The Casino
It’s nice to be back online. Apparently, we were not geographically positioned to reach the communications satellite when we were in the Amazon. We are now cruising southeast toward the east most coast of Brazil. The Guiana current and the prevailing winds are in collusion to move the vessel around in ways that are inimical to the comfort for this lubber. No matter. That is why God created Dramamine and those wristbands that use acupressure to full advantage. I recommend them.
A bit of description of life at sea between destinations: You who have gone cruising already know this, probably. My stateroom with its balcony is on Deck 4 on the starboard bow immediately above the U in CUNARD. I spend a lot of time on my little balcony, reading and making journal entries.
Meals are taken either in the main restaurant on decks 2 and 3 or in the Lido buffet on Deck 9, both in the stern. That means I get to traverse two floors plus the length of the ship, about 960 feet, at every meal. When the ship is rolling, I eat in the Deck 2 restaurant because it rolls least, being parked over the screws and near sea level. Splendid food with a variety of entrees and sides, and if I wish, a soft ice cream cone. I do so wish. A vegan can find as much as can we carnivores.
The crew are polyglots from all over the world. Most speak at least three languages, most are of colour. None laughs at my miserable Spanish although they’re probably roaring deep inside. All are impeccably dressed in their various uniforms. A paint crew re-did my balcony (which needed it); they all wore long-sleeve button shirts in the uniform blue. Painting.
A maid puts the room in order twice a day, while I am at breakfast and when I’m gone to dinner. Her name is Helen. Diners and bar patrons are all well attended by servers. The ship is immaculate inside and out. The many flowers and plants are real, and they are all well cared for.
Part of the salon
The guests are just as well cared for. I am building a model of the Charles W Morgan, a whaler. I want to hang a finback whale from the ship as if it is being flensed and everyone quit momentarily for lunch or something. In the (two-story!) library I found an excellent picture of a cutting-in stage, and the purser’s office made a copy for me. For free.
Should anything unfortunate occur, there is a fully staffed infirmary. If your credit card is beginning to get a little stiff in the joints, you can exercise it by buying stuff in any of many onboard shops or gamble it away in the well-furnished casino. All alcoholic drinks, and all non-alcoholic drinks that are not served with meals, are billable. You should see my bar tab. The opportunities to spend money are legion, I tell you.
At three this afternoon, pollywogs—guests and crew who have never sailed both hemispheres on the same voyage—are to be inducted by Neptune himself into that great sodality of people who have sailed across the equator, the shellbacks. It is one of the oldest of traditions, dating from when sailors first discovered that there is an equator. The ship provides a large quantity of amusements and diversions for those guests who are not writing a book at the moment, namely another Phoenix AZ police procedural.
To no one’s regret, there are no seagulls, AKA flying rats, in Barbados or inland at Manaus. There is however the Large-billed Tern, which is spectacular. And new and wonderful birds. And a sloth in the wild.
So, sea days are not boring, and land excursions are marvelous. ‘Tis indeed a lovely voyage.