photo by Laurie Gough
First Day of Cruise to Antarctica, Jan 9, 2013
We've left the heat and chaos of Valparaiso and are sailing south down the coast of Chile for Patagonia, then Antarctica, both places I've wanted to visit since I heard their names as a kid. I can’t believe the cruise line invited me to do this for free. I just have to figure out what to write about.
Hour Later
OK, now that I've had a look around this behemoth of a 1250-passenger ship, I wonder if I’ll actually meet anyone onboard. I don’t exactly fit in. It’s not that the passengers are on average 30 years older than I am—that’s totally fine—I just feel we might not have much in common judging by conversations I’ve overheard. Also, I can see I’m going to have to be super vigilant. I just took a tour of the dining room with its sprawling buffet and WHOA! At the end of the three weeks I’ll be waddling down the passageways to my stateroom loaded with armfuls of pistachio custards, chocolate mousses and sundried tomato pizza from the all-you-can-eat buffet.
Will eat lots of fruit and big salads!
Will go to the gym and run on treadmill every day!
Will still be able to wear the same jeans I’m wearing now when I leave!
Will! Will!
Hour Later:
Just got back from buffet (didn’t exactly follow vigilance regime but it’s the first day so lenient) and am thinking of how I’ve never thought of myself as a cruise-type person. The very thought of cruises has always vaguely horrified me. I’ve often wondered what could be more stifling than being trapped at sea in a gas-guzzling vessel with hefty cruisers making their way from the casino to the ice cream to the disco while discussing the virtues of the NRA. I’ve actually just seen some of these people in the dining room. Their conversations didn’t run that deep though, more along the lines of how they’re going to miss their pets and where they keep their pets when they go on cruises and how they came to name their pets. Oh, and I saw a woman roughly the same size as a storage shed. It scared me so much I fled right past the dessert counter without a second glance.
Next Day
My toothache has come back. I can’t eat or drink anything hot or cold and am taking ibuprofen around the clock. The dentist I went to while visiting Guelph at Christmas told me there was nothing wrong, which was such a relief that the pain actually seemed to subside. Must have been psychosomatic. I’m in agony! And look where I am, surrounded by the sloshing southern sea headed for Antarctica.
I think I need a root canal.
Frank’s One Regret In Life
I just had breakfast with a sweet man named Frank. He’s 93, uses a cane, and can’t stand Republicans. He also knows a lot about the Canadian health care system and was an engineer in Baltimore. His wife died ten years ago and he goes on cruises alone all over the world. He told me his life has been rich and memorable. Then he looked out at the ocean and said, “Never had a blow job though. My one regret.” After choking on my watermelon, I tried to cobble together the appropriate response although, to be honest, wasn’t sure what that was. “Well, um, maybe it wasn’t so common in your era. Except for, I don’t know, Marilyn Monroe?” He didn’t seem convinced, so I added, “But anyway, your life isn’t over yet. There’s still time.” He seemed to consider this and I took a sip of tea, forgetting how a single drop of hot liquid shoots flares of pain through my cranium. It was actually good timing to rush off to take an advil. The conversation had turned rather awkward.
Ice Cream People
Just saw a large pack of extra-large people pouring out of an elevator, all with giant ice cream cones in hand. Found it rather alarming. On the other hand, there’s that poem written by the woman octogenarian who wished she’d eaten more ice cream in her life, gone barefoot more, etc. But surely she was talking about the occasional ice cream, not four triple cones a day. These people are certainly living it up. Out on the Lido Deck they’re exposing great mounds of flesh to the ozone-less southern sun while sipping dozens of pink social drinks all day.
I love escaping into my small cozy room. Everything is miniature—tiny bed with the softest pillow-top mattress, comfy sofa, even a cute TV which runs repeats of the onboard lectures, CNN, and a movie channel. I’ve noticed the people who work on the ship all seem to be from Indonesia and the Philippines, probably because they’re hired cheaply. They work so hard. These two Indonesian guys keep wanting to clean my room, twice a day! I keep saying not to bother, it’s not dirty, just give me the little chocolates and skip the cleaning. They seem happy I’m not high maintenance.
We Speak English in Texas
Just got back from a Spanish lesson where the woman next to me was completely perplexed when I told her I live in an English-speaking part of the province of Quebec. “There’s a non-English speaking part? What language do they speak? We speak English in Texas.”
I’m going outside. Not only is the air fresh and invigorating but the IQs are higher. And the people aren't nearly as fat out there. Yesterday morning when I opened my curtains I was taken aback to see streams of passengers purposefully striding down the deck with their arms swinging. Turns out they’re doing it for exercise and refreshment. What a concept! One rotation is a quarter mile. I joined them and went around about 15 times. I think I’ll just keep going round and round for the rest of the cruise. Not only is it enlivening to be in touch with the natural beauty of the earth, feel the wind on my face and breathe in the sea air, I also get to eavesdrop on the eccentric British birdwatchers and intelligent naturalists who spend the day at the back of the ship with their binoculars. It’s a whole other culture out there!
Read Entire Post...
We've left the heat and chaos of Valparaiso and are sailing south down the coast of Chile for Patagonia, then Antarctica, both places I've wanted to visit since I heard their names as a kid. I can’t believe the cruise line invited me to do this for free. I just have to figure out what to write about.
Hour Later
OK, now that I've had a look around this behemoth of a 1250-passenger ship, I wonder if I’ll actually meet anyone onboard. I don’t exactly fit in. It’s not that the passengers are on average 30 years older than I am—that’s totally fine—I just feel we might not have much in common judging by conversations I’ve overheard. Also, I can see I’m going to have to be super vigilant. I just took a tour of the dining room with its sprawling buffet and WHOA! At the end of the three weeks I’ll be waddling down the passageways to my stateroom loaded with armfuls of pistachio custards, chocolate mousses and sundried tomato pizza from the all-you-can-eat buffet.
Will eat lots of fruit and big salads!
Will go to the gym and run on treadmill every day!
Will still be able to wear the same jeans I’m wearing now when I leave!
Will! Will!
Hour Later:
Just got back from buffet (didn’t exactly follow vigilance regime but it’s the first day so lenient) and am thinking of how I’ve never thought of myself as a cruise-type person. The very thought of cruises has always vaguely horrified me. I’ve often wondered what could be more stifling than being trapped at sea in a gas-guzzling vessel with hefty cruisers making their way from the casino to the ice cream to the disco while discussing the virtues of the NRA. I’ve actually just seen some of these people in the dining room. Their conversations didn’t run that deep though, more along the lines of how they’re going to miss their pets and where they keep their pets when they go on cruises and how they came to name their pets. Oh, and I saw a woman roughly the same size as a storage shed. It scared me so much I fled right past the dessert counter without a second glance.
Next Day
My toothache has come back. I can’t eat or drink anything hot or cold and am taking ibuprofen around the clock. The dentist I went to while visiting Guelph at Christmas told me there was nothing wrong, which was such a relief that the pain actually seemed to subside. Must have been psychosomatic. I’m in agony! And look where I am, surrounded by the sloshing southern sea headed for Antarctica.
I think I need a root canal.
Frank’s One Regret In Life
I just had breakfast with a sweet man named Frank. He’s 93, uses a cane, and can’t stand Republicans. He also knows a lot about the Canadian health care system and was an engineer in Baltimore. His wife died ten years ago and he goes on cruises alone all over the world. He told me his life has been rich and memorable. Then he looked out at the ocean and said, “Never had a blow job though. My one regret.” After choking on my watermelon, I tried to cobble together the appropriate response although, to be honest, wasn’t sure what that was. “Well, um, maybe it wasn’t so common in your era. Except for, I don’t know, Marilyn Monroe?” He didn’t seem convinced, so I added, “But anyway, your life isn’t over yet. There’s still time.” He seemed to consider this and I took a sip of tea, forgetting how a single drop of hot liquid shoots flares of pain through my cranium. It was actually good timing to rush off to take an advil. The conversation had turned rather awkward.
Ice Cream People
Just saw a large pack of extra-large people pouring out of an elevator, all with giant ice cream cones in hand. Found it rather alarming. On the other hand, there’s that poem written by the woman octogenarian who wished she’d eaten more ice cream in her life, gone barefoot more, etc. But surely she was talking about the occasional ice cream, not four triple cones a day. These people are certainly living it up. Out on the Lido Deck they’re exposing great mounds of flesh to the ozone-less southern sun while sipping dozens of pink social drinks all day.
I love escaping into my small cozy room. Everything is miniature—tiny bed with the softest pillow-top mattress, comfy sofa, even a cute TV which runs repeats of the onboard lectures, CNN, and a movie channel. I’ve noticed the people who work on the ship all seem to be from Indonesia and the Philippines, probably because they’re hired cheaply. They work so hard. These two Indonesian guys keep wanting to clean my room, twice a day! I keep saying not to bother, it’s not dirty, just give me the little chocolates and skip the cleaning. They seem happy I’m not high maintenance.
We Speak English in Texas
Just got back from a Spanish lesson where the woman next to me was completely perplexed when I told her I live in an English-speaking part of the province of Quebec. “There’s a non-English speaking part? What language do they speak? We speak English in Texas.”
I’m going outside. Not only is the air fresh and invigorating but the IQs are higher. And the people aren't nearly as fat out there. Yesterday morning when I opened my curtains I was taken aback to see streams of passengers purposefully striding down the deck with their arms swinging. Turns out they’re doing it for exercise and refreshment. What a concept! One rotation is a quarter mile. I joined them and went around about 15 times. I think I’ll just keep going round and round for the rest of the cruise. Not only is it enlivening to be in touch with the natural beauty of the earth, feel the wind on my face and breathe in the sea air, I also get to eavesdrop on the eccentric British birdwatchers and intelligent naturalists who spend the day at the back of the ship with their binoculars. It’s a whole other culture out there!
Read Entire Post...
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