Saturday, February 13. Mal De Mer. Back Into Winter. Even with all the pitch, yaw, and roll the ship experienced through the night and into the morning, I slept well. On the other hand, I had to get out of the cabin and onto the deck quick. I was closer to mal de mer than I've been since a rough whale-watching expedition twenty-seven years ago. I hate to think which shade of green Mary Ann would be if she were here. The captain says that the seas will moderate as the day goes on.
I sat out on the deck and implemented the trick that restores one's sense of equilibrium. Fixing a gaze on a spot on the horizon and holding it there somehow locks in one's sense of balance. Soon enough, you're back to normal, unless it's really bad. It worked well enough that my focus shifted to a young couple strutting laps around the ship. They were both in good shape, and passed me five or six times with a look of intense seriousness.
They inspired me to get moving. I had breakfast first (I never let my priorities slip). Fresh fruit and some smoked salmon from the buffet, followed by a not-very-good waffle and bacon from the kitchen. Orange juice and cappuccino (the server let me have it free again!).
Then I hit the deck. The NCL Spirit has an open deck all the way around the whole ship. At one time this was universal, but many new ships--notably on Carnival--lack it. The Spirit's promenade deck is about a third of a mile around. I made three circuits. Not a big deal, but it got my blood moving and no doubt brightened this overcast day. The wind was now coming convincingly from the north, making the deck temperature much lower than the eighties we enjoyed in the four ports. We're unambiguously headed back into winter.
I spent the morning writing in The Café with its bad cappuccino. En route to the stateroom I passed through the Blue Lagoon Café--the ship's twenty-four-hour eatery, serving hamburgers and fish and chips and the like. I saw a sign that offered oysters for eleven dollars a dozen. The manager assured me that indeed these were fresh, live raw oysters, shucked to order. I sat down and ordered. They took a long time to come out--a good sign, because I'm sure they emerged from somewhere deep in the galley's coolers, and that a shucker had to be found.
Captain Peterson chanced by. I told him what I was about, and he sat right down. We each had a dozen raw oysters. We agreed that they were certainly not Louisiana oysters--too small, and the shells too delicate--but that they were very good indeed, and with a cup of soup made the perfect light lunch.
While we made these observations, the maitre d' from Le Bistro passed by. I keep running into him around the ship, and he always greets me by name. He noted that we were drinking Red Stripe beer from his native Jamaica, giving him another reason to like us. I told him we had a reservation in his dining room for dinner that night. "Yes, at seven, for four--correct?" Exactly. Now there's a guy who knows his job.
The Richardsons, Jane Jurik and I had drinks in Champagne Charlie's, where the ship's most ambitious musical ensemble--the grandly-named Gennadi Orchestra, a sextet from Belarus--played jazzy numbers in a somewhat old style, but listenably enough. The Richardsons were off to Windows tonight. I was determined to return to Le Bistro. Jane was on my list there, as were Elaine Boudreaux and Captain Peterson. But when we arrived at the restaurant, the maitre d' said that the captain had been there a half-hour ago, waited awhile, then left. I guess he had the time wrong. So it was the two unattached women and me.
It was a fine dinner. First the mussels mariniere. An elegant salad with blue cheese. And a chicken breast stuffed with foie gras. The first bite of that reminded me that I had this very dish last year--but it was easily fine enough to have again.
I am of the generation of men that can't imagine splitting a check with a woman. Or even two women, as I had here. So dining in this restaurant during this voyage has cost me $350. This is the hidden part of the deal on our cruises that makes them an even better deal than they appear to be. It kills me that some of my detractors say I lead these cruises only for the money. What money? If Mary Ann hears about this, she'll chew me out for it. "They ought to be buying you drinks and dinner," I can hear her saying.
We were done by about ten. I went up to my stateroom by way of the open deck, where it was so cold and windy I could hardly walk. I turned the thermostat up a notch and settled in for the night. We are almost home.
