Bill and Sheila At Sea - Day Three

It is 8:45 AM and we are in the final process of docking in Cozumel. The delicate ballet of mating a 300 yard floating hotel to the pier is going on as I write. I am flooded with memories of the charged atmosphere on a small bridge, crisp commands and an almost desperate coordination between rudder and screws trying to coax a reluctant ship close enough to the dock for the lines and winches to snug her in. These memories belie my age. They are from another generation. The modern miracle of side thrust propulsion nudges this giant in nearly as easily as parking a car. Just now, I felt the final bumps indicating that we are once again bound to shore. There are several cruise ships nearby including another giant from the Royal Caribbean Line which is moored on the next pier over.

Our group was up early and by 7:30 or so we were all sitting around the Lido deck grazing from the multiple breakfast buffets. All of the men were fascinated by the maneuvering going on as we eased up the channel toward the port. We all watched in fascination as the pilot boat approached and out of sight below us, the pilot jumped from his small moving boat onto our huge ship. And, to remind us that we are living in a post 9/11 era, a Mexican Navy patrol boat met us at their territorial limit and escorted us into the harbor. I don't know if there has been a recent terrorist threat or not but in other parts of the world, cruise ships have been attacked.

I was up early this morning. 4:30 style early. I slipped out onto our tiny balcony and was greeted by an old friend from my youth, the tropical air. The air of the tropics is different. It has substance, almost a creamy texture. When the temperatures are moderate as they were this morning, it has a luxurious, almost sensual feel on your skin. This is the good time of day near the equator before the sun becomes a hammer on your head and the humidity turns on you and sucks your breath away.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I was treated to a seemingly endless stream of delicate shore lights passing on the horizon. Morning showers were already forming and as I watched from eight stories above the water level, we seemed to pass through the moonlit clouds between the ship and the horizon. As the dawn was breaking, I watched a parade of tiny showers, only a hundred or two yards around, pass along the side.

A few minutes before 9:00, our crowd joyfully set out for a day ashore. Sheila and several others are going snorkeling and will shop later. Others will just see the town. But, like an unlucky sailor who has drawn the duty in a liberty port, I am remaining on board. My worn out knees and shattered left leg would have made a shore excursion more painful than it would have been worth and at any rate, I don't have much desire to see the state fair midway display of Latin America that awaits a couple of hundred yards down the pier. In my youth, I was privileged to sail these waters and visit some of these ports before they became carnival attractions. I prefer my memories of a slower, dustier, grittier but somehow sweeter and more authentic Latin America to what lies beyond our gangplank now

It is just past 9:00 now and the ship is quiet, almost empty. I am greeted by more familiar sounds from my youth. With the passengers ashore, our mostly European crew is doing the things that sailors have done since the first ironclads. Above me on the next deck, a small crew of seamen are working away with chipping hammers, arc welders and paint brushes, mostly winning the war all iron ships fight with the cancer of rust brought on by seawater and salt air. The Triumph is a clean and pretty ship. Her European crew look the same as professional merchant seaman anywhere in the world, just in cleaner uniforms.

I spent the solitary morning writing and drinking coffee near the fantail, eventually going back to the room to tidy up our belongings and get them in some kind of shape for repacking before they got out of hand.

Around 12:30, I decided to have lunch at one of the buffets on the Lido Deck above me one level and a little aft. I was surprised to see that the buffet lines were set for French cooking and selection was excellent. I had a very good filet of turbo in a sweet cream fennel sauce and a small piece of wine basted chicken along with grilled corn and peppers and coleslaw. A large bowl of fresh fruit and a cup of decaf finished it nicely. It was the best meal I had had to date on the ship.

A little while later, Sheila came back to the ship from her adventures and had not eaten, so I went back up with her and a friend who had gone on the shore excursion with her. As I was passing, the sandwich shop products looked good so I ordered a small turkey sandwich. It was the best turkey sandwich I have ever had in my life. Nothing fancy, just wonderful French bread cooked that morning, high quality sliced turkey breast (not luncheon meat disguised as turkey breast) and the usual vegetables.

We met with the gang again for dinner. This time, our table was nearly in the galley. Hurried waiters dashed back and forth within inches through the entire meal. But, our waiter was superb. A friendly little guy named Jose from El Salvador. And, the meal was remarkably good for a change. I had roast turkey prepared in what I suppose was a French fashion. The breast meat was sliced and rolled into a tiny tenderloin while the thigh had been sliced like a ribeye and stuffed with seasoned vegetables. It was an innovative take on an old standard. We all wound up sampling each other's plates and ordering extra desserts.

After the meal we wandered down to the Oxford club where a remarkably talented pianist was performing. We settled in and enjoyed the music until the end of his set. We then wandered the boat a bit and eventually wound up out on deck on the starboard side of the fourth level under the lifeboats, watching a huge thunderstorm a few miles to our side. By then it was going on 10:00. The ladies had previously gone their own way to watch dance lessons of some sort while we men called it an evening. I finished the evening alone on our little balcony, watching the lightning on the horizon and savoring the last touches of tropical air I would enjoy for a while.