How about a sea cruise, she says to me.
I can’t believe you said that, I say to her.
She knows how I feel about cruises. We’ve weathered enough of them — the Caribbean, Panama, north to Alaska. I think we’ve conclusively established that I am not prime cruise material.
Sea cruises press a variety of no-no buttons for me. I try to avoid enterprises that involve casinos, tuxedos, Bingo, 24-hour–a-day dining opportunities or beverages bedecked with miniature umbrellas.
Such undertakings lead to heartburn, impromptu conga lines, the notion that lampshades make irresistible headwear and the occasional slap in the chops.
Then there’s the hazard of strolling Gypsy violinists sawing Lady of Spain into your ear while you sit at a dinner table surrounded by extras from a production of Cabaret — obsessive-compulsives, blowhards, drama queens, pedantic oenophiles and — yeah, cruises are not a good fit for me.
Why a cruise, I ask her. Why not a dogfight with Michael Vick? A pub crawl in Somalia? A jolly bout of gout?
She doesn’t respond to my ripostes, merely slips a brochure into my lap. It’s entitled Cruises to Classical Civilizations.
Oh
My
Gods.
Dozens of them, actually — Greek, Roman, Mycenaean, Minoan. This cruise starts in Athens then hopscotches up the Dalmatian coast dropping anchor at places I’ve only dreamed of (Corfu, Dubrovnik, the Kornati Islands) — and landfalls I can’t even pronounce (Monemvasia, Nauplia, Katakolon). It terminates in the canal-laced, fairy-tale city of Venice. Over fourteen days passengers visit such bucket list destinations as Olympus, the Acropolis and the Palace of Diocletian. Don’t know your Essenes from a hole in the ground? No sweat. Experts are on board delivering lectures about the history of the places you’re seeing each day.
But a cruise is still a cruise, right? Umpteen thousand passengers milling around with their charge cards hanging out; platoons of Uriah Heepish flunkies in white jackets, each with a Mick Jagger leer and an open palm.
Wrong. The Aegean Odyssey, the brochure tells me, is petite, even intimate, as cruise ships go. Tipping is flatly verboten, you dine wearing what’s comfortable and with whoever you please among your 350 fellow passengers.
Three hundred and fifty? I’ve been on cruise ships that carried that many wine stewards.
The ship lacks night club shows, but features a well-stocked library. You can’t find a bingo hall but there is an outdoor pool, a spa and a fully-equipped gym.
Or you can go ashore and tread in the footsteps of the ancients (shore excursions are included in the package price). For hopelessly hot-wired passengers there is a small internet room. On the other hand there’s also a yoga class each morning on an open deck under the Mediterranean sky.
It sounds too good to be true. I’m going for it. What sold me was a letter from a Canadian client quoted in the brochure. “No bingo, no casino, no photographer, no chorus line and no Baked Alaska! Need I say more?”
Not as far as I’m concerned. How do you say ‘All aboard” in Greek?
— Humour columnist Arthur Black lives
on Salt Spring Island
