March 2000 found our family of five boarding a Royal Caribbean Cruiser, Monarch of the Seas, heading for a week of relaxation to the south caribbean seas. Larry was recovering from a long illness and in need of rest and lots of food; although we had never cruised before, it seemed like the perfect solution to our needs. Our port of call was San Juan, Puerto Rico. We flew there a day early and spent the night in an old monastery, built in the 1600s, which had been converted into a luxurious hotel. Now the beautiful carpets may not have dated back to 1700, but they were certainly antique; our kids were playing games on the floor and the dust triggered an asthma attack in 9 year old Christopher. While I monitored him in a hot shower to help his breathing, Larry took a taxi to a drug store for an inhaler. It was not a stellar start to a week of vacation.
We boarded the ship the next day, with palpable excitement coursing through our five, six, and nine year olds. To help calm them down and expend some energy, we headed straight for the pool. Derek was a great little swimmer, but he tended to swallow a lot of water. The pool was filled with salty, sea water and after a few minutes of splashing, he promptly threw up his lunch, right in the pool. No one was around, so we were those irresponsible parents who quickly herded their kids out of the pool and left the area. Shameful, I would agree.
When you cruise, it really is all about the food; there is so much available and at all hours of the day and night. And you are not paying for it, so why not have some more?! Christopher made an astute observation regarding the amount of food, alcohol and gambling on board this traveling city: "there sure are a lot of opportunities for excesses on this cruise," he aptly pointed out.
The ship would cruise into the evening and during the night, and on some mornings, you would arrive at an island where you could disembark and go on an excursion for the day. We did one excursion on a beautiful island, the name of which escapes me. Mostly we played on the beach, and then wandered through the little town, before it was time to head back to the Monarch of the Seas.
On the ship, there were many roving entertainers, employees meant to entertain the crowds. Without fail, Christopher would volunteer at each and every opportunity, whether it was juggling or a trick with a roll of toilet paper. He even convinced Derek to volunteer for a spinning hat trick.
A number of the islands had a strong French influence and bathing suits were optional on the beaches. The ship would circulate a description of the upcoming island, with activity ideas, places to lunch, etc., and they included, in bold letters on the the top of the page, whether topless or nude bathing might be encountered. It was helpful, and of course, we steered clear of those places with our family. One morning, we decided to spend the day on Martinique, a small island where we could snorkel and enjoy the beach. There was no garment warning on the information sheet, but the French sounding name should have been our first clue. We boarded a small boat and rode an hour to the island. A storm blew up and with the choppy waves, the crew had a difficult time getting close enough to the shore for us to disembark. The crew stood in the chest high water and we handed our kids to them to be carried ashore, while we swam/waded in ourselves. We were standing on the sand, collecting ourselves and getting our bearings, when we saw two older couples walking toward us, naked as jay birds; I realized "dangling participles" was not just a term applicable in English class.
I looked at Larry, expecting some direction and words of wisdom for our impressionable, young, children. He opened his mouth but nothing came out; instead, he was overcome with a fit of nervous, silent, shoulder-shaking laughter. I looked at the kids and gave my unrehearsed speech: "These people left their clothes off and they just want us to look at them. Let's not give them that satisfaction; just look out at the waves and keep walking." And that is what they did; three heads turned towards the ocean and six little feet trudged through the sand. We were stuck on Martinique for the whole day, but fortunately, we didn't encounter many more dangling participles. Riding back to the ship that afternoon, we tried to be casual as we discussed the day's excursion. I remember we nonchalantly added, as if an afterthought, "When we get back home and you tell your friends about our trip, you don't have to mention this day. We are sure they'd rather hear about the other things you did on the cruise." And you can trust, I have no photos of those hanging appendages! Parenting is not for cowards.
