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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.)