Cruise diary - Part II

Tuesday:
7:15 a.m. is too early to enjoy a good meal, some shopping or an adventure in Puerto Rico, so went on a bus tour of El Yunque National Forest, the only rain forest in the world under U.S. jurisdiction. It didn't rain while we were there, so we got to enjoy the exotic trees and vegetation without getting wet. Shortly after leaving the rain forest, however, the skies opened up something fierce. Talk about timing!

Nearly as interesting as the rain forest was our Puerto Rican bus driver/tour guide/comedian Jose:
"Puerto Rico has four million people and three million cars. We love our cars--we sleep with them!"
"The biggest Puerto Rican neighborhood in the world is The Bronx. There's three million Puerto Ricans in The Bronx!"
"The only army in Puerto Rico is the Salvation Army. They're great at recycling and they have a good clothing store. I bought one of Marc Antony's jackets there for only $10, and J Lo signed it!"
When a Porsche passed the slow jittery tour bus on the right, Jose said, "That's my friend. I let him drive my Porsche."
Fortunately, the winding, bumpy, wet roads on the island were little match for Jose, who said he lived in Boston for 18 years. No wonder!

With less than an hour to go before the ship was scheduled to depart, my wife and I commenced a rum run around Old San Juan. We were determined to buy one of my favorite brands, which we first learned about the last time we were on the island. I used my Spanish language skills to ask a woman at an information kiosk where I could locate our treasure, and she gave me directions in the most proper Spanish I've ever heard a Puerto Rican speak. As we got closer to the booty, I asked another lady behind a counter just to make sure, and she confirmed its proximity, in Spanish. We found the little store, bought three bottles for what two of an inferior quality would've cost in the U.S., ordered a couple of cafe con leches to go for good measure, and let the caffeine propel us back to the ship in time. I then realized the two ladies I asked for directions to the prize rum probably spoke perfectly good English.

After dinner on the ship, there was a line in the men's room. A guy unwittingly cut the line, invoking comments from the others. When he finished and started to leave, the line cutter looked at the other guys and said, "I thought you were having a clam bake."

Wednesday:
I swear some of the same people that were on the buffet line on the pool deck past 11:00 last night are walking around with heaping plates of food at the breakfast buffet this morning. Nah, they can't be. People can't eat that much.

A hilarious ventriloquist, Brad Cummings, entertained passengers in the ship's big theater last night. It was impressive how contemporary and customized for the audience he was able to make his schtick. He was accompanied by his longtime sidekick, a little dinosaur, and a mobster. He got his biggest laughs, however, when he got a guy from the audience to sit like a dummy on his lap. After the show, I saw Brad slip quietly from the theater, carrying a couple of trunks down the stairs where the crew stays. I gave him a thumbs up and thanked him. He thanked me back. I couldn't help but think how lonely the life of a comedian must be, rehearsing lines in empty rooms away from home. At least a ventriloquist has dummies to keep him company and talk back to him.

Sitting in a villa of cabanas, my mind drifts towards memories of Roberto Cabanas, the young Paraguayan striker from the early 1980s Cosmos soccer clubs. He was such a dynamic, improvisational talent on the turf pitch of the Meadowlands, and scorer of one of the most beautiful goals I've ever witnessed -- with his body in the air in a horizontal position and his head pointed toward the goal, he used the back of his foot to redirect a pass behind him into the net. It was a stunning work of athletic art. After leaving the Cosmos, Cabanas starred with a successful Colombian club bankrolled by a cocaine cartel, and appeared for Paraguay in the 1986 World Cup. I have no idea what he's up to these days, but I'll never forget him.

Haiti is not a likely Caribbean destination for foreigners, unless they're on a humanitarian visit or some other mission. It's the last port of call for this cruise, though, and the Labadee resort privately operated by Royal Caribbean International is full of happy vacationers, drinking, eating, swimming , sunning on the beach, the big ship sitting idly in plain view. I imagine life is radically different for those just a few miles inland; actually, more different than I can ever imagine.

With alcohol so easily accessible, it's surprising I haven't seen anyone on the cruise drunk...until tonight. A couple with New York City outerborough accents were quarreling while walking down a hallway shortly after midnight. She clearly didn't want the night to end. He kept trying to convince her it was time to get back to their room. She staggered from one side of the hallway to the other, not helped by the motion of the ship. His language got increasingly salty. As we walked past them, my wife and I started to wonder if they were also mentally challenged. We may never know for sure, but it was another reminder how _____ (fill in the blank yourself) people can sound when they've had way too much to drink.

Thursday:
The ship time-travelled back to the 1970s last night. Yes, there are people who want to do this. A singer performed some of the decade's biggest hits almost like we remember them, sometimes with props associated with the decade's popular singers. Most of the crowd enjoyed it but, frankly, others acted as if they were too old for this kind of stuff back in the 70s. A few disco dance parties followed, one in a promenade almost the full length of the ship, featuring impersonators of The Village People. My wife, who recalls my disdain for disco back in the day (yes, we met in the 70s), enjoyed singing and dancing along to the music with me and hundreds of others on a makeshift dance floor. She's still sleeping this morning, and I'm sore.

A good day for a fogburn, or windburn, on top of a sunburn. And heartburn.
Burn, baby, burn.

They're grilling burgers the size of a personal pizza pie on the pool deck. Passengers are congregating by the grills like vultures. I just can't stand to watch anybody try to eat one.

This cruise is shaping up to be a Classical Greek drama. The trip itinerary is the protagonist; I'm the antagonist. Or, maybe it's the other way around. The crew and passengers are the chorus. The drama came to a climax early, as the fourth and final port of call ended 2 1/2 days before the ship is scheduled to return to port. This leaves just enough time for moralizing and other pontification from the chorus. I'll leave it up to whoever finds my iPhone in a landfill and reads this diary a few centuries from now to decide whether this drama is a comedy or a tragedy.

An afternoon highlight was the poolside event in which this cruise features plenty of world class performers: a bellyflop competition! The form -- and figures -- of some of these male "athletes" was clearly the result of some long and serious training.

On the subject of world class performers and training, the quality of the musicians, singers, dancers and the ice skaters I saw perform this afternoon, has been consistently top-notch during this cruise. The entertainment has exceeded my expectations, and put to rest any notion that cruise ship performances are subpar -- not on this trip, anyway.

After dinner, my wife and I returned briefly to the room and, to our surprise, there was a monkey swinging from the ceiling.

Friday :
It's a lovely morning at sea. Just as impressive, I slept until past 9:30 and am just now thinking of coffee and breakfast. I never do this so late.

According to a dining room manager, there are 3200 passengers and 1200 crew members on this ship, Explorer of the Seas. I recall my first cruise in 2008 having about the same numbers. That makes them the most crowded neighborhoods I've stayed in for an extended period since the Amsterdam Houses project buildings in which I spent much of my childhood. That's where their similarities end. The quantity of food and drink I've seen on this cruise might have been sufficient for the entire New York City population of the 1960s!

Once more, people were enjoying themselves on the pool deck while drinking, sunning, talking, reading, eating and wading on a glorious afternoon. This time, a middle-age woman passed out in a hot tub, causing the band to stop playing and a medical team to arrive a few minutes later. She was carried away in a lounge chair to much ovation.

It's been fascinating to learn the different countries the cruise crew members are from. India, the Philippines and Jamaica seem to have the most crew members, with South Africa a distant fourth. We've seen a grand total of one crew member from the U.S. That may tie them with Mauritius, a country in the southwest Indian Ocean. I noticed that country's name on the badge of a towel collector, who said, "I'm the only one from the country on this ship."

A gorgeous evening capped a grand finale at sea. The sunset behind a thin blanket of clouds made truly picturesque lighting for photographs, and the sea breeze was a nice effect.

A casino in the ocean is no better and no worse than a casino on land. Same sounds, same lights, same smell of cigarettes -- I'm still waiting for a sensible explanation of why smoking is allowed in casinos in 2013 -- and the same kinds of people at the tables and slot machines. Some call it fun. For others, it's as enjoyable as writing a check to the IRS in April.
Watching a man walk out of the casino wearing an undershirt, my wife remarks, "I wonder if he lost his shirt."

Saturday:
Land ho! We see a tall high rise building, possibly in Atlantic Highlands. With the morning fog, we can't be too sure.
"Where's our blue water?" my wife asks. For sure, we're in New York Harbor, almost home. Our sea cruise is ending.