When we arrived at the CMA CGM Hugo the Second Mate cried ‘Right gentlemen, here we are.’ Had he not noticed I have breasts? Before boarding our floating hotel of 6,000 containers I had a suspicion that I would be the only woman onboard, and I was correct. Indeed at fire drill twenty surprised faces looked out from under florescent orange helmets to see me clambering through the door clutching an ‘adult oversize’ immersion suit to fit a person three times my size. But then given that the signs for the fire drill read ‘Gentlemen, today there will be a fire drill at 15:30...’ perhaps I really wasn’t expected. I was therefore a little apprehensive and to start with kept a low profile.
However, my voyage has not been the chauvinist experience I had chauvinistically expected. Sure there was a collection of dodgy DVDs (like the temptingly titled Erotic Werewolf in London), some strange comments ('You don’t eat seconds so that you stay sexy') and a number of wink wink nudge nudge jibes and jokes (especially after we announced our engagement), but this bunch of Germans, Filipinos and a Pole were real gentlemen.
So it would seem that I need to revise my prejudicial view of randy sailors based on tales of old from films, rumour and the Reeperbahn, for I have been able to sunbathe and have had a very pleasant journey. All apart from one traumatic experience - having visited the bridge to check our position and course I happened upon the Captain, or Master, sprawled out naked in the sunshine on a white towel with nothing but a flannel to cover his modesty. At that moment, I really wished I was a man.
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