Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Cruisin', part I

I don't think I've ever been so glad to be home.
Eva and I just got back from our first cruise. It was, shall we say, an experience.

Before I get into it, I'd like to explain a few things, (sort of) acknowledge one you-told-me-so, and rebuff another.

There are two cruises on my bucket list. One is Alaska; the other is the Danube River cruise. Before we could even think of starting to save up for either of those, we thought it might be a good idea to try a little starter cruise, to wit: four days and nights aboard the Carnival Victory, itinerary Miami-Key West-Cozumel-Miami.
As with all our vacations, a lot of thought went into this one. Not enough thought in a few areas--I'll get to those later--but a lot of thought nonetheless. For instance, we chose an aft cabin with a balcony.

Now this was questioned by one of Eva's colleagues, who wondered why we would spend all the extra money on a room when it's just a place to sleep.
The thing is, for us, it isn't. There were things we knew going in that we were not going to like about this cruise. Things, or more to the point, people. Two thousand, seven hundred and fifty two of them, to be exact, not counting (a large) crew. To mitigate this somewhat, we picked a goodish sized room at the stern, with a suite on one side and only a few rooms on the other. The balcony was very important to us. It was our oasis, our sanctuary from the madding crowd, our chance to see sea up close and personal.

One of my former colleagues asked me why I would go on a cruise at all, since I don't drink and I don't gamble and "that's all you do on a cruise". Fair question. I'll cite that room with that balcony as a partial answer, while also noting there are some other things you do on cruises. 

Most notably, eat. You can stuff yourself silly on these things, waddling from one buffet to the next and rolling into your room for the free room service. None of my pants fit me now. After four days.

(Also, it should be noted that the kind of stuff I drink--lemonade, iced tea, and coffee--was unlimited and free, whereas alcohol costs. A lot. So does pop, which I have luckily weaned myself off of). 

What else do you do on cruises? Relax. I keep coming back to that balcony. And of course there are the ports of call...which were something else we put some thought into.

Eva and I bonded over Spider Robinson's Callahan's Place series, one memorable volume of which is set in Key West. Robinson describes the place as a sort of heaven on earth. It's a big reason we selected Old Key West for our tenth anniversary Disney trip, and that experience only motivated us further to see the real one. 

Cozumel wasn't high on our list of places to see, but for two things: one, it allowed us to visit a third (in my case a fourth) country; two, it gave us an all-important day at sea. Back to that balcony again.

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They can't even make a car that flies...

That's the thought that circles around in my gut like a morsel of rancid meat every time I'm in an airplane. I have two friends who between them have flown to the moon and back a few times in terms of distance. I know, intellectually, that next to elevators, airplanes are the safest mode of transportation yet invented. And one of those friends--the one who used to be a flight attendant--drily told me before I left that "you know, Ken, the pilot wants to survive the flight too".
I know all this. Intellectually. But my gut says "they've been promising flying cars since the 1950s. They can't even get those off the ground, and yet here you are in a loaded 737 weighing almost 94 tons, floating on...faith...about 3800 storeys up...
Needless to say, I'm here now, so my faith was evidently sufficient. But let's just say this...I'm mighty glad airports have lots and lots of bathrooms. They come in handy.

-------------------

Our plane to Miami left at 0630 hours on Thursday. And yes, that's early: our airport transport picked us up at ten to three. I was up by 11 pm the previous evening, and surprised I slept that long, on the grounds that I don't normally go to bed at 6:30 p.m.
Miami International Airport is...well, it's an airport. They feel vaguely like giant hospitals. Nobody wants to be in either; there are signs everywhere directing you to places you hope you need to get to; despite all those signs it's pathetically easy to get lost. Miami's wrinkle to that effect is to give their baggage claim carousels the same nomenclature as their gates, and then plaster 'Baggage Claim' signs every which way. It didn't help that our luggage came through on a different carousel than we'd been told it would. Luckily it was only one carousel over; even more luckily, Eva has the eyes of an eagle.

From there it was an easy bus ride to the Port of Miami. We arrived next to the  Carnival Victory at 10:30




 and were told we'd be boarding in "a few minutes".
I don't know about you, but "a few" to me isn't 180. Even worse, it wasn't until 1:00 that we were distributed pieces of paper informing us that the ship was undergoing "routine tests" and boarding wouldn't proceed until 1:30.
Routine, sure. Routine means normally scheduled. Let me on the damn ship.
Nope.
We were sitting in a giant room with the other 2452 passengers. About half in each ear, I'd estimate. Thank God for the free wifi provided by the Port of Miami.
Finally, at 1:30, we tromped on to the ship -- at the front -- and made our way to cabin 6-436 --at the back. 272 meters. It felt like we were walking forever.

The view from our room at the stern, looking forward



But the reward was that room...


...and the view from the balcony will wake you up...


..

This was on the day of departure...the sea was almost a flat calm, and the wake was visible for miles. 
The ship was solid as a rock in the water. After that first day, however, the wind picked up and we lost all our illusions...and in Eva's case, nearly her lunch.
That was something of a shock. We brought lots of Gravol (Dramamine for my American readers) to combat what was supposed to be Ken's motion sickness. Ken partook on occasion. Eva, who has in the past comported herself perfectly well on sailboats in gales, was considerably worse off. It took us most of the voyage to determine why this was. Bariatric surgery strikes again.
That surgery happened less than a year ago, and before that point Eva was actually Eva 2. In her mind--and pertinently, in her inner ear--she is still Eva2, and probably will be for some time yet. It screws with her balance at the best of times. Lose a third of your body weight and see what happens to your equilibrium. 
The wind topped 35 knots on our sea day (that's 65 km/hr or 40mph, sustained). We experienced pretty much every weather condition you can get at that latitude, from thunderstorms to steamy fog to powerful sunlight. Predominantly, though, it was heavy overcast...which was actually something of a blessing. It eliminated the need for sunscreen and made the balcony more than comfortable. 
Actually, the balcony was often pretty much mandatory. We knew we'd need some introvert time out there, but we never considered (and I never packed for) the air conditioning.  
My prime packing rule, first hammered into my head on a trip to Ottawa at the end of May 1986, reads as follows: no matter where you're going and no matter when you're going there, pack long sleeves, pants, and a jacket. 
I observed the weather forecast for our destinations over the cruise--the lowest temperature was 24, with highs in the 30s and humidex  values well into the forties--and decided my rule could be discarded just this once.
Bad move.
There was supposedly a thermostat in our cabin. If so, we couldn't find it. It was frigid in there, and the rest of the enclosed areas of the ship were as well. I never thought I'd be making a beeline for hot and humid, but I did. Several times. And at night we both slept under sheet and thick duvet.

If it wasn't the temperature driving us into and out of our room, though, it was the people. 
The people.
Rudeness abounds on cruise ships. Every kind you can imagine. There's your standard unthinking rudeness found everywhere (hey! let's stop in the middle of the  narrow hallway and have a chat, blocking it completely for the people trying to get past!) There's the rudeness that inconveniences huge numbers of people (they must have paged everyone to the mandatory safety briefing seven or eight times before everyone actually showed up; it delayed our leaving Miami by an hour).  Then there's the kind of potentially catastrophic and highly illegal rudeness of throwing a lit cigarette overboard from a balcony two levels up from us. It missed Eva by inches and landed on our deck, still lit.
Add alcohol (we may as well have been floating in an ocean of it) and the rudeness multiplies. I'm not sure what it is about booze that makes people want to scream at each other and stampede down hallways at 3:30 in the morning, but it's something, all right. Our stateroom location at the very stern kept most of that at bay. But not all of it. I got up one morning at 4:30 to walk around the ship, thinking it would be as close to deserted as it would ever get. Yes...for the most part. But one of the pools was absolutely jam-packed full of screaming, shrieking and roaring first year university students cruisers. So much for enjoying a coffee at poolside.
It really did put me in mind of Mac 2 West dorm at Wilfrid Laurier University. That's not a good thing to be put in mind of. Eva saw the worst of it: a man in his late sixties groping and grinding against a woman young enough to be his granddaughter while someone else filmed the action...after thirty seconds the young woman turned around and returned the favour. Consensual, I guess--though after that much alcohol that point might be arguable--but gross. Oh, yeah, and a woman's top materialized on our balcony one morning. It might have been thrown by the same person who threw the cigarette, who knows.

So yes, we mitigated the rudeness as best we could. We hit the breakfast buffet the instant it opened, which spared us from dealing with huge numbers of people and ensured the food on the buffet would be hot. (In theory...in practice, most of it was lukewarm. Sigh). We didn't spend a huge amount of time on shore with everyone else, preferring to have the ship mostly to ourselves. And as I said, we retreated to our room whenever it got overwhelming.

A view of the main atrium at 4:45 in the morning.

The stairways are full of these mosaic-like murals. Lovely.

Eva in the Mediterranean Restaurant on Lido Deck 9.

We ate most of our meals up here, again trying to time things to avoid the crowds. There are numerous buffets (most of them serving the same food, which mirrored the food served in the formal dining rooms in many cases). 
We did have a couple of meals in the Atlantic Dining Room on 3 forward. The food was hit and miss. Some of it was absolutely incredible--the beef brisket I had on the first night was to die for. Other food was not so good...buffet or sit-down service, they seemed to have a real problem keeping it warm. It might have been that air conditioning, I'm not sure. 
I made a point of trying things I wouldn't normally. I had a cheese plate for dessert one night, shocking my wife who had pointed out the Black Forest gâteau on the menu. I tried cold mango and ginger soup (refreshing!), crab cakes (yum), filet mignon for breakfast (just so I could say I had filet mignon for breakfast) and chocolate sushi (which was one of the most disgusting things I ever put in my mouth). 
In addition to the buffet and sit-down dining options, there is a pizza place open 24 hours a day, a tasting bar, a deli, a Chinese food place, and that free room service. Then of course there are the bars. For $7.75 and up a drink, it truly amazed me how much alcohol got consumed. 

There was one deal even worse than the alcohol: internet. The internet access on board ranges from pay as you go at 75 cents a minute to 12 hours for 33 cents a minute (that's $159!) And for the three or so minutes we used to check important stuff, it was almost dial-up speed. Yikes. Then again, you're on a ship. At sea. Getting access to the internet is a feat of technology...

We didn't bother with the casino--setting money on fire has never really appealed to us, for some reason--but you have to walk through that casino to get to a not-so-surprisingly-large number of places. Actually, it was kind of amusing how easy it was to get lost. You can get turned around without much effort and in many cases you can almost see where you're trying to get to, but "you can't get there from here". 

The ship's library, which we were looking forward to checking out, was open one hour a day. The shops were better, although most of what was being sold was waaaaaay out of our price range (seriously, do people go on cruises to buy jewellery and perfume? I'd've never guessed.) 

Back to the room we'd go...


...to find our steward, Ketut, had turned the bed down and performed some towel origami. 
We were highly impressed with his work, his friendliness and his memory. Well, I'd expect him to know my wife on sight after seeing her once, but he managed that feat with me, too. 

The crew on this ship works their butts off, and it shows. I didn't see a single female steward, for some reason, and most of the crew seemed to hail from places like Bali (Ketut) or Malaysia or Indonesia. The officers were almost entirely Italian. Most of our fellow passengers seemed to hail from Florida, which kind of surprised me. In any event, the ship felt very cosmopolitan. 

Part II, tomorrow: More ship pictures and Key West.

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