Day 9 ~ At Sea
Sunday, May 1
We haven’t changed time zones, so the sun is up at 5:59 and I’m not far behind. That gives us an early start to the day, and after only five hours of reading and coffee, we are out the door and ready for dance class.
Merengue! The instructors walk us (dance us?) through the steps, which are supposed to feel like walking in sand. Two minutes later, my knees are convinced we’re trudging through cement. But we master a couple of turns (she turns, he turns, we turn) and an arm move called Starburst, which – considering the crowded state of the dance floor - is guaranteed to poke out an eye.
We haven’t changed time zones, so the sun is up at 5:59 and I’m not far behind. That gives us an early start to the day, and after only five hours of reading and coffee, we are out the door and ready for dance class.
Merengue! The instructors walk us (dance us?) through the steps, which are supposed to feel like walking in sand. Two minutes later, my knees are convinced we’re trudging through cement. But we master a couple of turns (she turns, he turns, we turn) and an arm move called Starburst, which – considering the crowded state of the dance floor - is guaranteed to poke out an eye.
Thus energized, we settle in for a three-hour lunch on the fantail. The waiters periodically glare at the couple parked at a shady table and drinking only water, bur we figure that one way or another we have paid for the space. Then there’s time for reading and a quick nap. (Queen Elizabeth is busy ordering her enemies decapitated. I wish my Tudor genes came with that power: I’ve got a list.) We also do 15 very fast laps around the deck. There are fewer walkers today, but we again spot the woman who zips along in a dress and 3-inch-high wedgies. She must be French.
We put in our third hour of exercise on the dance floor, and even attempt the merengue. We look no more pathetic, we decide, than Huggy Bear, the father-daughter pair wrapped around each other in an off-beat sway. The band wisely ignores a request for “French-Canadian boogie-woogie,” whatever that may be, and continues with its standard '70s prom playlist. At any rate, we burn a calorie or two, but my white pants are still too tight – perhaps because our non-dancing hours are devoted to food.
The dinners, we have decided, are so-so, but we have figured out the secret of dessert: skip the pretty-but-bland pastries on a tray and head straight for the frozen offering of the day. Or in Snookie’s case, the crème brulee. Me? I could live quite happily on mango-ginger sorbet.
The dinners, we have decided, are so-so, but we have figured out the secret of dessert: skip the pretty-but-bland pastries on a tray and head straight for the frozen offering of the day. Or in Snookie’s case, the crème brulee. Me? I could live quite happily on mango-ginger sorbet.
