Alaska

The descent back into Vancouver was uneventful, if a little nauseous. The Sea to Sky highway is a winding switchback that weaves between lakes and coastal cliffs, the angle steep, making it seem like I was always leaning forward as we plunged back down to the coast and Canada Place where we were whisked aboard the cruise ship, even though we weren’t able to claim our cabin until after lunch.

Lunch was served aft, two decks above our room. It was quite a selection” pizza, soup, sandwiches, pasta, salad, and more. If you’ve never been on a cruise ship, you know that access to food is not a problem. Overeating is. Over-drinking may be a problem, too. Champagne as we boarded, beer, wine, brandy, not to mention water, tea, coffee and pop, all of which I consumed that first day, owing to the drinks package purchased. Mustn’t miss out on getting my money’s worth! I’m such a Northern Ontario boy.

We took possession of our cabin shortly after lunch. 1140, Deck 10, three from the starboard stern. There were fresh cut flowers, fruit, and a bottle of champagne awaiting us. Just what we needed, more booze. No point letting it go to waste, we nibbled and sipped as we checked out our room. We had a sizable balcony, easily twice as long as the largest I’d seen along the flanks, and those above us, large enough for two lounge chairs, a table and two chairs. It stuck out so far, we could see the table and chairs from the aft lounge above us.

We dressed and caught the early show in the Celebrity Theatre before supper in the Grand Restaurant, a vast open concept spanning two decks. We sat on the lower of the two, towards the centre. The food was fantastic. It always is on a cruise ship. Lunch was as large and as elegant therein as during the supper seating, so too breakfast, if you were so inclined.

We somehow completed our first supper, despite being bloated by lunch and a tide of fluids. Bev thought her prime rib divine, my coq au vin as good. FYI: all meals are replete with appetizers, bread, soup or salad and dessert. Not to mention the accompanying bottle of flat or sparkling water. One must waddle from the table. One sleeps on one’s side after such a feast, unable to either lay on one’s belly or tolerate the weight of said belly above one. I must mention that there were over fifty wines on the menu, far too many to partake of in one sitting.

I found Michael’s, the piano bar, shortly after supper. It quickly became my favourite. It was a woody affair, reminiscent of smoking rooms of old where gentlemen in tuxedos drank scotch and brandy while buffing on fat cigars. The cigars were gone, banished to the promenade, but the brandy and scotch was still there, along with a beautiful Russian girl behind the bar. Just for ambiance’s sake.

The space was not perfect, though. The piano player was not to type. Where I’d have preferred someone along the lines of Dooley Wilson, projecting the likes of Gershwin and Sinatra into the dim lit space, “As Time Goes By,” eagerly anticipated, the player in attendance was more akin to Groucho Marx. Richard Rubin manned to keys. You don’t remember him? He was a participant on a cheesy game show called “Beauty and the Geek.” I think the music ought to match the mood of the place, and that place radiated a melancholy romance. Richard did not radiate such a mood.

Our first day was at sea. We passed the most scenic portion of the passage after sunset the night before—go figure. It would have been nice to take in the view of the Pacific coast and Vancouver Island falling behind us from our balcony, but we left port too late for such a view. We woke to a view of the sea, with only our wake visible behind us. The air had cooled.

I felt great. Bev did not. Bev had grown queasy.

She did not make her spa treatment. She grew more sea sick with each undulating roll of the deck, collapsing onto the bed after tossing back the pills our butler brought from the infirmary.
Once I knew she was okay, I went to the spa, where I was treated to the hard sell of my need for a continuous stream of spa treatments throughout the voyage. I declined. I did return to find Bev worse off than I’d left her. She slept through lunch, rising for supper, even though she didn’t feel up to eating much. She sipped a little soup before retiring again.

I had kippers for breakfast. Why? Because they come highly recommended by Supertramp. Thereafter, I always had kippers for breakfast. Why? Why not, I reasoned. How often would I be afforded the opportunity, afterwards? I was treated to whales breaking the surface as I ate. They blew geysers and leapt, their spray as long as they were.

Bev was feeling better. The sea-sickness pills were kicking in and she was probably getting her sea legs. We played a game of shuffleboard on deck, Bev kicking my ass early, until I got a feel for the deck and recovered in the second half. We don’t really know the rules, if there were any beyond placing the disks within the numbered squares and triangles, but we carried on, regardless.

We retired to the Library for a while, as the day was damp and growing cooler, the wind gusting past the deck. I wanted to go to the theatre after lunch to learn the tango but Bev bailed at the theatre entrance. She may have felt a little queasy still, not firm of foot, so she left to go back to the room. A partner could not be found for me. Most people arrived as couples or in twos, so I watched for a time.

I now know how to watch the tango.

Progress. Small steps.