Views From a Cruise

VIEWS FROM A CRUISE

Everything looks prettier from one's private balcony on a cruise ship. Or so I imagine. I'm so spoiled. I've grown accustomed to the view while sipping a pina colada in my pajamas. Snap. Snap. I click the camera at the sunrise, the waves, the remote islands we sail by, the inconceivable cloud formations, the eventual goodnight salutation of the sun ... an animal that surfaces, anything that touches an emotional chord. The music is the humming of the ship, the cracking of the sea, the hushed winds that whisper all day and all night.

Is that a Monet painting? It could be. Except that it is from my little point and shoot camera. The only thing more beautiful than the actual Venetian view is the surreal surprise of seeing it later looking like this! I don't remember it being that beautiful as I looked through the tiny lens.

People say they're bored on a ship. "Nothing to do," is the common complaint. I understand that. There can be long days at sea, where eating or shopping or drinking or thinking can become a rigorous routine of monotony. The noise at the pool and the incessant sun is not for everyone. I get it. That's why a private suite with a quiet balcony is the only way to sail. Except that solitude is not for everyone either.






Of course you could always come and hear the special interests speaker (ME!), and learn about etymology or gemology. I'm listed on the daily program somewhere below origami oranges or how to crimp a braid. Seriously? There's the casino ... but I'm free. (And fun!)

You want to hike in the mountains with giant spiders? Sleep in a tent? Sit cross-legged at an ashram? Bicycle across a continent sweating, panting, inflating tires, and sipping a small bottle? Walk through endless ruins contemplating the scholars of centuries past? All great ideas. All activities I do too, in my imagination. *Knock - knock* What's that? Room service? Ahhh ... try that in your jungle paradise!

Or ... try this! The sunlight shimmering with twinkly sparkles along ridges of cresting waves. Soon the illumination of stars on waters. Cloud formations slither as wispy shapes or dense cover between patches of intensely blue sky. Structural patterns, occasional dark clouds, animal shapes, an angel, a spreading shadowy sprinkle ... peace. It's peace, pure and wet, and wonderful, and never the same to be seen again.

The higher up you are on a cruise ship, the more expensive the accommodations. I like the lowest balcony I can get. The closer I am to the water, the more I can see the depths of the sea and the animals below. There are telltale signs of a feeding frenzy, a whale's tale, excited dolphins diving in the wake of the ship. Once, mere miles from Key West, we passed over millions of jellyfish in a gelatinous bubble of frenzied feeding, but who else noticed? Certainly not all the boozing sunbathers on the top of the ship, Am I the only one that saw that unbelievable sight? Maybe.

Everyday a new thing to see or a port to explore. Everyday, meals made for me, sheets pulled back, little towel animals waiting on the bed. This is luxury, and I like it.

I've conquered sea-sickness, a migraine in Africa, the medinas and bazaars in many foreign lands, losing a throng of tourists I was in charge of in Amsterdam. (No, they were not in the "coffee bars".) I've weathered all kinds of weather, including a hurricane in the English Channel that tossed my stateroom like a salad. (That'll teach me to pack so many pairs of shoes ...) I've endured the dirty waters of the Atlantic to get to the bluest waters of the Adriatic Sea. And then there's the Med. Nothing beats the Med. Heck, they named a whole club after it!

I do have one fear, however ...

That something might happen to me way out on the water. Something really bad. Not that the ship should sink, but that I might sink. What happens to sick people? Really, really sick people. Heart attacks, strokes, falls, that sort of thing. Well, like anywhere else, it happens all the time. There is a hospital on board and they handle broken bones, the dreaded Norovirus, all sorts of maladies. Even death. Yes. Even dead people don't get to get off. Your cold, dead body does not disembark until the last port of call. You'll be in cold storage with the meat. (Kidding -- they have a separate shelf for the steaks.) No, cruise ships don't stop except in ports of call.

That's why one night while I was reading in bed, I clenched decidedly when the ship stuttered to a clangy, loud, throttling halt. What was that?! We've stopped in the middle of the ocean? Hundreds of miles from anywhere civilian? No way! But, yes. We stopped. (Another reason why a balcony is mandatory  - so that you can verify you're stuck dead in the water ...) I went outside and we stood still. No motors. No familiar wave noise. We were stopped. They were opening the side of the ship and a small boat from I don't know where was approaching rapidly. Were they pirates? (I've watched way too many movies ...) Wait .. what's that? A stretcher? A person on a stretcher? Leaving like that? From the bottom of the big ship onto a tiny little boat? Family and luggage going too? I watched from my low-down perch. Incredible. The only other time I knew of a medical emergency, that person was whisked via helicopter from the top of the ship. I had never seen anything like this that I was watching. The tedious unfolding of the bowels of the ship and a person's very life, simultaneously. The ordeal took about two hours. The tiny ship finally sailed off, the ship closed up the portal, and we laboriously lugged along again.

What had possibly happened to that person that was worse than death? Then... it happened again! The next morning, someone else, same ordeal, off the Greek islands. This time, I saw the chef among the crowd of ship's personnel, noticeable by his tall toque, helping the ill person disembark. Why was the chef there? Should I worry about room service? Is there something in the food that's putting people off? Literally, as in these two cases?

No. I have a balcony. I will surely eat again. And then again. That's what we do on a ship when we're a sea. There's nothing else to do, remember? Then, I'll buy something I don't need, win the ship's raffle (because I pulled the winning ticket out of the bag and it was curiously my own), discover the delicious taste of a wasabi martini (no, I don't know what's in it, only that I want another one), and return to the respite of my beloved balcony -- with my camera of course, because I always want to remember the glorious views from a cruise.

Just Another Lori Story.