Still no sign of Tropical Storm Irene, a shame because Rob woke up today wanting to go to a beach. Readers of my previous travel journals know the extent to which I hate beaches, so it was either pray for a hurricane or palm him off on someone else headed in that direction. I was startlingly successful at the latter, and off he went while I walked into Hamilton in search of a Cingular store. I get cell phone reception here but apparently can’t make any calls because I haven’t signed up for international roaming. I can’t even check my messages. This is upsetting because I received an email today on the ship’s glacial Internet connection that Cara, who has been Goblin-sitting, was mugged in our neighborhood, her purse stolen. I feel so awful that I’m just lounging around here when my dear friend is in trouble, but I suppose there’s nothing I can do. At the Cingular store, they explained the problem and said that I might call 1-866-CINGULAR to remedy it.
“Is that a toll-free call?” I asked, inadvertently generating a great deal of mirth.
“Ain’t nothing toll-free in Bermuda,” the woman laughed. I wanted to beg to differ. The National Gallery, just across the street from the Cingular store, had a free admission, as had Fort Hamilton. But then I realized what she meant: in Bermuda, nothing useful comes without a price.
*
It’s a quiet day with Rob gone. I’m glad he got to the beach with someone who was actually enthused about it, because I want him to enjoy himself. He said he couldn’t come to Bermuda and not go to a beach, a sentiment with which I heartily disagree. Bermuda is lovely, but unlike other areas I have visited—like Rome, Edinburgh, Oaxaca in Mexico, and Monteverde in Costa Rica—I don’t feel such an affinity for it that I never want to leave.
I want to leave right on schedule.
*
Rob returned from his beach excursion the color of a plum, a shade that grew even darker and more purple as the evening progressed. He took a cold bath and slathered himself in aloe lotion and my rainforest skin cream, remedies that had a questionable effect on the appearance of his sunburn, although he claimed that there was no actual pain. By the next morning, he was sporting orange blisters on his nose.
It was a rough night for both of us. I had terrible nightmares that combined the theme of Cara’s mugging with the story of a murder-suicide a dining companion of ours had once witnessed. By morning, I had barely slept. The ship moved (very slowly) from Hamilton to St. George overnight. St. George is a posh colonial town that was almost entirely shut down on this Sunday. Nobody could figure out the point of us actually going there, and it didn’t seem as if many people from the ship had gone ashore. The captain announced that we would be leaving a few hours earlier than planned to avoid the worst of Tropical Storm Irene, which had missed Bermuda and was traveling north. It was therefore a quiet day. We took a short walk through the small town in the morning (I wouldn’t let Rob stay in the sun too long), returned for lunch, then watched from the upper decks as the ship cast off. People along the shores and in other boats waved as we passed out of the harbor. Rob and I had drinks and went to tea, then returned to the cabin in an attempt to find Beauty Shop on television again.
We had seen most of the Queen Latifah movie the previous afternoon and, although it is not a brilliant movie, we both fell in love with it. I can’t speak to Rob’s motivation, but for obvious reasons, I was entranced with the idea of setting up a business that is the reflection of one’s personality, and having that vision be shared by loyal coworkers until it finally pays off in the end. The film ends on that high note, of course, whereas in real life, it is extremely difficult for a business to remain successful. But it was nowhere to be found on today’s TV schedule, alas, so we went to dinner and then once again to see our new performer friends’ show.
More medleys. Medleys are probably an art form, and these were probably good ones, but I haven’t spent enough time on cruise ships to develop much of an appreciation, and it’s unlikely that such a thing is possible, even if I were to be trapped on a cruise ship for all eternity.
