It was my first cruise.
Boarding the vessel at Fremantle, I embarked on a brief journey to Singapore.
Hours passed as I took to find my cabin and get settled. My luggage would arrive later and I was informed that no alcohol could be transported in the baggage. That’s alright, I thought, as I headed out to explore.
The ship itself is colossal. Officially named HMS, SS, RAS, or MS Expansive…a more fitting title might be SS Expensive.
After losing my way three times and requiring rescue from the crew, I finally made it to the ballroom.
This marked my first error.
Approximately three-quarters of the passengers aboard this ship were over the age of 90. Spotting a man in the ballroom was akin to a shark detecting blood. I was swiftly surrounded by eager ladies…pleading…and even threatening me to accept a dance before I could possibly be trampled. Emerging with only minor injuries, I fortuitously stumbled into the bar.
When I ordered water, a large glass arrived, and the bill rang up to ten dollars. Curiously, I asked why it cost ten dollars for just H2O. “That’s the price for the chaser,” I was informed. A triple Black Label whisky with ice was their standard, with the motto, “we never close.”
I encountered a woman from South Africa who cautioned me about the food onboard. She had boarded in Cape Town weighing 65 kg…by the time she returned to Fremantle, she had ballooned to 100 kg. This ship offered every imaginable type of food, all for free. It takes the self-discipline of a vomitarian to navigate six weeks on this liner successfully.
The dinner was exquisite, paired with the finest entertainment I had experienced since my last trip to Las Vegas. A brief visit to the casino later, and it was off to bed.
As I made my way to my cabin, the clock read around 2 o’clock. Did I mention that most passengers were seniors? By two o’clock, the ship felt empty, as if all the elderly had retired for the night…I could have sworn I was aboard the Mary Celeste.
After taking the lift down one floor, I searched for my cabin. Endless corridors laid ahead, completely deserted. Normally, I wouldn’t consider walking many kilometers just to avoid crossing the road to visit a neighbor, yet that night I meandered through the empty hallways looking for my cabin. Ultimately, I found myself back at the lift.
Just as I was about to descend, I heard voices. Finally, I thought, I can ask for directions to safety. I caught a glimpse of a female voice.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she exclaimed, “Faster, faster, faster,” she urged.
A male voice responded, “I am moving as fast as my pacemaker allows.”
Choosing to steer clear of whatever they were engaged in, I opted to return to the main deck via the lift.
Once back, it was eerily quiet, devoid of any presence. I wandered onto the sun deck, located a deckchair accompanied by a blanket, and settled in for the night.
No sooner had I shut my eyes than I felt a jab in my ribs.
“You can’t sleep here,” a voice declared.
“Who are you?” I questioned.
It turned out he had once been a stoker but was now designated as the Poker of passengers, tasked with ensuring those inebriated did not fall overboard. Glancing up, he noticed a lady passenger leaning over the rail. I couldn’t ascertain if she was vomiting or searching for her cabin. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to find out, as the Poker lunged toward her, much like a lion would pursue a zebra.
“You can’t do that here,” he admonished.
She tried to push him away. In my haste to assist her, however, the Poker was quicker and vanished to locate the captain or the hallway monitor.
Leaving the sleeping lady behind, I resumed my quest to find my cabin. At last, I spotted a crew member on the main deck. He offered to help me locate my cabin and inquired about my key. His expression now mirrored that of my old school headmaster.
Speaking to me like a soldier addressing a recruit and employing similar language, he revealed he had served as a Major in the colonies. He accompanied me to the desk where a computer was being monitored.by a man no taller than the desk…I hadn’t encountered him during my last trip to the main deck.
He glared at me before asking my name, then informed me that I was on the incorrect ship. This vessel was headed for Hong Kong.
As I made my way towards the sun deck, planning to throw myself overboard, the Major stopped me. He explained that it was all a jest…and directed me to my cabin, located one deck down and six cabins to the left of the lift.
At 6 o’clock, I arrived at my cabin and, fully clothed, jumped into bed. To my surprise, the door swung open, and the steward announced that breakfast had arrived. After indulging in a six-course breakfast, I returned to my cabin for a well-deserved nap.
Of course, my cabin was bustling with cleaners who were washing, polishing, and swapping out towels, flannels, toothpaste, brushes, and perfumes.
Following my nap, I decided to explore the ship.
I accidentally wandered into the ballroom.
Half-dressed, I made my way to the bar, and after consuming two or three glasses of H2O, I felt ready to participate in karaoke.
Men and women who appeared old enough to have served in their nation’s wars screeched songs from the Crimean and Boer wars at regular intervals.
After a seven-course lunch, I returned to my cabin for another short nap.
I awakened two days later as the ship approached downtown Singapore, which reminded me of Port Said in Egypt.
Having tipped everyone on board and found my wallet considerably lighter, I got ready to disembark…finally, some peace.
Upon returning to Fremantle, it felt like paradise. I enjoyed a coffee and some H2O before catching the bus home.
When my wife asked where I had been, I replied, ‘not bad for a first cruise,’ but I’m glad to be home again.
It’s the oldies night and bingo down at the pub…ahh…the comforts of home.
Perhaps I’ll cruise again…when I need a long rest.
by TOG
