The photos were terrifying. The cargo ship's hatch covers, laden with containers and weighing some 150 tonnes, had been blown off by the explosion; a fire raged on deck. Tragically, the first mate of the Rickmers Genoa was killed, along with 15 men on board the small Korean ship Sun Cross, following the collision in the China Sea.

The Genoa was also carrying four passengers, all on a round-the-world trip. Despite the offer of a flight home after a frightening rescue and hours in a life boat, all opted to wait for the next ship for the trip across the Pacific; and together we boarded the general purpose cargo carrier, the Rickmers Singapore, at the Chinese east coast port of Qingdao.

A month at sea is a long time in the company of strangers. With just three port stops, at Kobe in Japan and Masan and Ulsan in Korea (the Asian equivalent of miserable, rainy day trips to Ipswich and Felixstowe), the 28 long days were spent surrounded by sea and sky, sky and sea. No ships, no land, no birds. Nothing. Just the inevitable passing of time; days punctuated by mealtimes.

As we got further from land, meals became considerably worse. The ship had taken on fresh food in Korea, but it had gone off within the week, and soon there were no more salads or fresh fruit. Worse still, stocks of alcohol began to diminish too.

We tried to turn to our fellow passengers for entertainment. First in all things was Georgia, the 76-year old American heiress. Demanding, authoritarian and intractable, she oozed gold and cashmere. She had been round the world 14 times, yet didn't know that Siberia was a part of Russia. She held daily drinks parties on her cabin. But even with just five passengers to invite, she never asked us.

Instead, she preferred to invite Ziggy, a large bearded German who spoke no English, but loved to drink beer and covered long silences with a booming laugh. He was inseparable from Jim, a tough former union boss from Boston, Massachussetts, who could barely be in the same room as Georgia.

They spent their time on deck drinking cheap beer and looking out for whales and dolphins. Finally there was Echo, a Dutch rose grower in his seventies. Sweet natured, he wanted everyone to get on, and hated the Pinteresque silences that had become characteristic of mealtimes. So he soldiered on, alone, trying to fill the ever-increasing gaps. "So, Gavin, do you like mayonnaise? I do." "Alex, do you like pepper?" And so on. We didn't know whether to laugh or cry, as we crossed off the days like prisoners on remand. And, worse still, the days began to multiply. We'd hit the international dateline.

Travelling at a speed of 19 knots, the journey time from Korea to Panama was some 421 hours, or 17 days. But because you gain an extra day at the international dateline, and lose an hour every time to pass through a time zone - of which there are 10 - it meant there were actually 19 days at sea. I don't think I've ever found myself in a more confusing time-warp, at the 1800 east-west meridian, exactly on the opposite side of the world from London. I'm either 12 hours behind GMT or 12 in front - depending not on where I am, but in which direction I'm travelling. So at the dateline the ship's clocks go one hour ahead and back by one day. Even weirder is that if I'd telephoned London 10 minutes before I would have been 11 hours ahead, while just over the dateline I'd be 12 hours behind. Not that that would make the slightest jot of difference to anyone there: they'd be in bed.

We filled our days with learning Spanish, and steadily working our way through the crew's stock of DVDs, a thrilling choice of Steven Seagal films and Filipino musicals. You can forget any romantic notions of travelling by cargo ship, working for your board. There is very little to do. The crew make themselves busy by cleaning and mending. But for passengers, there is just a long stretch of time. However much you dislike flying, it only takes a day or two. If you include the bureaucratic hoops of new security regulations that the US made us jump through to get our passage, this trip took two and a half months to arrange and complete.

Aside from the Croatian captain and English chief engineer, there were two other Europeans in the crew: traditional German carpenters. For centuries German carpenters have travelled. To become qualified, they must leave their town and travel for at least two years, never returning home in that time, working for food and board. Many decide to take the tiny, Asian-sized wages offered on cargo ships and ply their trade on board, dressed in black hats, and three-piece flared cord suits. Although they had completed their obligatory two years, they were planning to continue the peripatetic lifestyle.



As were we, but thankfully, not on a ship. Finally, our sailing days were nearing an end. As we approached the coast of Mexico, the seascape cheered up. Lying by the bow, looking through the anchor holes was the best way to while away a day; the only point on the ship where you couldn't hear the engine, just the quiet slush of the tiny Pacific waves breaking off the bow. Better still, this was the point at which the fish came to play.

Dolphins loved to surf there, as did the flying fish. Looking more like birds, they would jump in whole shoals out of the ship's path, gliding for some 30 feet before careering, with an ungainly splash, back into the water. Big sea turtles floated by like sunbathers on lilos, not even turning their heads to watch this huge ship steam past.

We had decided to jump ship in Panama: almost literally as the ship was not scheduled to dock, but to sit on anchor while waiting to join the queue to go through the canal. We smelt Panama before we could see it. Great wafts of the scent of sewage were lifted through the air, from the cloud of pollution in the distance. Eventually we could make out the skyscrapers, but the smell on deck was almost unbearable. We stood with Ziggy and Jim, drinking beers in the sunshine, fearful of a new continent, but desperately excited to be getting off the ship.

Finally the shipping agent drew up alongside in a little launch, the ladders were put out, and - gingerly - we made our way down, laden with rucksacks, to the little boat being tossed about at the end of the Panama canal.

Need to know

Prices from Euro60 per day, per person, including food; www.rickmers-linie.de

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