It’s hard to distinguish noon from midnight in the Arctic summer. Days run on endlessly, and it’s hard to keep track of the day, the date, and the month. How do you remember if you took your vitamins last night when there was no “last night”? But somehow everyone is aware when meal times roll around. Silent church bells seem to chime throughout our floating village, and from the bowels of the engine room, from the bridge seven stories up, from warm staterooms and windy decks, everyone gathers in the ship’s mess for a hot meal.