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| © Simon Poulter 2017 |
Yesterday morning the Oasis Of The Seas arrived in Haiti, and for this cruise newcomer it was a unique experience, waking up with an entire country hoving into view. Now, I know that anyone who has flown anywhere - including myself - will have experienced this novelty many times, but ideally from 38,000 feet. To see, for the first time, the trees, mountains and beaches of a ‘new’ country from the deck of a boat is something to savour.
It sounds corny - actually, it is corny - but you can’t help thinking what the early European explorers must have been like, casting first sight on the white sands of these islands (obviously, before claiming them in the name of the colonial power that sent them). Haiti, which shares an island with the Dominican Republic, is where Christopher Columbus is said to have landed in 1492, in his pre-GPS attempt to find Asia. "D'oh!" is, I believe, the appropriate comment. Columbus' 'discovery' was the 15th century equivalent of a truck driver misreading his satnav and getting wedged under a railway bridge. After running his ship aground near what is now the town of Limonade (Prop. R.White?), Columbus set about creating the first European settlement in the Americas - ‘La Navidad’, named after Christmas Day, the day they arrived. The rest, as they say, is history, from Columbus to Trump.
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| © Simon Poulter 2017 |
Somewhere in that timeline evolved the American cruise passenger, a creature with a recognisable descendency from the early settlers. Bold, fearless and fully prepared to consume all that lies in front of them. Just as those early pioneers felt no fear from a strange land with strange flora and fauna, the cruise passenger is unperturbed by a full elevator (a phrase I must use instead of "lift" as I am technically on American soil). There are 24 elevators on the Oasis serving its passenger decks and they are in constant use, shuttling the blessed 6,000 between decks, free food and sundry entertainments. Despite this, these elevators are rarely empty. Indeed, such is the demand, if there’s a gap - no matter how minuscule - people will cram in. Most notably this affront to good manners is at its worst amongst the more 'senior' passengers, who pile in like the front row of a rugby scrum, as if it was the last ride out of town and the buffet was about to close. This is often accompanied by a "Don’t mind me, dear", as a little old lady flattens you against the elevator's wall.
Even for a ship this size (for comparison, it is almost 200 feet longer than the Royal Navy's new 'super' aircraft carrier, HMS Queen Elizabeth), it can become claustrophobic. There are, simply, people everywhere, usually moving slowly in packs seeking sustenance. The platoons of mobility scooters alone create urban rush hour conditions (early morning traffic reports: "There are brake lights all the way up to the entrance to the Windjammer Marketplace...!"). The vast Windjammer restaurant spans the entire width of the ship's crown on Deck 16 and during breakfast it resembles the Florida alligator farm I visited two years ago - a lot of leathery looking creatures circling each other in the hunt for food and a coffee tank not on its last dregs. This swirl of humanity at 7am can be overwhelming, especially if your idea of holiday bliss is a Tuscan village, empty in the searing afternoon heat.
This is why the shore stops are very welcome. Arriving in Haiti was a welcome reminder that cruising is as much about arriving as travelling, and not just about lying on a topside sun lounger as vivid blue ocean gushes past. The opportunity to go ashore was too good to decline, especially with access to a cabana on a private beach. In my ever-expanding list of holiday preferences, I'm not naturally a beach person, but the novelty value of these 'off world' excursions is that you get some sand between your toes, take a swim in warm ocean and look across the bay to the boat you arrived on. Momentarily you feel like you've visited the island, even if you haven't, actually, gone any further than the boundaries of a private resort owned by the company that owns the boat itself.
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| © Simon Poulter 2017 |
Over the course of seven days, we will have visited three countries - Haiti, Jamaica and Mexico. This, in itself, is not so strange for someone who has many times driven from Amsterdam to London through the Netherlands, Belgium and France. But even though this isn't the grandest of voyages - there's only so far you can go in seven days at sea - it's not without its adventure. Much of this comes at a premium, with an eye-watering array of shore excursions offering everything from zip-lining and kayaking, to dolphin encounters. Given the prevailing demographic on board, the shopping trips and wine tasting trips are probably the more popular. Cynical as it's easy to be about all this activity, and the sensual overload that being on this boat is, you have to remind yourself that you are, essentially, on board a giant holiday camp. In 1950s Britain, it would have been a daily regimen of knobbly knees contests and questionable beauty pageants; here, it's prize-bearing Halloween parades (in which people really do go the distance to dress up), karaoke contests and an at-sea casino where hundreds of dollars appear to be gambled - and lost - with crazy abandon.
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| © Simon Poulter 2017 |
For me, it's been illuminating so far and a truly fascinating exercise in people watching, too. Every American stereotype is on board, all - it would appear - having an exceedingly good time. As I write we have just docked in Falmouth, Jamaica. Named after the Cornish port, of course, and - according to the weather forecast, likely to be as inclement as every childhood holiday I had in Cornwall. Bring it on.
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