TERMINOLOGY

“People don’t take trips, trips take people.” – John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America

As weather forecasters call for “dangerously hot weather” that “could feel like 110” (and no, it distinctly is NOT a dry heat) this week, Beth and I prepare to head north to New York, and then sail off for an extended period in what should be cool climates. Right now, we are looking downright brilliant in our planning.

But that’s not what this blog entry is about. This one is about some nautical and related terminology that will arise through the course of this trip, and thus may appear in this blog. So, here’s a bit of vocabulary for the coming months:

Bow. The front of the ship. When headed to the bow, you are going forward on the ship.

Stern. The back of the ship. When headed to the stern, you are going aft or astern on the ship.

Starboard. The right side of the ship when you are facing the bow.

Port. The left side of the ship when you are facing the bow. Also a delightful adult beverage that is one of my favorite nightcaps. We will visit its region of origin in late August.

A good way to remember which is which is that both left and port have four letters, and both starboard and right have more than four letters. Our cabin is on the port side, which means that we have full permission to utter four-letter words when merited.

BF. Beyond Febreze. The condition of clothing after a particularly active day in port (oh yes, in addition to the left side of the ship, the delightful beverage, and the town and region in Portugal from which the delightful beverage originates, port refers to the places where the ship stops).  No quick spray with stink inhibitor will do—the clothing must go to the laundry.

Navigator, or the Nav. The ship on which we’ll be sailing. Also known as the Regent Seven Seas Navigator.  Something to know about the Nav is that it has an open bar throughout. And, hey, I’m not driving. There is an excellent chance that my liver will jump overboard and try to swim home somewhere around Stockholm.

The Navigator Lounge. Also known as “our living room.” It is right down the hall from our cabin. Between it and the Coffee Connection across the hall from it, if anyone is looking for me while the ship is at sail, check that neighborhood first.

Segments. This 89-night trip is divided into six segments. I am told that there will be 65 of us on for the full 89 nights. Some or all of the other 425 passenger berths (i.e., beds) will be filled by people joining the ship for segments of the cruise. Some friends made on past trips will be joining in at least three different segments--I'm looking forward to seeing them again.

Anchorage. When the ship cannot dock at a particular location, it holds in place by dropping anchor in or near the harbor, and thus is at anchorage. Also a city in Alaska that we won’t be visiting.

Tender. When the ship is at anchorage, one cannot just walk off the ship onto shore. Passengers must first get into a smaller boat and be taken to shore. This is called tendering. No one likes it, but it is occasionally necessary because of conditions at the port or because of the number of ships already in port. Fortunately, because the Nav is relatively small (490 passengers max), there will be very few tender ports. The Nav uses its lifeboats for this purpose. Which is oddly comforting, since we will get occasional demonstrations that they actually work.  Tender is also the manner in which Elvis wanted to be loved. And a desirable condition for a piece of meat.

Muster. Speaking of lifeboats, at the beginning of each of the six segments of the trip, all passengers must grab their life jackets, gather at a designated meeting place, and receive instruction on the process for, and perhaps partially practice, abandoning ship. Some people have been known to call it mustard. Those people have confused their life jackets with a hot dog.

We will, from time to time, sail through some areas with icebergs. I assume that the Captain has seen Titanic, and will not do anything that requires us to use what we learned at muster.

Icebreaker. A special-purpose ship designed to move through icy waters. Also a conversation starter. Depending on who is telling the story, the Navigator was originally built to be an icebreaker or was built as a satellite tracker (aka, spy ship). Maybe both. It definitely was built in Russia—St Petersburg to be exact. So the ship will be visiting home when we dock there for a couple of days in July.

Scaryoake. Another word for what happens when I sing karaoke. Those who also will be on this cruise can rest assured that the ship cannot possibly stock enough alcohol to get me into a condition to commit scaryoake. At least we all hope that is the case. If it is not, it will be one hell of an icebreaker. Hell being the operative term.

Pilot. No, the ship does not fly. A pilot is a navigator who joins the ship to help guide it into and out of port. Pilots are used because they are better acquainted with the specific conditions of the particular harbor. I am weirdly fascinated by the manner in which the pilot leaves the ship once s/he has guided it out of the harbor. The pilot boat pulls up alongside the ship, and the pilot leaps from the ship onto the pilot boat. I will try many, many times to get a photograph of a pilot mid-leap. I will never succeed. If I do succeed, I may lose all interest in cruising. That would not do.

Gangway. The door through which one enters or leaves the ship, generally by accessing a gangplank.

Gangplank. The steps or bridge down which one exits the ship and up which one boards the ship. Also a board sticking off of the side of the deck off of which unruly persons are forced to walk into the sea.

Oh wait, no. That latter description is for a pirate ship. They haven’t installed those on cruise ships. Yet.

Debarkation. Also called disembarkation. It’s what happens when the cruise is over, and someone carries you kicking and screaming down the gangplank and away from the ship. That’s three months off, so I’m not worrying about that now.