The World Famous Carnival Funnel as viewed from the Lido Deck

Greetings Boys & Girls! It’s a beautiful afternoon aboard Carnival’s Elation. We’re set to head south, destination Cabo San Lucas. Between now and the time we “drop anchor” in port (we don’t actually drop anchor, the ship uses it’s stabilzers and just holds position about 500 yards offshore), we’ll spend a day at sea. The 600 mile cruise takes about 36 hours.The ship will be wide-open, party-till-your-eyes-bleed, non-stop fun tonight. It usually is on the first night, at least on the ships that cater to the younger crowd. Which this one does, and that’s why I love it so much. Of course, the light-speed pace is going to be bad news for a few of these dudes and dudesses. Can you say “Lots of aspirin and Bloody Mary’s”?

Sail-Away Party – Pirate Style

Yes, many cruisers enjoy the deck party that launches as soon as the ship’s horn announces departure (a long deep blast). Happens around the pool bar, complete with steel drum band and LOTS of people. Conga lines have been known to form at such times.

But we’ve grown fond of a different kind of sail-away. We like to watch the receding shoreline from the steamy comfort of the hot tub on the back of the ship. Not only is it so much less frenetic, it usually introduces us to a cool and interesting group of fellow travelers. After all, the gang that likes to party in the hot tub within the first couple of hours of a cruise are ready to make the most of it. No getting warmed up for these guys! They show up primed!

Today is no exception!

Simper Fi!

Scott 1 and Scott 2 - seated on the left of the jacuzzi with raised beers. A couple of jarheads home from Iraq.

Every now and then I bump into some Marines on one of these cruises. Being a Corps alumni from the ‘60s, I just love chatting it up with my younger “brothers” and have made it a point to do so for … a long time. But in the last few years I’ve noticed a new breed of Jarhead. I personally think it has something to do with the kind of bravado and self-reliance that comes from being in the culture of war. Me and my buddies from the Viet Nam days had that kind of cockiness (not always deserved or even constructive, but we sure had it!). I didn’t really see it in the guys that served in the first Gulf War, which is probably due to the fact that whole thing only lasted a few weeks from start to finish. But these guys fresh out of Marine Corps have it now.

Much as I hate the war itself, I do like that air of invincibility. Scott and Scott are a two of that breed. They’re the two guys sitting on the left in this picture.  I don’t rmember their last names so I’m calleing them “Scott 1″ and “Scott 2″.  They totally remind me of the characters in HBO’s “Generation Kill”. Both served in Iraq. But the really cool story about these two guys is not about that exactly.

Except when we’re at war with somebody, the weeks between the Marine Corps Birthday (Nov 10) until after New Year’s is a pretty laid back time in the Corps. And so Scott 1 was scheduling his wedding during that time. The United States hadn’t yet launched the invasion into Iraq, and it seemed like the perfect window.

But then Scott 1 got orders to deploy for a “temporary” assignment to the Gulf. Now, with most jobs you can get some slack when you get a last minute change that conflicts with your wedding date, but the Corps doesn’t work that way. I seem to recall a popular saying from my own Corp years – “If the Marine Corps wanted you to have a wife, they’d have issued you on!”

Enter Scott 2, a brother in arms and Scott 1’s Best Man. Well, he (Scott 2) gave new meaning to that “best man” label. He wouldn’t stand for his buddy missing all that nuptial stuff, and so he volunteered to go instead. Dude! As it turned out, that “temporary” assignment ended about two weeks before their entire unit shipped out, so Scott 2 had a very short break between deployments, but, damn! His buddy got married when he was supposed to.

Scott and Scott are now cops in civilian life. They say it’s because they still have that Esprit de Corps and want to protect and defend. Okay, I can get that to a degree. But I think it really has something to do with packing guns. Once you do that on a day-to-day basis (like in a war zone), your body seems a bit more balanced when it’s carrying an extra 2 -3 pounds of iron and gun powder.

Semper Fi, Bros!

And then there’s this.

What Happens On The Ship STAYS On The Ship - especially for bachelorette parties!

Cruises are well-known for being an fantastic environment for all manner of group activities – reunions, company retreats, and bachelorette parties. And so it came as no surpirse when we encountered this lively group of California girls celebrating the upcoming nuptuals of one of their tribe.  After taking the blood oath swearing our lips (and camera) to secrecy, and buying several rounds of Jeager-bombs, we were invited to accompany this fine crop of feminine delightedness in their journey.  Sorry, we can’t tell you anything about it, that would be … well, dishonorable.  But we did learn that the groom and his buddies will be celebrating the male side of this ritual on the Paradise next week. And you know what? It just so happens, I’ll be on THAT ship also. Aaaaaarrghhh!

Adios Cabos San Lucas

Well, it looks like we’ve seen the last of Cabo for a while. It seems that the port is being nixed from the itinerary of the West Coast Fantasy Class ships. As far as I know, Carnival hasn’t made an “official” announcement about the change, but it’s no surprise. All of the cruise lines are re-evaluating their itineraries in an effort to maximize fuel consumption efficiency. Instead of making the 600 nautical mile trek to Cabo San Lucas on it’s primary 4-day package, The Elation will change it’s offering to alternating 3 – and 4- day cruises visiting Ensenada (on the 3-day) and visiting Ensenada and Catalina on the 4-day. Too bad. Cabo San Lucas is a charming little port nestled in a pleasant cove surrounded by mountains and rock formations. The scenery is exquisite and the town is pretty darn charming.

Alas, poor Cabo, we barely knew ye.

In my recent post – The Problem With Men – I proposed an unapologetic opinion of why we men seem to demonstrate such problematical traits for many of our wives, girlfriends and female associates.  And while my proposition was delivered tongue planted firmly in cheek, the proposition is valid, evolutionarily speaking.

My main point in that post was that, regardless of how much social evolving we’ve had over the past 3 – 4 generations, our “frontier nature” will work it’s way to the surface in each of us.  And more importantly, the older we get the more persistent and romanticized that nature will become in our minds.  To the point where we can’t ignore it like our younger selves did.  After all, the closer you get to the end than the beginning of the journey, the more you start to wonder what the heck the journey is really all about.  You can’t help but ask yourself if the path you’ve taken was worth it.  You can’t help but wonder if maybe you gave up too much of that restless curiosity along the way.   

Mortality is the great equalizer, and the bigger it becomes in the windshield of life the more clearly we see the consequences of our commitments and accumulations.  It’s a ripe garden for the longings of a more adventurous and self-reliant perspective to sprout.  It’s a ripe time for our aging minds and bodies to reach back to our youthful memories and recall what it was like to be unencumbered by the weight of all those hustlers and their schemes.  To still believe in our dreams.  And what do you think shows up in that garden?  Why, the pioneer in us, of course.  Or the Pirate.

While most of our frontier brethren battled the unknown on dry land, some took to the seas and did battle with Mother Nature on a completely different stage.  While sailing for God and King, historical legends like Christopher Columbus, Magellan, Francis Bacon (and so many others) challenged myth and reality alike as they scattered across the globe aboard good ships in search of the sailor’s version of a North West Passage.  Inevitably, like many of their landlocked brothers (Billy the Kid, Wild Bill Hickock, Doc Holliday, etc.) some of those rascals just couldn’t bring themselves to do what others thought they should and broke from the pack   And thus, in the 1600’s, a new breed of adventurer emerged in the form of Pirates.  Sailing not for God and country, but sailing for the Jolly Roger, this hardy and raucous breed undertook a lawless life-style of plunder and pillaging that came to be known as “The Sweet Trade”.   

It may come as troubling news, but for some of us, that Pirate-nature boils to the surface also.  Enter Ferquan The Pirate!  Aaaaarrrgghhh!!!!  Now, I’m not suggesting that my fellow aging boomers should spit on our hands, hoist the black flag and start slitting throats.  At least not literally.  But, avast! It is time to look squarely into the eyes of Jack Kletch (the hangman) and dust off that bold sense of fun and daring that has been slumbering inside us for lo these years.  Use it or lose!  I’m all for using it while I still can. 

That being the case, there are a few things about this pirate nature worth noting.  True pirates already know this about themselves, but some of them may have forgotten, or may think there’s something wrong with them.  Sack that bilge!!

Pirate Illuminations

1. It’s not true that Pirates don’t put down roots.  But a pirate doesn’t have the same kind of roots as landlubbers.  A Pirate’s roots grow into the deck of the ship, not a piece of land.  Wherever the ships goes, that’s home.  It seems to landlubbers that a pirate is a wayward soul, destined to never find that home port.  But that’s the wrong perspective.  You see, what we really crave is freedom from the shackles and yokes of conventionality.  And the reality of it all is that you can’t have that freedom if you stay in port.  It only comes from riding 80 feet of waterline on the outside.
2. It’s a pirate’s job to ask you something and then not take your advice.  We’re supposed to listen, but that doesn’t mean we’re supposed to do anything about it.
3. Pirates don’t do relationships very well. It’s not because we’re not capable, it’s because we’re just not inclined to change the way we do things.  Sooner or later this is going to rub people (i.e. “woman-folks”) the wrong way, and when it does, those people are going to want to “fix” the problem.  Every woman loves the romance and excitement of the pirate-esque man, but in time the very things that were so appealing will become a problem.  There is only one “soul-mate” in a pirate’s life, and that’s their ship.  (Keep in mind, for us modern-day pirates, “ship” can mean whatever it is that calls to your soul and hardens your … uh, resolve.
4. Pirates are honorable, almost to a fault.  They don’t always honor the same things that landlubbers honor, and that can make it look like they don’t care or are selfish.  But it’s all a matter of perspective.  Morality, justice, fun and love look different from the deck of a ship (whatever a pirate’s ship might be).
5. Pirates don’t seek the treasure for the treasure itself.  Not really.  Oh sure, we crave the find and will endure most any hardship to reach it.  But even when we do, we will get bored with it all soon enough and set our sails to the next one, and the one after that.
6. Pirates don’t do apologies very well, either giving or receiving.

Without sounding like a whiner or a bitch, it bears noting that virtually NOTHING in life is set up to make this journey easy on you.  Even people who are entertained and delighted by the courage it takes to raise your own flag, will soon enough tire of the process, especially if it impacts their world.  Some of us are lucky enough to find the buried treasure with fair winds at their back, but for most of us, it’s rough seas and strong headwinds that will be our travel partners.  But The Sweet Trade is worth it.

Before you set out on the journey, make sure you get a copy of The Pirate Code. 

Alrighty, then.  Now you know what your dealin’ with!

I mean, yeah, we’re providers, we’re strong, blah, blah, blah. But I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about all those other quirks that bond us together and drive the women in our lives crazy.

Well, here it is. It’s all about the Old West. Don’t laugh. You see, a mere 150 years ago we were carving our very existence out of an unknown and hostile land. The times required a mindset that rewarded toughness, efficiency, self-reliance and courage. Breaking new ground and pushing against the boundaries was not a problem, it was a virtue.

Such modern day concepts as gender equality and giving in to your feelings were unheard of, and maybe even counter-productive. Let’s face it, any frontier cat that openly expressed his sensitivity was in deep trouble! Not only would his rugged neighbors take advantage of his “gentle” nature, no self-respecting woman of the day would entrust her heart and hearth to a dude that couldn’t keep wood on the fire and deer carcasses in the smoke-house.

Fast-forward a few generations and suddenly us guys find ourselves in a socially driven world that makes fun of (even criticizes) many of the very traits and behaviors required for our recent ancestors to survive. And, I might add, required to get our more gentle female counterparts of the time to even give us a second look. Hey, don’t blame me if I’m a bit vulgar and would rather punch out some arrogant sales clerk than walk away. 150 years ago you’d have LOVED that part of me.

Now, 150 years may be like a life-time when you’re talking about the evolution of flight, for example, but it is an itsy-bitsy tick of the clock when you’re talking about the evolution of human nature. In other words, us guys are just too damn closely linked (evolutionarily speaking) to our frontier fore-fathers. It’s in our genes! Sure, we can TRY to be sensitive and to talk things out and stay at home on weekends. But it goes against our genetic guy-ness to do so. You can take the genes out of the frontier, but you can’t take the frontier out of the genes. At least not in the very short span (evolutionarily speaking) of only 150 years.

Our forefathers had an insatiable desire to see what was beyond that next mountain range, or on the other side of that river. And it’s a good thing they did or else our young nation would have never made it past the Mississippi River, much less explored the Northwest Passage. And that would have been a tragedy, at least the fulfillment of Manifest Destiny.

They lived and prayed at the alter of opportunity. They risked everything to grab their share of land in Oklahoma, or silver in Nevada or gold in California. Lewis and Clark, Davy Crockett, Wyatt Earp – all historical heroes because they weren’t satisfied to accept the boundaries of “reality” as it was defined by others.

Yep, those are our roots! And the survival of our country depended on that restless pioneer spirit. But look at us today. Shoved into a set of politically correct expectations that rob us of our rugged individualism. And then, penalized when we unconsciously and innocently let our true nature (evolutionarily speaking, of course) peak out from under the layers of rules, expectations and rituals that have been piling on us for the last 150 years. Never let it be said we don’t try, but let’s face it. It’s tough when you have the deck stacked against you, evolutionarily speaking, of course. Our female counterparts should be understanding (dare I say appreciative?) when we long for the smell of gunpowder or the hard caress of a stiff breeze in the middle of nowhere.

As younger men, we paid more attention to that rough voice, though it didn’t always express itself in the most honorable ways (duh). But as we guys get older, the voice becomes quieter, more suppressed. Until one day, sometime around the age of fifty, we can no longer ignore our true nature, at least not completely. And then, one of three things happens.

1. We dig in our heels and anesthetize ourselves with the aid of substances that dull our senses, or with distractions that fill up our days but not our hearts; or,
2. We get crazy and turn our frustrated pioneer spirit to the same objects of attention that thrilled us so much as youngsters, only we do more of whatever it is because we have to make up for lost time and because we have a lot more money to spend on such things; or,
3. We confront the limits of our mortality and take stock of the path we have traveled, allowing that rough voice to have some input in where we go from here.

As understandable as the first two may be, Option #3 is really the only one that allows us to acknowledge our true self while at the same time being responsible for the choices and commitments we’ve made. Hey, I’m not suggesting that you should abscond from life and steal away. That would be like rustling or claim jumping or something similar and we all know what happened to those desperados. Nah, let’s not go there.

What I AM saying is that we should tune up our listening to that rough voice and start paying attention to our pioneer instincts. And we should do that pretty soon, because the wings of time are flapping at our backs. If we don’t get cracking, the only frontier we’re going to see is from watching reruns of Big Valley or Bonanza.

So, what to do? What to do?

Well, that’s a conversation that we all must have with ourselves. But, keep your eyes peeled right here. I’m going to let you in on the one I had.

Coming Soon – The Birth of Ferquan The Pirate.

Like so much else in the consumer world of today, travel has become the next big thing in the Multi-Level Marketing industry.Like make-up, vitamins and home cleaning products before, the billions of consumer dollars spent on travel every year makes the industry ripe and plump for the inevitable emergence of MLM as a retail outlet.,

To be sure, you couldn’t have successful MLM travel without the availability of on-line booking.  It’s the engine that makes the whole thing possible.  Actually, many MLM travel sites are private labeled Travelocity sites.  Starting with the birth of Priceline.com, Travelocity and Expedia, the internet has spawned hundreds of sites that do nothing more than refer visitors to airlines, cruise lines, hotels and resorts, and make truckloads of money doing it.  That’s why so many people want in on the action.

And so, it shouldn’t be much of a surprise that one of the fastest growing segments of the “professional” travel agent industry is in the network marketing arena, or what has come to be known as “Home Based Travel Agencies”.  

Basically, when it’s working at its best, MLM travel agents have combined the idea of an online agency with the personal touch. They have access to virtually the entire world of travel, but the agents themselves don’t have to spend thousands of dollars to become travel agents. They can pay a fee to their sponsoring organization and BOOM! They’re in business.  Internet travel websites are real, honest to goodness products, which provide travel packages at prices that are sometimes better than retail and are comparable to Expedia and Orbitz.  And the really reputable MLM travel companies (CruiseOne, YTB, to name two) do indeed provide training for their agents.

So, what does that mean to us cruisers?  Well, it’s a double-edged sword.  And one we need to be conscious of.      

There is nothing inherently good or bad about MLM travel agents.  The potential downside is that many (most?) of the people that become this type of agent are seriously lacking in real travel-booking experience. In essence, MLM sites are “portals”, or what we in the internet marketing field call “affiliate sites”.  When you book with them you are basically referred to their corporate site and you end up getting the same level of service you get with any other on-line booking site.  That’s not necessarily bad, but it’s not special either.  Anybody who pays the fee is able to become a credentialed travel agent.  Hmmmm.  Think about it, would you trust your car repairs or plumbing or tax preparation to someone whose only qualification is that they paid about $75 for a certificate?

The unfortunate (and sometimes unfair) reality of home-based travel is that many people who become involved are doing so because they have bought some dream of wealth, luxury and passive income. Others (for completely understandable reasons) become MLM travel agents so that they can make money off their own travel, or at least get reduced rates for it. Unfortunately, when you’re dealing with home-based agents there is often no way to know going in how extensive their knowledge-base is.  Are they committed to “travel as a business”?  Or is it more a matter of “travel as a hobby and maybe I’ll make some bucks”. THESE ARE NOT THE PEOPLE YOU WANT BOOKING YOUR CRUISE!

The flip-side is that many home-based agents are earnest, hard-working, experienced fans of travel and are doing something they love and are naturally good at.  They take their business very seriously and provide as good as, or better than, the service you would get at a traditional agency.  These guys would probably have their own agencies if it weren’t such a financial impossibility and such a pain in the ass to have to deal with all the hassles of a brick and mortar business.  THESE ARE EXACTLY THE KIND OF PEOPLE YOU WANT HELPING YOU BOOK YOUR CRUISE!!

When it comes to booking a cruise, my first rule, EVERY TIME is to work with whoever gives the best service.  I can’t stand getting wrong information.  And I really hate it when the travel agent sells me a cruise that doesn’t fit my personality or cruising preferences.  This lack of service can turn an otherwise vacation of a life-time into a bummer.  Grrrr!  On the other hand, having a savvy, up-to-date, hard-working personal cruise consultant (especially one who will come to your house, no less!) is as good as it gets.  If that’s what you get with your home-based agent, go for it, and tell your friends about that agent as well.

Don’t be terribly surprised if one or two of the people you ask about home-based agencies are critical, especially if you’re asking traditional travel agents. The inevitable reality in the travel world is that these home-based agencies are here to stay and they are taking a big piece of the action away from “brick-and-mortar” agencies as well as the online agencies. Understandably, the more traditional travel agencies might try to steer you away from these resources.

A few basics to keep in mind any time you are dealing with a travel agent, but especially with the home-based variety.

How much cruising have they done?  I remember once I was trying to decide which TV antennae to buy at Radio Shack and I asked the sales person what he recommended.  His answer was “We sell a lot of these”, as he directed me a particular item on sale.  It turned out to be a piece of crap.  When I brought it back, the same guy was working so I told him what I thought about his suggestion.  He quickly informed me that he had never used one (after all he had cable!), he had just heard it was good.  Uh huh.  It’s a really good idea to use an agent that knows from experience what they’re talking about. 

How familiar are they with the ship or cruise line they are selling you?  I once had a travel agent sell me and my group a cruise on a Holland America ship.  I knew that the ship itself, and the service, would be great.  But I was concerned that the shipboard activity would be geared toward an older (translation = quieter, duller, slower) demographic.  She insisted that wasn’t the case, but it turned out to be that way.  Kind of like the Radio Shack guy, she didn’t know what she was talking about.

Ditto the above for ports of call.

How much are they going to walk you through the registration process?  There are about six pieces of information that are critical to a smooth check-in and boarding, including making sure you have the right travel documents.  A non-cruiser won’t be able to tell you what to look out for, or what to plan for during check in.

How much do they know about what to pack?  Most cruisers take about twice the amount of clothes they need and never think about some of the best basics (like first aid kits, hats, extension cords, etc.).  An experienced agent will be able to give you real information about packing, suitable for your destination.

A good travel agent will have plenty more information as well, but this will let you know if you’re dealing with a pro or a hobbyist.

Some people were just born to make an indelible first impression.

There’s something about getting up at 3:30 in the morning when you know you’re departing to go on a cruise that’s different than getting up at 3:30 for almost any other reason. Still, it’s pretty damn early.

Two airports, hypersensitive metal detector, repacking my computer and video camera cables TWICE, over-priced airport coffee, jam-packed flight, baggage claim hell, taking a cab to the cruise port… Yep, there’s definitely a reason I prefer driving.

Still, we are getting ready to take a cruise ship across the Gulf to Calica, Mexico. And when you know that you’re only a few hours away from Nirvana, you can put up with a lot of irritating crap. Wish it worked that way coming home!

Things get LOTS better at the Miami cruise port (which is beautiful, by the way). One indirect advantage to my line of work is the VIP status that comes with taking so many cruises. Check-in for VIPS is a breeze, right up to the point where you get escorted on board the ship, avoiding all those lines.

And so the adventure finally begins.

I like to get on the ship before noon, if possible. Allows me to get into the grove that much sooner. Unload my gear and transform into vacation-mind-set before the ship sails. It takes about 4 hours for the housekeeping staff to turn around the staterooms, so one of the problems with boarding this early is that the staterooms are not usually ready for occupancy. In that case, the first person you’ll meet when you come on board is a junior purser giving the standard spiel about the cabin area not yet being ready and there will be an announcement when housekeeping has finished with everything. Uh huh.

Of course, you’ve got to be willing to walk through doorways that are closed off, and sometimes ignore the signs that say “Deck Closed for Housekeeping”, but if you are so willing, you can usually get to your stateroom without any problems. If it’s ready, you can drop your gear. If it’s not, you can just head up to the waiting area, which is what you’d be doing anyway.

We dropped our gear and headed up to our second-favorite bar on board – the Pool Bar. (Favorite Bar on most ships – The Piano Bar). Over the next 90 minutes we chatted up the bar tenders and whoever else grabbed a stool. Getting to know the crowd hanging out at the Pool Bar means you’re making friends for the whole cruise. They’ll all be back, because once you catch a buzz and make a few friends at the Pool Bar, you’re hooked.

And then she materialized out of nowhere.

The pool deck is full of people in various stages of dress and delight as the cruise gets underway. Through the crowd I can’t help but notice this very tall, very striking blond that is slowly walking through the crowd. (Gliding would be more accurate, but it sounds kind of platitudinous, so I’ll just stick with walking). Neck-length blond hair fashioned close to her head, great make-up right down to the dark purple lipstick, body-hugging tan-colored full body mini-skirt with dangerously placed zippers and decorative accoutrement – and black spiked heels.

Some women were born to walk around provocatively in high heels. This lady has got to be one of the top ten. Topping off the look is how she has her lips pursed. It looks like Ben Stiller in “Zoolander”, but it totally works. As she made her way to the bar it was more like she was making one of those slo-mo entrances in a Tarrentino film.

My first impression is that she’s an assassin or provocateur of some kind – The Spy Chick. She’s obviously aware of the impact she has on the crowd that seems to open up and let her through, but she emits this air of affectionate indifference about it all. In fact, it’s like she expects it. (Pop star? Foreign Dignitary? Playboy Centerfold? Well, not the centerfold, I’d recognize her if that was the case.) Can’t tell if she’s aloof or just supremely confidant, but either way, she acts like she’s been here before and she’s in control.

Her companion is a strikingly handsome, equally confidant black dude, slightly shorter that the Spy Chick in her heels, but clearly not the least bit self conscious about it. Shaved head (perfect shaped skull for the shaved head look), pleated pale blue slacks, cranberry colored silk body shirt with a green/blue pelican printed shirt, opened, of course, in such a way that you couldn’t help but notice the washboard abs. The image this couple broadcast was almost intimidating.

Turns out they were very friendly. Spy Chick (her real name was Elizabeth) had a great smile when she let it out. Her companion, Terrance, had an easy, relaxed way of relating to people and an equally great smile. And they insisted they were not celebrities or personalities of any kind. Damn, some modeling photographer is missing a huge opportunity with these two! They were very fun, though just short of hell-raising, and they drank some kind of sissy drinks, for which I made fun of them. (They did make up for that shortcoming in image two days later at Senor Frogs in Playa del Carmen. More on that later.) They completely played up the Spy Chick persona when I explained to them why I couldn’t stop looking at her and why I wanted those pictures of her shoes, especially with that dagger tattoo she had just above her left ankle. (Hmmm, where DID that tattoo come from?) Didn’t see much of Spy Chick for the whole next day as we crossed the Gulf. But then she materialized again when we went ashore in Calica.

A few short words about Calica. It’s not even close to being a port of call. In fact, the name is Mexican for “gravel pit”. It’s an industrial port that rents its pier (really just a slip carved out of the coastal rock) to the cruise lines three days a week. The rest of the time it is exporting sand. Yes, that’s right. Sand. Tons and tons and tons of sand. If you’re a construction worker, you’re probably used to walking through rusty metal scaffolding with dirty plywood serving as a roof, but it’s a bit startling as the gangway to a cruise ship. All of which is completely in keeping with the string of “shops” that greet us as we make our way off the scaffolding gangway. Said shops are nothing more that faded tarps supported by wooden and metal poles, filled with tables covered with local tourist trinkets.

Except the “bar”. It’s a real building with electricity. Of course, “building” is a generous assessment and the wood used for the tables and shelves was obviously salvaged from some torn-down establishments, and the spelling on the menu was a bit sloppy and not always correct (i.e., “Kold Beer”). And then there was the fine coat of dust that was everywhere. But, hey! We’re in Mexico on vacation. And the beer is “kold”, and the shop tenders are ready to negotiate (I saw a LOT of 75% reductions in price) and the dusty gravel parking lot next to the ship is packed full of cabs ready to whisk us about 10 miles down the road to Playa del Carmen, or Tulum, or any one of a number of other destinations for shore excursions.

On this trip, we’re checking out bars in Playa del Carmen. Sorry, I can’t tell you more about those bars because they are the subject of an upcoming book, but this story line is about Spy Chick, and it runs right smack dab through the middle of one of those bars, Senor Frogs on the waterfront next to the ferry docks in Playa del Carmen.

Mister Frog is probably best known for the ritualistic drinking spectacle that is the center of entertainment amongst the raucous, inebriated throng of tourists. Roving bartenders ply shots of tequila and tall glasses of rum punch around the crowd. A tequila shot is accompanied by a head-tussle-lap-dance-boob-jiggle-whistle-blowing extravaganza. A slash of rum punch is delivered from a long curved glass that is “supposed” to be a palm tree, but looks remarkably like a huge penis, especially when the server is standing on a chair next to the drinkee (almost always a woman) holding the glass at zipper level whilst the drinkee throws back her head and takes a swallow. Whew! This is NOT the place to bring the kids, or the preacher. But it’s the perfect place for us!

And apparently for Spy Chick.

She looks different now. Two days on a cruise ship will definitely soften the lines, even on a confidant international provocateur. The make-up isn’t so perfect (if there is any), the hair is more rumpled (I think it looks better, myself), and the clothes are way more casual, and way more revealing. But that dagger-tatooed ankle is still wrapped in a stunning high heel, this time white. And the lips still telegraph the promise of whispers that would make a pirate sigh, still full and dark purple. Terrance has donned a neon yellow tank-top (looks like silk) and a pair of black cargo shorts that perfectly hugged his waist and flowed loosely almost to his knees. Shoot, you could wrap a Trader Joe’s shopping bag around this guy and he would STILL look masculine and totally cool.

We hailed each other across the noisy bar and I made my way over to their spot. As I approached, Spy Chick had just finished ordering a “flight of shots”, i.e., a little colorfully painted tray with 6 shots of tequila arranged around the edges with a shallow bowl of salt and sliced limes in the middle. When it arrived, she offered me one and served herself, then started applying the lime juice to her hand between the thumb and forefinger. I started to hand a shot to Terrance, but Spy Chick stopped me.

“He doesn’t do tequila. This is for us.” (Us?) Was that a twinkle I saw in her eye? Was that a slight smirk that tugged at the corner of Terrance’s mouth? Aaaarghhh! Was I being challenged? Did this provocative blond smoothie think she was going do me in with tequila?! HA! Okay, I did make a few condescending remarks about the cute little pink drinks she and Terrance were sipping back at the pool bar a few days ago. Hmmm, was that gaze she laid on me at the time a reproach rather than a flirt? Naaaaahhh…

And (sigh) out of my life.

Oh yeah, there’s plenty of information you need about the various ships, itineraries and ports.  And you certainly want to know the answers to those recurring questions like “What’s the best cruise?” and “Can I take alcohol on board?”  That’s why I created www.dothecaribbean.com, so you could find out about all that stuff.

But this site has a slightly different mission.  Here I’m going to be talking about whatever comes up including neat bars, interesting people, frustrating circumstances and various unconventional topics.

Let’s go cruisin’!!

4 friends yuck it up on the beach at the beautiful island of Coco Cay, Bahamas, a private island owned by Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines.

As great as it is to bask in the playful, beautiful Caribbean in the company of playful beautiful women, it’s nothing compared to the respectful admiration you get from young Spring-break beach party dudes when you beat them at their own game.

You just know it’s going to be a great day when the first thing you see as you step out on the pool deck is a jewel of an island off the port side, surrounded by unbelievable shades of Caribbean blue.  And when you know that’s your destination for the day.

Oh yea-a-h-h.  This is life as it should be.

The jewel is Coco Cay, a private island owned (actually leased) by Royal Caribbean.  It’s “real” name is “Little Stirrup Cay”, so named because of its location atop the chain of islands and cays known as the Berry Islands.  And it has quite a delightful history, full of pirates and freed slaves and Robinson-Caruso types living on it.  If you’re cruising on one of the big ships, this island, or one like it, is about as close as you’re going to get to that stunning picturesque remote sandy beach you’ve been dreaming of since you booked your cruise.  

A day on Coco Cay is as close to Caribbean fantasy as one gets (at least during daylight hours with your clothes on.) Having been here many times, we knew the drill.  Get to the island, hump it to the far end away from all the congestion at the waterfront and stake out a couple of shady hammocks on the beach before anyone else gets there.  Yes, it’s a bit hectic at first.  And for first time travelers, like my daughter Rachel, it seems like a stupid mad rush to nowhere when you could be delightedly gawking at the shops and neat buildings and all that.

But soon enough, the wisdom of our apparent insanity becomes undeniable as we stake claim to a perfect little stand of palm trees with two hammocks and a couple of lounge chairs strategically situated in shady view of a white sandy beach.  Aaaaargghhh!!  One of the palm trees is bent and sweeps chest high above the sand before curving upwards, such that it makes an ideal place to hang towels and stuff.

Within minutes, Carlos, the handsome young Bahamian mobile bartender, shows up in his blue and green golf-cart with several coolers stuffed full of iced down Corona’s, Buds and other drinks which we don’t care about ‘cause were going for the Corona and Bud.  We score a bucket of iced down Buds, an extra bucket of ice and a promise from Carlos that he will check on us every half hour.  It didn’t hurt Carlos’s devotion to us when we paid him an extra $20 and promised to double it if he took good care of us. (He did!)

We took inventory of our personal stash, just as a matter of pacing ourselves, you know.  We’re very fond of those little airline bottles you can get at the booze store and so we ALWAYS take an ample supply with us, no matter where we’re going, at home or abroad.  Our stash included 6 little bottles of Coconut Rum, 4 of Cuervo Gold, 4 Apple Puckers, 2 Jeagermeisters (we’ve not yet been able to bring ourselves to shoot the Jeager, but we keep bringing it with us in anticipation of the time when we do), a pint of Gin, 3 cans of tonic, two limes and a shaker of salt (our Cabin Steward was a great asset on this cruise) .  We made a hobo-sack from one of our towels and hung the booty from the low-hanging palm tree, and then fashioned a similar rig to hold our buckets of beer and ice.

Once we got our day-site set up, we grab a couple of beers and leisurely stroll on back to the waterfront to check things out.  Rachel is in Caribbean heaven, browsing the straw market, signing up for beach volleyball and snorkeling, snacking at the buffet and making appropriate note of the mass of young, buff dudes shamelessly strolling around with no shirts and their swim trunks hanging dangerously low on their young little athletic butts, just slightly below the tan line.  Grrrr.  The unfortunate downside of cruising with your cute, blond teenage daughter.  (Sigh, gotta be strong.  Bre-e-e-e-e-eath).

By the time we return to our hammocks the beach has become more populated.  Still, it’s not even close to being crowded, just no longer secluded.  Rachel heads down to the beach at the end of the island with some kids from the ship for a volleyball game and cookout.  We settle in for the day.

It’s still mid-morning and the scene unfolds as it surely does every time a boatload of tourists stream ashore. Down by the water’s edge, a girl is attempting to strike provocative poses for a guy (boyfriend?) who’s taking pictures of her with his digital camera.  She’s pretty, has a classically beautiful swim-suit model body, long hair that seems to love the breeze, and has a knack for the job.  I’d like to be on his e-mail list.

Out in the water, a group is paddling kayaks across the lagoon to the far shore to do some snorkeling, and off in the distance someone is gliding on a parasail across a bright blue sky that defies description, as if to complete the picture of Caribbean life at it’s fantasy best.

Off to the left, a group of Spring-break party dudes are getting warmed up for the beach scene, throwing a nerf football to each other and making spectacular catches as they sacrifice their bodies to the blue water.  Each catch, or near miss, produces the requisite strutting and banter.  The ritual is timeless, and I observe with wise (i.e., “older”) admiration the flawless execution of youthful machismo.  I laugh out loud at myself as I notice how glad I am that I don’t have to do that anymore. 

Closer to home a lively group of four women have staked out a spot between us and the water.  And so the story takes a turn… 

The treasure of four bikini-clad sirens shamelessly flaunting their own version of an alcohol-induced Caribbean beach day (and with their own music not less!) was not lost on the Spring-break beach party dudes.  Their “game” shifted strategically such that missed balls (there seemed to be more of them now), bounced or rolled within radar-range of the bikinis.  Naturally, the dudes couldn’t just walk up and introduce themselves, that would be too easy and not cool.  So they heroically scooped up loose balls, and casually tossed, jogged and sprinted about the new playground, all the while keeping a calculated eye on the eventual prize.  The anticipation was palpable… and priceless from an anthropological point of view.

Our tried-and-true plan was to bask in the sun, get some great photos of the beach and water-front area, deplete the overall reserves of Corona in Carlos’ golf cart and re-e-e-e-e l-a-a-a-a-a-ax.  Not a hard task in this little corner of the world.  A good plan, easily executed and going smoothly.  

Until one of the four sirens squeals with slightly inebriated dismay that the beer has run dry.  Apparently, in the midst of their sun drenched revelry, they had not noticed Carlos’ Beer Cart on his last visit, and so were quite distressed that someone had to do a beer run to the Tiki bar a hundred or so yards down the beach. 

But then one of them, the elder of the group, noticed us with our beer bucket hanging in the shade from a palm tree and boldly approached, quickly joined by one of her bikini-mates.  The more mature siren was a visual gem.  Close to 50, she was lithe and tan and HOT.  Great smile, full grayish-blond hair and a slender body scantily clad in a lime-green bikini that celebrated the blemishes and scars of motherhood and life.  Nothing pretentious or phony.  Probably what Venus would have looked like as she got older if someone hadn’t snatched off her limbs.

Turns out, she was a nurse (they all were) and this was a periodic ritual they practiced every year or so.  One of the sirens was her daughter and the other two were co-workers.  Her partner in this particular introduction was a 30-something tigress (on her way to a 4-alarm buzz) who had invested last year’s Christmas bonus in a stellar augmentation that demanded the world take notice of her minimal bikini top.  (We happily and unapologetically obliged.)

Their strategy was obvious from the start – overwhelm us with their sexy playfulness and delightful visual candy, and score our beer. (Sigh) In our idyllic marinated state of mind, we were definitely ready to get scored on.

Since we only had two beers, we generously offered to supplement their intake from our private stash until Carlos returned. The tigress shrieked “Oh my God! Tequila!”, and BAM!  The other two sirens took immediate note and our quiet, palm-tree shade zone became the center of activity in a flash (not that we objected, of course).  What seemed like an abundance of little bottles a few short hours ago was quickly depleted, but fortunately Carlos returned in the nick of time. 

In their supercharged state, the sirens turned their collective wiles on our bartender.  Carlos has been there before, but even a seasoned veteran such as himself was putty in the hands of the sirens.  They cleaned him out and sent him off to find more Corona’s (even got him to leave one of his coolers behind). Two of them jockeyed a ride back to the waterfront (restroom break) and sure enough, Carlos returned with his passengers and more Coronas. 

In our chivalrous best, we were ready to spring for the tab when Venus stepped in and made it clear (in supreme mature hotness) that she didn’t need a man to pay her bills.  She unfolded a stack of twenties, paid the bill (including OUR beer), gave our man a nice tip and then (with a sly grin) leaned against him and planted a kiss on his lips, with a provocative “Thanks, honey”.  Without so much as a backward glance, she turned up her beer and took a slug on the way back to here chair.  She got sidetracked by a Jimmy Buffet song and started dancing with her daughter.  Whew!  Okay, maybe it wasn’t our promise of a nice tip that kept Carlos coming back!  (And, by the way, whatever happened to the Spring-break beach party dudes?  Patience, I’ll get to that.)

Rachel rejoined us and was happy (though not surprised) that there was a party going on where earlier there had been a quiet shady beach spot.  Now she could have some fun too.  It’s not that she doesn’t enjoy spending time with her Dad on these little adventures, and the fact is her Dad (i.e. me) is a LOT more fun than most people.  But now she had girlfriends!  It turns out that Venus’ daughter was only 21 (Rachel is 17) so they hit it off immediately and the party just rolled on, complete with many pictures being taken (some of which might be totally incriminating if I hadn’t been there myself!), music, and tons of laughter.

As with all spontaneous eruptions of Caribbean merry-making, this day grew to a close all too soon for our taste.  Carlos made his “last call” rounds and let us know that we needed to make our way back to the waterfront to catch the tender to the boat.  About 30 minutes later he returned and let us know that we REALLY needed to make our way back to the waterfront.  Of course, we were pretty sure that the ship wouldn’t leave without us, but Carlos had been a good mate and we didn’t want to stress him too much so we reluctantly began to break camp.  There was so much less to pack than there had been to unpack, but we were moving quite a bit slower and every damn thing that happened seemed incredibly funny which impeded our efficiency even more.

Adding to the specter of it all was when one of the sirens decided her bikini top was rubbing her sun-burned shoulders too much so she took it off in favor a bright yellow t-shirt from the straw market up by the waterfront.  Needless to say, cheers and gasps all around as she flung her top in the air and donned the t-shirt.  (Dang, never a camera when you really need it!)

Not surprisingly, the sirens convinced Carlos to give them a ride back to the water front in the beer cart, and so, in a matter of minutes, amidst laughter, squeals and demands for us to hurry up, the sirens (and Rachel) disappeared around the sandy bend leaving us standing in the shade with a beer in hand – kind of like the day started.  Except that now there was a cute pink bikini top hanging from our palm tree.

The beach was mostly deserted by now, except for the Spring-break beach party dudes who were hanging around finishing off their own beers and making their way toward the waterfront, much quieter now.  As we left our little palm-tree shady beach spot, the group moved towards us.

“Hey, dudes” one of the Spring-break beach dudes said.  “Wow, man, how’d you guys do it?”

We stared at the questioner for a moment.

“I mean, no offense, but you guys aren’t exactly young, you know. We were all set to hook up with those chicks and the next thing we know, they’re all over you, partying, raising hell.  We’re in awe.  How do WE do that?  Got any tips?” 

Okay, the question was unexpected, sort of, and the Spring-break beach party dudes were very earnest, you could see it in their eyes.  So, it would have been rude to just blow it off.  Here was an opportunity to make a difference in some young men’s lives, give them a perspective on fun, and confidence and cleverness.  Yeah, we could have said, “Hey, just make sure you always take your own booze everywhere you go”, or “Timing is everything”, or something relatively honest.  Instead, I reached in my back pack and took out the pink bikini top and tossed it to the guy who asked the question and said mysteriously,

 “If you can figure out why she took this off, you’ll have your answer”.  As an after thought, “You can keep it, but you have to promise you’ll make up a REALLY good story to tell you friends.”

Ahhh, yes.  Like I said, as great as it is to bask in the playful, beautiful Caribbean in the company of playful beautiful women, it’s nothing compared to the respectful admiration you get from young Spring-break beach party dudes when you beat them at their own game.  (Giggle.)