Dearest Rachel –
The first full day on the ship, and already we were in port again. Not that it’s remotely unexpected – the Caribbean is chock full of islands, in close enough proximity that, unless you have a specific destination in mind, there’s never a need for a sea day between ports. Of course, we’re going to have some anyway, because, as I said before, the ship is the real destination, but it’s not like it has to be that way.
In any event, this first stop was at the first of two private islands owned by the cruise line; a place insistently referred to as Perfect Day at Coco Cay. I’m not sure it had added the “Perfect Day” moniker when last you and I were here – and I can’t remember if we’d been here twice together (meaning that I’ve now been here twice as many times as you have) of just the one time, for our twenty-fifth anniversary, but either way, here I was again.
Yesterday was a little different from the rest of the days ahead of us; unlike most cruises, I’d only planned going on one shore excursion, and this was it. Moreover, Lars wasn’t joining me; it so happens that the idea of zip lining doesn’t exactly appeal to him. Which is fine; again, he can take care of himself, and presumably find something else to do while we’re here. Or maybe more to the point, not do anything; that’s what a beach vacation is for, isn’t it? Not keeping track of time, like back in the real world, and just lounging about and relaxing, either on the ship or amidst the soft white sands of one tropical beach or another.
But while he had all the time in the world to go where he wanted to and do what he wanted to, I actually had to be ashore and by this tower on the island by a certain time. On my own, I could easily do it, but breakfasting with Lars in the Windjammer (which, admittedly, is the fairly typical zoo; when he got up from his seat to get a refill of coffee, I had to fend off two different people asking if his seat was available) had me starting to get a little paranoid. It didn’t help that I’d left my phone in the room to charge (to no avail; every time I plug one phone or the other in, I have to switch outlets for some reason before the unit recognizes that it’s supposed to be receiving the charge), so I didn’t know what time it was. By the time we got back to the room, I had ten minutes to get ashore and check in.
And I still didn’t know where I needed to in order to get off the ship yet! We encountered a crew member on our way to the elevators who told us the gangplank was on the second floor, but when we tried to tell it to send us their, the readout below the floor indicator said “Floor Locked,” and we began to ascend instead! This happened twice before someone else ordered the elevator to the fifth floor (where we had gotten on in Miami, but I doubted that they had a terminal in Coco Cay like they had there). From there, I clambered down the next couple of flights of stairs, only to reach a band of black-and-yellow police-style tape stretched across the stairs leading to the second deck.
They really weren’t kidding about that floor being closed, were they?
I didn’t have a lot of time to panic about it, though, as I shortly found myself face-to-face, with a sign directing me (and everybody else) to the gangway. Following it led to a small escalator that brought us to the exit, which really was on the second deck, but you couldn’t get to it from there. I’m not sure why the ship is laid out like this, but I certainly was in no mood to question it at the time; I had somewhere to be!
Lars, however, not so much. So, while we both disembarked more or less together, by the time I’d made my way along the causeway between our ship and the Wonder of the Seas (which had docked shortly after we had; I’d watched it pull in while I was putting in a mile on the treadmill, something I probably should not have done barefoot), I was well ahead of him. I hadn’t exactly left him behind in the crowd, but there wasn’t any reason for him to keep up with me. After all, we were on different schedules, so it was only natural that we would move at different paces.
I was already five or ten minutes late before reaching the signs welcoming us to the island, and I still didn’t know which direction to go. Thankfully, the place had plenty of helpful staffers directing those of us who were already lost and confused as to where to go for this or that. Another thing to be thankful for was the fact that the zip line tower (the initial one, anyway) was right near the entrance; not quite as near as the gate leading to the waterpark, but really, only a few steps in from there. On top of that, they were taking people that had signed up (and they were completely sold out in terms of spots) in shifts of fifteen minutes apart; the fact that I’d missed “my” time simply meant that they could just slot me in with the 10:15 “crowd”, one other couple. No worries.
I really was on “island time,” here.
So, yeah, honey, I spent that first hour or so, on the island, literally flying about from here to there, while he ‘went native’ and simply let the world pass him by. I suppose that, in a Martha-and-Mary sense, he might have chosen the better portion. After all, that’s what this certification is what you’re supposed to do, not rush about hither and thither. I guess I’m not cut out for that sort of pace.
Yet.
Still, until I am, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck, honey. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 