The events in the ports and the glittering sights one encounters there represent merely the tip of the iceberg. When you combine all the ports of call and every spare moment we spend in them, it amounts to less than 15% of our contract. The rest of our existence is spent onboard, within our golden cage, toiling day in and day out.
That remaining bulk of time is the substance; everything “behind the scenes” constitutes the TRUE and GENUINE story of life at ship. It is the other side of the coin, rarely seen and even more rarely understood by outsiders. Many things here are far from how they ought to be. It is time to describe THAT OTHER side—the side that is seldom seen or heard, the side almost never spoken of, yet which forms the very fabric of this reality.
From Splendor to Despair (The Tunnel)
First and foremost, the mere act of existing on the ship feels somewhat phobic. Unless your specific duties tether you to the open deck—a rarity—you feel as though you are perpetually in a tunnel. For six months, you navigate narrow corridors, slipping through back entrances segregated from the “this” and the “that.”
Crew passageways look nothing like the polished venues designed for guests. You begin to feel like a termite, a mole, a battery hen. Under artificial lights, under recycled air, enclosed, underground. At least, that was my sensation. That is why I yearned to leave the ship at every possible opportunity: to glimpse the sun, to see the horizon, to breathe real, moving air.
The Crux of the Matter
The second defining characteristic of ship life is the very essence of this story: WE ARE NOTHING BUT CHEAP LABOR. That is the entire point. They pay us, on average, about three dollars an hour. That is three times less than the federal minimum wage in America and the primary motive for sourcing crew from the far corners of the globe. Whoever fails to grasp this is fighting a losing battle. We are not here because we are exceptionally skilled; we are here because we are cheap. This is capitalism in all its glory. Here, they would hire a chimpanzee if it could wipe a railing or toss a trash bag.
When applying for the ship, people tend to overlook one crucial fact. To be fair, neither the employment agency nor the company representatives hid this. However, driven by the desire for drastic change and the allure of the unknown, most people subconsciously gloss over this VITAL piece of information: You work every single day, officially between eight and ten hours.
On paper, nobody has a problem with this. After all, we go there to work; we are prepared for it. It sounds like a perfectly normal work schedule.
Yet, none of us expected the regime that actually reigns here—especially not at the beginning. It is a brand of capitalism that wrings the last drop of energy from a human being. It is a system that often feels utterly inhumane. Perhaps this is merely my subjective view, shaped by growing up where I did. I don’t know. But I do know that I struggled to adapt to this new reality far more than I anticipated.
Coming from the Balkans, I thought I had seen it all—every form of employer exploitation. Back home, we are used to the excuses: “the system is down,” “the money hasn’t cleared,” “banks don’t work on Fridays, wait until Monday.” Here, there is none of that. It is impossible for a salary to be late.
However, the trade-off is that the company brutally exploits every employee to their breaking point. Democracy and workers’ rights are non-existent. They exist, certainly, but only on paper, while in practice, they are routinely trampled and swept under the rug.
To understand this better, let me offer a few examples that illustrate the situation perfectly. You have already glimpsed the photographer’s perspective through my stories and tasks. Every workday lasted at least ten hours. But that is only what was officially counted.