Monday, December 14: Antigua (not)

After Ding Dong had squeegeed the deck and I had captured the sunrise, I rushed to my post at the Coffee Connection where I remained, mostly alone, for the hour of Gwen Ifill’s lecture on the effects of Obama’s election on race and politics. I heard she was very good; I was disappointed that my responsibilities as host had robbed me of my opportunity to be a guest in her audience. Oh well.
Shortly after that, the captain told us through the PA system that the vessel – yes, that’s the word used, “vessel” – had lost one of its four engines and as a result, we couldn’t travel as fast as scheduled. There was no danger, he said, but in order to arrive on time in Fort Lauderdale, we would skip docking in Antigua and steam directly ahead to San Juan with all haste. He expected us to arrive there early tomorrow morning. No one seemed to mind. The cruise is approaching its end and most people I talked to were ready to be home. Over coffee, Linda told me that when she and her husband returned to their suite (read stateroom [read cabin]) after breakfast, the ceiling was leaking and there were buckets all over their bed to capture the water. Four of their neighbors had the same problem. She didn’t know if this was somehow connected to the engine failure but the ship was full and there were no empty suites (read staterooms [read cabins]) for any of them to move to. Keith, her husband, was working with the hotel manager to see if it was possible for them all to leave the ship in San Juan.
I’m ready, too. The Nazi has struck again, complaining to me in his most strident manner about some minor infraction of his rules about the bathroom. To prevent disharmony, I now simply apologize to whatever he’s raving about, without pointing out that because he dries his bikini underwear on the chairs on the balcony I can never sit there, or because he steals my wooden hangers my pants are now all wrinkled or that he hoards all the water bottles or now speaks to me only when he is forced to, or steals the solo women who have some semblance of rhythm, leaving me in dance class with the Klutzes. Have you met them yet? They trip and stumble and step on your feet. It’s too bad my Crocs don’t have steel toes.
I spent most of the day in a lounge chair in my secret location – no longer secret; I was lucky to find the space – on Deck 5. It was shady and cool and I watched as several islands went by in the distance. Shrouded in sunshine, they shimmered in the tropical sea like Bali Hai, their very remoteness beckoning to us all like some unattainable ideal. At cocktails, I introduced myself to Ron Shapiro and his wife. We each had known the other was aboard and he said he’d been seeking me just as I was seeking him. Until this evening, we were but names in the guest directory. The mini-world we temporarily inhabit here has made us friends. There’s a lesson somewhere in all that but it’s too early in the day (now 5:55 on Tuesday morning) for me to figure it out. Be my guest.
At dinner, I sat between Anne (from South Africa) and Carol (from Vancouver). I tried to kid Anne about taking our dancing classes too seriously – she never smiles – but she assured me her demeanor was only due to her concentration on Sasha’s complicated routines. We agreed that trying to cram too much material into half an hour, and playing music too fast, he’s not really a good teacher. But she pointed out that the women in our classes like to watch his butt as he twists and turns it through the salsa, cha cha, or rumba. Why, Anne. Shame on you! Carol, on the other hand, turned out to be very interesting. This is her first – and she said, last – cruise. She said she’d either had very bad luck in meeting people or always seemed to plug into a group she didn’t want to be with again. We agreed that this ship’s passengers, many of them swaddled in their moneyed privilege, make for a very closed and conservative society. One of her dinner companions had called Obama a “high struttin’ spade.” She was horrified and had to leave the table. I would have done the same.
While in Barbados, a beautiful, large yacht joined us in the harbor. Named the Octopus, it belonged (according to Google) to Paul Allen, one of the founders of Microsoft. Google also said that it had a crew of 70, two helicopters, a mini-submarine and cost over $200 million. Travel in style.
The food and wine manager of the ship approached me during the day for some clarification of what facts I wanted for a potential article on being a gentleman host. Later he sent some data to my suite (read stateroom [read cabin]). Would you believe that since Rio, we’ve eaten over 5000 eggs? Stay tuned.