Monday, November 23: At Sea

At sailing yesterday, I met Dirk and Melanie, a nice couple from Austin. Dirk and I were on deck taking photographs as two tug boats were threading this huge ship through an incredibly narrow opening in the harbor’s sea wall. Melanie joined us and after a short conversation, they invited me for dinner, saying they wanted to experience one of the two upgrade restaurants on the ship. I explained that as a dance host, I had to ask permission to go there and this late in the day, that was probably not possible. No problem; they would join me in the dining room. We agreed to meet in the Horizon Lounge, where most of duties are located. However, when I got to the lounge at cocktail hour, I was required to join all Solo travelers – that’s what they call people traveling alone – at a cocktail party I didn’t know about. I never found Dirk and Melanie. Perhaps they didn’t come (although that would seem out of character for them), or perhaps they looked for me and couldn’t find me in all the confusion. At any rate, we didn’t make it for dinner. Instead, we formed a party of eight, at two adjoining tables, a group put together by Elsa, my boss.
Elsa is not my favorite person, which, since I must work with her, is a shame. She looks and acts like a rabid chipmunk on speed, all teeth and popping eyes, her fingers nervously drumming on a table top as she calculates what to say, or do, next. Underneath her overly cheerful exterior I sense an actually curt and angry personality, determined in its own way to make the Solos so happy they’ll sign up for another cruise while still on this one (which many of them apparently do). She’s Australian – from Melbourne – with stringy, unwashed white/blonde hair that doesn’t hide the dark strands underneath the stylish barrette she uses to hold it all in place. The hair straggles out behind her like a garden hose, gushing, gushing. She has a nasty giggle that forecasts a cutting remark and when she heard I’d invited a couple – a couple, not a Solo – to join me for dinner, she was not happy. Instead, she put me with Diane, from “near” Tampa, a widow who spends most of her time traveling (and talking about traveling); George, a retired dental surgeon from Pebble Beach (he let us know that Robert Mondavi had been his patient) and Elise, another widow, this one from Montreal, with one wandering eye and whose luggage arrived at the ship only one hour before sailing. She didn’t want to talk, so while trying to listen and comment on the ongoing comparisons between George and Diane about where they’d been in the world and how much it had cost and how their next cruise was going to be so much less and the discounts they got and the air and land arrangements and how they’d now traveled enough days to get free laundry, I desperately attempted to engage Elise, who stared at me with the one eye on which I tried, not always successfully, to focus. She finally warmed up, after several glasses of (very good) South African wine.
After dinner, I escorted Elise to the theater where we heard an incredibly good jazz clarinetist before Elise left me for the casino (where I am not permitted to go – she asked me to join her at a slot machine but, like an electric fence, the doorway stopped me) and I bid her a good, goodnight.
Then it was back to the lounge for dancing. The combo was good and one couple (Greg and Margaret) took command of the dance floor, so graceful and competent in their cha cha that it made me feel a rank amateur. But there were no Solos except for an aging gay couple, dripping diamonds and gold, who spoke endlessly about their “crossings” and compared the Regent ships on which they’d sailed. They prefer the Voyager; the Navigator doesn’t have as nice a layout and the laundries are not on every floor. They left me half say through their stingers to “spread their business around” to other bars on the ship. When midnight came, I was very ready for bed.
Heinz told me that two entertainers – he didn’t say what kind (but I later learned they were two male dancers) – had been thrown off the ship in Cape Town. He didn’t know why, but I’m sure he’ll find out. On my instruction sheet for today, which I got last night, there was a warning not to participate in the rumors going around. And, of course, there went Ray, my intended compatriot, who was also thrown off the ship. I’d better watch my step.
Some miscellaneous stuff. In Cape Town, I was amused by a sign over a clothing store for Dolce & Banana. Everyone talks about Robben Island, in the Cape Town harbor, where Mandela was imprisoned for fourteen years. Houses on the gold coast in Cape Town are among the most expensive in the world. And with their view, they should be. Many of the passengers lament not having bought property here some years ago but then, with the new democratic government, “who knew how the country would go?” I heard twice from guides that there’s a house there for sale for “one hundred million Rand,” about 14 ½ US dollars. My description of the singer on board would probably meant more if I’d said that when she sang “Under the Boardwalk,” she reminded me of how good Bette Midler really is. The crowd here is older than on Silver Sea and, so far, less sophisticated. Let’s see: last night I added to my growing list Mort and Jean from Isla Morada in the Keys; he only manages money for his family, not his friends; and Eva from Palm Beach, a shriveled and definite aging little thing with a stretched face and massive lips. Her chic black T shirt sported a flamingo wrought in rhinestones.
As I’m getting to know Heinz: he’s very good with the guests, introducing himself and inserting himself into conversation without any hesitation. He knows how to keep the conversation going but even he grew tired of Patrick, passing him off to me at dinner. Heinz fusses a lot over his clothes and hums Christmas songs to himself absent-mindedly as he’s dressing, tying his shoes with double knots and primping endlessly in the mirror in order to get the pocket handkerchief just right. He wears bikini underwear in flowery colors and shocked me the first night at dinner by appearing in glasses with sparkling, multi-colored rims around the lenses and bright red temples. He’s been very kind to me – keeping me posted on his whereabouts and helping me be in the right place at the right time – and is an easy roommate.
I’ve given Elsa $60.00 for 600 minutes of internet time, barely enough, I’m afraid, to get me up to date. She insisted that I be in American twenty dollar bills – the machine that issues internet cards for the crew will not take anything else – and said she would give the cards to me this morning. And now I must join the family (read Solo) table for breakfast (before Salsa lessons at 10:45, a “block” party (everyone gathers in their corridors to meet their neighbors), more salsa at 1:45, and then into my tuxedo for the captain’s reception at 6:15, then more cocktails at 6:45 when my evening routine begins again. Maybe somewhere in all this, I can find time to bring my blog up to date. And find my nail file. Stay tuned.