Cruise Day 15: Our wonderful staff

The Serenade of the Seas is steaming (or actually jetting) toward San Diego, and on this last full, crowded, chaotic day of the cruise, I’d like to write about our wonderful staff. With pictures.

If only Royal Caribbean could distribute more widely the magic that their staff has on board Serenade of the Seas, they could make the world a significantly better place. Here are people who are away from their families and their friends and their homes for months at a time. They must be sad and lonely at times, and yet they always have a smile and a friendly greeting for everyone. They come from all over the world, all different backgrounds and cultures and religions, and yet they work together as a supportive team.

May I present some of the warmest, most smiling people in the world:

Wayan, from Bali, Indonesia makes sure that our cabin is always perfectly ready for us, down to a full bucket of fresh ice.

Wayan

Our wait staff—Remi from Mumbai, India is our personal hero in the dining room. We’ve set him particular challenges, such as metamorphosing “Surf and Turf” into a double-lobster “Surf and Surf”, and he has always accomplished them. Remi is supported by the lively Liodela from Colombia and our competent head waiter Puran Singh from New Delhi. I’ll show Remi and Liodela first.

Remy & Liodela

Puran Singh

Jehiny from Colombia and Keisha from Trinidad and Tobago are our baristas. After only one day, they had us all figured out. They knew exactly what Dan drinks, down to the extra shot, the skim milk, and the sugar put in before the coffee. And they knew, even when I came separately, that I had been with Dan and drank what he did.

keisha & Jehiny

When it comes to a cocktail, we’ve become particular clients of Dijanna from Bosnia. She was only 11 years old when there was war in her homeland–a sad story, but she is not a sad person, at least not for us. She has been on the ship only two months so far (and is still smiling). Dijanna has gone out of her way to make sure we and our mothers have seats together in her section.

Dijanna

Possibly the very most helpful person on the ship has been Rahim in Guest Services. Rahim is from Lyons, France. He has a smile as wide as the whole Centrum and is always ready with a cheerful hello. He has helped us deal with a difficult situation involving a cigar smoker upwind of us who has made our balcony largely uninhabitable, and with a number of smaller questions and issues as well. Rahim never loses sympathy, patience, or understanding.

Rahim

Aren’t those great smiles? Dan and I surely wish these people and their companions well. RCCL is lucky to have them aboard.

Cruise Day 6 (At Sea): A Man, a Plan, a Canal — Panama

Today is the day. This is the reason why we are here on this cruise—we and about 2,500 other people. Fellow passengers who have been on this cruise before warn us: claim a good position, claim it early, and hold your own against the press of late arrivers. Some people, they tell us, actually sleep out overnight in the position of their choice.

sunrise approaching the canal

Naturally, we want to know, based on their experience: what is the best position on the boat from which to view the transit? Suddenly, we have become potential competitors, and they are reluctant to say. Forward on Deck 6, maybe. Or Deck 11 or 12. Or along the side of the boat or aft on Deck 5.

We claim a position looking forward but along the side of the ship inside the Solarium on Deck 11. It’s not a recommended spot, but the mothers will be able to sit in comfort and to see.

This doesn’t last. We are too restless.

I find I can “Excuse me” through the crowds anywhere, anytime, as long as it’s just to take a picture and not to squeeze people out of their closely-guarded premier locations.

Like the title of this post, the Panama Canal itself is a palindrome of sorts. Ignore the punctuation, and you have three lock-chambers going up and three lock-chambers going down. But the punctuation gives it meaning: one lock of three chambers, a wildly free-form lake, a narrow channel dredged right across the continental divide, a bridge, a lock of one chamber, a smaller lake, a lock of two chambers, and a bridge.

There are two parallel passages through the locks, but only one-way traffic is allowed. We are assigned the port passage, behind the freighter Freja Breeze. Alongside and slightly ahead of us, the container ship Zim Haifa is making the transit. Zim Haifa is about as big as we are. We are both “Panamax” ships: the largest ship that can transit the canal. Construction now under way to enlarge the canal’s capacity will be completed on the canal’s centennial, in 2014.

ships in 1st & 3rd chambers of Gatun Locks

Zim Haifa in the Gatun Lock

we are up gate is open; Aim Haifa is down in the next chamber

gates closing on Zim Haifa

Transiting the three chambers of the Gatun Locks takes most of the morning.

We burst into the glorious Gatun Lake shortly before lunch. Our 13-story oceangoing cruise vessel is now cruising an inland fresh-water lake some 85 feet above sea level.

last gates of Gatun Lock open; Zim Haifa in distance

Gatun Lake

I watch the passage of the strikingly narrow and long Culebra Cut, which includes one of only two bridges over the Canal, from a treadmill in the bow of the gym on Deck 12. The channel in the Cut is so narrow that two Panamax ships cannot pass; hence the need for one-way traffic.

Culebra bridge

By mid-afternoon, I have ensconced myself at the rail on Deck 6, one of those hotly contested premier positions earlier in the day and still crowded—but accessible. From here, my elbow-to-elbow neighbors—now my very good new friends—and I watch the transit of two more locks (Pedro Miguel and Miraflores) comprising three chambers in all. “This is a much friendlier crowd than up on Deck 11,” my neighbor to the left remarks. Maybe, I think, they’re friendlier up there too, now that we’ve been watching this canal for hours. “Oh yes,” says my neighbor to the right, “we’re not like them; we’re always willing to squeeze one more in.”

letting out the water from Pedro Miguel lock

Freja Breeze ahead of us on Miraflores Lake

freja breeze leaves 1st chamber of miraflores lock

gates opening for Freja Breeze to leave 2nd chamber of Miraflores lock

In addition to the impressive locks, we see strange and familiar birds, ice rainbows in the clouds, thunder and lightning, canal dredging and construction equipment, Miraflores Lake, and the Miraflores Visitors Center, a five-story building filled with tourists who are cheering us as we pass.

bird

pelican

dramatic weather

rainbow

As the sun sets, we exit the last chamber and ride beneath the second of the two bridges and into the Pacific.

last bridge

Cruise Day 4 (At Sea): The Centrum

A great open space called the Centrum dominates the middle of the ship, rising from Deck 4 through Deck 10. The “ground” level houses the Guest Relations desk, populated 24/7 by friendly staff dedicated to righting all wrongs and meeting all needs. It also houses the Excursions Desk whose staff shows up intermittently on a schedule that seems completely random. In addition, there is a bar, an Internet area, a place for a band, couches, chairs, tables, and a dance floor.

All the upper decks overlook this area with balconies, bars, Internet areas, and other social spaces. Glass elevators provide passengers with vertically shifting views into the Centrum. A rainbow-and-metal sculpture several levels deep swings from the ceiling of the Centrum in gentle rhythm with the slight swaying of the ship.

centrum bar

Centrum balcony

Visually, the Centrum is stunning.

But like the shops on Deck 5 when there’s a sale and a drawing, or the pool area on a sunny afternoon at sea, there are times when the crowds are so dense here that it brings out my claustrophobia. And yet, now more than ever, the space with its crowds is beautiful.

Centrum stairway

Centrum overview

Cruise Day 4 (At Sea): Alone on a Cruise Ship

Now here is a challenge for anyone who likes some daylight time alone during a day at sea on a cruise ship: try to find a place to be alone in. There are times—5am, for example—when it is possible. There may also be places during the day, but I can’t find them. Even my own room won’t do: the man upwind of us and also the man upwind of him smoke cigars, and even when they’re not on their balconies, their—uh, perfume—lingers, and I can’t breathe.

I rule out in advance the dark places such as the theatre. There will be too much darkness all winter in Boston; I don’t need to start accumulating it now.

Certainly there’s not an alone inch in the pool area on Decks 11 and 12, the Calcutta of the ship.

For similar reasons, we can rule out the informal dining areas astern on Decks 11 and 12.

Last time I was on a cruise I was able to be alone in the Solarium on Deck 11, right next door to the pool but indoors. The pleasant sounds of water in a fountain and birdsong (probably recorded) were soothing; a glass ceiling let in plenty of natural light; and it’s filled with greenery. It’s not fresh air, but it will do. Or rather, it did do last time, but now it seems the solarium has been discovered. All day long there is not a single empty seat. Yesterday morning when I left the one I’d claimed early in the morning at the end of a row (well, hey, at least I was alone on *one* side!), someone was already waiting in line to grab it.

The helipad on Deck 6 is a possibility but (for obvious reasons) there are no chairs there.

The library—an indoor space on Deck 9—and the map room—same place but on Deck 8—do admit some natural light, but they are also right on the corridor to the main elevators in the center of the ship. Although few people linger, many constantly pass by.

As the day slips into late afternoon, I manage to get a chair at the end of a row in the Solarium with no one next to me. But people are still here, a fair number of them. And worse, they see me with my computer and come over and ask questions. They are all very nice. Let me be clear: I like everyone I’ve met on this cruise, staff and passengers alike. But they are driving me crazy. This ship has twelve decks (though many are purely residential—narrow corridors lined with cabin doors), but it isn’t enough.  I’m starting to get claustrophobic; I detect the initial impulses toward antisocial behavior.

I have ten days to go.

(Note written on Day 9, four days later: I talked with the wonderful people in Guest Services about the cigar problem. They have talked with the cigar smokers, who have been very kind and understanding in agreeing not to smoke cigars on their balconies, and I have been able to spend a wonderful day at sea on my balcony, breathing.)

Cruise Day 2: Morning at sea; Dan’s birthday

It’s our first day on a two-week cruise. I wake in the middle of the night and stumble by flashlight past the narrow space between the foot of the bed and the wall of the cabin, negotiating with difficulty the tight corner where the edge of the TV stand juts into the room leaving only inches for the sleepy nighttime passage to the (let’s use the nautical term here) head. My cell phone, left plugged in on the desk, displays the time: 5am. On the way back to bed, my groggy mind forms a dangerous thought:

I wonder what it’s like outside at five in the morning.

My side of the bed is less than one foot from the balcony door, and so it is not a long leap from thinking to doing. I open the door and go outside. The air is humid, warm, and very fresh—way better than the air-conditioned sterility inside.

The sky is black. Light spilling from the ship illuminates the water swirling rapidly by. There are distant lights on the horizon: I wonder what island. Stars shine overhead.  Stars! I bet if I could get out into a place with nothing overhead there’d be a gazillion stars. Deck 12, for example, with its running track.

This is ridiculous, I think. It’s five in the middle-of-the-night morning, for heaven’s sake! I go back to bed.

Ten minutes later, I’m up, dressed, and out of the cabin. I learn that the island sliding by to starboard is Cuba.

Deck 12 has a fine running track, and it is completely deserted. It’s also distressingly well lit. There are no visible stars. The warm, windy air is wonderful. Birds are everywhere. They seem somehow trapped in the ship’s gravity. They fly in front of me as I run, but they won’t—or can’t—fly aside.

The track is too short; it circles around only about halfway to the stern of the ship. Once or twice around, and I run down the seven flights of stairs to the track on deck 5, which I’ve heard is longer and I hope will be a little darker. The freedom of movement on the deserted ship feels great. As I run forward on the starboard side of the ship it gets a little too dark. Good thing I brought a flashlight (yes, I really did) because now I need it. There are no lights. The deck peters out into a staircase, which has been closed off with plastic netting, but the netting has been taken down on one side. Closed or open? Hard to tell. Open, I decide, and up I go.

The bow of Deck 6 is unlit, and it’s really something. Cuba is more rural now, with only a twinkling of occasional lights. Above, the black sky flaunts its promised gazillion stars. On the port side of the ship, distant lightning illuminates clouds in soundless fireworks. The port stairway from Deck 6 to Deck 5 is definitely closed, but the temporary netting is easy to step over. I’ve gotten good at this. I run the Deck 5-Deck 6 circuit several times, then head back up to Deck 12. Definitely not as good. Back to Deck 5.

And then back to Deck 12, where I head to the gym for a workout on the deserted machines. By the time I leave at 6:30 people have started to arrive.

I’ve been up for an hour and a half, and now it’s time to start my day. I feel great.

Day 2 Dan & Ginger

Happy birthday, Dan! And many happy returns of the day!