DOGSTER: THE WONDERS OF CRUISING

‘You don’t have a pa-a-a-assport, honey?’

Doris gasped with incredulity and fished about in her handbag.

This was the first I’d heard of a passport. You get it stamped every time you ‘do’ an Azamara Activity. I’d been on the Azamara Quest five days - which gives you an idea of how many activities I’d felt inclined to ‘do’, thus far.

‘You don’t have one of these?’

She produced a small blue booklet and riffled through the pages.

Well, gosh, this lady had been everywhere. She’d been to Speed Sudoku, Team Scrabble, the Family & Friends Trivia Quiz, Musical Trivia with Jim Badger, Name That Movie Tune Quiz and Easter Bingo – and that was just today.

Somehow she’d managed to fit in Easter Cha-Cha Time with Mary Amanda as well, a Malaysian cookery class and now, propped up by the pool-side bar, Doris occupied prime position at the Daiquiri tasting demonstration.

‘I like to keep active,’ she said proudly.

Pursed lips sucked heavily at a straw. It was if two pink slugs were mating. Her blue Daiquiri looked like that stuff you run through the toilet flush to keep it clean. It may well have been the toilet stuff – by this point my jovial companion wouldn’t have known.

‘You should gedda pa-a-ashport, honey,’ she whispered thickly, ‘then I could take you on a trip...’

Doris was a great gal, nearly three hundred years old, held together with surgical steel and botox. The skin from her face was pulled back and tied in a bun behind her head in a vague approximation of a woman in her sixties. Those lips were strangely inflated as if some animal had burrowed in and made a home, her mouth stretched back to her ears, granite eyes showed no emotion but startled surprise - everything about her was Carol Channing.

Doris demolished her Daiquiri of Death.

‘That was terrible,’ she slurred, ‘tasted like shampoo. Gimme another one.’

She was coiffed and elegant, pickled and past her prime with a gold ring on each finger as big as a rock. I’m amazed she could lift her hands. She hovered on the bar stool, gently rocking to the movement of the waves. Alas, the ship was completely steady at the time. She leant against my shoulder.

‘If you gedda pa-a-ashport, honey, you gedda pri-i-i-ize,’ she said, running her hand down my chest.

I felt an urgent activity coming on. I scanned my daily programme.

Ah, yes, there it is:

Run a Mile.

You can indeed ‘Run a Mile’ on the Azamara Quest. Each morning a pack of hearty souls assembled under the enthusiastic care of Mr. Dennis Fitness. He was twenty-four, blond and British, hearty as a fresh-cut steak and terribly, terribly keen. He should be in the S.A.S., instead he was giving colonic irrigation to elderly matrons on a cruise ship. Something had already gone terribly wrong.

Dennis already knew this old Dog was a hopeless case. He’d caught me in the gym, anxiously eyeing one of their leaflets.

You are what you eat
You are what you don’t excrete
DETOXIFICATION
How toxic are you?
Have you cleaned your body internally?

There was a very nasty picture of what looked like pooh hanging from a stick and the explanation;

This is what you might have inside your colon due to not cleaning internally.

Ask your fitness instructor Dennis for more information and book an appointment to achieve MAXIMUM RESULTS, guaranteed!

‘Are you Dennis?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he hummed, already knowing that he was perfect and I was not.

‘I am very toxic.’

He didn’t look in the least surprised. I think we were all a little bit toxic to Dennis.

‘Do you think there is any hope?’

He looked me up and down.

‘Perhaps it’s too late,’ he said, unsmiling.

‘Running A Mile’ on the Azamara Quest involved hurtling round a running track on the top deck. Just three hundred revolutions is a mile; something like that - maybe five hundred. You could always tell the morning joggers. One leg was just a little bit shorter than the other.

I have no intention of ever running anywhere again, let alone a mile around the top deck of the Azamara Quest at 7.00 a.m. Having dizzied themselves power-walking in a circle these loons would settle in for a morning stretch at 7.15 a.m., Aerobics at 7.30, Pilates at 8.15 and Yoga at 9.00 a.m. The Dennis people hung around the gym, striding to nowhere on conveyor belts, shuffle-boarding, stepping up and stepping down at their afternoon Step Class, locked in an iPod world of their own. I resolved to stay right away from them – they were far too busy being fit and busy so they’d be busy and fit being busy. I get scared.

Mr. Fitness glowed with more youth and health than the entire compliment of passengers; he was a flaxen spa-Nazi, a living endorsement for clean-thinking, God-fearing behavior. Dennis was everything Dogster was not. I had chiseled out every line on my corrugated face with years of bad behavior; smoked and drank and snorted and whored my way to a complexion of the finest leather. At this point in life I had a choice: fight or flee. I chose another option. Embrace.

After exercise the ladies would retire for a refreshing beverage, a final perve at his nice tight shorts then gracefully submit to an expensive round of pounding, creaming, smoothing, waxing, aromatherapy and detoxification in a feeble effort to turn back time. The Sirens of the Sargasso Spa lolled about in their white robes like scarecrows on crack, abandoned to sensation.

Their minds were perfectly, deliciously blank.

That's enough for today. There's no real story: these are just my postcards from the Indian Ocean. Strange scenes at sea. More if anybody's reading.

The ne plus etre of shipboard competition was the Azamara Quest World Championship Ping-Pong Tournament, battled out with alarming intensity twice each day. Undisputed champion was a hyper-active gentleman with thinning grey hair who won every heat in a startling display of desperation. He was seventy-nine with a sun-bed tan, his skin just a day away from crumbling into dust. He kept it intact with Klein’s embalming moisturizer, a macro-biotic diet of three lettuce leaves a day and relentless dedication. I called him the Energizer Bunny.

E.B. behaved like a twenty-five year old, complete with trophy wife and, I rather assumed, an endless supply of Viagra. It was only on closer inspection I realized that she was just as old as he was. I think she may have been a body-builder in her youth – Mrs. Bunny still rippled with strength in a most un-ladylike manner. Alas, the rest of her flesh had decided to retire leaving only muscle flopping helplessly in jelly - rocks in a sock held together with tendons of scrawn.

My Ping-Pong Popeye smoked a pipe. He loved to unroll his pouch, play out the ritual of the cleaning and stuffing and patting and smoking, loved to stare out to sea in the classic pose, smoke curling from lips that had seen a lot of romance. I don’t know what other drugs he was on; steroids, too many power drinks, I couldn’t tell – but he was certainly on something. This guy was quite the most energetic man I had ever seen. Remember that movie ‘Cocoon’? He was exactly like that. I kept waiting for him to die mid-tournament.

The Energizer Bunny was a perfectly nice man having a great time; social, gregarious, fun and friendly with no apparent psychological damage. He was just hyperactive - rather as if someone wound him up each morning and let him loose. He needed sedation, not Ping-Pong. I’ll bet he ran a bloody mile every day, too.

Just strolled by, heh...getting ready for the holiday weekend and here you are...
How's the leg ?

'It was if two pink slugs were mating.' really working the right brain lately, eh? - love it

Ahh, blessed again by Guru Becalm. How are you. My leg is suffering its owners inability to conquer leg fear. Silly, I know - but I'm a man.

I thought I'd make a jolly holiday story for you all. No death defying stunts, no rude bits, just the usual battle to retain sanity and part-ownership of my immortal soul. It should be complete for your holiday entertainent by the 4th. That seems appropriate.

Ah yes, the dispatches from the Cruise of Doom. Dogster and a cruise ship must be a match made in hell (except for Pandaw, I guess).

Nice to have my opinion confirmed that I would be just as bad a fit - even at 99 dollars a day.

"‘If you gedda pa-a-ashport, honey, you gedda pri-i-i-ize,’ she said, running her hand down my chest.

I felt an urgent activity coming on. I scanned my daily programme.

Ah, yes, there it is:

Run a Mile." ROTFLMAO!

...and even some masterful alliteration

'My Ping-Pong Popeye smoked a pipe.'


Sanity? FWIW, you are in the 99th percentile of sane people in an insane world IMO and although you usually hide it well,
your good heart has already saved your 'immortal soul' a few times over.

Hoping the fourth brings some fireworks...the good kind, oh wizened one LOL

Awesome cruise description dogster. Thanks for sharing the fun!

July 4 is an Australian holiday? Who would have guessed? Nonetheless, an installment of Dogster is a reason for much merriment. Were you the youngest passenger on the cruise?

I've been looking forward to this story! Like others I'm convinced I'd go crazy on such a cruise. In fact one of my closest friends arranged to have herself med-evaced from such a cruise while they were in some port in India... perhaps your escape point of Mumbai.

By the way, don't I win the pool by predicting correctly where the dog would disembark? Given who was betting, I expect the pool consists of an odd assortment of defunct currencies.

You win! "odd assortment of defunct currencies." - I took a look at my "use next time" currency stack, and it turns out the only thing that's actually obsolete is a tatty 50 French franc note, although the Lithuanian notes should have been obsolete by now. But I doubt the few Myanmar and Cambodian notes will do me much good if I DON'T go back.

Don't poke fun at my little country, thursdaysd! The Lithuanian litas is going strong, 2.4 litai to the US dollar, still waiting to get into the euro-zone... Join us on Sunday in the singing of the Lithuanian National Anthem to commemorate 1000 years since the first written mention of Lithuania in a medieval German manuscript, the Quedlinburg Chronicle. Even Bruce knows the words to the Lithuanian anthem and will be singing.

Thanks, dogster, for another amusing tale. Go ahead and send Kathie the autographed picture prize. I hope you haven't give up on telling us about the rest of your tribal adventures.

Not poking fun at all, Marija - I really enjoyed Vilnius! And a 1,000 year anniversary is definitely an event. I just thought you were going on the euro before this.

Dog, I was on another ship yet I was on your exact same ship, if you get my drift. Bravo, you got it precisely. LMAO too.
Actually, for an astute people watcher/chronicler such as yourself, is a cruise not paradise? So much material, so little time. Sort of like sitting in a cafe watching assorted characters go by, but more surreal. We had a Doris, too, face stretched to the breaking point, but betrayed by 300-year-old hands and neck. Tho I could have sworn she was a man.

Oh Dogster PLEEEEEEEESE publish your travel tales (tails!) I so badly want to buy the book. Just go to publisher.com or blub or something & go for it!!!
Hapy & safe & fun travels always J

Hey guys: glad you're enjoying and thank you so much for letting me know. The feedback is the most important part - you know I sulk. It's nice to wake up to your thoughts. I'll push further with this odd little reflection from the golden pond and answer your comments later.

yup, Kathie won the bet. Once again, our Forum Kumari streaks to the front of the pack. Read on as I try and explain why:

Every morning I’d open ‘Pursuits’; my programme de jour. From 6.00 a.m. till the early hours the day was marked out with Azamara Activities spread out like acne across the boat. There was scarcely a room without a pack of jolly campers whooping it up.

What to do today? The running, stretching, Aerobics, Pilates and Yoga had all occurred while I was sensibly fast asleep; Ping-Pong with Popeye was far too intense to even watch, let alone play – what to do? I could maintain my sporting prowess with Wii tennis and Wii bowling; this seems to involve sitting on a chair, watching television and waving my arms. I could indulge my hitherto invisible passion for Bridge; start with a Beginner Bridge Class with Mr. Dollinger, progress to an Intermediate Bridge Class with Mr. Dollinger and eventually even Play Bridge with Mr. Dollinger. I never met Mr. Dollinger.

I could just head for the casino. Every day there’s a Blackjack tournament, each afternoon a Texas hold ’em tournament. I didn’t even know what Texas hold’ em was. It’s a form of Poker – not, as I thought, mud wrestling. I could pull slots till I die; walls of temptation beep and flash to lure me into temptation - but I don’t gamble, not with my money anyway. Origami isn’t my thing. I didn’t want to paint watercolors either; the Knot Class didn’t appeal.

I’ll just say that again.

The Knot Class.

Now, that’s an unusual thing to want to learn. I hadn’t imagined I’d be given that rare opportunity, certainly not in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Knots. I’m just trying to think of situations in my life when I need much more than a clove hitch and a double Windsor. Short of tying someone to my bed in Sado-Masochistic frenzy, I can’t think of any. These days it’d be to stop them escaping.

Only two things appealed to the demon in me: the Humming Competition and the Country Line Dancing. I didn’t want to ‘do’ either but thought I could look at people ‘doing’. I had to make an effort.

I can report that some people take their Line Dancing very seriously - boot-scooting ain’t for sissies. Some even bring their outfits on the cruise with them. It hadn’t occurred to me that anyone would do such a thing. A horde of elderly cowgirls poured out of the elevator. The fringing on their jackets looked like a sea of dead worms. You know that ‘Thriller’ video where all the vampires dance in a line? Well, if you played it at quarter speed and dressed them in cowboy suits...

I fled upstairs to the Humming Competition. An elderly gentleman with a pleasing baritone gingerly grasped the microphone. He was humming the theme song from ‘Titanic’ to a group of little old ladies from Dallas. They had no idea what the tune was but sat, entranced or asleep, I couldn’t quite tell which. One leant her head back on her chair, eyes closed, mouth wide open. She gurgled sweetly and snored in perfect pitch, only to gulp back into consciousness with the applause.

On Easter Sunday, somewhere south of Sri Lanka, a large pink rabbit bounced along the pool deck. Someone shrieked happiness into a microphone while the Azamara Trio belted out appropriate songs in a Philippino patois that I later found out was English. There were a number of pink bunnies distributing Easter eggs to a row of pregnant women with gay, and I mean gay, abandon.

A Russian lady with large breasts hurtled around the swimming pool holding her bosom with one arm and an egg in a spoon in the other. It seemed to be the job of the gay bunnies to upset her. She shrieked in Russian, they shrieked back in gay Bunn-ese and wiggled their ears. She made it through and won a prize. Cheering from the passengers. Someone else ran past pursued by rabbits. Eggs akimbo. The Activities director gibbered like a flagellant on Good Friday and all the gay bunnies did a humorous dance routine. Inexplicably Humpty Dumpty made a grand appearance.

‘Cri-ime E-e-vree Mowtai-i-i-i...’

The Azamara Trio murdered The Sound of Music in more ways than one. Pink rabbits danced gaily round the pool.

‘Ti-i-i-iwwww yo-o-o-ou fi-i-i-i-ine yo-o-o-ore...

There was an eruption of silver foil as the Activities staff hurled chocolate eggs at the passengers. Wild applause from the crowd. If I was the bunnies I’d be expecting a return hail of rotting fruit but everybody was having a wonderful time.

It was odd traveling with quite so many pregnant women. I put my glasses back on.

Ah-h-h–h.

I took them back off. The row of pregnant bellies belonged to elderly cruisers lolling flat on their backs on deckchairs. I didn’t know the human body could expand in quite so many places. They sagged and bloated, stretched and drooped, thrusting their bulbous navels to the sun. If I was the sun I’d burn their navels quick and nasty to teach them to keep their clothes on in public. Each stomach glistened with 100+ sun-lotion; each gleamed white and fat into infinity - pleasure domes on the Great Floating Temple of Lard.

I could bounce from here to dinner with my feet never touching the deck.

Heh. I'll leave you with that image for the moment.

There seems to be a spam attack taking place on the main board. I'll resume the narrative once things settle down...

"Oh, dear God, I'm in hell and I'm wearing a big puffy warm parka with a hood on it". That's what I'd have been thinking. I knew there was some reason or other I've never been on a cruise. After having read this, I know. Thanks, Dogster! Certainly a decision-affirming report.

BC

When they rolled away that rock from the tomb, I bet no one thought that a tribe of pink rabbits would hop out. Quite what Humpty Dumpty had to do with Easter was a mystery, too. I thought it was about Jesus.

Mostly Our Lord lived in the Library and popped out at 5.00 p.m. for daily prayers but Easter Sunday was his special day. He was getting his own ecumenical resurrection in the Cabaret.

I hope the Azamara Trio won’t play ‘Cri-ime E-e-vree Mowtai-i-i-i...’ again.

Everything will be so damn ecumenical and politically correct that none of us will be quite sure what we are praying about anyway. I particularly hope events will be kept out of the hands of the entertainment unit. Last Friday’s little crucifixion tableau was in very bad taste.

The rest of the time Jesus shared the Library with the Jews. There were services, it seemed, every hour of every day. Azamara stove for political correctness; there were sixty nationalities aboard. I believe they kept a Buddhist monk, a Mullah and a Russian Orthodox priest in a cupboard downstairs in case anybody else needed a quick blessing.

They all lived ecumenically in the Library with an occasional Rotary meeting, a singles get-together, the Friends of Bill W; a quaint euphemism for Alcoholics Anonymous, and twice weekly, the Friends of Dorothy; a quainter euphemism for Judy Garland fans. I don’t think these meetings were held at the same time.

Quite why Judy Garland fans should get special privileges was beyond me. They never played any of her films. Where was the meeting for Charlton Heston fans? I guess that would have been too crowded.

So the Library held the overflow, the last vestiges of political correctness. It was all things to all people; if someone looked depressed there was a support group in the Library; staff was trained to lead confused old ladies to the Library for therapy; if I saw a blind person I’d just point them straight up there. I knew a guide dog would leap out of the bookcase.

Bunny and Binkie may have been the Judy Garland fans.

‘She-e-e’s the practical one!’ cackled Bunny, an ex-New Yorker expatriate in London.

‘What time is it? I don’t know. That’s her business. Where are we going? I don’t know, that her business. How much does it cost? I don’t know...’

Binkie looked at him gently. This was their act. This was rehearsed. This was Bunny shtick.

‘She makes the bookings, she gets the flights, she chooses the cruises...’

I had the distinct feeling that ‘she’ pays for it, too.

Bunny was, by no means, a toy-boy. The two of them were in their late sixties, growing old and gay as disgracefully as they could.

‘We lo-o-o-ove cruising, don’t we Binkie? We cruise six months every year.’

Binkie moneybags just melted into the furniture. This was the Bunny show. Seeing as the ticket was free, I watched for a while. That’s all you could do – watch. It was a performance, not a conversation.

Bunny was an American gentleman of colour, one of the very few on the boat. In Bunny’s instance it wasn’t his colour that set him apart, it wasn’t his in-your-face flamboyance, it was the vast frizz of hair that surrounded his face. What once was curly now was straight. He seemed to have stretched it – or ironed it, lay supine with weights hanging off it, I don’t know. His hair didn’t seem to know either. It splayed out like Don King in a hurricane.

They were completely happy, cruising around, spending Binky’s money and couldn’t give a tinker’s cuss about anyone. They were big and loud and gay, determinedly facile and proud of it. Well, Bunny was. Binky just sat there, quiet as the grave.

I didn’t think they were stupid people. They seemed wise beyond their years but their wisdom had been gained through pain; the death of friends, the plague, the times of struggle. Now they just wanted to not think about that - or anything really, they wanted life to be easy and shallow and fun. Just like they were going to be - determinedly, relentlessly shallow having fun, fun, fun.

Their passports were full of stamps from the Trivia tournament.

Everything was Trivia. We were floating in a bucket of Trivia. Trivia was the most popular activity on board. Trivia gangs formed, rivalries broke out, tribal boundaries clearly established. Trivia friendships were made, Trivia dinner companions and cocktail pals acquired. Trivia was the social networking tool of the boat. You couldn’t miss a beat. It was all for the team.

The lounge was packed for Trivia; shrieks of joy, the gentle buzz of groups conferring, the soft repetition of the question for the elderly and infirm; it was just like school. These people were not stupid. They chose to set their mind to Planet Mongo, chose to find a use for the vast collection of useless information they had stored in their brain.

That only trivia remained while important information had vanished was not a source of irritation to them. It was a preferable state of affairs.

A life spent on the Trivia Channel is a life of endless joy. Every day a million facts hurtle through the air and into my life. Just like bouncing to dinner on those fat bellies, I can leap from triv to triv and stay constantly, enthusiastically alive. Everybody loves Trivia. It surely is the building block of our lives.

Occasionally a wise man comes along, puts a whole lot of trivial facts together and makes a science. More often a venal man comes along, turns trivia into television and makes money. Well, now somebody smart had come along and made a cruise line out of it. I think they did a very good job.

I guess you'll be all booking your cruise holidays over the break. I'll finish this off tomorrow. Let me know if you're reading.

I'm posting to read later-can't wait.

OMG, I am rolling on the floor laughing my ass off. This is all so wonderfully and perfectly true. I am loving the sub-text. Thank you for entertaining me this morning dogster!

I'm surprised you lasted until Mumbai... That was obviously a feat of great intestinal fortitude.

Hi Dogster, I'm one of your newer fans. I've been an avid Dogster reader for a couple of months now. Haven't quite made my way through "The Complete Works of Dogster" (as I believe Craig called it at one point) but I've read back through mid-2008. I think this story might be my favorite so far. Doris, Dennis, E.B., Binkie -- your descriptions are so fabulous I can "see" them perfectly. If there was a Sentence Hall of Fame you would be the most esteemed inductee. Can't wait for more!

Awww, bniemand, thank you. I particularly love it when a lurker comes in from the cold. It's impossible to know whether ten people or a hundred read this stuff so when a secret admirer comes in and gives me such an enormous compliment it's a real charge.

Which is not to say I don't relish responses from the more regular contributors. But I think you guys know that.

LAleslie: actually it was your piece that really started me off on this. You too were caught in that strange post-cruise state. Incredibly difficult to explain when all around you are having a wonderful time. You're right: it is a fascination of personalities on board. But I found the psychic drag of it quite off-putting after a while, passengers not withstanding. I'll explain later.

Well trav: I'm glad it made you laugh. Sometimes what I write makes ME laugh, too. Probably I'm not meant to say that. I don't think I can maintain the hilarity right through to the end but I'll try not to turn it rancid. Heh.

Jules39: One day Blurb and me will make babies. Right now all I can do is write.

So, while we all relax and have a refreshing beverage, here's a little aside that I was going to leave out - specially for bniemand:

A month ago the entire ship was booked out by a gay travel agent. Six hundred and fifty GLBT cruisers arrived and everybody had a great time. One of the older gay gentlemen became confused and was left behind. He’d been wandering the corridors ever since. Now Lon was traveling solo on his third cruise back to back. He liked cruising. People talked to him. Well, usually only once, but they talked to him. He was a man who danced to the beat of his own bottle, portly, strawberry-blonde and pale, an elderly Southern Belle in baggy shorts and Hawaiian shirt. Lon would loom, stake out his prey and then descend. He was splayed out opposite you at the table before you knew it.

‘Boy!’ he waved one pudgy little hand, ‘Boy!’

Some handsome Azamara youth leapt to his feet.

‘Bring me my tea!’ Lon shouted.

A Long Island Tea contains three parts each of Vodka, Tequila, White Rum, Triple Sec and Gin. Neither the added splash of lemon juice nor the dash of Coke is going to diminish the punch of all that alcohol. They were lethal, 28% proof. Lon guzzled them all day.

‘They’ve renamed it especially for me,’ he cooed.

Now it’s ‘Lon Island Tea’.

We met over Lon’s bedbugs. Alone on the ship, Lon had bedbugs - so he maintained. The ship’s doctor was prepared to agree with him - anything to shut a drunk hypochondriac up. The room had been fumigated; Lon now slept with the lights on knowing in his Lon way that night-time is playtime for bed bugs.

Doctor Dogster arrived with his miracle cream. Elocon seems to work miracles on anything, used sparingly, as per instructions. Balm was applied to Lon’s many bites while we sat at the bar.

‘I can feel the miracle,’ he said, ‘halleluiah!’

Within thirty minutes his legs were un-bed-bugged.

He ordered another Lon Island Tea on the strength of that and we talked. He remains a blur; he was so extraordinary a companion, so emotional, so sensitive that he spent whole chunks of our conversation on the verge of tears.

‘I’m psychic,’ he whispered, ‘I see everything.’

He couldn’t see he was a drunk. He had adopted the convenient Californication of the truth. He was ‘ill’.

‘My mother looked into my face and said ‘Lon, you will have special powers...’

‘Do you think you do?

‘Oh, yes, I can se-e--e-e.’

He was s-s-s-s-sensitive. Actually Lon felt things rather than saw them. He felt his pain, your pain, my pain, the pain of little orphans and wounded kittens, the pain of abuse and laughter - Lon was a pain-o-meter. No wonder he drank Lon Island Tea for breakfast. Growing up a big ‘ol faggot boy in the South can’t have been easy; if a relative could abandon him they did, if life could hand him a random cruelty it had, fate had already crushed him - even the bed-bugs chose him exclusively to bite. He was a lost soul floating around in the family inheritance, quite unable to get sober, off the boat and on with his life.

‘The worst thing,’ he said, his eyes filling with tears, ‘is at the end of the cruise, when all my friends leave...’

Oh, Lon. They aren’t your friends, pal, they aren’t your friends.

‘Ah-h-h-m so terribly sick,’ Lon sighed.

It was an audience with Tennessee Williams. Soon Lon would become Blanche du Bois. Well, actually Lon would become Divine imitating Madonna channeling Vivien Leigh playing Blanche du Bois. He was quite a performance. Then he started to cry.

Gawd, just what I need. Now I’m gonna be stuck with loser Lon for the next two weeks. Never show a pariah dog kindness. No wonder people were leaving me alone.

Sleeping now. See you tomorrow.

OK, dogster. What did you think was going to happen on the cruise ship--world class opera, lectures on the origins of the Tazmanian devil, discussions of least squares algorithms? You were warned about those scary shipboard tribals and their rituals but you plunged ahead... Thanks for a great story!

You're absolutely right, Marija. I know. Dogster was seduced for $99 a day. So, we've established that he's a whore and a cheap one at that. I was drawn in by all that food. I was a little perturbed to find out just how relentlessly banal the adventure was.

But actually, this piece isn't a complaint, as you'll see. More a reflection on the state of the floating world. Tomorrow's piece is all about the tribes on board. BTW, I haven't given up on the rest of tribal Gujarat. Later. I'm glad you see the connection.

I just read this out loud to my DH, who is in stitches. Don't worry about maintaining the laughter quotient dogster ~ we are not just laughing at your incredible wit and descriptive abilities (I know you know this already, but you are a very talented man, my friend), but also because we have been there and this is dredging up those, yes, I'll say it, painful, but now that time has passed comical, memories. You haven't mentioned getting hip checked away from the food tables yet (maybe that didn't happen on Azamara ~ we were "freestyling,") or the sunbathers roping off long lines of lounge chairs at the pool for days on end so you can't procure one even for an hour, the more rotund cruisers gorging at the chocolate buffet by filling their plates a mile high, the "every bit of junk for a dollar" sale in the atrium, the "bingo machines" you can buy to automatically mark your cards, or the gallery of over-priced art for sale. It's like a floating mall, only worse. Once and never again. We went because it was a reunion of sorts with a group of our college friends, arranged by one of them and before we realized what we were doing, we agreed to go. They all LOVED it, which made us examine why went to university where we did and how we made these people for friends. Your experience just tickles our funny bones in sympathy. And you are right ~ it messes with the psyche. We are looking forward to the finish.

PS Your comments on ecumenism and political correctness are refreshing ~ thanks for boldy saying so. Many would be afraid to.

Loving the report as ever... i just KNEW there was a reason i didn't ever want to do a cruise (well not until i'm at least 80 and have had my face stapled back round my ears!)

I'm still laughing over the sado-masochistic frenzy and crucifixion tableau-have to break up the enjoyment. This sounds more than worth $99 a day.

Your decision to jump ship in Mumbai was excellent! Of course, you couldn't throw yourself into the Indian Ocean and hope for a rescue. I'd rather have a root canal than go on a cruise.

I have a dear, dear friend who has begged my husband and me to go on a cruise with her and her significant other.

SHE: "They do step aerobics on board every morning!"

ME: "Why would I want to do step aerobics on a ship when I don't at home?"

Please join me in a round of applause

and a chorus of....come on, now...let's hear it:


CRI-I-IME EV-REY MOW-TAL..........

Oh I am dying of laughter. Lon is a gem. The Trivia graphs are perfect. (But I did figure you for a dancer, Dog, just maybe not a line dancer.)
I'm flattered by the inspiration. My reluctance to write about these people is partly based on this question: "Aren't these people too-easy targets?" But you pull off the characterizations with affection, not with the mean-spiritness I often felt. I kept asking myself "Is this the real world and I live on some other planet?"
Travelaw, do tell about the "hip checking."

Yeah . . . "hip checking"?

According to the urban dictionary, which you must refer to on a regular basis when you get to a certain age, a hipcheck can be one of two things:

hip check
1. to physically impact someone at the hip by using the hip.
2. When a man twists at the hips allowing his penis to slap against his hips.

I'm really hoping it's #1 and that the staff doesn't use #2 to chase people away from the food tables, although that does give a rather comical visual.

Press on Mr. Dog.

Yup LA, it could be like shooting fish in a barrel. That's why these things have to settle for a while. I've always found that the things that piss me off the MOST about people are usually the things that remind me most of myself. So often I turn the situation around and think: What is it about ME that is making this person so irritating? As you know, that is easier done in retrospect.

The task in this piece was to find the understanding; thence came the affection. I've edited out anything I thought was simply gratuitous revenge... but I certainly wrote it before I cut it.

Dog was always a dancer, LAleslie. He spent a long time dancing on the edge of his own private cliff, gaily pirouetting along the precipice. Of course, like all of us, one day he slipped...

So think of these notes as postcards from free-fall. Sometimes I catch a current and soar, sometimes I plummet straight down, down, down...

One day I'll pull the rip-cord - but not yet.

Yes offwego et al., it was, fortunately, #1 and not #2 (yikes!), but it was not the ship staff, but the other cruisers that crowded into the food tables like pirhana on a fresh bit of bloody meat. Anybody or anything that was standing between them and the food was physically dealt with, most often with a hip shove to keep it from getting in the way. Anyway, please forgive the diversion dogster. And, yes, please do continue!!!

Hip checking made perfect sense to me. It's a term I've heard used in Hockey. That's still definition #1, not #2! Imagine two hockey players smashing into each other. I can definitely see this happening at a cruise buffet table.

Thanks for the Lon aside Dogster! Looking forward to hearing if/how you managed to detach him from you!

I'm very taken with #2. That made me laugh, offwego.

I love a diversion, guys. This is not Mozart. MaryW is on holiday, so she can't respond, but I liked her idea of the campfire. She'd gather round and sing 'Ging-gang-goolie, goolie watcha...' at the slightest opportunity. This is just a little Fourth of July entertainment.

I'm just tweaking the last bit. Soon.

I laughed out loud at the image of the staff chasing the diners away by hipchecking #2, Lori. I must admit, I'd flee if they were doing that...

I too am having trouble ridding that image from my mind. I'd better continue lest we all become lost in dreams...

Anthropology.

Within a day tribal culture established itself, through accident, necessity or design. Tribes formed first on the basis of language. A pod of tiny Japanese scuttled around at the instruction of their personal ship-board guide and translator, a dour collection of people from unknown Eastern European countries stuffed themselves with food and grunted. A very animated six-pack of Spaniards sat playing a mysterious game for days on end, cackling gaily, scoffing secret Duty-Free liquor from a coffee flask. Scowling Germans growled along the corridors, po-faced and grim. Even Dogster’s brightest smile couldn’t dislodge the Teutonic doom. There were Mexicans and Koreans, South Africans, Australians and Canadians. They all behaved exactly the way cliché suggested they would.

We mixed at meal-times in a hideous ritual called ‘Would You Like To Share a Table, Sir?’

‘No.’

Well, that solved that problem.

Do I sound curmudgeonly? Yes? Well, then I probably am. I can’t be bothered with small talk. Really, I’d sooner sit on my own. This is not in the spirit of cruising, I know, but nothing about Dogster is in the spirit of cruising. He is in the wrong place - or else he has gone mad. This boat is odder than India.

There was another tribe; the Americans.

You could always tell an American. They were the only ones using the hand-cleaning dispenser on the way into the restaurant. Azamara Quest Americans probably don’t represent the vast majority of their countrymen; I certainly hope not. All the Americans I’d ever met on my travels had been great company – generous, talkative and fun - maybe I’d just got lucky. This was a whole other breed.

Like everybody from everywhere, these cruising Americans were a mixed bunch – from wizened prunes from Noo Yoik to good-hearted folks from Arkansas, all huddling together lest someone mention Novovirus. Sadly they didn’t have the numbers to achieve critical mass so glowered in disapproving clumps at dinner, rather as if the other fifty-nine nationalities on board had crashed their party. The only thing that set this particular group of Americans aside was their passionate refusal to interact with the world on anything other than their own terms.

The tour group was at the Taj Malabar in Cochin for lunch.

‘Doris! Don’t go in there!’ one shouted out as her friends approached, ‘they’re serving Indian food!’

Her lip curled.

‘It’s so dirty. Garbage this high...’

Debbie showed me.

Cochin garbage is as high as a sweet lady who lives in Texas – maybe higher. Debbie from Dallas could only stretch so far.

‘They said I had to take my shoes off to go inside that temple place.’

She was offended.

‘Honey, I said, I ain’t taking my shoes off to walk on that filth in a thousand years...’

So much for every temple in India; so much for the six hundred million Hindus; so much for understanding – Debbie from Dallas didn’t care. She’d get papalomas and a disease I forget that starts with ‘B’.

‘What do they think I am? Dirty? I stayed on the coach.’

Her silver hair shook with disgust.

‘The beggars! They were banging on the windows of the tour bus! Don’t they know about birth control? They live like rats.’

Two hours looking out of a coach window at Cochin was quite enough for her to dismiss the entire sub-continent.

Like I said, Debbie from Dallas could only stretch so far.

‘An’ if they don’t like it, tell ’em to go fok-k ‘emselves.’

With that Big Barry turned back to me and drew heavily on his cigar. He was big, the cigar was big, his voice was loud, he was rich and friendly and Jewish. He blew a huge cloud of smoke in the air.

‘Suck on ‘dat, you fokkers...’ he chuckled to himself.

He wasn’t really quite as vulgar as he seemed. He just didn’t give a damn. I liked him enormously. He and his wife Lois had adopted me. They were endlessly friendly, always happy to sit and chat, loved to gossip and tell long stories – they were self-made and self-satisfied and they had every right to be. I was even prepared to brave his cigar full-blast in my face. I didn’t have much option. There was only one place to puff on board - Smoker’s Corner.

Here was another tribe.

The Pariah Clan congregated on the upper pool deck, in a cubby hole under the stairs. There were always about a dozen smokers in residence, placed there on rotation to indulge their filthy habit so everybody else on board could see who they were and avoid them.

The other passengers scuttled by, held their noses and pulled faces, rolled their eyes at Big Barry’s cigars, happy to have someone to hate more than themselves. Barry didn’t care. He had more money than Jesus.

‘Tell ’em to go fok-k ‘emselves,’ he chuckled. ‘I’ll stick this cigar up their ass.’

In Smoker’s Corner a whole diversity of nations sat and smoked and talked. It was easily the most social spot on the ship and certainly the only one where the tribes were scattered. Russians sat with Canadians sat with Australians sat with British, Belgians, Spaniards, Germans – even a secret American or ten. The air was filthy but conversation never dull.

Smokers do appear to have more fun.

‘Are you enjoying your cruise?’ Shirley said brightly.

‘Not very much.’

‘Oh.’

Shirley and Harold ran the corner shop in a tiny rural village in Lancashire. It was the only shop. They were pillars of their community. She was kind and so was her husband, just retired and off seeing the world. To them this cruise was a wonder from start to finish, the adventure of a lifetime. Bless ‘em. I certainly wasn’t going to say anything to spoil their holiday. They were British and polite as the British often are; life was a Neverland of ‘pardon me’, ‘sorry’, ‘yes, yes, of course’, ‘if you think that’s alright’, ‘excuse me’, ‘sorry, sorry, sorry...’

‘I’m just finding it socially... difficult.’

They both nodded solemnly. She had fine grey hair and a neat practical dress. They loved each other, cigarettes and the ghost of Margaret Thatcher. England was going down the drain.

‘Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?’ Harold said bluntly. He was a man of few words, all one syllable.

I was having trouble changing channels from festivals in Gujarat to Easter Cha-Cha Time with Mary Amanda. They all looked strangely the same. It was all tribes. It was all dancing, all the gift of life.

Anthropology.

‘I’ve just come from two months in India,’ I said, ‘this seems a little bit... silly.’

They had been to India too so they understood. More solemn nodding. Two hours in Cochin was enough for Hal and Shirley. They stayed on the tour bus as well.

‘Maybe you’ve lost civilization,’ she smiled gently, ‘and you can’t find your way home.’

Of course she was right. Cruising is the pinnacle of civilization. The end product of human endeavor would be a perfect Azamara world sailing blithely through the universe, with eight courses and wine pairing for dinner, a world without news, children, animals, plants or poverty, a sex-less world where bland was king, where we could all live in an entirely filtered, ecumenical, politically-correct environment; everything sanitized and super-clean, even the conversation.

My head was spinning. I felt drugged, surrounded by white noise, lost in soft carpet, trapped with Elton and Celine playing endlessly on a loop; the tinkle of ice in highball glasses, the distant call of Easter Bingo:

‘Legs eleven. Legs eleven.’

Trivia, endless charm and grovel, a sweet, soporific swirl of small-talk - nothing. I’m drowning in pink bunnies and old ladies, lolling mindless in the Sargasso Spa. I must need colonic irrigation. The beat of my own drum is getting faint. Maybe they put Valium in the food.

‘Would you like a drink, sir’, ‘How are you, tonight? Your usual tragic table for one?’

Hang on, Dogster.

The tribes don’t aspire to greatness here on the Azamara Quest – they aspire to the passive embrace of nothing whatsoever at all. Sensation is the enemy. The dream is to be dead ON the water. They should just sail the ship straight to Heaven and save everybody a lot of time.

Hang on, Dogster. Paddle fast.

Days went by, all exactly the same. Eat, sleep, eat, sleep, drink, gossip, drink, eat and sleep – all in this surreal cocoon of security. Reality is banished; all is smooth, safe and serene. The air has been detoxified, the ship’s internal organs flushed of everything that might cause offence. Dennis is everywhere. There would be no contagious outbreaks of thought on this boat.

Swim, Dogster, swim!

Once you’re in you’ll never get out, you’ll be trapped in the swamp of dead dreams forever! Maybe it was all like this? Perhaps I’d been dreaming in India. Maybe this was reality and I’d just woken up. This experience was so all-pervasive, my companions so completely enthusiastic about this barrage of banality that after a while I started to feel like the only sane man left alive.

Dogster didn’t want to Run a Mile, stretch, aerobe, Pilate, step up, down or detoxify – he didn’t want to Ping or Pong, play Scrabble or Sudoku, Musical Trivia or Easter Bingo; he didn’t want to knot, hum, Cha-Cha, waltz or Hold ’em down in Texas, didn’t want to boot-scoot or ever drink Daiquiri with Doris again. What was wrong with him?

Dennis was right. Dogster was toxic. It was too late.

If you buy a ticket to World Championship Wrestling you shouldn’t complain if it isn’t the ballet. So I’m not. I report in wonder at another world. Cruising is a business created to fill a specific need. There are millions of folk who love cruising. Azamara Quest was perfect for them. Really, they do it very well.

‘It’s for people who don’t want to think...’ one of the staff said in an unguarded moment.

I saw them as a strange, alien tribe. They had renounced the world; detached, detoxified, devoid of thought – they were cruising to perfection. It’s a ninety-nine dollar nirvana: death by Azamara. Sadhus and wise men spend years in silent contemplation to reach such a state.

Of course, I was the alien.

I couldn’t wait to dock in Mumbai.

Gasp. That's it. I'll have to lie down. I look forward to your thoughts.

so "terribly, terribly" amusing....keep it coming....the people descriptions are spot on...

Oh, dear God, please tell me the torture of eat-drink-gossip-be implored to play canasta, or trivia or Easter Bingo finally ended but with you safely at the other end of a shore, waving to souls still on board. I feel your pain, really. And I'm still adamant about never going on a cruise! (Whew!)

BC

lol Here's a final tag for bookchick - otherwise she'll think I'm still on the ship. I wasn't gonna use it, but she'll worry if I don't:

I was on the dock by ten a.m. Fifteen minutes later I was outside Gate D sucking in the sweet smell of India. A dozen Mumbai hustlers hit me in a pack. They blocked, I weaved and parried. Eventually I found an honest man in a cab. Colaba is barely twenty rupees away. By ten-thirty I was in my barber’s being shaved.

‘You come back, eh?’ said the owner. He doesn’t smile much but he squeezed a brief grimace of welcome.

‘I only come back to see you.’

‘Ha! Give him a discount!’ laughed the patron.

Freshly shaved, I walked a block to destiny. The Apollo Hotel.

‘Do you have a room for a few nights?’

‘I remember you.’

I’d been in six weeks earlier looking for a vacancy. This guy was sharp.

‘You were full. You got a nice room for me now?’

That nod of his head put me on the spot.

‘When do you want it?’

Well, here I was, at the crossroads. Jump ship – or stay onboard for the next eighteen days. Choose now.

I look at Mumbai – I see life. I’d seen more energy, joy, pain and pure pulsing humanity in an hour in down-town Mumbai than I had in a week on the ship.

I look at the Azamara Quest – I see cruising.

No contest.

‘Tonight. I’ll take that room tonight.’

Hope the food was VERY good since you paid $400 a day for it! Lon is probably still looking for you unless you took him with you to Mumbai...

Thanks for the awful warning, and the gory details. And the writing.

But: "‘Don’t go in there! ... they’re serving Indian food!’" - oh dear.... (No Indian food on board?)

amen for now

Happy Independence Day!

Dr. dogster, this was absolute therapy for me. THANK YOU!!!

Please take another cruise of some sort so you can share your observations! I don't like cigar smoke but do seem to really like the cigar smokers-maybe it's true about the fun.

Well I went on line early this morning only to be disappointed that there wasn't a new "Wonders of Cruising" installment waiting for me. Now that I've had an afternoon Dogster fix, the natural order has been restored and all is well in the world...

Apparently some of the guests on the cruise were unaware that there were to be stops in India... where they serve Indian food.

Thanks for the tale.

Thanks, dogster. My 4th of July has not been a wasted day! It's rainy outside so might as well read your amazing tale. Superbly written, as always.
Carol

Loved the smokers corner. (We had a toothless Scotsman much like Cigar Man.) Really loved the line about Americans: "...their passionate refusal to interact with the world on anything other than their own terms." (Even while I want to point out that the Aussies aboard our ship were lacking in IQ points.) The ending is better with the hotel bit.
And the axiom "There are no dumb questions" rings true when you find out Def. #2 for "hip checking." The image I get is more audio than visual: a new kind of percussion instrument. Yet another thing girls can't do.
You are the Hunter J. Thompson of Fodor's.

'I've always found that the things that piss me off the MOST about people are usually the things that remind me most of myself.'

Many thanks, dogster, for your valuable contribution to the cultural study of cruisers. It's a nasty job, but somebody has to do it.

(And may I add that you make me fall more deeply in love with the power of language with each installment.)

Anthropology.
Taken best in small doses, regardless of the tribe. Good that you jumped ship when you did.

I think I might know that woman from Dallas.

Certain parts of your story made me dread going home....the "barrage of banality" reference resonates a bit too deeply.

Thanks for another great story.

Your cruise descriptions are so perfectly evocative and hilarious, I felt I was right there with you. I agree this is one for the books, so do publish this tale along with several other memorable ones of yours. I second Amy's sentiments.
You are confirming my worse fears about cruising. I've had this silly idea of DH and I taking one super lux cruise going somewhere fascinating, being lectured by international scholars, dining on haute cuisine and sharing this vessel with no more than sixty other charming, funny, sophisticated, well traveled intellectuals. Your "cruisin' news" suggests my cruise exists in never never land. Thanx again for such a Dog gone good story.

I've taken three cruises on Azamara ships so far. If I ever go on one again it will be with a whole new way of experiencing the cruise, from a different point of view colored by Dogster's musings.

I clicked on to your posting thinking I was going to read about your adventures in India. Admittedly, I have never read your work but did recognize your name as I've seen it many times on this board.
After 2 sentences I was hooked. I forgot I was hoping to read about the India head bobble or spicy food attacking your stomach and became completely mesmerized by the host of characters. I'm almost disappointed your off the floating theater.

Thank you From Your new fan

I am indeed much relieved that The Big Dog told of his return to terra firma! No bouffant-haired Texans shoving him into a game of shuffleboard, no Liverpudlians trying to get him to cajole the ship's cook into making plates of egg & chips for those averse to "Indian food". Dogster, I am indeed glad you survived, as I do know some travels are more harrowing than others.

And I, too, know a thing or two about surviving....

BC

Hi guys: how nice it is to come back and see positive responses - and to catch a glimpse of what you pick up on. I could have written much more - yes, LAleslie: there is certainly a missing chapter on the Australians. They were equally fascinating but softer, more benign in this instance. There are so many more Americans so there seems to be more room for eccentricity. I despair of OUR cultural blandness as well.

It's important we all remember that there are cruises - and cruises.

There are the mega-boat sailing shopping malls. I've never been on one of these - but I think travelaw has. lol. And LA.

There are the smaller ships - maybe 700 passengers, like the Azamara Quest. These are not so vulgar. More the atmosphere of a floating rest home.

There are expeditionary cruises - small ships, maybe 120 pasasengers.

There are River Cruises. my personal favorite.

The last two, Robbietravels, might give you what you are after. Nothing, however, can insure against a dreary group of passengers. Usually, I find the river cruise more than compensated. Sometimes, of course, the company is grand.

So let's not dismiss 'cruises' en masse. There are horses for courses. Like I say, Azamara does what they do very well. I can see why brave susiesan has been a repeat customer. Remember too, that my cruise had many, many sea days. Most cruises are different ports every day. That's a different dynamic entirely.

By the way, I love the indications that you are enjoying the words. I'm having language fun too. It's like a wonderful trampoline. Doubtless I bounce too high and too often, but bear with me - I'm just learning. So I'm delighted to think that trav has been reading parts of this out aloud to her DH. I wonder how it plays?

Craig - I might have some Mumbai tales to satisfy your cravings in a decent interval. It seems to be flowing. It's like turning on a tap once I get home. Very odd.

It's a bit of a challenge trying to read in a canine Aussie accent, but I do my best, lol.

Actually, it reads quite superbly dogster. Occasionally I need to figure out the inflection, but that just makes it all the more fun. Oh, and I do heartily agree, river cruises are a whole different animal. I've done several and they are COMPLETELY different from the ocean/caribbean cruise we did. And, truth be told,I *might* be conviced to do a non-river cruise again, but it would have to be one that concentrates on the scenery of an area ~ like the fjords or Alaska's inside passage or something like that ~ one where the focus is outside of the ship. It will take some convicing though . . .

Sorry, the "n" is sticking on this keyboard ~ I meant to type convincing!

Actually, dawg, my ship, from Oceania Cruises, was exactly like yours. Max. 700, but with the economy (and why you got a deal) we had only 450ish. And the many days at sea, exotic ports and in some cases 2 nights at some (Saigon, Mumbai, Luxor, Bangkok) was why we chose it. We figured our fellow shipmates would be like-minded. Which is why I was so disappointed to discover that cruisers are a special breed, no matter what the ship. Glad to hear that river cruises are a different animal because Padwan and the Irrrawaddy beckons. Travelaw, don't even THINK aout it!

I know a delightful couple who loved their Windstar cruise in the Med. I have a couple of friends who've cruised the inner passage to Alaska and have spoken well and often of the merits of the experience. In general, don't think cruisin' is for me...I'd be wary, but if the cruise was to be brief and depending upon locale I'd consider it, but I might not do more than merely consider it.

Thanks, Dogster, for your insights on your experience. Perhaps the temporal proximity to a hol had something to do with the weirdness.

BC

Ahhh, trav: if only the damn italics would translate from my draft into this Forum, I'd be able to help you with the inflection. My accent is not very Australian at all. Well, not broad. Often people think I'm British. But my wit is dry. I'm always one to underplay the gag. Just one slightly raised eyebrow and a rueful look. Next time you're doing a Dogster recitation - try that.

Perhaps we could hire you out to perform at G.T.G's as my representative - seeing as my err... legal problems make visiting the States problematic. [I have some experience of the over-night detention facilities at L.A. International... ]
lol lol lol.

LA: yup, think Pandaw. www.pandaw.com
All the Burma cruises are high recco'd. By me. The best of all is the Chindwin, but it's only once a year. Look at India too. Some of the passengers were great, some excruciating. Mostly British. Also the Brahmaputra:
http://www.assambengalnavigation.com
Odd but recco'd. I've written about the Hoogli and Brahmaputra in here somewhere.
tangata is a river cruise freak too. She's on the new Borneo cruise as we speak. I love them.

Tangata, I assume, is a man, as he has referred a number of times to his wife in his posts. (He recommended his wife's favorite spa to me several years ago.) But yes, he loves river cruises and has reported on several here.

Well, I never knew that Kathie. lol. Sorry tang. I never know who is what in here - unless they have a gender specific name. I'm not sure what sex I am half the time.

Lol, dogster, it often takes a long time of reading someone's posts to know. But I thought you might want to know that before you meet on the cuise.

Tangata's grandfather came from Hobart, so make sure to pack enough Vegemite for both of you for the cruise.

Thanks Dogster for the tip on the river cruises in India. That's something new I learned. I enjoy river cruises also, am going on one in October on the Saone from Chalon sur Saone to Avignon, in France.

One of the best expeditionary cruises you can take is in the Galapagos. We went on the Celebrity Xpedition, 90 pax were on. That was a real adventure. it wasn't really a cruise, more like a hotel that went with you as you explored the islands and communed with the animals and nature.

My recent Azamara cruise this past April was very port intensive, 14 days in the Med from Rome to Athens with 11 stops in 5 countries. There was very little time cruising. I did meet some of the same "characters" you encountered, but there wasn't much time to have to be exposed to them. Repositioning cruises with lots of days at sea are a totally different experience than a port intensive cruise. I would take another Azamara cruise if the ports were places I'd like to visit and the price was right.

I have on my planned reading list the entire Dogster ouevre, so thanks for pointing me toward the river cruises (and the legal troubles, and even Gujurat, which I haven't got to.) I love weird. I love eccentric. And the British are endlessly amusing to me on several planes. I looked at Borneo, actually, but I'd like to get to Burma first before the inevitable coup. That once-a-year Chindwin trip is exactly what got my attention. As long as the boat has a bar, I can cope.

I just checked Chindwin and didn't realize the one sailing was Sept., thought it was later. Is this because it's when the monsoons end, when the river's at its highest? And $12,840 for 20 nights (for two)?! That's $624 per night..in...BURMA! Way higher than your far more luxurious Azamara cruise. Worth it? How much of this goes straight to the hands of the crazy generals? Main deck is $2,000 less. Worth $2,000 to be on top? (Hmm, that was badly put.)

LA: yup, it's because the water level is high. But that $$ is crazy. Look around in the site for others. I found the Yangon to Mandalay 15 days at about $5700 for two. Remember LA: there are many ways to skin a cat... there are all kids of schemes and scams to get lower rates. Looking thru the Pandaw site, I'd happily grab any of those cruises.

Look here too:
http://www.orient-express.com/web/rtm/journeys/4_122092.jsp

I've also done this.

Observe the interesting phenomenon: inexplicable but true [I've tested this]

FOUR nights [single] for $2440 BAGAN - MANDALAY
ELEVEN nights [single] for $3070 MANDALAY - BHAMO - BAGAN

I always choose the lower deck, LA: if you're a smart cookie, you'll choose a cruise with Pandaw that hasn't got many passengers. Just upgrade [gratis] on the boat. The earlier Chindwin cruise is way better BTW. Look hard, you'll find it.

Sorry, susiesan, I missed you. You're absolutely correct. There is a HUGE difference between a re-location cruise and a normal one. If you're out almost every day you don't care. After Mumbai, I was faced with nearly 10 sea days in a row [just one stop in Dubai]. I could see the future. It was going to be exactly the same as the past.

I also made a choice to get out while I was ahead. LA mentioned that I wrote with affection - had I stayed on board any longer, I promise you, affection would have been replaced with loathing, then despair.

Yeah, thanks, I do know about ways of skinning a cat, and booking the emptiest places, though sometimes those are cheap/empty for a reason. I'll check out the other Padwan choices (we were previously looking at a March trip, same as ekscrunchy here)and heed your deck/upgrade advice. Moral crisis: My husband is wary of leaving his $$ in despots' hands. I figure the bits that trickle to The People are worthwhile, as is the cultural connection.

Hey dog, enticing offer to play you at the stateside G.T.G.s ~ will consider it ~ but I must warn you, I don't come cheap.
And, one other thing ~ I won't don any appendages.
Hey, I was thinking of a tail. Get your mind out of the gutter! Anyway, I do believe I can do dry with one slightly raised eyebrow and a rueful look, as it is just my style. I'll need to learn to underplay a bit more though. Could be fun!

Just back from Pandaws maiden cruise in Borneo.

Once I recover I'll try and post something.

Rumours of quite a few hiccups on their forthcoming Indian cruise.

Excellent, tang: that's why I go on these maiden cruises. I love the hiccups. Except when I went up the Hoogli with Assam Bengal - they screwed up the liquor permit. That was a long, dry hiccup.

Report all gossip. I'm very interested to hear about Borneo.

Tangata - I'm anxious to hear about the Borneo cruise!

OK, I've posted the first five days under Malaysia.

Dogster, the rumour on board (and Paul Strachen was with us) was that the boat had been impounded and the Burmese members of the crew arrested as illegal immigrants.

It is just a rumour and I'm sure they will have it sorted out shortly before we sail!

Kathie, thanks again for your report on Kuching, we referred to it often.

Dogster...have you published your ramblings in a book? Id really love to buy that!!

No np but I've explored Blurb in detail. I guess I could do it once I master the intricacies. I'd like that too. Once this particular writing jag wears off I'll think seriously.

And thank you for that really nice compliment.

Konnichi wa Dogster-
I've posted a link to this trip report on your Azamara cruise on CruiseCritic, on the AZ boards. You're developing a whole new following/fan club on another web site.
Susiesan

Hiya Susie: Oh, well - you reap what you sew. I'm too scared to go look. I'm sure it'll be a bucket-load of abuse. lol lol lol.

BUT I draw solace from the fact that you - a confirmed Azamarite - didn't seem too offended by what I wrote.

Susiesan, What's the name of the thread? I couldn't find it. Can't wait to see what they say. (Actually, I know, but want to see anyway.) If we know Dogster, he'll eventually look.

LA: I went in to Cruisecritic and posted the story.[thinking of your comments as I did so]
Within one minute my post was removed
The following minute susiesans post was removed - but not before 847 people had hit on it and three or four replied - very kindly. No offence taken, anyway.

I think I made a mistake when I headed my post
'Death by Azamaria'

So much for being a cruise "CRITIC"!!! I wondered what happened, as I went looking for your post over there and couldn't find anything. Sheesh.

I'd like to think they've copied it are are all chuckling back at the office. However, knowing the average corporate sense of humour, I doubt it. Can they sue?

Sheesh is right. They can't sue, it's fair comment and you didn't libel anyone. That site is very cozy with the cruise lines (the site operators take free cruises, I'm positive). Nevertheless, some office readers are are laughing. How could they not? Look forward to reading your latest on Bombay. Haven't had a chance.

Dogster: there are CruiseCritic nazis who police the boards and remove what they deem to be "offensive" posts. Sometimes they remove the whole thread. I noticed too that they took it off. But I had seen the comments that those who read your missive left. Yes, that was not a good title. The mods on CC have no sense of humor. My posts get removed all the time.
As an Azamarite, my husband and I both enjoyed your description of the cruise experience and had quite the laugh. It doesn't only apply to Azamara, but all cruises we have ever been on. I believe Doris has cruised with us many, many times.

Well, all those new followers at cruisecritic will just have to switch to fodors!! Serves em right for bleeping out the dogster's fine tale!
Carol

What? CruiseCritic doesn't think people take cruises just to have the "dogster experience"?

Their loss.