The Cruise to Aruba - On to Aruba

From Part Five - http://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2012/03/cruise-to-aruba-willemstad-city.html

Punda, the heart of the old city is gaily lighted with reds, blues, and greens as dusk settles over Willemstad, Curaçao. We ate another marvelous dinner on the ship and decided to just relax on the ship and not go back into town.  We later stood on the top deck taking in one last view of the pretty city before going to the ship's theater and watching another one of the great shows, the ship's company version of “Motor City.”  This time the dancers had a flat, level stage to perform on! I still don't see how they do it in heavy seas!

We headed back up top after the show to catch our last glimpse of Willemstad as we cast off and headed toward our morning arrival in near-by Aruba. This departure was quite different from our last port departure on a Princess ship when we left San Juan on the Star Princess some eight years before. On that trip, we were adjacent to a Carnival Cruise lines ship that blared party music almost non-stop. The Star Princess was comatose by comparison. When we finally slid out of our berth late that night, it was if the Star Princess was trying to slip out of a party without being noticed. While the revelers next door waved goodbye, we slipped silently and morosely out into the dark harbor. We nick-named that cruise the “Geritol Cruise.”

This one was different. We think it was the work of an energetic young woman we met back on day one when I stopped her on a staircase and asked some inane question about the ship, like, where could I get writing material. She cheerfully helped as much as possible, and before being swept away by the throngs that surrounded her. It turned out to be Lisa Ball, the ship's cruise director. The “company” part of the cruise was really enjoyable because of her. 

 To me there are two main parts to cruising: the “natural” part, ie, ocean, sky, weather, the enjoyment that comes without any outside influence, and the “company” part, which includes music, dancing, dining, and entertainment, the part that is supplied or created by the ship. On the Star Princess, the “natural” part was outstanding, the “company” part left a lot to be desired. Not so on the Crown Princess, we enjoyed all parts of the cruise, and even really didn't mind the rocking and rolling of the heavy seas. Part of the experience.

The good news was we enjoyed the “company” part of the cruise this time as well, and the departure from Willemstad was a showcase for Lisa Ball's efforts. A huge banner was hung across the top railings of the pool deck that proclaimed “The Ultimate Deck Party,” which usually is a warning for poor, loud music, and confused drinkers who aimlessly wander around looking for something that vaguely looks like a party. This one was a model for how to throw a deck party properly. 

When Lisa took the microphone on the deck below us (we stayed one deck above the pool deck) and enthusiastically welcomed everyone to the world's greatest deck party, we realized the group of young, good looking people behind her were the ship's dancers who had changed into casual clothes. Lisa started the dancing by encouraging everyone around her to follow her lead. Soon the whole side of the pool she was on was dancing in rhythm, clapping their hands and really getting into the spirit of the party. As more and more passengers joined in the dancing, more of the ship's dancers faded away, and soon, the whole pool deck was a mass of dancing passengers. 

Great stuff, lead by the assistant cruise staff who had stepped in as lead dancers for the entire deck. By the time they got to the conga line, by now with a live band, there were well over several hundred passengers enjoying themselves. A great wrap up to a great day. My wife and I ended up in a piano bar listening to really good jazz and a great vocalist, the very things we missed on our last trip. You couldn't tell we were under way as we quietly sailed northward at 11 knots with trailing wind and a following sea. It is only 100 miles or so to Aruba.  No rush, we would be there by 8:00am.

Both parts of the cruise were in harmony.

Next: Aruba 

The Cruise to Aruba - Willemstad - The City

From Part Five - http://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2012/03/trip-to-aruba-willemstad-curacao.html

Ah, A writing pad! One of those old-fashioned lined ones from days of yore, you know, high school! A kind, but somewhat bewildered saleslady with a limited knowledge of English, dug out an old white pad from a stack of paper products near the cash register in a Willemstad dime store. She looked at me as if I were trying to pull a fast one, but, took my FL 2.90, about $1.70, without question and cautiously closed the cash register drawer. 

Now, to catch up. I actually started scribbling while we were having one of our rare soft drinks in a sidewalk cafe, oddly enough across the street from a McDonald’s. We had crossed the Queen Emma pontoon bridge over into Punda, the original section of the city, and spent several hours poking into shops and stores, generally looking around acting like tourists when we decided to take a rest break. We were sitting in the shade, chatting and watching the crowd of tourists that shuffled aimlessly along, not like us, of course.  We were joking about the McDonalds across the street when a police car rushed up, quickly parked and blocked the street. Two uniformed officers got out and headed toward the restaurant. We joked, “Man, they must be hungry!” but it turned out to be a business call. 

They met an agitated, concerned young woman wearing the traditional McDonald's management-type uniform on the sidewalk outside the store. We watched idly as they all disappeared inside. Soon, they all reappeared on the sidewalk with three young, clean cut, muscular looking young white men in tow. The tallest of the three had on a red T-shirt with “Guantanamo Fire Department” emblazoned across the back. He was obviously not happy, taking photos of both police officers, their car, the license plates, the manager, and anything else he thought would intimidate the police officers who simply ignored him.  The two police officers addressed the other two men who stood with their arms folded across their chests.  We could only imagine the confrontation inside the restaurant.

We finished our drinks and headed back toward the ship, and as we crossed the street we heard one of the police officers say rather firmly, “No one is going anywhere until the U.S. consul arrives!” A good time to speak German.

We asked a woman we stopped on the street if, by chance, she knew where the Numismatic Museum is located, the one attraction we all wanted to visit.  That is the coin and money museum run by the Bank of the Netherlands.  The lady walked us a complete block out of her way, saying hello to friends as she went, even stopping to caress a baby of a friend, just to point to the building several blocks away. We walked right past it coming in and didn't see the sign. We thanked her and slowly headed in that direction, but got sidetracked once again, this time by the huge open air vegetable market we could see down a side street. By the time we reached where the Queen Emma bridge should be, we realize we have missed the museum once again. Oh well, something to see next time!

Waiting on the Queen Emma pontoon bridge.

The Queen Emma bridge wasn't there. It was completely on the other side of St. Anna Bay. We joined the throngs patiently waiting for a tug boat to tow an ocean-going freighter slowly up the bay, taking photos as we waited for the floating pontoon bridge to chug across the river and reattach to the landing. The bridge is self powered, and within minutes of the freighter passing, the bridge reopened and hordes of pedestrians crossed the bridge in both directions.

We finally bought our goodies at the shops we knew to have the lowest prices, we never buy going in to town, only coming out after we know prices, and we picked up a bottle of blue Curaçao liqueur for a friend. Of course we bought the prerequisite trinkets and mementos, stuff that always ends up in a junk drawer somewhere, but, hey, that's one reason we're here. 

Time to head for the ship and another great dinner.

 

Next: On to Aruba 

The Cruise to Aruba - Willemstad, Curaçao

From Part 4 - http://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2012/03/cruise-to-aruba-day-two.html

My first impression of Curaçao was from twelve miles away. I wondered why the island was brown. I thought Caribbean islands were supposed to be green. Tortola, in the British Virgin Islands, was green even when closer inspection proved it to be far more arid than it first appeared from the deck of the Star Princess. The entrance to Tortola by cruise ship, by the way, is one of the prettiest we've seen. Its only scenic rival in my book is the entrance into San Juan, Puerto Rico, in the afternoon when the sun shines on El Morro castle. Still, the hills of northern Curaçao just didn't fit my preconceived notion of what they were supposed to look like. With oil refineries dominating the landscape, it just didn't rank up there with the picturesque ports of call in the travel brochures.

 

 Once we were in the lee of the island, a little after 12:00 noon, the trip turned into a cruiser's dream. Very little wind and the sea was calm. Passengers flocked to the top decks to catch their first glimpse of Curaçao, still several miles away. Curaçao, as it turns out, has less than 22 inches of rain annually, mostly during their three-month rainy season, October through December, so it doesn't rank very high on the lush, jungle habitat list. Actually, it isn't even on the list. The little island nation also lies outside the “Hurricane Belt,” but still occasionally catches the effects of nearby storms every few years or so. No hurricanes have actually struck Curaçao since the National Weather Center started monitoring the storms. As a result, the wind blown north eastern side of the island is really quite barren. Willemstad, the Capitol where we dock, is on the west side, the leeward side, of the island, and looks more like what we anticipated.

First impressions count, and we were impressed. Willemstad is a paradox, though, unique in more than one way. First, let me say we will come back. The city of Willemstad is very pretty and we want to see more of the island, but I have never seen so many refineries so close to a major town or tourist attraction. Clean, flame burning towers and vents surround the northern and eastern parts of town. The oil business obviously contributes to the economy of the island and its standard of living. Bustling, tree-lined, four-lane boulevards are obvious from the deck of the ship. Tourism and cocoanuts are obviously not the sustaining life force here. Tourism helps, I'm sure, but there is room for only one huge cruise ship at a time and I'm sure that's the way they would prefer to keep it. These people are busy working. While it is still a cruise ship port-of-call, the difference from most others on the cruise ship circuit is apparent well before you disembark.

Punda, old town of Willemstad, and the Queen Emma pontoon bridge, in operation since 1888

Disembarking is an art form we have mastered. When the ship's P.A. System announces it is clear to disembark, we go to lunch. By the time we are finished with our leisurely meal, we calmly and quietly disembark without any fan fare or crowds. Cool! The ship's photographers however, are persistent, and they won't let you off the dock without staged “Pirate Pictures” or whatever the theme is for the current port. For Curaçao it is the pirate gig. We try to decline, but the determined, almost belligerent photographers aren't about to let any potential dollar slip by. Damn it, we dressed up like idiots just for you! Be grateful and stand still while we take your friggin' photo while we pretend to cut your throat!

We are soon standing on the dock in the shade of the massive ship, looking back in awe at the 15^th deck. That is way, way up there and to think the spray was blowing in the balcony door that high!

Time to see the city that looks like it is the wrong continent. Willemstad could easily be in Holland. That's only natural as the city reflects its Dutch heritage, even though the name Curaçao is derived from Portuguese. The proper pronunciation is with a soft “c,” almost like a “z”, for the last syllable. As in Coorazow. No, not sew, sow, like in a female pig. Let's see, hmm, consider the Portuguese islands in the Atlantic we know as the Azores. The Portuguese call them the Açores. The pronunciation is the same, ah, you know what, screw it.

We walk past the de rigueur tents and tables set up just outside the official customs zone of the dock, checking souvenirs and prices as we go. The vendors show the same practiced tolerance found in any port, but they smile easily. And they are actually polite. We have been treated otherwise, believe me.

Strange native costumes greet visitors to Curaçao, or rather, Curaçao greets visitor's strange native costumes...

Next - The City of Willemstad

The Cruise to Aruba - Day Two

From part 3 - http://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2012/03/cruise-to-aruba-day-one.html

It's really aggravating for a writer not to have anything to write with. It's far worse than having a blank piece of paper and nothing to write. Writer's block passes, and unfortunately for me, so does the thought I often want to capture. I'm out of paper, scribbling this in the margins of the ship's newsletter before I wander off and forget to capture the moment.

We are currently southbound out of the Princess Cays at 21 knots in fair seas. It is 5:30 pm in the afternoon, about an hour to sunset, and we have the Atlantic Ocean to ourselves. There is a huge rain storm off on the far horizon, otherwise the weather is beautiful. Sitting outside on the balcony is a pleasure we always enjoy. There is nothing else like it. We are perhaps 150 feet above the bow spray, maybe higher. The sea is Navy Blue, the dark, pure blue that only is found in the deep ocean. Low hanging clouds begin to pass by us, almost as close above us as the water is below us. And I don't have anything to write with.

Ah, the concierge! Are they on deck seven? Or six? The sweet British girl at the desk took pity on me and handed me all the blank white paper from her printer in-tray. I will forever be indebted to the pretty girl who probably thought I was a great novelist or reporter in dire straits. Well, maybe not, but at least she smiled like she understood. I got back to the room in time to change for dinner. It will be dark by the time we pass the coast of Cuba, but I'll be back, watching, trying to remember what I wanted to write about.

Nothing like Gale Force 8 winds to get your attention, even at 1:45am in the morning. I knew they were Gale Force 8 winds because the ship's television said so. I turned on the Bridge report which gives constant updates about the ship when the blowing winds and ocean spray forced us to close our balcony door. The blowing sheets of water surprised me, we were on the 15^th deck! I thought the old girl had shuddered and protested as much as she could Saturday evening coming across the Gulf Stream, but I was wrong. Sleep was out of the question as we jerked back and forth constantly. The television showed winds across the bow at 43.1 knots, around 50 mph, with seas listed as seven feet. Ship's speed displayed as 22.8 knots. We were rockin' and rollin' out here in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. Actually, we were literally around the corner from Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, some 100 or so miles away as we are just east of Navassa Island.  We were in the Windward Passage and I really don''t have any argument with the name of the place.  My wife was uncomfortable, but not physically ill. I'm sure many of the over 3000 passengers, and perhaps many of the 1,200 crew members were far worse than just uncomfortable.

By 4:20am, the winds had increased to Gale Force 9 and the outside wind noise was seriously intruding on the happy, steel drum cruise music piped through the television. Oddly enough, I was hungry.

We covered the 253 miles from Princess cays in 12 hours and 20 minutes. The wind hadn't abated in the slightest, and laying in bed was by far the easiest way to cope with the constant, erratic motion of the humble Crown Princess.  Humble may not be the correct word here.  She's chugging along at a solid 22 knots so we will arrive in Willemstad by 1:00 pm tomorrow afternoon come Hell or high water.  So to speak.  Shuddering and shaking perhaps, but she is unslowed by the elements.  The schedule will be kept.

The gap between our joy of cruising and our cost of cruising is closing more rapidly than we expected. We already dropped any plans for an Alaska cruise after seeing friend's photos of several different Alaskan cruises, most of the ports of call, and simply comparing costs. Not really our cup of tea. We now have serious reservations about our planned Panama canal trip early next year as well.

Perhaps we need to just bring more money and pay for the privilege of being separated from the mass of passengers, but then, the costs skyrocket. When I say the cost of cruising, I don't mean just the monetary expenditures of the cruise itself.  Getting on the boat is already an expensive outlay.  We fortunately do not have to fly or pay airfare to get to a cruise port.  We are conveniently located between Tampa, Ft. Lauderdale, and Miami, three of the busiest cruise ports in the U.S. and can drive to any of them if we choose. We prefer the bus, where charges are just less than two hundred dollars for the both of us to Miami and back.  And of course there's the extra four hundred dollars to kennel the dogs for just a week. It does add up.

To make matters worse, it is à la carte once you board the cruise ship and ship's prices have pretty much gone bonkers.  Once on-board, you are a captive audience!  At six dollars a Budweiser, don't expect any breaks on-board. They don't do anything for the passengers except the basic dining and an ice cream on the pool deck. If you want sprinkles on your ice cream, have your room key ready, the sprinkles are extra.

The basic dining is still exceptional, but we wonder how much longer it will last. Higher caliber restaurants are already available above and beyond the common dining rooms, as outstanding as they are, specifically appealing to the cruisers who prefer not to mingle even with the common diners. Those dining rooms carry a $25 surcharge per person per meal. 

The shows are still free, but I wouldn't be surprised to be asked to show my room card sometime in the future. They probably haven't thought of it yet. So, to be jammed in with thousands of people has to have its rewards and those rewards are fewer and fewer than before.  We are reconsidering how we will spend our vacation money.  Basically, we do not care for big boat cruising.  I guarantee you I will never sail on the Oasis of the Seas or any ship that carries 5000 passengers.

We head back to our balcony as soon as the seas and winds subside, separated from the rest of the ship. Peace and serenity once again settle over as we sit on our small, semi-enclosed balcony. We watch as white caps rip off the top of the huge waves and roll away from us instead of hitting us broadside. The wind has subsided to 30 knots and is now off our port stern. We pass Haiti on our port side, the mountains visible through the distant haze. I can only understand portions of the captain's message over the PA system, the garbled voice says the water depth in the channel is 1600 feet. We now turn more southeasterly and head into deep blue waters of the Caribbean, our final heading to Willemstad.

The old girl has settled down. Once again I fall for the charms of cruising, paradoxically in love with the incredible beauty found only at sea. The huge, slowly rolling waves firmly rise up and dominate my senses as nothing else, and gently, slowly, the massive mountains of water disappear into the long trough of spray-strewn, almost placid swells. Technically, these are swells I suppose, but I still like the wave definition. These waves are massive world-travelers. They are the dominators of the ocean. How far have they traveled, where will they eventually crash ashore? Are they from the coast of Africa? Will they crash in front of tourists in Cancun, or slam ashore in unseen by anyone but seagulls and pelicans? The period has increased to twelve seconds, double that of yesterday's waves. The period is the time between crests, and the time accentuates the massive size of each wave. The ship's log finally shows seas as “Rough,” twelve feet or so. They look higher to me, but then I'm not driving. The Crown Princess is in her element here. And if I want to see more of it, I have no choice but to go cruising.

Most of my fellow passengers don't have a clue. They are all over the pool decks, eating, sun-bathing, and generally taking a break from the cold, northern winter. They are enjoying their vacations exactly as advertised. My wife and I are enjoying the cruise as well, just in our own way. The open sea, glistening silver under the sun, deep blue otherwise is simply beautiful.

Pool is closed...

As we sail further and further south, the size of the waves increases and soon the sea is a mass of twenty foot behemoths tipped with white spray that cause our Captain to throttle back somewhat to minimize the astonishing resistance they present. They try to impede our our voyage, to prevent the incursion into their world.  The shuddering is back, but this time it is Mother Ocean causing the protest. The shuddering and and slamming is not as consistent as the night before, but when it comes, it is far more severe. Our huge vessel cedes to the power of the Ocean only slightly, probably to keep everyone in the hot-tubs from banging their knees. Actually, all swimming pools and hot tubs are closed. The water sloshing out of the main pool reaches the overhead of the sun deck just above it. I have it on video tape. We press on toward our shopping rendezvous in Willemstad. We are now just under a day away. 

We awake Tuesday morning to milder seas. The period is down to six seconds and the Bridge report say we now have rough seas. What were they yesterday, I wonder? We opened the balcony door and wiped the salt spray off the deck chairs while the Captain announced we were some thirty miles from Willemstad. He said the sea and wind had subsided and the remainder of the approach would be smooth. He also commented we were some thirty minutes behind schedule, even though we had been running at close to full speed for the entire 44 hours. My wife joked our clothes had done more dancing in the closet than we had on the dance floor.

We ate breakfast in the dining room for the first time, far more civilized than acting like foragers who hadn't yet discovered fire.

Next: Willemstad and Curacao

The Cruise to Aruba - Day One

From Part 2 - http://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2012/03/cruise-to-aruba-boarding.html

We joined the ranks of the forgetful fifties and the stress free sixties on our first day at sea: we had to go to the concierge to retrieve names and dates of our last Princess cruise. Not only couldn't we remember the name of the ship, we couldn't agree when we took our last cruise with Princess Cruises. We were directed by the apologetic concierge to go up a deck, find the Wheel House Bar, then locate the Princess Club director, a young officer who looked at me in disbelief when I explained my dilemma. I thought to myself, “Just wait, you'll understand soon enough.”  His computer system has a different data base from the ship's main system, and he soon had the data at his finger tips.

Not only did we get the date wrong - it was 2004 - but we weren't even close with the name of the ship. It was the Star Princess, and we had cruised to San Juan, St. Thomas once again, and finally visited Tortola.  We remembered the ports but not the ship. So much for my razor sharp memory. 

Day One - At the Princess Cay in Lucaya

Quite a lot about cruising has changed in eight short years. If you forget to return a ship's library book, for example, the charge today is $55. Who knows what it will be in another eight years. 

Also gone is the ship's drugstore. Gone with it is the cheap liquor that you could buy there and take to your room. On our 1992 S.S. Norway cruise, I bought a 1.75 liter bottle of Drambuie for me and a 1.75 liter bottle of Amaretto for my wife, for less than either bottle alone would have cost me stateside. We proceeded to finish off both bottles before the end of the seven day cruise and managed to run up a three hundred dollar bar bill to boot. We missed St. Johns that trip. They swear the boat stopped there but you couldn't prove it by us.  Those days are over, in more ways than one. First my body couldn't take it, and secondly, neither could my wallet. A built-in safety net I suppose.

We spent our first, almost summer like day anchored off the private island called the Princess Cays. Private is the operative word here. If you don't mind being shuttled to and from the island in small tenders along with 3000 other passengers, well, maybe you can call it private. We stayed on board as we did on the last three cruises and enjoyed having the ship to ourselves. We found this time we were not alone as many of the “veteran” cruisers also elected to remain on board and enjoy the peace and quiet. Many of the first timers, and those who don't normally have access to beaches, enjoyed the day swimming and eating barbecue, hot dogs and hamburgers, enjoying a sandy beach party. 

By noon, we were sitting peacefully on our balcony, hundreds of feet above the beautiful clear blue water off Eluthera, reading and writing in the warm sunshine. We watched the constant flow of shuttles to and from the beach with detached interest. Still worth the price of cruising, all the changes not withstanding.

While sitting on the aforementioned balcony, sipping the red wine we brought aboard ourselves and snacking on the five or six delicious cheeses we carried back from the lunch buffet, we were distracted by sporadic hammering and an occasional burst from a power tool from somewhere below us. The noise was from a work crew, strapped to the ship in safety harnesses, working on a lifeboat some six or seven stories below us.

The cruise industry has always taken great care of the safety equipment, but since the incredibly stupid tragedy of the Costa Concordia, I'm sure efforts to prevent any future tragedies have intensified. It was bad enough to happen to the Italian ship, but if that happened to a U.S. Cruise company, or one that departed from a U.S. Port, it would cripple the industry faster than rising fuel prices.

You are allowed to bring one bottle of wine per person on board when you initially embark, but the “Corkage Fee” is a stunning $18. So, either bring your own corkscrew, or do as we have learned and simply pack a wine box, carefully wrapped in leak-proof plastic so as not to spoil your vacation in case of dropped luggage. Easy to open, and easy to lock back up in the suitcase away from the maid when you are out of the room. The wine box actually exceeds the one bottle limit but no one checks the volume. Anything to help alleviate the pain.

We always book as high as we can afford, and as far forward as possible. We have heard arguments from people who prefer to stay as close to the center of the ship as possible to minimize the effect of ship rolling, but with the modern stabilizers and computer control, we have found engine vibration to be a bigger pain in the enjoyment than the ship's motion. The higher, the quieter, and for more reasons than just being as far from the power plants as possible.

One of the reasons we like being as high as possible is because of a guy we will always call “Pickle Dick.” Luckily for us, Pickle Dick's cabin was below us when we met him on the last cruise. He loved to stand on his balcony and harass a young, newly-wed couple obviously trying to enjoy a romantic honeymoon. They were unfortunately just below him, and even worse, their balcony protruded further out than those above them. When ever the love birds would set up an intimate dinner with flowers and wine, Pickle Dick would show up, usually stark-ass naked, and start a loud, obnoxious scene, pretending to be a “friendly neighbor.” We never saw the young couple after Pickle Dick's second obnoxious intrusion, but that didn't stop our tattooed, long-haired ambassador of southern hospitality from standing on his tip-toes, peering over the rail trying to see where they were.

So, if you have a balcony stateroom and decide to enjoy your beautiful, unobstructed view of the ocean, remember to look up before standing out there bare-ass.







Next: Day Two at Sea 

Cruise to Aruba - Boarding

From part one : http://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2012/03/crown-princess-to-aruba.html

Boarding the huge ship was smoothly done, but I can't say the same for just getting to the ship to start with. With the convoluted routing and redirects through the construction that dominated the port and the various security control points as we entered Port Everglades, I was really glad I left the driving to someone else. We used a charter-bus to make the 180 mile trip from Port Charlotte to Ft. Lauderdale so I wouldn't have to figure out the parking nonsense in the congested port area. We had friends of ours with us from Germany who speak very little English, and I simply didn't need the added confusion factor or a failure to communicate.

Bernd and Agnes, our friends from Germany

There were seven, huge, state-of-the-art cruise ships being boarded simultaneously in one of the busiest cruise ports in the United States. To say the port was jammed with traffic would be an understatement. The bus trip was easy enough for us, but our driver had my heartfelt sympathy as guard after guard made him move the huge bus after we finally got next to the correct ship in the terminal area. Two guards actually stood in front of the bus at one time, each pointing for him to go in a different direction. Whoever outranked whom finally won, and we again did another five point turn in the confines of a parking garage! Our driver finally got fed up once he was satisfied he was close enough to the entrance and just turned off the ignition. Hordes of porters pushing empty luggage carts descended on the undersides of the bus, and once they started unloading, it was obvious no one was going to move the bus. This driver earned his tip, even with his momentary lapse on the highway. This was his third shift in two days. Welcome to the new America.

Princess had us print everything from the Internet beforehand, so all we had to do was follow our yellow color through the terminal to our designated seating area. We never saw our luggage again, but it was also pre-tagged and color coded just like we were, so I wasn't worried. It had always shown up in front of our stateroom late in the evening on previous cruises, so I expected the same service here. 

After an hour and a half wait, we signed in with the efficient, courteous staff, they were actually quite funny, and after getting our plastic, embossed gold room keys, which are also your boarding cards, we were on our way up the forward gangplank. Ten minutes later we were checking out our stateroom, ready for a tour of the ship. I react badly when being herded and avoid places like Disney World like the plague, but Princess has this down to an art form and the whole procedure was quite painless.

Much of the chatter on deck was French, German, even Russian, with only a few passengers speaking English. The English speaking passengers were the only ones to benefit from the new, expanded safety briefing, however, which had formerly been known as the Parade of New Shoes, or technically, the Life Boat Drill. Over 800 of us listened intently to the Captain's 22 minute safety address over the Public Address speakers in the ship's theater, the “A” muster station, I couldn't help but wonder if we could all get out of the theater in time in case of a real emergency.

The first real shock of new-age cruising came shortly after the lifeboat drill. We went up to the forward pool deck bar and ordered drinks. I simply ordered a Budweiser. Apparently a brand hard to find among the many better known foreign labels. The smiling young woman presented me with the charge slip, they only accept your pre-approved credit card, and watched blandly as I read it several times. No matter how I turned it around, it still came out to six dollars and four cents, gratuity included. Wow, my first and only beer! The grand old days of cruising are over! My wife pointed out it was a sixteen ounce can, rather than the standard twelve ounce size. Doesn't matter, it was a six dollar can of Budweiser! This would be a cruise of abstinence. Well, within reason, of course. Remind me to check the futures market on beer. It may be a better investment than oil.

With heavy, overcast skies and winds steady at over thirty knots out of the northeast, most of the passengers standing outside on the railing had their arms folded tightly in front of them with their shoulders scrunched up to their ears as we crossed out of the protected anchorage and into the open ocean. Most looked like they wished they still had on their northern, cold weather jackets. 

As we watched the pilot disembark well outside the protection of the channel and head back toward Ft. Lauderdale, we wondered just how rough it has to be to get these people worried.  

The Crown Princess weighs over 112,000 tons, and that was probably before they loaded us, the fuel, the food, and who knows how many cases of Budweiser.  Actually, the net registered tonnage is only 83, 977 tons, so the gross tonnage of 113, 561 tons is when we cast off from Port Everglades loaded to the gills.  In that bloated condition she draws 28 feet of water.  In other words, you couldn't put her in your swimming pool unless your pool was 29 feet deep.  At 950 feet long, (that's over three football fields, I think, or over three soccer fields, or something else that makes you say, “Wow, that's long!”) she still shuddered and shook in the 30 knot crosswinds like my Golden Retriever when I give him a bath. 

The in-room television said we had “moderate seas” at four to seven feet, with an across-the-deck wind of 30 knots. We were constantly shaking. Of the five cruises we've done, this one was unique. We had lulled and waited all night in 20 foot seas not far off Palm Beach on our very first cruise many years ago and thought the slow, rolling wind blown waves were as bad as it got, but that ship, the old Sunward II hadn't protested like this one. The constant, quick jerks back and forth that occasionally caused quick side-steps and spilled drinks were new to us.But then we went to dinner and all was well with the world! Our decision to cruise once again was affirmed. Excellent food and outstanding service! I'll even wear a tie if I have to. Personally, the casual dining at one of the three buffets is great for a quick lunch, especially when everyone in your party is off doing their own thing, but the dining room is one reason we cruise.  The food is really good at the buffets, and table service is excellent there as well, but it is not personal.  When you eat in the dining room, you get to meet people like Antonio, our waiter and Alphonse, an assistant Maitre D' who cater to your every whim.  We only wore jackets twice, which to us was a nice change from the Mickey D atmosphere that surrounds the deck area that many of the passengers seem to enjoy.  Love great food!  Love great service!

But, times they are a'changing.  A guided tour of the ship from the bridge to the engine room is still available, but now instead of gratis or free of charge, it costs a staggering $150.00!  Even airline executives must look with envy at the cruise ship industry's ability to gouge their customers. 

Five of the seven cruise ships boarding passengers at Port Everglades, Florida.
The Oasis of the Seas is on the far right

Next: Day One to Aruba

M/S Crown Princess to Aruba

The old lady is still fun to sail. Showing her age with an occasional loose carpet strip, a few unobtrusive paint blisters, and generally in need of a carpet deep cleaning, the M/S Crown Princess still showed her stuff as she shuddered and twitched her way out of the Bar Cut Channel in Ft. Lauderdale into heavy seas and near gale-force winds. She's a seasoned veteran at six years old, and not to destined to be at the top of the Princess list much longer.

She will be surpassed by the new M/S Royal Princess in June, 2013, which will carry 3,600 passengers, 500 more than were on-board as we cast off from Pier Two at 4:00pm on a recent Saturday afternoon. If you think 3,600 passengers is impressive, remember Royal Caribbean's Oasis of the Seas already carries 5000 passengers spread between 18 decks. That behemoth was berthed near us at Ft Lauderdale, also prepping for a seven day excursion into the Caribbean. “Massive” was the only word I could think of as I looked at the Oasis from the fantail pool deck of the M/S Crown Princess. 

Astonishing to think they unload 5000 people, beginning at 7:00 am, clean the ship, load a new group of 5000 glassy-eyed vacationers, refuel, restock and stand ready to cast off by 4:30 pm. All in a day's work! I was already impressed with Princess's streamlined boarding processes which got 3224 of us on-board with as little stress and trepidation I have ever encountered boarding a cruise ship. This was our fifth cruise, and by far the one of the easiest to board. I found out later the Crown Princess also takes on over two hundred tons of food and supplies every Saturday during that same, short window of time. Amazing, simply amazing. 

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. The trip to Ft. Lauderdale from Port Charlotte on Florida's west coast had it's own moments, including when the bus driver's head slowly slumped to his right shoulder while we were doing 65 miles an hour on a long, straight, boring section of I-75 in the middle of the Everglades known as Alligator Alley. My wife and I were luckily sitting in the seats directly behind him, and I leaned over and gently tapped his shoulder until his head snapped up in surprise. He gave me a glance that showed more fear than gratefulness, but I wasn't about to condemn him. I simply smiled and pretended to be looking for alligators along side the adjacent canal and the event was never mentioned. He made a point to shake my hand when we got off the bus.

Next: Cast off - Underway on the Princess

Everglades Restoration Groundbreaking Ceremony

I didn't know what to expect as I waited in the parking area at the Homestead General Aviation Airport to board one of the chartered buses that was to take us to the Everglades Restoration Groundbreaking Ceremony that cool January morning in 1997. I read about the ceremony being open to the public, so I decided to drive down to and take a look at the future of the Everglades for myself.

Most of the people who boarded the bus seemed to know each other. Members of several service clubs and growers associations chatted among themselves as our bus drove back to Krome Avenue and then turned and drove down the dirt access road adjacent to the C-111 canal. I watched out the window as the bus made the short trip to the ceremony area, thinking it was about time something was going to be done to save Marjory Stone Douglas's wonderful "River of Grass." We disembarked and were directed to one of several large tents that had been set up not far from the waters edge on the other side of the canal. We walked across the road that was created by the pumping station to the large tents set up to accommodate the many speakers and guests. Even the Homestead High School Marching Band was in attendance. There were three helicopters parked discreetly behind yellow tapes back on the other side of the canal. I noticed that none were marked with television station logos. A nearby metal sign showed numerous bullet holes and dents.

The program started on time, but it didn't take long for me to wander out of the tent and away from the social/political scene. The ceremony was well into the speeches and remarks as I walked past the refreshment area and over to the canal bank. I was looking in the water at the canal's edge when two other fellows walked up, talking among themselves. One man soon walked back to the ceremony, leaving the other alone just a few feet away. He stood for a few moments, then reached down and pulled a few weeds from the canal bank, and tossed them one by one into the water. It was Dexter Lehtinen, the former U.S. Attorney who had first filed suit against the State of Florida in 1988 for allowing polluted water to flow into the Everglades. Lehtinen's suit, along with the thirty-nine additional lawsuits the original lawsuit triggered, actually began the legal actions that eventually led to the ceremony we were attending. It appeared he also would rather be fishing.

We started chatting about Florida and the Everglades, and finally about the Everglades ceremony behind us. He would occasionally glance back at the crowd to see if he was missed, but was far more content to toss weeds in the water. It was one of those times when the bus ride was worth it. Dexter's wife, U.S. Representative Ileana Ros-Lehtinen (who at the time was a State Representative) sponsored my daughter, Monica, to serve as her page for a week in the Florida Legislature in Tallahassee. We met the Lehtinens while giving our daughter her sendoff at Miami International Airport. He politely "remembered" meeting us, even though it had been ten or eleven years earlier. Shortly, others who had seen Dexter and wanted to say hello joined us, so I made my goodbye and slowly wandered back to the main tent in time to hear the Honorable Dante Fascell begin his speech.

The program had him listed as Mr. Dante Fascell, Esq. as he had retired from 38 years of service in the U.S. House Representatives some five years earlier. Somehow, after all those years, it just didn't seem right not to say Honorable. I listened intently as Mr. Fascell soon strayed from the political correctness that earmarked all the other speakers. He soon was talking to the people assembled in the tent as if we were all family. Everyone remembers him saying, "...seems to like to me we've been discussing the same thing now for about 50 years... There is only one way to get this thing done, and that is for everybody to work together...” Those comments are still heard today whenever Everglades restoration is discussed.

Mr. Fascell also reminisced about the flooding that swamped Greater Miami after the hurricane of the late 1940's. My uncle had told us about rowboats being used to pick up people during one flood, so I knew Mr. Fascell wasn't exaggerating when he repeated similar stories all over Miami. It was his duty to the people of south Florida to not let that happen again. He and others in political power implemented the legislation needed to protect the citizens of south Florida with a series of drainage canals and dikes. The resulting flood prevention construction by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers was exactly the reason the Everglades had deteriorated to its present state. It wasn't done by accident or through stupidity. It was a deliberate plan to protect the citizens. It was, and remains a very effective flood control program. Now we have a different set of goals and ideals. While we can never restore the Everglades to it's original state, we can restore portions of it and reclaim much of its lost beauty while maintaining the safety of the citizens of south Florida.

I caught one of the last buses back to the parking lot, thinking maybe I should attend more of these government ceremonies. I had answers to questions that had been bothering me for years and had finally accepted the answers as something I would have done too, if that had been my responsibility. Besides, it was fun tossing weeds into the water, something everybody should do every once in a while.

George Mindling
Miami, Florida ©1998

[Author's update - July 20, 2018 - To put this in perspective, here is a photo of my brother Dean, on the left, and me, on the old Ingraham Highway to Flamingo, 1953.]

I Envy Artists

I envy artists. You know, the people who put their talents, and quite often their very souls, right in front of you to see. You see their effort, their product, their thoughts and interpretations as they meant you to see them as soon as there are created or unveiled. I, however, am a lowly writer. My product, as individual and original as I intend, never gets to the printed page without someone altering what I create. When I use my fingers and my wit to translate my verbal image into a permanent record, no one but me see can see the original. Even the original is only a nebulous thought that often contorts and becomes a victim of intellectual metamorphosis. Sometimes an entire thought is swept away by a simple distraction, lost forever. Like the purpose of this paragraph! Seriously, I have often wished a thought could miraculously appear on my computer screen before I compound what I was trying to say! If I only had a paint brush!

Editors can say I didn't following grammatical protocol when I used the blue oil from my palette. It should have had more green than yellow because my color simply shouldn't look like that. That is regardless of the image I, and I alone, created, but they can not see because they have to focus their vision through the eyepiece of academia.

Maybe it is my shadowing. It simply can't be applied in the corners of my description because of some 18^th century rule about gerunds, or infinitives, or some other idiosyncratic restriction that detracts from the image I alone want to portray. When Henry Alford wrote in his 1864 book, The Queen's English, he admonished writers from splitting infinitives. It is a good thing the writers from Star Trek weren't looking at the past when they wrote “to boldly go where no one has gone before.” And the restriction against beginning a sentence with a conjunction sucks, too! Sometimes my image only has one word! There! That blasts the idiom rule and the one word sentence restriction rather easily. Perhaps that is the problem. No one but me can see the image I create. Or is it, I alone can see the image I create? How do I get my image to you without corruption? How do I get it in print without being filtered, trimmed, or perhaps simply misinterpreted completely? If someone plays with an interpretation, alters it and makes it their own, it would be is as if every sculpture, every monument would have the corrections of a critic applied before you see it. Every statue would have a plaster patch stuck on somewhere. Every painting would be touched up, color corrected before being hung on a galley wall. In writing, the editor is the critic who controls the creative results that end up in front of you, the reader. I apply my creation to a mechanical medium and find immediately it must conform to certain constraints and limits.

Without an editor, an author has little chance in the literary world. You may purchase a work of art based on your tastes regardless of a critic's comments. As long as I have an editor, however, there is a chance you may not see what I saw. My image then belongs solely to me. Can I get it to you without sounding like an uneducated cretin? Certainly, but you have to like the box it comes in. And I didn't get to design the box. How I envy artists!

But now the World Wide Web offers a resource unlike any other in mankind's history. One that allows anyone with a computer and access to the Internet the ability to offer the electronic world pages of writing that can be read anywhere in the world at any time. Entire books are written, shipped and read all over the world without using a single piece of paper! The written products by-pass the editors and are delivered directly to the critics, the ones who read, or delete, what ever is available. Readers, bloggers, and down-loaders have become the de facto editors. Writers have a brand new medium! We even get to design our own boxes.

"I Envy Artists" was published in the "The Florida Writer" Vol 5, No. 2, 2011