No Escaping
Jul. 29—I awoke to a text message.
Our house-sitter was planning to take a shower, but, she typed, "Your water never got hot."
I shook off the cobwebs of four consecutive afternoon cocktails and an ensuing nap from the lounge chair of an exclusive deck on a cruise ship docked, only for a few more minutes, in Miami.
Here we were, moments from embarking on our long-awaited Caribbean vacation, where drinks were aplenty, rays were blazing, and cell service was mostly nonexistent for those like me who didn't plan to use their phone for a week. And, several hundred miles away, my hot water heater was leaking in the basement.
So much for a smooth Escape — which was the name of our Norwegian vessel.
I should've guessed right then and there that this trip wouldn't simply be a luxurious, dreamy getaway. No. As citizens of a floating city that ferried my wife and I to exotic locales in foreign lands, the real world was never far away.
I can pinpoint exactly when this hit me a few days later. Hungry for our first meal, we had just entered the Garden Cafe, a bonanza of American aspirations, and by that I mean endless bacon, fries and soft serve ice cream. I headed for my destination when a 5-foot, 60-ish-year-old woman brushed my left arm, accelerated past me like Bo Jackson, then blocked me out like Bill Laimbeer.
She had secured her space, just ahead of me, in line for the omelette station.
It was breakfast at the Excessfest.
When you spend a week around other people who are spending thousands of dollars on a lavish vacation, you get a true sense of what makes up our country. And by that I mean selfish, constantly connected consumers.
Welcome aboard!
As we entered one port and left the Escape for a day of tropical fun in a land of natural oases, I heard a teenage boy point to a nearby store sign and say, "Ooh, ooh, they have free wifi!"
During a couple of port excursions, we drove through downtrodden areas where residents had no plumbing. Despite the steep plumbing bill I'd just incurred, it made me thankful to be an American — but also cognizant that there are valid reasons the rest of the world might dislike us as we enter and exit on garish, smoke-belching monster boats. The Escape's gross tonnage was listed at 164,998, with trans fat accounting for half that total.
Our first visit was to Honduras. The tour guide was fantastic. He spoke glowingly of his beautiful home island as we were taxied past primitive roadside shacks where residents sat outside in oppressive heat.
He educated us on numerous aspects of his country, including the monkeys that live there. There are laws to protect some. Not because they're endangered. But because people hold them captive and feed them coffee beans.
These people then wait for this species of monkey to defecate. They collect the droppings, pick out the digested beans and sell them for hundreds of dollars a pound.
Suggested the guide, "Google 'monkey poop coffee.'"
He also told us about Honduran sloths that can eat and sleep simultaneously, much like many of our 4,264 fellow cruisers whose staterooms were listed as "Garden Cafe."
We spent that day at a resort, where we were waited on in a picturesque setting, including a pristine beach, gorgeous turquoise water and a trio of young women who did nothing but take selfies and film one another with their phones as they posed in various spots.
One of them possessed a substantial, tattooed posterior that, based on how often it was being photographed, probably has its own Instagram account. And, as one is wont to do in 2023, I Googled that, too. I had decided only to use my phone for important matters such as this.
Instead of taking in the experience of the surrounding beauty, those girls seemed to be there strictly to show people they were there. But maybe that is what their generation most derives enjoyment from — showing off. In which case, what does it say about the direction of our people?
I had no answer, but I did have a third Bacardi Hurricane.
A few days later, we visited Mayan ruins in Mexico. Our guide said the downfall of the Mayan civilization began when it divided from within and infighting spread. As I hoped the tour bus would leave some of my annoying fellow tourists in the jungle, I felt some modern societal parallels.
We did encounter some great folks. Like the lady we asked to take our photo in front of the sparkly water with the ship in the background. She could not have been more generous. Except maybe she could have included our heads in the picture.
This vacation was our attempt at Honeymoon 2.0. And we did rather well. We only got into three arguments. I can't remember what they were about now, but rest assured my wife will be able to recall them with vivid detail in two decades because wives' brains include an easily accessed compartment where they file every fight in their marital history.
But we brushed off those tiffs. We didn't even get mad at each other when we teamed up to go 4-for-20 on Sunrise Trivia. Three times, one of us had the right answer but went with the other's (wrong) guess. Maybe after another 20 years we'll finally be able to make smart decisions together, such as buying a home warranty that would've saved us $3,000 on that water heater. However, at least we'd decided it was wise to pay for the all-inclusive alcohol package on this cruise.
Even though the ship had endless booze and entertainment options — gameshows, bands, theatrical performances, comedians — the cafe provided the most onboard amusement. Or bemusement. One day, at our pre-dinner meal, I saw a guy with a plate that included a hot dog and six cookies at 4:30 p.m.
On our last day at sea, a cruise official checked on us during Excessfast. We told him everything was wonderful, thanks. He went one table over and asked the same. The woman there launched into a tirade. She was more ticked off than a drunk guy whose water heater busted on his first day of vacation. She cited numerous infractions, including a rant about the unruly kids who had thrown glow sticks at her and her handicapped mother during the previous night's Glow Party.
I didn't see the harm. At least those damn kids were off their phones and doing a group activity that didn't involve taking photos of themselves. Chucking glow sticks at sedentary people probably counts as exercise these days for children.
Oh well. Everyone's experience is different. I enjoyed my pile of bacon while eavesdropping on the angry glutton.
I kept waiting for her to complain that the cafeteria didn't serve bottomless cups of monkey poop coffee.
Joshua R. Smith is the News-Post sports editor. His column, Real Dads Wear Yoga Pants, appears once a month.
