Off the coast of Venzuela

So I’ve been aboard a ship for four days now. And despite no motion sickness, the constant rocking is a little wearing. I’m told you start to ignore it and soon don’t even notice. Supposedly. Getting to know the guests is quite entertaining, they’re from all over the world, but the majority are from America. I’m a oddity as an American on the crew that is not in the stage productions, so I can’t even count the number of people that yell good morning saying “It’s the American girl! Good morning American girl!” or every now and then they specify the state I’m from, though half the time it’s wrong. This morning I got “Good morning Michigan girl!”…. I just nod and smile. I can be from Michigan temporarily, just don’t ask me any local questions.
Crew life is really interesting. I don’t think the guests even realize what goes on at night. Last night, I and three of my other photo friends curled up together on a single bed bunk with a pilfered computer screen and watched a movie while we drank and ate chocolate. While not all that exciting, the crew bar is a place that is only rivaled by the most excessive clubs in the states. The drinks are dirt cheap and it’s always good liquor. My Jack and cokes the other night (two of them) cost me a grand total of $2. And the amazingly gifted bartender remembers your name, room number and drink preference after only one meeting. There’s close to three hundred people that frequent that bar. Tomorrow there’s a rave in the engine room that includes all 1,000 crew members. I’m told to watch out for the guys that pretend to not speak English. They’re a little touchy feely.
My roommate is absolutely hilarious. My first night, after being completely overwhelmed, I wake up at 5 a.m. to her screaming “NO NO NO NO! Don’t spill that!” Apparently she was dreaming that someone was going to dump a tray on a guest, but of course realized after she hit her head that she was still in our cabin and decided that she probably needed a vacation desperately. She and the other photo crew made a bet on what I would look like. They’re conclusion? I’d be a voluptuous Southern belle with brassy red hair, a loud demeanor and annoyingly high maintenance. Needless to say, they’re excited that I’m chill, though Aaron decided he wanted points for the slightly auburn hair color.
Speaking of spilling on guests, we had our first formal night photo session last night. Everyone is dressed in their finest, wandering around regally with glasses of wine. I was working right outside the jazz bar where everyone was congregating for pictures in their finery when I was posing a group and backed up to move to the camera and totally mowed over this slightly larger man. Larger in the sense that he was very tall and very broad. Me? I weigh a grand total of 120 pounds. However, I managed it, I backed into him, he dumped red wine all down his nice white formal shirt and the glass falls to the floor and shatters into more pieces than I have ever seen a wine glass shatter. It was less than ideal for my first week, but several guests who witnessed it told me later that it was not my fault and that the man was steamrolling through the crowd at an alarming pace. Other mishaps since I’ve been here? I broke the elevator door, tripped over a lighting set up, and got sunburned in the oddest places. I was taking pictures on the beach of a completely manufactured island and I had my flip flops looped over my wrist… which left a lovely lined tan along my arm. My roommate can’t stop laughing when she sees it. This island, though, I swear, is the ship, but on an island. It’s owned by the company and had a gorgeous natural quality to it, was it not for the raked sand beaches and “fort” that apparently has a grand opening every week. The water is so warm and is this unnatural color of cerulean blue. The whole trip has seemed surreal and I’m told will never actually seem real until I go home, and even then the pictures won’t do it justice.