Travelogue Day 2: At Sea
There's no escaping the Valiant Lady
I haven’t been marking time properly. I know that I went to sleep at 1:30 in the morning and woke up around 10:30. I went to the seahorse auction at 5:00 (more on that later,) and we had dinner reservations for 8:30. Everything else happened In Between.
After sending out the first day’s travelogue, we devoured Korean BBQ at one of the ship’s restaurants, Gunbae, which was surprisingly good. Afterwards, we beelined through the ugly sweater pajama party, whose attendees encompassed every age, race, and aura on this boat. It looked like a 2 : 1 ratio of crew to sailor, hyping up the clumsy dance floor like a team of Bar Mitzvah DJs. I took off my shoes and plunged into a net that lets you float above one of the many ship bars below. A few men in pink bunny onesies toasted their glasses, a pod of women twirled their feathered wrist cuffs, and my friend’s mom, dripped out in a yellow striped pajama set and a Canadian flag fanny pack, went up to dance alone, reliving her young days in the 1980’s Philippines.
We found the arcade, but there was no pinball. We attempted air hockey, but the tables didn’t have enough power to make the puck ricochet across the playfield. We found shuffleboard and struggled to make it to 10 points. My friend’s mom found us as we were abandoning the game, and played a few rounds alone, sliding those discs to the 3 point line on every toss.
Then it was Christmas Eve, our first full day At Sea.
11 SOMETHING AM: One strange thing about the boat is that it often feels empty. I was imagining anxiety-inducing crowds and claustrophobia, but another sailor told me there were only about 1,500 passengers on board, just more than half capacity. I’ve wondered if the pajama party was just a microcosm of the crew to sailor imbalance, if we all have a shadow making sure we have a rockstar stay in Branson’s boat. In the post-Covid era, where being stuck at sea is essentially volunteering to quarantine, how will any cruise company stay in business? Book your Virgin Voyage before the Valiant Lady is decommissioned in 18 months.
At the pool, however, it finally felt crowded. I put on one of the five fast fashion (sorry) swimsuits I packed and went to the Aquatic Club to read. The deck chairs were populated with sunbathers, and the pool was filled with knee-deep waders sipping their third cocktail of the morning. It was like entering the one “pool party” I attended for a bachelorette party in Las Vegas, where swimming was secondary to showing your abs. This is the social center of the ship.
I claimed a solo chair in the shade, sandwiched between a couple and a trio. A woman with a large tattoo of the word “yahtzee” on her calf, rendered in the same styling as the classic Hasbro board game, told her friend that you could watch Step Brothers in your cabin. She also loved Guy Fieri’s burgers — me too — and said that the ship’s burgers were almost as good.
11 SOMETHING AM, A LITTLE LATER: I grab a poke bowl, which is a little bland, and then head to one of the hot tubs. There are at least 4 tubs on board, in small circular pods that remind me of the suspended seating pods in the Bonaventure hotel. The two at the Aquatic Club are overrun with strangers, but two near the ship’s wake, where the pajama party was, are almost secrets. I join a duo and make small talk, but by now I’ve forgotten their names. An English couple is looking forward to swimming with sharks in Bimini. A handyman from Sacramento, who minored in art, is already on his second Virgin cruise with his girlfriend and semi-step-son. He tells me the surf and turf restaurant, The Wake, is the best dining on board. I tell him about a teaching job I applied to at CSU Sacramento, and he reassures me the art scene is better than I think. We tell each other we hope to cross paths again in our state capital.
5:10 PM: Somehow the pool and a nap wasted the sunlight. It’s now time to go to the seahorse auction, the strangest event I spied in the daily schedule, and also what I’m looking forward to most. The event description says the auction is hosted by the ship’s artist in residence, and I am thrilled to see Virgin has this opportunity. I already want to apply to be the next Virgin AiR. Though I know this will still somehow force me to spend money, as capitalism is deeply entwined with every event on this boat, I’m willing to pitch in a few dollars.
By the time I get down, the auction is already in progress. We are bidding on seahorse number 3. He’s a plain wooden sculpture that looks like he was bought from Michael’s, but no worries, he was sculpted by the artist himself. The artist tells us that this seahorse, who looks identical to the other 6 for auction, loves to help the children. I’m elated by the strange mix of performance art, myth, and whimsy.
The auction winners will race the seahorses on the last day of the cruise. Before then, they get to paint their seahorse sculptures in a one-on-one session with the artist, creating a unique souvenir to bring home. Even if you don’t win a seahorse, you can still attend the race later. I’ll be there.
I grab a paddle and get excited to bid. I am prepared to spend 25 dollars. But, to my horror, the bidding begins at $50, and the first horse quickly goes for $175. Excuse me? There’s no way these wholesale for more than 5 bucks. Horses 2 through 6 go for $125. The couple behind me say they refuse to pay more than $100 for a horse, but after being frustrated when number 5 goes, they decide to break their budget for horse 6.
I start researching the horses. They’re for sale on Etsy for $52.05, plus tax and shipping. They are not made by the ship’s artist, but by a French sculptor named Yann Ehlyass. If you want to fool your friends into saying you participated in the Virgin Voyages seahorse race, please support Yann directly.
With my dreams beginning to shatter, I approach the artist in residence after the auction ends. I tell him I, too, am an artist, that I do social engagement and interactive workshops, and I would love to know how to apply to become a ship AiR. He tells me he’s actually an actor who has always made art on the side. He applied for the job online and sent in an audition. The seahorse race wasn’t even his idea, but an event Virgin had already set up for the crew member to organize. He is an independent contractor. I don’t know if he has health insurance.
6 SOMETHING PM: B’s credit card isn’t working, so we go to Sailor Services to fix it.
We’ve changed into our cute evening clothes in preparation for dinner later at Pink Agave, the “elevated” Mexican restaurant on board. I’m in a lime green jumpsuit with a red floral print, which is as close to Christmas as I’ll get. B is in an adorable white Peruvian dress with a frilled, off-shoulder neckline that she picked up at a souvenir shop in Little Havana right before we got on the ship.
A man sees us and tells me he loves my outfit. My friend needs to run back to the elevator to get her credit card, left in our room, to fix the error in the system, and I wait at the desk. She runs into this man in the elevator. He tells her we are in the top 10 for Best Dressed on the boat. Is he flirting? I don’t remember what he looks like. B says he’s attractive and I should find him later. She’ll have to point him out to me.
7:30 PM: Trivia night in the Loose Cannon. B and I welcome Dina to our team, a solo traveler from New York City. She is Jewish, and her daughter is also an artist with gallery representation. We don’t ask which gallery, but I’m impressed that her painter child sounds like the real deal.
We dominate the first two rounds, general knowledge and current events. Dina is especially good at film questions (Julianne Moore starred in Still Alice,) and she knew that Shakespeare’s The Tempest features a murder in Milan. Our team, Lost Angeles, is in first place. We can win!
Then, sadly, the last category is an audio round, “post-modern pop.” It’s contemporary songs, like Justin Beiber’s “Baby,” sung in styles from the 40’s, 50’s, and 60’s. I can only identify “Baby” an “Zombie” by the Cranberries. B and Dina struggle to hear the lyrics. We write down the wrong Bruno Mars song. We leave at least four lines blank. We end up in second place with 19 cumulative points, and I am devastated.
8:30 PM: Dinner at Pink Agave. I like the food, but B is disappointed. She says the chicken enchiladas aren’t “elevated,” but taste like something you’d cook at home. Nothing is spicy. They have to adjust the spice levels for Midwestern sailors.
11:30 PM: It’s time to go to one of the ship’s nightclubs. Heartburn takes place in the Manor, and you have to walk through the delicious knock-off infinity room to enter. I love that hallway. Kusama should watch out.
We notice the nightclub has a second level, and opt to head upstairs before even seeing the dance floor. From a birds eye view, we can see the clubbers awkwardly standing around with drinks in hand, bobbing a head or swaying slightly, but almost no one is really dancing. I spy a woman in a red sequined bustier and pink tutu gyrating near the stage, and I point out her outfit. She’s really going for it! But then we spot more dancers in various sequined outfits, and realize they’re crew members paid to keep the party energized.
Every moment, the number of sparkling dancers seems to multiply. Now there’s a guy with a mesh tank and sparkling pants dancing on a platform. A woman with a shaved head and a 1920’s era feathered head band is shining next to him. Then a guy in a full on, glittering captain’s outfit pops into the crowd. There’s at least 10 Virgin dancers at this point, and they pull a parachute over the audience. We can’t see below. Are people finally dancing? Are they making out? There’s a lot of cheering.
When the parachute falls, the crowd is still stiff. I don’t think anything scandalous happening under the parachute, but what happens in the ‘chute stays in the ‘chute.
We exit the Manor and hear live music around the corner. A live band is playing Latin music. Here, in a small bar and lounge, people are laughing, dancing the salsa, and singing along. Any judgement I have towards cruise passengers evaporates. It’s pure, authentic, joy. Not a single plant was needed to get the party started. Though I don’t know the lyrics, B is pointing out all the Latin classics, and I shake my shoulders a little bit.
Then the band leader announces a birthday. Happy birthday Jesus Christ.