Wide Open Spaces

We recently returned from a week-long cruise aboard what was once the world’s largest cruise ship – MS Freedom of the Seas. Christened in 2006, the ship weighs in at a lean 154,407 gross tons with a length of 1,112 feet, making it only slightly “shorter” than the John Hancock Center in Chicago. Though I derive no pride from this, our floating resort is 229 feet longer than Titanic, and infinitely more buoyant.  Today, only the MS Oasis of the Seas and MS Allure of the Seas are bigger.

Though we’re not a turbo cruise family, we mingled with some on our voyage who considered their elite, multi-night status on our cruise line as valuable as the confirmation of knighthood.  “I’m gold-diamond,” one lady proclaimed.  “We’re double diamond,” another countered.  I smiled as if I cared, wiped my nose on my sleeve, then walked away perfectly content with the prospect of my “first night” on board.

Cruising is both gratifying and baffling.  First, there’s the food.  As you’ve probably heard, there’s a culinary cornucopia to be ingested and returned to the open seas as soon as the collective digestive process of all 5,0o0 people on board culminates.  Dining on board a cruise ship is truly an art . . . and a sport.  Some linger at each meal as though the ship is taking on water and that lobster theramdor is the final source of nutrition their bodies will receive.  Others wait mindlessly outside the myriad of dining venues hoping to be the first to dip their spoon into the baked alaska.  The competition at the buffet lines is truly Olympic.  Stepping in front of a “double diamond” guest is tantamount to asking the captain to take a short cut around some of the smaller islands nearby.

Our ship was home to nearly 1500 crew members, most of whom were recruited outside the US.  The majority sign 7-month contracts and rarely leave the vessel once they arrive on board.  Seven months.  For most of us, forty hours of work (or surfing the web at our employer’s expense) and we’re bolting for the door and singing, “Everybody’s workin’ for the weekend.”  To the ship’s staff, the weekend is also “turn-over” day, when last week’s passengers disembark, and next week’s passengers bring their luggage, double-diamond pins, and ravenous appetites on board.

Yes, the staterooms are small but adequately functional.  Except for periods of sleep, there’s little reason to tarry there unless you’ve never fully adjusted to life outside the womb. After a couple of days at sea, you find yourself unknowingly following the crowds to the next scheduled meal or featured entertainment and you can’t really remember why.  You forget what it’s like to be hungry but you’re instinctively drawn toward the dining room and buffet lines nonetheless.  Some passengers inadvertently spend more on alcohol, excursions, and shopping than their base cruise fare, effectively doubling the cost of their vacation.  One lady quipped, “We’re going into port because I’m upgrading to 1 carat this trip,” offering her measly half-carat ring as proof of her destitute condition.  Her husband smiled and adjusted his hearing aid.

Meridith is beautifully frugal, mind you.  Not cheap, but frugal.  Example?  Cruise ships are occupied by paparazzi – photographers snapping pictures of passengers ad nauseum, then posting the pictures in high visibility locations, thereby manipulating guests to purchase these images at outrageous prices to avoid public humiliation.   In a brilliant but unpopular move, my wife photographed our family’s pictures, saving us hundreds of dollars (see above).  She’s now 3 weeks into her 7-month penal contract with the cruise line.  She’s working as a photographer . . . and we miss her.