Waking up on our second morning on our lovely ship, the Discovery Princess, we found ourselves arriving at our first port of call, Cabo. Our excursion to shore for the day wasn’t until the afternoon, however, so we continued to make generous use of our lovely, lovely ship. We fell into a delightful habit of having breakfast at the Skagway Dining Hall, the only one of the three dining halls aboard that served breakfast. The Skagway was always ever so reliable, and always ever so splendid. It was on this day that I noticed an enchanting woman who I assumed was one of the managers: a tall, commanding woman, hair done up elegantly in an exquisite bun that sat atop her crown, adding height to her imposing yet inviting persona, dressed smarty in a loftily grey suit. If I had to guess from her accent, she was Polish or Ukrainian or Russian, and she endearingly invited her guests into the dining hall with a mesmerizing accent, “K-hh-aaahm aaah-p staaaayche, my luu-fff!” (i.e. “Come up stage, my love”), but with a face that revealed her Eastern European sensibilities, deadpan and straight, not a smile in sight, but with a heart beaming infinitely and alluringly.
Following breakfast, we visited the Enclave in the ship’s spa, but this time better prepared with swimsuits. And when we arrived, the goddamn associates near the front counter, all lined up as if we were facing a firing squad, again tried to sell us a goddamn massage package. (Don’t get me wrong… I love a massage, but not at the price they were selling it.) I can’t remember if it was on this visit or on our next one where—as we scurried past the insects hungry for blood—I just firmly but politely told the associates, “No, we’re just here only for the Enclave,” and carried on down the hall to the Enclave.
While in the Enclave, we again enjoyed the various heated chambers that I wrote about in my last post (I won’t belabor you with the details all over again about how lovely they are), but on this visit we could also at last enjoy the hydrotherapy pool and showers. The hydrotherapy pool was perhaps 30 feet by 15 feet (I’m so bad at guessing distances, so take that estimate with barrels of salt) and perhaps 3-4 feet deep. The water was just warm enough (although it could’ve been a little warmer, in my opinion), and jets throughout the pool roiled the water about in an abounding celebration of bubbly currents and vigorous torrents. One of my favorite things to do was float upright in a seated position upon this column of jets using these metal beams to steady myself as if sitting in an invisible chair tall enough so my feet couldn’t touch the bottom. There was also a large, square shower head in the ceiling above the pool that mimicked a steadily cool rain shower, and it was lovely to stand underneath to contrast the warm water of the pool with the invigorating raindrops. Additionally, there were two shower heads that flanked both sides of the stairs to enter the pool, and they both shot a forceful, targeted stream of water into the pool to allow for a welcoming massage on your neck and back.
Following a relaxing submersion in the pool, it was quite bracing to make use of the “sensory showers,” where the stream of water could be controlled with various settings that mimicked such environs as a Siberian blast or a tropical rain. My favorite setting was, indeed, the tropical rain setting, as the shower gently misted you with a barely perceptible cloud of cool vapor that was infused with a slightly flowery aroma. It also was quite fun to shower, submerge yourself in the pool, shower, go back into the pool right away, and shower again, stimulating the senses into a blissful, buzzing nirvana.
We often concluded our visits to the Enclave by reclining on these heated, tiled lounge chairs, eyes closed, faces covered with dampened, chilled towels, sipping on cucumber water, as the relaxingly ambient sound of the rushing waters of the pool provided a space to soften the body, meditate, and allow the mind to slip away to a world of absolute calm and rejuvenation.
It was soon time to go ashore to Cabo. As the ship was too large to dock at this particular port, it was necessary to head to land via water shuttles. But the crew informed us a sea swell was making passage difficult, the shuttles bobbling recklessly and hopelessly in the unruly waters as our majestic cruise ship remained steadfast and unwavering, rising tall out of the ocean. I get notoriously sea sick (sometimes I feel sea sick simply by swimming in a regular old pool, which is a real shame because I adore swimming), so I took all the precautions: I got a prescription for these patches that you stick to your skin under your ear to help prevent motion sickness (I wore these the entire time on our cruise); Matt got me these motion sickness wrist bands (he and I both used them pretty regularly); and I took Dramamine. Even after all this, climbing aboard the shuttle and traveling to shore was still a bit of a challenge as they crammed us in like sardines, but fortunately this couple next to us chatted us up, which helped to distract from the dizzying motion of the craft.
When we elected to go on this Mexican cruise, I had this preconception in my head that all of the ports of call would feature these overly polished and shiny resort towns and cities that shielded privileged white folks from gazing upon the truths of the inequities that exist in our messed up world. However, Cabo was not one of those towns. There was a somewhat softly gritty realness to Cabo that provided a glimpse into the real Mexico, certainly not too gritty as to frighten the white folks, but certainly gritty enough as to help more perceptible of us honkies to ruminate about our privilege: countless street vendors forcing sombreros and iguanas in our faces in the hopes of making a little cash; a crumbling infrastructure just barely held together; waitering and other service jobs that exist only because of white or privileged tourists. But, such is our messed up world.
For lunch, Matt and I decided to go to EcoBar, located right along the seafront overlooking the bay overstuffed with sailboats. The restaurant was a charming little place with covered, outdoor seating underneath a pergola, a sloped roof layered with straw and atop the grass sat terracotta tiles. I elected to have fish tacos and Matt the shrimp cocktail, and we were also served with chips, guacamole, and salsa. The salsas were properly hot—none of this “white people” salsa as spicy as ketchup—and the tacos were proper Mexican-style tacos, savory and flavorful, perfected with a lack of cheese and iceberg lettuce, faultlessly garnished with pico de gallo, chopped onions, and avocado slices. The shrimp cocktail, meanwhile, was fancifully presented in a tall goblet upon a large plate, a feast of tortilla chips scattered around the base, giant shrimp alluringly suspended gracefully along the rim of the glass, the cocktail sauce expertly prepared, zesty and enticing—none of that gross “white people” cocktail sauce, processed unnaturally into an unrecognizable oblivion. As we were waiting for our food to arrive, we tagged down Michael and Sonny who were traipsing along the waterfront, taking in the sites, and they joined us at our table as we chittered on about our adventures.
Following lunch, we parted ways with our new friends, as Matt and I were off to do something so ridiculous and bizarre: swim with dolphins. Yes, swim with dolphins. (No, you heard me right: swim with dolphins.) We admittedly both felt very ethically conflicted about this, and we did spend time reconsidering if we should do something else instead. That said, we read ahead of time that this particular dolphin-swimming outfit, Cabo Adventures, seemed to take conservation, sustainability, and biodiversity seriously, and in their FAQ they wrote: “We follow a program for preventative health care including daily health assessments, regular voluntary veterinary examinations, and dietary assessments.” And they added that they “provide an exceptionally clean and stimulating environment for [the dolphins] to live and thrive in.” So, knowing all this, and knowing that we’ll probably do this once in our lives and one time only, we felt somewhat okay and were able to experience something strange if not wonderful.
The dolphin tank (for lack of a better word) was pretty expansive, although still a “cage” nonetheless. There were three entrapped dolphins who seemed to be enjoying themselves, despite the three groups of apes, er, humans gawking, mouths gaping, about 45 of us total, positioned in our clumped groups at the perimeter of the pool. Our dolphin trainer (if that’s the right word, and I’m sorry I can’t recall his name) was energetically enthusiastic and excited to show off what the dolphins could do. Indeed, it was clear very quickly—as everyone knows—how intelligent the dolphins were, as our trainer prompted them to perform visually impressive feats right on cue, diving deep then leaping high out of the water, elegantly flying through their air in graceful loops in quick succession, sometimes perfectly synchronized with a partner. It really was quite a majestic sight to behold.
Eventually, we were asked to jump in the water with the dolphins, the cool water a tad on the cool side, a slightest jolt invigorating the mind and body with a gentle surprise to the senses. After we acclimatized to the water, we were all asked to take turns hugging the dolphin as we both delicately treaded water, the dolphins seeming to smile as they made their approach. Then the dolphins would give us all a kiss by delicately pressing their nose against our cheek, turning the affection into a “French” version upon our trainer’s command, the dolphin opening their mouth and sticking their tongue directly on our skin! (I honestly didn’t know that that’s what was happening when it was my turn, as I really couldn’t feel the tongue at all.) Lastly, and most adventurous of all, we were all allowed a turn to swim with the dolphin underwater, taking gentle but firm hold of the dolphin by their dorsal fin and one of their pectoral fins, diving through the water side-by-side, downwards about 10 feet, then back round in a circle, until the dolphin took us all upwards and out of the water several feet. It was about a 10-second ride, but I remember feeling it felt longer that than, worrying that I was going to run out of air at the last moment.
The whole experience concluded with the dolphins completing a few more leaps through the air, the trainer asking the dolphin what kind of jump they’d like to do. At one point the dolphin expressed their disinterest in performing a certain trick by physically shaking their head, accompanying the motion with a chiding series of voiced clicks, as if cackling in response to the idea. When the trainer offered another option, the dolphin shook their head enthusiastically, voicing their excitement at the second option with a bright, whistley giggle of a sound. (I may have implanted a memory that they shook and nodded their heads, but they definitely expressed their desires with these vocalizations.)
So, all in all, a weirdly bizarre experience, and yet I guiltily rather enjoyed myself. That said, Matt and I both agreed that we’ll probably never do this ever again. And I hesitate to recommend that you should swim with dolphins as we did, as the whole experience is wracked with conflicting feelings of remorse for the poor dolphins locked away from the open sea. They are so intelligent and so wonderful, it feels cruel to keep them in captivity no matter how well cared for they are. So, I’ll leave it up to you what you feel comfortable with.
Our first day back on land was closing fast, the gorgeous Mexican sunset painting the sky with brilliant shades of orange, clouds dipped in vibrant hues of gold, feathery tails of luminous colors melting into the distance. So, we headed back to our ship via the water shuttles, and with the sun dipping below the horizon by the time we made the short journey back to our temporary home, we got to see our ship standing tall and majestic from a new vantage, lit elegantly and gracefully in warm, white lights. And while the sea was beginning to appear dark and sinister and imposing, the water was still reflecting the ship’s luminous celebration so gorgeously and so beautifully; it was a moment that should have been captured immortally in an impressionistic oil painting.
For the rest of the evening, we decided to spend time at our favorite cocktail lounge, Take Five. Matt and I enjoyed an old fashioned and an amaretto Manhattan, chatting at the bar with a delightful couple from Vancouver, where all four of us took a moment to celebrate the wonders of the Canadian healthcare system and bemoaned its distant cousin’s dismal version in the United States. The LGBT meetup group at Take Five—our nightly tradition by this point—soon started where we got to know more about our fellow queers aboard the ship: there was a man who had spent the 1970s in the Navy; a man from Austria (“Sie sind aus Deutschland?” I incorrectly assumed) who was particularly inclined to comment on the musculature of my calves; and a delightful couple, Kevin and Sammy, whose conversations over the next few nights I enjoyed the most.
Following the meetup, Matt and I decided to dine at Juneau Dining Hall, where I continued to be impressed with how elegant and refined the dining halls on board the Discovery Princess were, allaying my fears that they were going to pack us, leaving us to tolerate the company of unwelcome neighbors. That said, a couple near a table to ours was interested in what we did for the day, and when we told them about our dolphin excursion, they commented that they thought of doing that and perhaps regretted a little not doing it after all once we gushed about how much fun it was!
As we enjoyed a brief chat with our fellow passengers, we carried on with our dinner: assorted greens, a banana rum soup (a cold soup, and quite delicious and refreshing), oak flavored pork loin, and beef stroganoff. We also elected to conclude the evening with dark chocolate banana mouse paired with a port and a dessert wine (“Scrumptious!” Matt exclaimed about his night cap.) It was truly a decadent evening of food and drink, and even after my memory has faded a bit as I write this, I still can’t stress enough how impressed I was with the dining halls. A real delight and a real gift of the Discovery Princess!
Our next day saw our second shore excursion to Mazetlan, where Matt and I found ourselves feeling underwhelmed. But, as the Rolling Stones aptly declared, ”You can’t always get what you want.”
Stray observations:
- As we were waiting to swim with dolphins, we spoke to a lovely couple whose last name was also Lang—not related to me as far as we could tell, if not very distantly related.
- One our way back to the ship following the excursion, we sat next to Deanne and Craig who, like Matt, were also from Wisconsin.
- We had to take a moment to figure out why Matt’s phone wasn’t connecting to the wi-fi. So we stopped at the main guest services desk where we worked with Claudia and Melissa, who were so delightful and so helpful as we got his phone back to working order.
- Mike and Sonny also echoed our complaints about the Crown Grill, exasperatedly sighing that they waited and waited for service once they got to their table but then eventually just decided to leave for dinner elsewhere. So, I’m not sure what the issue was with the Crown Grill staff on this voyage, but something clearly was not right and I hope they took measures to fix whatever it was that was going wrong.