A Three Hour Tour (of Cabinette 00)

Day 1 part 2 - Capt. Flushiepants did an amazing job of backing the huge Cruising Ship Paradise down the Port of Tampa channel, peering over his right shoulder, arm resting on the back of the seat, the other arm manfully handling to controls of the big beast.

Good job, Captain Flushiepants!

And so it was that we 'set sail', which isn't really applicable, but whatever. Cruising Ships generally don't have sails, and the Teamsters haven't driven a horse in many decades. 

This vessel is plenty big and it's easy to get lost. Every nook and cranny harbours some shop, restaurant, kiosk, bar, coffee stand or other attraction, and the decks are carefully laid out so that when you see something incredibly interesting that you make a note to return to later, you can never find it again. I swear, you stumble around and finally get to exactly where the thing is and it's been swapped out for something else, like a rotating James Bond license plate.

Fortunately, the Carnival App has maps and a search function. What this means is that you can now head for said interesting attraction with great confidence - only to still find out it's now a photo booth or arcade.

The boat is crowded and the elevators are interminably slow and always jammed with loud, dripping wet people, fresh out of the pool.

(And they shout at each other. A lot. Even in the library where I'm trying to write. They are having a 'Fun Day At Sea'.)

(In fact, two loudies just set up a full 900 piece Mah Jong set on the table directly behind me.)

Finding my Cabinette was pretty easy. I just took the elevator to the lowest passenger cabin deck there is. Then I opened one of those submarine-style doors with the two spinning latches, climbed down a steel rung ladder, walked the length of the crew quarters, and emerged in front of my Cabinette, next to the cargo loading hatch.

It's all right, I must say, roomy enough, and the shared porthole offers splendid vistas of... people working on the ship.

The Cabinette is roomy enough, I suppose, and includes a safe and a tiny fridge, which although spirited in its attempts to cool my cans of diet Pepsi, is not quite up to the task of refrigeration. Chilled, but not cold.

Git, Tiny Fridge... GIT!

There's a bathroom with shower, as one would imagine.

There is a built-in desk but for me, the biggest drawback of the Cabinette, is that there is NO place to sit comfortable. There is a slightly padded low, backless stool. And there is the bed. (The Here's Johnny doesn't count.)

It has to be said, the bed sucks. It's awful. I think the mattress is some sort of futon-like thing, stuffed with the forgotten socks and underwear of previous inmates of the Cabinette. 

It's lumpy, with hard bumps here and there. One has to lie around them in a cruel game of Bed Twister, which isn't like the fun version of Bed Twister, believe you me you me you.

I unpacked all my gear and headed out to explore more of the ship, and get some more lunch. I was starving!

I found a pizza place on the aft end (we Savvy Captains say 'aft' instead of 'ass') of the Lido deck.

The one with mushrooms on looked good and it was.

There's a deli - keeping this menu in my back pocket for later.

Still hungry, I opted for one of Guy Diablo's gutbombs. It was pretty good, but the whole platemess was way too salty.

On my way back to the room, I checked out the casino. It wasn't open yet, and was filled with degenerates, sitting, waiting at the non-functional machines like abandoned gambling dogs, waiting for their masters' return.

I could relate.

Back in the Cabinette, I snaked onto the futon for a quick nap. When I awoke I saw the most amazing sunset - on TV.

I was really tired out, but the evening still held some adventures - dinner at some point, and of course, the casino.