Thank god for the seaman's mission. I'm typing away with the cadet from Great Lakes Maritime sitting across from me engorssed in his own laptop. I'm nursing a Becks and he's nursing a wicked hangover imposed by two thirty something year olds that latched onto him last night at the always reputable American Seaman's Club. Yes Bremerhaven, where American seaman have been coming to get wasted and hooked up for decades now. Unfortunately (Or fortunately) for me, I have a watch to attend to come midnight which means no clubbing time so instead I'll soon be asleep. But of course that hasn't stopped me from getting these last few posts out and taking in some horrible Phillipino Karoke sessions. Yes, the Phillipino's love thier Karoke. So much that besides doing it every night at sea they persist to do it at the seaman's center insuring that the rest of us sailors typing out emails or sending money orders home have to endure thier lovely renditions of popuar music I'd rather never hear again. I'll stop at this juncture and drink another beer, I've a few calls to make and the sun is allready setting at this northerly lattitude.