An Arduous Crossing

It turns out that at least two of the seven sins are alive and well on cruise ships: gluttony and sloth.

I wasn't really too sure how the cruise would be, in terms of eating or dressing or drinking or whatever, since I'd never done anything so luxurious or white before. I brought my suit for dinners and seven bottles of wine for my cabin.

Life was not hard on the ship. Besides actually forcing myself to visit the gym throughout the week in a pale attempt to make up for a year of self-indulgent travel and consumption, time was mostly taken up by eating and sleeping and napping.

The food was good, but more importantly, there was an infinite amount of it. At the dinners whereat I snazzed myself up in my suit, I feasted in the Britannia, my assigned swanky (but not most swanky aboard) restaurant.

I dined on delicious and pretentiously named dishes such as cauliflower polonaise, pont neuf potatoes, chicken and wild mushroom terrine, fig and apple chutney, Indonesian vegetable bahmi goreng, tamarind-glazed duck breast salad, and herb-crusted rack of lamb, to name a few.

There was always a buffet elsewhere, usually with Asian food or grub classics like ribs or fries or roast pork. Room service was also available 24 hours a day, always a nice option at three in the morning after killing a bottle of wine and having a dip in one of the pools.

I came to eat so much that I eventually just started ordering two entrees at dinner, eating two breakfasts in two different restaurants, and eating when I wasn't hungry. If there is any place I can realize my fantasy of jumping into a swimming pool full of fettuccine alfredo, the Queen Mary 2 is probably it.

As far as sloth goes, I'd tell you all about it, but after all the naps and late mornings facilitated by the absence of windows in my cabin, I just don't feel like it.

Atlantic Blackout

Firstly, an update: I've uploaded an album of photos from England. Click here or, as always, find the link on the right-hand sidebar.

Carry on then.

I'm sure I'll be breaking some sort of unspoken rule of etiquette when I drag my ratty backpack and guitar onto "the most magnificent ocean liner ever built", as Cunard modestly describes her. I'll also be wearing my jeans and boots so I have enough room to stash the wine I'm bringing aboard.

Well assuming they let me on in my vagabond state, I certainly won't be posting any blog updates for the next week. I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize personally to my audience. I sincerely hope all four of you can somehow get through the next seven days.

My cabin mate, whom I met for lunch last week in Hampstead, has informed me that though Internet connections are available, it's expensive and slow. I won't bother. This will be her second voyage on the Queen Mary 2.

I plan to use my time somewhat more productively. A daily gym regimen in the mornings, swimming and reading in the afternoons, napping, watching movies, gluttonizing myself at all opportunities, hobnobbing with the retirees, and of course dressing up in my suit.

Quick aside about that suit and more bastards at customs: I had to pay 30 pounds for my own goddamned suit in taxes and handling fees for the parcel company the customs are in cahoots with. Dirty bastards. At least it was easier to deal with and less exploitative than than the crooks in Turkey.

I've also heardtell that the stars are not to be missed at night. The Sonoran or Australian deserts are great places to get away from light pollution, but the middle of the Atlantic surely has even those places beat providing the ship isn't obscenely lit up. Hell, the boat even has it's own planetarium.

I've got quite a library of books to get through, in addition to what's available in the ship's library. I'm currently reading Half of a Yellow Sun, then after that will surely be Within Whicker's World, seeing as I have been described as the American Alan Whicker. Then The Satanic Verses, and if I have time, The Guv'nor by Lenny McLean. McLean fought gypsys in bare-knuckle boxing matches, and his autobiography's tagline is: "I look what I am - a hard bastard!"

If you thought I was erudite before, just wait until I get through this reading list.

Trains, a Suit, and Africa

I'm considering changing my plans again. Instead of going directly north to France again, and doing another work exchange for a week or two like I'm doing now, Morocco is on my mind.

The idea came into my head the other day when I was saying goodbye to a couple that live in Morocco. It wasn't a very profound spark. It was more like, "Hey, they live in Morocco. I could go to Morocco."

I'm getting pretty lazy concerning hitchhiking, but fortunately Moroccan trains are cheap. Riding trains is one of the three reasons pulling me toward Morocco. I'd really like to take the overnight train from Tanger to Marrakech, spend a couple days, then take day trains halfway back up north, then east to Oujda, stay a couple days, then back to Tanger and Spain. Maybe I could even swing through Gibraltar for the hell of it. That way I can see where John and Yoko were married and check out the overseas territory that Spain is all bent up about since England won't give it back.

The other two reasons are a suit, and Africa. I've never been to Africa before, I'm a bit ashamed to say. I think it's about time I step foot on an unvisited continent, something I haven't done for five years.

Plus I have what appears to be an unfounded suspicion I can get a suit tailored for relatively cheap in Morocco. This fancy-schmancy cruise I'm taking apparently has formal dress codes for dinner. I'm already going to be the odd one out for being under 50; I don't want to be the only one dressed in duct taped flip flops and ratty t-shirts.

Nothing I've found online concerning tailored suits in Morocco is promising though. Maybe I'll just head to Morocco and ride trains and frustrate myself in futile searches for sartorial satisfaction while moonlighting in cafes filled with hookah smoke and belly-dancers. Christ, you know it ain't easy.

It's a roll of the dice right now. I don't want to spend too much cash since I don't want to be dead broke when I get home. However, if I can find a cabinmate to share the cost of the cruise with me (since I've singlehandedly paid for a twin room) then I'll be saving $800 bucks which I can guiltlessly blow in Africa.

Life's hard when you don't know if you're going to relax in southern France or travel around Morocco. Let me thank you in advance for your sympathy.

A Ticket Home

I thought it would be enough to make it from Korea to western Europe by land, but I was wrong. Since I've made it to Europe, the thought of saying goal achieved and just getting on an airplane is pretty repulsive. I don't know exactly why, but I decided to try everything I could in order to make it back to the States by sea.

My first thought was to crew on a yacht, sort of like what I didn't do in Thailand. After wasting hours on shitty crew-finding sites and posting messages in all sorts of forums, it turns out that the season to cross the Atlantic doesn't get underway until September at the earliest, and even then boats mostly go to the Caribbean. As much as I would like to chill out in the Caribbean, at this point I'm running out of money and interested in getting home somewhat directly. Plus, crewing a boat is a very unguaranteed method of travel. I would have to be willing to wait and hope and make rounds of a ton of marinas all over the Mediterranean. Scratch that.

Another option was to take a cargo ship cruise. Turns out they're insanely expensive. Scratch that.

Another option was a ferry from Denmark to Iceland. This appealed to me very much. It would be fairly cheap, and would drop me off in eastern Iceland (the middle of nowhere) from whence I could hitchhike across the country to Reykjavik. I spent five days in Iceland in 2004 and would love to go back, but if I were to do this option, I'd have to get a flight across the rest of the Atlantic. Tempting, but I'd still have to fly. Scratch that.

So I bought a ticket for a transatlantic cruise. I'm on the Queen Mary 2 of Cunard cruise lines, "probably the youngest person on the ship" according to the sales agent I bought my ticket from. The ship is the only liner purpose built for transatlantic journeys in more than three decades. It's even inspired the designs of cruise ships sunk in Hollywood movies. I'm not sure if that's something to be excited about.

Taking a pricey ($1500) cruise is not my idea of travel, but in my case, it works. I get across the Atlantic, I continue without airplanes, and I get to gorge myself on what better be goddam good food. I've got a double room to myself: the cheapest, most windowless room on the ship, I'm sure. I do have an option of finding someone to share the room with me, cutting the price in half. That'd be nice, but not an easy task.

I see myself lounging on the deck in the sun, reading a book while geriatrics in tuxedos hobnob about. I certainly won't have the formal attire required for a lot of the event, but fuck it. I plan on getting a trunk - what is any transatlantic cruise without a trunk? - and filling it with cheap booze and souvenirs bought from thrift shops before I leave from London.

I step foot in Brooklyn, New York on September 5th after seven nights at sea. That's a year of travel with no airplanes, and a lot of ground covered. This is not a small world we live in.

In the meantime, I'm doing work exchanges to conserve the measly finances left to me. This means I'm doing grounds work on a gorgeous hillside property in southern Spain with a comfy bed, amazing views and meals cooked for me. Being poor has rarely been so good. See you in America.