Odd Facts Can Surface in Shipboard Libraries

Which foreign country would you hit first if you traveled due east from New York City?

If you traveled due west from Seattle?

Which city is farther north: Mexico City or Honolulu? Rome or San Francisco?

Which is bigger: one Africa or two Antarcticas?

This was part of the daily quiz that sent me to an atlas in the wood-paneled library aboard the Seabourn Pride.

We were cruising off Norway at the time, wending among flat rock islands called skerries that are strewn along the coast like endless skipping stones. The mighty Sognefjord was behind us. The beauty of Geiranger lay ahead. Quiz answers were due in by tea.

On any ship, on any sea, I have spent happy moments in the library. The quiet of the space is appealing, as well as the maps and resources. Libraries have proved a safe haven on cruises. I’ve never been sunburned there.

At sea--cut free from the duties of home and office--there is time to read last year’s best-selling novel, or one from the year before. There is time to dip into a Churchill biography . . . and put it back down without guilt.

You can check out videos of all the Oscar-winning films you have missed. And on some ships--including the laid-back sail-cruisers of the sleek Windstar fleet--you can line up for X-rated shorts that you might not want to show inside your home.

The library on the Greek ship Illiria was a warm and important gathering place when we cruised to the Antarctic Peninsula one Christmas.

Geologists and birders would open large books with glossy pictures to settle arguments. A passenger from New Zealand spread out shells she had collected in the Falklands and began identifying their markings.

The library was a retreat for artists with sketchpads. Its big-screen corner became a hangout for video camera buffs who could not wait to get home to see their penguin footage.

On ships where cabins are small and workmanlike, a library offers a welcome change of space.

My first love among shipboard libraries was the cozy nook just off the lounge on the former Lindblad Explorer, now operated by Society Expeditions. Furnishings were simple: a desk for typing notes, a sofa and a chair.

The shelves held nature books that related to our voyage. Paperback copies of “The Malay Archipelago”--a classic study written by Alfred Russel Wallace in 1869 and still the best source on the area--were well-thumbed by the time we had sailed from Bali to the Asmat coast of New Guinea.

Since its launching in the 1970s, the Royal Viking Line has been generous with libraries that are rich with rosewood and brass appointments. I recall an afternoon on the Royal Viking Sea when I paused to reread the endings of four Agatha Christie mysteries so that my tablemates would stop quibbling over the plots.

And on board the mighty Royal Princess--on the day before a transit of the Panama Canal--I finished reading a library copy of David McCullough’s historic tale: “The Path Between the Seas.”

I always go cruising with some books from home in case what I want is checked out.

Still, it took an atlas to confirm that Portugal is the first foreign country due east of New York City; the Soviet Union the first due west of Seattle. And that Honolulu is north of Mexico City, and Rome is north of San Francisco.

I was pretty sure that one Africa was bigger than two Antarcticas, but without the library on the Seabourn Pride I would not have known that Africa covers 11,696,000 square miles; two Antarcticas would be 11,000,000.