Chop chop and how the message travels

One of the first things I learned on board is that “chop chop” is not an order to hurry up. It means “have you eaten,” “do you want to go eat,” or simply “go eat.” There is usually a small hand motion to go with it, like a chef’s knife tapping the air. That’s my cue to head to the mess.

The other thing I have learned is that you can ask anyone for help here, and they will help. It is simply part of life on board. If I have a question, I can ask the next person I see, and they will either give me an answer or come and show me what to do.

There is a hierarchy, of course. I am still getting used to that, because most of my contact so far has been with the officers. I sit at the captain’s table, alongside the chief engineer, the second engineer, the chief officer, and the captain himself. It is an extra status I did not expect. I do not want to mess things up.

This is why I was hesitant to go to the chief officer with something as small as “can you show me how to use the washing machine.” Nor did I want to trouble a crew member with it. It is, after all, his duty to give crew instructions. After some thought, I mentioned it to the third officer instead. She came and showed me, then said I could ask the steward for such things next time. She said it kindly, and I came away with a small but welcome sense of confidence that I don’t need to bring every petty need to the captain or the chief officer.

One other perk as a supernumerary is that I can go onto the bridge whenever I like. I’m spending hours every day looking out at the water and all the activities down on deck.

Outside, the crew is finishing the cleaning of the holds and the deck. We have another few hours until we enter the safe zone of Norway. If all goes to plan, we will be there by nine or ten tonight, then into the islands and fjords on the way to Narvik. I will try to stay awake long enough to see some land. Failing that, the captain says we will take on a pilot tomorrow morning at five, which seems a more realistic time for me to be up. Either way, I want to see the coastline.

I have also been watching the crew at work. Each has a distinct gait. The chief officer is walking toward the bow now, passing the one I call my “zen crew member.” He moves with a straight, steady posture and a strong, deliberate stride. Everything he does is done with his whole body and done correctly. He checks his work in a way others don’t, and I admire that. I later learned this was his first posting on a ship, which might explain his special attention to detail.

Another senior crew member moves differently. He works steadily, then pauses, straightens up, cracks his back, and carries on. I like him too.

It is interesting to observe people when they are unaware of being observed. You see who is conscientious, who takes care, who does the job not just to finish but to finish well. Out here, those small details stand out all the more. They are the quiet rhythms that make the ship feel alive.

(Written 09.08.25)