Dearest Rachel –
One of the things you always wanted to do when it came to traveling – and especially cruising – was to, and I quote, “feel the ocean beneath [your] feet.” As pleasant as these trips in the Mediterranean, the Baltic, the Caribbean, and so forth were, they were in contained areas, relatively speaking. Either that, or the ships were so big, that they practically eliminated the sensation of being ‘at sea.’ Now, for a lot of people, this would be a good thing; no one likes the sensation of being seasick. But while you could appreciate this being mitigated to a certain extent, to have it eliminated entirely, was too much, in your opinion. You wanted, someday, to travel across an ocean or another.
The irony is, when I finally got to do so, you might recall that I reported to you that it wasn’t nearly as much as it was cracked up to be. The sailing, by and large, was quite smooth. So even if you had accompanied me in a form other than the ashes in that jar, I don’t know that you would’ve found it to your liking, or at least to how you imagined it to be.
Indeed, one of the ironies of Daniel and my travels was that our circumnavigation of Japan the year before had more of that sort of sensation of being rocked to sleep by the currents than when I took that solo trip across actual oceans (both the Indian and the Pacific). Likewise, last September’s trip through the arctic Atlantic didn’t really feel like it had that many moments that would be considered dramatic, in terms of the effects of the ocean itself. I concluded that it was more due to the size of the ship than the seas she might be passing through that would truly achieve the effect you were seeking.
And it would seem that, with this particular passage, we may have found the trip you always wanted (apart from the fact that it’s rather chilly topside, precluding much enjoyment on the upper decks; not that it would’ve stopped you, since you made a point of swimming in the open pool on our first trip together with the family, as glaciers loomed over us on either side of our vessel). The Orion, while not nearly as small as the Quest, is still much narrower of beam than anything currently offered by Royal Caribbean or any of its sister lines. Moreover, the northern Pacific is apparently orders of magnitude more… treacherous? turbulent? than its Atlantic counterpart, so we have that going for us today.
As Daniel and I have been lounging in our cabin for most of the day, we can hear strains of music from the theater (which could probably be a topic to touch on in and of itself over the next couple of days), but also the sound of what might be mistaken for thunder. In fact, what it is is the sound of the ship as it plows through the ocean; the breakers lift the bow up and drop it back in, where upon it lands back in the water with that thunderous crash. Needless to say, we can feel the rise and fall; we’re only a few rooms away from the very prow of the ship, and only on the third deck. If we were to go onto our veranda, we would find ourselves sprayed by the salt water as the waves break around us. You might have enjoyed it, apart from getting your glasses soaked by it all.
It’s a little challenging to walk around in; Daniel describes it as playing “red light-green light” with the shifting surfaces around the deck. One minute, you’re climbing up an angle; the next, you’re practically running, as if you’re going downhill (which, in effect, you are in that moment). We asked our stewards, Jhon and Edi about how they manage to keep their feet; Jhon observed that, after a while, it just comes naturally, while Edi claimed that Jhon’s nickname among the staff is ‘Spiderman,’ suggesting that it may come more naturally to him than even most of the staff at large.
This is not to say that the wobble and sway is entirely enjoyable; having to constantly zigzag while walking is hard to get used to, as is the need to brace oneself against the wall while showering after working out. Speaking of which, it’s almost funny to get on the scale and watch my weight spin back and forth between 215 and 245 pounds and back again; that’s quite the range to fluctuate between. I’m going to assume that this means I average two-thirty at this point, which would be surprisingly good, given that we’ve had over a week of all the cruise ship food we can eat, and that I’m wearing clothes when I step on the scale. Then again, this was before hitting the buffet yet again for dinner, but I’ll take my victories where I can.
Anyway, it looks like we finally found a trip that would have been everything that you would have wanted to enjoy, honey; it’s just a shame that you’re only able to share it with us within that same shaker of ash that I took with me a couple of years ago. Well, that, and if you’re able to keep an eye on us, and wish us well, you can be a part of it all.
Letters to Rachel 