HeyYouKidsGetOffMyLawn

It's morning. I slide open the shades to our window and stare at the walkway in the front of the boat. If I stand on my toes, I can see the ocean far away in the distance.

The boat won't dock in Cozumel until after noon today, so we have plenty of time to waste. I browse the Fun Times and notice breakfast is being served in one of the dining rooms. I take a five minute shower, brush my teeth and find clean clothes. My wife does something similar, but it takes a little longer. I think she was recalculating the impact of a 17 basis point shift in 90-day LIBOR on a series of interest rate swap agreements. Because, that would take a while, if you want to do a good job.

Consulting a map of the ship, we find our way to the 'other' main dining rooms. This one is called 'Pacific'. We've been to the Atlantic for dinner. Breakfast is "open seating," which means you find the entrance and stand in the line that never moves. There's a sign that promises they'll find you a table. Sometime today. Be patient, you're on vacation, and this is the Fun Ship, so you are required to have fun right now. We mean it. Fun. Now. Go.

We make eye-contact with the Maitre d' in a rather sharp officer uniform. He recognizes us, because he's the same one as we have for dinner. He walks down from the podium area, smiles at us, and tells us to wait here for a moment. Precisely one moment later, he's back and he leads us through the back entrance of the dining room on a path without ramps or stairs, and seats us at a lovely table next to a window. A window on the 4th deck of the ship at sea. We're moving fast through the waves, and salt spray is hitting the windows and drying to form a cloudy layer, then washed away by the next splash, giving a brief view of the water.

I'm given a menu without prices, but otherwise identical to the breakfast cafe at a 'business-class' hotel anywhere in America. A hotel that's more expensive than you expected, but a dollar less than your company's travel agency claims is appropriate for this city. And it's just a short drive away from the airport and a few minutes down-the-road from the bland conference room where you'll spend most of today finalizing the agreement about ... Yawn.

But you have a corporate travel card, and your meals allowance is pretty generous, so you load your one carry-on into the trunk of the least interesting mid-sized American sedan ever sold to a rental agency. And with a resigned shrug, you admit that it's both efficient and convenient, so you wander back into the faux-nice hotel for breakfast.

Meanwhile, back on the boat: Warm coffee is delivered, along with one of those adorable tiny pitchers of cream and a bowl filled with a variety of colorful sweetener packets. My wife doesn't see her favorite color, so she asks the next roving waitress for... and the requested item appears within seconds along with a polite apology for the inconvenience.

I order Eggs Benedict, a side of sausage links, white toast and a glass of orange juice. I almost ordered an omelette, but my face started to twitch every time I looked at that section of the menu.

Service wasn't exactly slow, but this is clearly going to be a leisurely breakfast. I didn't mind, because there was a window within arms-reach and I could watch waves flying by as the mighty Victory valiantly charged across the Gulf of Mexico towards Cozumel.

The second pot of coffee arrives, and this one is hot and very fresh.

I cannot explain what happened next: My Eggs Benedict were perfect. Just technically outstanding, with a gently poached egg that dribbled bright yellow yolk past the warm bacon layer and onto the lightly toasted english muffins. This ... this is completely unexpected. I check my Sign and Sail card several times, and it still says 'Carnival.'

Ordering a 'side of sausage links' means two tiny things in an oval bowl, hot but without obvious scorch marks. I'm so angry about the portion size, I start screaming that I'm never returning to this restaurant again. People are staring at us. They're pointing fingers and whispering. My wife tells me to calm down, I'm making a scene. Then I have another bite of the eggs and I'm in nirvana. A sip of robust coffee, a bite of toast. Aaaaahhhhhhh. This is wonderful.

We leave the Pacific dining room and I'm in a haze.

In the next episode:

I enjoy breakfast on the Victory

We dock in Cozumel

We get excursion-napped

We don't die

I learn a valuable lesson about being an old man

I don't buy a bottle of tequila

=================

While you wait:

Lou has my permission to stop laughing.

BattyL can continue to believe I'm not a grumpy old man.

Formal dinner was a little empty. I think my tie scared the crowds away. I had the lobster tail and it was even better than the ones served in the cafeteria at work. Yes, we get lobster tail and New York Strip very randomly and infrequently in the cafeteria. It's a refreshing distraction from Taco Salad Tuesday. Our cafeteria management company is an industry leader in food service for prisons. That's not a joke. They even inventory the plastic spoons when we leave, so we don't make illegal shanks in the cube farm. That is a joke.

Once again, the food and service were better than I expected. I can only imagine the logistics of getting that many dinners prepared and delivered in a short period of time. The table next to us had continuous issues with preparation (medium rare shouldn't be gray) and cold food. We left before the dessert course, and I hear we missed the completely impromptu dancing waiters show.

Ten Thirty: Adults-only comedy show with Tom Foss in the rear of the ship. Wife skipped this to get some much-needed sleep. I loved this show. Now, my father always told me, "Son, if you don't start at sunrise, it's impossible to drink all day." He was a very wise man. And I've been drinking a lot today, so I made the command decision to slow down before bedtime. The menu in the comedy club featured a virgin drink called the "Not So Fuzzy Navel", so I ordered one. It was dirt cheap, like three-fifty or something. And after I had a sip, I started wondering how to make a virgin Fuzzy Navel. Because the recipe is: (a) Orange Juice and (b) Peach Schnapps. So, if you take away the liquor, it's just orange juice. Right? Did I just get scammed for a glass of orange juice with a fancy name? Nope. It was orange juice and peach something. Very refreshing.

I stumble to the other end of the ship, up the elevator, down the hallway, open the cabin door and fall face first into bed. Good night, cruel ship.

Somehow, I made it back to the cabin in time to play dress-up for "formal night." Why are all of you acting surprised to learn that I own a nice suit? Taking the advice of my Witness Protection case manager, we skipped the crowded photo shoot and went directly to the big old theater thingy in the front of the boat. What? Yes, honey -- The Caribbean Lounge. For a riveting performance of "Living in America."

It wasn't great.

I'm watching the show and trying to calculate how many thousands of hours each of these performers has spent sweating in run-down strip-mall dance studios. I'm picturing dozens of eager and optimistic parents being supportive and daring to dream of a world where little Timmy and Sally escape from an almost-inevitable career in the meat packing plants of Des Moines, Iowa and move to The Big City. But big dreams can also die.

So, on this very morning, our once-optimistic young Sally wakes up on the Carnival Victory, dreading the evening's performance. Because she knows that Timmy injured his knee yesterday in a freak accident while getting his luxurious chest hair waxed away. And mid-way through tonight's show, Timmy has to lift her high in the air and hold her for several seconds while a guy calling himself Xander is butchering a Neil Diamond song. If you look closely, behind that carefully cultivated performance smile, you can almost see the shattered hopes and crushed spirit of a broken little girl who dared to dream, mixed with a raw nearly-primal fear of being dropped face-first onto a jagged metal bracket at the edge of the stage. Again.

Well, that got dark quickly.

Hey! You know what isn't dark? Mojitos! I had the first Mojito of my life while I was watching the song-and-dance show. And it was simply delicious! Gently bruised mint leaves floating in an ice-cold glass with fruit juice, ice cubes and rum. This is my new all-time favorite drink to order on a cruise ship. I didn't have a previous favorite. Well, maybe the fruity red one. It didn't just have a pineapple wedge, there was a cherry in there too.

Clearly, it's lunchtime and we've been running around town all morning working up an appetite, so I assume we ate lunch before the ship pulled out of port. But I have no memory of that event, so ... No, really, I get it. Food is important to people, and I complained loudly above when I had one lousy omelette. So, lunch must have been okay. It just wasn't memorable.

I do remember going back to the room, grabbing our large refillable mugs with the bendy straws from [A MAJOR CENTRAL FLORIDA THEME PARK], filling them with ice (oh, that's why we needed so much ice!) and adding a heavy splash of bourbon to them. Heck, maybe two heavy splashes. Vacation measurements were in full effect. Then sauntering over to the pool bar for my 'free' glass of coke. Open lid, add coke, return empty glass to the bartender.

And I think that's a violation of the 'overpriced bottle in your room' rules. I am a violator. But it seems to fit the spirit of the rules -- I wasn't stumbling down the corridors with a bottle of whiskey in my hand. Well, not yet. And if it happened at all, I'm certainly not going to admit to it here. Either way, I am now properly equipped to battle the Fun Ship.

Turning away from the pool bar, I hear music. I SAID I HEAR MUSIC NOW. SORRY, IT'S REALLY LOUD. I CAN'T ... It might seem crazy what I'm 'bout to say, but

play this Youtube video on 'infinite repeats' [i cannot make this work] for the rest of my review. Turn the volume up to 'intolerable'. It's like you're on a cruise right next to me now. But I'm having flashbacks again, and they're not the fun ones.

Two PM: "Ultimate Mind Trivia" on benches near the casino. You can win your own gold-colored ship on a stick here if you're a smartypants. I didn't win. But I'll help you cheat by giving you the answers to the hard ones.

============================

It's a Polar Bear.

Yes.

Analog Alarm Clock

Yes.

Restated: "Anna's parents have three daughters. Two of them have silly names. What's Anna's name?" Doh.

23 people (it's the classic birthday problem. You'll learn methods to solve it at any decent college. Stay in school kids -- it'll help you win shiny toys later.)

There is one groove (per side, so really two) on a 33 rpm record.

=============================

Good luck.

After trivia, I spent a few hours accumulating skin cancer points on the mid-ship pool deck. Play the song again to capture this magical moment. No, play it LOUDER! That's better. You are free to assume I also enjoyed a silly drink in a silly glass, because that really happened.

On the eleventeenth repeat of a song I once enjoyed, I had an epiphany:

"I am relaxed. This cruisin' thang ain't half bad."

Then a small child landed on my chair and started screaming in my ear. He was quite concerned about the recent events in Ukraine, and encouraged me to support a return to the gold standard to stabilize currency fluctuations.

Well, that's probably enough sun for one afternoon.

Can people see in during the day?

No. But at night, the room is quite clearly visible to people on the forward deck. We made a habit of arranging the curtains, and having the manly man (me) test the visibility from the sekrit deck.

Tuck and fold as necessary, retest, repeat.

Other than the potential lack of privacy, are the rooms excellent?

Yes

Day Two, Key West:

We wake up and go to the Lido Mediterranean restaurant, Lido Deck (9 on the Victory). This is the buffet option for breakfast. Now, I've read numerous trip reports raving about the omelette station here and how wonderful it can be. And all of those people are wrong.

Yes, they make omelettes for you. You can choose the ingredients and everything. It's not exactly fancy, but it's 'personalized.' But the omelettes are dreadful. I selected chopped tomatoes, onions, fresh spinach and crumbled bacon for the filling, with a generous scoop of cheddar to finish. And even typing that two weeks later -- I'm suddenly rather hungry.

So, the omelette artist selects a filthy skillet from a pile and adds an ocean of Earl. No, that's not quite enough oil, let's add some more. Then a ladle full of "Eggs, liquid, scrambled, fresh enough" to the skillet and puts it over a hot plate. "Whatcha want, buddy?" <I select from the obvious trays> Delicious-looking fillings are added to the skillet. My 'not white, not yellow, really -- this color does not occur in nature' pseudo-eggs are starting to get firm. He serves the person ahead of me, adding a huge spoonful of grated cheese moments before he folds it and plates it with obvious practice. He moves my eggs to the second burner and takes an order from the person behind me. Then adds my cheddar cheese, folds it, flips it, plates it and hands me my plate. As I'm walking back to my table, the oil is invading the plate, but the egg-like creation is unaffected.

I did not enjoy this breakfast selection. It was wrong. I'll admit, I have made bad decisions in my life. I once met my girlfriend's father for the first time in the visitor center of her prison. I liked her father, but I think he got a bad first impression of me. She is not my current wife, by the way. I must say -- choosing this omelette was one of those bad decisions. I finished it because it sounded awesome in my brain, was almost edible, and I was hungry. But, I received no happiness. I wandered over to the steaming trays of not-created-in-front-of-you food. I got something else, probably an alleged sausage and cold hash browns.

Maybe toast? Can you get toast on Carnival? The drink machines were no longer spraying out fake tea and not-actually-bad lemonade -- they had reconstructed fruit juices instead. The fruit juices caused me to be happy for a moment. I treasured that moment.

We walk/roll off of the boat. Did Faster-To-The-Fun help? I really can't say. We got special treatment from the crew and departing the ship was fast and effortless. Well, they had to adjust a metal detector opening to allow her chair to roll through it, then hand-wanded her to check for ... smuggled blue towels or something.

We reach the dock and found our tour operator. We show him our reservation printout and get a pair of purple stickers in exchange. Because we booked at the last minute, they didn't have the 'right' vehicle ready for us. He gets on the radio and calls dispatch -- they swap trolley/bus thingies at the designated parking spot to get the wheelchair-lifty one for us. We wait for a few moments to allow the bus to fill. The driver makes it clear that they have multiple trolley/bus vehicles, but only half of them will carry a wheelchair. Normally, we could get off anywhere and a new vehicle would arrive in 20 minutes. In our case, the penalty for getting off will be a 40 minute wait for the next HC bus to arrive. And to be honest -- I'm 100% OK with that restriction.

We ride the trolley to the 'The Southern Most Point in CONUS' stop. At multiple points along the way, the driver is giving us commentary and history. I smiled at least three times at the bad jokes.

Then we get off and buy two fancy cups of coffee from a small shop with a wheelchair ramp. The coffee was okay. It's hard to judge, really. I'm used to either gas station coffee for cheap or distinctively over-roasted Starbucks stuff. This was smooth, moderately strong, and ... it may have been the "most perfect" coffee I've ever had. I really can't judge.

A decision was made -- We will NOT wait for the next trolley. We will seek adventure.

I live in Florida. I've been here for 40+ years. Florida is weird. Key West is weird even to me. And I love that.

So, we're on Duval street, a famous drinking zone in Key West. Enough bars to last a lifetime, but it's mid-morning. So, like, some of the bars are mostly open. We walk/roll the entire length of Duval Street over a period of two hours. Like tourists. Giggling and shopping in quirky little shops.

Then make it back to "Custom House", the landmark for the cruise terminal. With time to kill, we visit a tiny indoor mall with A/C. Air. Conditioning. It was hot outside.

We leave the cold mall, roll back to the boarding area and take bad photos on the dock with the Victory as a background. Then decide to spend just a few more minutes relaxing on the dock, watching the boats bobble in the bay.

Finally, we go back onto the boat, at around noon.

So, I'm sitting there on the Lido deck, in the shade but mostly outdoors by one of the pools, 'boat drink' in-hand, watching the barbarians descend upon the buffet and I realize -- I got suckered into grabbing a burger from the first place I saw. Most of the people are walking right past me into the other dining room. And I get very suspicious, so I follow them and discover an entire room full of more food. It's not just more seats, it's more stuff. This information may be useful later...

So we're done eating, the seating is getting crowded, and we decide to make our table available for others. Gathering our carry-on bags (we checked some of the bags, too), I reach for my not-quite-empty plastic cup-of-happiness and

feel a bag slide off my shoulder, down my arm and knock the souvenir cup over, spraying sticky red liquid across the lady at the table next to us. Of course, I apologize and she pretends not to be furious. I ain't drunk, lady, I'm just ... an idiot. Great, I'm on the ship for less than an hour and I'm already 'making lifelong friends.'

Our room is ready a little earlier than expected, or at least the 'YOU NO GO ROOM YET' signs have disappeared.

We're in a 4J Room (look at the cruise vet slinging room categories like he has a clue) on deck ten. Interior with Picture Window, Walkway View. Every time we arrive on this floor via elevator, a voice sings out "Deck Ten: Panorama" and I finish with "Lama Ding Dong." Because I'm pretty sure she was going to say that next. This is a handicapped-accessible room with extra space to park a wheelchair. Did I mention my wife spends a lot of time in her chair? It didn't seem important. Yeah, she has some medical issues.

Put all of our stuff in the room. Our checked bags haven't arrived yet.

And I find a liter of Makers Mark on the dresser of the cabin. There's a note attached:

"A gift for Rick,

Special Message: You're going to need this!

From Rick."

Now, I'd like to clarify that I'm far from a bourbon snob. I usually sit on the floor in liquor stores and shop the stuff from the bottom shelf. Of course, I have favorites from the upper shelves, too. Carnival doesn't offer them. They do offer Makers Mark. People consider this a nice sipping bourbon. I think it's fine as long as you drown it with ice cubes and enough Coke.

I'm kidding, lemonade works just as well.

We finally meet our room steward. My wife gives him cash and makes it clear that having a constant supply of ice cubes is the most important thing in her life right now. I get the impression that ice cubes on a cruise ship are as valuable as cigarettes in prison. When the ship runs out of them, we'll make the other passengers into our bitches with our ice cube monopoly. It never happens and my dreams are crushed.

Our room steward is Filipino. I lived in the Philippines for a year, then a volcano happened and I left. I mumble something non-insulting in Tagalog, and his face breaks into a grin. For the rest of the cruise, we exchange vile insults about each other's parentage in the hallway. He even reminds me of a few disgusting phrases I had forgotten. The other room stewards look at us with faces of shock and dismay. My new best friend for life. I miss him already.

We attend muster: Yep, it's going to be ugly watching this ship sink. I identify my lifeboat, it's the orange one.

Back to the room with a quick stop at the casino bar to get Bottomless Bubbles stickers. Our checked bags have arrived. We drag them to safety inside the room.

Wife starts browsing the literature. I mean the handouts. <shuffles through papers> They call them the "Fun Times."

I grab a map of the ship and explore, determined to stop feeling lost. Mostly, I'm looking for handicapped access routes and seating at the shows. Everything looks fine.

Fast forward (because I forgot how I wasted the rest of the day)

5:00 Mini Martini tasting, Caspian Wine Bar.

Dinner, 8:15 Atlantic Upper floor. Simple menu. Good service. Good food. Awesome mashed potatoes. We swap tables with the couple next to us for better wheelchair access. We really liked that couple, saw them several times on other parts of the ship.

Did we see a show? I think we saw a show. No, not the first night.

Wife found a Key West tour that was wheelchair-accessible and booked it in the middle of the night. I didn't know.

I fell asleep.

C'mon where's the rest? This is great. Now I'll be glued to my computer until I see more!! Planting will have to wait.

 

 

Sent from my iPhone using Forums

I'm writing more. Really. I can't wait to find out what happened next, either. It's so exciting!

Background: This was my first cruise in 25+ years, and I hated the first one.

When I was but a wee lad, one of my high school friends received a weird vacation offer in the mail. "Three day vacation in the Bahamas for $199. Buy one, get one free." We did the math and decided splitting the cost would make sense, so we booked it. But it was quite a strange package. Drive to Miami or Port Everglades (fuzzy on exact port), get on a cruise ship in the afternoon. Get off in Nassau the next morning, travel to a resort, check-in and stay two nights. Check out of the hotel by noon on day three, wander the island until the evening, board the cruise ship around sunset, get off the boat in Miami the next morning.

If you were reading closely, you may have noticed that I skipped mentioning our cabin on the ship. We didn't have one -- just deck space. And it was awkward, like spending a night in the airport. So, other than a handful of local '5 hour cruise to nowhere' gambling ships (which I can tolerate), I was a cruise newb with no desire to pay good money to be trapped in a floating hotel for several days.

But my wife LOVES to cruise. Last year, I sent her and one of her best friends on a 7 day Carnival Dream trip. I paid for the friend's cabin to (a) avoid having to go myself and (b) because my work was hectic with a major product nearing a critical delivery milestone. Yes, I've been informed that they had a wonderful time. No, applications to be my wife's best friend are not currently being accepted.

And for reasons that aren't quite clear -- she won a free cruise for two. We think it was a drawing from playing Bingo, maybe it was simply "thanks for the cash, sucker -- come back to the casino and give us more of it." It really doesn't matter at this point. She practically begged me to consider going with her. We had several options to choose from, so I agreed.

But first, I made a list of demands:

1. We leave from nearby Tampa or Port Canaveral (live in Orlando) to make it easy.

2. Preferably NOT CARNIVAL, because I don't want to endure any of this Fun Ship nonsense.

3. A nice new ship. With blinky lights and shiny things and perhaps a pony.

4. A short trip. Three, maybe four days including a weekend. So I could hate it as quickly as possible, not lose much time from work and get this ordeal out of the way.

I can hear the gentlemen in the audience groaning. And you're allowed, because rather predictably, I found myself booked on:

The Carnival Victory, leaving from Miami for a 4 day trip.

Whoo-Hoo! One out of four demands were met! Better than expected!

=================================

T Minus Three Months: I apply for a passport. I didn't have a valid passport. I have one now.

T Minus Two Weeks: I buy a new bathing suit. Wait, two new bathing suits. No, THREE new bathing suits. And a few fast-drying shirts. I'm planning to chair hog the pool deck like a pro. Also -- water slides!

=================================

Day Zero: I can't concentrate at work, so I wave goodbye to my boss and leave early (before sundown). I drive home to find that our bags have been packed. My wife finally agreed to "pack light," so there are only seven bags to load into the minivan. Yes, we have a minivan. Sigh.

I start worrying about every little detail, because ... because... Let's say I'm detail oriented at random times. I finally push my wonderful wife to the breaking point. "Stop doing that -- I have everything prepared. I. HAVE. DONE. THIS. BEFORE. Sheesh, just relax." I do not relax. But I do fall asleep. Eventually.

===================================

Day One: We wake up to an angry alarm clock at FOUR IN THE MORNING. We get in the van. We put gas in the van. We drive. And drive. And drive. Traffic is light, smooth and not a problem on I-95 until we reach Palm Beach, where it becomes none of these things.

We reach the terminal, unload enough luggage for an army... I've just been told not to complain about the luggage, so it was officially the correct amount of luggage and a delight to ...

And go through the security checks, scamper to the front of the lines with our FTTF cards, and sit down next to the "You get on boat here" doors. And things are not moving quickly, so FTTF allows us to walk onto the boat slightly after noon. But no problem, the check-in desk in the terminal confirmed that our room was ready right now, so we'll just drop off the perfect amount of carry-on luggage in the room ... when it's ready ... at 1330.

So I'm on the Lido Deck with an appropriately stacked mountain of ...

Oh, hi again. We got to the buffet early and grabbed a table. The place was empty for a moment, but I can hear a thundering herd of passengers storming towards us. I had a cheeseburger and fries. It was food. I ate it. An angel walks by with a tray full of the long-awaited "Tall Red Fruity drinks in a souvenir plastic cup with a little paper umbrella and a chunk of fruit." And I need one of those more than I've needed anything else in my life. I flash my prestigious "DOH, IT'S MY FIRST CARNIVAL CRUISE" badge and the angel pretends it's REAL MONEY. I get another one for my wife, because it seemed like the right thing to do.