Warning: This is a sad story about a 24,000-ton lady, a princess and three angels. My eyewitness account of the lady’s death at St. Thomas in 1979.

On St. Thomas in March of 1979, the cruise season was still in full swing. Ships arrived every day and thousands of passengers poured into the downtown shopping area to lighten their bank accounts. Merchants and cab drivers competed fiercely for a share of the bounty.

For me, the morning of Friday, March 30 was filled with apprehension. Two days earlier, the reactor at Three Mile Island in Pennsylvania melted down, and information was extremely hard to come by. Kris was pregnant with our first child, and medical complications beyond the local hospital’s ability to treat had mandated her return to the mainland several weeks earlier for treatment and rest. She was staying with her parents in her childhood home outside of Philadelphia. I was extremely concerned for their safety.

I started the workday in the usual way. Breakfast at Sparky’s Waterfront Saloon was a daily ritual among a large group of Americans settled in the territory. I sat with two of my coworkers, Frank and Jody. Jody was actually a native of the island, but he looked and acted like the rest of us — members of a population group referred to as ‘continentals’. Both of the guys were members of the VI Search and Rescue organization, and between them told a lot of fascinating stories of rescues, both humorous and dramatic, on the seas and on land. I heard many of those stories during my years on St. Thomas, and this day would give rise to a story that I’m sure they are still telling. I know I am, and you’re reading it now.

I bought a Virgin Islands Daily News and a San Juan Star from a young boy who made the rounds inside the restaurant. To my disappointment, neither paper held any substantive information about the drama unfolding in Pennsylvania near my wife and unborn child. There were wild rumors, and they weren’t good. Locally, the big news was the arrival of more film crews for the production of two network television shows. Filming had already begun, and there were famous people roaming the island.

The season openers for The Love Boat and Charlie’s Angels were being combined this year for back-to-back showings on network TV. The plot called for the angels to board the cruise ship for a much-deserved vacation. While on the ship, the Angels were supposed to become involved in some sort of intrigue that would spill over onto St. Thomas during a port of call. The ship used on Love Boat was actually the Pacific Princess, which sailed under that name for the last time in 2002.

Frank and I left Sparky’s and went to the office a block down the waterfront. We ran a business called Alert Systems for a man who had retired to the Virgin Islands at a young age after selling his NYC-based Musicast business to rival Muzak. He could not sit still, and began buying local businesses. We operated monitored alarm systems for the downtown businesses, and had just started the first pocket paging (beeper) business in the Caribbean. I had fallen into this line of work shortly after Barclay’s Bank padlocked the Virgin Islands Adventure multi-media show. It was a very interesting experience — not exactly my regular line, but I wanted to stay in the islands for a while and I had to do something for a living (I could easily write another book on the topic).

Friday night view from home

I liked Fridays because many of the ships stayed late in port. Kris and I lived way up the steep slope overlooking the harbor, just below the Mountaintop Hotel and across the street from Fairchild’s Park. It gets dark early year-round by the local clock in St. Thomas, so by the time I got home from work on Fridays, the remaining ships stood lighted and beautiful in a stunning vista visible from our porch.

As four o’clock approached that Friday afternoon I was able to taste the coming weekend. I just had to ensure that the night staff showed up to monitor the alarm systems, and then I would be free. We had a collection of radio scanners in the office, and suddenly the quiet airwaves came to life. “Fire at the dock. Units responding.”

I went outside and looked directly across the harbor where four ships were tied to the West Indian Company dock. Just the usual sights, though emergency vehicles were rushing along the waterfront highway heading for Havensight. Back inside the office, confusion reigned on the airwaves. The officials couldn’t figure out what was going on, and it was certainly no clearer to me. A few minutes later the night staff showed up, and I left.

On the waterfront I saw a clue. A little smoke could be seen, apparently coming from a familiar blue and white ship operated by Costa. It was here every Friday. Angelina Lauro had the classic profile of ocean liners from decades earlier. She was no longer counted among the more handsome vessels to frequent this place, and she did not usually get a position at the dock. Ordinarily, Angelina anchored in the harbor where she provided a big target for landing seaplanes. Passengers ferried ashore in the ship’s tenders. For some reason Angelina had a spot at the dock on this day, last in a line of four ships tied there. Most of the ship’s superstructure extended past the end of the dock itself and stuck out into the harbor.

Angelina Lauro on a regular day

As I stood there watching the smoke, Frank rushed out of the office, two-way radio in hand. “Search and rescue — ship’s on fire. If you see Jody, tell him to get over to the dock,” said Frank as he rushed past me. He jumped in his car and was gone in a flash.

Lacking anything better to do, I decided to stay put and watch. Maybe I’d get to see one of Charlie’s Angels. Over the next hour, the wisp of smoke turned into a cloud and then into a storm.

There was a steady wind blowing, and the smoke left the ship and blew horizontally out through the mouth of the harbor.

As darkness fell, I could see some flames. By 9:00 that night, a lot of flames could be seen. About 9:30, the trucks of the VIFD came roaring back the way they had come. Firefighters had been given the retreat command.

An hour or so later, a firefighting tug arrived. It had been dispatched from the Hess refinery on St. Croix and it immediately went to work. “OK,” I thought, “Now we’re getting somewhere”. The VIFD trucks came outof hibernation, and returned to the scene.

The three other ships at the dock left before the scheduled times, their passengers recalled by continual blasts of ships’ horns. I found out later that they also carried the passengers and crew of Angelina Lauro back to San Juan. After watching the drama unfold for more than seven hours, I returned to the office to see if any news was available. The dispatcher relayed a report that Jody had been trapped in an elevator on the ship and was rescued. He was in the hospital and his condition was not known. No one had heard from Frank, which was unusual since he used his two-way radio like people use cell phones today. He was always in touch.

Around midnight, I went home and tried to sleep. Between thoughts of my approaching parenthood, Kris with complications an ocean away, nuclear clouds and now the burning ship, it was a fitful night. I was sure the morning would bring an end at least to this latest of these events. At dawn, I went outside. A huge column of smoke rose from the harbor, making it look like Three Mile Island had sailed here and blown its top.

I got my camera, a little 110 Instamatic, and drove toward the dock. The sight was incredible, and got more so as I closed in. The ship was fully engulfed in flame, and she was leaning hard to port. Apparently the weight of the water being poured into it from a number of boats and shore crews caused the ship to settle to the shallow bottom and roll. Angelina Lauro was being held up by the lines, which somehow escaped the heat and fire. With surprising ease of access I took a road up the hill just behind the dock, got out and took some pictures. I was sorry I didn’t have a ‘real’ camera.

Frank ended up in the hospital, too. He later told me the story. It seems that a military team was dispatched from the sub base to help fight the fire. They arrived in full firefighting regalia, with breathing packs and fire-resistant suits. The commander took one look at what was going on, and tried desperately to stop the disaster from compounding. Fuel was pouring from the ship into the harbor, and the VIFD was pumping the fuel-laden water right back onto the flames. Wherever the hoses were aimed, the fire burst forth with vigor. When the fire chief insisted that diesel fuel wouldn’t burn, the commander ordered his military team to leave the scene immediately. Shortly thereafter, the fire grew so intense that it became impossible to remain on the dock. A general evacuation was ordered.

Frank saw a motorcycle policeman he knew, and asked for a ride off the dock. The policeman decided to show off his riding skills, weaving recklessly through people and vehicles, going entirely too fast. They came upon a row of ambulances that had sat patiently through the night, waiting for customers to materialize. There had only been one minor injury during the whole episode (Jody) — until now, that is. A man was walking parallel to the row of ambulances, on a path about four feet distant. Traveling at 30 MPH, the officer tooted his horn and gunned the bike toward the gap between the man and the vehicles. Unfortunately the pedestrian darted toward the ambulance rather than away from it, closing off the passage. The officer swerved and crashed.

Frank recently recounted the incident for me. “I remember flying through the air. I landed on the pavement, staring straight up. I could feel pain in my hand, and as I raised it to take a look, I saw something dropping out of the sky. The cop’s helmet came off in the crash, flew through the air and hit me square in the forehead. I still have a bump,” said Frank, pointing to a pronounced lump above his eye. “I was kind of woozy, but I checked my hand and it wasn’t too bad. I felt for my radio. It wasn’t on my belt, so I started crawling around looking for it. That’s when the ambulance attendants found me. They thought I was either nuts or concussed, but they were glad to finally have someone to cart away.”

Angelina Lauro burned for many days. The last flames were not really extinguished — they simply ran out of combustible material. The fire was declared out on April 4, though I recall smoke and stream rising for several days after that.

The Charlie’s Angels/Love Boat film cast and crew were presented with a big problem. They were here on a tight schedule, and for the first few days it was not possible to get a shot of anything on the island without a big column of smoke appearing in the frame. After that, the hulking wreckage dominated every view of the harbor. Writers were called in to salvage the shoot. They made the burning ship central to the plot, and filming quickly resumed. Every day, individual crews would set up in multiple locations around the island, and the actors would shuttle around doing scenes. I wonder how many people later watched those shows and thought they were seeing some really good special effects. I got to see the whole thing live.

By the baby’s due date a couple of weeks later, I had scraped up enough money to fly to Philadelphia and cover the cab fare to Kris’s parents’ house. My arrival was a surprise, as was the fact that Kris did not glow in the dark. We hung around for two weeks before the doctors induced Kris into labor. Ryan was born on May 1. May Day, May Day.

Two weeks after Ryan’s birth, we boarded a flight for home with our new baby. I admired the two swirling cowlicks in his abundant hair. I couldn’t have known that they foreshadowed the arrival of Hurricanes David and Frederick later that year.

Angelina Lauro sat leaning on the harbor bottom by the dock for several months. Other ships came and went as usual, though the sight must have been unsettling to the passengers and crews. Eventually, she was pumped out and refloated. A huge Japanese tug towed her away. Halfway across the Pacific the radically unbalanced Angelina Lauro took a list, rolled over and sank.

In the fall of that year, the single local TV station was granted special permission to broadcast the opening shows of The Love Boat and Charlie’s Angels. We saw it in black and white. The plot was full of holes.

Jody Davis recovered nicely from his harrowing experience. His was one of only two reported injuries tied to the fire (Frank’s was not), and it is to Jody that we can attribute the little signs on ships warning passengers not to use the elevators in the event of fire.

According to the official Coast Guard report, the fire started in an overheated pan of cooking oil left unattended in the crew galley. Angelina Lauro was built in 1939, and although retrofit with 1960’s safety improvements including sprinklers, some serious design and construction flaws sealed her fate. A number of improvements for shipboard fire safety came out of this episode. Good ideas, like placing sprinkler heads in the service areas above the ceilings, installing effective dampers, improved fire door design (and more importantly, the mandatory closing of these doors), sprinkler pumps that can energize more than a few heads at once, reduced use of wood and other combustible materials,
and more effective training and procedure development.

Curiously, the sister ship to Angelina Lauro became infamous some years later. In 1985, Achille Lauro was highjacked off the coast of Egypt. She too met a fiery end, in 1994 off Somalia. I wasn’t there.

If you are interested, the complete Coast Guard Report on the Angelina Lauro incident is now public.

This is an excerpt from chapter 12 of my book, “What Time Is the Midnight Buffet?” Here we visit Coco Cay, the private island in the Bahamas owned by Royal Caribbean/Celebrity Cruises. Kris makes a last minute decision to accompany me on a waverunner (jet ski) excursion, and the rest is history…

…
Near the lunch area, I spotted the waverunner hut. In anticipation of my 3:00 reservation for a ride, I dragged Kris along for a look. A large sign out front displayed a long list of prohibitions for participants:

• NO Excessive Speed
• NO Wake Jumping
• NO Wave Jumping
• NO Racing
• Follow the guide
• Maintain 300’ Separation
• Etc., etc…

If the sign had been just a little bigger, they would have had room to sum it all up with a simple “NO FUN”. Maybe this wasn’t a good choice, after all. In bold letters, the sensible zero tolerance policy for riding under the influence caught my eye. I had just been thinking about a pina colada, but now I had reason to dismiss the idea.

Carrying lemonade, we went back to our encampment. It was already 2:00, and there really wasn’t much time before the waverunner session at 3:00. We sat in the sun for a while, and I took one of the rented floating beach mats into the water for ten minutes of pure relaxation. I’m going to buy one of those things some day. Even though I would carry two of them around for the rest of the day, we never got another chance to float around. All the while we sat on the beach, waverunners buzzed annoyingly offshore.

I took a couple of pictures for the record, and it was time to go. “Well, have you decided if you’re coming with me?” I asked Kris.

“Oh…I guess so,” she answered. “It does look like fun.”

We packed everything up and headed to Waverunner headquarters. There were convenient shelves available to hold our stuff, beach mats included. The little straps that give your glasses a chance to survive vigorous activity were available at the check-in desk. For a couple of bucks each (on the room card), we made the investment. After an introductory video in an air-conditioned room, we put on life vests and headed for the Waverunners. Over my vest we added a set of straps that provided cushioned handles for Kris to hang on to.

On the dock, we were introduced to our guides — a young man and a younger woman. The male guide said, “Who wants to go fast?” I raised my hand, as did a couple of others. Kris nudged me, but the cushioned lifejacket reduced the impact.

“We don’t want to go fast,” said Kris. I kept my hand raised. “Put your hand down!” She nudged me again.

Our guide counted off the go-fast wannabes. “One, two,” he said before pointing to us. “Three.” He kept going until he reached the eighth and final participant.

“Listen up!” said the guide. “I will go first, and our other guide will go last. You will launch in your assigned order at her signal. We will maintain 300-foot intervals until I stop. You must follow my exact path because there are coral reefs all around. That’s why you must ride with a guide while you’re here.”

Again I wondered if we were wise to take this excursion. We could be relaxing on the beach with a cold drink, having fun.

The guide continued with his speech. “When I stop, you should gather with me until everybody catches up. After our first stop, we’ll be heading into open ocean. It’s pretty rough out there, so there’s no way to avoid some jumping. We will forgive you.”

Hmmm…this was sounding better.

“We will then go around to the other side of the island and stop for a rest. Ready?”

The group murmured an affirmative, and the guide gave the instruction to start our engines. When all the waverunners were running, he took off and curved toward Galaxy, which was anchored offshore. The follow-up guide pointed to waverunner #1, and blew a whistle. The driver launched smoothly and followed the guide’s wake. The whistle sounded again, and waverunner #2 took off.

Our turn. I gripped the handlebars tightly, and at the signal hit the gas. We were instantly flying, and I tried to get a feel for what the machine could do. Kris immediately transformed into a back seat driver of the worst sort, shouting warnings and pleading for mercy. “Ahhhhh! Take it easy!!”

Ahead, waverunner #2 came to an abrupt halt. I think the girl driving got scared and wanted to let her father take over. I had to make a split-second decision, and scanned the water for obstructions. Seeing none, I swung far to the right and gave the sled some more gas, passing the stopped waverunner in an arc at least 400 feet away.

Kris pulled so hard on the handles attached to my vest that I had to secure myself with the handlebars. From a few inched behind my ear she screamed, “You can’t do this! You aren’t supposed to pass! Slow down! Don’t get so close! Stop! Wait! Oh…myyyy…Gawwwwd!!” I rolled my eyes and steered back on course behind waverunner #1.

The leader stopped at the entrance to the bay, and we slowed to join him. It took some time for the others to catch up. The guide asked if anyone wanted to change positions in the lineup, and I volunteered for the number two spot. Kris groaned, and increased her handhold. The guide warned us that we were about to leave sheltered waters and go out where the waves were dancing around.

“All right, dude,” I thought. On the signal, we went.

I watched the guide when he took off, and his technique seemed to be to hold the throttle wide open and hang on. I decided to give it a try. We hit the first wave and launched into the air. The sled slammed back down with the engine screaming before we got the water equivalent of traction, launching us up the next wave and back into the air. A woman behind me was screaming. Sounded like someone I knew.

We established a regular rhythm: Bang, whoosh, scream (engine) — bang, whoosh, scream (woman), bang… I knew anyone within earshot would be well and truly annoyed, but this was seriously fun. Huge sprays of water hit me in the face, and my mouth was full of salt. My sunglasses remained fixed in their proper spot, but I desperately needed windshield wipers.

I found that I could establish a less jarring rhythm by timing things a little differently. It was possible to get the waverunner skimming over the wave crests for good distances. We kept encroaching on rider #1’s space, and I’d have to back off. When you let off the throttle there is absolutely no steering control, leaving you are at the mercy of other forces. Faster please. It is easier that way.

We rode around the far side of Galaxy. I wanted to look, but thought it better to concentrate on keeping the sled upright. The waves became larger and more closely spaced, changing the whole dynamic of the ride. I don’t think I ever really discovered the secret to handling the beast, but it was fun to try different approaches to the current situation. Kris eventually became silent. Her face seemed to be burrowing into my neck, and her death grip on the handles continued to pull me slightly off balance. We were making progress. Around the far tip of the island, we entered a calm bay and again paused. Just in time for me. I had been holding on so tightly my hands ached and I had lost my finesse on the throttle. White knuckles contrasted sharply with tanned hands.

“How are you doin’ back there?” I asked Kris.

“I’m all right,” she answered. “I think I’m getting used to it.”

“Do you want to drive?”

“No way!”

As the others slowly filed in, the lead guide dove into the water and came up with a huge starfish. We passed it around while we waited. Kris was carrying a waterproof camera, and another driver offered to snap our picture.

“Did you take any pictures while we were moving?” I asked.

It was a rhetorical question, but she answered anyway. “Are you insane?”

When everyone had gathered, we were again offered the chance to swap places in the running order. I was sorely tempted to put us in the lead position behind the guide, but I deferred out of respect for my passenger. We reversed our route, traveling back over the largest waves where we spent more time in the air than in the water. The kids would be proud. I didn’t hear any more human screaming behind me — it was quiet back there. We repeatedly had to slow down to maintain the proper spacing, which became quite an annoyance after a while. The guide did not make an intermediate stop on the return trip, and we soon approached our departure point.

As we motored in to the dock Kris said, “I can’t believe how slow the first waverunner was going. You should have asked to go first.”

I rolled my eyes again.

Back on shore I noted that it was five and a half hours after noon in the next time zone eastward. We had avoided having anything to drink because of the waverunner policy, and shared a strong mutual desire for a pina colada. Floating mats and snorkeling gear safely returned, we set out for the beachfront bar.

Timing is everything, and ours was terrible. The bar had just closed, and the staff was cleaning up. Even though the last ferry didn’t leave for an hour yet, there were very few people left on the island. A man sweeping the floor told us that we might be able to get a beer at the hut near the dock. When we got there the crew was packing up, but they were glad to serve us a round of Beck’s beer, and then another. Kris ran over to the market area where the vendors were also packing up. She got some end-of-the-day bargains on t-shirts. As 5:30 approached, the last ferry pulled up to the dock, and we went to the end of the short waiting line. Our bags were hand searched in case we had met up with smugglers, and we boarded.
…

I had a brief email exchange with “Ms. M.” from Celebrity. There was no mention of “Mr. M.”. I had written to him before the trip saying, “I assume somebody went out on a limb, inviting me on this voyage”. He wrote back something to the effect of “That is our job”. I hope he didn’t lose his over the Mercury trip.

Although Londonderry did not have a stellar season, Wells ended up as the leader in both scoring and tackles. He will be back next season.

I made the mistake of bringing home a Celebrity brochure about Alaska cruises. Kris spent several nights trying to decode the myriad of excursion options.

“How are you ever supposed to choose? This is so confusing.”

I looked through the brochure briefly, and got dizzy.

“I want to go,” she said.

“Moot point,” was my incorrect answer. She gave me an icy stare – downright glacial. I tried to recover. “I’ll start a little vacation savings account and maybe we’ll go for our 30th”.

By December, thoughts of Alaska dissipated – we had our own glacier on the back deck. Our ‘actual’ 25th anniversary was on December 17th. From the refrigerator, I retrieved the bottle of champagne that we bought on the Galaxy trip in July. We toasted the memories while I made Filet Mignon Celebrity from the recipe obtained at the culinary demonstration. Later we pretended that our bedroom was a Sky Suite. I’ll leave it at that…

Ryan called regularly and gushed about the trip. It clearly had a big effect on him. He eventually got around to reading the story of the first cruise and then of his own trip. After that he would bug me about posting additional chapters. At one point, I went on strike until he developed some of his pictures for me. Most of them are still undeveloped.

The restaurant in Philadelphia where Ryan worked went belly-up in December. I wrote elsewhere about his 4 Marine Reservist friends who were called to duty for the war in Iraq. They are all well, but are being shipped to Okinawa for six months – I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it means… The guys were partners in a thriving landscaping business. The remaining partner called Ryan to ask if he would come up to New Hampshire to help keep the company going. In March, Ryan returned to the roost ‘temporarily’ to help him out.

Shortly after arriving in New Hampshire, Ryan received a frantic call from one of his housemates. The landlord had decided to sell the townhouse, and wanted everyone out by May 1. Panic ensued.

Some may remember the side story about Kris’s parents. Her father, Dave, has Alzheimer’s disease and her mother, Pat, has borne an incredible burden for the last 5 years. It may be coincidence but after reading the Galaxy story last summer, Pat suddenly decided to look into full-time care for Dave.

Earlier this year, Kris’s childhood home was sold. Kris, Wells and I went to Philadelphia over April school vacation to catalog and pack up Dave’s collection of toy trains. It took the three of us five 12-hour days to do it.

Our plan was to rent a truck and bring the trains back to New Hampshire, where I would figure out how to sell the collection. While in the area, I reasoned, we could do Ryan a favor and pick up at least the large items from the townhouse. It looked like he’d be staying with us for a while.

I got the truck and we drove in to the city. One of Ryan’s roommates, Adam, met us at the door.

“We’re here to pick up Ryan’s furniture. Can you point out what belongs to him?”

“Sure. Just about everything is his,” replied Adam.

I assumed he was kidding. Ryan had nothing when he got out of the Marines, and I assumed that he’d have little more a year and a half later.

Adam was not kidding. With the exception of his roommates’ beds, virtually everything belonged to Ryan. Two couches, 2 desks, bureau, at least 10 chairs, a dining table, coffee table, several side tables, lamps, rugs, television, cello, guitar, stereo, mirrors and more. These items were conveniently dispersed throughout the four-story townhouse. The staircases were about two feet wide, steep as ladders and winding.

Much later that day, we were done. I hadn’t packed tightly, and the entire truck was full.

“Thanks for your help,” I said to Adam.

“What about the organ?” he replied.

Yes, that’s right. Ryan had somehow acquired an organ, and it was on the second floor. We went up to scope out the job. While Adam and Wells began to move the thing, I stepped into a large walk-in closet at the top of the stairs to look for more stuff.

“You mind if I close this door for a minute?” asked Adam as the boys approached the staircase. “We can’t get by with the door open.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

The door closed and I was plunged into darkness. I could hear the guys struggling with the organ.

“%$*#(&%#. It’s stuck!”

Before getting down one step, the organ had become wedged in the narrow staircase. There was not enough room to open the door, so I was stuck in the closet for 10 minutes while the boys dismantled the handrail and coaxed the organ to move.

The next day, in the rain, we took everything out of the truck, packed in the 150+ boxes of toy trains, and repacked the furniture. After that experience, I’ll bet I can pack everything needed for a 10-day cruise into an overnight bag. I have put the 10-hour ride back to New Hampshire right out of my mind.

Two weeks ago we moved Kris’s parents into a fantastic facility in York Harbor, Maine. The main building mimics the grand hotels of yesteryear. Pat lives in a cooperative apartment, and Dave receives full-time care in a medical unit elsewhere in the same building. The interior of the place reminds me of a cruise ship. There is even a grand dining room.

We’re all back home now. The garage is full of Ryan’s furniture. He will work until fall, and enter school locally to pursue his interest in radiology.

In the Sunday paper last week was an article about two short cruises being offered out of Boston. RCI’s Serenade of the Seas will be making its debut here. A travel agent has chartered the whole ship. I suggested to Kris that we book the Royal Family Suite and take our mothers. I came very close to booking before Kris reminded me that we really couldn’t afford it. I knew that, but it was fun to imagine.

I have reminded Ryan several times that he really ought to write up a summary of his impressions. I will keep bugging him until he does, and when he does, he’ll post it here. Maybe some of you can pressure him…

Video

I have posted a few more in recent weeks:

Dolphins (Galaxy trip)- Kris does tricks with the dolphins at Xcaret. A little silly…click here for Windows Media Format.

Unrelated to cruising, these are just for fun. The first one is a classic – ‘extreme’ sports as ballet.

Loitering – A few years back, my son Wells (the one with the helmet in the video) took my camera and recorded himself and his buddies rollerblading and skateboarding at the local strip mall – which is posted against such things. For punishment, I put together this “embarrassing” video. Click here for Windows Media Format.

The Chase – Ryan has moved back in with us, and brought his bird-dog ‘Joe’. The surprise was all Joe’s when we unleashed our dog-bird ‘Q’, a cockatoo. Click here for Windows Media Format.

I’m still working on Swimming with the Rays (Now complete, click here)– This clip documents our day on Grand Cayman. We took an excursion which combined snorkeling and a swim with the stingrays.

These videos and all the rest can be accessed from the video page on my website.

Web site

I have just added a section on a little hobby of mine – the Garden Railroad. An oddity for sure, the railroad occupies about 3000 square feet in my back yard. It is complete with mountains, valleys, waterfalls, rivers, lakes and villages. The neighbors think I’m nuts, but they don’t know the half of it…

Also there is a complete list, with photos, of Dave’s toy train collection – a preview of my upcoming life on Ebay. And I would be honored if you would sign my Guest-Book.

My Confession

My real name is not Chesterh, nor is it Chester. Legally I am Richard H. However, I do go by Chester in every day life. It is a nickname that has been with me since childhood. If I hear Richard or any variation in public, I don’t even turn around.

Otherwise, you have been an unrestricted party to a truly amazing chapter in our lives. The vast majority of the experience has been a blast, and my family thanks yours for the pleasure.

Conclusion

We are back on our regular vacation schedule, so I expect to return here in 5 years to share another cruise adventure. Hopefully many of you will be here and perhaps some of us will meet aboard a cruise ship. I look forward to it.

All the best,

chesterh, et al
Londonderry, NH

The end?

Well, here we are — the end of the trip. It had to end, which is a problem shared by all good things. I hope you aren’t expecting much in the way of cruise stories in this particular installment, as all we have left to do is get off the ship.

It seemed that as soon as I closed my eyes to sleep, the alarm was going off to wake us up. I have no idea how late Ryan was out celebrating Halloween, but he seemed no worse for wear.

A quick look outside revealed that we had indeed come full circle. Miami was going about its early morning business. The day looked rather foreboding, and I hoped we’d fly out before the thunderstorms arrived.

We cleaned up and dressed for the early winter weather that awaited each of us at the other end of the day. November first marks the unofficial beginning of the long New Hampshire winter. In an email, Kris mentioned that it had snowed more than once since I left just a week earlier.

“Are you all packed up?”

“Yup,” replied Ryan.

“Sure you got everything?”

“Yup.”

I swept through the cabin checking drawers and closets. I found several things belonging to Ryan.

“Don’t you want these things anymore?”

“Oh, yeah…Thanks.”

I repeated the process, checking every nook and cranny. Under Ryan’s bed, I found a nest of snake-like objects. Like the skunk, these things used odor as a defensive weapon.

“How ‘bout all these socks? Aren’t you going to take them?”

“I guess so,” came the none-too-sure response. It might have been better to abandon them altogether, but I hadn’t tipped enough to cover hazardous material handling.

We were supposed to vacate the room no later than 8:30. By 8:00, everything was packed and ready to go. We made our way topside, picked up some food and coffee and sat out on the rear deck. There were very few people in evidence anywhere. The Majesty of the Seas sat immediately behind us, just where she had been at the beginning of the trip.

Over the top of the Cruise Terminal, I spotted the RCI logo adorning the side of a building just a few blocks away. I presume it marked the location of the corporate headquarters for Celebrity as well. I was still mystified over the failure of “Mr. M” to appear on the cruise or make contact in any way, and seriously considered walking over to introduce myself to both he and “Ms. M”, the Director of Marketing who first contacted me about making the Mercury trip. I’m not sure what stopped me – chicken, I guess.

The PA system came to life, and began announcing ticket colors for disembarkation. Thinking back, I don’t recall hearing the PA at any other time except to announce the muster drill a week earlier. Although a lot of color codes were announced before ours, we became eligible to leave the ship no later than 8:30.

“We’d better go,” said Ryan. He seemed concerned that I hadn’t jumped to attention when our color was called.

“Nope. I’m staying right here for another cup of coffee.”

“O.K., I’ll get some more food then”

“Absolutely. Go for it,” I answered. I knew right then that Ryan had become a cruise veteran. The young learn quickly…

We took our sweet time. It was probably only about ten minutes, but it was deeply relaxing. We made our way to the exit, again seeing very few people. Inside the terminal, we were directed to an airport-style baggage conveyor. Our luggage was probably dizzy from a lot of extra trips around, but we retrieved it quickly and easily.

A guard at the exit made a cursory check of our claim tags, and seconds later we were on the street. Celebrity employees were stationed at strategic intervals to direct us a couple of hundred feet to the waiting busses.

We got caught in some rush-hour traffic on the way to the airport, but still made it hours before our scheduled departures. Ryan and I sat outside the terminal building inhaling diesel fumes – it was too nice a day to sit inside, and we both knew what awaited us at the other end of the trip – normal life in a frozen world devoid of color.

Ryan’s flight left first, sometime around 11:00.

“O.K., dad. I guess this is it.”

“Would you do it again?” I asked.

“Oh yeah. I have some friends who would really love to go on a trip like that. They probably won’t believe me, though. I’m gonna save up.”

My flight didn’t depart for another two and a half hours. I continued to sit outside until it was time for me to leave, standing every so often to let my butt wake up. This would be a long day, and I went over the clockwork schedule in my head:

• 1:35 – Take off from Miami
• 4:52 – Arrive Boston
• 5:05 – Find “Big John” and the Towncar outside the terminal
• 5:10 – Relax for the rush-hour ride to Londonderry
• 6:30ish – Have John drop me off at Londonderry High School, find Kris’s car in the parking lot and stow my baggage.
• 6:45 – Rush up to the press booth at the football field and take my place at a camera for the CATV broadcast.
• 7:00 – Watch son Wells play football on the 3” LCD screen attached to the camera.
• 9:30 – Help pack up the video equipment
• 10:15 – Go home
• 10:25 – Make a drink
• 10:30 ‘til whenever – Tell stories and answer questions

I missed the game the previous Friday and felt badly about it. In an email, Kris told me that Wells had scored a touchdown and played well at linebacker.

I took my medication about 2 hours before departure. Next thing I knew, it was 5:00 p.m., and I was struggling with my luggage heading toward the exit of Terminal B at Logan. I can only assume that I got there by plane…

The automatic door hissed at me, perhaps as a warning to stay inside. I should have listened. When I stepped on to the sidewalk outside, the air hurt. It was a good 70 degrees cooler than it had been in Miami.

I looked to my left, where a line of limousines stretched out of sight. Big John said he’d be there when I arrived. It would not be hard to spot him.

I fought the prevailing wind and my imbalanced luggage as I marched down the line looking for John. Drivers sat inside the comfort of their idling cars. Hastily made signs sat atop dashboards, naming intended passengers. Not a single one said “Mr. X”, and none of the drivers filled the front seat so completely as John would have.

I went up and down the line a few times, pausing for a couple of minutes between each pass. After the first two trips, I chanced leaving my luggage unattended. This is not a behavior that is looked up favorably at airports, but the State Trooper standing watch gave me an understanding wave of approval.

I waited longer than I should have to start digging through my bags for the business card that John had given me. I found it much more readily than I found a pay phone. I still refuse to get a cell phone, though it seems increasingly difficult to conduct life without one.

I was patched through to the dispatcher.

“Big John was supposed to be waiting for me, but I can’t find him.”

“What was you name again – Mr. Z?”

“No – Mr. X.” I spelled it for him.

“Well, I see where we picked you up last week…”

“That’s a good sign,” I thought.

“…But I don’t have an order to pick you up today.”

“Well John showed up a day early last week. Did you send a car for me yesterday?”

“I don’t see anything here at all,” replied the dispatcher with finality. I think he sensed the end of this conversation, but I wasn’t ready to give up.

“Do you have a car available?”

“Hmmmm, let’s see. Hold on…”

I listened to some hideous music on the phone for a while. Outside, people walked by briskly with their heads down, some shielding their eyes against the biting wind.

The music stopped, much to my relief.

“I can probably get a car there in about 30 minutes.”

“Fine, I’ll take it.”

“I’ll need your credit card number…”

When I finally hung up, it was after 6:00 and my carefully laid plans were in ruin. In my mind I could see the TV crew scrambling to find a replacement cameraman. Kris might be wondering if I chucked it all and joined the sea faring circus.

Half an hour later I was finally on the last leg of the journey. Traffic was mercifully light, the rush hour having passed while I was waiting for a ride. Given the time and temperature, I directed the driver to the house rather than the high school.

I dumped off the bags and got a warmer coat and a hat before setting off for the football game. The halftime show was just winding down. I apologized to the rest of the CATV crew — they had found a replacement and I was off the hook.

Kris was sitting in the bleachers, probably for my benefit. She is normally a little too worked up at these events to sit, but I never would have found her otherwise.

“Hey. Where were you?” was her greeting.

“Long story.” Kris had a blanket and opened it to let me in. “Gee, we haven’t sat together like this in years,” I continued, thinking back.

As a matter of fact, it was way back in 1996. Londonderry was playing in the state championship game, and we sat in this same spot. The local network station provided live coverage of the game – helicopter camera and everything. The local cable station was prohibited from covering the game, so I played regular spectator. At home, the VCR was recording…

Ryan was in his senior year, playing middle linebacker. The game was a nailbiter, and Kris was just the slightest bit agitated. I pretended not to know her.

In front of us sat the quarterback’s father, chomping on his trademark unlit cigar. The TV station sent a reporter into the stands to interview him near the end of the game. Just then, a particularly bad call by the referee went against the home team. Kris went nuts, and in a moment of uncontrolled emotional outburst let loose a string of expletives. She wasn’t the only one to do so, but I moved a little further away.

As we discovered when we later watched the tape of the game, the camera angle during the interview had Kris’s face in full view over the father’s shoulder. Suddenly the crowd roars, and although she can’t be heard Kris’s lips can be read quite clearly. It was amazing how many friends, acquaintances and clergymen saw and commented on this episode, all with a chuckle. Motherhood…

Londonderry won that game, 21-18.

Ryan is number 56 on defense, 15 seconds left, in the endzone. Big play…

Tonight’s game was tied at 14 apiece, and neither team was getting anywhere as it wound down. “Wells scored in the first half. You missed it,” said Kris. It figured.

Another play began, and appeared to be over quickly. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a lone figure emerging from the pile.

Kris jumped up, pulling the blanket off – something I’ve become very accustomed to in other venues. “Run, run, run.”

Although I’ve always doubted the effectiveness of instructions shouted by individual spectators during a play, the runner followed Kris’s instructions. Before everyone else jumped up and blocked my perfect view, I knew it was Wells – scoring one for the old man. Fatherhood. Home again. (Click here for video clip of touchdown)

Tonight Kris and I went to the Holiday party sponsored by her school. It had been postponed due to snow. We all decided to honor Valentines Day since we are closer to it than New Years. President’s day was in the running, but lost out in the end.

At 3:00, I started to worry. Did he fall overboard?

As soon as I opened my eyes, I was filled with dread. This was it – the last day of the trip.

I could see the hulk of Ryan under the covers on his bed. He hadn’t fallen overboard. Relief.

I tiptoed around for a while. The ship was still, and a peek through the curtains revealed that we were next to a land mass. The view was unlike the one I’d memorized on the Galaxy stop in Key West. The ship was docked further from town.

Ryan soon emerged from his brief slumber, and we made our way upstairs for coffee and breakfast. Out on the stern, a crew was carefully painting the handrails.

“So, what’s the plan today?” asked Ryan.

“I need to get something nice for Mom. Other than that, just hang out. Key West is a pretty wild place anyways, but I’d guess that since today is Halloween it’ll be entertaining to just walk around.”

“Do we need costumes for tonight?”

“Yeah, we should get something. I’m sure there’s plenty of places in town for that sort of thing.”

We had been regaled with tales of Key West’s Fantasy Fest — a Halloween event — at the dinner table the night before. Neal and Traci knew all about it, whether through legend or first-hand experience I’m not sure.

“They ought to have plenty of costumes left. It sounds like everybody runs around naked,” I continued.

“Oh boy,” said Ryan. It was a wary expression, not a lascivious one.

Seated at a table, I was facing out to sea. Something caught my eye. Across the windows in the covered pool area, a dark shadow crept. The men painting the railing stopped working and stood straight up.

“Look!” I said, pointing toward the encroaching darkness.

Suddenly the view was filled with another ship. The Majesty of the Seas slithered by silently just a few dozen feet off the Mercury’s starboard side. Everyone stopped what they were doing and gaped. It seemed to take minutes for the whole thing to pass us by on its way to the downtown dock.

For the remainder of breakfast we enjoyed the show as the Majesty docked. I had watched the process from onboard the Galaxy months earlier, but this was a completely different perspective. It is an amazingly complex ritual.

We took our sweet time. It was so pleasant to just sit and watch the world go by.

Ryan chuckled to himself, and he wore a big smile.

“What?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just – This is so awesome. I can’t believe we’re doing this!”

Once the rush to get off the ship had passed, we made our way out on to the dock. Celebrity provided complimentary transportation into town using “Conch Trains” and similar conveyances. We boarded one.

Along the way, the driver stopped to drop off a couple of people who wanted to go to the beach. From what I’ve read, Key West doesn’t really have any nice beaches, as ironic as it may seem. Most are man made.

The driver narrated the ride into town. As we traveled down a street lined with shaded town homes, he rattled off the names of famous people who lived there. It was an impressive list.

Once downtown, I decided to attend to business first.

“I’m going to look for Mom’s present first,” I told Ryan. “You don’t need to hang around with me if there’s something you’d rather do.”

“Naw – I’d rather hang out with you.”

We marched together in and out of one jewelry store after another. Kris had been eyeing tanzanite on the Galaxy trip, but it wasn’t in the budget then. For that matter it wasn’t in the budget now, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. After trying several stores, I began to get worried that I wasn’t going to be inspired by anything.

We entered a small shop. “Tanzanite?” I asked.

“Hummm. We only carry a few things,” said the clerk. He led the way to a showcase and pointed. “There, in the middle.”

There they were – a pair of earrings sparkled back at me as if to say, “I dare you”.

“May I see that pair – no, one to your right – no, the other right.”

The clerk honed in on the correct pair. He snuck a look at the price tag before carefully folding it away from my view. I could see the wheels turning in his head as he considered the commission. Bad sign.

“A very nice selection.”

I thought so. The lighting in the store was designed so that it could make a lump of charcoal sparkle. I played the savvy buyer role. It had been 23 years since I’d last purchased a pair of earrings, near as I could figure.

“I’d like to see them in natural light,” I said.

“Of course, sir. Go right ahead.”

I was a little surprised not to be accompanied by an armed guard as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. The earrings sparkled out there, too.

“Those are really nice. Are you going to buy them?” asked Ryan.

“I don’t know. Let’s see how the deal goes.”

Back inside, the clerk was busy making calculations. I produced a coupon from the ship’s flyer that entitled me to a small discount, which he factored in to the equation. He gave me the net figure.

When my head stopped spinning, I took a breath and made a series of faces to highlight my indecision. I let silence work for me.

“I can take another $50 off, just for you.”

Getting warmer.

Ryan looked at me, unsure. Quietly he said, “Dad, that sounds like a good deal. You better get them.”

I let the standoff continue. The clerk made some more calculations. At length he said, “Let me go talk to the owner and see what he’ll do.”

When he was gone, Ryan gave me a funny look. “What are you doing??”

The clerk was gone for several minutes. When he emerged from the back room, he had a figure written on a piece of paper. I looked at it. Much better.

As the sales slip was written up, I looked at watches. Remembering that my cheap Timex had fooled Harry, the watch collector, I came to my senses.

Out on the street, Ryan asked, “What was that all about?”

“Normal business. Just keep it in mind next time you buy a car.”

We continued up Duval Street. I kept my eye out for craziness. On the sidewalk, a curious sight was being totally ignored by passersby. A man, so drunk that he could not get up, sat uncomfortably on top of a bicycle which was lying on the ground. At first I thought he might have crashed, but by his position this appeared not to be the case. He sat, eyes closed and arms held swaying in front for balance. It looked like he was in a trance – probably was. It was still well before noon.

The ship’s television show about Key West had recommended a trip to the top of the highest building in town – a seven-story hotel. We found it and went up for some pictures. The view to the dock area showed the Mercury and the Majesty with their backs symbolically turned to each other. Key West has a lot of natural beauty, but what was striking was how every vista was marred by an ugly tower or hanging wire.

Further up Duval, we came to good old Margaritaville. An old man, slightly less inebriated than the bicycle guy, stood outside in the shade of the canopy.

“Hey! Are you father and son?”

“Yes, we are.”

“I knew it. How y’all like Key West? You gonna go in this place and have y’selves some lunch and something to drink?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Perhaps caught by the rotation of the earth, he spun off in another direction. His power of suggestion was strong, however, so we went in.

Just inside the door, at a table overlooking the sidewalk through the wide-open front of the bar, we found some familiar faces. Paula (flseagal), her friend Barbara, Cindy (Travel57) and a few others were having lunch. We took an empty table next to them, and had a nice chat. We each had the Cheeseburger in Paradise – all in all, an apt description. The margaritas were perfect, time after time.

Photo courtesy of Flseagal

As we slowly made our way back down Duval Street, I kept my eye out for the fine food store where I’d had the encounter with the “stunning” clerk on the Galaxy trip. I thought it might be nice to re-visit. I couldn’t find it.

We had seen few signs of the wild side. A 60’s Lincoln Continental convertible passed by with a ghoulishly decorated casket perched on the trunk. A few businesses were decorated. There was a rumor that the Mercury might stay late tonight as a special Halloween treat, though the official word had us departing at 5:00.

“I guess the crazy stuff happens after dark,” I said to Ryan with some disappointment in my voice.

A few minutes later, we ran into WallyB (another CC’er) on the street. I asked him to autograph my cruise journal. As Ryan was taking our picture, he spotted something across the street.

“Look. There’s something wild.”

A woman in costume was buying an ice-cream cone. Her male companion, also costumed, sat nearby waiting patiently. He was wearing a leash, which the woman held.

Ryan jogged across the street and asked permission to take some pictures. The woman consented. This was without doubt the most wild thing we saw in Key West on Halloween.

We decided to go back to the ship. On the way, Ryan wanted to detour to a cigar shop. Inside, he developed a craving for a particular cigar, and agonized over whether to buy a whole box. He got an early birthday present.

On the ride back, Ryan shared a realization.

“We forgot to get costumes,” he said.

“Well, why don’t we just wear our tuxes? Maybe we can borrow some white gloves and go as butlers.”

“Yeah, I guess we could do that.”

We were back on board by mid-afternoon. I suggested that we do some packing, just to get it over with. A knock came at the door. I opened it to find Aldrin, the cabin attendant.

“I’ve come for the tuxedos please, sir.”

Our back-up costume plan went out the door a minute later.

At 5:00, the Mercury departed and the party started. It was time for another Adult Cruise special, the sail-away open bar.

We went topside disguised as ChesterH and RyanH. Ryan went on ahead to hook up with some friends while I snuck into the Navigator to see if it was decorated. On the way I saw a witch and assorted other creatures hanging around in the hallways. The nightclub was quite a sight.

Back outside, I peered over the railing and down to the pool deck. The party was in full swing. Some poor clown sat alone at a table just below me. He was slumped in his chair and seemed to be left out of the fun.

Some people had gotten so carried away with their costumes that they could barely manage to sip their free drinks. A whole gaggle of Draculas lurked in the shadows, and it became impossible to tell which witch was which. For as many costumes as I saw, there didn’t seem to be anyone wearing one just like mine.

The 90-minute sail-away party seemed to be over in a flash. Its end signaled dinnertime. Entering the dining room on the upper level, I was greeted by a whole new cast of characters. One well-dressed group appeared to be holding a séance at their table.

I met up with Ryan at our table, and immediately excused my self to roam around with the camera. Below is a rather large montage of some of the evening’s sights.

We finished dinner and said our goodbyes to Tracey, Neal, Brenda, Paul, Maro, Ozgar and Pablo. Ryan and I parted ways for the evening. I needed to take it easy, and said I’d take care of getting the luggage out for pickup on time.

I spent some time getting rid of my remaining quarters in the casino. The wait staff happened by with platters of oriental treats every two minutes, or so it seemed. For a while my machine was hot, and I was way ahead. Once it began, the inevitable slide quickly drained away all winnings, leaving me even-steven for the trip.

For kicks, I wandered around checking out all of the various parties in progress. The Navigator Club was hopping, and an eerie light on the dance floor full of costumed characters made it all seem unreal.

I made good on the suitcase commitment, and had them in the hands of the attendant by 11:30. After that, I went out on the balcony – just the sea and me. Once again, the strange little lights darted around low on the horizon. One came close enough for me to see that it was a bird. They must travel with the ship, as these were surely the same ones I’d been seeing for several nights.

Halloween was always the biggest holiday of the year in our house. I hoped Ryan was out there having a blast. As I dozed off, I thought of little Ryan during those years when the Great Pumpkin was king and candy was better than a pot of gold. Simple times…

Another snowstorm. Ho-hum. At least the temperature is high enough that it isn’t painful to go outside. Every winter we reach a low point and vow to move south. This year, that point came about 6 weeks earlier than usual. One of these years we’re actually going to take action…

Boston is remembering the 25th anniversary of the Great Blizzard of ’78. Everyone has been talking about where they were during the whole ordeal. I get dirty looks when I chime in to say that we lived on St. Thomas in ’78, and read about the whole thing in the San Juan Star

A little departure…

The end of the story is near. Before we get there, I wanted to share some video clips. Nothing fancy -– just some little things that contributed to the enjoyment.

Ryan finally got online and read the story-to-date. Now he calls all the time asking…

“Dad – When is the next chapter going to be up?”

“Not until you send me some pictures. Did you get them developed yet?”

“Naw. Nobody around here knows how to do black and white. I need to get back into school so I can use the lab.”

“Well, that’s the deal. I’ll write more when I get some pictures.”

Today, an envelope arrived with a few pictures inside. There’s always a way.

I think that Ryan’s appreciation of the trip is improving as the memories age. Maybe in his mind he can transport himself back on board, away from the bleak season. I do it all the time.

“I can’t believe you remember all that stuff.”

“Well, it’s been so long now that a lot of it is gone. I shouldn’t have waited.”

“Yeah, but when I read it, it all comes back to me. Chichen Itza was so cool.”

View from the top of the pyramid

It is getting harder to remember. Little snippets some and go. I forgot until now about the cocktail party on Wednesday night. It was the last formal night, and I ran up to the Navigator Club while Ryan finished getting ready for dinner. The room was absolutely packed with people in tuxes and gowns. I scoured the room looking for a seat.

Tucked into a corner, a young couple had sought shelter from the crowd. At their table were a couple of empty seats, the last in the whole place. The gentleman looked quite uncomfortable in his button-down shirt and corduroys. I suspect his discomfort stemmed not from being the only guy in the place not wearing a tux, but because for him, he was overdressed.

Still suffering my malaise, I was compelled to intrude.

“May I sit here?”

Two heads nodded.

We made our introductions. The man had a powerful grip, and I could tell he was being careful not to hurt me when we shook hands. The couple hailed from Pennsylvania. This was their first cruise, and they were clearly more than a little uncertain about their surroundings. I tried to be comforting, though try as I might, the conversation lagged. The man was pretty sure he’d been to New Hampshire once, to make a delivery of some sort.

A few minutes later the New Jersey crowd happened by, looking for someplace to sit. I spotted them and waved. Donna and Alison took the last two seats while the guys rounded up some drinks. The quiet refuge of the young couple was now completely violated.

Before too long, the table became one of the more conspicuous in the room. Loud conversation and laughter rose above the general din. One waitress had to dedicate her services to keep up with our demands. Soon enough the Pennsylvania couple joined in, unable to resist the fun – finally at ease with the lavishly costumed intruders.

Up on the dance floor, a little ceremony was held. Babette (ocngypz) was honored for her loyal repeat business.

I digress.

Eventually, sleep arrived. As consciousness began to intrude some time later, I fought it for as long as possible. The room was pitch black, and the TV was turned off.

I tiptoed to the shower so as not to wake Ryan, who must have waited until I finally dozed off before getting in to bed. When I emerged, light from the bathroom revealed that Ryan wasn’t in the room. I pulled the curtains open to invite him in from his refuge on the verandah. The sun was high in the sky, and the chairs were unoccupied.

I hadn’t looked at the clock until now. It was just after 11 a.m. Ryan was long gone, and I’d just wasted half a sea day. The pain had worsened.

The Mercury Daily was headlined “Happy Valentines Day”. An order card for the special, romantic (Adult cruise) “Breakfast for Dreamers” lay on the table. I could still partake for another hour, but romance was lacking at the moment. I debated about even having coffee.

After restacking the piles of stuff on the love seat, I decided to head out. The Do Not Disturb sign was thoughtfully hung on the door.

I chanced a cup of coffee. Out on the stern, the late morning was perfect. The seas were dead calm, and there was no one around. When my personal fog lifted, I tried to analyze the sensations coming from my midsection. I thought I could detect incredible hunger piercing through the steady sharp pain. “An odd combination,” I thought. It was high noon. Time for an experiment – I had to figure out what was ailing me…

Things were just warming up in the Café. I did a double take at the sight of an extensive Sushi bar – today’s lunch was themed Oriental. As great as it looked, I had other ideas.

The pool area was hopping, but there was no line at the grill. I marched up and grabbed a beer and a pizza. Hogging a table for four, I began the experiment. The pizza was gone in about two minutes — the beer shortly thereafter.

I waited. The hunger began to subside, and the other feelings continued unabated. No side effects. Overall, I noted an improvement. After a few minutes, I got another pizza and ate it.

Renewed, I went back to the room for my bathing suit. Ryan was there.

“How are you feeling?”

“About the same, but I figured it out.”

“What is it?”

“Kidney stone.”

“Ahhh! Daaaad!”

My family should be the subject of a medical study. I had my first kidney stone at the age of 18. Ryan waited until he was 19 and he has had three so far. My 17 year-old son Wells is precocious – he had his first of two at the age of 16. My mother has had them. For the last several months, my sister has seen every doctor and Chiropractor in New York, complaining of severe back pain. Finally someone checked for stones – she has a bunch. I stopped counting my own at #30.

“Yeah, well at least I can deal with it. And I can eat…”

“It’s good that we get a day to just chill.”

“So, what are you up to?”

“Just hanging out with some people. Can I borrow your MP3 player?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Thanks – Well, I’m going to the spa and then back up by the pool. See ya.”

He was gone.

I spent some time poolside before getting up just to walk around for a while. Around 3:00, I ran in to Adrienne and Mike (MAAF) in the hallway. They were carrying face masks made at an earlier event in preparation for Halloween. As we stood and talked I felt a hand slowly run up my back. It paused and tickled the back of my neck – a tingle went up my spine.

I slowly turned, half expecting to see Kris — so intimate was the touch.

“Your tag was hanging out of your shirt.”

A foot below my eyelevel, an elderly lady smiled up at me. She rested her hand on my arm.

“Can you tell me where the arts and crafts event is?”

I smiled broadly but was temporarily muted. Adrienne directed the woman to the elevator with instructions to get off at deck 11 and go to the café.

I finished the afternoon with my book back at the pool. Just as I’d start to overheat, a waiter would saunter up with an ice-cold face cloth or a cup of lemon ice – more Adult Escape fringe benefits. I appreciated the touch. A couple of people would later tell me that the waiters on some other line used spray bottles to “mist” people in the heat. It would cut down on the laundry. As the sun began to wane, I finished up with some time in a whirlpool and forgot about everything for a while.

Tonight marked the last formal dinner of the trip. I was dressed and ready to go before Ryan returned from his daytime adventure.

“We have to wear the tux again?” Ryan looked concerned, and started rummaging through the piles of dirty clothing.

“It came with two shirts,” I said.

“Phew! Good thing.”

We performed the simulated strangling by bow tie, and the cummerbund ritual.

“I finally met up with that guy Chris today.” Chris is the son of Debby (debby21). Prior to the cruise Debby had posted her hope that the boys would get together and stave off boredom. We met Chris on the first day and hadn’t seen him since – apparently boredom was simply not an issue for either of these gentlemen.

“Great. How’s he liking the trip?”

“Oh, I’d say he’s liking it just fine. We might get together later on.”

As we were leaving, I noticed that our “Welcome Aboard” bottle of champagne was still sitting in the bucket. Every day, Aldrin had freshened the bucket with ice and a crisp white towel.

“Hey. We should take the champagne to dinner. I don’t think you and I are going to get around to drinking it ourselves.” I talked Ryan into carrying it.

We headed for the dining room, pausing to visit with the NJCruiser crowd in the Martini Bar. I wonder, Donna, did you all ever make it to dinner that night?

The dining room was bustling tonight for the Captain’s Gala Dinner. I handed the Celebrity champagne to Pablo and asked him to serve it to the table. Weeks later, I puzzled over a $12 beverage charge on this day’s tab. Indeed…

Ryan got up his nerve and tried the frog’s legs. They went nicely with his by-now standard shrimp cocktail.

I wanted to catch Maro’s napkin folding ritual on tape tonight. Neal helped in the conspiracy by leaving the table for a few minutes. He placed his napkin conspicuously on the back of the chair, and I waited patiently for Maro to swoop in and fold it into some magical shape. For the first time on the trip, he failed to do so. Thwarted.

I wasn’t about to miss the Irish Coffee show, however. When the time came, both Ryan and I ordered one. Ryan stuck around this time to see if we were making up fanciful stories about the process. He was not disappointed.

After dessert, I told Maro about the failed attempt to catch him folding a napkin. He stopped everything and proceeded to give us a demonstration. I taped the whole thing, and it lasted for more than 15 minutes. It was like our own private magic show. I’ll put some highlights together in a clip someday soon.

Ryan and I were the last to leave the table. Maro came over and held up his hand.

“Just for you, but no camera.”

He produced a pair of napkins. Amongst other things, he “dressed” himself as a woman in a bikini – highly detailed and just amazing. I am really sorry that I didn’t sneak my finger to the camera’s on-button. I made a mental note to up the tip – by a lot.

As we stood to leave, Babette (ocngypz) happened by. She had dined at the Captain’s table, and was positively glowing. I aimed the camera where she stood with Ryan.

I hinted at this picture some time ago, saying that it might launch a new career for Babette. I’m not sure just what career that might be – maybe Professional Rose Taster. Anyway, if you look closely, you might be able to catch an example of the elusive “Sparkle” that seems to be associated with the presence of men in tuxedos.

We hit the casino for a little while. Side-by-side, Ryan and I fed the hungry machines. They did not reciprocate.

“This was a great day. It’s so nice to just relax,” said Ryan.

“What was your favorite thing to do – or not do?”

“You know…just sitting up on the deck in the breeze. The waiter brought me a bucket of Coronas.”

“A bucket?”

“Yeah.”

“You asked for a beer and he just brought you a bucket full of Coronas?”

“No. I asked for it that way.”

“How many beers in the bucket?”

“Just one. They use those champagne buckets — fill ‘em with ice and stick the beer in it. It keeps them really cold. The guy was happy to do it.”

“I looked around for you by the pool.”

“I was on the upper deck.”

“So was I. Right above the pool.”

“I was up one more level towards the front.”

“The topless deck?” I asked.

“That was up one more deck – I was right below that.”

“What, were you peeking?”

“Nah. I looked up there once.”

“Were there topless people up there?”

“Just guys. And a lot of old men kept walking around.”

Huh. I figured I’d have to check it out myself. Later, I took the camera. Here it is – the shocking truth about the topless deck:

“Can I take the tux off now?” Ryan asked.

“Well, you’re supposed to follow the dress code all evening. I know how you feel though.” I was ready to get casual myself. Horizontally. “I think I’m going to just go back to the room. I’m pretty sore.”

I put on my shorts and took a drink and a book out on to the verandah. Ryan changed into normal clothes, but I think he put on his suit jacket just to blend in.”

“I’m going out.”

“Good,” I thought. I had been the closest thing to a night owl from our cabin so far, which isn’t saying much. “Have fun.”

From the verandah I saw the mysterious streaking lights out over the water again. Around 2:00 a.m., I turned in. Ryan was still out.

At 3:00, I started to worry. Did he fall overboard?

The last thing I remember it was 3:45 and Ryan was missing. A later investigation revealed that he bought a round of drinks in the Navigator Club at 3:16 a.m.

I opened my eyes to darkness. It still hurt, and I tossed around trying to stretch the feeling away. It would not leave.

The digits on the clock slowly came into focus; 4:20 a.m. I got up, walked around and then began to feel nauseous. “What the heck?” I wondered, waiting for the feeling to pass. In a few minutes it was gone, but the pain remained.

Was I seasick? The ship felt perfectly still, as it had for the entire trip. Where were we? Ah, Mexico. Did I drink the water? No. Ice cubes? Just one drink… Oh, oh.

Eventually I crawled back into bed and finally fought my way back to sleep. It was probably only a matter of minutes before the alarm went off at 6:30.

Our destination for this day had been uncertain. The original itinerary included Progreso, but in the weeks preceding the cruise the port was closed due to hurricane damage. The itinerary was then altered to Costa Maya, but in the days before the trip conflicting information started trickling in. Our ticket books included material for both ports. It was only when I booked the excursions onboard that it became clear that Progreso was ready for us.

Ryan popped out of bed, showered and dressed. “Want some coffee? I’ll go get it for you.”

“No, you go ahead. I really don’t feel well. Do you feel o.k.?” I knew that we had consumed the same food and drink the day before.

“I feel great. What’s the matter?”

“I feel like somebody punched me in the gut.”

“Do you feel sick?”

“Not really. It just hurts.”

“Do you still want to go on the trip today?”

“Yeah, I’m not going to miss this chance. I’ll be fine.”

Ryan left to fuel himself. I took my time getting up.

The sun was trying to burst through the curtains. I took a quick peek outside and saw land on the horizon several miles away. The sun was very hot so I closed the curtains again, restoring semi-darkness in the cabin. We should be coming onto port soon, but the ship seemed very still.

Ryan and the sound of a trumpet entered the room at the same time, from opposite sides. I thought it strange that a passenger would be practicing trumpet out on their verandah. Ryan opened the curtains and stepped out, and I followed. Land was still miles off, but now I saw that we were actually alongside a concrete pier. A Mariachi band was warming up below us. Toward the stern the pier widened and held a couple of buildings and a parking lot. A narrow strip of pavement headed off toward the mainland.

I had read but temporarily forgotten that the dock at Progreso stretched four miles out into the sea. I assume that the water is too shallow to accommodate large ships any closer to shore.

I went for the video camera as the band quit warming up and started playing, joined by a group of dancers whirling around a May-pole. The lens fogged up immediately.

We had only a couple of minutes before we were due to meet in Rendezvous square for the excursion. I had lost track of time, and we were not ready. By the time we got downstairs, the group was already lining up.

“I can’t believe it,” said Ryan.

“What’s the matter?”

“I forgot my camera.”

“You definitely want to have it for this,” I offered. “Run back and get it. I’ll walk slowly.”

The group began to move out. I found that the continuing pain in my midsection forced me to walk slowly anyway, and Ryan was back at my side before I’d gone 100 feet.

“That was quick.”

“Shouldn’t we have gotten some water?”

Excellent idea, but too late.

“I really hope they give us some.”

We followed the group down the stairs and out onto the pier where we stood in line for a few minutes watching the band and the dancers. The sun was scorching and the light colored concrete amplified the brightness. A few stragglers brought up the rear before we were marched toward the parking lot a few hundred feet away.

A couple of shops were opening in the buildings next to the parking lot, although most of the space appeared to be vacant. In the lot, a few cab drivers appealed for passengers, apparently confident that someone would abandon the prepaid excursion to ride with them. Since the cruise line was sponsoring a complimentary shuttle into town, I wondered what these guys were thinking.

A row of modern buses waited. Ryan led the way to one of them, and we entered the cool dark interior with relief. A cardboard lunch box occupied each seat.

“Here’s your lunch,” I said, putting the boxes into the overhead storage bin.

“When do we eat?”

“Whenever you feel like it, I guess.”

We settled in, although I found it impossible to get comfortable. The bus departed in a few minutes, traveling down the four-lane road that occupied the width of the pier. About halfway to shore, the bus shifted to the left side of the road. In places, the right lanes were gone, washed out by the tide. I wondered if this happened during the most recent hurricane, but somehow the damage did not look recent.

A couple of decrepit industrial buildings marked our approach to the mainland. We passed through a small security checkpoint and entered the city. The bus navigated narrow, crowded streets for a while before settling on a highway that led toward the interior. The road was buffered by a flat grassy strip, scrub trees and in most places, by walls.

Walls were everywhere. In places, settled areas could be seen stretching off into the distance. Each narrow lot held a simple structure separated from its neighbor by a wall. Walls outlined vacant lots. Stubs of walls intersected with main walls that seemed to go on forever. Many were incomplete or just tumbling down. Where there wasn’t a wall, a pile of construction material lay waiting to be turned into one. It was striking.

Later I would speak to someone who told of the terrible hurricane damage visible on the trip. “I didn’t really see much at all,” I offered.

“What about all those walls that were falling down?”

I’m quite sure the vast majority of the walls looked the same after the hurricane as they had before. In fact, I had only seen one unmistakable sign of the hurricane – a corrugated steel roof on an industrial building partially peeled back by the wind. The guide told us that the real problem with the storm was water – it had rained torrents for 36 hours. Indeed, standing water could be seen in places that were probably parched by the sun in normal times. I’d say that Progreso was lucky in this one.

During the ride, our guides fed us information about “Chicken Pizza”. That joke got old fairly quickly. We were offered the opportunity to order a personalized Mayan calendar, shown some pictures, given the rules and warned to drink lots of water. We had none.

After two hours we pulled in to sort of a resort town, populated by shopping strips, restaurants and motels all adorned with images and names from nearby Chichen Itza. The buses stopped at one of the shopping areas for a 15-minute break.

As we got off the bus, a man carrying a load of wares on his back appeared on the opposite side of the road. He whistled frantically and waved some of his goods at the passengers, pacing back and forth like an expectant father. Some invisible barrier kept him on the opposite side of the street though. I figured that there must be some kind of rule keeping itinerant vendors off of the commercial property we were visiting.

Ryan got busy with his camera and I wandered inside. Narrow doorways interconnected a series of small shops crammed with goods. Of particular interest to me was the restroom that the guide said was ‘in the back’. Finally I found an exit in the rear of one of the shops.

The very pleasant landscaped courtyard was kind of a surprise. A canopy of high trees offered shelter from the heat. Down a pathway I came to a huge outdoor restaurant where the staff was setting up for a big crowd. It was tempting to sit down and order something just to take in the atmosphere. I stuck to my business. The pain had not subsided, and I was not really interested in eating anything at all.

Back out front, I found Ryan. He had secured a couple of bottles of water, and they really hit the spot. The street vendors had multiplied and become bolder. They were holding their line just behind the busses. Two girls under the age of ten shouted in piercing voices, “Fidolla, fidolla, fidolla, fidolla”. They did not seem to pause for breath, and the sound became very unpleasant. The adults in the group chimed in with whistles and chants of their own, but the girls drowned them out. A couple of people approached the hoard to take pictures, but I didn’t see anyone brave enough to make a purchase. To this day I can still hear those girls. I wonder if they ever make a sale.

When we finally boarded the bus, the chant became even more frantic. “Twodolla, twodolla, twodolla. Hey! Twodolla!!!”

The bus backed out carefully. In just a couple of minutes, we entered the gates at Chichen Itza.

“O.K. everybody. What time are we supposed to be back to the bus?” asked the guide.

“Two o’clock!’ forty or so voices replied in semi-unison.

“When you get back, we will have some beer to go with your lunches! Don’t be late!”

Clever. The lure of cold beer ought to ensure timeliness.

While one guide was our main entertainer on the bus, another (Carlos) specialized in Mayan culture and would be our educator at Chichen Itza. Our buses were the first in the parking lot, so their front row location would be easy to spot later on. We donned wrist bands for entry, and marched through one of two modern buildings to the entry gate.

A short way down a wide dirt path, we entered a broad grassy clearing. Slightly to the right a stunning sight stopped me in my tracks — the Pyramid of Kukulcán rose high above everything else.

“Cooool!” Ryan thrust his backpack my way before swinging his camera up for a shot. “Awesome!”

For a moment, the nagging pain was forgotten, and I felt a little lump in my throat. It was indeed awesome. And I was relieved that Ryan seemed to think so, too.

Carlos encouraged the awestruck to continue moving. He led us to the shade of a large tree where we could enjoy the view without getting sunburned. He began his lecture, and it was obvious that he had a wealth of knowledge to share. He held up pictures and artist’s renderings of the site. Unfortunately, 3”x5” images are difficult to see from 20 feet away. I resolved to buy the book.

We left the Great Pyramid and headed to the ball court. The ball court at Chichén Itzá is 545 feet long and 225 feet wide. The acoustics are such that almost any sound, even a whisper, can be heard from one end to the other. We were told that attempts to understand this phenomenon have failed.

Carlos described the scene. Midway along each of the long sidewalls, carved stone hoops about 20 feet above the ground served as the goals. The game was played with a large and heavy rubber ball, and the players apparently could not use their hands – opinions vary, but theories indicate the game was played using elbows, knees, hips, and thighs. The final score must have always been about the same – 1 to 0.

Under one goal we studied a huge carving which depicts a decapitated player. Some theorize that the game’s winners were beheaded – an honor. A skull adorns an image of the ball.

Around the corner we came to a long wall covered top to bottom with images of sculls. They continued around the corner and marched off into the distance.

Some of the smaller temples had carvings that still had some coloration. In its day, Chichen Itza was apparently blazing with colors – not the sun-washed stone-faced uniformity visible today.

We walked down a road paved with a mix of crushed white material that is said to glow in the darkness of night. The entire central section of the site is built on a man-made plateau, and the walls marking its extremes were clearly visible through the woods next to the road.

At length we came to a huge round sinkhole. The vertical walls dropped straight down to bright green water about 60 feet below. A few simple stone structures teetered an the edge of the abyss – this is where the condemned spent their last moments before being sacrificed to the depths.

Nearby stood a refreshment stand. Our group was asked if we wanted to take a break. I thought the answer was obvious, but someone said “No” loudly enough that Carlos marched off back toward the main plaza. A couple of people, myself included, went for water instead.

I bought two bottles and watched as the group went over the rise up the road. Ryan seemed to be fascinated with the sacrificial sinkhole, and he was climbing all over the edge looking for good picture angles. I waited for a good long while before calling him.

“Just a few more minutes,” he answered. “There are some great shots here.”

I waited for a good ten minutes before he finished. We polished off the water, and headed back to the main site. We caught up with the group just as Carlos was dismissing everyone for a period of free exploration. We were to meet at 1:00 for a tour of the “old city”.

Ryan wanted to climb the Great Pyramid. I watched some people do it before deciding to pass on the opportunity myself. Going up looked strenuous but manageable. Coming down however was a different story. The stairs are very steep, and many people came down on their butts, too disoriented to stand.

While Ryan climbed, I wandered around. At the base of one of the staircases was a passage to the interior of the pyramid. I entered, went around a couple of corners and was confronted by a steep staircase leading up. It was surprisingly hot inside. Partway up I was met by a bunch of kids running down. Apparently I was going the wrong way on a one-way street, so I abandoned the journey. I have since seen pictures of the interior room at the top of the stairs, filled with artifacts.

Back outside, I turned around just in time to see Ryan descending the stairs. I ran to get some distance before taking what is now my favorite photograph (supplanting the one I took of the burning Angelina Lauro in 1979). I had this picture  made into a poster – one for Ryan and one for Kris.

We met Carlos at the rendezvous point and headed down into another section of Chichen Itza. This was the “old” part, filled with stunning architecture. Carlos went a little too fast for me, and I soon lagged behind. In turn, I went a little too fast for Ryan. I left him as he was crouching on the ground for the perfect picture angle. We all knew to be back at the bus by 2:00, so I figured that operating at our individual paces would be best.

I looked at the observatory building for a long time, from all different angles. It looks remarkably like a modern observatory, with a huge domed tower in the center. The building features some of the only curves in a very angular place.

I timed my arrival at the bus perfectly. Almost everyone was already there. You know how these tours go – there’s always somebody who doesn’t get back on time and delays everything. “Hah! It won’t be me,” I thought as I clambered aboard the bus. The guide was filling cups with beer for the embarking passengers.

I fought my way back to our seats. My midsection hurt like the dickens, but I felt a little hunger. The lunchbox contained a roll, a can of tuna, a fruit cup, a piece of anonymous cake and a cookie. The cookie went nicely with the beer, but the rest of it just didn’t appeal to me.

At about 2:10, a couple ran up to the bus.

“Sorry we’re so late.”

“O.K. Everybody here?” asked the guide.

I stood and walked to the front of the bus.

“My son is missing. Will they let me back in to find him?” I asked.

“Of course,” answered the guide.

Holding my aching gut, I trotted back up to the gate. A huge line of people waited for admission. I went around the side and explained the situation to the man at the gate. He let me in.

People were pouring out at a steady rate. As I walked I searched through the crowd for Ryan. A couple of hundred feet into the park, I spotted him sauntering along.

“Come on! The bus is waiting for us!”

“What time is it?”

“2:15”

“I thought we were leaving at 2:30. I decided to come up here because I couldn’t find anybody.”

This was no time for small talk. I set the hurried pace. In the end, I was the last person to get on the bus – 18 minutes late. Oh the shame…

“Wow, what an awesome place. I’ve never really seen any ruins or anything. I’m really glad we did that…”

I felt relief.

In contrast to the return from Passion Island, the trip back to Progreso was peaceful. I set up the MP3 player with two sets of headphones, and we both dozed off listening to Bob Marley.

At dinner that night, Ryan ordered an Irish Coffee to go with dessert. I realized that Kris and I had overlooked this tradition of ours during the entire Galaxy trip. Although I had managed to eat dinner I didn’t want to push my luck, so I passed on the chance.

A few minutes later, Ryan excused himself from the table for a few minutes. As soon as he was out of sight, two women rolled a cart up to the table. The cocktail waitress asked, “Where is Mr. Ryan? We are here to make his Irish Coffee.”

“That’s fine. He’ll be back in a few minutes. You can just leave it for him,” I answered.

The waitress gave me kind of a funny look. “Are you sure?”

I nodded.

What happened next made me doubly regret not having ordered Irish Coffee with Kris on the Galaxy trip. The second woman proceeded to make a concoction fit for a king in a ceremony so elaborate it made me feel guilty. Flaming whiskey was poured back and forth between little silver pitchers before being cascaded into the glass. Then, the coffee was gently added so that the flames floated on top of the rising black liquid. Finally, fresh cream was poured on top over the backside of a long spoon, extinguishing the flame.

When Ryan returned, everyone at the table was still marveling over the show. An ordinary-looking Irish Coffee sat at Ryan’s place.

“You should have seen how they made that.” Everyone piped in with a description. I don’t think Ryan believed any of it (the video below was made the following evening).

We were both exhausted from the long day. Ryan went off to scope out the activities for a little while before turning in. I went to an internet station and sent an email to Kris. It began with this line:

“Montezuma’s younger brother has taken revenge.”

As it turned out, I was not even close.

Tomorrow’s day at sea would be a welcome break.