A Thanksgiving Miracle

Reporting from Philipsburg, Sint Marten, November 28, 2024

Older, but no wiser, I have returned to the Villa Vie Odyssey which, having survived its Atlantic Ocean crossing relatively unscathed, is now island-hopping around the Caribbean, home of steel drums, rum punch and more moisture than Rudy Giulani’s forehead during a deposition. Personal rivulets proliferate.

I needed my time in Texas, and not just so I could say I was there when the U.S. electorate voted to shoot itself in the face. It was good to be among friends and familiar places as I turned 70. I drank a lot of beer, heard a lot of music and got a fair amount of brisket stuck between my teeth. I got to sit in the Traipsemobile’s big-ass leather chair, smoking a Cuban cigar at midnight. I blew out a lot of candles. I peed outside.

70 candles take a while to light. At last report, the flames were only 80 percent contained. Adjoining neighborhoods were prepared to evacuate.

On November 19 I rejoined the Odyssey in Martinique, on a day so bright I’m pretty sure I got a sunburn in the time it took to walk from the taxi to the gangplank. It felt like summer in north Louisiana, where I grew up and chose to spend most of my childhood indoors, watching tv and reading books, away from the mosquitos and the flies, the ungodly heat and humidity and, generally speaking, daylight. I plan to use the same strategy in the Caribbean: Avoid the outdoors until sunset and hope the air conditioning doesn’t break down. I resemble that rarest of creatures, the Cruise Ship Goth. All of my t-shirts are black.

Me in my cabin, waiting for the sun to go down.

I wondered how much things had changed onboard the Odyssey in the time that I’d been gone. Would the pools be operational? (Yes, but only on sea days. The filtration systems aren’t yet suitable for use in ports. ) Would the AC be working? (Mostly, yes, but some cabins are still stiflingly hot while others are freezing cold. Mine is Goldilocks comfortable.) Are there still plumbing issues? (Not so much.) Wi-fi? (It’s glitchy, an ongoing source of frustration for those who require significant bandwidth for their business operations, but not for people like me, who only need to upload an occasional vampire photo.)

In general things are pretty much as they were before: mostly adequate, working well enough to dampen the chances of mutiny, but not nearly as well as anyone expected when they signed up. The food’s really good and the engines seem to be running smoothly. Communications are still a mess though. Clear explanations are hard to come by and the management motto appears to be “We’ll get back to you on that.”

So we still don’t know for sure if we’re going to Antarctica. Probably not. The Odyssey doesn’t have the necessary polar certifications to go there and really has no way to get them. (This will come as a shock to prospective Residents who had Anarctica as a bucket-list reason to sign on to the voyage.) We’re also still crossing our fingers regarding the ship’s ability to dock in China, Japan, the U.S. and Brazil. They’ll get back to us on that.

There are noticeably more people on board. More crew, more Residents and more temporary visitors, people taking advantage of the Friends and Family option, where you can invite relatives and pals to stay on the ship for up to two weeks, for the low-low price of $33 a night. It’s a great deal, now that the itinerary is relatively stable. It was hard to invite company when we weren’t sure exactly where the ship would be on any given day. We seem to be past that now.

I’m pleased (mostly) to see recognizable faces, the 100 or so Residents who have been part of this Clusterfuck since May (I can now utter that phrase with a clear conscience since Villa Vie Head Visionary Mike Petterson used it in a q&a a couple of weeks ago responding to questions about the ever-changing hotel reimbursement policy.) But I can sense that many of us have drifted even further into separate, if not opposing camps. Not because of politics (the post-election vibe has been remarkably non-confrontational) but because of differences in how willing we are to admit in public that the cruise hasn’t gone perfectly. We’ve become increasingly disparate factions: The Cheerleaders vs. The Malcontents. Guess which team I’m on.

My Spirit Animal

The Cheerleaders, most of whom are Founders, with a large financial stake in the long-term viability of Villa Vie, seem to regard this voyage as one big pep rally, where everyone’s highest priority should be singing the praises of Life On The Odyssey, no matter what. If they think you’re not showing enough Team Spirit, they will disapprove. If they had a slogan, it would be “Love It or Leave It.” And early on, back in Belfast when tensions were at their peak, they thought a couple of dissatisfied Residents were complaining too loudly and too often. So they pushed to have them thrown off the cruise. One of those who got tossed, after showing sufficient contrition, is being allowed back on. The other one hired a lawyer.

The Malcontents, many of whom (although certainly not all) are renting their cabins a segment at a time. have been more willing to criticize when things have gone badly, to complain about undelivered promises and express their doubts about Villa Vie’s long-term organizational acumen. They view this more as a limited-edition cruise than a permanent lifestyle, a product for which they paid and which, so far, has fallen frustratingly short of their expectations.

Most of them (the smart ones) haven’t aired their objections in public. They’ve kept their complaints private, shared only amongst themselves. Usually late at night, in the dark recesses of the hilariously-named Morning Light Club. The dumb ones publish stupid substacks with stupid titles like “Greetings from The SS Clusterfuck,” in which they whine about all manner of petty grievances, including the ongoing lack of decent beer. The Cheerleaders think that guy in particular is an idiot. One of them, who shall not be named, said “his shitty attitude and shitty personality gave him his shitty beer. I call it karma.” Fair point.

But my attitude and personality have greatly improved, now that I’m back on the ship. Why? When I walked into the Morning Light after boarding in Martinique, what did I see behind the bar? A veritable Pantheon of not-at-all-shitty beers: IPA’s, Pale Ales, Blonde Ales, even Guinness (in a bottle, but still). It was like a goddam miracle.

Michelle’s Morning Light Miracle. I have been saved.

I am truly and sincerely thankful for the bounty that has been placed before us. From now on, I won’t even care if the AC doesn’t work, the plumbing goes to hell or the ship makes a sound like we just hit a deer. Antarctica? Fuck Antarctica. They don’t even have a brewery there. Everything I need to be happy is right here, ice cold, within the Utopian confines of the Villa Vie Odyssey. My suffering — OUR suffering — has come to an end. Everything is perfect.

Sis boom bah, motherfuckers. Happy Thanksgiving.