Or, You Sure Don't Look Like Patrick Swayze.
We're pulling into Bermuda tonight but I'm gonna skip the travelogue. Since I've been to every damn island from Bermuda to the Antilles over the past 15 years, I can say with certainty and confidence, you seen one, you seen 'em all. I'm not even bothering to get off the ship. A note to Caribbean island governments: Clean up your act, do something for your people to keep them from harassing the tourists for money, and maybe I'll come back and spend some of mine there. This especially goes out to the government of Jamaica. If you want a place to get away, book a week at one of the resorts in the Caymans or one of the Dutch islands. They're run a little better, not as corrupt and the people aren't as poor. Observe if you will while you're there, the 'compound' mentality and wonder why there are gates and razor wire around the resort. It's to keep the natives out, otherwise they'd rob you, and the hotel, blind. No thanks.
So, in lieu of pics of Bermuda, I'm gonna relate what passes for evening entertainment for the Mrs. and me while we're hanging out, watching the orchestra.
A little background. When I was a kid, growing up in the 60s, the Catskills were the place to go on vacation and my parents would spend a week there in the late summer. If you've seen Dirty Dancing, you've seen what a week of my summer was like every year. Mrs. F's parents did the same, though they went to the 'Jewish Alps' where we went to the 'German Alps'. Well, aboard Noordam we have almost the same thing.
As I've said before, the vacationers aboard are an older crowd, mainly 60 (sorry Gord) and older ... much. A good portion of 'em are widows and divorcees. Needless to say, they were of the 'Catskills generation' and big band music and dancing is a big part of their lives. Being the theme of the crossing is big bands (I've already mentioned the wonderful Nick Ross Orchestra who headlines every night from 10:30 to 12:30), the alte frauen are in their glory. In light of this, Holland America Line provides dance hosts for the women to boogie with. Let me say right now that none of the hosts (there are about 6 or 7) look like Patrick Swayze and all are old enough to be his father. They don't have his moves either.
Now here's where the entertainment comes in, aside from the fact we enjoy the music greatly. It's what I call the 'chicken dance'. There's a little soap opera going on among the ladies and hosts (most of whom I'm convinced are here to score a rich widow woman). Since we've made the acquaintence of most of the women (well, I have because they all look at me like a piece of meat and circle around as soon as Mrs. F gets up or they spot me alone. Hey, I'm young and handsome, relatively speaking) and they all gossip to us during the day.
Anyway, the ladies all sit together in the lounge, waiting for the hosts to ask them to dance. They keep score, knowing which host danced with whom last, and how many dances they've had with each particular host. Cat fights and backbiting are regular occurrances, and over the past two weeks, we've seen a good number of them. No knock-down-drag-outs yet, but a lot of hissing and screeching. Ladies who are traveling together no longer talk to one another because one felt slighted the other spent more time with a certain host, maybe even slept with him. Another threw money in her friends face for similar reasons. And the Mrs. and I just sit back and watch it go on, set to the tunes of Glenn Miller.
And the hosts also play the game, especially if they think one of the rich ones is looking for a husband. They vie for her attention like preening birds during the mating season, each showing off their plumage to attract the female, thus insulting the others who aren't getting the attention they think they deserve. National Geographic could do a special, probably more interesting to watch than Bighorn Sheep headbutting each other into senselessness over a female because all are dressed so elegantly.
Now that the cruise is winding down, the pace of the dance is even more feverish, the ladies knowing failure means they'll have to wait until next year to try again. The hosts have it easy, knowing that on Saturday afternoon a fresh crop will board after we leave and they can try their luck again. The thing that gets me is these are grown women, not young girls, and should have their eyes open at this point in their lives. Maybe I can see it thanks to my detached point of view, or maybe they choose to ignore the fact they are playing a game, but like Dirty Dancing, they are grasping to hold onto that last little bit of the summer fantasy before they go back to their real lives for the long, cold winter.
Maybe we aren't as far removed from the creatures we consider lesser animals as we think. I'll be back to full-time duty on Saturday.
And as my bartender makes my eye-opener (it's 9:30 am), a recap:
Buongiorno
Blog who?
Monaco
Cures
Making steam
Bottled Lightning
Naval Grafitti
Proud to be an American
Porta Delgado and Horta
See ya in a couple days ...
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