Mossy Cottage Knits

No, Really, What Was It Like?

Because I can never leave well enough alone, here you go:

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Despite my describing the cruise as “surreal, a world gone mad, truly a trip down the rabbit hole…weird…artificial…hard to wrap my head around,” Dear Readers are still asking, “No, really; Ryan, how was it?” You silly gooses. It did its job; it distracted me from my first Thanksgiving alone in 21 years. Other than that, it was overwhelming and confusing, really—except for perhaps the five minutes of parasailing at Half Moon Cay.

The parasailing almost didn’t happen because I came close to chickening out about, oh, 99.5 times and the people involved suffered a severe last-minute attack of “island time,” but, in the end, there I was, strapped to a boat.

Here’s how it works, for the curious: You climb on a little boat, which immediately bounces out into the middle of nowhere. They throw a life jacket on you and clip an industrial-strength harness around your waist (just your waist, which seemed underkill for me at first blush; I had imagined a full-body harness like what fighter pilots wear—maybe complete with the reflective-visored helmet.). The trick to all of this lies in the bulk of the harness which sags behind you like a badly fitting diaper—a good look for a 48-year-old.

You stand on the front of the boat, they clip the parachute to you, and instruct you to sit down. They rev up the boat, the parachute balloons out behind you and—presto—you float into the air, one inch, two inches, a foot, two feet. It’s at about this point where your tooshie slips backwards and down into the badly fitting diaper, which magically becomes a comfortable sling chair, and thirty seconds later you’re floating above the tiiiiiiiiny little people in the boat below you. You look around at the emerald blue water, green islands, white waves, and yellow sun, you sigh, you relax, you nestle that last quarter-inch into the sling, you swear you’re never coming down again, that they will, in fact, have to blast you out of the sky like a Mallard in hunting season—just in time to notice that the distance between you and the boat is growing shorter and shorter and shorter, and there’s nothing you can do about it. And then you land on the boat, light as a feather, standing up. No sitting, no bumping, no, as feared, arse over teakettle pratfall.

You look at the pale, terrified faces of the other tourists on the boat and try to reassure them but they won’t listen. As one of the Newly Annointed, all you can do is smile serenely and beatifically in their direction, knowing all will be revealed to them in time.

Now, this is one of the other women on the boat, but I suspect I looked much the same:

But that was at the tail-end of the trip. Let's return to the beginning and see what else I can throw out, starting with Benny helping me pack:

On the way out (and back), this is all I saw of Dallas:

It could've been any airport in the world, but this was when I knew I wasn't in Kansas anymore (or maybe, come to think of it, I was in Kansas; now I'm confused):

The other remarkable thing I saw in the Dallas airport was an iPod vending machine. You put in a credit card or debit card or something, push some buttons and an iPod is delivered--kerplop!--like a can of soda. Definitely not in Kansas.

Here, a pointless, artsy photo of the cabanas on the beach in Fort Lauderdale:

Our berth at Fort Lauderdale. Exciting, no? (Also insert here the two photos from the last entry of women as far as the eye can see because this is when I took them.)

Then we headed out to, in order, Samana, Dominican Republic; St. Thomas, V.I.; St. Maarten, V.I., and Half Moon Cay.

Samana was a last-minute replacement for Turks and Caicos, which are still recovering from Hurrican Ike. At risk of sounding like the Ugly American, I was underwhelmed. Unlike the other ports, we were the only cruise ship there and no one seemed quite sure what to do with us, as if our arrival were a bit of a surprise. Samana offered trees:

And a small, unprepossessing beach:

Moving right along...

From here on out, I didn't take many pictures, but here is a picture of our welcome party at St. Thomas...

And a view or two:

Rounding out this travelogue, we ended back at Half Moon Cay which is spectacular. Here, again, although its hard to tell, the beach was a wall of women from end-to-end. Made one feel quite proud.

And, here, the distance I traveled home the next day:

In sum, to my "sisters" out there, who are probably still asking, after this rather dry run-down of ports and excursions, no, really, Ryan, what was it like (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)?, I say it was like no experience I've ever had. Besides the ports and the excursions, on board, there were funny, irreverent and bawdy comediennes; solo singers and groups; more activities than you can imagine (so many you often had to choose among three or four); a formal night; a dessert night; a barbecue night; commitment ceremonies; karaoke; much gambling; large amounts of drinking; much smoking of questionable substances obtained on the islands; dancing every night until the wee hours of the morn; hook-ups and break-ups and booty calls; some drama; lots of fun; and most importantly, mountains of food. If you get a chance, do it. And if you don't want to take my word for it, take the word of the woman I sat next to on the bus to the airport, who has been on sixteen of these cruises. I have my work cut out for me!

Next up, San Diego.

Posted by Ryan at December 11, 2008 11:55 PM