A Party of One

Romantic dreams are made of fluff that includes being aboard a cruise ship in the tropics, gentle seascapes, soft music, moonlight.

Flirtation is about as much romance as I can handle, though. So I was happy to be aboard the comfortable big tub called the IslandBreeze, saluting a neon sunset to the jittery beat of a steel-drum band and having the chance to dress up for cocktails and eat tiramisu for dessert every night.

Two months earlier, I’d found a line written by Albert Camus in 1949, as he crossed the Atlantic: “As usual I finish the day before the sea, sumptuous this evening beneath the moon, which writes Arab symbols with phosphorescent streaks on the slow swells. There is no end to the sky and the waters.”

I took the message as guidance. The microwave was beeping; the phone was ringing; my ears were ringing. I fled to the office of my friend Toni, a cruise travel agent. My car radio shouted, “Get away from it all!” I just wanted to get away from most of it.

As Toni pulled out brochures on Caribbean voyages, I fell under the spell of the romantic names Roatan, Cozumel, Belize. On the practical side, she found me a single cabin for less than $100 a day.

Two months later, in January 1999, I boarded the IslandBreeze in Fort Lauderdale, Fla., along with 750 other people who wanted to get away from most of it too.

I prefer smaller ships--bigger than kayaks but not megaships. The Premier Cruise Lines’ ships carry about 1,000 passengers, about half of what the standard luxury fleets carry, and a third the capacity of the new floating cruise cities. I’d tried a Premier cruise the year before and liked the feel of it. The two Premier ships I experienced, the IslandBreeze and the SeaBreeze, are aged but comfortable, with polished teak decks and brass fittings. Both ships felt romantic, but not seriously so.

A good thing too. Most of the passengers boarded two by two. There also were some serious-looking women who had come as a group and stuck together.

As we got underway, I listened to people passing on the deck and guessed that I was the only Californian. A drawback if I’d been looking for romance, but I reminded myself I was looking for a rest.

In the corridor outside my cabin, Joshua, from Honduras, introduced himself and promised, “I will take very good care of you this week.” I was amenable to that and proposed to him on the spot.

When he opened the door, my eyes widened. “There must be some mistake,” I said, already regretting my loss. No, no mistake, he assured me. I was down for V-27, a veranda suite on A Deck. I later found that a couple had canceled at the last minute, and I’d been bumped up. I’ve never been upgraded on a plane, but I guess one can get lucky on a cruise ship. I even had a basket of fruit.

The suite had a spacious bedroom with twin beds, a sitting room with sofa bed and bar, a bathroom bigger than the one at home, and the private veranda, separated from the neighbors by screens on either side.

I sat in the chaise and thought about unpacking--did I mention the generous closet space?--until the chimes rang for dinner.

One of the mysteries of cruising is how passengers are assigned to tables. “Only one in my party,” I announced to the headwaiter, Dilip. He escorted me to a table of couples while asking his favorite riddle: “What time is the midnight buffet?”

All of the meals during the cruise were nicely planned, with the right number of courses and superb presentation, and the beef was first rate. But I would guess that the menu’s “Catch of the Day” had been netted in a freezer. When I saw mountain trout featured one evening, I imagined what a long swim it had made.

The first night was quiet. Sleeping at sea, the swaying motion, or the secure feeling of the built-in bed, made for a seamless rest. In the morning, coffee delivered by Joshua brought me to consciousness. With the coffee came slices of mango, croissants and Today’s Premier Cruise News. A full agenda for the day at sea included bingo, games in the pool, shopping, art lectures, basketball, backgammon, skeet shooting, fitness classes and massage. I headed for the salon. I am much better at being massaged than I am at shooting skeet.

The massage was so relaxing, I took a nap on my veranda before getting ready for the captain’s cocktail party.

The scene in the lounge was like a belated New Year’s Eve party. The first couple I greeted waved drinks that appeared to be Windex on the rocks.

The dress code for these traditional evenings is formal, but that means different things to different guests. Most of the men, young and old, appeared in tuxes; some wore dark suits (and there’s always at least one man who shows up in white socks). The women were dressed up; bare was in, as were sequins and beads. I wore a forest green sheath with matching Victoria’s Secret chiffon negligee jacket. Formal can be whimsical.

Next morning’s bulletin was headlined “Bienvenidos a Mexico! Snorkelers gather on F Deck after breakfast to board the tender for our first port, Isla Cozumel.” Early birds had already debarked by tender for shopping and sightseeing.

Julie and Larry, the couple with the blue cocktails at the party, invited me along for a look at Cozumel’s less-publicized attraction, Chankanaab National Park. We shared the seven-minute taxi ride . . . $7 fare . . . $7 admission to the park. “Lucky sevens!” Larry shouted as we entered.

We could have starred in a TV commercial for Chankanaab, our eyes were so wide at this glorious expanse of palms and beige beach, botanical gardens and replicas of Mayan monuments. Except for bird song and splashes from the lagoon’s fish, it was silent.

We were ecstatic, and we weren’t even in the water yet.

Snorkeling and diving here, as everyone says, is the best in Cozumel; Jacques Cousteau praised the park’s reefs 30 years ago, and only the amenities have changed. Comfortable furniture, thatch-roofed restaurants, equipment, hot showers, lockers--everything a snorkeler could want--was right there.

It was excellent: Gentle surf, warm water, gorgeous fish; we even saw a golden underwater statue of the Virgin Mary.

After an hour, I sat on the beach until sun-dried, like a hot tomato.

That evening I whispered to Dilip that I would like to sit with singles, and he whispered back that I should sit at the same table every night, “but there is a seat at the men-only table.” It turned out to be a nice group, all in their 40s. Keith, from Washington state, said the cruise was his reward to himself for being a good patient after heart surgery. Tom, from Pennsylvania, admitted he was cruising for fun. Also at the table were Brad, the ship’s dance host; Sid, a bank manager; Andre, a travel agent; and Richard, an artist and singer and great conversationalist, from North Carolina. (Richard and I became pen pals, and he recently visited me with his girlfriend.)

One night when the band sounded the notes of a tango, I heard a sexy voice over my shoulder inviting me to dance. Brad. Let the flirtation begin.

I was most looking forward to our next stop at Roatan, an island off the coast of Honduras. Hurricane Mitch had hit Honduras three months before, but Roatan had been spared.

Crew members suggested the West Bay shore excursion. One of them said that it was excellent for snorkeling. I could go some other time to Tropical Treasures Bird Park or Marble Hill Farm. As for the Garifuna dancers--”another time.”

Any island’s finest beach is predictably on the side farthest from its port, reached by a bumpy road on a springless bus. I did sit-down trampoline exercises all the way and told myself it was an adventure.

At West Bay, jungle meets ocean, a scene right out of every tropical island movie ever made. Snorkeling was ideal at the coral reef, only 150 feet from shore. Scuba divers reported magnificent fish at depths of 80 feet. A few of the elders on the cruise took a semi-submersible vessel as an easier way to see underwater sights.

I snorkeled with the beautiful Portuguese honeymooners from the ship until hunger pangs attacked. I followed the aroma of barbecue wafting from the thatch-roofed beach restaurant. Best hamburger I’ve had, ever.

The road back was less bumpy, and there was time to walk through the village at the dock. Not much in the way of shops, but where the ship was tied up there were two rows of vendors’ stalls bursting with brilliantly colored sashes, blouses and hammocks.

As I browsed, I noticed a little boy watching me. He approached. “One dolla’? “ he asked.

“What will you do for a dollar?” I replied.

He shrugged shyly. I proposed a job: Would he be my guide and walk along the pier with me? We had a deal. He pulled me toward his friend’s shell display and asked if I would like to take pictures. The boys giggled at my Spanish and taught me to say “Solamente mirando, gracias”--just looking.

Back at the ship I gave each boy a dollar. I started to thank my guide, Christopher, but he gestured for me to wait while he ran off for something. Soon he was carrying a precious baby girl. At first I thought he was giving her to me. He asked whether I would like to take a photo of her in his arms. With a sense of relief that I wasn’t suddenly going to become a mother, I shot the rest of my roll of film on them.

It was on to Belize, another fabled snorkeling destination and our last stop before turning back toward Florida.

I skipped Belize. The bumpy bus ride the day before had left me semi-paralyzed. It was strangely hushed on board, with almost everybody ashore--quiet like an empty theater, but a silence echoing with casino clamor and calypso music.

As passengers came back on board, I eavesdropped. The river cruisers were howling about the black howler monkeys, and the cave-tubing crazies were still excited about the Caves Branch River. Enthusiasts of the zoo wildlife tour bantered with explorers back from the Xunantunich ruins.

As I listened, I consoled myself with thinking I might have chosen the wrong excursion anyway. I would come back to Belize . . . someday, when I got that craving again to get away from most of my world and seek romance or flirtation or just new friendships.

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GUIDEBOOK

Shipping Out Solo

Booking a cruise: The IslandBreeze’s sister ship, the SeaBreeze, will sail Premier Cruise Line’s seven-night Mayan itinerary--Cozumel, Roatan and Belize--from Port Everglades (Fort Lauderdale), Fla., departing Sundays until May 21. Rates: $1,059 to $2,259 per person, excluding air fare and port tax.

Starting in June, the SeaBreeze will sail from Boston on five-night New England and Canada cruises.

The IslandBreeze will become the Big Red Boat III, sailing from Houston, Texas, starting May 27. Veracruz, Mexico, will debut as a port on the ship’s seven-night cruises in the Gulf of Mexico. Rates will range from $899 to $1,849 per person; air fare and port tax are extra.

For information: Premier Cruise Lines, telephone (800) 222-1003, Internet https://www.premiercruises.com.

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Joan Stapleton Rockwell is a freelance writer living in Sonoma, Calif.