Ah, the cruise. The penultimate summer vacation. A trip on a cruise boat by its very nature implies beaches, sun, and good times. And I just took my first step into a larger world. As many of you know, my international travel has been very limited. The only foreign cities I have visited in my life were Mumbai, India and Detroit, Michigan. But this time, I was set to sail for the Bahamas!
To set this up for you, this trip was set up by my office – on board the Celebration Cruise line, which I assume was named the moment the first group of travelers disembarked from that lumbering vomitorium. But I’m getting ahead of myself talking about that tanker – lets start from the beginning.
The dock was tucked away in a shipyard and industrial park, which was delightfully cheery in the same way as Shawshank Prison – lots of personality, old stone walls, and decorative fences with delightful flowers of barbed wire for trimming. I assume the purpose of said fences was the same as it is in a prison – to keep people from escaping once they saw the boat.
The boat itself was, in fact, a wonder, mostly in that a ship that was clearly built in the 1980’s by a German industrialist could stay afloat for so long. It was then that I discovered that the small parking lot was VALET ONLY. Only 30$ tacked onto the blossoming $250 I had paid to roam the decks of the vessel.
At least the valet parking was somewhat useful. True, the cars were only thirty feet away, and I just as easily could have parked in the space and left, but they actually moved the car for us. There was some value in that service. Maybe not $30 worth of value, but some. It was perhaps the last value I would see in my journey.
Walking through customs and signing in, we waited patiently whilst the tired, haggard old sea hands reviewed our documentation. It was then they took our credit card information and I discovered, with a shockingly minuscule degree of surprise for someone who has neither been on this boat nor ever on a cruise, that we also incurred an additional $50 fuel and service charge.
After a brief, non-informative (but highly enlightening) conversation with the cash-stealing lady behind the welcome kiosk, we hopped aboard the good ship Celebration. I pulled out a $20 bill, ready to pay what I assumed would be the ‘walking fee’ for moving about the ship and carpet wear and tear. Thankfully, that fee never came.
I happily trumped up to my room in a sputtering, stuttering elevator with lovely windows overlooking ship walls and cabins and opened the door. It wasn't until then that I realized I had reserved closet space rather than a room. Firstly, the bathroom, I assume, was Spartan, barely decorated towel closet with a shakily assembled garden hose used for bodily cleansing and a combination garden hose/vacuum cleaner toilet that succeeded in spraying you with ass water every time you pressed the big, red doomsday ‘flush’ button. That button glared at me angrily the entire trip, yet didn't even have the courtesy to glow.
The next thing I noticed was the temperature. There was no air conditioning. So, like a rational person, I called ship services, or ‘guy dressed in jumpsuit.’ Guy in jumpsuit told us, over the phone, that we were calling from a room we weren't in. When we told him we were in room 6205, he told US that we were, in fact, in room 3201. This was encouraging. I figured if enough things went wrong fast enough, the odds of something going right accidentally would increase exponentially.
Very astute jumpsuit guy showed up after about 30 minutes and informed me that our AC wasn't working. While he was talking, I discovered that if I twisted the temperature knob on the wall, it did absolutely nothing. Further investigation revealed the same was true of the volume knob (for the Captain’s event announcements) and the ‘call services’ button. I assume the call services button did, at one time work, but broke due to overuse.
So, to help us out, jumpsuit guy grabbed a crowbar, pried the vent cover off the roof, revealing a large, gaping hole with all manner of odd electrical equipment concealed therein, tossed the cover on the floor, and wished us well. He was probably off to take crack-cocaine or some other drug to help make the blur seem interesting.
I decided to take matters into my own hands – I moved my bed directly underneath the ceiling vent so as to concentrate the full power of the air conditioning unit directly over my face, resulting in another failure in my already numerous and growing series of failures. The carpet beneath my bed was oddly colored. At first, I assumed a sea creature of some variety, yet clearly larger in size, had died in that spot. Upon reflection now, however, I realize it must have been a passenger who overheated, threw up over the side of the bed, and killed himself. The real mystery is whether he died on the bed and simply rolled off during a particularly bad set of waves, if he couldn't be bothered to lie down before he ended himself, or if he simply keeled over mid-morning from a staggeringly severe case of life-threatening boredom, or perhaps he got sick from the juicy remains of whatever stain was there before he was. One never knows.
The boat is without internet, unless you want to purchase some at $60 an hour, but with all the walking and door-opening charges, I didn't think I could afford it. I decided to sit down and plug in my laptop, only to be thwarted by European power outlets. I vaguely remember looking at the plaque on the wall, and it did say something like Der Hechersmichdt Underseeboot Hoften Germany, 1981. An antique German ship. I think Der Hecherscmicht or whatever meant ‘Prison Vessel’ and Underseeboot was an advertisement meant ‘leaking.’ European plugs on an American cruise line – probably so you can buy the $277.79 power adapter with free complimentary diesel fuel stains. I think they had them for rent for $600/hr., not including electricity charges.
So we decided to dine and take a quick tour of Der Harbor Unterseeboot. The food wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible. There are no fountains out of which fountain drinks can be provided – there are only canned sodas. Anything that’s already been provided includes a fun service charge – so a single can of Diet Coca-Cola runs you a striking $3.00. I guess it wouldn't be practical to keep soda syrup and carbonated water – hard to find, that water stuff, except we’re on a BOAT.
To me, serving canned soda on a boat is about like going to a Home Depot to purchase a strawberry plant, only to be told, ‘so sorry, sir! All we have are these $7.00 strawberries, individually wrapped from the strawberry fields outside.’ In my humble opinion, they can take their flavored water beverages and shove them up their collective portholes.
To ease the growing stomachache the prices gave me, I decided to walk around the top deck of the boat. There were tiny pools with glass sides – so I could see everyone’s body from mid-thigh down. Because if ever there was a great reason to purchase a $70 bikini for a cruise, it would be so that people could view her (or him – we don’t discriminate on the seven seas) from the knee down. Brilliant design work, knee-length fish tank pool guy.
As I walked around the edge of the boat, I discovered something so infuriating my body temperature must have gone up ten degrees. That is to say, my body temperature from the WAIST UP went up. Behind each and every single chair was an air vent – but not just a vent, like what you have in your house, nor even like the two foot by two foot square air-hole blowing the diesel equivalent of butt-farts directly left of dead man’s body stain. These were about four feet long by a foot and a half tall with huge metal doors/lids/porthatches, and they were COLD. It was cold enough that my ankles began to freeze, and I can’t imagine any of the people laying out on the long chairs could get much sun, what with the Eskimo-style snow jacket they’d have to wear to block that out. I can’t say much more on the subject, mostly due to the fact that I literally do not have the capacity to understand why the cruise line felt my crowbar vent room with spiny, free wheeling AC knob did not deserve proper air conditioning but the adjacent six feet of the Atlantic ocean definitely did. I guess fishes are more discerning these days.
In any case, after observing this and the fun children’s area, complete with a water slide and what I can only assume was a crying palm tree, I hobbled down the stairs to my waiting deathbed, took pills for motion sickness, pills for sleeping, and whatever else looked like an M&M or a good time and passed out in the pitch black of my card-key access storage hole.
The lights sputtered on around 8 AM and I made my way out for breakfast. This gourmet five star meal prepared by what was surely a crack squad of savvy, motivated personal impressed me with sheer ingenuity. I did not know that a breakfast pastry could exist that was below the quality of a honey bun. Honey buns are made of 10% sugar, 10% bread and 80% ear wax, and these were worse. They had some sort of fruit based sugar and a glaze of white, diesel flavored topping on top. I think maybe it was whatever glue was holding the ship together, possible a combination of barnacle and bird shit – it shall forever remain a mystery. Whatever it was, I have no doubt that it is non-biodegradable. At all. It went into my colon, and there it sits to this very day.
I decided an excursion to the beach was the best option. I had pre-purchased a bus ride (about $40) to the Lucaya resort. Lucaya is Bahamas-speak for crap. As I stepped outside, I felt my very first pang of real, unadulterated disappointment. Parked not 50 feet from us was a huge, beautiful Carnival cruise ship.
And I became angry – these Carnival people had clearly gone to some trouble to make their passengers feel at home. The ship was easily four times the size of ours, the buses outside were nicer, and they had clearly added a few things to make the trip more pleasant to the beachgoers, like paint.
That really didn't bother me until I realized a simple corporate truth: I bet Celebration cruise line bought that new boat using only the money I spent on Diet Coke.
Anxious to leave the large, hulking reminder of our own ship’s inadequacy issues behind, we climbed onto a bus that either survived a nuclear holocaust or was designed and built by people high on LSD and crack cocaine. The drive to the beach area was a scenic tour of abandoned shipyards, several McDonalds, and quite a few large oil-containing silos. These were described to me in excruciating detail, presumably so I felt as if I was getting my $40 worth. Earplugs and a blindfold, however, would have both added a sense of mystery and prevented the panic I felt before some shady guy with a hand carved totem pole beat stick walked up to me and asked for money I’d already spent on diet coke in an accent I couldn't understand.
I climbed off of the bus, joyous to be out and about, even if the skies were grayed by the early tendrils of tropical storm Emily reaching for us, but ever mindful of what could possibly lurk beyond the next corner.
We went and saw the beaches, which seemed nice enough, but we decided to beat the crowds and go to the shopping area first. Before we could turn the corner towards the first shops, people were already accosting us for money. ‘Please by my hand woven fan.’ ‘Please buy my Bahamas’ hat.’ ‘Please by my busted-ass ships wheel that was made in China and damaged in transport.’ I decided to save my money for Diet Coke.
We rounded the corner and decided to take in the shops. We found a place that served delicious coconuts and mixed drinks – two large fruit drinks with mango, banana, or other deliciousness for $8. I couldn't resist that. As we turned again, we sipped our drinks and it began to POUR rain. A quick evaluation revealed two options: jewelry stores we could never, ever afford with $10,000 luxury watches, and junk stores with stuff we would never want.
We chose the jewelry stores; presumably because we subconsciously believed they would have better air conditioning. I honestly can’t be too sure why I chose that because there was a lot of rum in my banana sugar water coconut smoothie thing. Though I would have loved a nice, well-manufactured Omega timepiece, I figured sixteen Diet Cokes on the ship ride home were probably a better value. Probably.
We went outside again, and it was still raining. So, like any rational, normal human being, I went back to the smoothie place and got another delicious fruity concoction. Once I had drained that, I decided to grab a bite to eat.
The Bahamas Island Sandwich Grill Whatever had a decent menu and appeared promising. I ordered a grilled Jamaican Jerk chicken sandwich, while the others got some form of pulled conch burger and a wrap of some sort. About 5 minutes before the food came out, they told us they didn’t have the foodstuffs to make the wrap, but could bring a salad. The salad had no meat or cooking ingredients in it whatsoever. True though that may be, in retrospect I’m sure they spent a good, good while aging that bleu cheese.
As you might have guessed, the food came and went and the salad had yet to arrive. When it did arrive, the server took notice of the half-full cup of mayonnaise we’d used for our sandwiches and asked us if we’d gotten enough. It was a large, large container of mayonnaise and we said yes. Our wait staff member promptly grabbed the container, turned around, and plopped the used mayo capsule down in front of another patron.
This raised immediate red flags. Another concern was the tea we ordered. I’m from the south. I know when you order tea, they bring you sweet tea. But this stuff was diabetes in a glass – it was a thick, sugary mess. It was almost as if they put some brown food coloring in sugar water, then poured it into a blender and threw in a donut for good measure.
So many questions about the food: What of the conch burger? Was it made of recycled bits of other people’s conchs? What percentage of my French fries had been grabbed off some other dude’s plate? What if they saved them from yesterday and reheated them in the oven? That would explain a lot of the taste. These were all questions I had not had enough mango rum drinks to ponder, so I decided to try my luck in the water.
Amazingly, despite the heavy rain, flashes of thunder, and dark skies, I found my first peace during the entire trip. The fresh water made it difficult to see and the waves made it dark. The coolest things I saw down there were baby barracuda, suggesting there were large barracuda nearby, stingrays, and dark shapes moving about I assume were sharks. I saw these creatures. I knew that they could possibly take my life, and after riding in the boat and eating unfresh fries, I was glad to know it. Emergency helicopters move much faster than boats, and baring that I wouldn't have minded the extra cabin space a coffin would have afforded me.
The rainwater was strikingly cold - cold enough to cause a sharp inhale when I stepped in, but two feet down, the water was a warm Caribbean bathtub. Jaded as I was, I thought that perhaps it was the collective warm Caribbean pee from all the unhappy guests drinking mango juice-shakes, but hey, warm water is warm water, and there was probably pee somewhere in my lunchtime used fries feast anyway.
I soaked and enjoyed until the rain became too thick to see through. I clambered back towards the bus, stopping to get – what else - an $8 fruit cocktail with too much bad rum poured over it. On the way to the bus area, I noticed some delightful gentlemen cruising up beside me in the nicest beat up 1984 Cutlass Supreme I’d seen that day. They looked at me briefly, then, with a fun and well-known gesture, asked me if I were interested in smoking weed. I was so flabbergasted that I hadn't thought of pot as a cure to the Bahamas before then that he became startled and rode off suddenly, leaving me to my ride home in the cold, nasty, leaky bus. It hadn’t even occurred to me that buses could leak like sinking ships, but apparently they can. Each drip of water was like a drop of happiness from my soul, falling down through the cracks in the road just outside of the Bahamas McDonalds. I hated that bus and the island it rested on with the fire of a thousand suns. ‘At least,’ I thought, ‘the trip to the beach was cheaper than buying a mixed drink and two Diet Cokes.’
I found out later that a private cab ride to the resort was $5.
When I arrived back at the ship, I slipped into the shower box and did my best to wash the day away. I was too exhausted from the continual barrage of spiritual discord I was feeling and needed a nap.
I woke up to the sound of grown men panicking about someone bleeding out. That was good to hear. They ran back and forth, pounding on the floor and screaming that they couldn't find anyone on board the ship (not a surprise) to help them with their female friend, who was bleeding out. Apparently she had sustained a serious head injury and was bleeding out.
I began to speculate as to whether she died of sudden onset food poisoning and whether I had imbibed enough liquor to kill whatever killer strain of bacteria lived in the diesel icing on my breakfast wafer, but then realized she probably just tried to kill herself. Then I thought, ‘you know, I could just look out the door and see what’s going on. But that’s a terrible idea – what if people are trying to get by or I see something horrible? That would be awful!’
So I opened my shoebox door and looked outside. There laid about a quarter of a person draped in blood, hanging loosely out of the front of her door. It appeared as if they tried to drag her out of the cabin, but realized they had either had too much or not enough mango-rum juice and either ran off to get a crewmember smart enough to stay drunk or to borrow an extra $325 dollars so they could get drunk enough to do it themselves.
I thought to myself, “This was more than I can handle right now,” and went back to sleep. When I awoke an hour later, there were still people standing in each doorway all the way down the hall staring. The cleaning staff was in the process of throwing blankets – each one soaked through with thick, red blood, out into the hall for cleaning. In that moment, I settled on the vegetarian dinner meal and strode off to the dining hall.
Looking out the window during dinner, I could tell that the full force of tropical storm Emily was bearing down on the Bahamas. Part of me was hoping that the island would sink into the ocean, much like Atlantis before it, but then I remembered the Carnival cruise ship and all the happy people aboard it, and decided I’d rather it sank instead.
I watched the distance I could see out became shrink quickly and the trees bent further and further downward as the rain and winds steadily increased. I knew the ship was going to rock and I would probably get sick, but I also realized that there was a very strong possibility that this would, in fact, be my very last meal, so I dove in and at as much shitty meat products and chocolate mousses (chocolate meece? What’s the plural of chocolate mousse?) as my weary, travel worn gullet could choke down. As I was eating, the boat slowly began to pull out of the harbor. I felt a sense of peace from the rocking waves and the knowledge that I could, at any moment, die at sea and drown peacefully in a shoe closet. If I decided I wanted to live, I could take advantage of the large hole in the top of my room. Even if I couldn't quite swim through it, I could at least put a message in a bottle and tell others not to buy Diet Cokes on cruises, as it just perpetuates the disease that is modern cruises.
I then retired for a few hours before heading out to explore the ship. This was more challenging that I thought. When I awoke, I had hoped that my staggering was due to a pleasant degree of drunkenness, but instead through some rudimentary investigation involving a flat surface and a pencil realized our ship, the stout German bitch she was, had probably had one two many of those mango juice and rum drinks herself – in fact she probably ran on the stuff for the trip back – and was swaggering fully two and fro.
As I looked out the window, I noticed that we were no longer in gentle departure mode. It was clear from the water spraying off the sides of the ship that we were in haul-ass mode. Either the storm was about to bear down on us like the fist of Poseidon or the boat was about to get pulled over for intoxication whilst operating a motorized vehicle. The boat listed noticeably, and on several occasions, waves struck us violently enough to shake the whole ship.
I had long since parted ways with any desire to retain my wretched life, so I decided to venture up to the top deck, in the freezing cold pouring rain and lightning, and check things out. I got an ice cream on the way. I figured if I was going to go out, I was going to do it with a rum raisin ice cream cone with sprinkles on top – sprinkles would make a nice festive celebration of my life. Chocolate or vanilla would have been preferable, but they didn't have those flavors, probably because people would have wanted to eat them.
As I peered over the edge of the ship, I noticed something new – the ship wasn't moving. I sloshed through a few inches of rainwater and asked someone on board why the ship wasn't moving. Another wave slammed into the ship and caused it to shudder as he explained that everything was probably fine and not to worry, proceeded to look around shiftily, not unlike the drug dealer in the somewhat more sea-worthy looking Cutlass Supreme I’d seen earlier, and scurried off.
In retrospect, it all made sense. I linked the stopped engines back to Diet Coke. A dead customer can’t buy Diet Coke. It can buy, however, a great deal of unwanted paperwork and, as I conclusively discovered, leave a rather unpleasant carpet stain. We must have stopped so we could throw all the people who had died of food poisoning, gout, the black plague, alcohol poisoning, shootings, accidental and/or mob initiated killings, or boredom over the side of the bucket we were stuck in before moving on.
After a few hours, the engines roared into full blast, again throwing us almost directly into the oncoming waves. For the second time in 24 hours, I reached around my room for whatever narcotics and mind-altering medications I could grab, put some handy earplugs in and stared up into the abyssal hole where cool air was supposed to come from before stuttering into something of a peaceful half-sleep.
When I awoke, I showered excitedly and packed all my things, giddy with the prospect of leaving the boat forever. I imagine that as I packed my bags, I looked very much like a video of a five year-old boy opening presents at Christmas played at double speed in reverse.
I hurried down to the breakfast area for shitty breakfast, which I munched down enthusiastically. I even enjoyed the diesel-frosted cakes and expired milk this time.
Then the captain announced that only people with 8 AM cards could depart the boat. You know, it never really occurred to me that someone would want to pay extra to end a vacation as early as possible and get on the road, but if I’d known about it, I’d gladly paid the seven Diet Coke fee for early departure.
When we finally did get it line, it backed up all the way inside the ship – and though we weren't the last in line, through some magic, everyone who was either from a different country or had a birth certificate got out before us. Even the drunk lady passed out in the corner got out before us.
We were, in fact, the very, very last people to leave the ship. We went back to the valet parking guy and asked for the keys. He said he would gladly bring the car around. My keen eagle eyes spotted the car, not 30 feet away, and I said, “The car is right there. I can walk to it. With feet.” He reluctantly handed the keys over and I made for my parked chariot.
As I pulled away from the ship, I began to understand. Inside of my head, a small Celebration was occurring. For a split second I actually considered going on the cruise again so I could experience this great euphoria I was feeling. ‘But,’ I thought to myself, ‘I don’t have the kind of Diet Coke necessary to make that kind of trip worth it.’
You know, perhaps that carpet stain was just part of the rug design. I’ll never know for sure.
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