Eastern Caribbean Getaway

 

Evidently, there are a bunch of unwritten rules about entering into a romantic relationship after losing one’s spouse. Some say you’re supposed to wait a year. Even more pragmatic souls claim you should wait one month for every year you were married.

As I’ve discovered, these rules are less rooted in “keeping up appearances” than they are intended to help prevent you from letting your despair and loneliness lead you into making dumbass mistakes. You may think you’re ready to let someone into your heart. You may want to let someone get close to you. But if you’ve had a loved one die after, say, 33 years of marriage, the prevailing wisdom is that you are likely too emotionally vulnerable and judgmentally impaired to make sound decisions about relationships.

Of course, those rules didn’t apply to me.

So, soon after I got back from my road trip in May, 2014, I started seeing someone I met.

Online.

We really hit it off, initially. In fact, I was so excited by how well things were going, I impulsively booked a seven-day Caribbean cruise on Celebrity’s Silhouette together before spending a reasonable amount of time getting to know the person I met.

Online.

An impressively romantic gesture, especially for someone who’s last real date was in 1978. But, in retrospect, painfully premature. Dumb on so many levels, it’s laughable. A truly rookie mistake. But, for the sake of my pride, let’s chalk it up as a “teachable moment.”

Without going into murky details, let’s just say I was committed to the March cruise. The relationship, not so much.

Things went sideways by Thanksgiving.

In spite of my pain and loneliness…or because of it…my gag threshold for complex, volatile relationships was surprisingly low.  On the other hand, my desire to spend seven days exploring the eastern Caribbean on a luxurious cruise ship was sky high.

After all, I have the travel bug.

I have it bad.

 

Going to the Bullpen

Fortunately, I wouldn’t need to take the March cruise alone. The winter had been so relentless up north, convincing my lifelong best friend, John, to join me was a slam dunk. Living in Manhattan, he was ready to blow his brains out by February. This cruise was precisely what the doctor had ordered.

I could dedicate an entire website to John. A multi-faceted, supremely talented and creative person who I met during my freshman year at Ithaca College. He and I spent the better part of three months drinking and smoking our way through 25 states during a “cross country” adventure in his Toyota pickup truck during the summer of ’78. He was my best man when Pat and I married in 1980. He is my son’s godfather. My brothers Chuck and Bob consider him our fourth brother. John was there for my Dad’s funeral. He was there for us during Pat’s battle with cancer. He was here when Pat died.

He is a brilliant inventor. And supremely skilled in the kitchen. He was a chef at a few of NYC’s top French restaurants. Written up by the Village Voice. While he despises the term, John is an unapologetic “foodie.” He has traveled the world with the Culinary Institute of America to experience rare and exotic foods, to see how the ingredients are sourced, the meals prepared.

So, it came as no surprise that we weren’t even off the dock in Ft. Lauderdale before John had scheduled his first excursion: A tour of the Celebrity Silhouette’s immense kitchen.

Enjoying food is one thing. Having respect for food, admiring its preparation and appreciating the subtle artistic nuances of its presentation is another. Therefore, during our cruise, the kitchen and dining room staffs were only too willing to accommodate John’s fearless exploration of every dish that caught his fancy. Appetizers. Entrees. Desserts. Wines.

We sampled and savored it all. And all of it was delicious.

 

Spring Break ’76 Revisited

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me pivot back to the beginning.

The Silhouette was sailing out of Ft. Lauderdale on Sunday, March 1^st. I drove down from Tampa the Friday before and met John at the airport. We’d booked a room at the Westin which gave us a prime location on the beach to re-live Spring Break ’76.¹

While the strip of cheap motels along A1A have been replaced by super-expensive condo towers and hotels, there were actually a few bars still there from during the Carter administration. But somehow, it just wasn’t the same. We weren’t in our 20s chasing bikini-clad co-eds, drinking beer for breakfast. KC & the Sunshine Band wasn’t playing on the radio. And we weren’t sharing a room with three other drunk college students.

On the other hand, we actually found our pre-cruise layover in Ft. Lauderdale to be a lot of fun. In some ways, more fun than back in ’76.

We found some great places to eat, drink and make merry, including an appropriately dive-y bar just a block or two away from the Westin, called Dirty Blondes. It had a nice, smoky, boozy, potentially dangerous atmosphere, Lynyrd Skynyrd blaring on the juke box, a few well-used pool tables and a team of wise-cracking barmaids who’ve seen it all and done most of it at least once…that morning. The joint was truly indistinguishable from the thousand other dive bars John and I have patronized since the mid-70s.

Dirty Blondes was so nice, we drank there twice. Friday and Saturday night. And fortunately, neither of us contracted anything that required antibiotics. On the downside, some of the women sitting at the bar were dogs.

In spite of the fact it rained almost all day Saturday, we also had fun exploring the enclave of bars and restaurants on the Tarpon River in downtown Ft. Lauderdale. I’m guessing that these were places that the average drink-til-you-puke Spring Breaker with a fake ID never knew existed.

The Briney Riverfront Irish Pub. Terrific. Lively atmosphere. Love the water taxis going by. Open air, quality people-watching on the Riverwalk.  If I lived there, I’d live there, if you know what I mean.

Oh, and I thoroughly enjoyed the vibe at the Pirate Republic Bar & Seafood, just across the river in an odd nautical/industrial area hidden behind a bunch of steel buildings, boat builders, sail makers, etc. One of the cool features at the Pirate is a huge swimming pool. Unfortunately it was raining. Hard. We were told that when it’s hot and sunny, that pool offers breathtaking views.

Bottom line: If you have a layover in Lauderdale, do the beach. But then head downtown to the Riverwalk area and nearby SW 2^nd Avenue. Lots of choices, some nice green space and, frankly, it’s a little more grown-up than the experience you’ll find out on the beach.

By the way, we didn’t just trip over this area by luck. My attorney’s CPA high school buddy, Dave, and his very lovely lady friend, Carolina, steered us off the beach and into this fabulous corner of the city. They were charming ambassadors of Ft. Lauderdale and we really appreciated them taking time to meet us for a few beers.

 

Embarkation

After a tasty high calorie/low nutrition breakfast at Denny’s Sunday morning, John and I made our way to the Port Everglades cruise ship terminal which is virtually sitting at the end of the runway of the Fort Lauderdale/Hollywood International Airport.

I’m guessing there were at least six cruise ships heading out with us that day. If you assume each boat, on average, carries at least 2,000 to 3,000 passengers and crew, thats nearly 12,000 to 18,000 lost and confused people all trying to find their boat, figure out where to dump their luggage, park their car, get reunited with the loved ones they dropped on the sidewalk, and then find where to check in. All while jets screamed overhead, landing and taking off from the airport across the street.

It was an unmitigated clusterf*ck. But, as I’m learning, pretty much a Standard Embarkation Experience.

But once you’ve unloaded your luggage at the curb, parked the car, walked a half mile back to the ship, made your way through the check-in process and taken your first step onboard, you realize it was all worth it.

Wow.

You know what they say about first impressions? The Celebrity Silhouette makes a great one.

In defense of just about every other cruise ship in service right now, the Silhouette is fresh out of the box. Maiden voyage was July 2011. She is the fourth of the Solstice class ships, with one younger sister, Reflection.

If you ever need to make an argument in favor of German engineering and craftsmanship, this would be the girl to silence all doubters. There is absolutely nothing cheap or cheesy on this boat, from the fine china and glassware in the dining room to the stateroom toilets and showers. Even the sliding doors leading out onto the verandas is a “that’s clever!” experience.

The initial manifest for the cruise listed 2,915 passengers and 1217 crew members. Here’s a breakout of the passengers’ nationalities:

6 – Australians

5 – Belgians

5 – Brazilians

5 – Danes

11 – Germans

16 – Norwegians

33 – Swedes

51 – from the UK

1,750 – Americans

1, 018 – Canadians

Now, before you yell at me for being bad at math, yes. That totals up to 2,900. Evidently, according to the purser, there were 15 more passengers who either didn’t give a nationality or fell under “other.” I never did get a reasonable explanation.

What is really interesting? The official total occupancy for the ship is 2,886 guests. Which means at least 29 of the 1,443 cabins had more than two occupants. And based on all those odd numbers on the manifest, I’d guess that one was Belgian, one was Brazilian, one was Danish, one was a Swede and one was from the UK.

Now, if you’re paying attention here and actually give a crap about cruise ship demographics, you may have noticed that over 1/3 of the passengers on board were Canadians. This wasn’t a happy accident. Amd it’s not because our neighbors to the north are cruising fanatics.

Celebrity Cruise Lines ran a huge promotion for this sailing across Canada, from BC to the Maritimes, in which they offered winter-fatigued Canadians a “free” round trip charter flight to Ft. Lauderdale and/or Miami bundled in with a “discounted” fare.

Keep in mind, this ship sailed March 1^st amidst one of the most brutal winters in years.

The Canadians bit on that promotion hard. And aside from some confusion at the airport, problems getting people to the cruise terminal and keeping track of everybody’s luggage, there wasn’t a Canadian on that ship, even the usually cranky Québécois, who wasn’t thrilled to be on that ship cruising thorough the Caribbean.

A brilliant marketing coup by Celebrity. I doubt you could put a value on the goodwill they earned with that promotion.

Bravo!

One interesting point: The accuracy of my demographic data didn’t hold up very long. With every port, we either picked up a few or lost a few. And, from what I was told, on just about every cruise, at least one passenger gets pulled off for medical reasons. Broken legs. Heart attacks. And yes, some simply don’t survive the trip.

(Little known fact: On some ships, the walk-in cooler in the kitchen serves as a makeshift morgue, with drawers for deceased passengers and crew.)

 

San Juan

I was able to return to Old San Juan with our first port of call. But it was short and sweet. We only had a few hours onshore — 3:30p to 9:00p — and they weren’t done docking until closer to 4:00. Fortunately, having been there three months earlier, John and I didn’t waste much time getting our bearings. I gave John a quick tour through the narrow cobblestone streets, showed him the forts, and managed to re-discover a small bar near the Castillo San Felipe while exchanging text messages with my friend Jules, the Californian ex-patriot I met on my last cruise in December.

We all met up together at Greengo’s at 310 Calle Fortaleza. I could have sat there and enjoyed another night full of those “mind eraser” margaritas, but Jules wanted us to experience a traditional Puerto Rican dinner at a fun place nearby called Raices. Clearly a tourist favorite, but the tastes, according to Jules, are all very authentic. The waiters and waitresses were all dressed in “colonial” costumes, and it had a rustic feel to it. The food, especially the mofongo, which is made with skirt steak and chimichuri sauce, was delicious. And the drinks, potent and generous.

We had such a nice time with Jules! She is an excellent ambassador of Viejo San Juan. We took a leisurely stroll back to the ship and got to the dock with time to spare…so we thought.  The security girl on the dock said we had a half hour…then, while we were checking out the other ships in port, she yelled over to us, “Hey! You’re the last two to get on the ship! They’re waitin’ on you. Hurry!”

I won’t speak for John, but personally, I’m getting too f*cking old for 200 yard wind sprints.

The dockhands were literally pulling up the dock lines as we made our way to the gangway. The hatch slammed shut behind us as we both received the stink eye through security.

Almost missing the boat in San Juan. Something I’ll never forget, that’s for sure.

Fortunately, the rest of the cruise was less exciting.

 

St. Kitts & Sint Maarten

We awoke the next morning in Basseterre, St. Kitts. Spurning the tours of museums and old churches, we signed up for a 4X4 Jeep safari up into the mountains (which are really dormant volcanos), through the rain forest, with a short stop for shots of rum punch at a once-working sugar cane plantation. We then crawled down the other side of the mountain along the eastern side of the island, then spent an hour swimming at Friar’s Beach on breath-taking Basseterre Bay.

St. Kitts is shaped like a chicken drumstick. Friar’s Beach is down on the boney “handle” end.

After making the rounds through the Caribbean a few times now, I was a little surprised by the monkey population on St. Kitts. According to our guide, they aren’t indigenous. Just escaped pets that were brought there by the French or the English. Not exactly sure how the population is controlled. Probably prefer not to know. But there were plenty of ’em.

Leaving the beach, a bunch of monkeys were enjoying the sun and I got this shot.

We arrived in Philipsburg, St. Maarten sometime overnight. I had always been a bit confused by the spelling. In some places, I’d see “St. Martin” and in other places, I’d see it spelled “Sint Maarten.”
Well, as it turns out, the island in split in two. A Dutch half, a British half. I’m anxious to return someday and explore the whole island. We never got beyond the town of Philipsburg which is in the Dutch sector, and surrounds a fun boardwalk around the Great Bay.

Our time there was truly unforgettable. We had a chance to sail on a 12-meter racing yacht: Dennis Connor’s famous “Stars & Stripes,” winner of the ’87 America’s Cup.

Here’s the deal – you pay to “crew” on the boat with 15 other idiots and compete against two other boats crewed by an equally idiotic bunch of tourists. We were given about ten minutes to learn our jobs onboard the boat…unlike real America’s Cup crew members who train for months, even years, on a specific task. How nobody got hurt or knocked overboard is a miracle.

Our captain was named– no kidding — “Morgan.”

Captain Morgan.

And we had two other “real” crew members onboard to help train us. They were were actually college interns hoping to gain sea cred and resume fodder that might get them hired on a real America’s Cup boat in the future.

Life jackets were available. But not really offered. Performing your job on the boat would have been virtually impossible in a life jacket. (I was on the main winch.) In fact, if you did want a life jacket, you wouldn’t be allowed to crew.

We were also told, tongue-deeply-implanted-in-cheek, that if we fell off the boat, it would take a few minutes to pick us up. And if the boat was winning or close to taking the lead, it would take a lot longer.

“So, don’t fall overboard.”

That task alone was actually more of a challenge than I had expected. An America’s Cup-class 12-meter racing yacht has only a teeny cockpit for the captain. Otherwise, everybody else is on the deck, hanging on to whatever they can grab…that won’t potentially sheer off a finger or hand.

The race took about an hour and a half. We were sailing in 20-25 mph winds. REALLY windy. We were heeled over so far, the rail was in the water and everybody was hanging on for dear life. (These weren’t kids. We had some 70-year olds on there.)

Anyway, it was a lot of fun. One guy took a tumble, but stayed onboard. Nobody needed stitches. Our boat came in second.

Sadly, it was so wet out there, I couldn’t bring my camera. No photos…except for the ones taken by the “official” photographer who chased us for awhile on his jet ski. Those shots were $30 each.

Afterward, John and I toured the boardwalk surrounding the bay and found a funky restaurant that served very tasty jerk chicken, rice & peas. We left our enduring mark.

After knocking back a few Carib’s along the way, we finally made our way back to the boat to prepare for dinner.

 

Finally, a Few Notes About Life Onboard and the Celebrity Experience

This was my first cruise with Celebrity. My travel agent told me I should expect a more upscale experience, compared to Carnival, Royal Caribbean, Norwegian or Holland America.

Celebrity delivered. It was a class operation, from stem to stern. As I said earlier, the boat was amazing and the staff was first rate.

The cruise director was annoyingly obsequious like most cruise directors. His personal catch phrase became a bit cloying: “I love yewwwww.!” But, overall, his role as the ship’s bubbly British master of ceremonies was well done.

The ship’s captain, Emmanouil Alevropoulos, was a Greek god who I’m convinced was from Central Casting. The women passengers literally swooned whenever he’d make an appearance in his crisp white uniform. While I’m sure this out-and-back cruise to Sint Maarten was a milk run, likely executed by autopilot 90 percent of the time, the Captain could be seen all over the ship, day and night, pressing the flesh. He was seen at poolside events, visible at meals, and even participated in the onboard entertainment onstage in the massive Silhouette Theater. It was similar to the feel you get when the pilot on your flight to Vegas spends half the time flirting with the flight attendants in the rear galley.

“Dude! Who’s steering this thing?”

The fact that the “captain” was in his mid-40s and annoyingly handsome made me wonder if there was, in fact, another real captain – some seasoned, paunchy guy in his 60s – who actually drove the boat and was never allowed to leave the bridge.

As for the rest of the staff, from cabin crew to front desk personnel, all were polite and eager to please. What I found interesting, however, was the diversity.

Some cruise lines prefer to hire almost exclusively from specific countries. Holland American, for example, hires all of its cabin, food and beverage service employees – basically anyone who has personal contact with the passengers – almost exclusively from the Philippines. Down below, all of the maintenance, engineering and technical jobs – those who keep the propellers turning and the boat moving – come from Malaysia or Indonesia.

This isn’t a form of racism. It is a matter of practicality. From what I’ve been told by crew members, a wide range of language and cultural differences can cause serious friction in the close quarters below deck of a cruise ship. Which is why it was interesting that Celebrity’s crew came from all over the world. Behind one bar, you found Serbians and Jamaicans. At dinner, you could be served by someone from Bali or Belgium. Behind the front desk, Swedes and Estonians. It was an interesting mix. And, as I said, they all bent over backwards to make us happy.

As they say, the passengers are only as happy and content as the crew. My sense was that Celebrity treats it’s people well.

Like most newer ships, Silhouette offers a wide variety of dining options. Grand Cuvée is the big formal dining room, and the Oceanview Café, the not-so-traditional Lido Deck-style buffet. (The vast selection was mind-numbing.) During the day, you could grab a burger or sandwich at the Mast Grill or a healthy salad at the AquaSpa Café. Blu was quasi exclusive, reserved only for AquaClass (suite) passengers. And then there are the “specialty” restaurants, offering everything from Tuscan Grille’s Italian favorites to Qsine’s more nouvelle menu. At these venues, you’ll pay an additional fee ($35+) for your meal.

Quite honestly, they pitched the specialty restaurants hard, offering BOGOs and other incentives. But we found the selection, quality and service in the Grand Cuvée to be so delightful, we never had the over-powering desire to pay the premium to eat at any of the “speciality” restaurants.

John and I had opted for the “Anytime” dining option, which meant we didn’t have a set time or table. The price for this freedom was, of course, the need to have a reservation in place or risk waiting in line with a beeper. We had one maître d’ in particular who was consistently less accommodating than others. (Read: Surly.) But, I can assure you that we never, ever went to bed hungry.

Or sober.

That’s because the ship also offers 14 – yes, 14 – enjoyable places in which to get your drink on.

We had invested in the Premium Drink Package and felt a sense of obligation to make sure we got more than our money’s worth every day. So, we made a concerted effort to sample the wares at each of the bars, clubs and lounges onboard.

I must confess, given only seven days to work, we missed a few.

At the Martini Bar, with its frost-covered stainless steel bartop, watching the preparation of the drinks was almost as satisfying as the cocktails themselves. The Sunset Bar was a favorite pre-dinner spot for enjoying tropical concoctions and breath-taking views. Molecular Bar placed a new-age spin on drink-making. But it was the lush, dark-paneled Ensemble Lounge, tucked away on Level Five among the specialty restaurants, where we did the most damage. Combined with the superb jazz-fusion sounds of Soulstiss, the sophisticated atmosphere was unrivaled anywhere onboard.

Call me Old School, but any bar in which I can maintain a conversation without shouting is a good bar.

(Note: If you are an intrepid drinker and manage to outlast last call, your drink of last resort is only available at the Casino Bar. I’m not sure that one ever closes.)

 

In Conclusion…

A Celebrity cruise is not a cheap proposition. Honestly, your dollar will likely go a lot farther on virtually any other cruise line.

So, the bottom line you need to ask yourself: Is it worth it?

Each major cruise line will haul your ass around the Caribbean. And frankly, they each offer virtually identical itineraries and choices of excursions. So, try thinking about it this way:

Holiday Inn Express and the Ritz-Carlton each offer a bed to sleep in. Which one will you remember staying at a year from now?

Sometimes it’s nice to have a Celebrity experience.

 

¹Spring Break ’76: Freshman year. Ithaca College. Five of us from the dorm piled into Mike Tate’s mother’s factory-fresh Lincoln Town Car and arrived in Lauderdale 26 hours later. I remember wet t-shirt contests, drinking beer at breakfast by the algae-encrusted motel pool, and little else. Most vivid memory: The stench of old sneakers, decaying french fries, stale beer, cigarettes, B.O., dried vomit, and farts that permeated that no-longer-new Lincoln Town Car by the time we got back to Mike’s house in Colonie, NY.