Wednesday, February 15, 2012.
The Beach On Grand Cayman.
A fleet of tender boats began taking passengers to the waterfront of George Town, Grand Cayman at seven-thirty. That was too early even for MA, who wanted breakfast before heading into town. At the table today was a woman who grew up in Lithuania. She and MA got into a discussion about communism, which my wife believes is actively espoused by our president. This led to the beginnings of an argument, the first on this subject this trip. For us, that's not bad. Our daughter predicted a miserable week for both of us due to this cause.
We were on the ground in George Town a little after nine. We came to Grand Cayman on our very first cruise in 2002, but the waves were so high that the ship had to dock on the other side of the island, far away from the only town of consequence and the Seven-Mile Beach. Everything we saw today was new to our eyes.
Getting around is almost too easy. You can flag down a taxi van and go anywhere you want. The vans operate a lot like transit buses, picking up and dropping off riders at any corner. Among the bigger stops are in the parking lots of hotels who invite visitors to use their beach facilities.
These hotels are not up to Mary Ann's standards. But we found a way around that problem on a cruise to Hawaii. We just head over to the likes of the Ritz-Carlton. Such hotels officially discourage such drop-ins, but they don't rigidly define what is mean by a "guest." To establish our bona fides, I park myself in the hotel's restaurant or bar and start spending money. Meanwhile, the Marys find a nice spot on the beach and begin their sun worship. (I am not a beach person.)
The Grand Cayman Ritz-Carlton delivered perfection by Mary Ann's exacting standards, with a beautiful white sand beach fronting perfect blue water. Despite the modest breakfast on the ship, I had another one here. I made friends with the staff as I munched through a breakfast quesadilla with a potato tart and a baked tomato. Did they mind if I stayed here for a long time and read the newspaper? "Oh, sir, you can stay there until five tomorrow morning if you want!" I don't know what happens at five a.m., but I'll be long gone by then.
Mary Ann took her beach activities up to the next level by renting ($40) a surfboard-looking craft on which one stands and paddles along on the blue sea with a long oar. She seemed to be doing okay with it, but it wasn't long before she fell off the thing.
After negotiating all this for her, I had moved to the Bar Jack, under the biggest ceiling fan I've ever seen. (It looked like a southwestern-style windmill, made of metal.) The Italian bartender made a very large mojito with more rum than I really felt like drinking.
After awhile Mary Ann turned up. This semi-surfboarding had not worked out. She kept falling off. She turned it into a sort of raft and paddled around until she got a really bad sunburn.
She was ready for lunch--particularly after she got a look at the hamburgers coming off the Ritz's beachfront grill. They were titanic. But they also had a quartet for four sliders. And here they were. She expected me to eat two of them. I protested that this would be my third meal today by barely noon. But the little burgers were very good. What could I do?
We hung out at the Ritz-Carlton until about two. We flagged a taxi-bus and returned to George Town. The last tender back to the ship was at three-thirty, but we would wring all utility out of the time remaining. Mary Ann saw a fish restaurant on the beach near the dock, and thought we should try it out--you know, so I would have something to write about. I can't do three meals a day anymore without discomfort, let alone five. I begged off.
We were on the second-to-last boat to leave, coming close to Mary Ann's idea of the perfect day in port. I went up and took a delicious hour-long nap, which is my idea of the perfect activity for a vacation day.
Dinner featured an inevitable cruise ship dish: roast turkey with dressing. I always feel sorry for this, wondering who would eat such a thing in a grand dining room. The older customers, I guess. A cruise ship is one rare place where I am not one of the older customers. The turkey wasn't bad--just very plain. (I give them a point for serving mashed rutabagas instead of potatoes.)
We have become better friends with our tablemates. They're three sisters in what they call a Brady Bunch family. They were friends in school, and then they each lost a parent. The remaining parents married, and the friends became siblings. One of them is now a widow and another a divorcee. The third brought her husband, who is squiring the three of them around. He's the perfect man for a job like that. He's willing to be lightly bossed around. If he's put out by anything the women say or do, he just gives a little smile and lets it go. His reward is being allowed to exercise his manly right to eat to the max, sometimes ordering two entrees (something you can do freely in a cruise ship dining room) and requesting a glassful of martini olives to much on.
The youngest (but only by two months) of the stepsisters is an articulate, congenial, well-groomed woman who works for a bank on Manhattan (the whole foursome is from New York). But she has an ambition to open a dessert-and-coffee restaurant upstate. We all encourage her to get on with it. She says she likes New York City too much to leave it lightly.
The karaoke lounge was filled and booked up by the time dinner ended. I hung around to see what would happen next, with a glass of Sandeman's port. Mary Ann, of course, has retired. At moments like this, I miss the people who traveled with me on those big cruises we did for ten years.
It's over three years since a day was missed in the Dining Diary. To browse through all of the entries since 2008, go here.
