Sailing on Four Wheels

Somewhere in the middle of every vacation, my husband, Rolf, and I start discussing what else we have at home that we can pawn to fund our next trip. We are so addicted to traveling that when Rolf suffered severe trauma in a motor-scooter-versus-delivery-truck accident three months ago, the thought of having to cancel two upcoming trips was nearly as painful as dealing with the injuries.

The accident put him temporarily in a wheelchair. We had been housebound long enough but recognized that our first outing after the accident needed to be brief and wheelchair-friendly. But where to go when your husband, including wheelchair, is triple your weight? On a cruise--our first.

A ship is a self-contained location with everything you need in the space of two football fields. And aboard Royal Caribbean’s Viking Serenade two weeks ago, there were about 610 crew members and 1,500 passengers to help me, if I needed it, push Rolf around.

Though foreign-flagged ships are not required to adhere to the access requirements of the 1990 Americans With Disabilities Act, the Viking Serenade has wheelchair-accessible cabins (though, disappointingly, all five are windowless) and ramps for wheeling over raised doorsills.

The three-day L.A.-to-Ensenada itinerary is available only on two less-than-fresh ships: the Viking Serenade (built in 1982) and Carnival’s Holiday (built in 1985). We found the Viking Serenade’s cabins to be on a par with Motel 6, but the service and main dining room cuisine are Ritz-Carlton quality.

For about $500 for two, the rusty bathroom fixtures, mustard-colored shower curtain and smoke-scented room were forgivable. With all meals and great entertainment included, you can hardly beat the price on land for three days. And they put chocolates on the pillow.

Because the trip is so short and affordable, it tends to attract a young, party-hearty crowd. Our table mates weren’t the well-heeled, genteel sort. And being trapped on a ship, we soon realized there was no running from business-card-wielding legal-insurance agents on their annual outing. “For just 83 cents per week, your legal expenses will be covered,” one agent said, eyeballing the wheelchair. But there were plenty of small side decks that were blissfully empty and sans beverage bars. There was always room service if we really wanted to shut out the world.

With Rolf able to lift himself for brief moments onto a walker, we chose a regular cabin with a window on Deck 8 and simply collapsed the wheelchair to get it through the 22-inch door. Once inside, the wheelchair, with Rolf in it, fit nicely in the cabin. One gracious family from Ventura let me inspect their handicap-accessible cabin, which had a ramp into the bathroom, a high sink and a roll-in shower.

After we settled in our room on Friday afternoon, I pushed Rolf to the Windjammer Cafe for the lunch buffet of roast beef and potatoes, which tasted like airplane food--just more of it. But dinner in the main dining room that night more than made up for it. Our Italian-themed meal was exquisite: polenta with goat cheese, scampi, fresh fish entrees and fabulous cannoli and chocolate mousse cake. All meals in the dining room were superb, so we always ate there, even though the Windjammer Cafe offers casual meals and snacks nearly around the clock.

Passing up the packed casino and Las Vegas-style stage show, we went out after dinner to the stern to see the stars and watch the ship’s wake. The waves glistened from the ship’s lights, which also lighted up the white undersides of the sea gulls. It was a splendid, romantic scene, marred only by Rolf’s whistling the “Titanic” theme song.

Earlier in the evening we participated in a compulsory lifeboat drill. We were assigned an emergency station one flight up from our cabin. It wouldn’t have been a problem, except over the intercom the captain announced that elevators were off-limits during the drill. Had this been a real emergency perhaps we could have bribed someone for his spot in the lifeboat on our deck. (Later a crew member told us we could have remained on Deck 8.) We defied authority and took the elevator anyway, and I scrambled to maneuver the wheelchair over a raised doorsill. Several life-jacket-clad passengers saw my struggle to hold the door open with one leg as I tried to pull Rolf through, and they came to my rescue. By then we had missed most of the safety announcements, except for the one-liner, “Anyone jumping into the water will be charged for a shore excursion.”

That reminded us to line up for the limited number of shore excursion tickets at the purser’s desk. The tour director suggested the Ensenada winery tour. But the next morning, just as we were ready to board the bus, he raced over to us. “I’m afraid I’ve misspoken,” he said, panting. “I really don’t know how accessible this tour is. If you want, you can come back to the ship and I’ll refund your money.” We looked at each other. “What’s the worst that could happen?” Rolf said. “At least I’ll have a nice bus ride into the countryside.”

As it turned out, both wineries were completely accessible: special ramps, extra-wide restroom stalls, guides who helped him on and off the bus. We were amazed at the wineries’ readiness for handicapped tourists.

The entrepreneurial Ensenadans also have made sure the shopping district, which we visited after the tour, is easily maneuverable. Every corner had sloped curbs, and shop attendants were only too eager to bring the goods out to the sidewalk for us to see.

One tour guide and several shipmates recommended the fresh lobster dinner at Puerto Nuevo, a restaurant on Avenida Lopez Mateos, the main shopping boulevard. Twenty of us from the winery tour agreed to meet there. Another passenger and I walked in ahead to scout out how many tables were available. We told the manager we were there for the famous lobster dinner.

“No,” he said, “today we have no lobster.”

“But there are 20 of us coming in especially for the lobster. Can you recommend another restaurant that serves it?” I asked.

He disappeared into the back room for a moment and returned, smiling. Suddenly he had lobster, plenty of lobster--and free margaritas. The meal, including rice and beans, was delicious but not exactly inexpensive at $19 per plate, which is why we shared one order.

Taxis wait at every corner to take tourists back to their ships for $1 per person. We hailed a station wagon taxi, and the driver put the wheelchair in the back for us.

Sunday was a full day at sea. It felt wonderful to be “stuck” on a ship and not obliged to see or do anything. The ship cruised at a slower pace, reaching Catalina by morning to drift offshore for a day. You can’t get off at Catalina--the extra port call would raise the price of this short cruise. Dolphins swam and surfaced alongside the ship. I signed up for a step aerobics and power walking class, and Rolf watched a movie in the cabin. We missed, on purpose, the slightly tipsy singers at the karaoke bar warbling Reba McEntire tunes, the rowdy kids in the pool and the requisite shuffleboard games. Instead we ate, napped and read books. Very relaxing. By Monday morning at 8 we were docking in San Pedro.

I never figured myself as the cruising type, but this weekend may have changed my mind.

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Karin Esterhammer is a copy editor in the Travel section.

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Budget for Two

Viking Serenade: $507.50

Gas: 6.54

Beverages: 60.60

Shore excursion: 38.00

Lobster dinner for one at Puerto Nuevo: 22.18

Tips for crew: 79.00

Port of L.A. parking: 27.00

FINAL TAB: $740.82

*

Royal Caribbean International; tel. (800) 327-6700, Internet https://www.rccl.com.