Fasten your seatbelts. I give you the long-awaited sequel to the recent column on cruising. In today’s episode of As the Moons Cruise, we get answers to some crucial questions. How was the food? Which port was the favorite? Did the animals survive? And, finally, was a decision made? Are we officially cruise people? I give you all this and more, but first, let me take you back to 1972.
Shelley Winters did something that actresses back in the 70s rarely allowed. She used her weight as the main character of a role. See, weight wasn’t discussed back in the day. It was simply understood within the confines of the patriarchy that a heavier than “acceptable” woman wasn’t an attractive woman, or an apt woman, or a talented woman. Weight dictated the type of job you could hold (as a woman), the type of man you would marry, your station in life. Yet, in The Poseidon Adventure (1972), Winters’ character, Belle, is ridiculed for her body, relegated to a dismissible afterthought. Yet, Belle, a former competitive swimmer, manages to deep dive into the sinking ship, post tsunami, to rescue the guy who will eventually lead this literal motley crew nearly all the way to safety. It’s a great movie. Gene Hackman said he hated that he did the movie but loved all the money he made. And no, the Carnival Dream did not encounter a tsunami. We did, however, encounter the outer bands of Hurricane Milton.
Mid-week before we departed to Galveston, I stopped watching the weather. After all, everyone was on edge after Helene decimated us from sea to mountains. “Don’t think about it,” was my mantra. Galveston was beautiful. We managed to board the ship in record time. Sure, there were sprinkles here and there. There was also rum punch and this adorably colorful mango drink called Kiss on the Lips. What could go wrong? Turns out, plenty.
Key West was a disaster. Our sunny debarkation turned rainy almost immediately. After walking at least 5 miles trying to claim the golf cart we’d prearranged, we were told there were no more carts. So, like good little tourists who love Ernest Hemingway, we decide to hoof it an extra 2 miles to see the house where he wrote For Whom the Bell Tolls. Soon, the bottom fell out. I’m talking bending palm trees. I’m talking quickly flooded streets with calf high water. Still, the key lime pie was the stuff of dreams and I touched Papa Hemingway’s desk and kissed the polydactyl cat sleeping on it as only a feline aficionado of the highest regard could do. I will never forget that moment. We raced back to our floating home with clothes wet enough to wring water from. Never fear! We were reminded that the private island is the jewel of the cruise.
Our next stop was Freeport, Bahamas. I have no details to offer because we didn’t leave the ship. It is an industrial port. I am sure there are beautiful beaches somewhere on the island, but we’d been informed that all excursions were cancelled. We did get a few hours of sun, and my husband finally ate a Guy’s Burger. As the young folks say #IYKYK. Besides, they reminded us that the next day was the private island day. Fabulousness was upon us.
The first tip off was that evening’s walk to the main dining room. In the words of judge Randy from American Idol, it was a little pitchy, dog – a little pitchy. Waiters were struggling with trays packed high with covered dishes. A few of us were starting to look slightly green. The captain’s voice boomed from the speakers. Sorry, folks. We are skipping the private island as this storm is encroaching faster than anticipated.
For the remainder of the cruise, waters were very rough. Sure, Nassau was gorgeous and sunny, but due to everyone racing there to beat Milton, we were one of seven ships, all full of folks vying for beach space. Combined with, frankly, a stinky ship that reeked of a slight sewer smell, a coating of rust on all the metal objects in our room, mattresses with massive low spots in the centers, the lackluster food, and the fact that we had to come home by sailing through the Bermuda Triangle and along the coast of Cuba, you’ve never seen two people happier to be home. The animals were fine, incidentally.
Travel teaches you things. For instance, on another recent trip, we learned that Jacksonville, Florida’s murder capital, is not the place for us. In 2018, we learned that Salem, Mass is amazing, and that Vermont is, indeed, a place we love. In 2012, we spent a week driving from the bowels of San Francisco all the way to LAX. We learned that inner city stops are best left to the professionals, even if Guy Fieri says otherwise. For the past few years, our pilgrimages to Idaho taught us that seeing a bald eagle, even if it’s not the first time, might make us cry. True to form, we learned something last week. The Moons are not cruise people. But, for anyone who is, we wish you a hearty bon voyage. I hope you never have to recall your diving skills to free a reverend/hero during a tsunami. If you do, I hope you win a Golden Globe, just like Shelley Winters.
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