Here's what happened. The ex and I were on our first trans-Atlantic cruise back to the U.S. after having spent three great weeks touring Europe. It was summertime, and in those days business came to a standstill in Miami during the summer months, so taking a month off was no big deal. Can't imagine doing that today. After driving across Switzerland and down the boot of Italy to Genoa, we had boarded the Italian liner, Rafaello, for the final leg of our trip home.
The Rafaello still had three classes at that time. . first class, where we were, second class a few decks below, and third class, down below the water line, filled with families and individuals immigrating to America. I found this out because on our first night aboard ship we attended a special performance in the ship's night club by a famous European acrobatic dancer who was also making the trip as Guest Entertainer. (If you've ever seen a performance of Cirque de Soleil, you'll know what an acrobatic dancer does.)
His name was Axel Bogen. (Yes, the same Axel in the picture.) He was actually German-born, but lived in Rio de Janeiro, and after his performance, which was amazing, he joined a group of us in the ship's bar where we all became friends. Later in the evening, he invited us to accompany him down to the 3rd class deck of the ship where he gave a performance to the cheering Italian immigrants. That's how we discovered, and were properly horrified by, the ship's class distinctions.
On the second night of our cruise we were still in the Mediterranean, approaching the Straits of Gibraltar, when the ship's very charming captain threw a fabulous party for the lst class passengers. I remember someone making an off hand remark wondering who was steering the ship, since the entire crew seem to be at the party, Apparently, no one was.
We all went to bed about 2 AM, feeling no pain from plenty of liquid celebration, and were woken very abruptly around 3 by a violent jerk of the entire ship. It was so strong that I was almost knocked out of my berth. I remember saying to my husband, "I think we hit something." He famously replied, "Don't be stupid. Go back to sleep." Since there were no sirens and nothing seem to be happening, I did. We weren't to find out what happened until the morning light when we realized the ship wasn't moving and we were still in the Straits and not out in the Atlantic where we were supposed to be.
We definitely hit something alright. It was a freighter, and we literally cut it in two. Our ship was apparently going too fast to stop in time when the freighter crossed in front of it and the Straits were too narrow to turn and avoid it.. Thus that lovely big hole in the prow of the Rafaello that you can see in the photo. Although we passengers were none the worse for the wear, the ship needed to be towed into the nearby Gibraltar Naval Yards to be repaired before it could continue on our voyage. That's how we got to spend the entire week that we should have been at sea, living on a very landlocked, pretty banged up ship.
Don't feel sorry for us. We had a ball. Champagne flowed and caviar reigned, morning, noon and night, all at the expense of the ship. We, who had just met, all became fast friends, and obviously still are. A shipwreck will do that for you. We viewed the famous Gibraltar monkeys. Gambled in the local casino. Flew in a little plane one day over to Tangiers to shop in the souks. There were no cell phones in those days and it was a while before we could find a proper phone to let our families know we were safe because apparently the wreck was on the evening news and in the newspapers.
Some passengers stayed on board until the ship was completely repaired but after five days our time had run out, so we flew to London an then back home to Miami. I had actually never seen this photo before, or if I had, I had totally forgotten it. But it definitely brought back memories of an unforgettable experience. How often do you get to experience a shipwreck and live to write about it?
I'll drink to that!
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