‘Are you crazy?’: Solo travel on the high seas
Rebecca Hall shares her memorable experiences from being a passenger on a container ship in an extract from Lonely Planet’s Women Travel Solo.
I grew up hearing my father tell stories about sights from his time in the Merchant Navy – I used to imagine him battling with pirates.
No doubt inheriting his wanderlust, I was intrigued by this lifestyle and the camaraderie of crew life. Being the youngest child in my family by 15 years, I was particularly close to my father, but tension with my older siblings often led to a lot of solitude.
I was comfortable with travelling solo from a young age, often holidaying or volunteering abroad, and making friends along the way – alone but never lonely. Comfortable travelling solo, I vowed to learn more about my dad’s life at sea.
With my father’s encouragement, I discovered that some container ships accepted passengers. Having been raised by his sailor stories, I was keen to find out what life was like on board. In my late 30s and now firmly rooted in the seafaring nation of Greece, I found a travel agent who could book me a voyage from Athens to Hong Kong: 27 days with roughly 30 crew members, and me the only passenger.
For me this wasn’t so much about the destination as the journey. There weren’t many ships taking passengers in general, let alone one with a start-point from my new home city and port, so when the opportunity to sail from Athens to Hong Kong arose, I jumped at the chance.
‘Are you crazy? You’ll be the only woman among all those men!’
When I told my friends about my trip, they looked at me askance, and I gradually felt their doubts take hold – had I been too swept up in the romanticism of my father’s stories without considering the practicalities? I voiced my concerns to him. He went quiet for a moment, then brightened up and offered some reassurance: “Well, we took a nun once on our West Africa route, and she seemed more than happy to come and keep us company on the bridge during our watch.” If a nun could do it, so could I.
My day of departure dawned with the endless blue skies typical of Greece, so there were no ominous signs (I’ve been here long enough to believe in Greek superstitions in general – such as the evil eye, whereby anyone jealous or envious of you would cast a curse with negative intentions, causing physical ailments such as headaches and dizziness.). Subconsciously rubbing my evil-eye pendant to calm any remaining nerves, I hugged my cats goodbye and took a taxi to the Port of Piraeus.
As my ship loomed large in the port, I felt even more nervous – this time due to its sheer size. There was a cacophony of sounds as cranes on the dock unloaded massive containers from the ship – I could feel sensory overload kicking in.
But I needn’t have worried. A crew member at the top on the ship was looking at me while speaking into his walkie-talkie. The next thing I knew, he was beside me. “Let me take your case,” he said.
When had he suddenly appeared? Smiling, the kind man expertly hoisted my case onto his shoulder and led the way. The gangplanks on container ships are steep and narrow, quite different to those on a cruise ship. I was glad my case was in capable hands.
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This helpful fellow turned out to be Chief Steward Nelson, who would clean my cabin as well as those of the senior crew daily. He showed me to mine, and I stood in awe at its threshold; at 30 square metres, with a lounge area, en-suite bathroom and four massive portholes letting in light, it was certainly larger than my living room at home. He left me to unpack and informed me of the time for lunch, where I would get to meet the senior crew.
The captain saw me as I tentatively stuck my head into the senior crew’s mess (dining room) and insisted that I join him. My lunch here helped cement a bond that would grow over the coming days with these affable ships’ crew, gradually dispelling any lingering doubts I had.
The spread on that first day set a high precedent: Breaded shrimp with chilli sauce, kiwi slices and peas, followed by a fruit cocktail and vanilla, strawberry and chocolate ice-cream for dessert. Surprisingly the cuisine was going to be far from basic. “With men away from home for so long, we have to keep them happy on board,” explained Captain Stefan.
Sunset at Port Piraeus in Greece. Photo: Lonely Planet
I discovered that while a handful of passengers are allowed on board container ships, this form of travel is not widely known and bookings are rare. Many crew members do rotations for months at a time, especially the less senior crew, who can be away for up to a year. Having a passenger on board broke up their routine and offered the chance to speak to someone different.
The senior crew – the captain, chief officer, senior engineer and senior electrician – were of European origin, while the rest of the crew – such as engine-room staff, bosun (deckhand), cook and sous chef – were from the Philippines. They were more reserved than the English-speaking crew and I made sure to be respectful of the fact that this was a working ship: Even though I was clearly welcome aboard, I didn’t want to get in the way of their daily work.
As the Filipino crew liked different food and had their own mess room, the ship’s cook – who was also Filipino – prepared two menus each day. I always thought he had the hardest job of all: First to rise and last to bed, all while maintaining a spotless kitchen.
Throughout my voyage, the daily meals became central to my experience. We’d all sit around the dining table and put the world to rights, talking about issues on land that mercifully seemed a world away.
As the ship pulled into open waters that first night, away from the safety of harbour, I realised I didn’t feel nearly as nervous as I had felt upon initial boarding. Lunch had eased my concerns and shown me what gentlemen I was dealing with. As we headed off with the sun hitting the horizon, I joined the captain and chief officer on the bridge, feeling excitement brewing.
One of the best things about travelling to a destination by container ship is the length of time in port – usually up to 12 hours – as they’ve a lot of work to do. So while the crew did the hard stuff, I enjoyed leisurely sightseeing. And if I became tired, I’d go back to the ship for a siesta – a daily luxury – and a meal. Even if I ate onshore, our cook always kept a plate of something back for me, so I often ended up having two dinners. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten as well as I did on that voyage.
Our journey took us to the cities of Genoa and La Spezia in Italy, and Barcelona and Valencia in Spain, before heading back to Athens for a quick pit stop and to heap love on my cats. Our longest stretch at sea began when we departed Athens for the second time, passing through the Suez Canal and the Red Sea, the Arabian Gulf and the Indian Ocean to Singapore.
As we entered the Arabian Gulf, I was told that three new people would be joining us. I noted the palpable change in mood on the ship in the days leading up to their arrival – things were tense. The crew knew that armed security guards would be on board for 10 days as we transited the pirate zone at the end of the Red Sea, past Somalia and Yemen.
A ship’s crew is a tight-knit community in general, so to have new passengers, especially security personnel, was nerve-wracking. Would they be friendly? Intimidating? Arnold Schwarzenegger types?
My nervousness resurfaced when the guards joined us as we left the Red Sea. In a meeting in the mess room, we were briefed about their role: In the dangerous Arabian Gulf waters, it was necessary to have them on board to protect against a possible pirate attack. Initially unsure of them, I kept my distance.
But like the crew, I think they enjoyed a break to their monotony, while never compromising on professionalism.
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“You’ve been watching too many Hollywood movies!’ they laughed, when I eventually admitted my Arnold Schwarzenegger thought process. The 10 days passed quickly, and we said goodbye to them off the coast of Sri Lanka.
About twice a week the Filipino crew held karaoke evenings, and I knew I had truly been accepted when I was asked/told to join them
one night mid-trip. Not being very good at karaoke didn’t matter – the cook persuaded me to sing Bonnie Tyler’s ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ with him, and it was hilarious!
The author in the ship’s bridge room – where the best views were to be had. Photo: Lonely Planet
I found my days at sea falling into a routine.
Breakfast was at approximately 7am (regardless of the time zone – the ship kept its own onboard time), then a quick swim in the exercise pool and/or a walk of the length of the ship to the bow.
There I would sit and read, accompanied only by the sound of the ship’s bulbous nose cutting through the waters. Occasionally I’d spot flying fish playing in the wake.
This took me up to lunch, and then I’d enjoy a siesta in the heat of the day. After some rest I’d head to the rear of the ship to join some of the crew in a basketball game, read some more, or work on the novel I was writing. Then we’d have dinner at 7pm, when all the senior crew were typically present, so we could run our “model UN club” over dinner, as we jokingly called ourselves.
And of course there were those endless sea and horizon views. I was told I could go onto the bridge of the ship whenever I wanted, which was the best place to watch sunrise or sunset.
You might think that being surrounded by water for days on end would make you feel like you’re in a “posh” prison; after all, you see the same people all the time and there’s no way of escape (but you do get better views). It didn’t feel that way, though. I’d never really had a close relationship with my siblings, so being at sea with these affable crew members and settling into a gentle routine helped me form a different kind of family.
My favourite family memory? After the crew had worked so hard on tight schedules in Europe, the long stretch at sea after clearing the “danger zone” provided a time for them to relax slightly. To thank them for all their hard work, Captain Stefan arranged for the cook to host a barbecue on deck one evening. Special supplies had been procured at our last stop, so we had fresh meat and a whole heap of dishes!
There was yet more karaoke, guitar playing and an extension of our “model UN” as we all put our outside world to rights.
I had to fight back tears as I said goodbye in Hong Kong. My experience had been one of extremes; a woman with no close “land” family was taken under the wing of an affable crew for a month. I felt looked after. For so long I’d undertaken my own travel, and yet it also felt nice to form bonds along the way.
During one of our many mealtime chats, Captain Stefan had told me that past passengers were usually older, married couples; seasoned cruisers who wanted to try something different. Because they were coupled up, they tended to be polite but distant, keeping to themselves and usually viewing the voyage as the opportunity to spend more time in port.
As a solo passenger, I made sure the crew approached me first, not wanting to get in the way of their work. But when they did, I was friendly and open to hearing about their lifestyles and the families waiting for them back at home.
Most importantly, the experience helped me realise I could continue to travel solo – I had choices. I needn’t explain my lifestyle choices to anyone, whether that was solo travel on a container ship or lounging by a hotel pool by myself on a solo vacation. Either way, I was going to make friends along the way.
My most memorable experiences
- Sunsets in the South China Sea
- Transiting through the Suez Canal
- Sailing past Stromboli volcano in the Messina Straits, Italy
- Seeing dolphins play alongside the ship
- The way the security guards boarded and exited the ship via speedboat, ascending and descending on a rope ladder. Very James Bond!
This story by Rebecca Hall is an extract from Women Travel Solo by Lonely Planet. $35.99 RRP. Contact shop.lonelyplanet.com
