I have never wanted to go on a cruise nor understood those who are enchanted by the idea . . . which is not to say that I’m not grateful for this adventure or that it’s wasted on me. It’s actually quite fascinating to experience the juxtaposition of the “highest” form of our civilization upon the wild and indifferent expanse of the ocean, as if someone has tilted the Plaza hotel on its side and set it adrift in the waves. We’re on the Radisson cruise line, on the M/S Seven Seas Navigator, which we’re told is of a higher caliber than the ordinary cruise. Obviously, I have no frame of reference, but I do know that, on this ship, there is no element that can’t boast being the most luxurious manifestation possible under the conditions, the conditions being that we are hundreds of miles from shore, subject to a relentless undulation, and apparently aimed directly toward a tropical storm. The motion is actually not that bad. We’re told that cruise ships more modern than this one can create greater stability, but I’m not craving it, and there are elderly people who seem equally unaffected as they totter around the corridors with canes and walkers. Of course, I’m wearing my seasickness wristbands. (Rob is faring a bit worse than I am, but he has also eaten more and is a bit hung over from the boozefest of departure.) It’s difficult not to think about the explorers, pirates, colonists, and pilgrims who hundreds of years ago made a similar journey, but I feel certain that they would scoff at this empathy, given my ability to mosey on down to the ship’s air-conditioned library to check my email or to take in a Broadway revue.

We departed New York in the early evening, gliding past the magnificent skyline along the Hudson River and passing the Statue of Liberty as it was bathed in the fire of the setting sun. I told Rob that I was feeling the most uncharacteristic sense of goodwill toward mankind, a sentiment he ascribed to the tequila sunrises they served at the bon voyage party, but really, you can’t see Manhattan from that angle (that is, from the outside) and not be moved by its possibilities. At the party, we sat with Peggy and George, a couple from Sacramento who had done the same cruise last year, and we ate dinner with Tammy and Sue, a lesbian couple from Long Island, retired schoolteachers whose last annual cruise was to the Panama Canal. According to Tammy, cruising is all about life experience. “That’s all there is!” she exclaimed in the dulcet tones of her Long Island accent. Certainly, most people can’t say they’ve been through the Panama Canal, nor will I encounter many people in the future who can say they were on a boat when Hurricane Irene slammed into Bermuda (unless Hurricane Irene sinks the boat, in which case we will all share one last common experience).

Dinner was a leisurely couple of hours, and suddenly exhausted, we went to bed early, lulled by the rocking waves and the creaking of the woodwork.

*

Experience. Cruising is all about experience, is it? Certainly not the experience of being on the ocean itself, or the opulent trappings wouldn’t be a requirement. Nor can the focus be those trappings, themselves. There are people on this boat who are paying almost twelve thousand dollars for their luxury suites, much more than more-comfortable accommodations would cost them on land. And it can’t be the excitement of the destinations, as one could just as easily (and much more conveniently) fly there. I’m trying to figure this out. We woke up early and went to the gym. Rob wanted to use the treadmills, but his hangover was starting to kick in so he went back to the room to practice the lecture he was contracted to give that afternoon. I attended the sunrise yoga class and chatted with the instructor about the tropical storms I had just seen described on CNN. “Bermuda’s no fun in the rain,” she said. “The captain is trying to figure out if we should go someplace else.” I was astonished by this. Obviously, I don’t want to sail into a potential hurricane, but taking an entire ship someplace else just so its passengers can have more “fun” out of the rain hit me as frivolous. The motion of the boat being somewhat similar to that of a train, I was also struck by the idea that we aren’t on a track: we don’t have to go someplace just because we’re supposed to go there.

After breakfast, we relaxed until it was time for Rob’s speech on “Broadway Behind the Scenes.” We ran into the cruise director in the lounge. His name is Sam, and Rob had been contact with him regarding this presentation. Sam fled the “oppressive skies” of Australia as a lad, hoping to break into show business; the dramatic embellishment he gave to his emergency preparation speech the day before was testament to this. Wearing my lifejacket, I was relieved to learn that all of the lifeboats were stocked with songbooks “so we can all sing Kumba-yah together.” I was also interested in getting to know Sam because, according to my reference guide to cruising (a.k.a. “The Love Boat”), the cruise director is the officer appointed by the captain to interfere in the passengers’ lives. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to break up our marriage and assign us to other bachelors on board, but as of yet, he has not seemed in the least inclined to do so.

Rob’s speech was brilliant, of course. When you see someone wander around the house in his underwear, scattering a cloud of crumbs in his wake, it’s understandable that one might occasionally forget that he is brilliant, but I was very proud. Afterward, some of this voyage’s contracted entertainers came to introduce themselves and invite us to dinner. It seems that Rob has some good friends in common with them, which made the following confusion all the more odd: they had been under the illusion that he was a Broadway producer. I burst that bubble, and they were gracious enough to pretend that that wasn’t their only interest in us.

After dinner, we all wandered down to the ship’s Broadway revue, which I left instantly upon realizing that part of it was lip-synched. I cannot abide lip-synching. Later, Rob reported back that it got better after I left, but life is too short for mediocrity, if you ask me.

And that was my life experience for the day. Tomorrow: Bermuda.