Giving Talks Around The Caribbean

This is Part Two of a recent adventure giving talks on a ship. Part One is here.

I’d never spent weeks living aboard a ship before. I had no idea how it would feel. Would I grow bored?

I never did. In fact, I never even got to every corner of the ship. Carnival Venezia is about fifteen stories high, and as long as a city block. It reminded me of an upscale Vegas resort – complete with casino. There were fancy restaurants, and great bars. Stand-up comedy shows. Music being performed everywhere, including some very good opera. And I could eat for free. I was determined not to put on weight – particularly as one of my talks was about healthy eating. Thankfully, there were fresh, healthy options galore.

During the days at sea, when not giving talks, I usually worked with an expansive ocean view from one of the many higher decks. I’d take my laptop, get a coffee, and look at the ever-changing ocean while working on writing projects. Some days the ocean was as smooth as glass. There’s something special about the deep blue of the water that tells you when you are far offshore.

I loved sunrises and sunsets out on the open ocean. I loved walking on the outside decks at night, hearing but not seeing the waves we sliced though. The Milky Way was often visible, as were many passing satellites, and tropical lightning in the far distance towards South America lighting up distant clouds out to sea… so distant I couldn’t hear any thunder.

I had a wonderful theater to give talks in. My audience was a real mix of people – including many cruise ship regulars who had clearly come aboard with the talks in mind. I grew an audience as time went on and word spread, which was delightful. Once I realized the audience wanted anecdotal, conversational presentations, we relaxed into pleasant chats after the talk that sometimes lasted an extra hour or more. When I gave a talk about photography, in the days that followed people would stop me and show me what they had taken using the tips we had discussed in the talk. Many others followed up with informal conversations over lunch, or during an island excursion. I got to know some lovely families during the excursions who then chose to attend the talks. It was wonderful how our chats were not limited to the theater – they infused the whole experience. Part of my job title was “enrichment,” and that is truly what this felt like – I was enriching their experience, and being enriched in turn.

I think my fondest moment came after a talk I did about Yuri Gagarin, the first person in space. A woman from Russia stood up at the end and said I had absolutely nailed the culture and climate of the era. Then a man from Ukraine got up with another question. This prompted the woman from Russia to say her country had begun a war she disagreed with – and the space program was a wonderful example of how the world could unite and move beyond such divisions. The discussion continued – it was a moment. It felt heartwarming.

As well as eating healthily, I was determined to exercise. With a gym aboard, I had no excuse not to. The gym was high on the ship at the stern – with sloping windows looking out at the ocean ahead. It was a wonderful place to start the day. The ship rocked, very gently and steadily, as we moved through the water, meaning the horizon ahead gradually rose and fell. It was magical.

I was fortunate to make a good friend there. Egle, from Lithuania, used to open restaurants around the world for Gordon Ramsey, and had been brought in by the cruise company to look at their onboard fine dining options. We soon shared a daily routine. Before the sun rose, we’d head to the top deck of the ship, circling for an hour or so on the walking – running track as the stars faded and dawn began. Then I’d join her in the gym where I did my best keeping up with her Japanese cardio-heavy yoga, done with added weights. It was a rotating suite of continual movement, and it was hardcore. I was amazed I could keep up, especially when we headed into a third hour of cardio with weights. It frequently pushed me to my limits, but Egle was very patient with me, and as the days went by I felt more stretched out, and in better shape than ever.

I was able to repay her, somewhat. We’d spend a lot of time talking about management techniques, and training practices.

After a couple of days at sea it felt funny to see distant specks of land appear. It was quite a feeling to be walking around the top of the enormous ship at sunrise as it did all the precise, angled maneuvers to get into port. Seeing the horizon rotate as I walked, up so high, was a fascinating feeling.

The crew encouraged me to take full advantage of the shore excursions. I was glad.

Having spent a few days heading south by ship, once in the Caribbean I generally headed right back out onto the water. The islands were tropical paradises – the water a vivid light blue, warm, with dazzling white beaches enclosed by coral rock overhangs.

I felt completely in my element underwater. Coral reefs stretched very close to the surface, allowing me to really enjoy the vivid colors. I’ve always loved the alien world of reefs, and the peace of floating while hearing only my own breathing. Tiny, vivid-colored fish crowded around, nibbling and cleaning the coral. I followed enormous walls of coral that then dropped away to sandy ocean floor far below, or to a deep blue abyss that stretched beyond my view. It was breathtaking.

I had forgotten how profoundly different the SCUBA experience is to snorkeling. To not have to worry about breath, and instead just enjoy the Zen of hearing your regular breathing. To be weighted correctly so that you are in essence weightless. To be able to turn somersaults, and barrel roll, and all kinds of other fun maneuvers without having to worry about water going up your nose or any air supply being interrupted. It is so freeing. It is zero gravity at its finest – on Earth, at least.

I explored sea caves, and reefs known for their sea stars and sea turtles. I loved seeing the ancient-looking, wise faces of the turtles as they rose and dove. One time, I saw a gorgeous octopus picking its way around the base of a boulder, so elegant in its movement, and perfectly camouflaged. Then it saw me, froze, extended its tentacles across the rock like a mandala, and turned a pale blue until I retreated. Sorry about that, octopus.

I dove down to shipwrecks that loomed from below like images from National Geographic. Photos would not come close to showing the wonder of the bow of a ship sticking up vertically, covered in colorful marine life, with the sun filtering down from far above. I loved being able to turn upside down and glide down the vertical face of it, then swoop around the edges and look up close at how nature was reclaiming it.

Sometimes I did this with SCUBA gear. Other times, a snorkel mask and a device named a SEABOB were enough. It was as if a Shop-Vac had been converted into a torpedo. I could ride it on the surface like a little jet ski, then point it down and dive as deep as my breath and the water pressure would let me. Pelicans swam above me while fish swirled around me. I learned to barrel-roll one underwater. It was magical.

I’d also forgotten what it was like to be in tropical places where you could swim in the ocean, then air dry afterwards and not even get changed. I could spend days feeling generally salty and sandy in a good, earthy, relaxed way.

Then I had a call from the head of the Guest Relations desk. They wanted to talk to me.

One excursion I had been on had been cut short because a tropical storm had powered through. Lightning was hitting the water in the distance, and the tour operator wisely decided it was unsafe to continue. Some guests were unhappy about this, so Guest Relations was looking into it. I was asked to describe what had happened, in great detail. I was happy to do so. In the end, five staff members came in to listen and ask further questions about this and other excursions I had been on.

As a result of my detailed report, they asked if I could continue to report on every excursion I went on. The ship was about to go to islands it had never been to before, with tour operators it had never used. They wanted everything to be perfect.

I’d come aboard the ship expecting only to give talks. Now I’d been on the ship’s television show, was learning about the restaurant business, was getting in great shape, and providing reports about the excursions. I loved how my role kept expanding and diversifying.

I drove a speedboat from a Dutch part of an island, across the border to the French side, where I dove in a perfect, secluded bay. I visited incredible rock formations and ancient petroglyphs. I dropped in on a glass blowing studio, enjoying comparing the process to glass I had made in California. I rode horses though a forest and then into the ocean, mirroring an experience I’d had years earlier over on Grand Cayman. I explored rainforests on islands with high, volcanic mountains, their summits hidden in the clouds. I hiked to waterfalls in the rainforests and swam in the pools below. Feeling a waterfall beat on my back was one of the best massages I have had in a while.

I kayaked through mangrove wetlands in nature reserves, watched hermit crabs scuttle around the islands, and glimpsed octopuses playing peek-a-boo with me from the coral below. I explored deep caves hidden in limestone gorges.

I spent a couple of days ziplining on different islands – once deep in the rainforest, another time across the top of high mountain peaks – including the world’s steepest zipline, plunging me back down to the valley below. One comedian, with a deadpan style very similar to Deon Cole, a favorite of mine, went on one of my zipline excursions too. That night, I heard his show, which was a hilarious recounting of the whole experience from a comedian’s perspective. It was surreal to hear my day turned into a comedy act.

It felt bittersweet to leave the last stop of each cruise. The enormous ropes holding the ship were released, the lines pulled in, and with the slightest of rumbles we moved away from port. Soon each island was just a thin line of lights on the horizon as we slipped away in the sunset – then gone completely in the blackness.

I’d journeyed from New York to St. Thomas, Dominica, Barbados, St. Lucia, St. Maarten, Aruba, Grand Turk, and Curaçao – most of them twice. I’m looking forward to visiting most of them again in coming months, plus other exciting new destinations.

Heading north, back to New York, the guests relaxed, chatted, and read. Despite the size of the ship it seemed I bumped into everyone I had met over the weeks, with lovely “if I don’t see you again” sentiments expressed. It also felt different be back walking the deck at sunrise when out at deep sea. I’d grown used to seeing an island appear each morning.

It felt particularly odd to leave my stateroom, and the ship, in cloudy Manhattan. While I knew my room had traveled with me, somehow the idea of it being next to a Caribbean beach one day, and then a few days later in the colder Northeast of the USA, did not seem possible.

It was only when I got to the airport that I realized I’d had a feeling of being “on stage” for two weeks nonstop. It was a public obligation that I felt was part of my job. It wasn’t like I changed behavior now – particularly when going through airport security – but I hadn’t noticed how I had always been thinking about being a good crewmember at all times, on or off duty.

Now I was going home. With all the swimming, hiking, kayaking, gym, and yoga, my confused body did not feel hungry for days, and continued to grow lean muscle for quite some time after my return.

Then five days after coming back, a very different organization offered me a full-time, enticing job – aboard an aircraft carrier.

But that’s a different story.

Dawn on the running track on the top of the ship. As usual, I am not keeping up.

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