April 21, 2001 (Day 45): Regal Princess bound for Hiroshima, Japan – 11pm
Health: Fair. My head and chest are draining.
Morale: Good. We are on the ship, which I sufficiently explored. Suffering major culture shock. Now it is time to rest.
There was a light rain today as we made our way from Kyoto to Osaka. We had sufficient time to grab a Starbucks at the main station, catch the right train heading down the wrong spur, and have time to return and try again. Anna admitted a craving for French fries so we had a quick snack at McDonalds in the Bentencho Station (Osaka) before catching a taxi with a nervous, uncertain driver. The taxi driver could tell by our luggage that we were going somewhere but language was a bit of a barrier. I do not remember how to give directions in Japanese so it became a series of smiles and hand gestures. From where we caught the cab, we knew which direction we had to go, but not which roads would take us there. I had assumed that there would be a number of other vehicles going the same place we were and that we could just follow the herd. Being a Saturday, there was very little traffic and no others seemed to have the same destination as us.
A fortuitous right-hand turn brought into view the smokestack of the ship, emblazoned with the same logo that was on our tickets. Not sure who was more surprised – the driver or us. We tried to communicate that with our driver but that only caused additional confusion. Lest he devote as much attention to the tickets as he should be spending driving, we simply encouraged him to continue on towards the ship. We were dropped off at the huge shopping mall that was the port terminal, complete with IMAX theatre and Ferris wheel. We exited the cab was about a block from where the buses and such pulled in to unload passengers. The driver could have taken us closer but we could see how to get to the boarding area by foot and feared further driving might encounter some Brussels-like bend in the road that would take us further away from our destination.
We seemed to be the only travelers taking a taxi there. Tour buses were lined up, disgorging their passengers and their wash of luggage. Compared to our fellow passengers, we packed very lightly.
The check-in procedure seemed very efficient. We dropped off our bags, got our official paperwork, and then wandered the mall until we had seen everything there was to see at least twice. Although we tried hard, there just was nothing we really wanted to buy. I found a few postcards, but none of Kyoto or Osaka. We were tired. The nearby museum and aquarium and amusement park did not have any great draw, so we boarded on the ship.
I am suffering from major culture shock. We have stepped from one culture directly into another without any sort of transition time. My head rings with the unfamiliar sound of masses of English-speaking voices. A friend and colleague said that, despite the number of languages one speaks, there is no desensitizing for the mother tongue. We have spent weeks in the non-native English-speaking world. Our ears would perk up at any word in English, any odd announcement made in that familiar tongue. Now, we are inundated with it and it is a sensory overload.
This is combined with the apparent fact that we are, if not the youngest couple on board, clearly in the lowest one percent by age. To further illustrate this point, whenever I ask the members of the crew a question, their initial response is to ask if I am on the staff. Since this is my first proper cruise, I wanted to take one of the orientation tours of the ship. We were about half the age of the others in our group – evident by our lack of blue hair and floral pastel shirts. Most frustrating were the obnoxious, inappropriate comments made by the people in our group. Many were just ugly. Complaints about how Japan was not like the United States, how this cruise line was not like others, talking loudly amongst themselves and then the same people complaining that they cannot hear the guide. This does not bode well for the next three weeks.
I am encouraged that there are others on this ship that do not fall into the above categories. Standing on the deck as we launched, we met and chatted with some other nicer couples. One of the gentlemen reminded us of the Adam Schiff character on Law & Order. We talked with “Adam” and his wife as the ship pulled away from the berth to the strains of “Anchors Aweigh” played without irony by a Japanese High School marching band. He had us watch for the pilot boat to pull alongside the ship to remove the pilot, that was the sign that we were well and truly on our way.
Our cabin is very nice. Posh compared to our typical lodgings – it is even on the port side. There is closet space and a set of drawers to unpack things. Anna and I can extend our arms and spin about without coming in contact with each other or any of the walls. Lots of hot water. A little refrigerator, a desk and table with a view out our window complete the setting. Greeting us as we entered the room was our luggage, my tuxedo, and a bottle of wine courtesy of one of our travel agents.
We were issued a cruise card as part of the embarkation process. The concept is kind of cool. It will serve as our pass onto and off of the ship at our ports of call. It is scanned when we leave and when we return so that they have a proper accounting of passengers. On-board, it acts as a credit card for all things we purchase. Convenient and dangerous.
At dinner, we were the least well-cruised at our table of six. One couple was very excited and supportive of our trip, interested in our travels. Todd and Irene are, I would guess, in their early fifties. They are Canadian and live in Vancouver. He travels quite a bit for work and said it was only good fortune that prevented him from being in a building bombed by the Tamil Tigers when he was in Sri Lanka. The other couple is British, probably in their mid-sixties. The husband, Jeff, was practically indignant that we should take three months off of work to travel. Through use of great restraint, I did not tell him to “Bite me.”
Dinner was prime rib. I was also able to sate my long-simmering desire for Gorgonzola cheese. The strangest thing about the meal is that there were no chopsticks. This seems very silly, I know, but we have grown accustomed to having chopsticks somewhere, even if the typical “Western” cutlery was provided. I was looking quite absently for them, certain they must be hidden under a napkin or something. When I realized what I was doing, I looked across to Anna, who had been looking for the same items.
We missed the welcoming ceremony hosted by the city of Osaka. We encountered other passengers carefully sipping sake from the small, square wooden boxes that were provided at the ceremony. At least I assumed it was sake from their glazed look which appeared to be a mix of jet lag and alcohol. One of the passengers looked just like Santa Claus, down to the full white beard. I guess this is the off-season for the Kringles and the best time for him and Mrs. Claus to take a little vacation.
Excerpts from Anna’s journal included.
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