Alright, gather ’round;
Let me spin you a yarn about a particular stretch back in the 90s. I was Chief Steward then, stuck on this old girl, the LNG Gemini. She wasn’t exactly a luxury liner, more like a floating propane tank with a crew. Our gig was a regular run between Himeji, Japan, and Bontang, Indonesia. Talk about a contrast.
First up, Himeji. Port JPHIM. Now, the books’ll tell you it’s a historically important place, gateway to the Harima industrial belt, dealing in steel, chemicals, energy – the whole nine yards. And yeah, looking out from the ship, that’s exactly what you saw: cranes, stacks, industrial sprawl. It looked like a proper workhorse port, built for serious business, not for tourists or wandering cooks like me.
And let me tell you, shore leave in Himeji on that run? Forget about it. We’d pull in during the early morning hours, right as my day was starting. Soon as the gangway was down, it was go time for the Steward Department. Menu planning, getting breakfast sorted for the crew, setting up the salad bar (a luxury on that old tub!), whipping up some kind of dessert to keep morale up. And then, the fun really began – taking on stores. Provisions, sundries, everything we needed for the next leg. Cases of food, drums of cleaning supplies, spare parts for the galley gear… all had to be checked, counted, signed for, and somehow crammed into storage. Add in the mountain of administrative paperwork that came with being Chief Steward, overseeing the messmen and cook, and you were instantly slammed. Shore leave wasn’t even a thought, it was a cruel joke the schedule played on you.
The scene on deck didn’t exactly make you feel like you were missing out on much anyway. Weather was usually cloudy, grey, matching the industrial scenery. And because we were an LNG carrier, carrying highly volatile stuff, security was tighter than a drum. All these little Japanese workers would swarm the deck, wearing these bright plastic baby blue hard hats, talking a mile a minute in Japanese that sounded like pure gibberish to me. They’d scurry around like rats trying to leave a sinking ship, checking valves, connecting hoses, doing whatever needed doing, while you just tried to stay out of their way and not accidentally step on someone. It was chaos, but controlled chaos, I guess.
Trying to navigate all that extra security just to get off the ship felt like more hassle than it was worth. Plus, Japan was expensive. Taxis cost an arm and a leg, and honestly, sometimes you got the vibe that the local taxi drivers weren’t exactly thrilled to pick up foreign seamen anyway. Getting from the port to anywhere interesting was a trek, and the cost vs. value just wasn’t there, especially when you knew you had a long day of work behind you and were sailing again soon after. So, Himeji usually meant staying onboard, watching the blue hard hats scurry, and dreaming of being somewhere, anywhere, else.
The next leg of the journey was the long haul down to Bontang, Indonesia, a proper run across the South China Sea, then the West Philippine Sea, and into the Java Sea. Plenty of time at sea on that old Gemini. She was worn out, bless her heart. Everything rattled, nothing quite worked right, but she got us there.
Life onboard could be… challenging. My Chief Cook was a gem, a dedicated man who could work magic in that old galley. And the Crew Messman was excellent, always on top of things. But the rest of the department? Let’s just say it was a mixed bag. We had a BR (Bed Room Assistant) who was still pretty green. And our Officer Messman… well, let’s just say he was dedicated to his “rack time.” There were genuinely few days he could actually rise from his bunk to do his job. Managed to stay upright just long enough to stumble to the mess hall for a meal, then it was back to the rack. Eventually, the old man (the Captain) had enough and gave him the boot, which, honestly, made my life a bit easier, even if it meant covering his work too.
The saving grace on that old tub, besides my good Cook and Messman, was the Captain. A really decent guy, and for whatever reason, he and I clicked. We became pretty good friends, which made the whole thing bearable. And that friendship paid off big time in Bontang.
Now, Bontang was a completely different story from Himeji. It felt more open, less frantic, despite being an industrial port (lots of LNG stuff there, obviously). And Captain had connections. Shore leave there was actually possible, and we made the most of it. We’d go out to dinner with the ship chandler and his family – real hospitality, sharing meals, getting to know them. We even managed to go diving off some islands in the Makassar Strait. Me! The cook! Diving! It was awesome. And believe it or not, the Captain and I played a round of golf at the Bontang Golf and Country Club. A Chief Steward and a Captain hacking our way around a tropical golf course in Indonesia. It was surreal, and a much-needed break from the ship routine.
And in Bontang, you could actually connect with the outside world. They had these local “Internet cafes.” Clunky computers, dial-up speeds that felt like molasses, but you could send an email home! Tell the family you were alive and hadn’t been buried under a pile of scrap iron or run over by a tiny man in a blue hard hat in Himeji.
So that run, Himeji to Bontang and back… Himeji was the work grind, the locked-down industrial reality, the scurrying blue hard hats, the port where you stayed on board and dreamed of escape. Bontang was the reward, the place where the doors opened a bit, where friendships meant dinner ashore, unexpected adventures like diving or golf, and a chance to just breathe and reconnect. It was a classic seaman’s contrast, the tough, no-nonsense port against the place where you found moments of unexpected fun and real human connection, all part of the weird, wonderful, frustrating, and unforgettable life at sea in the 90s.
Keep the Faith!
/.BH
