SPRING 2005

Like thousands of others year-round, I sailed the same waters that Columbus sailed 500 years ago; not on a Spanish galleon, but on a floating mega-resort called a cruiseship.

The Caribbean is cruise central. Rightly so, considering its 1 million square miles of silky sea and over 7000 islands of fine sandy beaches. Each island port regularly docks up to 10 giant ships at a time, bringing an onslaught of some 20,000 souvenir-buying, picture-taking tourists a day. The region is tailor made for the industry; the everlasting sunshine and 80 degree water make it the perfect all-inclusive getaway from reality.

I worked and lived onboard the Celebrity Summit while it cruised the Caribbean for two months. The ship did 10 day cruises out of Fort Lauderdale and sailed into the islands of St. Maarten, St. Lucia, St. Kitts, Barbados, St. Thomas, Key West, Cozumel, Aruba, and Grand Cayman. The Caribbean is a fascinating place. Since colonization of the area was like a haphazard game of Monopoly, European influences are still evident in island architecture, language, food, and school uniforms.

In all honesty, I don't really care for the Caribbean. I flew into St. Maarten with romantic visions of blue lagoons and pirate caves. After a few days of jetskis and banana boats, I realize that there's not much here to inspire me, just miles of beach and duty free shopping. The Caribbean isn't the kind of place you travel to, it's where you would go for a week to bake under the sun with all the other pasty suburban tourists wearing fanny packs and SPF 50 sunblock. Not that there is anything wrong with that, I just wanted something more. I tried commendably to find meaning and satisfaction, but the results were always the same: mediocre food, fairly unfriendly locals, uninteresting ports, no real sense of adventure. However, it is fun. And relaxing.

I suppose I should have known better, the Caribbean being the madly overrun tourist zoo that it is. I expected the tacky souvenir stands and package tours. I didn't expect there to be a KFC on every street corner.

MIAMI

Before I set out at sea, I spend a week in the sexiest city in America: Miami.

As my plane soars high above the city, I watch as the green marshiness of the Everglades give way to multi-million dollar villas and palm-lined freeways. With its world-renowned nightlife and Hollywood hotspots, Miami has always been a playground for the young, hot, and wealthy. It's a shame that my hotel is located in the warehouse/stripmall friendly area of Doral, rather than South Beach (as was promised).

Miami is everything I expect it to be; a pulsating city fueled by cash and martinis, tempered by the sweltering Southern heat and a fusion of cultures. The city and atmosphere possess a fiery orange tinge, just as seen on CSI: Miami. No dead bodies though.

There's something here that my eyes don't agree with. As soon as I land at the airport, my eyes begin to water and itch as they eventually reject the contact lenses that are usually permitted. I spend the entire week wearing my glasses. There must be something in the air... J. Lo's latest fragrance, perhaps?

ARUBA

The Caribbean isn't all that bad. There are a few killer spots that take my breath away, like Aruba.


An island within sight of the Venezuelan coast, Aruba seems like any other random Caribbean cruise port once you step off the gangway and find yourself in Oranjestad, a tacky tropical version of a little Dutch town. But once you leave the casino and bar-riddled streets, you will find yourself in a barren desert-like terrain of cactus plants, dusty dirt roads, and natural curiousities such as the 'natural bridge' (a bridge carved out by centuries of crashing waves) and a series of underground caves.

Our first day there a group of us rent out a couple of jeeps and drive recklessly all around the island, ripping it up offroad in cactus fields and eventually finding ourselves lost in the island landfill. A tire explodes on one of the jeeps by the time we make it to the caves, and on the way back to the port (with not much time before sailaway) the same jeep breaks down altogether. Luckily a local good Samaritan couple in an SUV come to the rescue and we make it back to the ship in time.

Our last visit to Aruba gives us a full day to say farewell to the 'Happy Island;' the ship doesn't sail away till midnight. We enjoy a nice dinner at a waterfront Italian eatery, head to the casino and catch a local show, then meet the rest of the Summit's crew at Carlos 'N' Charlie's, the epitome of the tourist bar, for yard-long drinks and table dancing (it's actually the same bar that Natalee Holloway is kidnapped from a month later. For an interesting article on the sensationalism of American media, go here:http://www.kuro5hin.org/story/2005/7/3/491/18474).

KEY WEST

Key West has always been an alter- native refuge for artists and thespians; a warm, palm-fringed oasis for anyone who doesn't quite fit into the uptight routines of everyday American life. Now, it's more like an over-priced vacation themepark teeming with tourists and college kids. However, the quirky charm is still lingering among the quiet streets of old Southern homes and sidewalk cafes featuring Key Lime pie.

The southermost point of mainland America and the very tip of the Florida Keys, the Conch Republic has been a soulful retreat for the likes of Ernest Hemingway (and his six-toed cats) and former President Truman. They probably watched the same sun set from Mallory Square as the hordes of tourists today. It's a surreal island.

ST. KITTS

One day while we are docked in the island of St. Kitts, I come off the ship for a quick bite to eat. I walk around the little town of Basseterre looking for a nice local-type restaurant, and can't find one. I come across a small group of locals sitting at the square, and ask if they know of any good restaurants in the area. A filthy-looking Rastafarian guy (dreadlocks, long fingernails and all) jumps up and says, "Come, come follow me." And so I do. He takes me thru some narrow streets to an equally filthy-looking Chinese restaurant.

I politely decline, and tell him that I would just run to the KFC instead. He says, "Come, come follow me" again, even though I tell him that I know very well where the KFC is. But he speeds off, and I don't really have any choice but to follow behind him all the way there (I'm just hungry and want food, and don't have the time or energy to take any detours...). When we get there, I get in line and say thanks, hoping he'll just go away and leave me be. Of course I know better; he's going to want me to buy him something.

After waiting in line for a few minutes, with the Rasta guy standing right beside me, he pretty much tells me to buy him some food for his services, just to make sure we're on the same page. I want to tell him to screw off, but am just too tired and hungry to make the effort. So I tell him that I'll buy him a drink, and just a drink, as if he's a child. I make my order at the counter, and the Rasta guy goes ahead and orders chicken for himself! By this time, I just think whatever, I'll buy him chicken if that will make him go away. Once we get our food, I'm preparing myself to get violent and aggressive if he even tries to sit with me, luckily he just grabs his chicken and runs off without a word.

Only in the Caribbean would one be coerced into buying friend chicken for a filthy man in dreadlocks in order to eat a meal in peace. Ugh.

BARBADOS

Barbados is a lush, green island where Tiger Woods honey- mooned and green monkeys run wild. I only have one day here, so my Scottish/Asian cosmetician friend Suzy and I get off the ship wanting to see some monkeys. We hire a taxi driver to take us to the highlands to see some monkeys in the wild.

We load up on ginger beer and sticky island sweets and he takes us up into the hills. We are expecting to be taken to a secluded piece of wilderness where the monkeys commune peacefully in their natural habitat in the trees. Our driver stops at a roadside souvenir stand outside of a house. We get out of the car, rather confused, and he introduces us to a couple of his friends. They then bring out two little monkeys on leashes, one of which is named Leroy Brown and wears a little blue jersey. They crawl all over us and scratch at our feet.

Not really what we had in mind, but whatever, it'll do.

Then when we have taken our photos and are ready to leave, our driver's friends try charging us for the privilege of being shown his captive monkeys. I refuse, then am told that I must then buy something from his souvenir table. I buy a $5 leather bracelet.

Like I said before, the Caribbean... Ugh.

COZUMEL

In Cozumel, an island off the Yucatan Peninsula, my friend's hand gets a door slammed on it by the taxi driver and we witness a very indecent act at a local tourist restaurant. Enough said.