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.)