Now that 2012 is in the past
we can finally put behind us the multitude of documentaries, special reports
and TV miniseries about the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the
Titanic. It was a horrible tragedy and 1,514 passengers lost their lives that
night of April 14-15, 1912, so it’s understandable that our fascination with
the story seems to keep growing with each passing year.
Of course I share an interest
in the story of the Titanic and its passengers; who perished, who didn’t, and
the various reasons why. But the people who really fascinate me are the ones
who survived by missing the boat that day. The famous people who, for
one reason or another, didn’t get on board that infamous voyage and no doubt
lived to be very thankful.
Inventor Guglielmo Marconi,
chocolate mogul Milton Hershey, financier J. Pierpont Morgan and Goodyear Tire
founder Frank Seiberling, had all booked passage on the Titanic. For various
reasons each one cancelled or postponed their voyage, thereby ensuring the safe
future of candy, radio and rubber tires. Just think about that the next time
you’re driving along the highway while listening to the traffic report and
chomping on a chocolate bar.
One of the reasons I am
captivated by their stories is that I had a similar experience back in
2007. It also involved a cruise
ship, an iceberg and a sinking, and I too survived by not being on board.
I had been offered a job
playing piano aboard a tourist ship. Many of my friends have made great money entertaining
aboard cruise ships, spending their winters sailing through warmer climes,
playing in piano bars or performing in musical reviews common on such trips.
However the M/S Explorer, nicknamed the Little Red Ship, was by no definition a
luxury cruise liner.
Designed for sailing the
waters of the Arctic and Antarctic, the boat looked more like a low-rent ferry than
the Pacific Princess. To be fair it was intended for adventure tourism, taking
a small group of 100 passengers across the Drake Passage and on to the South
Pole.
As I contemplated accepting
the contract, I had visions of experiencing the thrilling voyage of a lifetime.
Me, a modern day Roald Amundsen or Robert Scott, albeit one who had to spend
each evening entertaining passengers with sing-along versions of American Pie
and Piano Man.
But think of the adventure! I
planned to keep a journal and turn my experiences into a book. I even had the
title ready: “Playing At The Bottom Of The World.”
A month before we were to set
sail, my brother casually pointed out that the ship would have to cross the
Drake Passage, the body of water that separates the southern tip of Chile from
Antarctica, twice each journey. I was scheduled to make 8 trips, for a total of
16 attempts to navigate what is known as one of the roughest stretches of water
on the planet.
I am not what one would call
a good sailor. I get queasy on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney
World, so needless to say I was a bit concerned about tackling such an infamous
expanse of ocean – particularly 16 times. I decided to do a bit of research and
was horrified at what I discovered.
Articles with names like,
“Waves Of Terror” and “Horror On The High Seas” did nothing to dispel my fears,
but when I eventually stumbled upon video clips taken by other adventure
tourists, my stomach started to do flips. Waves of up to 30 metres (almost 100
ft) tossed ships back and forth at 45-degree angles. And the trip can take up
to 2 days!
My mind was made up – I couldn’t
accept the contract. Let some other poor guy be squashed behind a rolling
piano. Every musician knows the story of how the orchestra played “Nearer My
God To Thee” as the Titanic sank. Call me a coward but my Musician Union card
makes no mention of going down with the ship; that’s the Captain’s job. First
to the buffet and first to the lifeboats - that’s the musician’s motto.
November 11, 2007 the M/S
Explorer set sail from Argentina, without me, on a 19-day trip that was meant
trace the route of famed British explorer Ernest Shackleton.
Saturday, November 24th I sat
down with my morning newspaper and noticed to my surprise the M/S Explorer was on
the front page. The headline blared, “CRUISE SHIP SINKS OFF ANTARCTICA.”
Apparently the ship had hit
an iceberg that tore a 25 X 10 cm (10 X 4 inch) gash in the hull. While the
initial damage was being examined it then drifted into a second iceberg. Its
fate was sealed, certainly better than the supposedly watertight compartments
in its hull. Thankfully all the passengers and crew made it safely off the
sinking ship and into the lifeboats, where they drifted for 5 hours until a
Norwegian vessel came to their rescue.
There were some subsequent reports
that the story of the sinking didn’t make sense, as the M/S Explorer was specifically
designed for navigating through ice. Of course the Titanic was also unsinkable,
so it’s difficult to cast aspersions. The whole affair was eventually ruled an
accident following an investigation by the good folks at the Liberian Bureau of
Maritime Affairs.
Why Liberia, you may ask? A huge
number of the cruise ships that rake in millions of tourist dollars annually are
actually registered in Liberia, a small West African country where there is no
minimum wage and less-stringent labour laws. “Flags of Convenience” is what the industry calls it, which anyone
thinking of booking a cruise might want to consider.
Even though I never got to
write my book or play piano at the bottom of the world, I don’t regret my
decision to decline the trip any more than Messrs. Hershey or Marconi probably did. For 5
hours in 2007 the terrified passengers of the M/S Explorer no doubt wondered if
they would survive. If I want to experience that sort of terror, all I have to
do is go on stage without rehearsing.
