Onward, southward we went. California's Channel Islands gave way to open ocean. I took more pictures through the glass front of the balcony, eleven stories above sea level.
I soon learned that the main purpose of being on a cruise ship is eating. There are many other advertised activities, but the main one is eating. You line up to get into one of many restaurants, are seated, are fed scrumptious food, and then you leave without paying. I was told that the average cruise patron gains a pound a day. Gross. After you finish a meal, you decide where to have your next meal.
At the first supper, I eschewed appetizer and dessert. I don't require those gastronomic bookends. The waiter was aghast, and I could tell by the way my lateral cutlery was snatched away that I had committed a faux pas. I don't like eating for the sake of eating. I like eating when I'm hungry. I don't like most desserts.
But you are here to eat. Eat! And talk, loudly. Yak yak yak.
Think how much poop a
boat ship with 4000 heavily-fed humans aboard produces. No, don't. Gross.
Back in our stateroom, I spied an enemy ship off in the distance. Princess Line I believe.
Later that night I did discover something about being on a big boat that I really enjoy. Sleeping!
The gentle rocking in moderate seas is soothing, and the wooden cabinetry creaks in a delightful old-timey sailing ship way. If you ever invent a way to replicate that kind of sleep on land, you will have created a cash cow that lays golden eggs.
However, one thing. Before you bunk down for the night, you have to clear the room of towel totems.