Antwerp - Ireland - AntwerpDAY 1

- by Ward Hulselmans

- Thursday 16 May 2019

Bam. In the office of the Antwerp shipping police the stamp lands on my embarkation form. Finally, it's printed, "Grade: pass." I'm an official passenger of the Elbfeeder.Five kilometres away, I give the document to the security of the PSA Europa terminal. Passport control again. More stamps. Then I'm pushed into a van that goes over quay 867 in the direction of Elbfeeder. The distance is barely 100 meters, but walking to the ship myself is out of the question. Vans and container carriers drive criss-cross along the big cranes, everything passes by. The noise of containers, chains, warning sirens and horns is terrifying. Out of the way! Every second counts here. This is where the work is done! Time is money! Moments later I climb along the gangway to the ship and at every step the aggressive atmosphere of the quay fades away. The flag of Cyprus flies in the wind. What happens on land doesn't count anymore. I feel like the child who was given the key to the candy store. On the aft deck a Filipino crew member is waiting at a yellow painted table with the ship's logbook. Control again. Here's another signature, there's another one. Then I am transferred to a thirty-something-year-old who has been waiting behind me. A pale face, a grey tracksuit, a tired smile: "Welcome on board". At first I think he is an underdeck helper, but he introduces himself as 2nd officer of the ship! At that rank I rather imagined a kind of Tom Cruise, with a white shirt and a tight crease in his trousers; not a shy boy like this.We press each other's hands, after which he starts talking in Russian in his walkie talkie. From the radio a Russian answer is heard. Am I on the wrong ship ? I'm asking if he's Russian. He looks surprised. Not at all, no. He is Iwan, but he's Ukrainian. His chief officer, he's Russian. Just like the second driver. The captain is from Estonia and the chief engineer is from Lithuania, so all the officers on this ship are from the former Eastern bloc. The lower work force is Filipino. The flag is Cypriot. Only the ship is German. In ten seconds I learned a lot: nobody in the west wants to be a sailor anymore, Russian is a world language at sea, Filipinos are still the ship's proletariat, the flag is usually cheap and only the owners are western.

"The distance is barely 100 meters, but walking to the ship yourself is out of the question."

I follow the 2the officer along the outside stairs towards the bridge. His English is like the ship: basic. On the third deck he pulls open the iron door. A narrow corridor straight ahead, a narrow corridor to the left. Three doors. The first of the chief engineer's cabin, then Iwan's and right in front of my own cabin. That's the whole third deck. Three cabins and two hallways. Above and below, it's the same. All the way up is the captain's cabin and all the way down below - close to the engines - the Filipino sailors. I know right away that I shouldn't expect a gym, sauna, bar or swimming pool. This is a small 11,000 ton-cargo for the short routes and we have to make do with it. Luxury is only on the big container ships that cross the ocean.Back outside, Iwan says that only the green painted surfaces of the ship are accessible to me. Not the red ones. Absolutely not. He's pointing. I'm watching. The whole lower deck sees red, all the way to the front. No matter to walk around the ship. Forbidden. Safety first, sorry. Only the platforms from deck 1 to high above 6 are accessible. "Don't forget, mister". He's disappearing. Hum. All I can do is go up and down. And on the highest deck next to the wheelhouse, a little left and right on the wings.

But, well, it's not dramatic. Why should I necessarily have to walk around the whole ship? After all, I'm here for the sea and simple life, aren't I? My cabin is roomier than I thought. Single bed, bathroom with shower and toilet, a table with chair and sofa, a closet.

"There's no Wi-Fi, I don't carry CDs for the recorder on the rack and the radio function doesn't work. It'll be quiet here for a week and that's a wonderful prospect."

I unload my luggage and look through the porthole. There is still loading, one 45-foot container after the other is being swung on board. The departure has been postponed to 19h, which means I can just have dinner. The mess officers are like everything else on the Elbfeeder. Small and squat. On the other side of the wall is the mess for the Filipino sailors. My place of only passenger is designated: there, on the head of the table and nowhere else. Like everything on this ship, every detail has its own place and meaning, and a passenger is such a detail. I sit between two officers who rattle over my plate in Russian, rake up their food at a record pace, and after a nod I shuffle away. No communication. No idea what rank or job they have. For the time being, I call them "Yellow Shirt and Black Shirt. After dinner there is still a full hour before departure, so time for further exploration, although it doesn't yield much. The crew only sporadically shows or hears themselves. A shadow in the distance, a door slamming shut, people in orange overalls fiddling deep down between the containers, an officer bending over the map in the wheelhouse. Everything goes its own way, everyone knows his task, discipline reigns.

*

The Elbfeeder is not in a dock, but at a tidal terminal along the Scheldt and that is a great windfall. Right around the corner is the Berendrecht lock and on the other side are the towers of the Doel nuclear power plant.

"Ships sail back and forth right in front of me, a fascinating spectacle."

The French cruise ship that I just saw docked at the south terrace is passing by. Inland ships plough through the water like beetles and the Scheldt meanders through a green landscape towards the sea. It looks like I have been on the way for days and we are still stuck ! At a quarter past seven the pilot comes on board and climbs to the wheelhouse on maindeck. On the aft deck, seven stories down, three Philippines in orange overalls keep the winches ready to haul in the mooring ropes. One minute later, a deep shiver goes through the ship. The engines kick in and keel water splashes upwards. The gangway is hoisted away, dockworkers throw the mooring lines into the water and the bow thrusters go at full speed. The Elbfeeder is slowly coming loose from the quay. My journey begins.

*

During the next few hours the ship sails in waning light between the banks and sandbanks of the Land of Saeftinghe and Zeeland and I take so many ridiculous pictures that I suddenly feel oppressed: am I making a tourist brochure now, or what? I put my camera away. I just want to look. It's working. After a while the pleasant feeling of freedom returns. Here no one is watching you and you are your own center between air and water. For example, I don't have to admire this beautiful landscape. I might as well turn my back and walk around for a bit. It's possible, it's the purpose of this journey that it can be done. And so I end up with a strange longing: actually I'd prefer to go to my cabin now and just read the gazette; I've had it with this romantic postcard landscape and on top of that it's getting a bit chilly. Moments later I'm sitting at my leisure reading The Latest News. Exactly what I needed.In the dark I call Starling and then the connection falls out. From now on no phone, no internet, no radio, no TV. Outside everything is black, in the distance a row of lights.I'm falling asleep like a block. I have no idea where we are. It doesn't matter. 

***

- DAY 218 May 2019

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