Day One and Beyond

So far, this trip has basically been the in-your-face execution of all self-jinxing, first in missing every flight to the Bahamas, then by having to stay overnight in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, potentially losing my bags, and sleeping, at most, ten hours in the last three nights combined. I didn't expect it to be waveless in engineering, but I will say that it was much choppier than expected, and though I had convinced myself upon waking on the 27th at 3:00 am to fly out of Monterey that everything would go horribly wrong, I do still consider myself a generally lucky individual—having been supported financially and otherwise for this trip alone—and all negative beliefs were shaded by a subtle yet stable optimism that I knew I would arrive and everything would work out.

I arrived to the modest-in-size, décor, and-everything-else Monterey Airport at 4:30am with Red Bull in hand, anticipating a zippy flight with only a couple stops before I would reach my destination: the Bahamas.

Having been dependent on my mother for everything up to this point—the tickets, documents, etc.—her eventual departure allowed for everything to go awry; the sky was still dark and the gate—one of four in the whole airport—was filled with sleep-deprived travelers who, judging from hearsay, were flying within the country, many with Phoenix as the final destination. The flight was to board at 6:30, but that passed, and then 7:00 passed, and at 7:30, the lady at the gate pulled the mic to her mouth to tell us they were waiting for a mechanic to arrive for a final check of the plane, and that was all she knew.

I have finished a second Red Bull and a bag of Chex Mix—for lack of restaurants in the airport; called my mom countless times to update her, to tell her I would miss the next flight and need a new one, to cry, to complain about airports, etc.; have discussed an alternate flight with the gate woman who told me the only option would be to go home and fly the next day—an idea to which I would absolutely not agree; slept for twenty minutes as a middle-aged man with prune-y olive skin watched; and clicked the 'get mail' button countless times to see if my boyfriend who had just flown to Germany was still alive, when they finally came in again, having disappeared for over an hour, to tell us, "at the least, it'll be an hour."

Finally, at 10:30, the gate lady re-entered the room. We would leave in approximately half an hour, she said, so we all boarded and I called my mama to check what the final route would be, and she said "Monterey, Phoenix, Philadelphia, Ft. Lauderdale, hotel." I had the baggage men re-tag my bags accordingly, and we were off.

U.S. Airlines was training a new flight attendant who happened to have a lisp and dyslexia, which was kind of enjoyable, as her muttering grabbed my attention and I think it was the first time I actually listened to the presentation. Though many were distracted and upset by the amateur interpreter, I have no complaints about the flight save for the fact that all refreshments—that includes water, sodas, alcohol [pretzels and peanuts weren't even in the equation]—cost twice as much as on land, so I drank/ate nothing.

The first thing I did upon landing was turn on my cell phone to see that my mom had left me a voicemail saying the route would be changed, again, and I would need to re-route my bags, again. So I skipped off to customer service to wait in a line consisting of everyone on my flight, all of them having missed their connections, all of them angry. Here I found that the baggage man in Monterey had looted my luggage tickets, leaving my bags virtually impossible to track, so I would have to be hopeful even though I couldn't be at that point.

It has come to my attention, after re-reading all I've written, that this is really boring stuff, so to save you, I'll just say that everything improved from that point on; though I flew backwards—from Monterey to Phoenix to Las Vegas to Ft. Lauderdale—I eventually arrived, safely, though sleep deprived, in Florida. The taxi driver may have driven in a few circles for a few extra bucks before dropping me at the door of the Rodeway Hotel at midnight, and I may have been put in a room directly next door to all-night karaoke jam time, but I slept fine for the four hours that I did and arrived at the airport the next morning two hours early, bags in hand, and feasted on a crusty ham and egg sandwich while I waited.

At the gate, I met some fellow SAS people who had had an equally troublesome time getting there—one even slept under a bench in the airport. Though I can't say I remember their names, I do recall that they were mighty affable fellows and I've since sensed an underlying hey-I-remember-you-from-the-airport,-you-were-my-first-friend connection when I see them, which is nice.

The flight was lovely; I had the wits about me to get through a few pages of reading, received a free Bahama Mama from the Bacardi Bar right around the corner from immigration, met my bags and shared a cab with the people from my flight and a few more who waited awkwardly by the luggage carousel, obviously headed to the same place.

As we were very clearly tourists, our taxi driver took the liberty of ripping everyone off. But Todd and I, the stragglers, were sure to contest the prices he insisted we pay, [even though we had reservations saying anything as our driver had what looked like a stab wound in his neck], but we ended up paying less than everyone else. The drive itself, though, was probably worth everything in my wallet just for the view—the crystal waters, lush vegetation, crayon colored landscape. Nothing I'd ever seen before.

The hotel (pictured in the background of the above picture) itself was nothing special, especially in comparison to the majestic Atlantis which towered over everything else in the city, but it, unlike the Atlantis, was all-inclusive, and there really couldn't have been anything better than that after being pressured to pay two dollars for a ginger ale and five to have my bags pulled through the airport's sliding glass doors by a lofty black man. We swam in the hotel pool and ate and drank hotel food and drink, caught up on sleep, and went to the beach during the day where we tumbled in the water, choked on salty Atlantic under the tide, nearly died, drank out of coconuts, and watched two black boys go from black to white to black as they covered themselves with sticky white sand then pushed each other back into the water again.

At night, the forty or so SAS kids there made friends with the hotel employees, sang karaoke and played volleyball with them, danced with them, then slept in preparation for the hour long line to the ship the following morning, then to our rooms, then to meander the ship in search of new friends, new spaces, new views.

The rooms are pretty small; I'm thankful to be living with Kristin, my cousin, who will quickly adjust to my way of living as I have to hers. She brought twice as much as I did, and look! I've already forgiven her. We have a lovely little window where we watch the waves roll together, though we have yet to see any impressive life leaping in and out. Apparently a whale and some dolphins have already been spotted.

Our current location is unknown [by me]. We glided through Puerto Rico yesterday afternoon, and while I found the land and buildings somewhat remarkable, most people were most excited about being in "America," as America means cell phone service. Though I prefer to gaze than to photograph, my mother kindly lent me her camera so I've been trying to use it, and have, in the Bahamas and as we passed Puerto Rico, though the pictures are really nothing special.

Some interesting observations about ship life:
These days, walking has become quite a feat. I have attempted to use this to my advantage, as I've found that people bond most easily in times of strife. It has made for some quick friendships—from bumping into people, being laughed at for being thrust into walls, bonding over the oddity of this disabling power, and anyway, stumbling everywhere is kind of fun.

Also: I would like to add that, as I [and Kristin] have observed, cruise ships foster healthy and active bowels, which I assume is from the constant undulating, though it could just as easily be from the horrible food.

That is basically all I have for now. I will get into classes later, among other things.