"Will you join me and my wife Nola on a 10-day Grand Princess Mexican Cruise? We need help." I considered my elderly father's request against claustrophobia, motion sickness, and stuck-with-people-I-might-not-like syndrome. And love of father won. I threw my fears of cruising, like an Olympic discus thrower, over 107,000 tonnes of ship, and said, “Yes!"
As the gangplank lowered at San Francisco's Pier 27 on January 12, 2018, I stepped into a contained world of approximately 3000 passengers and 1000 crew members, floating in a hotel with the slogan, Come Back New™ and I wondered: What have I gotten myself into?
I met my family, including two distant relatives, in the ship's crowded library to learn procedures in case of an emergency. For our unlikely emergency, I visualized the Titanic, where we'd convene in our muster station with life vests. Family togetherness, fighting back walls of water.
Then, I unpacked for a myriad of occasions. I laid out my motion sickness farmacia: Dramamine. Transderm patches. Wrist bands. Ginger pills. I became acquainted with the ship and memorized exits. Learned about never-ending activities to occupy one's body and mind. There'd be scant time to over-eat, the primary concern of cruise-goers once the Captain shouts, "All aboard!" Not to be confused with "Overboard!" when one is required to throw a buoy and seek help.
The ship's guide to life at sea, The Princess Patter, listed entertainment and activities—every 30 minutes. More importantly, Dad and Nola's Emerald Cabin 301 was well-equipped for the disabled: A scooter and walkers, wide space to safely maneuver, shower chair and bathroom bars, and for being loyal cruisers - miniature bottles of booze under a flat-screen TV.
I'd learn the aforementioned amenities, combined with family and caregiver support, distinguished the disabled, who see the world in its varied brilliance, from those resigned to the familiar at home. The Grand Princess's helpful staff made the ship an accessible oasis. A blind couple with seeing eye dogs walked the decks. An amputee in a wheelchair sunned by the splash pool. Dad scooted on his shiny "Porsche" through halls, up and down elevators, and reversed without a mirror, watch out!, in order to see magic and Broadway shows. He particularly loved the Princess musical "Stardust". Nola clutched her walker, "Bob! Wait up!"
Wherever they went, people seemed happy to assist. At one point, Dad played poker in the casino under my watchful eye. "You bet how much?" I gasped. And when I realized my choir rehearsal was about to begin, I pondered, “What's a girl to do?” Dad lifted his gaze from his cards, peered over horn-rim glasses, and smiled, "Go!" The staff assured me they'd help Dad to his room. Done.
Impromptu diversions activated a dormant me: I sang karaoke under the stars projected onto a movie screen, danced at a disco party with staff dressed as Love Boat characters, and joined the Princess Pop Choir, singing Sweet Caroline, It's Not Unusual, and We Are the Champions for our grand finale performance. The family enjoyed day-time trivia. Whereas night owls, Dad and I, attended post-8 pm shows like Voice of the Ocean where passengers turned judges' chairs with a song.
I balanced desserts and my waist-line, peddling a stationary bicycle with a video that simulated a race track amongst red rocks and ruins. Walked the decks. Got a bamboo massage. Took a star-gazing class and committed to one fact: Sirius is our brightest night star. I ate healthy and drank healthier. (That's what they say about wine, no?) I enjoyed photo classes, shared laugher, and watched sunsets splash vivid hues over the Pacific, dissipating residual concerns with a focus on beauty.
There were four ports of call: Puerto Vallarta (I had a head-ache, so I can't say much.) Manzanillo (Hot and humid, I skipped the turtle sanctuary and bought a Mexican dress at the local flea market instead.)
Mazatlan was a busy seaport known for fisheries, navy and tourism. A plastic bottle floated by a pelican in the bay. A power plant provided smog. Fishermen near psychedelic-green vessels dropped tunafish in order to wave. I was on my estuary and birdwatching tour where osprey and blue heron perched on mangrove branches. We arrived at a beach with hungry salesmen, shorebirds and skies of blue. Mariachis serenaded diners, who drank melon margaritas, whereas, I played it safe with bottled water.
Our cleanest port, Cabo San Lucas sparkled under the Baja California sun. Our ship anchored off-shore in the Sea of Cortez, as tenders shuttled passengers to the trendy marina. Ancient Ring of Fire activity created the dramatic backdrop for snorkeling, whale-watching, and scenic tours. Margaritas, mariachis, and must-buys were on land. Because you never know when you'll need one, I bought a painted turtle whistle.
After eight calm days at sea, the ticker on my cabin's TV screen crawled with the text: Large waves 11.5 ft. Relative wind speed 19 mph. We rocked and rolled yet I barely felt queasy. Beyond wearing wrist bands, I never utilized that farmacia.
My last night aboard, I slept 10 hours in a comfy bed with the ship's motion enhancing my ease. As it turned out, my cruise fears faded and a woman, who happened to please her dad, loved the cruise and came back new.
When You Go
Princess Cruises
Phone: 1-800-774-6237
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