It was a dark and stormy cruise...

Sarah and her father are the same, in that they fixate in an identical way. This is at its most notable when it comes to travel. They get the idea to go somewhere, they mull it over for about a day, and the trip gets booked. This is how Bermuda happened. After coming back from our last cruise, her dad watched prices like a hawk and found a super cheap cruise to Bermuda, leaving from the very drivable New Jersey. He brought it up one day when we were over for dinner, we agreed that sounds nice, two days later we’re chucking our money at Celebrity Cruiselines once again.

And so, on August 30th, we jumped on board the Zenith. It was smaller than other Celebrity ships we’ve been on, but it had the same amenities so size didn’t really matter (until later). We set off within view of the New York City skyline, and made a two-day beeline to Hamilton, Bermuda. Departure day was spent wandering the ship, unpacking, sipping contraband rum that we’d slipped on board in water bottles (because we’re sixteen), and meeting our dinner mates (a nice couple from Connecticut). First day at sea saw us sleeping in, gambling (okay, just me), gorging ourselves stupid, and reading (Blink – outstanding; Tishimingo Blues – just sorta there). Because it’s a smaller ship, and because we’re in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic, you tend to really feel any rough water. There’d been a storm nearby, so the ship was rocking a little bit. It was mildly unpleasant, but nothing too nauseating. Yet.

Monday—Sarah’s birthday—we came to port in Bermuda, docking in Hamilton, the capital and the largest city. The island itself has a population of about 70,000, not much of a metropolis but it is a decent size. This was probably the warmest day of our trip. We walked around for a short while, but eventually the searing heat passed through our skin and into our very souls. We decided to sign up for an island tour by cab. Great driver, hilarious tour patter. The island itself is beautiful—and affluent; average annual personal income is around forty-thousand USD, real estate prices are fucking exorbitant. All the roofs are made of limestone and designed to direct and filter rainwater into storage tanks in the basement. Houses get painted twice a year due to erosion from salt water.

In the afternoon, we took a fast ferry (alliteration that Beth will appreciate) across the Great Sound to the Royal Naval Dockyard, the home of British ships for over 400 years. It closed several decades ago, and it's now where the larger ships that visit Bermuda dock. We puttered around, bought some delicious rum cake, and popped in to a bar so that we could try Bermuda’s two national drinks – the Rum Swizzle and the Dark and Stormy. Sarah’s Mom tried the former – rum and fruit punch, which she liked – while the rest of us opted for the Stormy, a mix of Ginger Beer and Dark Rum. AMAZING. We each had another, and Sarah and I promptly bought Ginger Beer so that we could use our contraband rum to make Light and Stormies in our room. After ferrying it back to Hamilton, we did some souvenir shopping, then headed back to the ship. At dinner that night, the waitstaff and maitre Ds brought cake and sang Sarah a rousing, atonal Happy Birthday.

Tuesday morning, Sarah and I headed off to Horseshoe Bay beach while her parents went on a glass-bottomed boat excursion. There was a strong current coming in, so after tanning for two hours we played in the waves for a third. Diving into a giant wave Hasselhoff-style is one of my favourite things to do at the beach (the other is to dig a really fucking big hole). That afternoon, we went off on our snorkeling excursion, run by Jessie James Snorkelling. Last time we’d snorkeled, I had issues with the seal not keeping on my mask because of my beard, so this time I was sure to be clean-shaven. It was the first time I’d shaved my beard in about three years, and I regretted it as soon as it was done. While it makes me look about five years younger, it also makes my mouth look really tiny and the rest of my face look fat. Not a sexy look, people.

On Wednesday, we woke up in St. George’s, which is at the Northeastern tip of the island. It’s fairly dull in comparison to Hamilton. A lot of tourist-y shops, a lot of semi-historic buildings. We walked around for a few hours, visited an unfinished church, stopped at the town square where I volunteered to climb into the stocks and to get flogged against the flogging pole. Later on, we hit Tobacco Bay, which is a small, circular, gorgeous beach that never became overly crowded while we were there. No waves this time, but Sarah brought swimming goggles so we saw fish and got mouthfuls of yummy saltwater all the same. Our last day in Bermuda, we strolled around some more, then had a few final hours of tanning on the deck of the ship. I was especially inept with the lotion this time, so I ended up with an awesome and inconsistent burn on my chest; Sarah had the same on her back.

The last day at sea started fine and then became terrible. The morning and early afternoon were filled up with gambling, shopping, wine-tasting, and movie-watching, but by about two o’clock the water started to get especially rough. We’d learn later that we were traveling into a Nor’easter, complete with 25 foot swells. No word of a lie – waves were coming up over the windows of our stateroom on the sixth deck. No one barfed, but the four of us were bedridden for most of the night, and about half of the passengers were too sick for dinner. Making it worse was the fact that we had to pack up and have our luggage out in the hall by midnight, so basically we’d get up, pack for as long as we could (usually three minutes), then jump back into bed feeling twice as sick as before. This stretched the packing out to a marathon session. The top two lines that were uttered throughout that evening were: “I feel yarfy,” and “Don’t touch me when I’m sick like this!” We also made a dozen Perfect Storm jokes, and then adding insult to injury, The Perfect Storm actually started playing on TBS. We laughed for about a minute, but then we returned to our regularly scheduled program of pitiful moaning.

Overall, we loved Bermuda and liked the ship fine. From a customer service and dining perspective, Celebrity spoils the shit out of you, but as far as killing time on the ship goes, there’s not all that much to do. This is okay if you’re on a go-go-go cruise to the Baltic or the Med, but noticeably dull when you’re on a more leisurely itinerary. In that case, Princess is the way to go.