All in all, most of the passengers we interacted with were interesting. Statistically, this is an insignificant measurement because we generally selected those we wanted to talk to and avoided as best we could those we did not. Although taking cruises is not our first choice, we learned from others how to adapt a cruise to help make it an aspect of the trip and not the trip itself. The best example of this was the couple that used the ship as a cost-effective way to see the Chilean fjords.
The segment of passengers that cause us the greatest frustration are those who simply tune out. Their expectation is that their experience of the rest of the world should fit cleanly within the lifestyle they have at home. The hardest thing they had to do was make it to the ship – and the cruise lines tend to make that step as easy as possible. They do not want to have to think. Additionally, shopping is essential to their experience due to their need to purchase demonstrable trinkets to validate their itinerary – literally, the “been there, done that, got the t-shirt” crowd – but do not actually want to know anything about where they have been.
We brought ourselves to this subject by recalling a conversation that occurred around us at the library today. Two women were detailing at full volume their experience of the world, which consisted of a list of cruises. One cancelled a 20-day cruise because Brazil required a visa from Americans, something she neither wanted to have to obtain or, more significantly, have to pay for. So frustrating was this discussion, my Beloved Travel Companion (BTC) had to leave the room and take a walk.
I am far from immune from frustration. The conversation then moved to our experience in a souvenir shop on the Falkland Islands. Since souvenir shops are the focal point for the trinket set, it tends to be where I find them to be the ugliest. Despite frustration, we do try to be helpful on the odd chance that someone may have an epiphany and notice something in the world they had not heretofore. We tried to determine how this particular encounter could have gone better.
The tourist in question loudly voiced her annoyance at a price tag. “What is 20p?”
“Twenty pence,” I offered, helpfully I thought. From her face, however, it was as though I had responded in a dialect of Sumerian. I tried again, “Twenty pence is British money. Less than a pound.”
“I don’t know anything about money,” was her defiant and dismissive response.
My BTC entered the discussion and translated the cost as about 40 cents US. It was a more effective response than my own, although the tourist still seemed annoyed by the answer. We asked ourselves how we could have approached this situation better.
“I wanted to throw a stuffed penguin at her,” I offered, noting that such missiles were in ready supply at said shop.
“Yes,” responded my BTC calmly, “but that is your solution to everything.”
“An entire rookery of them,” I added, undeterred.
