Atlantic Crossing:Day 3.5
It’s 4:30 on the North Atlantic on Tuesday, and we’ve covered about 525 nautical miles, with about 2700 ahead of us. The ship is cruising at 25 knots through placid seas, the lowest calibration on the scale that can be called up on the television.
The suite is sumptuous, yet I’m already totally used to it. Our butler, Anil, served lunch on the balcony overlooking the pool. Some people stare. My wife has forbidden me to wave.
I’m reminded of the 1930s starlet who observed, “A private railroad car is not an acquired taste. One gets used to it instantly.”
We’re dining in Todd English tonight, the very upscale, very elite restaurant two decks below us. I hope my expectations aren’t too high.
The service on the ship, called “white star service,” is extraordinary. Every crew member greets you cordially. A remote bulb somewhere in the suite apparently burned out, was spotted by the maid, and two engineers fixed it today, then appeared on the balcony to inform us as to what they had done. The room seems to be freshened several times a day, because I seem to only use a towel once and magically there are new ones the next time. (The master bath has heated towel racks with a control system not unlike that of a small Cessna.)
I swam in the nearest heated pool, then shared one of the hot tubs with a Scandinavian couple who didn’t let me stop them from heating up the water still more. I demurely stared at the wake. Most of the time. Sometimes. Hardly at all.
A ship’s officer alerted everyone over the speakers that dolphin were off to starboard, our side, and there were more than 50 of them, skipping along as rocks that are tossed to skip on the waves. I believe he also said (picture a train station PS system) that we were entering the western most reaches of the Sargasso Sea, which makes sense, since you can easily see strange seaweed gliding by the ship.
I’ve decided to work out on this trip, and did so yesterday at the Ritz-Carlton. So tomorrow morning, I’m off to the ship’s club which is nestled in the bow and is enormous. Later in the day are our spa appointments.
I found a formal note on the dining table in the suite this morning, inviting us to meet with Commodore Barnard Warner tomorrow evening. I’m looking forward to that. It’s another formal night, but Maria will not let me where my Bentley hat or tee shirt to the meeting, even though they are appropriately black.
There is a captain on this ship, but the Commodore outranks him. I guess I’m seeing the economic buyer.
© Alan Weiss 2008. All rights reserved.
