What would we talk about? There were 42 assigned-seating dinners still ahead. Only one week into 49 days of circumnavigating South America, every topic seemed exhausted.
We eight (from New Zealand, California and–my husband, Bernie, and myself–the Chicago area) had thoroughly discussed our respective life histories, as well as certain shipboard mysteries. Like, why did our ship, The Regent Sea, take six extra hours to refuel? Why did certain waiters refuse to begin work? Why was the ship to be leased to a German company? And, even though cruise literature mandated charging “all goods and services” to Regency Passenger Accounts, why did the beauty parlor, the duty free shop and the boutique accept only cash or major credit cards?
Walking through the dining room, I’d overhear passengers discussing topics like which fruit juices listed on the menu were actually in supply. Would it get that bad at our table? Help! So, as Bernie and I waited in our cabin–dreading the next meal–we little knew that in a few short moments an announcement would arrive that would cause us to positively chomp at the bit to get to dinner.
I should have realized earlier that something was up. Like that very morning. Staring at the Atlantic Ocean, 100 miles off the Brazilian coast, awed by the vast blanket of mud still being deposited into the sea by the Amazon River, I heard Bernie announce, “the sun’s on the wrong side of the ship.”
Yeah, sure, I thought.
“The sun’s where it should be,” opined a passenger. “The sun is always the opposite in the southern hemisphere.”
My husband snorted. “Even at the equator the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.”
It was obvious. Though our destination was south–to Brazil–our ship was heading north. But why? There had to be a reasonable explanation, didn’t there? Passing it off as some arcane navigational correction, we trotted off to the Regency Lounge for a lecture entitled “Port Safety in South America.” Our attention was directed to whether the prudent traveler secrets money in her back pocket or her shoe.
Thus, despite all the signs, when the announcement was silently slipped under our cabin door, we expected it to be routine. Like avoid unauthorized individuals selling jewelry. Or, have a $100 deluxe Parisian cathiodermie facial, especially if you suffer from dark circles and puffy eyes, and/or a manicure with FREE nail polish of your choice. So, when Bernie read it out loud, it took me longer than usual to absorb the full import of this announcement.
“Dear Passengers,” it began, “It is with deepest regret that we must announce the cancellation of your South American cruise due to operational problems. The Regent Sea is returning to her port of registry in Nassau, Bahamas. … A pro rata refund of the unused cruise fare will be forwarded. … Arrangements to repatriate all passengers are in progress.”
The announcement ended with the promise to make our “remaining days aboard” enjoyable. Over my husband’s raucous laughter I heard someone in the next cabin cry out, “Oh, no!”
As we waited for the dinner chimes to peal, Bernie and I discussed the announcement. For example, what was the definition of “operational problems?” Did it mean the engine was out? Was the radar system on the blink? Whatever; since we’d get our money back, we’d just take the trip again. We wondered what our tablemates, who now seemed irresistibly fascinating, were thinking about the cruise’s cancellation. Thank goodness, dinner was only a few minutes away.
It was the assistant maitre d’ who provided the vital clue as to what was really going on. When he paused to inquire how dinner tasted, I asked, “These operational problems, are they mechanical?” as an afterthought continuing, “or … uh … financial?”
He did not equivocate. “Financial.”
Our jovial mood evaporated.
A few hours later, the ship’s hotel manager addressed an assemblage of open-mouthed guests. The dire financial situation, he revealed, wasn’t new at all. In fact, the crew hadn’t been paid for two months. But, the crew would be paid, and the passengers would be reimbursed. So, not to worry! Enjoy the trip to Nassau! For reasons I will never comprehend, the passengers enthusiastically applauded his every sentence.
I happened to be present when the cruise director told a small group the low-down on the timing of the cancellation. Regency Cruises had been behind in its bills big time, for a long time, he said. Why was the cruise being canceled now? Because now was when one of the creditors had lodged a lien. But, the cruise director said, we were lucky. The cancellation could have occurred in Brazil. Then, corrupt Brazilian authorities would board the ship, empty its coffers and extort money from hapless passengers.
“What if a passenger didn’t have any money?” I asked.
“He’d be left on the ship to rot,” sneered the cruise director.
And another thing, the cruise director confided, it’s vital to passenger safety that the crew believe they’ll be paid. Otherwise, they’ll mutiny. Especially those “savages” working in the kitchen and engine room. We’ll be at their mercy. They’ll start looting and breaking into cabins. One lout was already detained for soliciting a passenger for money. The lout was now locked in his cabin, though not put in shackles.
I didn’t want to sail to Nassau. I wanted to sail to the U.S.A. I wanted to go home. To achieve this, Bernie and I decided to write the captain demanding “repatriation” at Ft. Lauderdale (the ship’s original port of disembarkation). We delivered our demand letter to the purser’s office. A charming assistant purser accepted delivery and signed a copy acknowledging receipt of the original. There was no response from the captain. Although it seemed unbelievable, the fact was, we were hostages aboard the Regent Sea.
Everyone on board had a theory, knew a rumor. According to some, we’d turned back because the ship’s engineers had threatened to strike in Rio. Others believed it was because the Germans, observed boarding the Regent Sea in Martinique, taking notes, disembarking in Barbados, and scrutinizing the ship from a circling helicopter, had decided to not lease the ship after all, creating a financial crisis.
Not even the most conversation-challenged of passengers discussed fruit juices. All talk centered on trip cancellation insurance policies, federal law relating to the ship performance bonds and the obligations of credit card companies.
And one had to be quick to keep up with the latest official plan. Instead of sailing to Nassau, as we had been first advised, we were sailing to Freeport. From there (we were first told) we’d be flown to Ft. Lauderdale. That was changed to Miami. Then they told us we’d not fly at all; we’d change ships and sail.
Sail to where? To Ft. Lauderdale, we were told. Then, to Miami, we were told. All in all, after receiving the cruise cancellation announcement, we spent six additional days and nights aboard before final arrangements were decided upon, which were that we would remain aboard the Regent Sea until we docked at Freeport where we would change ships and be sailed to Miami.
We passengers were at the mercy of two diverse groups of people. There were the unseen decision makers who had their (but not our) financial best interest at heart. And there was the unpaid crew, people from all over the world, with little reason to labor for hundreds of self-absorbed, not particularly likable passengers.
But though we were hostages, the crew continued to treat us like guests. They changed our bedsheets on a daily basis. They replaced our bath towels and soap three times each day. Ship’s officers did take on some of the menial chores, but most crew members continued painting the ship, washing the decks, and keeping the vessel maintained.
I spent my six “remaining days aboard” eating too much, gazing at the ocean hoping to see a dolphin, chatting with anyone who came within range and trying to identify passengers’ nationalities by their crossword puzzles. Also, I placed my one free telephone call, a courtesy customarily provided to those under arrest.
On the last day aboard the Regent Sea, docked in Freeport, we arose before sunrise. Passengers were called–in groups determined by the color of their luggage tags–to board the Discovery Sun.
Although the Discovery Sun stood a hundred yards from the Regent Sea, Bahamian procedure required we go through Bahamian customs. We stood in several lines, produced our passports and displayed completed customs documents. Bahamian officials stamped our hands and repeatedly inspected the stamp marks. We also had to obtain boarding passes for the Discovery Sun. These activities took place in a little shack between the two ships.
It was a long time before we were allowed to drag our hand luggage aboard what turned out to be some sort of pleasure boat, devoted to gambling, drinking, eating and entertainment. For $40 a private cabin was available.
In what seemed a final indignity, once aboard, Discovery Sun crew herded us into a dark and chilly lounge. There, short-skirted cocktail waitresses tried to sell us drinks. Although it was only 7 a.m., some passengers ordered beers and cocktails, sat back to listen to a band (which was bathed in colored lights) and even started ballroom dancing.
But these early-morning fun lovers had barely enough time to complete a cha-cha-cha or two when the Discovery Sun’s cruise director appeared. Dazzling in well-pressed white, he personally introduced us to our “gorgeous” hostesses, and got everyone started playing bingo. I dozed off.
When I awoke, marquee lights were blinking on and off. The cruise director (who had produced a magician) directed the audience to applaud. They did.
“Can’t hear you,” the cruise director announced “You’ll have to do better, or I’ll tell a joke. And you know had bad my jokes are. One more time!”
The clapping was still inadequate The cruise director followed through on his threat. He told a joke. (It went: “A mother tomato was taking a walk with her baby tomatoes, but they weren’t going fast enough. So, she stepped on one of them, and said, “You’d better ketch-up.”)
The cruise director again ordered the audience to applaud. This time the noise level sufficed.
The torture ended seven hours later when the Discovery Sun reached Miami. Despite promises by Regent Sea that flights had been booked, none was for us; we rushed to a telephone and booked a flight ourselves By 6 p.m. we were in the Miami airport. Moments later, our plane left for Chicago.
Did I enjoy my cruise? Yes and no. I didn’t get to South America. But I had an experience it’s impossible to plan for. For six days and nights I was held hostage on the high seas aboard the Regent Sea.
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Charlotte Adelman and her husband, Bernard Schwartz, both retired Chicago lawyers, believe they were the only passengers aboard the Regent Sea from the Chicago area, or even from Illinois.
