Because we are definitely not where we thought we’d be twenty-four hours ago, we have no set plans, and definitely no plans to leave the ship. Our ship is in port until 6:30pm, and we see it as a good day to take in a day of … nothing, really.
The port activity continues to fascinate Steve. Another parade of incoming ships, which is why we were moved 500 feet or so down the pier farther from the cruise terminal and the Queen Victoria left the port, relegated to anchoring offshore, but within view of the port and the island itself.
We are both up early to watch the port activity. 6:00am: P&O Cruises ship MS Azura arrives and squeezes into the berth we occupied yesterday. The Explorer of the Seas (yes, this is the third port in which we have been neighbors) arrives next to take Queen Victoria’s spot. Aida Cruises AIDAsol arrives at 7:30am. It is amazing to watch these ships – each weighing over 100,000 gross tons each – being “parked” almost as if they were cars. The technology used to maneuver these giant vessels has revolutionized the business.
We both again spend the morning at the Pool Deck under shade. Reading, blogging, chatting, people-watching. Essentially accomplishing little movement. Sometimes the best thing one can do on a cruise. Yeah, we miss not having an excursion … sort of. This sedentary shipboard life is beginning to grow on us!
Lunch at the Terrace Café. Lamb and feta burger on a pita for Cath. Conch fritters and beef short ribs for Steve. And dessert, of course. (If you’re reading this, you might be thinking “I think I’ll skip this post. They’re reduced to writing about what they had for lunch!” You would be right.)
Back to the room. Steve finally finishes the January 16th post. Cath takes a long nap. Steve finally goes to the fitness track in the stern of Deck 15 and walks for an hour. Stops occasionally to study the container port opposite our ship. Notices a beat-up old bulk freighter MS Polstream that’s either loading or unloading and wonders why there’s not the least effort to scrape and paint the sides of this rust-bucket. Oh well.
Around 4:45pm, the Explorer of the Seas is preparing to leave. Steve continues his walk, wanting to see the procedure and note which direction she’s heading. MS Riviera and her have been shadowing each other for days, and it would be interesting to know where she’s headed next, especially in view of our ship’s constantly-evolving itinerary. He makes a mental note to check on that later. [It turns out she’s heading where we should be heading, but aren’t: St. Kitts. Why they headed there and we canceled our visit is a mystery.]
Right at 5pm, the captain comes on the ship-wide public address system. Uh Oh. This can’t be good. Sure enough, more changes. Now we are scrapping all the scheduled visits to the islands of St. Vincent, Martinique, St. Lucia, and St. Kitts. Instead, tomorrow will be a Sea Day as we head back to Sint Maarten, the port we were at on the 18th. After that, on the 24th, we call at Tortola in the British Virgin Islands, a brand-new destination that was never on the itinerary. We spend the day there and then cruise east-southeast to St. Barts, arriving on the 25th, which puts us back on the original schedule. (okay, of you’ve waded through all of this cruise minutiae, we will stop now.)
Steve returns the room, and Cathy and I, while consuming our canapes, again commiserate with the Destinations Services departments, both on board ship and in Miami headquarters. Having had a logistics career full of constantly changing plans (albeit, way simpler to fix than these huge changes forced by Covid), we also feel the pain of all the ship planners in Miami. Changing everything on the fly like this is a nightmare for them. We think this is how we wound up heading for Tortola. To borrow a phrase: “Any port in a storm.” Thankfully, thankfully, this isn’t weather-related, but it may be the only port with availability on such short notice. A stop in BVI should prove interesting.
Just before leaving for dinner, Steve attempts to take some photos of the setting sun. He scrambles to get out his Cannon camera, which has a far better telephoto lens than the iPhone 12. It takes all of three minutes to accomplish the setup, but the sun has set. Near the equator, as we are now, you can actually witness how the earth turns by watching just how quickly the sun sets. It’s an interesting phenomenon that us northerners do not see where we live.
Dinner tonight is in Toscana, the signature restaurant featuring Italian food. We arrive at 6:30, and the place is pretty quiet. We are greeted by the maître d, and taken to our table by a thoroughly delightful young lady named Clizia. We inquire about her name and learn that, indeed, while unusual, it is an Italian name and she is from Italy. Our waitperson Nelson from India describes several specials on the menu. Specials-of-the-day are something unusual in our experience with Oceania restaurants. Our orders are taken, and Clizia returns, pushing the olive oil tray. Yes, you read that right. We are offered a dozen different varieties of delicious olive oils in which to dip our bread!
The ship is scheduled to leave Barbados promptly at 7:00pm. At precisely that time, the ship begins to really shudder and vibrate as the engines start. It is loud and, well, startling to us. This lasts for a good five minutes and is very disconcerting. For the Toscana wait staff, it’s business as usual, however. Two light-hearted statements are made as the ship shakes. One waiter announces “There may be a delay in receiving your meal as the chef is having difficulty keeping the veal on the grill.” Another notes: “We are providing a complimentary massage with your main course.”
That does take away any apprehension, as we see that the staff is quite accustomed to this happening. Our waitperson Nelson shares that this shaking and vibration are most pronounced on this deck. Both this restaurant and the Grand Dining Room are located in the stern, but the impact from the enormous diesel engines doesn’t happen on Deck 6 where the GDR is. Why this is so would take a maritime engineer to explain.
The dinner is wonderful, as expected. Steve watches the activity level build, and note that Clizia is all over the place: Guiding diners to their table, pushing the olive oil table from table to table, clearing tables if need be; essentially anything that needs doing at the moment. What an asset to Oceania she must be.
By now the restaurant is really busy. We see an entourage of staff members accompany a lady and her friends to her table. She is wearing a sash that says “80th Cruise on Oceania,” which we comment is incredibly good marketing.
We leave Toscana having had a delicious meal. We do note in passing that we are fortunate to live in Connecticut, where Italian cuisine of similar quality is readily available within a few miles or less from where we live.
The day is done, and we are heading back north. More Sea Days than we had anticipated, but we are adapting well to that and, frankly, enjoying the cruise in a different way than we imagined when we boarded. It’s all good.
