Day 12 ~ At Sea
The pressure is on: We have $185 in on-board credits to spend in the next 48 hours. The problem, if you can call it that, is that there is nothing I want or need. We do order a beer at lunch (Boddington’s, alas, is no longer on the menu) but my innate cheapness prevents me from ordering a $100 bottle of wine, and we’re certainly not in the market for cheesy art, jewelry or perfume. So I’m hard pressed to figure out how to spend the remaining $175.
Bizarre encounter of the day: Snookie emerges from the men’s room with a guy from Scotland (Musselburgh, to be exact). There’s a new lass at the local pub, he tells us, come from California to marry a guy on she met on the internet. Perhaps we know her? (At least we think that’s what he said: His accent is almost as impenetrable as German.)
Bizarre encounter of the day: Snookie emerges from the men’s room with a guy from Scotland (Musselburgh, to be exact). There’s a new lass at the local pub, he tells us, come from California to marry a guy on she met on the internet. Perhaps we know her? (At least we think that’s what he said: His accent is almost as impenetrable as German.)
The captain, not surprisingly, has a Greek accent, which we get to hear at high noon every day as he delivers a somewhat lengthy travelogue. (He’s like those annoying pilots who feel obliged to wake everyone up for a glimpse of the Grand Canyon. You also have to wonder who’s steering the ship while he yammers through his script.) His name is Captain Peppas; the crew probably doesn’t dare refer to him as Sgt. Pepper.
Dance class is the waltz, which most of us already know – not counting a couple who have that deer-in-the-headlights look we remember quite well. So all of us spend most of the class spinning around the floor, although we do learn a slightly different hesitation step and a three-count turn that might be useful.
With that warm up, we’re ready for formal night and the big band – which is missing in action. The usual suspects (the pros, the older couple and us – somewhat outclassed) give up and dance to the taped music, which is actually more danceable than some of the live stuff we’ve heard. After dinner, we wait in vain again, and rumor has it that the band’s keyboard player is sick. Nine hundred crew members, and only one knows how to play the piano? With that kind of staffing, God help us if Sgt. Pepper gets the flu.
Dance class is the waltz, which most of us already know – not counting a couple who have that deer-in-the-headlights look we remember quite well. So all of us spend most of the class spinning around the floor, although we do learn a slightly different hesitation step and a three-count turn that might be useful.
With that warm up, we’re ready for formal night and the big band – which is missing in action. The usual suspects (the pros, the older couple and us – somewhat outclassed) give up and dance to the taped music, which is actually more danceable than some of the live stuff we’ve heard. After dinner, we wait in vain again, and rumor has it that the band’s keyboard player is sick. Nine hundred crew members, and only one knows how to play the piano? With that kind of staffing, God help us if Sgt. Pepper gets the flu.
We do enjoy the fashion parade, though, and once again there are a lot of showy dresses, about 80 percent of them in good taste. (The blonde a couple of sizes larger than her red spangled mini-dress doesn’t make the cut.) Snookie is impressed with a man (obviously a Brit) wearing a vest like a Union Jack – it’s like having the roof of a Mini on your chest. This crowd, we have decided, is significantly better dressed than the Infinity gang, even on regular nights. We attribute that to the preponderance of Europeans and the dearth of Californians, who think shorts and flip-flops constitute formal wear.
On a related note, there is significantly less unhappiness on this cruise. Aside from the New Yorkers in the stinky cabin, we have heard no complaints from our fellow travelers. Maybe Americans have a greater sense of entitlement and are more likely to whine when things are not quite perfect. Or maybe this cruise just has fewer problems.
However, the final formal night dinner is as dreadful as we remembered. I’m not sure why it’s considered entertainment to haul out half of the kitchen staff, but we are duly introduced to the Patagonian pastry chef, the Colombian cook and, quite possibly, the garbage guy from Gabon. No sign of the Bulgarian banana buyer; he may have been tossed overboard.
On a related note, there is significantly less unhappiness on this cruise. Aside from the New Yorkers in the stinky cabin, we have heard no complaints from our fellow travelers. Maybe Americans have a greater sense of entitlement and are more likely to whine when things are not quite perfect. Or maybe this cruise just has fewer problems.
However, the final formal night dinner is as dreadful as we remembered. I’m not sure why it’s considered entertainment to haul out half of the kitchen staff, but we are duly introduced to the Patagonian pastry chef, the Colombian cook and, quite possibly, the garbage guy from Gabon. No sign of the Bulgarian banana buyer; he may have been tossed overboard.
We break a Cardinal Rule of Cruising by refusing to wave our napkins as the dessert is paraded around the room – or to eat the bland Baked Alaska offered up as a poor substitute for Snookie’s nightly crème brulee. (We do wonder what they serve on the Alaska cruise. Iced Curaçao? Bonaire Bombe?)
Yep, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. And when a couple is tired of overwrought desserts, they are tired of cruising. That’s probably a good sign. We’re ready to go home.
Yep, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. And when a couple is tired of overwrought desserts, they are tired of cruising. That’s probably a good sign. We’re ready to go home.
Sail on to Day 14
