The Truth About A Cruise

The Truth About A Cruise
(I wrote this half-way through the cruise and neglected to put it into the blog. It's now included as an after thought.)
I didn’t think I would enjoy a cruise. Four years ago this week I reluctantly boarded a cruise ship in Seattle bound for a week’s journey through Alaska’s inside passage, I imagined cruising to be an experience of being cooped up, too crowded, with too many people. I’ve been seasick before, so I assumed the very worst about my own intestinal tract plus that of two thousand other people I didn’t know. And I assumed all of those others were obnoxious rich people while neglecting the important fact that even though I’m surely not rich, I also paid my fare to board the vessel. This will not be fun, I thought. I was surprised to discover I had a good time.
What was it? What’s so fun about a cruise? Five days before that first cruise I entered the hallowed halls of retirement, and I was beginning a phase of life characterized by a new sense of euphoria. I had a hard time wiping the grin off my face. I was free to discover the hidden pleasures of evenings and weekends with no schedule, and I probably would have been just as happy at home, but I was very happy on the cruise. Something more than retirement was fueling my joy.
Was it the exotic destinations of the journey? Skagaway, Ketchikan, Juneau—they didn’t sound that exotic. I knew of them before, and they weren’t big cities radiating mystery. Rain-drenched fishing villages in the wilderness—that’s what they were. Still, I was thankful to see them and stroll through them. We weren’t skillful in the means of cruising yet, so we hadn’t planned or pre-paid for the various activities we could pursue in each stop, so we were content to stroll, eat, and buy a souvenir or two. Also, we were tight and reluctant to part with $500 for a day of dog-sledding or hovering over a glacier in a helicopter. It was enough of a jolt to see the $40 tab for a plate of fresh king crab and corn on the cob in one of Skagway’s greasy spoon restaurants.
Was the joy in the evening entertainment? Last night we witnessed 45 minutes of non-stop, high energy music and dancing performed by 18 young, beautiful women and men. Next stop on the evening’s stroll? A magician—good and funny. Next? A bar with a Scottish piano player/singer with a sharp wit, great voice, and nimble fingers. He handled a difficult crowd with the mastery of an old veteran.
Surely the destinations matter, and the entertainment counts. But it’s the food! Let me admit it. 10 evenings in a row when someone else makes up the menu, buys the groceries, fixes the food and cleans up. Kindly servers offer a chair, place the napkin on my lap and the menu in my hands, invite my choices by offering suggestions, and then they graciously serve me whatever I want. And it’s good. Better than good. At last night’s dinner the 4 differing meals chosen by our company included turkey pot pie, crayfish etoufee, roasted duck, and frog legs. Try that at home! And they clean up when we leave!
Lest I be too crass about bread alone, the company counts. We’ve cruised with family and friends, and the evening meal in good company after a day of a busy tourist’s schedule or the leisure of solitude is the best way to conclude a day. The destinations this time are exotic—Stockholm, Helsinki, St. Petersburg. That’s just half the journey. The entertainment is great. But the real treat is the evening meal. The food is wonderful. And the day reaches its apex on a cloth-covered table in the company of friends we have known for 45 years. The conversation is rich with memory and hope. We drink a thankful toast and eat to our satisfaction, and there is no check, no argument about who picks up the tab, no calculating of tip. We even pretend it’s all free.