Last night in Miami

Friday night we had a sensible Italian at a restaurant on Ocean Drive and thought we’d be sensible as we were sailing the next day – rather than a bottle of wine just a few cocktails and a bit of pasta. This was super cool Art Deco Ocean Drive and right on the front looking over South Beach, and we’d expected nuevo cuisine, we didn’t expect the traditionally large portions they serve up elsewhere in America.

We ordered two Margaritas and up came two enormous fishbowls of red liquid, I’d never seen a red Margarita before so we questioned his with the waiter – ‘Strawberry Margarita’, he said, ‘Speciality of a’Miami’ (he was Italian) – ok, so we gave it a go and it was certainly fully loaded with Tequila dunno where the strawberry came into it though. That lasted through dinner and we’re only a few blocks from the hotel so we stayed to watch the world go by; we couldn’t take another fishbowl so we ordered two regular Mojito’s – I might as well have asked for two pints of Bacardi because that’s what we got – in very long glasses.

Theresa had an unfortunate allergic reaction to the mint leaves in the Mojito (or the strawberry juice) which had affected her lower limbs - we had to get a cab home,

Saturday morning, large headaches all round and we had to check out by noon, we managed to get out by 1145; the drive to the Port of Miami would have taken 10 minutes but for the traffic and there was something surreal about driving such a short distance then joining on a ship a complete (and pleasant) contrast to 11 hours on a plane etc.

We dumped the baggage, bunged the porters, paid $140 to park the car and joined the line (queues) – we’re old hands at this lark now. First ticket check – passed ok, security check – passed ok, passport check – passed ok, then we had to see the Carnival Embarkation Clerk who gives you the on board credit card number – who happened to be Hispanic.

Because we were late bookings none of his paperwork/computer records had a cabin number on it and he asked if we had been allocated a cabin – 7203 I said. Click Click Click and he found us, ‘Ah ha, Mr and Mrs Waterman, welcome back’. (It’s all on the computer which shows we are return cruisers) . . . I’ll get your cards for you.

He came back with an envelope with two Gold cards - and took a second look at me - and then the computer screen – and then the cards - and put them on the desk in front of us. ‘Stateroom 7203 did you say’. ‘Yes’ . . . . I could see the name on the card and it wasn’t Waterman and he sussed straight away I was not your typical Hector Gonzalez - the name on the cards, but he checked the passports again just in case.

Here we go again I thought, something’s wrong - and off he minced to see a supervisor. It turned out that Hector and his wife had either cancelled late or moved to another cabin and their cards had not been destroyed – no drama, he said I’ll print some more for you – Oops the printers broken so they will have to do it for you when you get on board . . . . been here before mate, without a card they won’t let you on board. He reassured us they would if we explained what had happened.

I was really glad we had a very sharp Scottish girl on the gangplank who escorted us past Security and took us to the Pursers Desk – more accurately the back of the line for the Pursers Desk. Having got the cards we had to get back to the security man to take a photo and ‘bong us in’ to the ship – so they knew we were on board. What a performance, but with a bit of luck Hector will get my on board drinks bill . . . .

This ship is a bit newer, bigger and nicer than the Carnival Triumph and we had a right result on the cabin, as a late booker we were expecting an inside cabin but we’ve got a porthole cabin at the front of the ship right under the bridge. It’s a bit noisy when the Captain upstairs flushes his toilet but otherwise its cool.

We headed for the trough for lunch whilst the crew set about cranking up the motor to move off, and hour or so later three of our four bags were left outside the cabin and we started to unpack – expecting the fourth to arrive later but it never did.

Off we trot to the Customer Service Desk, joined the line for 20 minutes and then the clerk said ‘Have you checked that pile there’, pointing 10 feet away, ‘If a tag comes off a bag during loading we don’t know who owns it or what cabin to deliver is to so we leave theme there for passengers to claim them’, and there was ours right at the front of the pile – minus tag, trundled off thinking a notice or something could have saved me and everyone else lining up for 20 minutes with the same question . . . .

Nevertheless this crisis was over, Theresa is happy she has found her other 16 pairs of shoes and her curling tongs, and I’ve won’t have to wear trainers with my tuxedo.

We went to dinner at about 830ish and were allocated ‘anytime dining’, basically turn up when you like they sit you anywhere with anyone else – can be good way to meet people, never done it this way before – lets see how it goes. We had a bit of a numpty waiter so that all changed later but anyway during dinner we pondered on our next 48 hours at sea and the three ports of call, and then it came . . .. . THE ANNOUNCEMENT. . . .

‘Dis isa yo Capitaain speeeking from da Bridge (he’s Italian like the last one was). He explained that one of the crew needed urgent medical attention and we would be diverting to Freeport in The Bahamas to off load this crewman. It was a bit selfish of me but I thought, Fuck it here we go again . . . . of the last four cruises we’ve been on we’ve had missed stops on three.

I think someone must have heard me and knew I was pissed off because we never docked that night we just slowed down for a bit, I suspect that they got close to Freeport and cut the poor bugger loose in a liferaft on his own and after dispatching him the Captain cranked the motor up a bit and blatted on down to Puerto Rico.

After another 40 uneventful, people watching, hours at sea - we arrived on time – 5pm evening for a change . . . . this place is famous for making Baccardi rum so its Mojito time . . . . and we’re booked on a tour of San Juan’s Night Life . . . .