by J udi C uervo
My trip was off to a very promising start, thanks to an unexpected first class upgrade on my nonstop flight from New York to St. Thomas. Now, the bright Caribbean sun glinted off S EA D REAM 1 as I climbed out of the taxi that had been awaiting my arrival at the airport. But something was very wrong here. Where were the crowds and queues awaiting embarkation? Ah, yes. I was a bit early, I re- alized, and the rest of the yacht’s guests had surely taken into account designated embarkation time when booking their flights. A call of “Welcome!” interrupted my attempt to organize the luggage placed by the departing taxi driver at the foot of S EA D REAM ’s gangway. I looked up, distracted for a moment.
“I’m early,” I admitted to the officer greeting me from the deck of the yacht. “I realize I can’t board yet.” He shrugged, smiled and asked “Why not? It’s your yacht.”
A bit uncertain, I climbed the gangway, assisted with my luggage by a handsome man clad in a striped cotton shirt and navy shorts. I fiddled with my handbag’s zipper in order to retrieve my cruise documents. Wallet. Makeup bag. Sunglasses. NO! I’d removed the documents from my bag in the taxi and must have left them on the seat. Uneasily, I confessed my blunder. “No problem. I’ll phone the taxi company. In the meantime, have a seat by the pool or in the Salon.” Choosing the Salon, I turn toward the entrance and come face to face with anoth- er handsome man who holds a silver tray of facecloths, each chilled and scented with heady lavender. I accept one, placing its cool surface to my forehead for quick relief from the scorching heat. Odd, but it appears as though the yacht’s entire crew is at my service. Suddenly, I am offered champagne and as the waiter places the flute on the cocktail table in front of me, I notice it rests not on a paper napkin but on an embroidered linen one, crisply folded into quarters. No check is presented, as drinks are complimen- tary throughout the entire voyage and all tipping is included. Another waiter approaches, placing before me a plate piled high with caviar and colossal shrimp. Slowly, other guests fill the Salon. I speak with a couple that knows Ted Turner personally and with a shoe designer from Milan who is sailing with his wife. Two Norwegians who won the cruise join us, as does a Canadian gentleman who has been nominated for a Grammy Award. Suddenly, a scantily-clad South American beauty saunters in dressed in white hot pants and a lace t-shirt and reapplies her lipstick while we watch. For the most part, my fellow passengers—I’m told there are only 100 of us--are pretty young, pretty fit and, from all appearances, pretty successful. Later, I am in my suite and it appears to be my birthday. I had almost forgotten but when I open the door, I am greeted by riotous decorations and, scattered over every inch of the floor, are rose petals. At first I think that perhaps the flat screen TV, DVD player and mini-fridge are birthday treats but I somehow know that all guests enjoy the same amenities. I spy the marble bathroom and see the shower with its arrangement of powerful body jets and, on the vanity, a collection of Bul- gari toiletries. I know for a fact that the shampoo, alone, goes for $28 a tube, retail.
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