Just three weeks after the deadly Costa Concordia crash in the Mediterranean, I walk onto the cruise pier in Ft. Lauderdale following a restful week in the Caribbean aboard the Celebrity Solstice.
Aside from the usual (and mostly unnecessary) complaining one overhears in the baggage pick-up area, I'm relaxed. Stresses of the work week to follow have not yet crept into my conscious. Instead I find myself reflecting on what the week meant to me - to my view of a cruise industry shaken by the terrible events off Isola del Giglio.
Since that horrible incident, much attention has been paid to the "Muster"...the 'lifeboat drill' where cruise passengers, often shortly after boarding, gather in various stations around ship to hear safety instructions and evacuation plans.
I find myself ashamed to admit that, in 27 previous sailings, I've attended the 'mandatory' muster exactly...twice. To me, a self-professed 'veteran', it was a terrible way to begin a vacation, seeming much like the airplane safety announcements anyone who's flown has ignored a thousand times over. Seen one, you've seen 'em all. Everyone went. I unpacked.
This time would be different, certainly. Like my experiences flying internationally immediately after 9/11, I was eager to see what stepped-up safety measures would be in place. Truthfully, outside of that 'mandatory' muster, nothing was different. The crew 'fire/safety drill' was carried on as it has been on every cruise I've sailed, seemingly unchanged, thorough and with virtually no ship life disruption. But I digress...
The muster. I admit my curiosity overwhelmed me...not overwhelming me to go, mind you. Of that, I had every intention. I simply had to see if they'd come get me. I wanted them to come get me. And they did. As my wife and I quietly unpacked, the usual knock came on the stateroom door, but as we remained silent, instead of simply walking away, our stateroom attendant dutifully knocked again, which was followed quickly by the sound of our door opening. When he realized we were still inside he simply asked if we were aware of muster, to which I politely replied we were immediately on our way. I hated to put our attendant in this position, but as a journalist and very frequent Celebrity cruiser, I had to see how it played out.
As the door closed behind us and we walked up the hall, a glance back saw our attendant, a fine young man named Mariano, slip back toward our door with a green "Evacuated" key tag to indicate our compliance. As we headed for our designated lounge for an ultimately overcrowded and common sense presentation, my wife and I saw these tags inserted in every key slot, and admitted it was a good solution...as long as the attendants were as professional and persistent as Mariano.
Now to say the muster was uneventful would be true. To say it was exceedingly boring would be more so. But to say the location of our muster station is realistic would be, well, quite unrealistic.
What appeared to be a couple of hundred of us were sent to an otherwise beautiful little enclave known as the Ensemble Lounge.
Despite three exits toward the lifeboats, this crowded room, to us and many of our fellow passengers, seemed a death trap. In an emergency, people will head for the lifeboats. At least that's where we'd be going, because there aren't a thousand dishes for Celebrity's perfect escargot that could haul me into that confined coffin, and my fellow passengers echoed that sentiment in their own conversations.
I'll gloss over the mostly unseen 'safety video' presentation, displayed on an insanely small screen in the corner of this overstuffed saloon, by recounting the hysterical ramblings of a sweet, elderly lady who bluntly stated as she walked out following the proceedings, 'well I got nothing out of that' and that she was going back to her cabin to watch the video on stateroom television to 'see if it makes any sense at all'.
And that, frankly, was the end of any conversation of note regarding ship safety or the Concordia crash. People didn't discuss it that we heard, and furthermore, they seemed like everyone on every Caribbean cruise ever has. Relaxed. Not that they didn't care about the horror abroad. But for 7 days they let ALL their cares subside.
Related: A video tour of the Celebrity Solstice
Ironically, a friend from home had later e-mailed me an article from our friends at USA Today, detailing the ejection of a passenger from Holland America's Westerdam, for not attending the muster. The Westerdam had been docked alongside us in Ft. Lauderdale, at the start of our cruise. Good for them I say, despite my personal history. If you say you're going to enforce something, do it. They did.
Late in our cruise, my wife and I were invited to dine with Captain Gerry Larsson-Fedde, a shipboard honor we've enjoyed on several occasions. In a pre-dinner chat, I considered bringing up the Concordia disaster for the Captain's assessment of the situation, but again my curiosity made my decision for me...having reported on and read endlessly about the human toll, along with the economic and environmental impacts, I needed to see if any of our 9 tablemates would approach the subject, before, during or after dinner.
Neither in the presence of our Captain nor in our gathering beforehand was the subject broached. For these experienced cruisers, and seemingly for the near 3000 junior and senior cruisers aboard the Celebrity Solstice this time, the events of so short a time ago have not altered their Caribbean blue-hued view of cruising as the perfect pause from the rigors of the day. A freedom. In this case perhaps, a freedom to not think...to not dwell.
In the days after Carnival Corporation, Costa Concordia's owners, released their first statements, RCI and NCL released their own words. RCI's first, from their Royal Caribbean flagship fleet, quickly pointed out the "Carnival" brand (their biggest competitor) as Concordia's owner, in wishing sympathies for families, friends and seagoing workers. RCI's second release, on behalf of the Celebrity family of ships, seemed to me to be worded more carefully, removing any reference to "Carnival", thus seeming more genuine. NCL's release dared not mention Carnival after the initial (some would say finger-wagging) Royal Caribbean deployment.
While this reminds us that cruising, above all else, is a very highly competitive business, to those of us who find an irresistible attraction to oceans blue, cruising is only the business of escape and exploration.
On land, like all good people, cruisers mourn the terrible loss of life and the environmental impact of the Costa Concordia catastrophe.
At sea, those of us who find solace and joy in foreign ports and on waters of azure blue will always remember the Titanic, the Concordia or the Andrea Doria, while remaining forever grateful for the amazing experiences we've had. Cruisers, as we're seeing in print and aboard ships in person, will not be deterred.
Cruisers are loyal. They will not bail on the industry...and like it or not, they will go to muster.