DAY 5 - August 18, 2004 - San Juan, Puerto Rico

You know what I love about waking up at a port? Going up to the Windjammer and looking out the windows to see the jagged coastline of a new island stretched out before you. It just hits you right then and there that you’ve woken up in somewhere completely different and that today is going to be nothing like the day before and the day that’ll come after it.

I guess it has more of an impact when you're stuck in some routine, trapped in a cubicle, doing the same thing day in and day out.

We’d gotten used to scouting out tables next to the windows and as we heaped our plates full of food and sat down, we talked about what we did the night before and about what we planned on doing today.

Over breakfast, Aunt Ying told us about how Uncle Wei Kuo had come bursting into the cabin just as she as about to drift off into a deep sleep.

“Do you know what your son was doing? Talking to a girl!” he said.

Uncle Wei Kuo smirked as he told us about how he followed the three boys around. He said he was careful not to let them see him but Daniel saw him anyways and deemed it “totally embarrassing”.

“We kept trying to run away,” he explained.

“But I was always there,” Uncle Wei Kuo said, triumphantly.

It turned out that Derek had went up and asked a girl to dance. And then, he went over and sat down next to another woman and tried to talk to him, but she either didn’t hear him or was ignoring him because she never said a word to him. I think she probably didn’t hear him because it was so noisy. And besides, from what Daniel said, the woman was a lot older-looking up close.

We learned about all of this from Daniel, who was, surprisingly, up earlier for once.

Finishing her breakfast, Aunt Ying pushed back her plate and announced she had to take a load off before she went ashore or else there’d be problems later on.

Uncle Wei Kuo looked at her blankly.

She shook her head and said none of us knew what she was talking about.

Whenever someone needed to shit, they’d always say something like:

“I need to take a load off” or

“I need to take care of some business” or

“I need to drop some kiddies in the pool” or, in Daniel’s case,

“I need to take a crap.”

Uncle Wei Kuo, however, just looked at Aunt Ying and said, “What? You need to poo?”

Aunt Ying laughed. She said that they were always pooing. Right after a meal, they all headed to a washroom.

The washrooms on board are like vacuums. The suction is actually scary...sometimes, you want to back out as fast as you can 'cause you don't want to get bodily sucked in, too.

You could never be sure if there was someone else inside the other stalls. The doors all swung firmly shut and unless you noticed this tiny red indicator on the lock to indicate it was in use, you couldn’t be quite sure.

When we got off the gangway and into an air conditioned terminal, Flo and I found Daniel and Darren already waiting for us there.

We’d agreed to just tour San Juan with the rest of the group today because there were supposed to be a lot of old fortresses. We walked down the length of the terminal and walked under the shade of the long open building where we were directed to several bus tour operators.

Again, Aunt Ying managed to talk down the price to $15 per person.

As we got onto the little air conditioned bus, we found a group of Brazilians already inside and the driver seemed determined to fill the entire bus before he would set off. That took awhile and while we were inside the bus, I felt my eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

I struggled to stay awake, because the guy was taking us through New San Juan and then into old city. There seemed to be a lot of things to see, but I kept nodding off and only caught snatches of a cock fighting ring, a huge cemetery sandwiched bizarrely in an area full of modern condominiums and luxury hotels.

There was a wildly eclectic feel to the city with its vibrantly coloured buildings in a mish-mash of styles that ranged from Spanish buildings with red stucco tiles and art deco type buildings painted in lime green or peach.

They jutted up against each other, crammed together with barely enough room to breathe.

But always in the near distance, you could see a gorgeous strip of sand and hear the crash of waves against the shore.

It was a blindingly sunny day and you could barely stand outside without squinting.

The driver took us to a supposedly posh hotel, where the washroom stank horribly.

Aunt Ying refused to use it because she has a thing about smelly washrooms.

I didn’t really see the point of going to the hotel.

Sure, it was nice, but nice hotels are a dime a dozen.

The boys all stretched out on the leather ottomans in the lobby like homeless bums and automatically fell sleep.

When we climbed back into the tour bus, none of us could really stay awake. Everywhere I looked, I could see mouths gaping open, heads sunken lopsidedly or rolled back with drool glistening from the corner of mouths.

Struggling to stay awake was like a form of torture.

When we got out at the beach, it was even worse. You’re sent stumbling out of the air conditioned bus only to be greeted by a humid mass of air that completely envelops you. And the sun was already hot and blinding, making it almost painful to look at the brilliant blue sky.

There was a bizarre sculpture in a little park. Nearby was a little gift shop. We went inside to take a look at the souvenirs they had to offer. Outside, a half-naked old Puerto Rican with wild, fly-away greasy grey hair was padding around barefoot, pushing a shopping cart full of coconuts and asking if anybody wanted some coconut milk to drink.

Aunt Ying eagerly rushed out, looking for Uncle Wei Kuo.

At the sight of an interested tourist, the Puerto Rican whipped out a machete, ready to cut a hole at the top of the coconut.

The machete made me think twice about being anywhere near him.

Uncle Wei Kuo said the guy went berserk when he tried to bargain down the price of the drink.

Our next stop was Fort San Cristobal, a 17th century military fortification built by the Spanish to defend San Juan from attack.

We had to pay the driver there and of course, he’d parked at the very foot of the parking lot, and we had to hike up a steep incline just to get to the entrance of the fort, where you had to pay another fee just to get in.

Aunt Ying admonished me for paying the adult fare, which was $3 because she said “those people” can’t tell how old Chinese people are — we all look insanely young to them.

There was really nothing I could do once I’d paid, though.

We started our tour by walking down the darkened tunnel. Everything seemed to be an uphill climb and the tunnel was really stuff and unbearably hot.

By the time we emerged into the elevated area, we were all uncomfortably hot.

Luckily, a bit of a breeze had picked up and the sky had suddenly turned cloudy.

As we walked around, peering through the windows and over the terraces, we were treated to stunning views of old San Juan.

From where we stood, we could see historic landmarks such as San Jose Church, the Governor’s Mansion, the Cristo Chapel, and El Convento Hotel.

The tour guide gave us the option of either dropping us off at the shopping area of Old San Juan or returning to the ship directly.

Daniel and Darren, who’d been sleeping throughout most of the drive, opted for the latter, while the rest of us decided to at least walk around a bit and try to find some souvenirs.

All the stores sold pretty much the same stuff.

We stopped for a bit to watch a guy roll some cigars. He was really fast and moved with a practised hand, calmly rolling the tobacco tightly and expertly.

It started to rain in the meantime and as the fat raindrops cooled us off.

By the time we headed back to the ship, it was already really hot again. There were a lot of stands set up in the terminal, offering free Bacardi rum-based drinks. We only took at small cup with a slushy-like drink. (A prime example of stupidity on my part.)

After we were done with lunch, we headed out to the pool. I slid into the whirl pool right away and found myself a seat so that I could see the belly flop contest.

Most of the guys who entered were actually young and barely had any bellies. Only one old fat guy entered and his stomach hung heavily over his swimming trunks, swaying slightly as he walked.

It was disgusting.

He didn’t even do a true belly flop. He seemed to do this weird hop and then dive with his ass sticking up, trying to avoid having his stomach smack sharply onto the surface.

Tonight was the second formal night. We checked in with Aunt Ying and when Darren opened the door, we found Aunt Ying just sitting around in her bra and underwear as Uncle Wei Kuo combed out her hair.

“Come in! Come in!” she said, ushering us in grandly.

The boys decided to go downstairs with us and Uncle Wei Kuo told them to make sure they went and took some formal portraits.

I didn’t think Derek and Darren would actually pay any heed to their dad, but they did. Dutifully, they lined up and stood sullenly in front of a night background with the ship. The photographer told them to smile, but the two boys stared grimly back at him like they were two intense Secret Service agents.

That night, Krishna, our head waiter, had sent over a whole array of Indian food in addition to the food we’d already ordered.

There was curry, dhal, and curried okra with roti and rice. We were already too full to really eat like the pigs we are. Uncle Wei Kuo kept insisting we try to eat as much as we could so we wouldn’t look ungrateful, even though we were full to the point of wanting to throw up.

Krishna explained to us that the culinary staff on board was very disciplined and that if one guy was assigned to make soup, that’s all he would make for six months straight.

So, having a special-made meal was a treat and no matter what, we had to make a good dent in all of the food that he’d set down in front of us.

Flo and I usually went for a walk right after dinner on the 12th deck. It’s really quiet and peaceful there at that time of night because most people are either having dinner or in the casino or in their cabins.

Not many people are usually up there at that time and the pools are already closed off as the staff begin to hose down the place. Every night, they drain the pools and scrub everything down from top to bottom. You see people with huge water jets just blasting the floors.

That night, they were showing the second Broadway show, “All Access”, which was supposed to be like a backstage pass to a rock concert and the Royal Caribbean singers and dancers ran through a string of songs by Queen, Nirvana, Madonna N Sync and Britney Spears.

I managed to pass out in the middle of the show.

After the show ended, we made our way up to the Ixtapa Lounge, where we found Derek, Daniel and a middle-aged white nerd sitting with the ¾ of the band members from Adam’s Rib.

The lead singer was sitting and chatting amiably with Daniel and the nerd, who were hanging eagerly on his every word.

The lead singer, also named Derek, mentioned he’d met me and Flo the other day and he told us about some of the gigs he’d done in Toronto. He said opening up for a big name act wasn’t as glamorous as you’d think.

“It’s basically $100 and a handshake,” he said, saying that doing a gig at the Molson Amphitheatre wasn’t exactly something you wanted to turn down because of the exposure you got.

The talk turned to what life on board was like and he said it was really no excuse not to keep in shape when you’re living on a cruise like this one and there’s a gym right on board.

“I find walking up and down the stairs is exercise enough,” I told him.

“Yeah. What kills me is how there are people who can’t even walk up one flight of stairs to their rooms,” he said.

Derek the Singer told us about how he’d tried out one of the Pilates classes, thinking it’d be easy. He said he was the only guy and was surrounded by women.

“It’d be a great way to meet girls if I was single,” he said.

Daniel and I would later wonder at great length if Derek the Singer was with Tamara the Keyboardist. Derek our Cousin would get really sick of listening to us.

“The band! The band!” he mimicked. “It’s always about the band!”

You could tell towards the end that Derek the Singer was running out of things to talk about and I had to admire him for the way he dutifully sat and continued to make small talk.

When he got back on stage, he jokingly told the audience, “Hi. We’re Adam’s Rib and we’re opening up for a band known as Karaoke.”

The ship had a Karaoke Idol contest going on where passengers were invited to compete. Aunt Ying said the singers were just average, though, and she and the others decided to stay up to watch them.