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Thursday, 29 September 2011
Archives May 17, 2008
“At least I didn’t flush my keys down the toilet like my last travel day”
Milan actually reminded me of Istanbul, which was not expected! Milan is old, and it looks like its been abandoned for years and only recently was re-inhabited. The grass is totally overgrown, trees hang down and everything looks unkempt and spilling over.
My arrival was prefaced by a breath-taking over-exposed view (due to radiant morning sunlight) of the Swiss Alps jutting above the clouds just outside my plane window. As if descending from a dream, I was harshly awakened and filed obediently into a tiny dirty Italian airport baggage claim area with everyone talking too loudly on their cell phones and invading personal space, cutting in front and standing in the way.
On the flight before this one to Milan, I had one to Amsterdam from Toronto, and was cursed with a person in the seat next to me who lacked the sort of body awareness that would usually prevent a person from bumping me, leaning across me, using the full arm rest and more, and generally taking up way to much room. And arm to arm contact was a game of chicken, I always pulled away first, in defeat, suppressing my anger that he now ‘won’ the right to the arm rest, cuz I happened to have more social graces.
This trip so far has been one bad thing followed by a good thing, and then another bad one. Once I found myself deposited in downtown Milan, needing to kill 12 hours, I dragged my bags on a subway in search of a gothic cathedral I remember studying at Augustine. Emerging from the mouth of the subway station to ground level just outside the cathedral I think I peed in my pants just a little bit. I snapped photos and walked around in awe inside, tripping everyone with my two rolling bags of stupid luggage.
As I was meandering probably with a geeky grin, I was hoodwinked into giving away some of my euros. Two guys from Africa, forced these colorful bracelets on my wrist. I instinctively refused, but they said “free” “free” so I obliged, only to find the small talk ending up with their pressuring for money, five euros EACH!! I gave them two each, which was more than I had resolved, and as I left them I shook my head visibly for their scheming dishonesty that really pissed me off.
Then, as the humidity rose, so did a sense of preventative concern about getting to the next airport, even though I had ten hours still before I had to leave. So I parked my butt on a comfortable big bus, and felt so relieved to be in air conditioning and peace, but it seems I counted my eggs too early! There I sat the whole trip, passively enduring a gaggle of boisterous Italian women who occupied the seats all around me, as they smattered on in Italian about things that they all too obviously found exciting and worthy of high-pitched loudness and guttural guffaws that were off putting and drove me more and more within myself. I concluded in my ethnic profile I was creating of Italians right there on the spot that the women in particular were loud, aggressive, and ignorant of social composure and common respect. And I’m not judgmental at all eh?
Upon arrival at Bergamo airport, what I hoped would be an average-at-worst airport, I again had to radically scale back my generous preconceptions. This happened in part, when I realized the entire nation of Italy was flying out that day, and in the terminal was absolute chaos, lines that looked like mobs, no air-conditioning, and NO SEATS to wait or rest in!! So it was two in the afternoon, I had eight more hours, and the recommended waiting place was the mall “nearby”. “Nearby” was a quaint description, and nice to hear at the time, if only it had been true. With my luggage, I trekked what felt like miles with no clear direction, sometimes on the shoulder of a freeway and finally through an underground pedestrian tunnel.
Wandering the mall while tired felt like being in a trippy music video because my legs felt warm and non-existent except for the lovely chaffing on the inner thighs that always comes with too much travel and no shower. My heels ached from too much sandal walking, and I hadn’t yet found any sort of place to sit without being in the main traffic zones of the mall. In a moment of giving up hope I settled for a spot on a busy bench in the main hallway of this mall. Without trying, I fell asleep, only to wake moments later to pokes from a bland looking security guard who waved a disapproving finger.
I reasoned that if I could only locate a solarium or tanning bed, I could get some needed rest, at least for ten minutes or so, and I’d be horizontal! I found a fitness club, and bought 16 mins of solar rest, only to find myself STANDING in their ONLY tanning booth, one of the rare ‘stand up ‘ beds. I got a gentle workout on the machines to limber up my atrophied muscles from all the sitting and suppression of the emotions of annoyance and impatience. It was still twenty-four hours at least until I could see myself being able to rest my weary bones.
After a shower and change of clothes, I felt better, new socks, washed feet, a surprising upturn on this trip already riddled with unpredictability, stress and aggravation. I shopped a bit, got a sales-pitch on face creams (just to get free moisturizer on my dry face), and then decided I could head back to the airport. To my self-muted disdain it was pouring rain.
I decided to brave the trip in the rain, twenty minutes or so with luggage. When I reached the underground tunnel access, it was completely flooded with overflow from drains, and sewer water, and I was utterly obstructed. I paused in disbelief, and criticism of Italian infrastructure and disregard for the needs of tourists flitted through my consciousness, but was quickly followed by the curiousness of the situation, who would ever expect that in a given day, you’d have to put your brain to the task of how to cross a tunnel of sewer water.
I returned to the tunnel a while later, wet, sweating and gross, but with shopping bags up to my knees, and waded through the swamp, and handed them off to a woman who wanted to cross the opposite way, and thought my idea was brilliant!
Back at the airport now, in a cramped bathroom stall, I performed a second full wardrobe change, using a variety of necessary but ridiculous positions and rearrangements of luggage bags and my naked self in the disgusting airport toilet stall.
At check-in I was told my luggage was too heavy, (odd that it was ok for the first two flights, and not the third). I became hot, tired, flushed, and flustered in a flash, and muttered to the agent how RYANAIR is a sub-par company and ridiculous for their imposition of a different weight standard. She said “well, you paid a lot less for the RYANAIR tickets than the KLM tickets right?” and I said that she shouldn’t use that as an excuse for bad service. With that said I walked away, unfortunately looking like a moron, arms loaded with all the junk I just pulled from my check-in baggage that made it overweight. I had hoped the days of being made a fool in an airport rearranging luggage in the middle of the floor might have been over, but the stakes were too high for this one, fifteen euros PER KG overweight!
At least I could recline and wait in peace and quiet as soon as I got through security and to my gate, or so I thought. The gate area featured fifteen gates in a space where you would normally find seating for one gate. It was packed tight with children whining, parents blankly staring in to the distance, perhaps at the same inescapable prison we knew all too well. Hours passed as we stared each other down like prisoners waiting for the first one to die. With each passing minute numbers were being added to the already overflowing room.
RYANAIR somehow thought it was smart to assign no particular seat to any passenger, so instead it was “first come first serve”, which only reinforced the already surfacing primal instincts for survival in every one of us. I had visions of missing the flight all together, because it was so late and there was no plane outside our gate. That would mean I would have to stay at my expense for a week in a city that had done its very best to ruin my day. As that scenario played in my head to the sounds of Sigur Ros through my ipod, we finally boarded, and now I’m writing this feeling very relieved, and trying to stay awake here in London airport, it’s two am. I have several hours to wait, before getting on a bus to Southampton and then on to the cruise ship. Thus far is the account of one crazy travel day. And, heck, at least I didn’t flush my keys down the toilet like last time!
Milan actually reminded me of Istanbul, which was not expected! Milan is old, and it looks like its been abandoned for years and only recently was re-inhabited. The grass is totally overgrown, trees hang down and everything looks unkempt and spilling over.
My arrival was prefaced by a breath-taking over-exposed view (due to radiant morning sunlight) of the Swiss Alps jutting above the clouds just outside my plane window. As if descending from a dream, I was harshly awakened and filed obediently into a tiny dirty Italian airport baggage claim area with everyone talking too loudly on their cell phones and invading personal space, cutting in front and standing in the way.
On the flight before this one to Milan, I had one to Amsterdam from Toronto, and was cursed with a person in the seat next to me who lacked the sort of body awareness that would usually prevent a person from bumping me, leaning across me, using the full arm rest and more, and generally taking up way to much room. And arm to arm contact was a game of chicken, I always pulled away first, in defeat, suppressing my anger that he now ‘won’ the right to the arm rest, cuz I happened to have more social graces.
This trip so far has been one bad thing followed by a good thing, and then another bad one. Once I found myself deposited in downtown Milan, needing to kill 12 hours, I dragged my bags on a subway in search of a gothic cathedral I remember studying at Augustine. Emerging from the mouth of the subway station to ground level just outside the cathedral I think I peed in my pants just a little bit. I snapped photos and walked around in awe inside, tripping everyone with my two rolling bags of stupid luggage.
As I was meandering probably with a geeky grin, I was hoodwinked into giving away some of my euros. Two guys from Africa, forced these colorful bracelets on my wrist. I instinctively refused, but they said “free” “free” so I obliged, only to find the small talk ending up with their pressuring for money, five euros EACH!! I gave them two each, which was more than I had resolved, and as I left them I shook my head visibly for their scheming dishonesty that really pissed me off.
Then, as the humidity rose, so did a sense of preventative concern about getting to the next airport, even though I had ten hours still before I had to leave. So I parked my butt on a comfortable big bus, and felt so relieved to be in air conditioning and peace, but it seems I counted my eggs too early! There I sat the whole trip, passively enduring a gaggle of boisterous Italian women who occupied the seats all around me, as they smattered on in Italian about things that they all too obviously found exciting and worthy of high-pitched loudness and guttural guffaws that were off putting and drove me more and more within myself. I concluded in my ethnic profile I was creating of Italians right there on the spot that the women in particular were loud, aggressive, and ignorant of social composure and common respect. And I’m not judgmental at all eh?
Upon arrival at Bergamo airport, what I hoped would be an average-at-worst airport, I again had to radically scale back my generous preconceptions. This happened in part, when I realized the entire nation of Italy was flying out that day, and in the terminal was absolute chaos, lines that looked like mobs, no air-conditioning, and NO SEATS to wait or rest in!! So it was two in the afternoon, I had eight more hours, and the recommended waiting place was the mall “nearby”. “Nearby” was a quaint description, and nice to hear at the time, if only it had been true. With my luggage, I trekked what felt like miles with no clear direction, sometimes on the shoulder of a freeway and finally through an underground pedestrian tunnel.
Wandering the mall while tired felt like being in a trippy music video because my legs felt warm and non-existent except for the lovely chaffing on the inner thighs that always comes with too much travel and no shower. My heels ached from too much sandal walking, and I hadn’t yet found any sort of place to sit without being in the main traffic zones of the mall. In a moment of giving up hope I settled for a spot on a busy bench in the main hallway of this mall. Without trying, I fell asleep, only to wake moments later to pokes from a bland looking security guard who waved a disapproving finger.
I reasoned that if I could only locate a solarium or tanning bed, I could get some needed rest, at least for ten minutes or so, and I’d be horizontal! I found a fitness club, and bought 16 mins of solar rest, only to find myself STANDING in their ONLY tanning booth, one of the rare ‘stand up ‘ beds. I got a gentle workout on the machines to limber up my atrophied muscles from all the sitting and suppression of the emotions of annoyance and impatience. It was still twenty-four hours at least until I could see myself being able to rest my weary bones.
After a shower and change of clothes, I felt better, new socks, washed feet, a surprising upturn on this trip already riddled with unpredictability, stress and aggravation. I shopped a bit, got a sales-pitch on face creams (just to get free moisturizer on my dry face), and then decided I could head back to the airport. To my self-muted disdain it was pouring rain.
I decided to brave the trip in the rain, twenty minutes or so with luggage. When I reached the underground tunnel access, it was completely flooded with overflow from drains, and sewer water, and I was utterly obstructed. I paused in disbelief, and criticism of Italian infrastructure and disregard for the needs of tourists flitted through my consciousness, but was quickly followed by the curiousness of the situation, who would ever expect that in a given day, you’d have to put your brain to the task of how to cross a tunnel of sewer water.
I returned to the tunnel a while later, wet, sweating and gross, but with shopping bags up to my knees, and waded through the swamp, and handed them off to a woman who wanted to cross the opposite way, and thought my idea was brilliant!
Back at the airport now, in a cramped bathroom stall, I performed a second full wardrobe change, using a variety of necessary but ridiculous positions and rearrangements of luggage bags and my naked self in the disgusting airport toilet stall.
At check-in I was told my luggage was too heavy, (odd that it was ok for the first two flights, and not the third). I became hot, tired, flushed, and flustered in a flash, and muttered to the agent how RYANAIR is a sub-par company and ridiculous for their imposition of a different weight standard. She said “well, you paid a lot less for the RYANAIR tickets than the KLM tickets right?” and I said that she shouldn’t use that as an excuse for bad service. With that said I walked away, unfortunately looking like a moron, arms loaded with all the junk I just pulled from my check-in baggage that made it overweight. I had hoped the days of being made a fool in an airport rearranging luggage in the middle of the floor might have been over, but the stakes were too high for this one, fifteen euros PER KG overweight!
At least I could recline and wait in peace and quiet as soon as I got through security and to my gate, or so I thought. The gate area featured fifteen gates in a space where you would normally find seating for one gate. It was packed tight with children whining, parents blankly staring in to the distance, perhaps at the same inescapable prison we knew all too well. Hours passed as we stared each other down like prisoners waiting for the first one to die. With each passing minute numbers were being added to the already overflowing room.
RYANAIR somehow thought it was smart to assign no particular seat to any passenger, so instead it was “first come first serve”, which only reinforced the already surfacing primal instincts for survival in every one of us. I had visions of missing the flight all together, because it was so late and there was no plane outside our gate. That would mean I would have to stay at my expense for a week in a city that had done its very best to ruin my day. As that scenario played in my head to the sounds of Sigur Ros through my ipod, we finally boarded, and now I’m writing this feeling very relieved, and trying to stay awake here in London airport, it’s two am. I have several hours to wait, before getting on a bus to Southampton and then on to the cruise ship. Thus far is the account of one crazy travel day. And, heck, at least I didn’t flush my keys down the toilet like last time!
Archives October 27, 2006
Long Lost Friends
I'm on the back deck of the ship
open night air.
darkness. rush of waves.
my longing for transcendence will not be blanketed or subdued
my voice cannot stand idle
the passion that coarsed through
neck veins and fingers on the fretboard
is welling up in me
just as it used to.
Like a familiar memory
I morph back into an out-of-use identity
One that's been a shell for eight months.
faces of friends flicker in my memory
days and nights long ago
when we sang passionately and unselfconciously
around fires, in cars, on stoops, in fields, and on stages.
Sincere liberating worship is what my dry soul wheezes for tonight.
For freedom from a self-obsessed world with out Love.
The well of one's own wants has no bottom you know.
My long lost friends, my guitar, my voice, and my spirit...
welcome back.
open night air.
darkness. rush of waves.
my longing for transcendence will not be blanketed or subdued
my voice cannot stand idle
the passion that coarsed through
neck veins and fingers on the fretboard
is welling up in me
just as it used to.
Like a familiar memory
I morph back into an out-of-use identity
One that's been a shell for eight months.
faces of friends flicker in my memory
days and nights long ago
when we sang passionately and unselfconciously
around fires, in cars, on stoops, in fields, and on stages.
Sincere liberating worship is what my dry soul wheezes for tonight.
For freedom from a self-obsessed world with out Love.
The well of one's own wants has no bottom you know.
My long lost friends, my guitar, my voice, and my spirit...
welcome back.
Archives October 4, 2006
Berried Treasure Internet Cafe and Smoothie Bar
I'm sitting at "Berried Treasure" an internet cafe and smoothie bar in GeorgeTown Grand Cayman.
The weather hints at autumn though I'm in the heart of the Caribbean.
There are five short weeks until I fly home to the fall colours and smell of wood burning in fireplaces on frosty November mornings.
Some of my family are coming on Sunday (Mom, Bart, Rachel, and Andrea)... and I can hardly imagine them actually being here. I will show off during the skating shows as best I can, and I will try hard to land my triple toe each time. I've been having some problems with that jump on the small ice, occasionally falling or coming way too close to the boards.
I will love the groundedness of family and chatting incessantly over coffee. We will laugh uproariously about all kinds of anecdotes I will share about the past 8 months of life that they have not witnessed... we will hold our tummies and our faces will ache. I will cuddle Andrea and give tours of the ship, to the ooohs and aws of Mom and Rachel, while Bart will smugly nod his head, hands in pockets, and chuckle at the grandeur of what he will see. I will feel an odd sense of pride about the ship and coolness about myself for having such an interesting life.
The weather hints at autumn though I'm in the heart of the Caribbean.
There are five short weeks until I fly home to the fall colours and smell of wood burning in fireplaces on frosty November mornings.
Some of my family are coming on Sunday (Mom, Bart, Rachel, and Andrea)... and I can hardly imagine them actually being here. I will show off during the skating shows as best I can, and I will try hard to land my triple toe each time. I've been having some problems with that jump on the small ice, occasionally falling or coming way too close to the boards.
I will love the groundedness of family and chatting incessantly over coffee. We will laugh uproariously about all kinds of anecdotes I will share about the past 8 months of life that they have not witnessed... we will hold our tummies and our faces will ache. I will cuddle Andrea and give tours of the ship, to the ooohs and aws of Mom and Rachel, while Bart will smugly nod his head, hands in pockets, and chuckle at the grandeur of what he will see. I will feel an odd sense of pride about the ship and coolness about myself for having such an interesting life.
Archives July, 2006
A Rare Moment On Board
Waltz in A flat...
Fur Elise...
Moonlight Sonata...
....tossed upon cloudy seas.
From an eagle's perspective I can gaze in almost all directions
...ivory keys at my tips, fresh pressed pants on my hips.
a rare moment for me on the ship
amidst carousing and dancing and such...
the notes sing my unbirthed thoughts
wrapped still in flesh, muffled and vague.
I don't want to analyze, dissect, or pronounce...
so I imagine new progressions for chords
melodies of tragedy and delight,
truth, beauty and pain
the song tells its story...
and so it drips from my fingers
...simply because mine is the same.
Archives June 2, 2006
Miami Morning
i've awoken before it's time to.
the air is cool and dark.
goosebumps spread as I shiver
in enjoyed discomfort
of early morning coziness.
the hum of the ship
eases my being
as gently we rock to and fro
my fingers lit up by the monitor
of a borrowed laptop...
a day in Miami to rest and recoup
it's been ten days straight
of working, we're pooped.
nothing in mind for the day ahead
I think I'll simply go back to bed.
the air is cool and dark.
goosebumps spread as I shiver
in enjoyed discomfort
of early morning coziness.
the hum of the ship
eases my being
as gently we rock to and fro
my fingers lit up by the monitor
of a borrowed laptop...
a day in Miami to rest and recoup
it's been ten days straight
of working, we're pooped.
nothing in mind for the day ahead
I think I'll simply go back to bed.
Archives May 18, 2006
A Day Of Life on The Freedom Of The Seas as a Crew-member:
08:30 am: Alarm goes off.
08:31 am: Fumble around in the dark looking for the stupid cell phone that is ringing the alarm.
08:35 am: Put "Royal Caribbean" track-suit on and stumble down the long corridor to the "Staff Mess" for breakfast.
08:45 am: Choose some hard-boiled eggs, coffee, and bacon and sit in the carpeted room at a round table with red cushioned pull-out chairs.
08:55 am: Try reading "The Closing of the American Mind" as I eat breakfast in an effort to stimulate my mind on board.
09:20 am: "BRAVO BRAVO BRAVO" is sounded on the ship alarm system notifying us that there is a "crew boat drill" and we are to proceed to our stations to muster guests into lifeboats.
09:30 am: Friendly chatter is made at the muster stations whilst waiting for the drill to be over.
09:50 am: Friendly chatter becomes bitter complaining as the drill carries on far too long.
10:30 am: After just returning from the drill, we are informed there is a Circus Parade to commence in an hour and we have a few minutes to spare before we have to strap on ridiculously heavy costumes in the upstairs of the theatre for the parade.
11:00 am: Lie on the floor half-dressed in my gorilla legs staring at the ceiling waiting for "places" to be called for the parade. General hubbub is heard all around.
11:15 am: March like a gorilla up and down the Promenade for thousands of photo snapping and gasping guests. I try to figure out how to be as animated as possible while expending the least amount of effort.
11:25 am: I quickly rid my sweating body of its gorilla suit, and run down many flights of stairs to my cabin to catch my breath.
11:30 am: Check myself in the mirror before leaving for lunch in the "Staff Mess". To my growing annoyance, nothing can be done about my wiry frizzy hair and pale complexion.
12:00 pm: Gobble lunch down in a busy cafeteria.
12:40 pm: Embark down hallways and tunnels from one end of the ship to the other, stiff and bloated from a rushed oversized lunch. There are no food or drinks allowed outside of the mess area, so I pack too much in for fear of not being able to eat later on.
1:00 pm: After spending a few minutes in the cabin, I get ready to leave yet again taking another discouraging look in the mirror before exiting.
1:20 pm: I begin my duty supervising a skating session for guests in Studio B where the ice rink is. I ensure that guests sign a waiver form and provide them with the proper fitting rental skates.
1:21 pm: Get really bored.
3:00 pm: Legs feel extremely heavy and mind is foggy. Time to stiffly walk back to the cabin for a few minutes of robotic wall-staring.
4:00 pm: Check email.
4:05 pm: Since wireless signal doesn't work again today, go back to the cabin and sit on the toilet for lack of anything more productive to accomplish.
4:30pm: Wonder aloud to my roommate why I'm so tired and lazy and how I don't feel I'll be able to perform in the shows tonight because of that fact.
5:00 pm: Languor down the I-95 crew hallway back to the mess to ingest more calories and mystery meat mixed with rice.
5:25 pm: I experience mild indigestion from wolfing down the food so quickly, and decide it's time to head to the dressing room to get dressed, stretch, and lace up for my skating practice which is beginning in five minutes.
5:35 pm: I grace the ice with my bloated stiffness and tool around the edges of the rink feeling like actual skating is a momentary impossibility. I do my best to look as though I'm fully warm, prepared, and simply taking great consideration in the task at hand. In actuality I'm merely trying not to fall down and break my neck.
5:40 pm: I do a double axel and wonder how I suddenly am warmed up and feel awake.
5:50 pm: I realize I'm enjoying the skating, I land a few triples, and confidence rises.
6:00 pm: Practice ends, I wipe the sweat from my forehead and take my skates off. As I leave I notice myself in the mirror yet again: red-faced, in black tight leggings, and with matted sweaty grossness for hair.
6:10 pm: Sit in cabin and feel my body collapse into a sedentary disposition in front of my cabin TV which plays old re-runs of once-current news stories.
6:20 pm: Learn from the TV that Princess Diana died in a car accident.
6:30 pm: Leave cabin sporting an uncomfortable dance belt under my clothes, a layer of self-tanner, and straightened hair, ready for the ice show.
6:45 pm: Pre-set all of my costumes in various dressing rooms at the four corners of the ice so that during the show I can run in a panic off the ice and rip the old costume off and frantically slap the new one on in thirty seconds or less.
7:00 pm: "Call-Time" for the show, backstage meeting, and show notes are to be given by the ice captain: "Joel, you're in the wrong spot here, wrong leg, wrong arm, and stop kicking Angie in the knee with your toe-pick here."
7:30-8:30 pm: SHOWTIME: mass hysteria backstage, ripped costumes, missing props and icing bruises, intersperssed with gliding out past the curtain with a pasted-on smile and a crooked costume half-undone and falling off as I skate.
8:30-9:30 pm: Show ends, I retreat back to my cabin to sit and hear more stories about how truly shocking it is about Diana's passing. I sit mouth open transfixed in a catatonic posture, my brain activity reaches its lowest point so far today.
9:30 pm: "Call-Time" for second show. Pre-set wet sweaty costumes from the show an hour before.
10-11 pm: SHOW #2 (see SHOW #1)
11:00 pm: Show is over, legs are weak, food is available for us to eat, and I eat it but only because I hate to see it wasted. I feel the excess calories smothering my system. The Ice Cast discusses the shows and while laughter and teasing ensue, all I choose to add to the dialogue are comical re-enactments of my falls and mishaps.
11:30 pm: I rush back to my cabin, shower, dress in formal attire, and in a flash, I find myself seated in the theatre watching the musical production show for an hour.
12:30 pm: Much partying and dancing happens in the various venues on board. I opt out of said activities for multiple reasons.
1:00 am: I drag myself all the way up to the Staff Mess once again for a nightcap of decaf coffee and perhaps some meaningful conversation if I can find a lonely pensive person to engage.
1:02 am: I guzzle the coffee down realizing that it really is bedtime and I'm probably the only lonely pensive person in a thousand mile radius, and I'm likely too tired to talk anyway.
1:15 am: Bleary-eyed and sore, I amble down the 1-95 crew corridor one last time towards my cabin, dodging clusters of chatting housekeepers and maintenance crew.
1:30 am: I climb into my top bunk, mount some headphones on my frizzy dried out hair, and choose one of three favourite songs on my iPod: "Take All of Me" (Hillsongs), "Collide" (Pilate), or "track 8 of the new cd" (Sigur Ros).
1:31 am: I read some of the Bible, then imagine where I am in the ocean at that very moment, how many miles of water are beneath me, and whales, and shipwrecks. I imagine that I could just as well be in the bunk-bed of my trailer in Kitchener a few years ago. My mind floods with memories, emotions, questions about life, it overwhelms me, and so I utter a simplistic prayer and fall asleep.
08:30 am: Alarm goes off.
08:31 am: Fumble around in the dark looking for the stupid cell phone that is ringing the alarm.
08:35 am: Put "Royal Caribbean" track-suit on and stumble down the long corridor to the "Staff Mess" for breakfast.
08:45 am: Choose some hard-boiled eggs, coffee, and bacon and sit in the carpeted room at a round table with red cushioned pull-out chairs.
08:55 am: Try reading "The Closing of the American Mind" as I eat breakfast in an effort to stimulate my mind on board.
09:20 am: "BRAVO BRAVO BRAVO" is sounded on the ship alarm system notifying us that there is a "crew boat drill" and we are to proceed to our stations to muster guests into lifeboats.
09:30 am: Friendly chatter is made at the muster stations whilst waiting for the drill to be over.
09:50 am: Friendly chatter becomes bitter complaining as the drill carries on far too long.
10:30 am: After just returning from the drill, we are informed there is a Circus Parade to commence in an hour and we have a few minutes to spare before we have to strap on ridiculously heavy costumes in the upstairs of the theatre for the parade.
11:00 am: Lie on the floor half-dressed in my gorilla legs staring at the ceiling waiting for "places" to be called for the parade. General hubbub is heard all around.
11:15 am: March like a gorilla up and down the Promenade for thousands of photo snapping and gasping guests. I try to figure out how to be as animated as possible while expending the least amount of effort.
11:25 am: I quickly rid my sweating body of its gorilla suit, and run down many flights of stairs to my cabin to catch my breath.
11:30 am: Check myself in the mirror before leaving for lunch in the "Staff Mess". To my growing annoyance, nothing can be done about my wiry frizzy hair and pale complexion.
12:00 pm: Gobble lunch down in a busy cafeteria.
12:40 pm: Embark down hallways and tunnels from one end of the ship to the other, stiff and bloated from a rushed oversized lunch. There are no food or drinks allowed outside of the mess area, so I pack too much in for fear of not being able to eat later on.
1:00 pm: After spending a few minutes in the cabin, I get ready to leave yet again taking another discouraging look in the mirror before exiting.
1:20 pm: I begin my duty supervising a skating session for guests in Studio B where the ice rink is. I ensure that guests sign a waiver form and provide them with the proper fitting rental skates.
1:21 pm: Get really bored.
3:00 pm: Legs feel extremely heavy and mind is foggy. Time to stiffly walk back to the cabin for a few minutes of robotic wall-staring.
4:00 pm: Check email.
4:05 pm: Since wireless signal doesn't work again today, go back to the cabin and sit on the toilet for lack of anything more productive to accomplish.
4:30pm: Wonder aloud to my roommate why I'm so tired and lazy and how I don't feel I'll be able to perform in the shows tonight because of that fact.
5:00 pm: Languor down the I-95 crew hallway back to the mess to ingest more calories and mystery meat mixed with rice.
5:25 pm: I experience mild indigestion from wolfing down the food so quickly, and decide it's time to head to the dressing room to get dressed, stretch, and lace up for my skating practice which is beginning in five minutes.
5:35 pm: I grace the ice with my bloated stiffness and tool around the edges of the rink feeling like actual skating is a momentary impossibility. I do my best to look as though I'm fully warm, prepared, and simply taking great consideration in the task at hand. In actuality I'm merely trying not to fall down and break my neck.
5:40 pm: I do a double axel and wonder how I suddenly am warmed up and feel awake.
5:50 pm: I realize I'm enjoying the skating, I land a few triples, and confidence rises.
6:00 pm: Practice ends, I wipe the sweat from my forehead and take my skates off. As I leave I notice myself in the mirror yet again: red-faced, in black tight leggings, and with matted sweaty grossness for hair.
6:10 pm: Sit in cabin and feel my body collapse into a sedentary disposition in front of my cabin TV which plays old re-runs of once-current news stories.
6:20 pm: Learn from the TV that Princess Diana died in a car accident.
6:30 pm: Leave cabin sporting an uncomfortable dance belt under my clothes, a layer of self-tanner, and straightened hair, ready for the ice show.
6:45 pm: Pre-set all of my costumes in various dressing rooms at the four corners of the ice so that during the show I can run in a panic off the ice and rip the old costume off and frantically slap the new one on in thirty seconds or less.
7:00 pm: "Call-Time" for the show, backstage meeting, and show notes are to be given by the ice captain: "Joel, you're in the wrong spot here, wrong leg, wrong arm, and stop kicking Angie in the knee with your toe-pick here."
7:30-8:30 pm: SHOWTIME: mass hysteria backstage, ripped costumes, missing props and icing bruises, intersperssed with gliding out past the curtain with a pasted-on smile and a crooked costume half-undone and falling off as I skate.
8:30-9:30 pm: Show ends, I retreat back to my cabin to sit and hear more stories about how truly shocking it is about Diana's passing. I sit mouth open transfixed in a catatonic posture, my brain activity reaches its lowest point so far today.
9:30 pm: "Call-Time" for second show. Pre-set wet sweaty costumes from the show an hour before.
10-11 pm: SHOW #2 (see SHOW #1)
11:00 pm: Show is over, legs are weak, food is available for us to eat, and I eat it but only because I hate to see it wasted. I feel the excess calories smothering my system. The Ice Cast discusses the shows and while laughter and teasing ensue, all I choose to add to the dialogue are comical re-enactments of my falls and mishaps.
11:30 pm: I rush back to my cabin, shower, dress in formal attire, and in a flash, I find myself seated in the theatre watching the musical production show for an hour.
12:30 pm: Much partying and dancing happens in the various venues on board. I opt out of said activities for multiple reasons.
1:00 am: I drag myself all the way up to the Staff Mess once again for a nightcap of decaf coffee and perhaps some meaningful conversation if I can find a lonely pensive person to engage.
1:02 am: I guzzle the coffee down realizing that it really is bedtime and I'm probably the only lonely pensive person in a thousand mile radius, and I'm likely too tired to talk anyway.
1:15 am: Bleary-eyed and sore, I amble down the 1-95 crew corridor one last time towards my cabin, dodging clusters of chatting housekeepers and maintenance crew.
1:30 am: I climb into my top bunk, mount some headphones on my frizzy dried out hair, and choose one of three favourite songs on my iPod: "Take All of Me" (Hillsongs), "Collide" (Pilate), or "track 8 of the new cd" (Sigur Ros).
1:31 am: I read some of the Bible, then imagine where I am in the ocean at that very moment, how many miles of water are beneath me, and whales, and shipwrecks. I imagine that I could just as well be in the bunk-bed of my trailer in Kitchener a few years ago. My mind floods with memories, emotions, questions about life, it overwhelms me, and so I utter a simplistic prayer and fall asleep.
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