The Sandpoint Eater: People of paradise

By Marcia Pilgeram
Reader Columnist

I’ve just returned from escorting a group aboard the m/s Paul Gauguin, a ship I’ve sailed on many times. The French Polynesian scenery is, of course, spectacular. The lagoons are impossibly blue, the islands lush and dramatic, and the sunsets so beautiful they scarcely look real. It’s no wonder these islands have inspired artists and photographers for generations.

But after all these voyages, I’ve realized that what stays with me first isn’t always the paradise outside the ship. It’s the people inside it.

The real continuity from one voyage to the next isn’t the view outside my window, it’s the familiar faces in the corridors, dining rooms and lounges — the crew members who quietly make the entire experience work.

My years in travel and hospitality don’t always make me the best passenger. I love scenery, but what I enjoy even more is touring behind the scenes, learning how everything works and discovering where things are sourced. Perhaps that’s why I’m deeply curious about life aboard the ship, including what happens below deck.

After years of managing train crews in small, dormitory-style quarters, I have an appreciation for the realities of working and living in close quarters. On a cruise ship, that life is even more demanding.

Many of the crew members I’ve come to know are Filipino, and some have been aboard for years. For years my friend Alicia was the pool bartender and used to serve up a mean Dirty Monkey (like a boozy, banana-flavored milkshake). Today, I’m so proud to see her in her starched and pressed white manager’s uniform, serving as the assistant head housekeeper, while greeting repeat guests by name. One of the things that impresses me most about all the crew is their memory. It’s the kind of personal attention that makes it feel like a homecoming to a community at sea.

Then there are the languages. I’ve been continually amazed by crew members, most who move comfortably between English, French, Tahitian and their native Filipino languages. Others can even add Italian or Spanish to their language library. On a ship that brings together travelers and cultures from around the world, that ability is more than useful. It is a remarkable skill, and every time I’m aboard, I promise myself I’m going to master another language (failing miserably, so far). 

Of course, there is a sacrifice behind that polished service. Crew members can spend long stretches at sea and thousands of miles from their families before returning home for a couple of months. For many Filipino seafarers, those months away are part of a larger commitment to supporting parents, spouses, children and extended family back home.

There’s another small detail I’ve noticed over the years: the names.

Some Filipino crew members use English names or nicknames — sometimes on their name tags, sometimes simply because that is what everyone aboard calls them. You might meet a Michael or Grace, or encounter a name that sounds more like an American childhood friend’s nickname than a formal given name.

There’s a practical side to that on the ship. A familiar name is easy for passengers from different countries to hear and pronounce. But behind that simple name is a person with a family, a history and, perhaps, a completely different name used at home. The crew tell me they all revert to their given names when they’re home and get together.  A name tag becomes one small bridge between all those worlds.

Then, of course, there is the food and so many dining decisions (all three restaurant choices inspire my culinary imagination on a daily basis).

Passengers are treated to international buffets and menus that reflect the many cultures represented aboard the ship. But my favorite experience is when the food reflects the crew’s own traditions. There is something special about tasting a dish that isn’t simply labeled “international cuisine,” but something the Filipino staff is proud to call out as their own. 

This trip, I was reminded just how much I love pandan. It’s an ingredient that is difficult to describe until you smell it. Its long, glossy green leaves have an intensely fragrant aroma — somewhere between jasmine, freshly cut grass, vanilla and warm rice. In the Philippines, pandan is used to perfume rice, cakes, drinks and desserts.

Fresh or frozen leaves can be blended with water to make pandan juice, but bottled pandan extract is much easier to use in an American kitchen (thank you, Amazon). A little goes a long way. The goal is fragrance, not a loaf of neon-green bread.

Watching paradise pass by my balcony was idyllic. But this trip left me feeling especially connected to the people below the passenger decks, who made my journey so memorable.  The crew was delighted that I was going to share their recipe for pandan bread with you, and they hope you will enjoy. Kain na!

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Pandan bread

Soft, fluffy and so fragrant! The natural green color comes from the tropical leaves of the pandan plant. Lovely served with an Asian slaw. Yields 1 loaf.