On the third or fourth night I realized my friends and I (for lack of any real obligations) had thrown out all of the swimming, eating, drinking rules. Don’t drink before ten a.m, don't swim after having just ate, don’t eat more than three meals a day, don’t drink four drinks in an hour (happy hour was buy one get one for a dollar). We broke them all, hourly. We were gloriously unsustainable. I remember our cabin steward asking me once, after a happy hour, how I was.
“I’m beautiful Mark, I hope you’re well.” I let out, not thinking, mostly just fake roasting a spit of olives over my martini.
We took afternoon naps on decks where we meant to finish chapters.
I developed an entirely new and semi exciting metaphor for writing and architecture and sound proofing the walls for your readers.
It was selfish at best.
We stopped off in Ketchikan, the salmon capitol of the world. We followed a stream to a hatchery while wild salmon along the way worked themselves up rapids. What a terrible existence and what a pure muscle a salmon is. Everyone knows salmon swim upstream to lay eggs. They don’t tell you the stream is also a thick graveyard of fellow swimmers. At this I would fail, I’d find it all way too discouraging. The day salmon evolve to conscious, the day they unionize, no one should say they were surprised.
Back on the boat I recall reading that the staff so spoiling us will be forever pleased to serve us, at all hours, all appearances are to be kept up. I found this, over the coming week, a certain mirror proposed to the passengers. This is you, with everything, this is you exalted, this is you in a world without assholes. On a cruise the passenger is seemingly never wrong. This is you never wrong. How is this power wielded? What does this power make of you? Very few men in the history of the world held empires, were kings. As a social experiment take a cruise, find out what kind of king or queen you would be.
There was no church on board. Though there were nondenominational events, unhosted as they were, they were announced in the daily itinerary.
I could go into the diet xenophobia some passengers applied softly upon the extremely diverse staff. Ordering loudly could be due to bad hearing, but ordering loudly in Spanish when the bartender is clearly Indian is pressing it’s hopes of playing ignorance.
Deck seven (or the promenade deck) makes a loop around the boat and three times around makes a mile. Usually on my fifth or sixth loop I realize time is put to sleep on a cruise to Alaska. The ships travel north in northern currents to save time. In doing so the passengers are given the view of moving with the waves, an optical illusion that alleviates the idea or metaphor for change aka a sand dial forever flipping. The further north we travel the longer this world stays sunlit, and the more sun they give us, the longer the vacation feels.