MLAG Fun Fund Raiser and Winter Escape
5 Night Autoharp Cruise on Carnival's Ship: "Sensation"
Feb 7
- 12, 2004
Cruise Report by Gregg Averett
Photo album courtesy of Neal Walters
Song Cruisin' on the Carnival Line
Written by Neal Walters and Gregg Averett
Performed by Neal and Coleen Walters
The Tampa locals kept us informed of the weather as the embarkation date grew nearer. One week it would be 44 degrees, then 74 degrees; then, cold yet again. It complicated our packing but one thing was sure--it promised to be better than almost anywhere else in the country and, certainly, the balmy climes of the Caribbean beckoned enticingly. The occasion for the first ever Autoharp Cruise had coincided with the worst winter in decades and many a harper was itching to escape the cold and ice.
They came from near and far, by plane and car. Fifty-seven strong, there were harpers of all stripes, many with spouses or other family, including a surprise gathering of the Parkinson family for husband/father/brother Jim, who was celebrating his 60 th birthday. Experience levels spanned the gamut from rank beginner to Winfield and Mt. Laurel champions. Guitars, banjos, fiddles, mandolins, and a bass rounded out the musicianship in our merry band.
Most elected to come a day early to avoid travel complications and stayed together at a pre-arranged hotel between the airport and the cruise ship pier. Despite the chilly weather, doors were flung open and a small jam broke out between cruisers unable to wait to begin the party.
The day of departure, thirty-so folks at the hotel boarded a chartered bus for the pier, while others trickled in from the airport or drove the last leg to Tampa's seaport. That was the embarkation point for a five-day cruise aboard Carnival's "Sensation", a fun ship nearly three football fields in length, scheduled to depart with around 2000 festive passengers for visits to Grand Cayman and Cozumel.
It was decidedly cool that day with a high overcast. It only bears mention because so many had arrived ready for a stark break from the frigid climes back home. OK, so no sun bathing the first afternoon.
Embarkation went with minimum fuss. Luggage was checked with porters at the curb and we trailed our roll-aboards and instruments with us through a brief wait in line to get checked in, receive our room keys, and ID cards. We were cleared to board by numbered groups, first passing through the ubiquitous ship's photographer station, set up with an appropriate foreground and backdrop for the customary embarkation photo-op. Photographs are only charged if you want one and most find some captured moment during the cruise they wish to take home. Browsing the more candid photographs displayed in the gallery can be a source of amusement.
Once across the gangway and passing our ship's ID card through the electronic reader, we were welcomed and directed to our staterooms. On many ships, and this was one, the berthing decks offer the only opportunity to see all the way from one end of the ship to the other. It is undoubtedly, the longest hallway (pardon, passageway) you will ever see and passengers walking toward the other end appear to be receding into infinity.
Our luggage was already waiting for us by the door and we immediately unpacked and settled in. Although Carnival's are larger than most, the "efficiency" of a ship's stateroom was probably a shock to many first-timers. Still, it is a pleasant surprise to discover how easily personal items can be stored and put away with just a little planning, and how much space there actually is in a room that is simply not land-sized. The beds were extremely comfortable, with non-allergenic pillows and duvee-covered comforters.
Each of the cabins for our group had been stocked with champagne and a plate of freshly made chocolates, courtesy of CruiseWomen.com. The chocolates were sampled right away, while the bottles of champagne often showed up as communal refreshment at the evening jams.
Next on the agenda was a stroll around the ship to get my bearings and to check out all the incredible facilities. There was teak and brass, glass with grand views, atriums with lofty heights, kaleidoscopes of neon and dazzling colors, swimming pools, Jacuzzis, and spa. There were coffee bars, piano bars, disco bars, pool bars, and barbells. If there was anything you wanted to do, there was a place to do it. One soon realizes that, not only do the public spaces stretch out for several football fields, there are three or four decks of them. Any concern over confinement quickly dissipates in the face of such enormity.
In the late afternoon, as the ship pulled away from the pier, our group collected for an orientation in Michaelangelo's Lounge--a disco by night but our daytime gathering spot for meetings and workshops. The program of autoharp activities was handed out, the group excursions reviewed, questions answered, and some last minute tips dispensed that would enhance enjoyment of the cruise.
Normally there is not a lot of detectable movement when sailing aboard a large cruise ship, but it's not a hotel, OK? Despite the gyro-stabilized, 70,000 ton bulk of the Sensation, the blustery weather for our sailout caused the ship to heave a bit more than usual, which caused some of our number to feel like doing likewise. Still, most found their sea legs soon enough and learned to roll with the motion.
Later, we made our way to our assigned dining room (there were two!). Dinner was the one meal at which we kept the same tablemates and wait staff. Breakfast and lunch were open seating in the dining rooms, buffet style in the Lido and pizza bar, or one could opt for the 24-hour room service. The delicious luxury of breakfast and coffee served in bed was very popular.
We were all seated in one area at tables for eight, each next to a large ocean-view window. Four course meals were ordered from a constantly changing menu. After a night or two, as people got in the swing of things, second entrees and multiple desserts began appearing. Anniversary's or birthdays abounded, which meant a cake for the table to share, as well, accompanied by a multi-culturally accented song from the waiters. Getting to know the waiter and his assistant and vice versa was part of the fun. If yours was sharp, it wasn't long before that iced tea, cappuccino, or espresso magically appeared beside your plate without even asking.
We were addressed every evening by the maitre d' and many nights also brought dancing and seranading waiters, conga lines and flaming plates balanced on heads (not ours, thank goodness).
After dinner there was time to browse through the ship's many duty-free shops, relax in a bar lounge, patronize the casino, or just step out on deck to watch the full moon before making our way to the two-story showroom for Las Vegas-style reviews with singers, chorus lines, and elaborate and dizzying costume changes. There was a magician and several comedians with both after-dinner and adult midnight shows.
Afterwards, our group would gather in the Library to jam. It was roomy, richly wood-paneled, and had a long, curved, glass wall that fronted the main, multi-story atrium. It was common for passersby to not only stop, but to stay. One captivated Canadian gent was inspired to accept a quick lesson from Cindy and play along for one song. A young Florida couple, who played acoustic music professionally, happily joined in after stumbling upon our session. Spouses added instruments of every sort to fill our jams into a respectable band.
The long transit between Tampa and the western Caribbean ports gave us two sea days, which we used for our workshops. Southbound, Carol Stober addressed "Reading and Use of Autoharp Tablature" and John Hollandsworth covered "Arranging Autoharp Tunes". On the return leg, Mark Fackeldey covered "Modes on the Autoharp" while Karen Daniels taught "Recognizing Patterns". Each workshop included material that allowed players of all levels to participate.
In the afternoons there was time to quietly read, for sun-bathing, the pool slide and Jaccuzzis, saunas and steam room, beauty saloon, or the spa, where one might indulge in a massage and herbal rub or sea weed mineral wrap. Of course, there was always the casino, and some just couldn't stay away from their harps.
Dawn of the third day found us anchored off Georgetown, Grand Cayman. All ships must ferry their passengers in tenders due to the shallow waters. Most of our group had signed up for the trip to Stingray City. Ours was a private charter arranged by CruiseWomen.com, not the excursion offered through the ship. We noticed during our motor in that the winds were up and the waves pretty choppy. At the tender pier there were notices posted that all the ship's excursions had been canceled due to sea conditions.
But not us! We hardy few straggled down a block to Captain Marvin's (the originator of the stingray tours), where we boarded a bus for the other side of the island. We hoped to catch a glimpse of the quaintly named town of Hell but stopped short at Captain Marvin's charter dock where a sturdy two-deck cruiser was laid alongside. I couldn't resist peeking at the stern to see if it read, "Minnow".
We motored out through a canal that alternated with thick masses of mangroves sporting the odd, sunning iguana, and million-dollar vacation homes. During the sail out to the mouth of the bay we slathered on sunblock and adjusted our masks and snorkels. Those of us stretched out on the bow enjoyed a cooling spray as the cruiser cut through the wind-driven swells.
Stingray City lies at the wide mouth of a large bay, where a sandbar shallows the water waist-deep in spots. Scores of stingrays, domesticated by years of feeding and handling, flock to the sites in expectation of handouts. Today, we were the only boat on the bay...and we were mobbed. As we peered timorously over the gunwales at the countless, sinister, dark shapes gliding under the surface, the captain shouted, "OK, no shoes, sandals, or footwear. We don't want to harm the stingrays." Yea, right! Well, this was why we came so, following the crewman with the bait bucket, by ones, twos, and threes, we took the plunge. "AAAAAH!"
Reactions varied in that roiling stew of waves, stingrays, and milky-skinned humans. Some were absolutely amazed and fascinated to be surrounded, buffeted even, by a swirling mass of large, exotic sea creatures. For others, the experience was...different. I had to admire their spunk. Little Vickie Lehman struggled amid the waves to keep her head above water. Kathy Wieland kept emitting regular little, "Eeeee's!", while Judy McLeod was paralyzed into complete, open-mouthed muteness. Yet, there they were, right in with the rest of us. Eventually, fears subsided, even if some discomfort persisted. As Kathy put it, "I think I'm having a good time, now. At least I've stopped screaming."
Try to imagine you've entered the big cage at the City Pound and every dog in it thinks you've come to adopt him. That's what the rays were like--crowding, bumping, rubbing, shoving...like so many big friendly dogs. Some were a light, sandy color and a mere foot or two across but many were charcoal gray and big as tabletops. And all of them wanted to be fed.
Their eyes are on top and their toothless mouths on the bottom, so they come snuffling blindly up your body like inquisitive Golden Retrievers. When they think they've come upon a tasty treat, like a piece of squid, they suction it powerfully into their mouths. A big one evidently felt lucky when he came upon one of my nipples and..."Yow!" It was worse than a teething 18-month old. I quickly obtained a handful of squid tidbits to offer them another target. I found that one also learns to keep thumbs tucked in out of harm's way or they, too, get sucked in with the squid.
One of the crewmen selected a large, docile ray and lifted it up so that we were sprayed by a stream of water from its mouth. After showing us the barbed spine in the tail, he invited us to come up and take turns holding and handling it, and most did. I found it to be heavy, slick, rubbery, and surprisingly soft. Very cool!
The narrow sandbar was waist-deep for most but the swells and crowding stingrays could easily shove you into deeper water. That wasn't so bad since flopping face down into the water with mask and snorkel revealed a scene of gliding, swirling grace, with the rays more in their element than when splashing on the surface. Without exception, one way or another, everyone carried back this extraordinary communion with one of nature's most exotic sea creatures as their most memorable experience of the cruise.
After forty minutes or so, we got the recall. I'm normally pretty adventurous and accustomed to venturing out on the fringes. As I started to head back, I noticed there was one lady well out beyond me, only the top half of her mask and snorkel showing. Just in case, I thought I would check on her. When I got within reach she spat out her snorkel, gasping mightily, and latched onto my hand tighter than O.J. Simpson's glove. It seems that, while all appeared serene on the surface, down below she had been paddling furiously but futilely against the current and, despite her best efforts, was slowly drifting away towards Jamaica. Taking a grateful but unpanicked Carol Stober in tow, we joined the queue clambering back on board the boat.
Now, I need to put things into perspective for you. Carol, a little septuagenarian grandmother from Alabama, had only learned to swim two years before. Yet, here she had fearlessly leaped into the O-C-E-A-N, with its big waves, deep water, tidal currents, and teeming stingrays. Can YOU imagine having the nerve to do such a thing?
We moved on a short distance to a reef area for some more snorkeling among sea fans, live coral, and lots of fish. I relied on a Ziploc bag I had stuffed with sausage links and bread from breakfast to ensure plenty of fishies came swarming around. Curiously, though, not a stingray was to be found.
Back ashore, we split up into the "shopping group" and the "where's-the-tender-it's-time-for-lunch group". I got the best of both--I went back to eat while Shirley shopped and surprised me with a cool, stingray-pattern, batik shirt. Life is good!
After the ship weighed anchor for Cozumel, we gathered in the Plaza Lounge for a great, two-hour, autoharp concert. All the workshop leaders--the Hollandsworths, the Fackeldeys, the Daniels, and Carol Stober and granddaughter, Rebecca--had sets, as well as the Walters and a trio comprised of Cindy Harris, Eileen Kosloff-Abrams, and Kathy Wieland. We are truly indebted to them for answering the call to contribute their time and talent for the autoharp portion of the cruise.
Our second port of call was the Mexican Riviera island resort of Cozumel. Once again, we had an exclusive tour of the local Mayan ruins arranged, for which about half of our group had signed up. This time the ship was moored at a pier and we walked ashore, passing through a clean, modern shopping village. We met up with our bus driver and Carlos, our tour guide, and were soon on our way to the ruins at San Gervasio.
We passed through Cozumel's tourist district and, on the far side of town, we made an unexpected stop in a fairly rough-looking area. Carlos announced that right outside lay the fabulous **Coral Factory**, for our shopping convenience. Shirley and I looked at each other, puzzled, as this had not been part of our arrangements. Uncertain, we all got off, happy in any case just to stretch our legs.
It was a neighborhood of cinder block buildings and dusty streets. A small, non-descript convenience store across the way sported the eye-catching name, "A Escorpion". Inside the **Coral Factory** there was no evidence of manufacture, just a half dozen plywood tables festooned with the sort of black coral trinkets being hawked on most street corners, downtown. Few found any items of interest but ears perked up at the mention of a restroom. Those visitors quickly came tumbling back out, though, unprepared for the primitive nature of the "facilities".
Meanwhile, cabinmates Judy McLeod and Vickie Lehman had decided to wander down the street to see what they could see. Spotting an idle local, they asked if he would take their picture. Evidently, he took this as some sort of code for, "Hey, Buddy. We're looking for a good time!" Undeterred by their flustered rejection, he upped the ante by offering them the company of a young Mexican boy, instead or also--their choice. They hastily excused themselves and came scurrying back to the bus, where we prized out the reason for their uncontrolled giggling. Needless to say, we were all rolling in the aisle.
Not withstanding his kick-back inspired stop at the **Coral Factory**, Carlos proved to be a knowledgeable and garrulous guide, speaking non-stop about the history of Mexico and Cozumel during our ride to the ruins. San Gervasio is unique in being the only Mayan temple complex dedicated to the goddess Ix Chel, patroness of women and fertility, who was the wife of Itzamma, the Mayan God above all.
The enclosing jungle shaded us and invisible birds serenaded as we strolled the rough, cobbled pathways that connected the various ruins of the site. Constructed over several centuries and once boasting two thousand citizens, for unknown reasons the Mayan king ordered it abandoned. The large, resident iguanas are said to contain the spirits of the temple priests, who rebelled against the order and who watch over the temple grounds to this day. All in all, it was a very pleasant stroll in the jungle with souvenir shopping, of course, on the way out.
Back on the bus, after some speechifying, we presented Judy and Vickie each with a naughty postcard purchased at one of the shops, signed by all of us and proclaiming them our group's official Cultural Ambassadors.
The tour was not over, we discovered, as Carlos took us from the jungle interior of Cozumel along the wild, undeveloped, Caribbean side of the island. Blues of every hue colored the ocean until it swelled into a crashing surf that pounded the largely rocky, limestone shoreline.
We found ourselves stopping once again, this time at the nicest of a handful of watering holes along the way. Wow! What a serendipitous setting. Palm-frond lanais on a sugar-sand beach, framed by limestone formations to either side and jutting from the waves in front, and all cooled by a refreshing sea breeze.
Passing by the beachfront restaurant/bar, I turned down an offer to cook up a fresh, 3-lb. lobster tail, as our stay would necessarily be brief. Selecting a shady refuge, we kicked off our sneakers and, soon, Coronas and frozen pina coladas sprouted from our hands. Some waded out knee-deep in the surf. Some explored the rocks. Some clicked away with digital cameras, and some were content with just sittin' n sippin', taking it all in. It was idyllic. Neal observed that if he held his empty Corona bottle to his ear, he could actually hear the ocean.
I've seen many a fine beach in my travels, some admittedly better, but no beach experience lingers in memory as quite so mesmerizing (except, maybe, that time in the Bahamas when I got to watch Elle McPherson in a bikini, shooting a tanning lotion commercial).
Too soon the glasses were drained and we headed back. Some got off at the pier but most stayed on and rode down to the town plaza to shop. We said goodbye to Carlos and our driver, and a group of us sought out a restaurant my wife remembered from a previous trip. We were ushered to a fine table in an intimate courtyard, where a local family trio discreetly played together on a marimba in the background. More margaritas were ordered to accompany a sumptuous Mexican meal.
We split up afterwards to pursue our individual shopping goals. I bought a bottle of Habanero hot sauce that boasted a tract-burning guarantee, as well as some Kahlua as an antidote. Shirley and I wandered through the city's shops for some hours until heading back to the ship in time for dinner.
As I already mentioned, the next days saw more workshops, jamming, and as we had a quorum aboard, we even managed an MLAG board meeting over lunch. The ship, as usual, offered a boatload of its own diversions.
One evening the entertainment in the showroom consisted of the very popular passenger's talent show and we were proud to claim three of the eight acts as from our group. We could even lay unofficial claim to a fourth--the young musician couple who jammed with us. Performing on the main stage for all the passenger's enjoyment were the Daniels, the Giamalvo's, and the Roberts.
Sunsets, smooth seas, and soft breezes cradled us on the journey home and, much too soon, it was over. We repacked our bulging suitcases and struggled with customs forms. Stewards and waiters tipped and thanked, we had a last breakfast and waited for our color-coded group to be called away for de-embarkation. Customs and immigration officials thankfully gave us a kind of matador wave towards the exit and, bags reclaimed, it was back to the real world.
Many an honorary shellback discovered a new, seductive vacation experience and swore to return on the next voyage of musical adventure...for which I can only say, "Aaaargh, Matey, the omens are favorable!"
This document maintained by
Neal Walters.
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