The World's Longest Miracle Cruise Report® (Snazzy, ain't it!)
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Welcome to the Cayman Islands, you guys!
It's an early morning wakeup for us today, as the Caymans await. I had brought an old digital alarm clock with us to use in the cabin for an alarm, but for some reason it was losing about 5 - 6 minutes a day. (I've never seen a digital clock that loses time before; have you?) So instead of relying on an alarm clock that quite possibly wake us up at 10:00 instead of 6:00, I set a wakeup call the night before. The wakeup call is completely automated through the telephone in the room - punch in the time you want to be called in military time, then push "wakeup". What could be easier?
(Mary found this online after we got home: On Carnival's Web site, it tells their employees to bring a battery-operated clock with them, as fluctuations in the ship's power causes electric clocks to lose time. So now you know.)
Anyway, at the stroke of 6:00 the phone rang. And as I answered the wakeup call, the prerecorded female voice on the other end spoke to me...in French.
Now, this is important/relevant for the following reason. All season long Mary and I have been hooked on the ABC TV series 'Lost'. If you haven't seen it yet...well, why the heck not? It's a pretty entertaining show. One of the earliest plotlines involved a crazed French woman who had recorded a continually looping cryptic "please rescue me" message 16 years before all of the handsome stars of the show crash-landed their plane on the same island and became island-monster chow. For the first half dozen episodes of the series she was just referred to as "The French Woman". Turns out the French woman is more twisted than a Parisian croissant, and really gets her kicks out of torturing the survivors. Not exactly the Audrey Hepburn /'American in Paris' type, now is she?
So here I am at 6 o'clock in the morning, still half asleep, getting a phone call in my cabin from The French Woman. I was hoping she wouldn't tell me about the light and dark side, and thankfully she didn't. Still, it was surprising.
Back to the tale. We got dressed and made our way upstairs to the Lido deck for breakfast. Our excursion tickets required us to meet in the Phantom Lounge and be ready to go no later than 7:30, so we had plenty of time to nosh some blueberry pancakes and eggs before chugging back down to Deck 2. On the way to the Phantom we stopped by the Fountainhead coffee stand, where for a small fee you could have your daily espresso and feel good about it, too. (Hey, all I know is Mary felt great after her cafe breve.) We then slid into the Phantom Lounge, where several hundred people waiting for excursions were already gathered.
We were booked on the Cayman Island Tour & Snorkel package, which included an island tour by bus with stops at the Cayman Turtle Farm and the town of Hell. (Yes, it was THE biggest running joke of the day - telling everyone you met that you were either going to Hell or had just come from Hell. Hardy har har. Saying this packs the same level of humor as telling people on December 31 that "I'll see you next year!" But everyone still said it anyway.) After going to Hell (see what I mean?), we were to board a boat where we'd be taken out to Stingray City, a sandbar where the stingrays have learned that if they hang out long enough humans will eventually come along and give them food. No work, no worries, free lunch.
The excursion sounded like a lot of fun, and that's what we were waiting to board when Ali, the assistant hostess who was manning the masses in the Phantom, made the following announcement. "Uh, ladies and gentlemen, I've got some good news and some bad news."
Uh-oh. Nothing good ever comes from such a line, no matter if there is a promise of "good news" forthcoming. So I braced myself and listed up.
"The good news is that the Cayman government is attempting to clear the ship for tendering into port. The weather is a little choppy out there, and it's taking a little longer for us to receive permission from the government to begin unloading passengers. The bad news is that this might take an extra hour or so before we have clearance."
Now, all things considered, this really wasn't that bad of news. Grand Cayman is a tender port, meaning that the ships don't get to pull up to a dock and unload. They have to drop anchor in the ocean, then use small boats (tenders) to shuttle passengers back and forth to the pier. Sometimes the water is too choppy and the weather is too rough to do that. So if the choice was between having to wait an extra hour to clear the government red tape or not being able to get off the ship at all, I was more than willing to give them all the extra time they needed. Nothing would stink more than to come all the way to Grand Cayman, look outside your balcony window, and then not be able to visit. It'd be like driving all the way to Disneyland, walking through the parking lot, then going home.
Since there was no point in loitering around in the Phantom for another hour (Ali promised that they'd page everyone when they had clearance), we decided to go back up to Deck 9 and sit out in the sunshine for a while. We found a table on the Lido, then sat and chilled for a while. The sun was out, and we walked around the deck for a while taking photos of the other ships that were moored next to us and who were also awaiting Caymanian permission to land.
Finally, about 45 minutes later CD Steve came over the ship's intercom and announced that we'd been cleared to begin tendering. Hooray! We gathered our stuff and made our way back to the Phantom, where it turned out that the Bad News Express was just beginning to arrive.
"Um...ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid I have some more bad news for some of you," Ali was saying. "The following five excursions have had be canceled for today due to the rough seas."
Oh, no. We were supposed to go snorkeling in that sea in just a couple of hours from now. Would we miss out?
Fortunately, the Cayman gods smiled on us, and ours was not one of the five excursions that was canceled. Turns out that by the time we finally left most of the other water-based excursions had either been canceled or delayed, but somehow we lucked out. It's still too bad that my casino luck wasn't that good, though.
Long story short, after waiting another 30 minutes or so in the Phantom, our tour group was finally called to go downstairs to Deck A, where we'd catch the tender into Georgetown, Grand Cayman. So down the stairs we went, stopping to have our Sail & Sign card scanned on the way out, and then we were loaded into a small boat for the ride over. (On the way out the door, Super Shopper Lacey handed me an official shopping map, which I conveniently threw away the first chance I had. Sorry, hon.) Mary and I found a couple of seats towards the front of the tender, and I stared out at the incredibly blue water. I'd never seen anything like it before. Truly amazing.
The tendering process probably took about 5 minutes or so from the ship to the pier, and before long we were allowed on solid land for the first time in two days. Of course, we had to stop for two obligatory Carnival photographers before being allowed to move along - what'd you think -- you were going to get away without having your picture taken with a "Grand Cayman" life preserver and/or a pirate girl with yet another sword to your neck? Actually...yes. We somehow managed to sneak past both of them, and I'm not the least bit sorry about it, either.
While we were walking up the small pier we noticed off to one side a large group of people with suitcases huddled together behind a closed gate. I wondered if these were possibly East coasters who'd missed the ship in Tampa due to the Winter Wallop. I suppose if you're going to be stranded for two days waiting for the ship to arrive, Grand Cayman isn't a bad place to be, but still. Just imagine how ticked they would've been if we hadn't been cleared to tender.
At the end of the pier was a small covered gazebo-esque spot where the passengers were being directed to their correct tour. A tough-looking woman in a blue shirt was quickly scanning the tickets and pointing people in the right direction. Here's some free advice to you if you ever cross her path: 1) Listen carefully. 2) Follow directions. 3)Don't ask any dumb questions, for now is not the time, and she's likely to bite your head off for it.
We were among the lucky ones who knew better than to break rules 1-3 above. I felt bad for those who stepped out of line; she was obviously a woman with no time for small talk or those who didn't care to listen. Yikes.
Anyway, we were polite and followed all of Nurse Cratchett's instructions, and she politely directed us towards bus #13, which was parked along the curb to our left. The bus was a small 20-seater, and it was quickly filled with 18 other like-minded tour compadres. It was a little cramped inside, but the air conditioning was cranked, which helped.
The other thing I noticed about the bus was that the driver's seat was on the right side. I guess up until now it had never really dawned on me that being a British colony, Grand Caymanians drove on the left side of the road. Makes sense. I watched out the window as other cars went by; about half of them had the steering wheels on the right side, and everyone seemed to be driving on the left as they were supposed to, so if it works for them, then more power to you. Our driver did tell us later on that the license plates in Grand Cayman are color coded, with rental cars being a different color than those for locals. That way if you see a rental car coming at you head on because it's a confused American driving on the right instead of the left, you know to get out of the way. (Hey, who am I to judge? This sort of thing is exactly why I'm sitting on a bus and not behind the wheel right now.)
About our driver: His name was Leslie, and he made a wonderful tour guide. Over the next half hour or so he drove us around the island, showing off the beach and hotels and some of the multimillion dollar homes. He pointed out where Tom Cruise stayed when filming "The Firm" a few years back (definitely A-list accommodations), and showed us where boxer Evander Holyfield's family lived. Leslie gave us a history lesson of the Caymans, and explained why it is that they still drive on the left, and how it is now illegal to build private homes along 7 Mile Beach.
But despite the positive side of his hometown that he was showing, Leslie couldn't hide the other part - the devastation caused by Hurricane Ivan last September. Ivan hit Grand Cayman dead on, and ripped apart most of the island. Five months later it was still apparent that something bad had gone through there. Lots of downed trees, piles of trash waiting to be burned or hauled off, houses without roofs, you name it. Leslie showed us one set of beachfront apartments that you could see clean through to the ocean; he said that those weren't garages we were looking at - those were once ground floor apartments that the sea had ripped through. He said that at his house a little further inland he had 7 inches of water in his living room from the hurricane, and he pointed out one spot in a wooded area about a mile from the beach where you could see the mast of a large sailboat that had been picked up and dropped there by the storm. Yow.
But Leslie said that the island was rebuilding quickly, and it was obvious from the amount of construction we saw going on that this was true. The biggest delay in making repairs now was getting supplies imported to the country. (Just about everything in the Caymans is imported - the only locally produced items are a little sugar and some fruit.) Grand Cayman is a fairly wealthy country, and the residents have to pay no sales tax or income tax. (International offshore banking is big here - remember "The Firm"?) So it would just be a matter of time until Grand Cayman was 100% back to normal, and probably bigger and better than before. Leslie said that Georgetown was 100% safe - there were no beggars on the street, no homeless people, and very little crime. Gasoline did cost $4.65 U.S. per gallon, and a gallon of fresh milk would run you almost $6.00, so there was apparently some white-collar robbery going on. Tourism is the number one industry here, so they were glad when the hurricanes passed and they were able to start welcoming visitors back to the island.
After the island tour we pulled up to our first stop, the Cayman Turtle Farm. Here Leslie passed out bright green admission ticket armbands to wear, and then we made our way across the small street to the first half of the turtle farm exhibit.
The first half of the turtle farm itself wasn't all the exciting, really. It consisted of about 8 or 10 large round tanks filled with green sea and snapping turtles of varying size and maturity. It was kind of odd though to watch the top of the water and see the little turtle heads popping up and down. Kind of bizarre for us city folk from the Midwest. Leslie told us about the turtles and how they lived here in the turtle farm tanks until they were mature, about 20 months old.
But what happened to the cute little turtles after then?
Well, here's where the story takes a gruesome turn.
You see, only a small portion of the happy little turtles are released back into the wild, where they're free to swim and sing songs and make "Finding Nemo" sequels. The rest? They end up on gourmet dinner plates around the world.
Now, Mary and I were well aware that this was the fate most of these poor turtles had waiting for them, and being from a part of the world where cows and pigs meet their demise on a daily basis, it really didn't bother us that badly to know that they were food, not pets. But some of our fellow tourees were visibly mortified to learn this startling information.
I overhead one poor woman ask Leslie: "Oh, you don't mean to tell me that they slit their little throats, do you?"
Leslie smiled wide and answered, "Oh, no madam. Not any more. Nowadays they shoot dem in dere head."
See what asking silly questions will get you?
Leslie then continued to lead the now ashen-faced touristas around to the other tanks. There were huge signs near the snapping turtle tanks warning you that unless you wanted to be known as "Stubby" for the rest of your life, you'd best keep your hands and arms back. (We didn't stick around there too long.) From there it was time for some (mostly) safe fun, and we walked across the street to the tanks where the young green sea turtles were kept.
Awww, ain't they cute? Look at all of those adorable little turtles, swimming away in heavenly delight. Let's not let them in on our little secret about their future, shall we? Sometimes in this big, bad, cruel world, ignorance is truly bliss.
Anyway, Leslie led us over to a far tank where several of the smaller turtles were kept, and he showed us how to reach in and pick one up if we so choose. Just a fair warning: when you put them back in the tank, lower then by their back feet first; otherwise those front flippers will hit the water and soak you with a nice shower of yucky turtle water. Spew.
So one by one we went turtle fishing, and for the most part the little specimens were good sports about being picked up and photographed. Maybe they thought we were going to tip them? If that's the case, then they were sorely disappointed. Regardless, it was cool to hold a sea turtle - they're incredibly strong for their size, and they didn't try to bite my arm off, so they get bonus points in my book.
After spending our quality time bonding with the turtles, it was time to do some spending of another type... That's right, the Gift Shop! I didn't buy anything here, but instead took a couple of more minutes to photograph the turtles and the sea without all the people around. Across the street from the turtle farm (back where we originally started the tour) were a couple of local vendors selling their wares; one table was an older woman selling handcrafts, and the other was two guys selling Cuban cigars.
But directly next door to the turtle farm was the Tortuga rum store/bakery, where they make those tasty Tortuga rum cakes and sell the magical elixir that's kept pirates happy for centuries. We had a few minutes to kill before we were due in Hell, and since Leslie had volunteered to be the bartender at the store for their free rum sampling, we all ran over there to have a little taste of the Cayman good life. The Tortuga rum cakes are actually quite good, and they had sample trays of several different flavors laid out. We didn't get into the rum, though - I thought it'd be best if I not visit Hell with the scent of booze on my breath, just in case.
Directly outside the store was a wooden pirate statue. Apparently this is the Caribbean version of the cigar store Indian, for we ran across about a dozen or so wooden pirates outside of store entrances during the short time we were in the Caymans. But since it seemed to be the thing to do (and c'mon - how often do you get to pose with a pirate statue - wooden or otherwise?), we stopped and played Obnoxious Tourist with a Camera. It was cool, and I was just glad that the Carnival photographers weren't standing there waiting for us.
Now that everyone had tasted the cakes and rum and picked up a few souvenirs from the turtle farm (and/or the guys selling the Cubans - shhh!), it was time to get back on the bus and drive straight to Hell. And I can now proudly say that I answer that timeless question: The road to Hell? It was paved with asphalt, not good intentions.
So here we are...in Hell. The "town" of Hell is basically a gas station, a post office, a bar, and a gift shop. And the biggest tourist trap this side of South Dakota's Wall Drug.
"Hell" itself is found behind the post office, where a dried-up coral reef gives the impression of what Dante was thinking up all those years ago. There are a couple of versions of how this place became known as Hell, but since I'd hate to steal Leslie's thunder, I'll make you take the tour to get the full scoop. Suffice it to say, there's really not that much to it.
We only had 15 minutes to spend in Hell (we must've not been that bad of people after all!), so I spent my time running around trying to take as many photos as I could, then I went into the post office to send my friends a postcard from Hell. Ah, but the post office doesn't sell Hell postcards - only Hell stamps. You have to go next door to the gift shop and purchase those. Grrr. So off I trudged to the Hades Gift Shop, where I purchased 3 "hellacious" post cards for $1 U.S., then it was back to the post office, bought 3 Cayman stamps, then quickly scribbled on a message and dropped them in the mail before Leslie could leave us behind in the land of eternal souvenirs.
So that was our brief (yet memorable) time in the netherworld. But was it truly Hell? Well, since I didn't run into Hitler, Ivan the Terrible, or my Uncle Roger, I'd have to say no. But while it may not be the one true lake of fire, this version of Hell is probably a lot easier to get out of than the real thing. Besides, does Lucifer's Hell offer 3 T-shirts for $10? Somehow I doubt it.
Okay - back on the bus, everyone! It's time to go snorkeling with the stingrays. Leslie drove us to a small dock not too far from Hell, where a boat was waiting to take us out to meet the rays. Our captain was a nice man, and he and his first mate (a thin but incredibly strong woman) made us all feel comfortable and welcome as we sat down and prepared for the trip out to Stingray City. We were told that the water would be about 3 feet deep, and that we were to remove all of our jewelry (so that we don't scratch the rays) and that no shoes, gloves, swim fins, or aquasocks would be allowed in the water (ditto). The stingrays have a protective coating on them, and it'd be bad if it was wiped off by clothing or footwear, so wear your swimsuit, snorkel, and mask, and call it good. Okay?
Once we had the ground rules down, it was time to cast off. There were probably 50 people all together on our boat (Leslie's bus, plus one other), and as we made our way out into the Caribbean sea the first mate passed out masks and snorkels to those who didn't have their own (we'd brought ours from home, as we'd been using them at the pool for practice, but the ones they had for loan were nice and clean), and they offered drinking water or lemonade to anyone who wanted some.
The boat ride out to Stingray City took about 20 minutes, and we spent the time chatting with our fellow soon-to-be-snorkelers and admiring the blue water. We also passed the construction sites for some mighty cool homes right up against the water - the first mate said that the asking price for them was between $4 and $10 million. Let's all run right out and pick up one of those, okay?
Finally we made it to the sandbar, where about a half dozen boats were already tied up. The captain dropped anchor (actually, he threw it overboard more than he "dropped" it), and then he invited us into the sea.
But first, one more warning. He had a large bucket of assorted squid parts on board, and if you so desired you were welcome to feed the stingrays. They don't have teeth, but do have a powerful sucking motion that would take the squid from your hand, but leave your fingers intact. You were welcome to feed the stingrays, but make sure you follow these two simple rules:
Why not? Because the stingrays find their lunch the old fashioned way - by using their highly developed sense of smell. And if your swim trunks happen to now smell remarkably like a fresh entree, then odds are fairly high that you'll soon discover what it's like to have a stingray nursing on your person.
This was advice well taken, thankyouverymuch.
It was time to get in. Mary and I made our way towards the back of the boat, where the captain and first mate had already jumped into the beautiful blue water. With my newfound knowledge in my head, my mask and snorkel pushed up on my forehead, and my underwater camera strapped to my arm, I made my way to the ladder and slowly backed into the Caribbean sea.
Now, I'll admit that the water was a little chilly at first ("refreshing", as our friends in Belize would call it three days later). But cold? Ha. You want to see cold water, come back home to Iowa with me and we'll go for a dip in the ice chunk laced Missouri river. The Caribbean wasn't cold. Iowa is cold. So in Mary and I went.
But what really amazed us was how many people stayed on the boat. "Oooh, it's too cold!" "Brrr! I'm not getting in that freezing water!" C'mon, people! How many times in your life are you going to have an opportunity to do this? At this point Mary and I didn't care if the water was blood red and teeming with Great Whites - we still would've hopped in.
So let this be a lesson to you, nice people. You've come too far to chicken out now. Close your eyes, grit your teeth, get into the sea, and enjoy every moment of it. You can warm up at the rum store later.
Okay, time to get off my sandy soapbox.
Mary and I had a great time snorkeling with the stingrays - you really didn't have to "snorkel" much, since the water never got much deeper than about four feet. The sandbar was beautiful white sand, and the stingrays would glide up to you, bumping you and swimming beside your legs. It was a little intimidating at first; some of them were HUGE. But before long we were having a great time feeding the rays and getting a closer look at these amazing creatures.
The captain had captured one of the smaller ones (a male - go figure), and he held it up for everyone to take a closer look. The first mate had also lassoed a larger female (most of the rays were female), and she let each of us take turns holding it. It's kind of hard to describe what they felt like - sort of like holding a large slab of Jell-0 in the water, if that makes any sense. But it was fun to do regardless.
We spent about 40 minutes in the sea with the stingrays, and Mary and I loved every moment of it. It was an incredible experience, and one I'll not soon forget.
And - if that wasn't a highlight enough, as an added bonus we all got to see a "free show", too. Parked next to our boat was a large catamaran, and a woman in a small brown string bikini from there failed to follow the "don't wipe your hands" rule and had her bikini top sucked right off her by a stingray. So while her husband frantically looked around the sandy ocean floor for her top, let's just say that the rest of us guys were watching something other than the fish.
Show's over, nothing more to see. Besides, it was time to get back on the boat and head back to shore. We climbed back on board, where the captain hosed us off with some fresh water (it was warmer than the sea, and it felt good to have the salt water come off), then we toweled off, got dressed, and got ready to go. A few minutes later we were waving goodbye to the stingrays and were motoring back to shore.
Mary and I must've had looks of pure joy on our face, because several of the boat riders who wouldn't get in asked us a zillion questions. "Was it fun?" "What was it like?" "Did you feed them?" "Was it ever warm?" And as Mary told them all about it, all I could do was smile and wonder why they didn't go for it when they had a chance.
We got back to the dock where we'd cast off an hour and a half earlier, and after thanking (and tipping) the captain and mate, we got back in Leslie's bus for the trip back to the starting point. Leslie filled us in a little more about the Caymans along the way, and Mary and I both made vows to come back some day and spend an entire week on this beautiful island.
We were finally back at the pier, where we had about an hour left until we had to catch the last tender back to the Miracle, so we decided to wander the shopping area near the pier to see what there was to be seen. Most of the shops damaged by Hurricane Ivan had already been repaired, and it seemed that just about everything was open again.
We went through a couple of the gift shops, stopping for more wooden pirate photos on the way in, but didn't find anything that screamed "BUY ME!" to us, so we kept going. I did stop to take a photo of their town clock, though -- not too many places that I know have a "Rolex" for the town clock.
We then walked over to the Hard Rock Cafe, where we bought a t-shirt for Katie, then it was back to the pier and a queue for the tender back to the Miracle. While in line I saw a young lady and her man standing to the side sporting brand new souvenirs from the Caymans - bright red, nasty looking sunburns. Wow, were they going to remember their time in the Caribbean sun for the next few days. Thank God for SPF 45 - that's all I have to say.
A couple of minutes in line, a few minutes on the tender, and presto - we were scanning our Sail & Sign cards back on the Miracle. Welcome home.
Once back on ship, we caught the elevator back up to the Panorama Deck and dropped our stuff off in our cabin. We'd lugged our snorkels, two underwater cameras, my digital camera, two changes of clothes, two huge purple Carnival beach towels, 2 bottles of suntan lotion, a quart of water, and of course a can of beans and a stuffed weasel with us all day long, and it got to be really heavy - about two minutes after we'd arrived, in fact. (Next time we'd pack light.) Free of our 30 pound burden, we walked up a floor and had lunch on the Lido. Bonjour! It was "French" day at the Taste of the Nations, so I had chicken cordon bleu and some other good-yet-diff'rnt French stuff. Brie and mushroom stuffed brioche? That's a new one to me.
It was now almost 4 o'clock. We'd been up since 6:00, wondered the Cayman Islands, held turtles, posed with pirates, gone through Hell and back, spent 90 minutes with our aquatic brethren, shopped until we'd dropped (it doesn't take long for us), then enjoyed a lovely French feast. What was there to do that would possibly ice this fantastic Tuesday's cake?
We napped for two hours.
At 6:00 the French Woman called to tell me it was time to get up and get dressed for dinner. Tonight was Nick & Nora's, our evening in the Miracle's supper club.
As I'd previously mentioned, the terms "fine dining" and "Sioux City" are not synonymous. In fact, our hometown (while lovely in its own right) has a distinct reputation of being shall we say...culinarily stunted. When a "big night on the town" around here involves eating at one of the many buffets Western Iowans love and patronize, you know that your 5-star dining chances are somewhere between slim and none.
So off to Nick & Nora's we went, right on time for our 7:00 PM invitation. (An actual honest-to-goodness invitation confirming our reservation was waiting in our room when we returned from the Caymans.) The restaurant is named after Nick and Nora Charles, from the "Thin Man" movie series in the 1930's. (Keep your eyes open - Turner Classics play the films every couple of weeks.) As a tie and jacket are "highly recommended" for N&Ns, and since I wanted to fit in with all of the other well groomed, well behaved diners, I had brought my black suit along just for this purpose, and Mary looked positively stunning in her new green dress. It was going to be a nice, long, peaceful, romantic dinner for two.
Well, we ended up with three out of the four. Oh, it was indeed nice, and at three hours, it was long (but not too long, if you get my extended dining drift). Romantic? You bet. But peaceful? Meh. I'll explain momentarily.
Anyway, we showed up at N&Ns, and were met by the hostess, Zsa Zsa. She was very warm and welcoming to us, and took us over to the table I had reserved shortly after boarding on Sunday. Our napkins were placed carefully in our laps, our water glasses were immediately filled, and the special N&N menus were presented to us in prefect precision. Before long the sommelier came over to recommend wine selections for dinner (we didn't order any, and she didn't hassle us at all about it), an assistant waitress brought us some bread (along with three different flavors of butter) to enjoy, and our waitress came by to introduce herself and make dinner recommendations. We both ordered starters, the caesar salad, and entrees, then we sat back to relax, listen to the soft piano music, and stare lovingly into each others eyes.
It was about this point that we first heard them. THEM.
Seated at the table directly to my left was a group of 12 - a wedding party, we assumed, since they were all dressed in tuxes and what looked like maids of honor dresses. (Sure enough, the one on the end turned out to be the not-so-blushing bride, but her dress was similar to the others in most ways.) They had obviously enjoyed themselves and more than a few post-nuptial champagne toasts all day, and now they'd come to N&Ns to celebrate their joyful wedded bliss.
And to show their love, they yelled, laughed obnoxiously loud, cursed at each other (and the waitress), and generally made huge incredible well-dressed newlywed asses of themselves. For two hours.
Ah, but it wasn't noisy the entire time. No, because N&Ns is a non-smoking restaurant, about every five minutes or so (no exaggeration necessary here, kids), 8 or 9 of them would get up en masse and go out on the deck behind us for a smoke or two. They'd then saunter back to their table, laugh and yell some more, refer to one another by choice dirty names ("you f*%$in' @$$hole" is not a term of endearment for the average wedding night, let me tell you), then turn around and go back out and smoke some more. In between all of this, the poor waitress and sommelier were busily trying to keep up with their food and drinks, and even poor Zsa Zsa got into the act by trying to nicely fold their cloth napkins again so that they'd be nice and neat for when they returned from Marlboro Country.
Having a window seat on the ship (and the world, it turns out), it was kind of interesting to watch their processions to and from the deck for Smoky Time. Later in the evening (after some more drinks and very little of their food eaten) we watched one of the guys show off to the ladies by performing handstands and cartwheels on the deck. We also watched a fight between bridesmaids, and another quarrel between one of the guys and the bride.
It was definitely dinner and a show, that's for sure.
Now, I should admit that we really didn't let the partying newlyweds spoil our good time. They were having fun in their own peculiar way, and we were having a nice time just hanging out, the two of us. (And watching them try to perform drunken cartwheels? Well, that was just a bonus.) The bride was well aware of how obnoxious they were being - she even bought us a round of drinks to make up for it, which was very kind of her to do. But you know me - I've got to point out everything, and when it makes for a great story? I'll write about it twice.
Anyway, let's talk about the wonderful food that N&N's presents. Everything is incredibly artistic; it was often like eating off a painter's palette. Lots of color, lots of eye appeal, lots of little tiny dishes and silverware. We'd each ordered a starter, the caesar salad, and an entree - sea bass for Mary, the porterhouse steak for moi. But before we got to our first "ordered" course, the chef sent out a couple of little samples for us to try, each one served in a cup about the size of something you'd see included with your daughter's tea set, only made of china instead of plastic. They gave me a salmon and caviar something or another, and Mary got a cold tomato soup creation, which as soon as our waitress left, we traded with one another. I wasn't so thrilled with the cold tomato thing, but since it was probably only about a half ounce total, it didn't last too long to worry about.
For our actual starter course, I ordered the shrimp cocktail, which was served in a chilled martini glass - how novel! - and Mary had the lobster bisque, which she said she enjoyed almost as much as the lobster bisque at Tavern on the Green in Central Park. (That was Manhattan during the Christmas season - it's pretty hard to top that.)
Next up came the salads. The caesar salad they serve at N&Ns is pretty nifty - they brought out all of the ingredients and mixed it up tableside. It was like watching a show on Food Network, what with all the "mis en place" laid out in front of us in little ramekins, and they were kind enough to ask if we wanted it with the traditional anchovies or not. (We passed.) The salad couldn't have been any fresher - or at least not in any way I could've imagined.
It was then time for the main course. I'd ordered the porterhouse, which came out a perfect medium rare, and with a side of sautéed mushrooms. The steak was huge - 24 ounces all together, and I enjoyed it right down to the bone. In fact, the waitress commented when she came by later on, "Where'd it all go? Usually there's much more meat left on the bone when the customers are through!" I didn't have the heart to tell her if she brought me a second one, I would've polished it off as well - it was that good. Mary had the sea bass, which I tried and liked, but when you can have a mondo steak like this, you've gotta grab that bull by both horns, baby! (Sorry. That's too much red meat running through my veins talking.)
Next up our waitress brought us by dessert menus. Everything sounded good, so I tried an old trick that I knew from my culinary school days. I thought I'd flatter the chef and ask the waitress to let the pastry chef surprise us and pick his favorite recommended dessert for us. When you do this, you often end up with something custom or special, because pastry chefs are generally suckers for adoration. So, could you ask the pastry chef to surprise us?
Instead, our waitress stared at me blankly. "Oh, we don't do that."
Well, never mind then. I surrendered and ordered the flourless chocolate cake, and Mary ordered the trio of crème brules. A few minutes later our artistically pleasing (yet very tiny) desserts were presented in front of us. Once again I felt like I was eating off Barbie's Dream Restaurant Tea Party Set dishes - the good stuff, not the pink plastic - but it was good, what little bit there was of it.
Ah, but not to worry, my friends. About the time that they brought us over the complimentary Grand Marniers, courtesy of our loud neighbors, the kitchen sent out a bonus plate of desserts - chocolate covered strawberries, a couple of petit fours, and some white chocolate bark. It was unexpected, and very good. Maybe my compliments to the kitchen got back to them after all? (Update: I heard later on that everyone got one. Maybe they were in a celebratory mood; who knows.)
We were now full of food, and the wild party next to us was about to get up and leave (for the last time, it turns out) halfway through their main course. I guess their party buzz was wearing out, and they'd had enough, so Mary and I got up and went to the heart-shaped dance floor to have one quiet dance before leaving. They had a piano player and a singer, and since we were the only two on the dance floor at the time, it was quite special. If only I could dance better than I do... Regardless of my two left feet, it was a pleasant way to spend the evening with my lovely wife.
After our first, last, and only dance (which was still incredibly romantic, I must say), we said goodbye to Zsa Zsa and then slowly walked arm in arm around the perimeter of the ship on deck 10, not stopping for cartwheels along the way, in case you're curious. It was a beautiful night - warm breeze, full moon, just Mary and I and the Carnival Miracle, sailing away towards Mexico. Could you ask for anything more? Well, you probably could, but that would just be greedy.
We then walked down the two floors to our cabin, where we changed our clothes and went out to mingle with the non-N&N crowd. We stopped by the third floor photo pavilion (walls and walls of official Carnival-snapped photos, just dying to be purchased), where we dropped $49 on a couple of the formal 8X10s and the dining room shot from the night before. The photos were pricey, but how often do we do this? In our case, the next time we have our portraits taken like this, it'll more than likely be our 50th birthdays. The guy at the counter threw in a free 8X10 display frame and a complimentary roll of 35mm film, which with my digital camera was absolutely useless, but was a nice gesture nonetheless.
We then went by the Raven library to send a couple more "Ha, ha, we're cruising" e-mails to our beloved friends and family, then we made our way back downstairs to the MS Carnival Hall of Doom, otherwise known as the casino.
In the casino they have this game. You really can't call it a "slot machine"; it's more of an arcade game. Perhaps you've seen something like it before. It's one of those quarter suckers where you put the money in and very little ever comes back out.
The machine consists of a large box with two levels, each one packed to the gills with quarters stacked on top of each other. Each level also has four mechanical "bulldozers", whose job is to push the quarters forward towards you. When you insert your quarter, it is flung to the top level, where if fortune is with you, some of the quarters near the edge will be pushed down to the next level. Then, if fortune is still smiling on you, some of those quarters will be pushed over the edge and into your coin hopper.
Sounds simple enough, doesn't it? Insert a quarter, watch a bevy of coins being pushed to you. It's manna from Heaven, I tell you.
Only it doesn't quite work that way. You see, the coins have a bad habit of stacking on top of one another, and very few of them ever make that lemming jump out of the machine and into your pocket. Those that do? Odds are high that they'll end up right back in the machine a few mere seconds after their escape.
Like I said - it's a real quarter sucker.
I mention this machine in such great detail for one good reason - it was soon to be Mary's drug of choice. She had great fun feeding the pushing coin machines their daily allowance of quarters. And yes, I too threw some in there, so I'm not without sin either.
But despite losing our hard earned cash to this electronic thief, you somehow came away feeling pretty good about it. Why? Because of it's highly addictive musical soundtrack. It makes the ice cream man's jingle seem downright passive. The music was like the call of the siren; a melody that burns deep into your subconscious and one that you'll never forget, no matter how hard you try. I suspect it has a subliminal message embedded in it somewhere - "play more...don't worry about it...it's only money...play more..."
I wish I could adequately describe the quarter pusher's happy-go-lucky song so that all of you could have it burned permanently into your brains, too. Fortunately for you, it doesn't want to go down on paper that easily. You'll just have to take a cruise and find out for yourself. (Free advice: Wear earplugs. Your wallet will thank you later.)
So after feeding the machine, we went down to the Mad Hatter's Lounge to catch the late night comedy show. The comedienne from the show upstairs that we'd missed while at N&Ns was doing her R-rated midnight show, which was rather funny, despite having most of her routine revolve around the word "nipples". We laughed, because we're 12 years old at heart. What can I say?
After the show we went back up to deck 9 for the late-night snack feed. We ended up with a couple of slices of pizza, which we took back downstairs to our balcony and enjoyed by moonlight. Have I mentioned yet how much I liked the balcony?
After our pizza time, it was time for bed. So off we went, dreaming of fun in Mexico on Wednesday morning. Nighty-night!
(c) 2005 Kevin C. Burk All rights reserved.