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Published on 12/29/1997 All articles from this issue

A world afloat

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By Charlotte K. Jarmy

Reflections

It's good to be back home where the earth beneath our feet is relatively firm. (No earthquake to prove me wrong, please!) After two weeks of enduring the shaking of our plane during turbulence on our way to sunny Florida, then our mighty ship's rock and roll in the Caribbean, my frazzled nerves enjoyed the peace and relative quiet of the Bay Area. Even the Crash Bang of the garbage trucks today made me yawn and return to blissful sleep.

When friends ask," How was your cruise?" I answer in all sincerity, "Just wonderful." The world on a posh cruise ship like the Crown Princess is in many ways a microcosm of our normal world. There are hundreds of people living in staterooms that resemble spacious hotel rooms-until the ship starts its amazing tendency to jump the waves. We had a large theater to view quite recent films like Harrison Ford's derring do in "Air Force One" or the guy in "George Of The Jungle' who sounded like Tarzan but managed to act like a consummate idiot on the loose.

My natural tendency to shop was confined to a few glitzy stores, but after one impulsive purchase of jewelry, I reined in my adventurous spirit. After all, the ship's casino beckoned me brightly with the sounds of coins dropping into eagerly waiting buckets. I patted myself on the back when I walked away still solvent every day. I told myself that the $200 total loss is what I always allow myself on trips to Tahoe.

The ship, splendidly air-conditioned, catered to my desire to wax poetic about the views of the ocean, the seamless horizon, and the glory of the setting sun-all observed through floor to ceiling windows, as we lounged comfortably on attractive purple and blue chairs.

When the shortest route to the entertainment area or the buffet tables took us into the hot, humid air, I wondered at the crowds of fellow vacationers, oiled and half naked, stretched out on deck chairs inviting the sun to scorch their bodies. The three pools also played host to mostly older shipmates who dipped discreetly and then hurried back to their deck chairs to snooze, read, or gossip. The center pool attracted the younger crowd who delighted in the bar that floated along with them. Amazing!

Nothing was more inviting and downright sinful than the food, served all hours in many parts of the ship. The mile-long menus tempted the palate with mouth-watering descriptions of their offerings. "Come, come," they said; "you'll diet when you get home." Every night we promised each other that we'd abstain from trying the most lavish dishes, like lobster, crab legs, and colorful bisques. The baked Alaska parade on the final evening could not be denied. Our waiter actually pouted when I tried to desist! One had to be polite.

The shipboard revelry and headlong descent into self-indulgence came to a grinding halt with a side trip to the San Blas islands. Luxury cruise ships have created an eye opening experience where the natives greet you with outstretched hands, all ages from baby on up, asking for "Money, money." Money for colorful but hastily made molas, for crude wooden toy boats, or jewelry easily obtainable at Cost Plus-all the same merchandise arranged down a path next to their tiny thatched houses. Take a picture, you are asked for one dollar. Two people in the picture, two dollars, and everyone buys. I cynically wonder if they have computers and televisions in the dark corners of their homes.

We take our values with us when we travel and somewhere along the way, we drop them off to change the lives of others forever.

Yet it was a wonderful trip; the Panama Canal makes for grand viewing as we pass through the locks,the people of Costa Rica met us with warmth and pride in their democratic system where welfare does not exist and education is mandated through high school.

But it is the tiny, unsmiling faces of the people on the San Blas islands that remain on my mind. We lived a life devoted to excess on the ship, but sadder human experiences were often evident whenever we stepped onto the shore.

No wonder Huckleberry Finn felt happiest on his raft as it drifted down the peaceful Mississippi.

Charlotte Kaye Jarmyis a Los Altos resident and longtime contributorto the Town Crier.