America sounds like trucks backing up. America looks like a naval battleship with its guns pointed at my balcony. Those were the first sensations we had of our home country when we wake up in Norfolk, Virginia. Worse, it was hideously early: passport control officers boarded the ship at seven a.m. and summoned all passengers down to be “processed.” I felt certain I was going to end the day as Soylent Green.
Norfolk, Virginia is less pleasant than Bermuda, in case you were wondering. There is no cheerful man dressed in colonial garb welcoming us with open arms and the tinkling of a bell. Norfolk, Virginia offers the dour faces of Homeland Security, the looming bulk of an x-ray machine, and anti-aircraft cannons pointed at my window.
We went back to bed for a bit of a nap after passing through Immigration, and too soon we were up again, having breakfast, and making a beeline for the nearest Starbucks to find a high-speed Internet connection. I could have stayed all day, but there was only time to do a mail download (I got something like three hundred to sift through) and a blog update; we still needed to find a pharmacy for some sunburn medication and some blank CDs for one reason or another. We needed to be back onboard by two-thirty, not just because we were departing then but, more importantly, a poolside ice cream social began at that precise moment.
Rob’s and Mr. Producer’s question-and-answer session was at three o’clock. As predicted, the usual loudmouths were in attendance. The two loudest of the loudmouths were both theater investors (one had the thick and rotten teeth of a walrus, and the other was a Suzanne Sommers groupie). It was, however, a good thing they were there, as nobody else had any questions at all, although it was with only the greatest self-discipline that was able to restrain myself from standing up and asking Mr. Producer if my magical spell had begun to take effect.
For the rest of the night, we plodded up the American East Coast; it was invisible in the rain and fog, but we had mobile phone reception. If I had plunged overboard, at least I would have been able to check on movie times while flailing toward shore.
*
Another early morning. The last day of the cruise, pulling into New York Harbor, we had to be out of our suites by eight o’clock. As Rob showered, I went out onto the balcony and watched as we passed under the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, and as we approached the Statue of Liberty, I started to cry. [Political commentary excised.] So what else is there to tell? Our last buffet breakfast? Our two-hour wait in the lounge for our group to be called to disembark? Waiting in line for a cab? Rushing to Penn Station to catch the Amtrak to Baltimore? We plunged decisively back into our lives and have been on the go ever since.
And that is what I did on my last-minute emergency cruise to Bermuda. I hope my next last-minute emergency cruise is to the mountains.
THE
HEN
END
