Got Shade?
Note: My husband said I should post this letter written some time ago to Bob Dickenson, president of Carnival Cruise Lines. He found it recently and thinks you all should be suitably warned....
Dear Mr. Dickenson
Last week I took my first cruise. It was not a long cruise, just three nights and four days to Mexico. Aboard the Ecstasy. Help me, please because I am in need of post-traumatic stress therapy.
When we planned this trip our travel agent told us that Carnival had a bad rap when it came to being labeled as the 'fun ship' for party people. We are not party people. We are pooped people who at the time were desperately in need of some R&R. She assured us that your cruise line was the one for us.
Imagine our horror when we got on board and realized that we were trapped on a floating Camp Carnival nightmare, and the party people were actually hordes of frenzied children who had been cut loose by weary parents lulled into the sleep of the dead in their cabins or in their loungers under the sun. The main pool was drained when we left, but when filled at sea, with the water they came out like gremlins with their gnashing of little teeth, multiplying by the hundreds over every available surface of the ship. At any time of the night or day they could be found (always screaming, by the way), pounding down hallways, playing tag on the volleyball court, climbing walls, windows, railings, wandering the decks after midnight and either playing tag or french-kissing other pre-teens, delighted to be free of supervision perhaps for the very first time in their wee lives. And were the delightful children busy! Not content with their very own "Kid's Pool" and other organized Camp activities they comandeered the two adult guest pools and crammed all-a-tangle into their murky depths, peed and screamed, "Marco/Polo!" in them with furious enthusiasm from dawn 'till dusk. They particularly enjoyed packing into the hot tub like so many circus clowns in a Volkswagen (God knows what was left at the bottom) next to the stern but un-enforced warning sign "Adults Only!"
Desperately Seeking Shade
Red hair and freckles. 'Nuff said. Much as I like the sun, I cannot stay in it for very long. I am happiest in some form of shade to relax and read. Interestingly enough, there was not a lick of it to be had topside where rows of holidaying broilers were laid out under a brilliantly hot sun. True, there was shade if you wanted slink downstairs to sit in the artic chill of the enclosed mall floors alternately listening to the clang, clang, clang of the casino slots and gazing longingly out at the sea behind glass. Or in the Hawaiian Hour Bar where people happily chain-smoked and slurped Sea Breezes to music videos. No luck there. Oh for a place to romance the open sea, a square of it in my view, quiet to read, to contemplate, to relax, to drift off. Not to be had. I spent fruitless hours moving like a nomad with my beach towel and chair chasing small patches of temporary shade offered by (depending on the angle of the sun) smokestacks, barricades, half-walls, and even piles of unused lounge chairs. All this to the hourly blasting of your ship's theme song, "Hot, Hot, Hot!" from tinny speakers attached to fake palm trees.
Vampirella at the Spa
Seeking some rest and relaxation since the deck issue was out of my control, I booked appointments at the Spa. Yes, yes, I am now quite aware that Carnival does not want to take responsibility for what goes on there, but it is on your ship and we don't have any choice.
Let's see. Are you aware of the hard-sell that goes on in that place? I was there but five minutes when someone cornered me and tried to get me to buy $600.00 worth of foot creams. And during my actual facial ($150.00 plus tax) the woman slathering potions on my face spent a good amount of time thumbing through product catalogues droning on about stuff I should absolutely buy or look like a raisin in a year. To top it all off, and perhaps because I refused to buy any creams when we were finished, she informed me that because she'd used some marine collagen on my face I was to stay out of the sun for the next 12 hours. Hmmm, here were were on a very brief cruise to sunny Mexico and I was now consigned to the darkest corners of its bowels (after my face started to peel off I discovered smokestack shade was not sufficient protection ). When the ship docked in Mexico for a day trip to El Bufadora I watched them disembark from a window and then scuttled back into the depths like a cockroach. I would have been in my cabin but my travel companion had come down with a nasty viral illness, but that's another story. Not your fault, of course, unless you count the fact that the ship's doctor mis-diagnosed her viral meningitis, which could have meant curtians for a lot of us if she hadn't self-medicated and confined herself to quarters.
Just thought you would like to know how it all went - after all you are the Admiral of this fleet. Do yourself a favor and have your marketing people talk to my marketing people to pass along any and all travel advisories. You do not want our kind of vacationers on your Fun Ship. Believe me, it's not worth it.
Sincerely Yours, etc. etc.
P.S. I want my money back.
A few weeks later I received a reply from Mr. Dickenson with an apology and a voucher for 20% off my next Carnival Cruise, which was promptly filed in my garbage can.
Dear Mr. Dickenson
Last week I took my first cruise. It was not a long cruise, just three nights and four days to Mexico. Aboard the Ecstasy. Help me, please because I am in need of post-traumatic stress therapy.
When we planned this trip our travel agent told us that Carnival had a bad rap when it came to being labeled as the 'fun ship' for party people. We are not party people. We are pooped people who at the time were desperately in need of some R&R. She assured us that your cruise line was the one for us.
Imagine our horror when we got on board and realized that we were trapped on a floating Camp Carnival nightmare, and the party people were actually hordes of frenzied children who had been cut loose by weary parents lulled into the sleep of the dead in their cabins or in their loungers under the sun. The main pool was drained when we left, but when filled at sea, with the water they came out like gremlins with their gnashing of little teeth, multiplying by the hundreds over every available surface of the ship. At any time of the night or day they could be found (always screaming, by the way), pounding down hallways, playing tag on the volleyball court, climbing walls, windows, railings, wandering the decks after midnight and either playing tag or french-kissing other pre-teens, delighted to be free of supervision perhaps for the very first time in their wee lives. And were the delightful children busy! Not content with their very own "Kid's Pool" and other organized Camp activities they comandeered the two adult guest pools and crammed all-a-tangle into their murky depths, peed and screamed, "Marco/Polo!" in them with furious enthusiasm from dawn 'till dusk. They particularly enjoyed packing into the hot tub like so many circus clowns in a Volkswagen (God knows what was left at the bottom) next to the stern but un-enforced warning sign "Adults Only!"
Desperately Seeking Shade
Red hair and freckles. 'Nuff said. Much as I like the sun, I cannot stay in it for very long. I am happiest in some form of shade to relax and read. Interestingly enough, there was not a lick of it to be had topside where rows of holidaying broilers were laid out under a brilliantly hot sun. True, there was shade if you wanted slink downstairs to sit in the artic chill of the enclosed mall floors alternately listening to the clang, clang, clang of the casino slots and gazing longingly out at the sea behind glass. Or in the Hawaiian Hour Bar where people happily chain-smoked and slurped Sea Breezes to music videos. No luck there. Oh for a place to romance the open sea, a square of it in my view, quiet to read, to contemplate, to relax, to drift off. Not to be had. I spent fruitless hours moving like a nomad with my beach towel and chair chasing small patches of temporary shade offered by (depending on the angle of the sun) smokestacks, barricades, half-walls, and even piles of unused lounge chairs. All this to the hourly blasting of your ship's theme song, "Hot, Hot, Hot!" from tinny speakers attached to fake palm trees.
Vampirella at the Spa
Seeking some rest and relaxation since the deck issue was out of my control, I booked appointments at the Spa. Yes, yes, I am now quite aware that Carnival does not want to take responsibility for what goes on there, but it is on your ship and we don't have any choice.
Let's see. Are you aware of the hard-sell that goes on in that place? I was there but five minutes when someone cornered me and tried to get me to buy $600.00 worth of foot creams. And during my actual facial ($150.00 plus tax) the woman slathering potions on my face spent a good amount of time thumbing through product catalogues droning on about stuff I should absolutely buy or look like a raisin in a year. To top it all off, and perhaps because I refused to buy any creams when we were finished, she informed me that because she'd used some marine collagen on my face I was to stay out of the sun for the next 12 hours. Hmmm, here were were on a very brief cruise to sunny Mexico and I was now consigned to the darkest corners of its bowels (after my face started to peel off I discovered smokestack shade was not sufficient protection ). When the ship docked in Mexico for a day trip to El Bufadora I watched them disembark from a window and then scuttled back into the depths like a cockroach. I would have been in my cabin but my travel companion had come down with a nasty viral illness, but that's another story. Not your fault, of course, unless you count the fact that the ship's doctor mis-diagnosed her viral meningitis, which could have meant curtians for a lot of us if she hadn't self-medicated and confined herself to quarters.
Just thought you would like to know how it all went - after all you are the Admiral of this fleet. Do yourself a favor and have your marketing people talk to my marketing people to pass along any and all travel advisories. You do not want our kind of vacationers on your Fun Ship. Believe me, it's not worth it.
Sincerely Yours, etc. etc.
P.S. I want my money back.
A few weeks later I received a reply from Mr. Dickenson with an apology and a voucher for 20% off my next Carnival Cruise, which was promptly filed in my garbage can.
posted by vallie at 4:07 PM
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