Day at Sea
Before bed on the 30th, Greg got me on Rabbit Rabbit Rabbit, thanks to a series of time zone changes. But I kind of won, in the sense that the ensuing weepiness over "I don't have to remember to Rabbit Rabbit Rabbit Dad anymore" took all the fun out of his triumph.
For our first full day at sea, I had gone through the daily newsletter and scheduled a busy day of activities. Instead, we slept in before picking up the daily crossword and catching breakfast in the Seaside Grill. Despite the vast selection, my breakfasts throughout the cruise were remarkably Germanic: cheeses, sausages, crusty rolls, and (once I found it hidden behind the yogurt) mueslix. All of the sea days featured a huge variety of classes, and the first we attended was on sushi making. I discovered that the amount of time it takes Greg to make a sushi roll is about 30 seconds less than it took me to run half the length of the ship, up two flights of stairs, into the room to get the camera, down two flights of stairs, and half the length of the ship again. Fortunately the sushi instructor was willing to pose with him later.
After about half an hour walking the ship's jogging track (a scenic if short third of a kilometer loop), we availed ourselves of free champagne by attending the party for couples on their honeymoons or anniversary trips. There were three honeymoon couples, including one who had married two days before sailing; and of the remaining anniversary celebrations, three were 50ths. They served a beautiful but bland wedding cake and played dreadfully mushy music to help us all "relive your wedding day," but it served more to remind us why we'd gotten a plain but tasty cake, and spent so much time working on the DJ's play/do not play lists!
Lunch in the main dining room was okay, not amazing, and we skipped the salsa class and Broadway Name That Tune I'd pencilled in, instead returning to the room to sit on the veranda and do the crossword. Greg scouted out the bridge scene (later reporting that you pretty much came as a pair or you didn't play), while I shopped the ship's "Emporium" in search of cufflinks for formal night. We met up for the Taste of the Baltic class, a presentation on shopping given by the port advisor, Fiona. Fiona had already developed a following from a class earlier in the day, and we soon discovered why: she knows everything, she takes crap from no one (ask a stupid question, she gives you a stupid answer), and as Greg put it, "she doesn't suffer fools. At all." I took extensive notes on shopping for amber, sweaters, furs, lacquer boxes, icons, jewelry, and crystal, even though I was pretty sure I wasn't even in the market for a lot of them.
We squeezed in another game of Scrabble before returning to our room to dress for our first formal night. I can't begin to imagine how much luggage some of our fellow travelers must have been schlepping. There were sequins, tuxedos, sequins, kilts, more sequins...even the obligatory punk kid had gelled his mohawk for the occassion. Greg wore his nicest pair of khakis, his only jacket, his only tie, and one of the "dress shirts for life" we'd gotten on Oxford Street, along with some cufflinks I'd gotten that afternoon. I wore a vaguely Asian suit I'd gotten years ago from a catalog and never worn. Because we're classy like that.
Since we were all dressed up, after dinner we visited Michael's Club, a piano bar inhabited by a hugely popular lounge act named Perry Grant. And when I say "hugely popular," I'm saying people follow him from cruise line to cruise line (one couple said "We used to see you on Holland America Veendam...or Rotterdam...one of those 'dam' ships."). He was cartoonishly gay--the kind of gay that gay people are embarrased by--but certainly entertaining. After the really talented dancers left, we got up the nerve to dance a bit ourselves. Eventually, I noticed he was moving stuff around on the piano (stuffed animals, that sort of thing) to block my view of him. When we got off the dance floor to find someone had taken our seats and moved one table over, he raised a music stand so he wouldn't have to look at me. Finally, he asked, "Are you feeling well?" I said I was, and he announced to the rest of the audience "She's been sitting there like a lump for four hours." So...that was weird. A song or two later, while taking a moment to create a more substantial wall of music stands between us, he grumbled, "I'm too old for mind games." We took the hint and left. From then on, every time we walked past the club, we'd say "Well, we could go in and ruin Perry Grant's night."
Pedometer count: 11,662
For our first full day at sea, I had gone through the daily newsletter and scheduled a busy day of activities. Instead, we slept in before picking up the daily crossword and catching breakfast in the Seaside Grill. Despite the vast selection, my breakfasts throughout the cruise were remarkably Germanic: cheeses, sausages, crusty rolls, and (once I found it hidden behind the yogurt) mueslix. All of the sea days featured a huge variety of classes, and the first we attended was on sushi making. I discovered that the amount of time it takes Greg to make a sushi roll is about 30 seconds less than it took me to run half the length of the ship, up two flights of stairs, into the room to get the camera, down two flights of stairs, and half the length of the ship again. Fortunately the sushi instructor was willing to pose with him later.
After about half an hour walking the ship's jogging track (a scenic if short third of a kilometer loop), we availed ourselves of free champagne by attending the party for couples on their honeymoons or anniversary trips. There were three honeymoon couples, including one who had married two days before sailing; and of the remaining anniversary celebrations, three were 50ths. They served a beautiful but bland wedding cake and played dreadfully mushy music to help us all "relive your wedding day," but it served more to remind us why we'd gotten a plain but tasty cake, and spent so much time working on the DJ's play/do not play lists!
Lunch in the main dining room was okay, not amazing, and we skipped the salsa class and Broadway Name That Tune I'd pencilled in, instead returning to the room to sit on the veranda and do the crossword. Greg scouted out the bridge scene (later reporting that you pretty much came as a pair or you didn't play), while I shopped the ship's "Emporium" in search of cufflinks for formal night. We met up for the Taste of the Baltic class, a presentation on shopping given by the port advisor, Fiona. Fiona had already developed a following from a class earlier in the day, and we soon discovered why: she knows everything, she takes crap from no one (ask a stupid question, she gives you a stupid answer), and as Greg put it, "she doesn't suffer fools. At all." I took extensive notes on shopping for amber, sweaters, furs, lacquer boxes, icons, jewelry, and crystal, even though I was pretty sure I wasn't even in the market for a lot of them.
We squeezed in another game of Scrabble before returning to our room to dress for our first formal night. I can't begin to imagine how much luggage some of our fellow travelers must have been schlepping. There were sequins, tuxedos, sequins, kilts, more sequins...even the obligatory punk kid had gelled his mohawk for the occassion. Greg wore his nicest pair of khakis, his only jacket, his only tie, and one of the "dress shirts for life" we'd gotten on Oxford Street, along with some cufflinks I'd gotten that afternoon. I wore a vaguely Asian suit I'd gotten years ago from a catalog and never worn. Because we're classy like that.
Since we were all dressed up, after dinner we visited Michael's Club, a piano bar inhabited by a hugely popular lounge act named Perry Grant. And when I say "hugely popular," I'm saying people follow him from cruise line to cruise line (one couple said "We used to see you on Holland America Veendam...or Rotterdam...one of those 'dam' ships."). He was cartoonishly gay--the kind of gay that gay people are embarrased by--but certainly entertaining. After the really talented dancers left, we got up the nerve to dance a bit ourselves. Eventually, I noticed he was moving stuff around on the piano (stuffed animals, that sort of thing) to block my view of him. When we got off the dance floor to find someone had taken our seats and moved one table over, he raised a music stand so he wouldn't have to look at me. Finally, he asked, "Are you feeling well?" I said I was, and he announced to the rest of the audience "She's been sitting there like a lump for four hours." So...that was weird. A song or two later, while taking a moment to create a more substantial wall of music stands between us, he grumbled, "I'm too old for mind games." We took the hint and left. From then on, every time we walked past the club, we'd say "Well, we could go in and ruin Perry Grant's night."
Pedometer count: 11,662
Labels: honeymoon
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