The End
Saturday, May 7
If this is Fort Lauderdale, it must be Saturday. The captain starts talking at 6:15 (this guy would be hell at open mic night) and we eventually roll out of bed to check out the sights. We’re parked next to the Oasis again – or maybe neither ship really went anywhere and the past two weeks have been one of those “who shot JR” dreams . . .
We leave the cabin three minutes after our designated time, get on the elevator for the first time in two weeks and reach the waiting area just as our color is called. Two minutes later we’ve located our bags, hauled them across the street and shoved everything into a cab. Too easy.
If this is Fort Lauderdale, it must be Saturday. The captain starts talking at 6:15 (this guy would be hell at open mic night) and we eventually roll out of bed to check out the sights. We’re parked next to the Oasis again – or maybe neither ship really went anywhere and the past two weeks have been one of those “who shot JR” dreams . . .
We leave the cabin three minutes after our designated time, get on the elevator for the first time in two weeks and reach the waiting area just as our color is called. Two minutes later we’ve located our bags, hauled them across the street and shoved everything into a cab. Too easy.
Of course, half of the cruising world has descended on the airport, and passengers with far too much luggage and in varying degrees of mellowness stretch halfway down the sidewalk. We find the holding area for people who have arrived too early (that would be us) and eventually get through check-in and security. (I remember, with about 30 seconds to spare, to transfer my three baggies full of liquid Things I Can’t Live Without into the checked bags. And we donated enough books to the Constellation library that our four bags still squeak under the weight limit.)
Final Thoughts:
In spite of my best intentions, I brought too many clothes. But it was nice to have options, and, if I had known that this group would be dressier than the Panama Canal crowd, I would have brought more dresses.
The fake candles were a good idea – but who knew they were made of real wax that would sag in the heat? The coffee carafe was essential – four hot cups, courtesy of my live-in butler.
The bigger balcony was well worth the money, although if we hadn’t known any better, we would have been perfectly happy with the standard version. Hmmmm . . . I think we’ve just raised the bar.
The fake candles were a good idea – but who knew they were made of real wax that would sag in the heat? The coffee carafe was essential – four hot cups, courtesy of my live-in butler.
The bigger balcony was well worth the money, although if we hadn’t known any better, we would have been perfectly happy with the standard version. Hmmmm . . . I think we’ve just raised the bar.
I read fewer books than I had planned (Teddy Roosevelt is still in my bag and looking at me in reproach) and wasted an incredible amount of time playing with my iPad. Parental controls may be a good idea. The NY Times subscription kept my brain relatively sharp, and Snookie had the good sense not to log on to work e-mail more than a few times. And not to obsess about the chaos he found when he did.
We didn’t try to do everything – and, in fact, as we filled out the post-cruise survey, we realized we didn’t really do much of anything. But we did what we wanted to do, and it was nice that those options were there to keep everyone else occupied while we did it.
The two “excursions” we took were great – but I’m not sure I would have wanted to do more. It doesn’t count as relaxation if you spend every day rushing to be somewhere at dawn.
The Chattering Class was a necessary evil – a good resource for information, but a violation of our Duprass Only rule of travel. Maybe next time Snookie can chat under an assumed name. However, we found most of the people likeable – although possibly in inverse proportion to the frequency of their pre-cruise posts.
Cruising, I am more convinced than ever, is essentially summer camp for grownups. We are allowed to eat all the junk food we want. (Pizza for breakfast! Ice cream cones for lunch! Gummi bears and sprinkles for dessert!) We aren’t expected to do anything more productive than sit by the pool. We don’t even have to pick up our rooms. And, of course, it’s the ultimate high for baby boomers, since we can all pretend to be back in high school while listening to music from our childhood 24 hours a day. (For the record, though, if I hear “Sweet Caroline” one more time, I may have to kill Neil Diamond. John Denver, fortunately, is already dead.)
In other words, it’s a great escape from the real world – not something we would want to do consistently, but definitely a good way to recharge a burned-out battery. And it's good to be home.
- Imozelle and Snookie
Cruising, I am more convinced than ever, is essentially summer camp for grownups. We are allowed to eat all the junk food we want. (Pizza for breakfast! Ice cream cones for lunch! Gummi bears and sprinkles for dessert!) We aren’t expected to do anything more productive than sit by the pool. We don’t even have to pick up our rooms. And, of course, it’s the ultimate high for baby boomers, since we can all pretend to be back in high school while listening to music from our childhood 24 hours a day. (For the record, though, if I hear “Sweet Caroline” one more time, I may have to kill Neil Diamond. John Denver, fortunately, is already dead.)
In other words, it’s a great escape from the real world – not something we would want to do consistently, but definitely a good way to recharge a burned-out battery. And it's good to be home.
- Imozelle and Snookie
