Dearest Rachel –
I feel like I should be apologizing for going over so much of the minutia of life aboard the cruise ship. It’s not even the first time I’ve been basically living at sea, after all, so it’s not as if this is anything new. Daniel and I may be in the middle of the longest consecutive stretch of sea days we’ve ever sailed, but we’re still only in the middle of it. I’ve endured longer than this so far, and told you about it ad nauseum back then, if I recall correctly.
Then again, every ship is different, as is every room, however slightly. It’s not just a case of not stepping in the same river twice writ that much larger (although there is a bit of that, too); there’s a certain sense of having the outside world creep into your little bubble, whether you want it to or not. Having a room close to the elevators, for instance, subjects you to a fair amount of foot traffic outside, some of which can be quite noisy, if unintentional in their rudeness. The same can be said for a room near the centrum; in those cases, the noise is that much less intentional – because whatever is going on is often happening a number of decks below you – but it doesn’t make it any less of an issue when you’re trying to get some shuteye. Even if you’re not, there’s this constant sensation that you’re missing out on something important or interesting until you get out there and find that it’s not really anything that appeals to you personally.
Which brings me to our current situation. We’re nestled well in the front of the ship, requiring a fair walk to get to the elevators and stairs (but hey, when you’re at sea, who’s in any hurry to get anywhere?), as well as to the atrium. So we’re nice and insulated from much of what would cause external noise to creep in and disturb us… except for… well, you’ve probably already figured it out just from the title of this letter.
It so happens that the theater is located only one deck below us. And whether they’re rehearsing or performing, they’re almost impossible to ignore, as the goings-on there seep through the floor. I hadn’t thought that this would be all that noticeable – and for the most part, it’s not that big of a deal – but it has its moments, and more often that we would have expected.
The very first night aboard the ship, in fact, gave us an indication that we might be in for something. You might recall that, at the time, I mentioned that I was dealing with a bit of a headache – both physically and with regard to a few hiccups in getting ourselves settled in aboard the ship. With the metaphorical ones dealt with, and ourselves ensconced snugly in our cabin, I was about to lie back and relax when I heard what sounded like a taiyo drum beating furiously. Now, this didn’t come as a complete surprise; when we were cruising around Japan on the Quest, we would often witness local groups performing on the dock, for the benefit of the passengers. But, unlike then, there was nobody there when we went out onto the veranda. It was at that moment that we realized that it was going on right underneath us in the theater, and we couldn’t shut it out by closing our veranda door. I would have to just take an aspirin and deal with it until the production was over.
Now, you’ll recall that we weren’t much for the theatrical productions onboard the ships we’ve sailed on. That’s become that much less the case now that we aren’t traveling with the folks or yourself, who might be interested enough to check out the goings-on – and encouraging me and/or Daniel to join you. The only exception was last year, when Lars and I rode on the Symphony of the Seas, but like you and the folks, he was interested in this or that performance, and, not having any compelling reason to say no, I went with him to see it. The aquatic performance was interesting – the comedy show less so – and I’m glad to have been there to see it, but I wouldn’t have considered myself as having missed out if I hadn’t.
Of course, this ship is much smaller, lacking a grand, two- or three-story stage like those on the Royal Caribbean ships, so the production values couldn’t be expected to be as spectacular as those, either. So, needless to say, we’re not all that interested in checking them out. However, that’s not a choice we’re necessarily given. When we’re relaxing in the cabin, catching up on our respective news feeds or videos (or trying to write you), we will find ourselves serenaded with various show tunes, pop stylings and the like, as the early afternoons are dedicated to cast rehearsals. The bass lines and percussion parts carry surprisingly well, and we can often make out certain vocal lines (Daniel better than myself, for reasons that elude me. Maybe his synesthesia?) that give us an idea as to what will be performed in the evening.
For what it’s worth, it doesn’t seem to handicap us if we’re sufficiently tired after a long day; however, when it comes to lounging around in the afternoon, it’s hard to ignore. And maybe it’s because we’ve often fallen asleep during the performances, but one sound we never hear from downstairs in room… is the applause after the performance. Given the work put into them (and which we can hear), I hope it’s just because that sound doesn’t carry, and not that they’re not getting any.
But with that being said, maybe you could keep an eye on the performers, and wish them well for a change. Or maybe, we could do so ourselves; after all, our stewards would like us to vacate the room so they can work on it now and again…
Letters to Rachel 