I write this post from the White Heat lounge of the Carnival Glory, though it’s two in the afternoon and the only music is Norah Jones coming through my headphones. I am the only one here, sitting at an unused, flecked granite bar. The biggest difference between the lounge now and tonight at 11:30 PM is that tonight it will be darker, there will be music, and a lonely bartender will likely likely join me in overlooking the empty dance floor.
This is my fifth cruise – the third with Carnival – and I have absolutely nothing to complain about. The boat is beautiful, I was rocked gently to sleep last night, the food is good, and I’m happily detached from the world. The views of Lady Liberty while leaving New York yesterday must have been similar to those of my ancestors, from both sides of the family, as they headed the other way. They could not have dreamt of a boat such as this, and it is on their hard work, risk-taking and combined years of education that I have built a life that allows me to aimlessly wander, eat, and be waited on for an entire week.
It’s also nice to travel with my mom on her 65th birthday. When not at sea, she often seems to be in the doldrums, or at least having an existential crisis, so putting her on a boat seems to be a logical course of action.
Back to the White Heat bar and its emptiness. It’s empty because the average age of person cruising on this boat is probably 65. The pools, so often packed with children, are completely empty on this sailing. I’ve counted 3 teenagers and perhaps 5 kids under the age of 11. After that, there are a few 30-something couples (mostly the parents of the 5 kids), and then retirees. Last night, the boat went quiet after the early seating of dinner was complete.
Being prematurely old myself, one would think that I would fit in well with the early-bird dinner, sleep-at-9-PM-and-up-at-5-AM-for-stretching-class crowd. I am having a good time with many of them. Still, given the amount of bitching I hear in the elevators and from the old woman sitting next to me at dinner, one would believe that the ship is in splinters following a cannonade, and that we were sustained by brined mackerel, limes and rancid water from barrels.
“Mom,” I asked, “what is it about old people complaining about everything when they’re surrounded by luxury?” I expected one of the following answers:
- “They don’t feel acknowledged, or that people listen to them, so they take it out on staff.”
- “They’re bored and have nothing else to talk about.”
- “They’re overwhelmed by technology and the changes in the world, and are frightened.”
Her answer, however, haunts me, and makes me very sad, and I don’t know why. Perhaps because it’s simple in that Mister Rogers sort of way, and I never really considered it:
“Because many of them don’t feel well. When you don’t feel well, it’s hard not to be angry.”
For a woman who questions existentialism all the time, I wasn’t expecting such a common-sense, physiologic response. It made me think differently.
Anyway, onward and forward. Less Mister Rogers and More Jolly Rogers. I’m going to have a margarita, and then perhaps jam with the Filipino woman who sings in the lobby. Yesterday she sang “You’re Just Too Good to be True” and danced in her stilettoes and gown with her microphone. Hard not to love that.
