Size with plenty of style--

Eight days, seven nights of me and my uncle,
aboard Royal Caribbean's Voyager of the Seas 

---

Table of Contents:

Introduction	30 January 2001 -- The manicured shore Labadee, Haiti	2 February 2001 -- A brief Mexican immersion Cozumel, Mexico
28 January 2001 -- Setting out At home	31 January 2001 -- A most beloved country Ocho Rios, Jamaica	3 February 2001 -- Winding on down Third at-sea day
29 January 2001 -- Covering some distance First at-sea day	1 February 2001 -- Moving on ahead Second at-sea day	4 February 2001 -- The homeward passage At the pier in Miami

Having nominally enjoyed myself during my solo cruise to Aruba aboard the Norwegian Dream in February 2000, I decided to keep the momentum going by booking my second cruise in May 2000 with Royal Caribbean, aboard the Voyager of the Seas.  I had just returned from my experience of the 46,000-ton Dream, and I was most curious as to this 142,000-ton entry to the industry, the largest to date.  I noted that the itinerary went to the Western Caribbean, meaning Labadee, Haiti; Ocho Rios, Jamaica; Cozumel, Mexico, which would give me a chance to broaden my knowledge of what lies "down there".  I also noted with interest that this cruise had three at-sea days, something I enjoy for the wonderfully-insular coziness of self-contained shipboard life.  Therefore, I called my previous contact at Escapade Singles Cruises, AKA Small World Travel, Grand Rapids, MI, and asked about the offerings in bare-bones outside staterooms aboard the Voyager.  It seems that Royal Caribbean is not on the list of regularly-used cruise lines at Escapade, I suspect because they charge 200% of the double-occupancy price when a single customer books a cabin built for two.  Realizing that I had a good chance at a 6% bonus that fiscal year at my job at the US Patent and Trademark Office, I correctly reckoned that I could just afford the $2791.00 cruise-only price, which I paid through November in a series of 4 installments.  For making the inquiry I did with RCCL in May, I was granted an upgrade from the lowest, Class "I" outside staterooms on deck 2 to a Class "F" "Larger Stateroom" on deck 9, though not with the balcony typical of cabins on that deck.  I soon had the brochure in hand and located the room, #9216, and began building my internal mental picture of the ship.  I actually had a few dreams about this journey in the months leading up to the sailing date in January 2001, including one where I made it on board after the ship had left port by using a Star Trek-style "transporter" to access the area of forward deck 2.

After I had made the final payment, however, it finally sunk in that I had paid the way for two cruise customers, and not just myself.  Thus, I asked my Uncle Dick T. in Battle Creek, 60 years old and single like myself, if he'd like to share my room.  His bill would only be for $143.00 in additional port charges, $21.00 for ground transfers in Miami and $300.00 or so for a plane ticket from Detroit.  My mother helped me with this, and after a brief consideration of what had been offered to him (and without having to look at any timeshares), Uncle Dick went along.  This marks some sort of softening in my defiant "life alone".  Of course, Uncle Dick is a decent and unassuming man, and in his stance of being "retired" but not yet on Social Security, he doesn't get in the kind of travel that I do.  Thus it was that I lasted out the final weeks preceding this lavish journey that coincidentally was to circumnavigate the island of Cuba.

28 January 2001 -- Setting out

5:30 AM:  38º 44' N, 77º 07' W--At home

Since I had an earlier-morning flight from DCA (Washington National) to MIA (Miami International), I had taken care of checking in Thomas, my 10-year-old cat, at Woodlawn Kennels on Saturday the 27th, as well as doing the bulk of my packing.  Since I would have my larger checked bag with me, I had the luxury of bringing a wider assortment and quantity of clothing and equipment, including my "formal" attire for those dinners so labelled.  I also had the cargo space for an assortment of gadgets, including both my SLR and 140mm pocket zoom camera, along with two lenses for the SLR, my Game Boy Color and my Garmin GPS II Plus, a prize I won at mapplanet.com for correctly naming Chernobyl, Ukraine on an unmarked map in October, 2000.  I was therefore largely "ready" when the alarm woke me at 5:30 AM to do the final evacuation.  Since I had a few extra moments before shutting down my Gateway PC, I decided to confirm my flight to MIA at aa.com, which is fortunate--they had moved it up from 9:41 AM to 9:09 AM.  This also impacted my workplace associate Thomas N., who agreed to drive my truck while I was gone, to save DCA parking fees, and also check on my home, since the Trane heat pump system had acted funny on Friday the 26th.  I got through to Tom in time, since he's typically at the office working overtime on Sunday, and made the trip to a ghostily-empty Crystal City.  We changed seats in the loading zone in front of Crystal Park 2, and since DCA is so close to that part of Arlington, VA, I made it in time for the flight.  I have to hand it to American Airlines for one bit of customer service:  I had forgotten to give Tom the security-control key-ring fob for the truck, and since he realized this in time, he was able to get the airline to send someone onto the MD-80 to request it from me, just before they closed the doors.  I then settled in for the 2-1/2 hours of flying time to MIA and the Royal Caribbean staff.

When I arrived at the gate in MIA, there was a Royal Caribbean representative there, something I had recalled seeing in San Juan the year before.  This gentleman also worked to guide Celebrity Cruise customers, since it seems they have been acquired by RCCL in a manner resembling the way Carnival has come to contain Holland America.  I explained to him how I was supposed to meet a person arriving from DTW (Detroit) on Northwest Airlines, since our flights arrived approximately at the same time and Uncle Dick had expressed an interest in riding with me on the bus to the ship.  Unlike my experience with Delta Airlines in SJU (San Juan) on that snowy previous Super Bowl Sunday in 2000, my checked bag made it through to MIA, where I marked it with the bright yellow Voyager tag and put it back on the carousel, as per the representative's instructions.  He then walked me on down for what seemed like a 1/4 mile, while I towed my 20-pound carry-on bag, to the proper baggage claim for Uncle Dick's flight.  It was fairly warm in there for my M-65 field coat, which I soon had off and slung over my arm.  After I hung around the area for about 20 minutes, I spotted Uncle Dick, who decided he'd carry all his luggage with him on the transfer bus.  This was a typical tour-style "motorcoach", and our driver did not waste the opportunity to give us new arrivals a description as we entered the city, passed downtown, and came to the pier.  I was pleasantly surprised that the check-in line was not a disastrously-long queue, as one might expect for the operation of loading 3100 people in a few hours, and this I attribute to the long and well-staffed row of agents at their terminals.  We were each issued a magnetic-stripe boarding pass card like the ones used as keys at the Las Vegas resorts, with two separate accounts, and made it on the ship by 2:00 PM.  This was considerably earlier in the day than my 7:00 PM arrival at the Norwegian Dream in 2000.

The gangway deposited us at forward deck 4, and since I knew the ship so well, it was a trivial matter to find our way up the forward lifts to the starboard corridor, then all the way forward to #9216.  I dumped my bag there in the typical style following air travel and ground transportation, after which I tried without success to "see" enough of the sky through our single, 48-inch porthole window to get a fix on my GPS.  Soon, I was rested enough to begin hiking around to my initial destinations on the ship.  First on my list was the customer service desk, where I converted $1000.00 in travelers' cheques into shipboard currency and casino cash, after traversing that most impressive deck 5 Promenade.  This is a 500-foot long "main street" atrium, 30 feet wide and 4 decks high, that is the heart of the vessel.  It seemed consistently shorter to walk to the aft lifts using this route than going on down one of the endless corridors on the upper decks.  The Promenade reminded me of the Fremont Street Experience from my October 2000 Las Vegas trip, even to the point of having staterooms overlooking it in the style of the downtown Las Vegas hotels.  Also on my initial list was an investigation of the internet access terminals, which turned out to be in the library on aft 7 and 8 decks and business services directly below on 6 deck.  Getting around to these assorted locations on different levels brought out the wonderful integration of horizontal decks and vertical atria and staircases on this ship.  It is the kind of thing that would have consumed all of my imagination as a 10-year-old kid, and even reminded me a little of those days at the age of 38.  As for ultimate utility, one could accomplish the basics with those restricted-function, 50-cent-a-minute terminals, but I was disappointed to see no shell account access, web publishing tools, or even cut/copy and paste on these so-called computers.  Well, as my Dad used to say about many things of this mediocrity, it was "better than a rap 'longside the head with a sharp stick".

We thereafter began settling in for the actual start of the cruise, with Uncle Dick assigned the job of getting the beverages removed from our in-stateroom automated mini-bar refrigerator.  This was so that we could store things like sodas and my favorite, O'Doul's non-alcoholic brew.  These turned out to be 25 cents to $1.00 less to buy at the bars and haul up, and by the latter part of the day, someone from the bar service had fulfilled our request.  I was somewhat apprehensive, as the 5:00 PM departure deadline approached, because my checked bag had not arrived, only the ship ended up delayed by about an hour and it was on in plenty of time.  We took part in the odd life jackets muster drill, to station A1, at 4:30 PM, which hardly resembled the more realistic, at-sea drill we had on day 2 of the Norwegian Dream cruise.  Instead of our station being on deck, it was indoors, in the forward 5 deck Cleopatra's Needle lounge.  When this concluded, I began making my way aft to the 3 deck entrance to the Carmen dining room, part of a single, 3-story, terraced layout, with 3 separate entrances.  I had dinner at table #347 as per my boarding pass card, and Uncle Dick soon joined me from up above, where he had been witnessing the departure.  As we put out to sea, I saw nothing in the specialty entrée section of the menu (a disturbing trend this trip), and ordered a NY Strip steak from the everyday section.  As I had been warned about ordering steaks in Germany, they didn't quite seem to have the concept right.  I then moved on to the casino, which was soon open, and played blackjack until 8:30 PM.  At this point, I began growing tired, so I left for bed.  Working my way back forward, I ran into Uncle Dick again, and we retired to the cabin.  The seas off Miami were exerting some substantial motion upon the ship, even at this size, but that was all right, for I was rocked efficiently to sleep in the style I've come to appreciate from ocean travel.  I slept inboard, he slept outboard.  It worked out.

29 January 2001 -- Covering some distance

11:55 AM:  21º 58' N, 77º 09' W--First at-sea day
Course:  118, 20 mph

I had a chance to sleep my fill that first night, getting up at 7:30 AM to lounge about watching TV on the "closed circuit" television system in the style I so enjoy when I'm staying in hotels on land.  Cabin 9216 was useful here in having a full-sized sofa, situated between the berth area and the bathroom/closet entrance area.  I could stretch out in the classic "couch potato" pose, using a pillow from my bed, while I watched this limited-scope cable.  One of the better offerings was the "LA" version of the Cartoon Network, packaged for Spanish-speaking Latin America.  While the audio dialogue in the cartoons stayed in the original English, the printed titles were in Spanish.  Thus, I now know that "The Jetsons" should be called "Los Supersónicos" and that "The Powerpuff Girls" are also "Las Chicas Superpoderosas".  Since breakfast ran all the way until 10:00 AM, I had plenty of time for such idleness, followed by a shower and a trip back aft to an open-seating table in the dining area.  I was seated with some folks in the construction business from OH, and I later met one of them at the blackjack table.  It's a small world on a ship.  The breakfast was not the best it could be, with the chefs (or production foodservice artisans) having a tendency to undercook my eggs and link sausage.  Two meals in a row of this quality were enough to predispose me to finding other sources of food where I didn't have to wait a whole hour.

After I got in my first session of blackjack when the casino opened at 10:00 AM, I finally went outside to forward 12 deck, to see if my GPS would work.  There was a ferocious headwind that would have snatched my boonie hat away, were it not for the chin strap.  In the bright sun off Cuba's northern shore, where we had actually seen certain islands of the coastline from the dining room, I got strong signals on the Garmin and grabbed a waypoint fix for my collection.  Later in the day, I returned to the casino for the blackjack tournament.  I paid $20.00 to enter the first round and converted "$1000.00" in "fun money" to "$2875.00", which kept me on the leader board for the entire time until the finals.  I ended up in 5th place.  I was not as fortunate in the final round, however, coming in 4th place of the seven finalists.  This angered me some, for even the 3rd prize was something like $250.00 cash.  They did give me a wonderful screen-printed "Casino Royale" T-shirt for being a finalist, though, and this has become one of my favorite souvenir garments.  During my time wandering about mid-day, I made an appointment at the ShipShape Spa on forward 12 deck, for one of my acquired tastes of later life, the Elemis aromatherapy massage.  I ordered something called "Top to Toe" for $160.00, a 2-hour routine, to commence while we were still in port at Labadee the next day.  I was running low on the essential oils, etc., from that line that I use at home, anyway.  I was thus reminded of the "other life", vibrant and moving, that would be there for me when I returned.  This trip caused me to pay a little more attention to myself, if from nothing more than the high-intensity, energy-sparing lamps in the rather spacious bathroom, with its area-optimizing circular shower enclosure.  I was definitely seeing a different side of "who I am".

As evening approached, I went through the motions of attending the "formal" dinner, to which I wore clothes largely like the ones I did the year before--a JCPenney Stafford Blazer, white shirt and tie, Dockers trousers and my Red Wing penny loafers.  Uncle Dick graciously excused himself from these affairs, and he just might have felt out of place among the great many folks wearing tuxedos and evening gowns down on the 5 deck Promenade.  Some people really get into this business of dressing up--these must have been the same type that put all that effort into the Prom in high school, something I saw as entirely superfluous.  I didn't really find anything I cared for on the regular menu, not even the filet mignon, which they served with a sauce I requested them to omit.  I didn't dare to touch their interpretation of scalloped potatoes, and I've never been an asparagus man.  Good thing my mother wasn't there.  I was up and out of the room as soon as I finished my steak, headed for a few more hands of blackjack.  My luck was hardly anything like it was on the 2000 Aruba trip, where it was hard to do worse than break even.  I found comfort, however, in knowing that the games are only there because of losers.  Perhaps some of my mother's sober teaching was with me after all.  She and Uncle Dick were similar in playing for nickels and quarters in the slots, with no grand expectations or pretenses.  I returned to the cabin at 9:00 PM and was soon in bed, after noting, officially, that there was "nothing to watch" on TV that night.

30 January 2001 -- The manicured shore

7:15 AM:  19º 47' N, 72º 15' W--Labadee, Haiti

I slept solidly through the night to 5:45 AM, when I took my morning meds for hypertension, followed by my habitual Diet Coke from the refrigerator.  I had to make a conscious effort in the evenings to stock up for the morning, or else find my way around the deserted drinks counters until they could get me another when I first got up.  I was quiet enough not to have bothered Uncle Dick in the time of my waking ritual, and by the time he was up and I could look out the window, the jagged wooded coastal mountains of Haiti were clearly in sight.  As the ship approached Labadee, which turns out to have been on a remote peninsula near the town of Cap-Haïtien, I took a trip down to the customer service desk to ask about my lost set of dog tags, the ones I had bought as souvenirs at West Point in 1998.  Yes, they had them at lost and found.  I think they fell off during the blackjack tournament, from a weak chain clasp.  I like to wear dog tags when I travel, especially on airplanes, for this saves the investigators a trip to my dentist in case anything happens.  While I was at the counter, just aft of the Promenade on 5 deck, I also asked about my prospects for parasailing, as advertised in the shore excursion guide.  It seems these were to be booked when we got ashore.  So much for early planning.  With these matters settled, I took a trip to forward 13 deck, to watch the ship ply its way into the cove.  It sure looked rugged.  Breakfast with Uncle Dick then followed after that in the main dining room.  I acquired the sense to choose the french toast, after seeing what they thought about cooking eggs.  Uncle Dick was an omelet man, still.  Grandma, his "Ma", always liked to cook eggs for us boys when we were growing up, though I doubt this kitchen had her style of cast iron skillet.  Nearest I could figure, the galley on this ship must have been "hidden", down on decks 0 - 2, with an elaborate system of dumbwaiters that would have to be the size of freight elevators.  The food just "appeared", and I never could pinpoint the source.

Riding to the beach at Labadee aboard one of the tender ships

We got in a nominal visit to the Labadee development, which we accessed by tender boats from the doorways on 1 deck.  I had not performed this method of port access before, and found it interesting.  The tenders were christened Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria, in honor of Columbus.  Supposedly, he knew of this beach during the course of his exploits on Hispaniola.  We found the booth on the beach where they signed up parasailing guests, and I'd have gone up at 11:15 AM if the winds had not become excessive by that time.  Thus, we just meandered around the beach and the Royal Caribbean facilities there.  It was an exceptionally clean, white sand beach, and I spent some time just swinging in one of the many hammocks.  My attention then drifted to one of the supposedly-indigenous calypso bands, set up like NYC street musicians along the inland border of the beach.  I tend to enjoy most forms of live music, even with words sung in another language, which was the case here.  I saw an 8- or 9-year-old join in with a set of maracas, which got the wheels of my mind going, since I do like to jam.  I walked over with Uncle Dick to the marketplace area, where vast numbers of handcrafted items were on sale, and began looking around for a set of those resonant wooden sticks, which I later learned are called "claves".  These I remember best from the song "America" in West Side Story.  After fending off the sales pitches for other objects such as soapstone carvings and wooden statues of assorted design, I located a fellow who had the merchandise and would even demonstrate how to get the right sound from the instrument.  Having grown accustomed to using shipboard credit to this point, I didn't have money with me, requiring a loan from Uncle Dick until I could access my wallet in the safe in our stateroom.  The seller wanted $15.00 for the pair, joined by two thumb tacks and a piece of partially-frayed string.  I got the hang of this arrangement and countered with $10.00.  Hands were finally shaken at $12.00, which I'm sure would go a long way in the real Haiti.  We returned to the beach and I eventually joined the ensemble on a couple of tunes, though I doubt I had what it would take to play "for real".  I made a conscious effort not to double the line played by the other clave man there.  Soon after this, we packed up and returned to the ship, with its full complement of air conditioning.  It was well into the 80s F, and I took no chances regarding the use of sunscreen.

These gentlemen were kind enough to let me sit in, rhythm or not

I had plenty of time that afternoon to get in my 2-hour treatment at the massage clinic.  This, along with the casino, is one of my few high dollar indulgences on a cruise, aside from the fare itself.  Prior to the experience, I was asked to complete a questionnaire that looked more suited to discovering the "beauty regimen" practices of female participants.  Being male has its notable benefits, since the most I do to wash my face is accidentally get it wet, possibly wipe it with my hands, then towel it dry.  The massage and facial was pretty extensive, though I doubt my face needed as much work as it got.  I'd have taken more time on the feet and back.  The person serving me, incredibly, was only 23 years old, a British woman, though in her spa uniform she looked much older (cf. "Lovely Rita", Sgt. Pepper's).  I succeeded in drifting off into a fine and enviable nether-state, and it took me quite some time at the end to come around.  Fortunately, I was sold on the idea of those Elemis spa products for home use, and there were naturally a number of recommendations that I took them up on.  According to my "prescription", I am to continue my work with essential oils using "lavender", which is supposedly delivered in significant quantities with a ceramic "burner", though I prefer taking the stuff from cupped hands, along with the massage oil components.  The ship was preparing to get under way by the time I left the spa and returned to the rest of the routine.

That evening's dinner was dubbed "smart casual", which I took to be fairly equivalent to what they call "casual" in those Men's Wearhouse ads.  This I approximated by simply removing the tie from my "formal" array and undoing the top button.  Uncle Dick, once again, opted out of this meal, choosing room service instead.  Much to his el cheapo delight, they didn't charge extra for it.  I, on the other hand, had to confront another of these menus full of obscure entrées, this time from the Italian genre.  Nope, nothing there.  I took the grilled chicken breast and a baked potato.  I suspect that Erkan, our Turkish waiter at table #347, suspected that I was not enjoying myself, which was a fair assessment, though it was not his fault.  He took time to ask how I was doing.  This trip, actually enough, represented a hospitality "overload", so I could only respond a limited amount to yet another crew member's ministrations.  I did decide I'd try placing an order with the wine stewardess, after noting to my delight that there is such a thing as "non-alcoholic wine".  I got a bottle of Sutter Home Fre, a wonderfully dry 1999 Chardonnay that was nothing to compare with ordinary "grape juice", which is what I had to settle for in Rüdesheim when I did my German wine country tour in 1996.  After drinking 3 glasses while reclining at table, with our petite Filipina stewardess returning the bottle to ice each time, I decided I wanted to go, so the bottle was shipped on up to our cabin.  I offered some to Uncle Dick, only he didn't care for any.  I played a short spell of blackjack, another losing proposition (as expected, of course).  I converted some of my chips to a bucket of quarters for slots, which I still tend to enjoy despite the terrible odds.  Slots were how I started playing in 1995, and they do have a fine relaxation to them.  I hope one day to be able to afford a late-model "Wild Cherry" machine from IGT for my own game room.

[ed. note:  this has come to pass, as of May 2001--see photos]

31 January 2001 -- A most beloved country

9:32 AM:  18º 25' N, 77º 07' W--Ocho Rios, Jamaica

I was fortunate not to have suffered a problem from sleeping in this morning until nearly the point where the ship had docked in Ocho Rios, at 8:00 AM.  Several of the tours listed for this port were supposed to depart at almost exactly that time.  I had become somewhat lax in the matter of "planning ahead" at this point, more out of laziness than anything else.  But that's all right; I was entitled to be lazy. I was the customer this time.  Remembering the drawn-out routine of dining hall breakfast, I was able to get enough to eat at the Café Promenade pastry stand, as was my habit at Harrah's during my last Las Vegas trip.  What tended to make for a solid breakfast at that buffet was the ready availability of milk, and without a charge.  It still seems a bit funny, when you're used to land-based resorts, that the food items on such a ship are on the house but even the simplest of "drinks", to include Diet Coke and bottled water, required the ritual of submitting the card, waiting, then signing the receipt.  This is something I'm sure the RCCL people have not lost sight of.  As I got up from breakfast and wandered into the main Promenade, I noted a set of hanging "Mardi Gras" decorations.  Thinking that they must have had this traditional Tuesday celebration the night before, while we slept above, I went to ask at the customer service counter.  No, they said, it was for tonight.  Imagine that--Mardi Gras on Wednesday.  I wonder what they do when that night is actually Ash Wednesday.  The representative honestly seemed surprised to hear me make this comment.  So much for authenticity.  I then returned to the cabin to take a shower and put on sunscreen, preparatory to our leaving the ship and doing our business in Ocho Rios.

It seems that had we truly wished to, we could have taken a later-day trip, since some left as late as 12:00 noon.  I wandered out onto the pier with Uncle Dick, without a firm plan, and noted the kind of ropes they used for mooring--not hemp, like the Norwegian Dream, but blue nylon, about 3-1/2 inches in diameter.  The Voyager was secured with about 20 such ropes, fore and aft.  At the aft mooring, we had a clear view of some sort of industrial facility in the distance along the water.  It was fed by a long, sloping ramp, leading me to think it was mineral processing.  I had learned from cable TV that Jamaica is a source of bauxite ore, so my guess was that we were looking at an aluminum smelter.  With these things seen, we then proceeded to the entrance to the ground transportation area.  I asked the concierge there about where we might find gaming in Ocho Rios, expecting a British-tradition island to have casinos on par with the ones I saw in Aruba.  We were directed to a minivan cab that took us across town to the Renaissance Jamaica Grande resort, at the other end of the beach.  I noted right off that all the properties of any repute had gated entrances, leading me to suspect what America might look like in the event of another real depression.  Once we entered the hotel grounds, things returned to "US" standards, though this came at a service charge price of $10.00 a person for the day.  We sat around waiting for their "Las Vegas Room" to open, and I had a chance to buy a small wooden box to give to my nephew Sam, who supposedly is interested in visiting Jamaica someday.  We met a kid about his age who was staying at the hotel, and he was into the place, munching down a good-smelling order of jerk pork.  The "casino" finally opened, though it consisted of nothing more than slots and video poker.  They had a Sega video blackjack system that clearly did not cut it.  The odds were good on the Wild Cherry dollar machine, though, and I got more tokens for my collection.

Uncle Dick poses on the beach at the Renaissance Jamaica Grande

Our taxi driver, an elderly gentleman named "Louis", was there at the hotel to meet us when we started back at 12:20 PM, even though the time agreed upon was 12:30.  He apparently has every earnest intention of being our Ocho Rios taxi man for life, offering a deal on a three-day island tour if we ever came back.  He said that people say he looks like Nelson Mandela, though my first guess was Louis Rukeyser from Wall Street Week, based upon the curls at the back of his head.  He took us back towards the ship, as part of our pre-paid round trip, dropping us near the pier at the Taj Mahal shopping compound, also enclosed with gates.  We were introduced to the proprietor of the store where Louis is known, and my parting comment was that he had the bearing of an ex-military man or a martial arts expert.  This was favorably received, as we went on to look over the assorted wares.  I took a sip of rum cream, which reminded me of good old fashioned egg nog, then bought a T-shirt to give Thomas N. for driving my truck and 3 fine cigars from a certain...other Caribbean country...to give to my current and former two PTO supervisors.  Only in this age could someone consider 3 for $20.00 a good price for cigars--but they sure smelled good.  When we began walking back on the regular street to the ship, we were solicited by a number of taxi drivers, whom I suspect did not have the recommended "red tag" on their vehicles.  Such salesmanship--apparently, we were the best business going in that town, where a fair number of men were sitting in the mid-day sun, at an advanced state of ease.  I suppose I shouldn't have been carrying that fancy Nikon SLR--or shooting pictures of the industrial plant.  I was breaking all the "rules" to avoid trouble as a tourist abroad.

Once I was back aboard, I settled in for some time at rest on the ship.  I was returning to the habit I learned on the Aruba cruise; that of the siesta.  I took a dose of that lavender oil from my cupped hands as I lay on the sofa watching TV, but when it became apparent that "nothing was on", I walked up to 12 deck aft at 2:30 PM, where I was able to get a seat at Johnny Rockets, the 50's-style diner and burger joint.  I had read on one review last year that this establishment had committed the grave offense of charging for its food, ostensibly to keep the lines shorter, only had acquiesced under the heavy load of public outrage.  When I saw my receipt, it had line items for my burger and chili fries, only they were filled by zeroes.  The vanilla Coke, on the other hand, had its charge.  This I ordered after seeing John Travolta drink one at "Jack Rabbit Slim's" in the classic Pulp Fiction.  That receipt was mighty suspicious, though--I figure they're just biding their time, until people forget what happened.

With dinner behind me, it was soon enough time to hit the casino again.  After getting my fill of minimum-ante blackjack, I saw my chance to learn to play dice, since the table was not yet crowded for the evening.  Just betting pass line and letting the others do as they wish turned out to be easier than I had pictured it.  I rounded out the evening's entertainment trying to "learn the rhythm" of play on a brand new 25-cent "Triple Cherry" slot machine, the apparent successor in the IGT line from Wild Cherry.  Not tired out yet, I had the presence of mind to go wandering around the lower decks after 9:00 PM.  I had apparently slept enough during the day to be up and going for later-night activities, which is one of the main draws of a ship like the Voyager.  I ended up sitting in Cleopatra's Needle, watching what looked like a jazz or R & B ensemble setting up for a show.  Eventually, I found out it didn't start until 10:00 PM, so I played a few more slots to kill time, then returned to hear the big band, which concentrated its instrumentation on the brass section.  The final 11-piece group called itself the "Voyager All-Stars", and I was reminded of the group that played at Good Shepherd for the New Year's party, 1999 - 2000.  A good many folks in their late 50's and early 60's were up there dancing, some of them quite good.  The band leader said he thought he saw some fine Lindy Hop going on.  At 11:00 PM, they finally held the Mardi Gras parade on the Promenade, only I didn't have a good view of this and eventually went back to go to sleep at 12:15 AM.

1 February 2001 -- Moving on ahead

7:31 AM:  19º 32' N, 80º 51' W--Second at-sea day
Course:  288, 17 mph

I was fully ready to settle into the more relaxed pace of an at-sea day when I got up at 6:30 AM.  Just as the abundance of live music venues reminded me of my 4 Las Vegas vacations, my ability to step out into the public areas nearly as soon as I'm up, wearing only casual shorts, flip flops and T-shirts, is not unlike my morning routine at one of the hotels on the Strip.  I went up top to 12 deck, where I encountered much foot traffic on the 0.2-mile jogging track, and grabbed another position and course with my GPS.  It was quite warm by 8:00 AM, when I played 18 holes of mini-golf on 13 deck aft.  Going twice around the 9 holes, I scored 38 and 41, which the counter fellow said was "pretty good".  That is really quite a good little course up there, and the ship wasn't moving enough to affect ball travel.  I'm still upset, though, that there was no pinball on this ship.  From exposure to the sun, I was good and ready for a shower by the time I came in to prepare for a dining hall breakfast.

I played more blackjack when the casino opened that morning, hanging around until afternoon with only minimal losses.  Play was decidedly in the category of "entertainment", now that I had discarded preconceptions of repeating that strange and phenomenal winning streak from the 2000 cruise.  After taking the day's siesta, I settled the matter of chow to satisfaction for the evening with another trip to Johnny Rockets at 5:00 PM.  The two times I ate there, I never encountered a crowd, which seemed especially strange when we were at sea.  I tended to sit at the counter there, being to myself, and this time I tried their "chili dog", expecting something that might coincidentally resemble the fine bit of artistry that is a Detroit-style Coney Island.  No such luck.  Uncle Dick said the chili there was not what he thinks of as "chili"; that he's used to more liquid.  "You're used to Grandma's goulash", I had to remind him.  Such is not really "chili".  I worry about what such a gastronomic onslaught could do to my system, only my famed "stainless steel stomach" was with me for this meal.  Not seeing anything I really cared to eat on this evening's second "formal" dinner, I took the easy way out and filled up on the exceptional buffet pizza at Café Promenade.  This was every bit as good as the pie that sustained me on 11 deck aboard the Norwegian Dream.

Making sure I was dressed well enough not to be thrown out of the casino for wearing shorts and a non-collared shirt, I played another spell in the casino that evening.  I was beginning to enjoy my "nights on the town" in the public areas of the ship, and they were a decided improvement over even some of my better nights of watching basic cable on my home theatre on the sofa at home.  I ended up having a thoroughly-enjoyable evening as a minimum-ante blackjack and dice player, in my Dockers and ship-purchased Voyager of the Seas polo shirt.  It was a fine routine of play, and I lamented that I can't get myself to go out and about like that in my "real life", because of needing my sleep for work and my dislike of driving at night in the city.  The ship was indeed one enormous "night spot" by 10:00 PM, and I had to make my way across an enormous crowd in the Promenade to turn in for the night.  I almost paid a visit to the adult disco on 3 deck, the one called "The Vault".  This is so loud that it has to be sealed off by airlocks.  I had wandered through it a couple of times in the morning when the doors were left open.  I'm not sure what would become of my hearing, though, and I already have tinnitus.  When I finally returned to 9216, Uncle Dick was still up, but it wasn't long before I turned the light out over my berth and went to sleep.

2 February 2001 -- A brief Mexican immersion

2:43 PM (EST):  20º 29' N, 86º 59' W--Cozumel, Mexico

I woke on my own (e.g., without an alarm) at 5:45 this morning, so as to be fully prepared for the "Tropical Safari" 4 x 4 tour I had booked for $72.00 on the interactive "RCTV" television system.  After getting some pastry selections and milk at the Promenade Café, chasing the admitted junk food with a fair amount of milk, I got in my shower and went up top to 12 deck, to watch the ship approach the port on the island of Cozumel.  The sun rose over the land in the distance, proving that we were on the western side of the island as per the map.  I wandered around, making sure to stay clear of the runners on the track, taking a number of pictures with my Olympus Stylus Zoom 140 QD.  I wish I had such photo coverage of the entire trip--my net haul was only 62 frames.  I was intent on watching the procedure for making the ropes fast at the pier, where I happened to see port officials meeting up with what looked like someone from the ship who had come in advance.  I had my 12 x 50 Nikon Fieldmasters with me, and I also spotted a chipped stencil-painted marking of the "Dreamward Gangway" position.  Dreamward was the previous name of the Norwegian Dream.  Soon, I was down to join the crowd waiting to depart from the 1 deck doorways.

Joggers getting in their laps around the 0.2-mile track on 12 Deck as we approach Cozumel

I met up with our Mexican tour guides, "Eddie" and "Martin", in the shopping plaza area near the pier (and inside the gates separating it from the rest of the city).  We made our way to a long column of compact 4-wheelers, including Jeep Wranglers and Chevy Trackers.  I was a bit dismayed to see that some had stick shift transmissions, but they eventually seated me in an automatic-shift Wrangler, 3rd vehicle from the front of the convoy, along with a couple who had done these tours before and knew what to expect.  I let them head out, though I was initially intent on being a driver.  The guides came by to put down the top of the Jeep and check our respective driver licenses, then we were under way.  The traffic looked to have potential hazards, as from people walking around on the side of the road, but I soon got used to it.  We stopped at Martin's gift shop of arrangement, the "Pee Pee Station", which was about halfway across the island on the main road.  Here I was in something of a daze and nearly walked into the women's room.  I bought a bottle of water and rejoined the tour, which soon reached the entrance of what looked to be a private reserve along the eastern beachfront.  What followed was a bone-jarring experience at 30 mph, as my fellow driver, an experienced dune buggy racer, was clearly having a good time.  At a certain point, we had to shift to 4-wheel drive, on account of the sand.  The road was a deeply-gouged surface of dusty rocks and deep stretches of sand, and I'm surprised any of it could be negotiated with 2-wheel drive.

My Jeep-mates take their turn driving out the long and dusty road to the beach

Finally, we began reaching our destinations along the unimproved track.  The first stop was at an alleged Mayan ruin, called "La Palma".  The part visible, explained the guide, was only the top of a pyramidal structure that extended down into the sand.  There was a doorway or wall-opening where people would supposedly stand holding the rocks on each side and make a wish, in appeasement of the indigenous Mayan goddess responsible for such duty.  I tried my hands at it, since I think of myself as tolerant, and we were then on our way back down the road, to where the catering company had set up our beach party.  The cooked grub certainly smelled good--Mexicans and Jamaicans alike sure know how to barbecue--only I was quite tired for that time of day and took an hour-long nap under the provided umbrella, listening to the sound of the waves as if I were part of a Corona beer commercial.  There were no cocktails on this tour, for obvious reasons.  They called folks to lunch, only I waved them off.  Hunger is not a known quantity in my life.  As I lay there, I thought of the story we were fed about the history of this place:  it was a place for purification prior to marriage, along with being a honeymoon destination.  We also heard of the famed "ball court", in which the winners, who supposedly thought little of this world, would get the grand "honor" of being sacrificed.  This, of course, could have been a reconstruction by the Spaniards, who would arguably have brought about a "holocaust" of sorts in the conduct of their imperial quest.  After those so inclined played a game of volleyball in the sand, we got back in the vehicles for our return to the ship.  I was given the chance to try my hand on the tamer part of the back road, and found it was not as frightening when I had control of the vehicle.  More formidable, I thought, was the driving back in town, which obeyed rules I couldn't always discern.  I was glad to get the vehicle parked back where I found it, after which I began making my way back to the ship.

With the day's tour completed, I had a chance to peruse some of the tourist-based shops near the port facility.  My first stop, out of pure curiosity, was the "drugstore" that would sell anything to anyone, and without a prescription.  Something seemed wrong about this, naturally, so I did a review of the shelves.  No narcotics, no benzodiazepines.  These still require a prescription, explained the counter person, because they have a "street value".  After returning for awhile to the ship, I headed back out to look for more stone carvings, which seemed to be the predominant local handicraft.  I had already bought what looked like a pipe in the form of a polar bear (or was it a pig?) at the "Pee Pee Station", along with a pink lion for my niece Georgia at one of the shops in the pierside mall.  Still to be bought were a bona fide pig for a co-worker who liked the movie "Babe", though few of the pigs I saw in onyx or other similar stone had much "personality".  With this item found, I then started hunting around for a sterling silver-and-lapis lazuli ring for myself.  The shops here had a great many sterling silver items, and it was not long before I saw a great many rings for men with lapis stones.  I finally tried on one that had a 12 x 16 mm stone and a substantial setting, rather like a class ring, and the storekeeper could see I liked it--except for the "flaws" I later found out are pyrite flecks.  He put it on a gram scale and said, "ordinarily, this is $42.00, only you get 20% off".  That's the discount just for entering the store.  I got another discount for leaving the store to look at more rings, it turns out, for the fellow came after me when I left the shop across the way.  "For you--$20.00".  Well, that was my price.  He got me.

That evening, when the ship was back underway, I spent a good long time alternating between blackjack and dice.  I ended up being awake until 11:00 PM or so, when I had to make my way once again through the crowds on the Promenade level.  It seems that the show had let out at the La Scala theatre, putting a load of traffic on the forward lifts.  I didn't have much interest in the shows in the main theatre, which was also the case on the Norwegian Dream.  I was asleep before long, after confirming that there was again "nothing to watch".  I ended up seeing the assorted presentations of the British "Mr. Bean" show a great many times, adding to my new impression of the British that I had picked up from the casino and spa staff.

3 February 2001 -- Winding on down

8:59 AM:  23º 02' N, 84º 20' W--Third at-sea day
Course:  068, 14 mph

I was properly situated this morning for a dining hall breakfast, at which the waiters messed up my order somewhat.  They omitted my hash browns and gave me link sausage (although better-cooked this time) instead of bacon.  Since the time for preparing gratuity envelopes was drawing near, I made a conscious effort to note the work of both waiter and "assistant" waiter, these latter being the ones responsible for refilling coffee cups, etc.  It seemed a little faster-going this morning, as I waited for the casino to open at 10:00 AM.  When I finally got to the tables, I decided to find out about Caribbean Stud brand Poker, which seems to be at all the casinos.  This was quite the game, though I certainly need to learn "how to bet" my hands there as well as I do at blackjack, for I lost some money.  I learned that in straight 5-card poker, a pair is nothing to laugh at, and "trips" (3 of a kind) are a truly premium hand.  With the morning's gaming over, I had a chance to round up all of my possessions on board and draw up a US Customs declaration.  We were supplied with "yellow" tags for our baggage, and I imagined a somewhat later departure from the ship because of our mid-day and later-day flights.  I worked at sorting my things into those for airline checking (the big suitcase), those for my carry-on bag (also to be put in the hall in the evening), and those to hand-carry off the ship, something I planned to accomplish with a backpack.

At 3:00 PM, I was up on 12 deck, taking a second GPS reading.  I didn't see where I was going and stubbed my little toe on an aluminum chaise lounge.  This is what wearing flip flops will get you.  Though I tried sending myself an e-mail this afternoon containing an entry I had handwritten for my online journal on 30 January, I somehow messed up and the data was lost.  I blame the pathetic "IP access" e-mail scheme on those overpriced terminals.  It probably thought that a message received from the same account that sent it (the one at my ISP) was spurious and should be deleted.  I flamed the rccl.com website about this, but their e-mail forwarding script was screwed up, and I'm not sure it made it through.  This is hardly surprising.  I was glad, therefore, to see that certain factors of my "other life" that I had been denied for all these days were soon to be restored.  Thomas N. had written me an e-mail message that did get through, and he didn't say anything had gone wrong there--but that I was being missed because of the help I give the newer folks.  As with my Norwegian Dream cruise, I certainly had my share of isolation in the preceding week, but then that's how they design these cruises.  At least I didn't feel as much like I was being pushed around and restricted on this ship.  If I was willing to pay for something, I could certainly have it, and the casual buffet dining options were notably better.  This is fortunate, in view of the number of dining hall meals I ended up blowing off.

4 February 2001 -- The homeward passage

6:38 AM:  25º 47' N, 80º 11' W--At the pier in Miami

I woke this morning on my own at 5:00 AM and did the final pack-up and evacuation of room #9216, once I had completed the routines of meds and shower.  I had spent some time watching a closed-circuit movie, Jim Carrey as Andy Kaufman in Man on the Moon, which left me feeling predictably "strange".  In my final hours in the stateroom, I noted that the mini-bar refrigerator automatically locked itself up (obviously, since charge accounts were closed out by then), thus imprisoning my last can of O'Doul's.  You owe me, Royal Caribbean.  Once I had everything in my backpack, I went onto the forward 13 deck patio, watching the immense vessel being eased into place in the morning twilight behind the NCL Norwegian Sky.  I grabbed my souvenir GPS position and headed back down to 5 deck, to get pastry, coffee and milk at the Café Promenade.  Here I ran into Uncle Dick, who may have been looking for me.  I played Game Boy Tetris in much the same style as I had on the Norwegian Dream, as we waited in the coffee shop for our "yellow" tags to be called.  This, it turns out, didn't take long, though the crowd at the aft 4 deck gangway was substantial and took awhile to clear.  They had posted a string and piano ensemble at the Aquarium Bar here, and they were quite good.  We had live music right up until the end, though I couldn't help but recall the scene from Titanic, with the band playing on deck as panic ensued.

As we left the ship on the gangway, in a herding procedure that could remind a person, perhaps, of a livestock facility, we first met up with US Immigration.  Then came baggage claim from a crowded room containing an airport-style carousel.   This was no trivial matter, with so many folks needing to claim bags.  Having snatched my two items from this endless flow after helping an older woman seize one of hers (Ma, it's your fault again), I got in the US Customs line while Uncle Dick continued to wait for his big checked bag.  This was the last I saw of him, it turns out.  After tendering my declaration to the official, who had to read the list of abject souvenir junk I had accumulated, I found my way to the American Airlines check-in, which was a better-organized setup than the airline counters in San Juan, and forwarded my checked suitcase to MIA.  I went out front by the bus area, hoping to see Uncle Dick.  I was there about an hour before I realized I should just go.  I even had time to call Thomas N. at home and tell him I was in Miami but would be back by about 4:00 PM.  I wandered about, asking the Royal Caribbean representatives about my return-trip transfer, bought for $10.50, to MIA.  It seems that in my wait, I had missed all the regular buses, but there was one that had brought in a load of folks for the 4 February cruise that was able to carry me back.  I am amazed at how efficient Royal Caribbean is in using the entire 168 hours of a cruise week.  This was 11:00 AM, 165 hours after I had arrived that way myself.

The return flight was uneventful and seemed faster than the one coming down.  I played more Game Boy Tetris in my aisle seat until the descent started, near Richmond, VA.  We made a broad sweep around the city, to assume the Rosslyn approach to runway 19.  This is the one that flies treetop-high over Roaches Run, the soccer field near the Pentagon.  I was pleased by the speed of baggage claim at DCA once I got to the gate, and I soon called Tom for my ride back from the arrivals area on the lower level.  I gave him his souvenir shirt and dropped him back off where we had met, outside the front of Crystal Park 2.  He told me that he had paid a second visit to my house to verify that the heating system was running all right, and that he also cleaned my Sony Trinitron 32" television, which had picked up dust.  I was able to make it to the Kennels by 5:15 PM, and thereby bring my critter Thomas home that evening.  I looked forward to another of my classic "crashes" in front of the re-claimed 120-channel Fairfax County system, only I suspect I'll see few evenings like the ones on the ship, where I had every chance to play and used a great many of them.  This will go down as one of my all-time great vacations.

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