Ships are referred to by female pronouns; the Lofoten is an old lady by fleet standards. Built in 1964, she is the oldest ship in the Hurtigrutin fleet. She is also the smallest with the fewest passengers. All these are reasons why I chose her.
As a footnote, in somewhat fine print, an oh-by-the-way afterthought, she is also the only ship in the fleet without stabilizers.
If you don’t have ships in your front yard, like, say, in North Dakota, you would probably go with Wikipedia: stabilizers are “an additive to food which helps to preserve its structure…[keeping] emulsions from separating in products.” According to Dictionary.com: “any of various substances added to foods to prevent the loss of desirable properties.”
If a ship is your means of transportation, a stabilizer is “a mechanical device for counteracting the roll of a vessel.” In food or ship, the purpose is closely related. The ship’s stabilizers help prevent one from loss of desirable lunch due to it becoming separated from one’s body.
In other words, to vomit, barf, regurgitate, expel, hurl, puke, retch, spew, upchuck, and throw up (thank you Thesaurus).
The Lofoten is pure old-school elegance on the inside and a tough-as-steel, working ship on the outside. She moves in and out of port with impressive gentleness, never slamming the bumper tires at the docks or stirring a garish wake. If she was a woman, she would sweep in and out of a room, not as the center of attention with bravado and noise, but the gentility of breeding and experience.
There is always movement in the ship, a gentle rolling from side to side, as if you are using your toe to rock yourself in a hammock. This constant movement makes sleeping divine but walking comical. In the cafeteria, passengers, who would be called drunks on dry land, are sure-footed dancers on a rocking ship, able to balance the white porcelain coffee cups, three-quarters filled with hot coffee, clinking against the porcelain saucers from the engine vibration, while staggering to the chairs that are chained to the floor. They grab hold of the tables, also secured to the floor, like drifting astronauts in weightless space, until they can finally sit down and moor themselves.
This gentle rock and roll is one of my favorite things about being on a ship. It is the primordial cradling we experience before we are born. It is why the fetus is grinning and the mother is retching with morning sickness.
It is Lofoten’s gentle and graceful waltz across the calm water, usually so level, that, focusing on the far horizon line, makes it so easy to forget we are moving.
But, given the chance, the Lofoten kicks up her heels a bit; in open and choppy water she lets loose and stabilizers be damned.
I had just eaten too much for lunch (too much seems to be the way all meals are eaten here; the food is amazing) and was leaving the dining room. I was wearing my Sea Bands (elastic bands that put pressure on the insides of the wrists to prevent motion sickness) like cruise jewelry but recognized the distinct wooziness in my head and sour taste in my mouth that signaled approaching destabilization of my lunch.
Fortunately, I’m starting to learn my way around the ship. I may not know the exact route to the lifeboats, but I know the fastest route to my cabin. I rushed down the spiral stairs and through the narrow B deck hall, fumbled with my card key, and got into my cabin. I dropped everything and sat on the bunk, closed my eyes, and waited for the Tilt-a-Whirl to stop tilting.
Seasickness (which is the same as motion sickness but on water) has something to do with the inner ear and balance. More simply, your body knows it’s moving but your eyes, in a ship for example, see calmness and orderliness—the coffee cup is still on the table and walls are not moving (if they are, then you’re probably drunk).
Closing your eyes shuts down the argument with the inner ear.
My lunch was held at bay. With eyes closed, I felt my way to the bathroom door and then inside to the nifty toiletries case hanging on the wall, and found, by feel, the Bonine blister pack. I opened one eye, just for a moment, to take a peek, to make sure I wasn’t taking the Advil Multi-Symptom Cold and Flu meds.
I kicked off my shoes and with eyes still closed, found my way up the ladder (a dangerous move to be sure but desperate times take desperate measures). I stretched out, kept my eyes closed, and tried to make peace with the lurching.
My lunch, the first enjoyed on the cruise, was some exquisite Norwegian cheese, a delicious cold cauliflower and fresh pea salad, a yummy baked squash hot dish, and a local selection of fresh berries in sauce for dessert.
I was able to successfully retain it all.
Journeys 