I’d had a headache leaving Calgary yesterday. It returned last night. I slept terribly. But my biggest fear of sleeping in the same room as my mother – the teeth grinding and snoring, a distinct memory from my childhood – appear to be long gone. If anything, I was the offender. Not that Mom said anything.
I was up before 6, my body would not handle anymore rest. It’s an “at sea” day, so I figured I had an excuse to nap. The view through the crack in the curtains was grey and grim.
I let Mom sleep, headed up to the Lido for a coffee and a bite to eat. The (free and almost always available) coffee is weak and bland, the fruit salad not much better. The seas are calm, heavily overcast, but no rain. It had clearly tipped down overnight, one of the crew was sopping up the water near the doors to the outside aft Lido deck. It’s cool outside, likely below 10C, nowhere near as windy as last night. It was easy to enjoy the quiet without the multitudes.
I’m already having major issues with all the people. I’ve been on busy ferries before, but this ship has so many more people. Where there would be cars in the lower decks are just more people. I’ll take my moments of solitude when I can, there won’t be many on the ship.
This ship is showing its age. The room’s window frame is rusting in places. Parts of the hallway floors creak. Elevators rattle. Windows are warped and grimy. And then there’s the decor. This ship was launched in 2000, so it’s decorated in late 90s glam. Which I gotta tell you, wasn’t even appealing in the late 90s.
Mom was up at 7, we decided on the Dining Room for breakfast. I had to stall for time – the Dining Hall didn’t open until 7:30 – so I went down to Deck 3, which is your classic “steamship deck” that wraps around. There’s a sign indicating that three laps is one mile, just to give you an idea of how small the ship is. Got some pictures as we passed Port Hardy, including some splashing from Dall’s Porpoises (I think; definitely not orca).
We got to the Dining Room in time to score a window seat overlooking the stern, watching the Coral Princess and another cruise ship trail behind. The passage from Vancouver to the north end of Vancouver Island is narrow and has to be timed to meet the slack water in the narrowest point, hence the cruise ship conga line. We had reached the end of the Vancouver Island and it was time to drop our pilots (we had two), so a fast boat emblazoned with “Pilot” crept into our wake until we slowed enough that they could come along side. We also veered to starboard, I think to minimize the wind. Collecting our pilots, the yacht then sped off to collect the other two ships’ pilots.
The swell began almost immediately after. I’m not certain but I think that the MS Zaandam predates the stabilizers common in newer, larger ships; we rolled and rocked. We were going to need sea legs, quickly.
We holed up in the Crow’s Nest, the lounge on Deck 9. It’s a nice place to watch the horizon, which I hoped would quell the queasiness starting to rise. Twenty minutes later, I was at the tuck shop buying Bodine, which is apparently “less drowsy than dramamine”. But it wasn’t enough and I retreated to our room to lie down. The nap did not come.
Whether lying down or the pill or the ginger ale or some combination, I was back on my feet just before noon. Mom was where I left her in the Crows Nest. We headed down to Deck 5 to sort out a reservation Mom had tried to make with the Pinnacle, the fancy restaurant (so fancy, it opens for a mere hour at lunch). It turned out that she’d booked a seafood boil for our second-last day, but had really wanted to go to the Pinnacle, and the remaining times weren’t lining up. I pointed out that the restaurant was open, it was lunch time anyway, and there was plenty of seating.
The gin and tonic was delightful, though the Caesar salad was merely okay. The real winner were the lamb chops, easily the best lamb I’ve ever had. It was absolutely worth it. The best part was my queasiness had fled.
The downside of this ship’s size is that it was very easy to run out things to see. Years earlier, researching cruises, I had wondered why “At Sea” days were so few, especially with ships as large, complex, and feature-filled as those today. I’ve since realized the “At Sea” segments aren’t a privilege, they’re a warning.
I had wondered if borrowing Andy Weir’s “Hail Mary Project” from the library was wise. Pretty sure I’ll have it finished before we get back.
The Crows Nest air conditioning is far too cold, nearly freezing Mom. We bolted for the room. She read, I sort-of napped until the 6:00 session in the World Stage on Juneau, our first stop.
Aside from the decor being circa late 1990s, it’s pockmarked with museum-quality artefacts, most are reproductions but quite a few are real. And then there’s the World Stage, a two-floor, side-to-side room under the bridge. I think Nouveau Art Deco might be accurate. Maybe. It’s still … old.
The Cruise Director, annoyingly not named Julie, gave a very written speech with helpful pictures. It didn’t really change my mind about what to do, though the weather will likely play a big factor in what I might see.
Dinner was the Lido Market. It wouldn’t be fair, nor remotely reasonable, to compare that to lunch. So we’ll not speak of it.
We attended the Captain’s toast. I still think cruise ship captains have the best job.
We saw a comedian. He was … okay. I’m sure with focus, he’d be hilarious. But catering to an unfocused, unpredictable, and captive audience, playing it safe (and clean) is a requirement. Which means it’s never going to be as funny as if he could lean into topics.
The swells returned as we exited the shelter of the Haida Gwaii islands, though nausea opted to give me a miss. Mom opted to room up for the night. I went up to Deck 5 to read and listen to a piano player murder the classics.
