April 30, 2001 (Day 54)

April 30, 2001 (Day 54): Regal Princess, North Pacific – late

Health: almost good.

Morale: good.

We have completed the third of five consecutive days at sea. The satellite TV coverage disappeared within the last few hours. Seas were calmer today than they have been in the past couple days. Have still been blissfully spared the throes of seasickness. I consider myself fortunate, especially since our cabin is on the top passenger deck.

Not much to report. No new ports of call, we are just sailing along. We are trying to get out on deck and exercise, walking at least a mile a day. The gusts made this an interesting experience today, making walking the length of the ship with the wind very easy.

Finished another lousy Michael Crichton book today. My second this trip. You think I would know better. The first one I had purchased in a moment of weakness and abandoned it in a non-English speaking country (sorry, Sweden). This one was borrowed from the ship’s library. The book was like listening to a 5 year-old relate the plot of a film to you; all action, no story. Every character acted predictably. It makes me frustrated to think about it. The man has no shame. He should be pummeled repeatedly with Nerf-based products.

The time on board has given us more opportunities to talk to our fellow passengers over a shared table at breakfast and lunch. I have to admit some shortcomings in my previous opinions about the “cruise culture” at large. Those I met early on and the strong first impressions that they gave formed these negative opinions. A few days on the ship has given me the opportunity to meet a greater cross-section of the passengers and helped me to realize that the realities were not so cut and dry. There are people here who used to travel as Anna and I do now, although they are a minority. They cruise now because it provides them an easier way to continue to see the world. Some choose only to travel by tour group – cruises, for them, qualify as such – as it provides “safety in numbers.”  I should be careful when I criticize because this form of travel has taken them to more places than I have ever been. They have learned the ropes of cruising, they know the advantages and disadvantages of the services offered by the cruise lines and adjust and plan accordingly. Some set up their own sightseeing tours in the various ports of call.

But there is still a large portion that wants to see things, be taken to sites, and be told what to visit without having to do their homework. “Just take me to the tourist sites.”  “Show me what everyone else sees.” That is the level that I am not comfortable with. The way that we travel – choose to travel – there is often a lack of community and getting to the sites can take more time and effort than getting on the bus. On the flip side, our time is our own. If something is boring, we move on; if it is fascinating, we can spend the whole day. I can say with all honesty that these tours have taken us some places that we would have not gotten to easily on our own. Whether or not we were enriched by these experiences is indeed another matter.

There is an accusation liberally laid against my generation, that the world to us is a quick checklist of things to do rather than experience; the “been there, done that, got the T-shirt” mentality. While I will not question the validity of that accusation, perhaps other generations should subject their own value systems to critical review. The other day at lunch, we shared a table with a travel agent who had some very interesting tales about travel in the USSR in the 1980’s. I asked her what she liked most during her travels and she responded “Asia.” She had been everywhere in Asia. We enjoyed Cambodia so I asked if she had been there. No. Northern Thailand?  No. She quickly amended her comments before I asked about India, which is on our list of places to visit – and perhaps get the requisite T-shirt.

We had a full table for dinner: George and Amy (my Maltese grandparents), Ron and Esther. I am not so sure I am that fond of Ron. His wife is nice, but he seems to embody a lot of negative stereotypes associated with those from the Land of Oz. His fixation on money bothers me the most. He asked what kind of job we had that allowed us to take this kind of time off of work. This is a common question. But then he started driving towards financials, as if trying to work out our salary. My dad must own the company. He complained about the cost of the tours in the various ports-of-call and how they were shrewdly set up to make sure that you could never see all of the sites you want to see at a given location. That way you had to take another cruise in the future and take another tour. His was the “safety in numbers” comment. He wants to be told what to see and where to go. I had a suggestion as to where he could go, but I kept it to myself.

Then he tried to rile the wives up with a joking comment that women should be in the kitchen. Almost in unison, George and I chimed in, “Not in my kitchen!” (Anna got a laugh at that as well). He was painfully out of his place at this table. All this time, Esther maintained the same benevolent demeanor, smiling patiently knowing her place in heaven must be assured. The only real support Ron received from the table was when he asserted that I was English, which drew George and Amy into a chorus of approval.

Finally took in one of the shows. While the actors were talented, the show – the script – left a lot to be desired. The performers could sing and dance well and demonstrated their skills by descending staircases in high heels wearing costumes more structurally involved than most buildings while the ship rocked beneath them, and not a gentle rocking judging by the swaying curtains. I watched the opening number in horror. This sequence was as pleasant as a punch in the nose, but not as subtle. If the rest of the show had continued like this, I would have extracted a promise from Anna that we would not have to see another show on this ship again. The show, titled “C’est Magnifique,” was conceived as a tribute to Paris. To me, nothing says “Paris” like a dancing Pepe LePew.

The improved after the dancing skunk, probably because it could only get better. No aspect of this trip would be complete without the requisite ABBA song. They obliged us with a rendition of  “Money, Money, Money” with a phalanx of dancing slot machines. It took us several minutes to figure out that the costumes in one scene were supposed to represent champagne glasses, complete with “rising” bubbles. I would love to discuss further aspects of this show but, as the announcement at the program warned, I might be liable for copyright infringements. Speaking of which, does the Warner Brothers studio know about the Pepe LePew?  Trademark law must not extend to international waters.

My heart skipped a beat when a shoe flew off the foot of one of the dancers and into the audience. Accidents happen, I understand that. Having been onstage, you just have to deal with it. The scary part was when the audience member felt required to break the Fourth Wall and placed the shoe back on the stage while the dance continued. Fortunately, nothing bad happened. The rest of the dance went without incident. No one tripped over the shoe. During the blackout, some cast member spirited away the errant footwear.

After the show, we retired to the disco. The woman who cut my hair told me that that was where the crew tended to congregate. It might also be a chance to see people closer to our own age, if any existed. I thought I wanted to dance, but the DJ was more caught up in his own ability. He mixed music for the sake of mixing, intent on what he was doing and oblivious and indifferent that no one was inspired to dance by his creations. We were the youngest non-crew members there, which had the effect of making us feel old.

Maybe we would have better luck dancing at the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s night tomorrow.

Excerpts from Anna’s journal included

• ChasingFogg15
• Pacific
• Travel