Dearest Rachel –
You probably remember my surprise at some people’s reaction to my travel plans when they were slowly coming together. The fact that other clients of my travel agency would see me as That Guy going on That Trip felt a little bemusing. I mean, I didn’t see myself as being any different from any other client; I just had that kind of opportunity, and wanted to do it. I suppose that makes me unusual, but I didn’t see it as such a big deal, or something to make a big deal out of.
At the same time, you might also remember my concern about the possibility that there was something a caste system aboard the ship, where the ‘niners’ (well, they did have a name, anyway) stood head and shoulders above those like me who were only here for a segment or two (or five). At the very least, they would have stories in common with each other that I wouldn’t be able to share in. And as things began to wind down, I did hear the occasional comment in passing from people, who I still don’t recognize after having been here for nearly three months, about “those people” who’ll be leaving here in Dubai.
It’s not likely said out of contempt; it’s simply identifying an ‘other’ who’s doing something they aren’t – or more to the point, who aren’t doing what they are, which is to say, staying on. It’s a statement of fact rather than of judgment, as such, but it is still somewhat othering.
But that aside, there was never any sort of pecking order about who is staying for how long – apart from the stories that some people could share that others couldn’t. And, more often than not, just the fact that certain people would do certain things in this port or that port would differentiate them from someone else; it wasn’t so much a question of how long you were on for as whether you did the same things together or not. In the latter, there was a shared camaraderie that transcended the amount of time you were spending aboard ship.
That being said, so much of what we did was shared with others to the point where it seemed like the most normal thing to be doing. Rather than being That Guy on That Trip, like I was at home, everyone was doing this thing or that. Everyone was on this supposedly extraordinary adventure; but with that tacit understanding, it ceased to be all that extraordinary in the first place.
In some ways, it’s just as well. As I said, there was no pecking order, no caste system, none of this “richer than thou” nonsense. We were all ordinary people, not the upper crust of society. Which is a good thing, because I don’t think I could get along very well with the upper crust of society. These were, for the most part, T-shirt and jeans type of people, just like myself. Even on formal nights, I felt like it was okay to wear a polo (or some other collared shirt that I picked up on my travels) and be able to call it good. And a good thing, too, as I hadn’t packed any suits or ties; I don’t like wearing them, and even the promise of a lobster dinner isn’t enough to get me into one anymore (and in fact, by the end of the cruise, I was actually trying the crab ravioli instead of the lobster, just to mix things up a bit. For the record, the lobster was better).
My point is, there was a certain egalitarian nature to our interactions with each other. We were all fellow travelers, for however long that would be. And it wasn’t as if we were necessarily aware of who were ‘niners’ and who weren’t, unless the topic were to explicitly come up in conversation. It generally wasn’t volunteered, like it is among vegans or cross-fit enthusiasts. If you knew, you knew; if not, it was no skin off any ‘niner’s nose.
That’s because, once everyone was aboard ship, we were all part of this historic adventure; the fact that some of us were only on for so long was of no importance to those who were on for longer (unless, by the end, we’d grown on them to the point where they might miss us once we were gone; and even then, there was too much coming up on the rest of the trip for them to really give that too much thought). Everybody was able to share in at least some of this worldwide event. We were all special for it.
But of course, as the old saying goes, when everybody is special, nobody is. As the trip wore on, many days became somewhat routine. There are a lot of things that are awe-inspiring about voyaging on one of these massive ships, but if you spend too much time on one, it loses its luster. It hasn’t changed; it’s still the same lavish place it was when you boarded it. But you have, by coming to see it as, if not “home,” then at least your normal destination at the end of every day. Slowly, what ought to be the event of a lifetime becomes just another ordinary day. Even the things on shore don’t seem as exotic as they did, despite the fact that our last few stops have been in places I never expected to visit, and thus have no idea what I might find myself seeing.
Which is why it’s probably for the best that I’m disembarking; I’ve already gotten too close to the point where this seems normal as it is. The line between the exotic and the mundane has been blurred to the point where I don’t see the difference anymore. Too much longer, and I’ll very nearly be guaranteed to expect life to treat me like an honored guest for the rest of my days, when deep down, I know full well that I’m not. I’m just an ordinary guy, just like all the others on the ship with me.
Now, I don’t know if this is an attitude the ‘niners’ have or will suffer from; that’s not my story to tell, even if I did know. But it’s definitely time for me to be returning to my own life, and see if I can rediscover the wonder in what I would have considered mundane just a few months ago. Of course, now I’m probably going to have to spend some time as That Guy who took That Trip again…
And with that being said, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 