Cruise ship fun at the Equator

Editor’s Note: This is the 31st in a series of stories researched during Don and Nancy Harrison’s 50th Wedding Anniversary cruise from Sydney, Australia, to San Diego.  Previous installments of the series, which runs every Thursday, may be found by tapping the number of the installment:   1, 2,3,4, 5, 6, 7,8, 9, 10, 11, 12,13, 14,15, 16, 17, 18,19,20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30

By Donald H. Harrison

AT SEA, Aboard MS Maasdam – On our third day north of French Polynesia, our ship crossed the Equator, an occasion calling for a special ceremony that once had been a hazing ritual in various navies of the world, but which, in its tamed-down version, was a great

source of merriment aboard our cruise ship.

One who already has crossed the Equator is known as a shellback, and one who is about to do so for the first time is known as a polywog.  A shellback dressed up as King Neptune, the Greek god of the sea, is typically accompanied by a queen, and they, with the help of the ship’s ranking officers, mete out “punishments” for those who have crossed into Neptune’s domain without paying him due deference.

Almost every ship has its own version of the ceremony, so what we observed on the Maasdam may vary extensively from what may occur on another ship, or even what may be seen on a future Maasdam cruise.

To the mournful strains of Chopin’s Funeral March, shellbacks dressed as pirates, marched a line of polywogs – all members of the crew who were crossing the Equator for the first time – to a position by a swimming pool near the stern of the ship.  Our cruise director, Ryan Baird, dressed in the black robe and white wig of a prosecutor, then accused each polywog of having committed a grave “crime” on the ship.

For example, he said, a group of three crew members had “conspired” with officers to “increase the speed of the Maasdam so that they and their friends could water ski behind the ship.  As you know, increasing the speed of a ship can cause discomfort to our guests.”

Neptune said that trying to speed up a ship for such a purpose was absurd, but before he could pronounce sentence, his mermaid queen interjected that she thought the three crew members had “such cute faces” and asked “can I take them home?”

This request appeared to make Neptune jealous, and he decreed that all three crew members should be required to “kiss the fish,” as the first part of their punishment.  Accordingly, they were marched to a large fish head, which had been preserved in a large bucket of ice, and as the crowd chanted, “Kiss the fish! Kiss the fish!” they reluctantly, yet ever so obediently, puckered up and touched with their own lips those of the awaiting dead fish.

Ugggh.

Next, they were marched to the “doctors’ tables” for their second punishment, which was to be lathered from head to toe in what appeared to be whipped cream liberally dosed with green food coloring.

Thereafter, they faced Captain Arno Jutten and a panel of his subordinate officers, who were asked by Neptune, whether they should be dunked, or allowed to remain as they were.  (Personally, under such circumstances, I’d have preferred dunking to get all the goop off me).  Jutten et al had the first group of polywogs sit on the side of the pool to watch the proceedings.

Crew members from other departments made their way, in turn, to Neptune, the fish, the lathering table, and the captain, each accused of “dastardly” deeds.  For example, one fellow from the casino was accused of replacing the dice with sugar cubes; an art auctioneer was accused of trying to pass off his own paint-by-the-numbers drawing as a genuine Picasso; the women of the spa were charged with having “made the floor of the gym so low that guests can’t touch their toes,” and an entertainer from the former Soviet Union was accused of having fed her fellow dancers borscht, so they wouldn’t dance their best.

Neptune had similar sentences for all of them.

Kiss the fish! Kiss the fish! The cruise crowd took up the refrain.

“Dunk them!”  Captain Jutten and his fellow officers signaled with their thumbs, and into the pool jumped the polywogs—one dancer having brought along her own kiddy flotation device in anticipation of the penalty.

Before  Neptune and his court made their departure, those polywogs who still were sitting at the edge of the pool slid or jumped into the water to join the fun, splashing each other with glee.

Back in our passenger cabins, certificates were awaiting us, commemorating the fact that we all had crossed the Equator.

It was all very silly, but it was also fun.

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Harrison is editor of San Diego Jewish World.  He may be contacted via donald.harrison@sdjewishworld.com