harbour. The whole trip takes three and half hours, with our Officers controlling the ship and the Pilots giving instruction.

I continue to hover in the background and discover that in quiet periods both the Pilots and the Captain like to explain what is happening to me.

The Captain shows me on the map of the harbour and screen where we are and the line of the channel that we need to sail along. The Pilot in charge is flamboyantly confident, and guides us between the red and green channel lights that seem to flicker like Christmas lights as if he is putting on a show. They know the harbour well and each Pilot guides in or out roughly 200 ships a year.

As we get further out, he tells the captain to “increase to rock n roll speed” Our poor Captain does not have a great enough grasp of English to cope with the rapid rate of words and colloquial phrases that seem to pour out of our Pilots mouth. I am surprised that he appears cocky rather than solicitous to the fact our crew all have English as a second language.

In the background the other Pilot Raj tells me that he has been on a freighter before that had a passenger. She actually got on at the Heads by signalling the ship with a bed sheet off a jetty. She was 84, and over the allowable age, but for some reason she was accepted on board and was a real character. It seems too crazy to be true, and I wonder if he’s been doing this job a long time, so knows stories from before safety was so regimented.

He explains he will get off once we have cleared the harbour by coming down the gangway and then climbing the last few metres by a rope ladder. Regulations say noone may climb more than 9 metres by rope ladder, and as we are not very heavy, we sit high in the water, making the gangway necessary.

I watch the pilot speed boat come along side, and the two pilots slide down the ladder far below me.

They soon zoom off, and we move into larger waves, and the dark night. There is nothing but blackness in front of us, so I head downstairs for bed.

The cabin is spacious for a single berth. The bed that is somewhere between a single and double, and will take a pillow lengthways plus one sideways. It is very firm though so I use the second pillow to support my lower back, as the bed does not have any give, and it means my bum is just too big!! It has orange tartan curtains that enclose it, but I’m not entirely sure why, as I’m the only one in here. Maybe I will want to pretend I’m not in this room by the time I get off?

Every surface has either a rail or a raised lip edge, and furniture is bolted in place. I think the only thing that can move is the chair. The chair has wheels but is heavy and takes some effort to make it move. Despite this, there is a bungy cord hanging from the desk, with loops either side of it to hold it in place during swells.

This makes me somewhat nervous about leaving anything out. But there are plenty of drawers and cupboards – all with kiddy locks that require you to lift and then pull, so they cannot just slide out. I am ritualistic about putting things in drawers after use, and the cabin still looks like I haven’t moved in.

This morning I have discovered there is a little lever in the air con fixture with a red stripe and a blue stripe. I have moved it from the hottest setting to the coldest setting and the room is quickly more comfortable. It is a huge relief and means I am no longer contemplating opening the window I signed an agreement not to.

There is a 4 plug multiboard above the desk for German 2 prong plugs. Luckily I had thought to ask in advance what type of plug it would be, as this was never mentioned. I have a travel adaptor with me so that I can still charge my camera and laptop etc. I had also read advice to pack a multiboard of your own so you can use more than one appliance at a time without multiple converters, but unfortunately while I checked I could plug in NZ plugs into the adapter, I hadn’t noticed that it doesn’t have space for an earth. Both my laptop and the multiboard have 3 prongs rather than 2, which means they are unusable. After a large degree of stress where I thought there would be no music, movies, or uploading of photos, I discovered I can take apart my apple power pack and plug my camera adapter into it, which only has 2 prongs. It was a big relief, and when we dock in Port Chalmers I will look for a multiboard with 2 prongs so that the last 5 days don’t require careful planning about what to charge at any given time.

The bathroom is on a slope, to ensure the water drains away. The shower has a knob where you can select the temperature by degrees celsius (which I love), and you turn the tap on for as much pressure as you like. This goes quite high, but the wall fixture is at just the wrong level, so if I turn it up too much it sprays directly in my face, or over my head on the wall.

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This kind of travelling is either for the relaxed traveller who goes with the flow, or the super organised researcher, that plans for every possibility. I fall under the second category, and it is the many blogs that I’ve read that have helped me successfully get onto this very large and busy vessel.

There has to be a bit of going with the flow though!!! I just plan for that.

I’ve tracked my ship from Fremantle using this site for when the ship was in range. So far it as stayed on schedule, which I understand, is unusual in freighters.

https://www.marinetraffic.com/en/ais/details/ships/564086000/vessel:SPIRIT_OF_MELBOURNE

On the morning it was set to arrive, I rang the number I’d been given to find out where to go. I was forwarded on 4 times before I got someone who actually knew what I was talking about, and they said “Oh you’re the passenger for the Spirit of Melbourne”. “yes!” I exclaim, only to be told to ring another number where I was forwarded on another 2 times.

Eventually I caught a taxi to the harbour and headed for the gatehouse of the dock I thought I was meant to be on. We were given more instructions every time we thought we had arrived, and he jokingly told me he should just drive me to NZ rather than me get on the ship.   I told him the treasure hunt for a large bright orange ship was surely more fun.

But the fare was less than $20 and he eventually got me to the entrance where they checked my passport and put me on a shuttle to the ship.

Here I was met by a crew member in orange overalls and a hard hat, who wanted to carry all of my luggage onto the ship for me. The gangway was narrow and steep with angled steps so I convinced him I’d take the cabin bag and he could take the suitcase. He seemed a little agitated at this, but accepted it was the most logical arrangement.

Once on board I was taken to the office, where the Captain introduced himself and welcomed me on-board. The crew weren’t sure what to do with me, as there was a lady still in my cabin, who would not be departing until customs had cleared her.

The Captain took me to the officers mess and the Steward gave me a glass of water and a jug. Everyone introduces themselves by their title and have no name badges so I gather I should be calling them as such.

It’s crazy but I have the lady from the Titanic movie in my head saying “Capitaine” every time I go to say Captain, and I’m scared that’s what will pop out.

I read in one blog that the ship was very hot for the first night, and it was due to the aircon not going while in port. I very much hope that it’s the same case for me, as the ship has every window and door locked to stop stowaways, and it is stifling inside. I have signed a document that says I acknowledge the window should not be opened at sea or in port (read “never”).

My room is spacious and still has a view across the front of the boat. But it wasn’t long til I was summoned back to the office to sign my Australian Departure card. I was amazed that my bags were never checked and they were happy to just to say, “have a good trip” and get my card signed.

The crew come from 5 different countries. Most of the crew are from Burma (they say Burma not Myanmar), as is the Captain, but there are officers and engineers from Scandinavia, Russia, Germany and Poland. I find the Europeans barely acknowledge me so far, but the Burmese smile and nod at me a lot.

Dinner was a hamburger and chips, but they didn’t appear to have bread so it was more like a meat paddy, chips and salad. The paddy was very tasty.

I sat on the Captain’s left and he told me where I was allowed to go and was very friendly.

It gave me the courage to head up to the Bridge to explore that night, where I found him alone listening to loud music. He showed me some of the instruments, and how to open doors to get onto decks if I want. He tells me the crane driver is not very good, as the containers swing too much. I tell him he is lucky to have such a gorgeous ship. He thinks I am funny.

The other guests on the board are also European. I concentrated so hard on repeating their names correctly rather than memorising them and I’m afraid I’ve already forgotten them. They did not seem keen to make conversation yet, and told me that we all eat at different times, so not to look for them. They did tell me how funny it was that the lady before me ate Vegemite though. They showed me the tube as if it was an artefact of interest rather than just vegemite. My lack of amazement disappointed them.

Back in the room there is a constant hum of aircon blowing hot air, and rhythmic banging of containers. At about 2am when everything was unloaded, and they started loading, it was then accompanied by shaking as if we were having 3.5 earthquakes every 2 minutes.

Occasionally the crane operator would misjudge and there would be a resounding bang followed the shaking as if we had a 4.5 earthquake.

The bed is very firm, and with the shaking and banging I spent much of the night awake. I occasionally got up to take more photos or videos out my window. Once we are at sea I presume it will be much quieter. Either than or I will adjust like we did to earthquakes in Christchurch and sleep anyway.

I am currently waiting for us to depart port, where I hope to watch from the bridge, and then I’ll see what the waves are like.

Unlike flights you can’t just book this yourself on the spur of the moment.

You will need an Agent that specialises in Freighter Cruises and several weeks notice.

I’ve definitely discovered that you shouldn’t really be looking at a trip any less than 2 weeks, (although I’ve got away with 9 days), and that you need to be really flexible about dates.

Ship schedules can alter depending on the weather, how many containers are being offloaded or added, and how busy the Port is.   I’ve read blogs of passengers that have spent 2 days at Port waiting to board or depart.

I googled for every Agent I could find, and contacted about 6 places worldwide.  The only reply I got was from Hamish Jamieson at Freighter Travel (NZ)

Home

Hamish has been very helpful – and believe it or not, arranged my holiday while he was on his own.

He co-ordinated with Hamburg on my behalf, finding approximate dates and locations that suited me.

I just had to read and sign the conditions, scan my passport and get a declaration from my doctor that I’m fit and healthy enough to spend the duration of the trip with no doctor on board.

Oh and pay the money of course.

Some people get it instantly.

When you tell them that you’re planning to “take a cruise” on a container ship, they are fascinated and ask if it’s really possible.  But the most common question I have had to date is “why would you do that?  Is it free?”

I was one of those people that got it instantly.  I stumbled across it in google searches trying to find a cruise ship holiday.  I didn’t really want a Cruise Package per se, I just wanted to go somewhere on a really big ship.

I was feeling disheartened though as I compared the options, dates and costs.  An inside cabin, and stuck out at sea surrounded by a thousand people was just not quite hitting the right note.  I just knew if I kept searching I’d stumble across something that appealed.  There would be a destination where I could feel fascinated, and there would be a room where I didn’t feel like a sardine.  It was just the art of finding it.

And then I did.  In the midst of Passenger Cruise Ships I stumbled across Cargo Cruise Ships.  And I was hooked.

I’ve spent a month googling for other blogs with information, and once I’d booked a trip, tracking my ship across the globe.

My ETD is 14 days away and I am excitedly gearing up for a trip where I’m on the ship coming into port –  not watching from a nearby hill