On August 1 of last year, we closed the door to our home of the last several years and the life that went with it. The last thing to leave, mewing loudly as I carried her to the car, was our cat, Zorrie. I cried a little as I settled her into the backseat; it hurt to take that sweet kitty away from her home. Cats are creatures of habit. I guess that I am too, though for me habits are meant to be broken, so my feelings were bittersweet.

Three days later, having dropped Zorrie off at my sister’s house and gotten my sister in return, we were boarding the “Liberty of the Seas,” a cruise ship bound for Mexico and Honduras. I never thought that I would find myself on a cruise, but my sister Debbie loves them and through a series of circumstances had a cabin booked on this one and no one to travel with, so she asked if we would like to go. It just so happened to coincide with our exodus from everyday life, so we said yes. I think I would always say yes to offers of travel, but cruises never much appealed to me, so I agreed with some apprehension. I looked forward to spending time with my sister, but I was so looking forward to our next adventure that I was seeing this as some kind of an interruption to my previously scheduled programming.

My doubts were not quickly assuaged. After standing a queue or two, we were finally swallowed up into the ship and spat out into what can only be described as a mall, albeit an upscale one. It was well appointed, pretty even, in the way that a nice shopping center can be. There was nary a sign that you were on a ship but for the signs posted in the cruise sales office. Apparently, people go on cruises in order to purchase their next voyage. Also, if you need a Swiss watch, a fancy new dress, maybe a diamond or two, you’re in luck. Fortunately for folks like me, who shouldn’t even be allowed around such things, there are also bars. Once I sighted the facsimile of an English pub, I began to calm down.

After a pint or two, our cabin was ready and we went in search. Like all grand hotels, the hallways, stretching great lengths of ship, all looked more or less the same. We soon learned to recognize our position by way of the colorful art festooning the halls, a small differentiation, and made our way to the walk-in closet that would serve as our home for the next ten days. It was small, but comfortable enough, and of little relevance inasmuch as we wouldn’t be spending much time there anyway. Soon, it was dinner time and we found ourselves at a table of strangers, who were soon to be friends. Though we were disparate in personality, conversation flowed, and I enjoyed getting to know our new shipmates.

One topic of discussion was the fact that as we sat there, so did the ship. Our departure, originally scheduled for 4, had been postponed till 7, but one of our tablemates had heard that we were further delayed, till 9 or 10. Good enough, as long as the delays didn’t make us miss our first port of call. Our appetites were soon sated, so off we went to explore the ship a little further. At 10, we were on deck, waiting to see Galveston recede into the distance. But the ship stayed put, and we overheard someone saying that we wouldn’t be sailing till 1 am. Another pint, perhaps? At 1, we returned topside, only to discover that inertia continued to hold sway. Was this just a hotel at sea? Finally, we retired.

About the time I made it to sleep, I felt the faint rumblings of the vessel as it finally pulled anchor, and by the time I made it to deck in the morning, land was nowhere to be seen. Breakfast, which we chose to eat in the main dining room, was good, but not great. Though we soon came to the conclusion that food in the main dining room was superior to that in the buffet restaurant or the auxiliary establishments where prodigious heaps of grub were to be had any time day or night, I would compare the cuisine there to that of a good, but not extravagant hotel. It ranged from good to very good without reaching for greatness. There are, at extra cost, a handful of nicer restaurants on board, but we didn’t avail ourselves of them at any point, out of frugality and the fact that the fare in front of us was more than adequate.

Sated, we began our explorations of the ship in earnest. Liberty of the Seas is a big boat. Or rather, as we were frequently admonished, a big ship. One of a set of triplets that became the largest passenger ships in the world in 2007 (though they only held that title for two years,) it will carry almost 4000 passengers along with a crew of over 1300. With 15 levels and at a total length of almost 1112 feet, there is a lot to reconnoiter.

Most decks are primarily taken up by the cabins into which those many folk are shoehorned. Though it’s fun to speculate about the people behind those endless doors, stalking the halls is mostly just for your mall walkers and the lost. Most of the action goes on in your lower floors, where the dining room, main theater, bars, casino, art gallery, the large shopping center at sea that I was talking about earlier, and a couple of the specialty restaurants reside. Also, on the upper decks, where you’ll find spas, pools, dance clubs, video arcade, water slides, more bars, and the Windjammer café, which is the aforementioned buffet restaurant. On the uppermost deck is a chapel, which is a good quiet place to look out on the endless sea and contemplate the big questions, or at least decide what bar you want to go to next.

One remarkable aspect of all these doings is that the majority of them take place indoors. They might just as well be in Las Vegas. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I somehow had in mind the great voyages of literature, perhaps a colossal whale or two. Although on the upper decks you can look out at the ocean, you do so surrounded by cavorting children and with the background beat of popular music. You are also several stories in the air. It helps that you can do this while sipping on a fruity cocktail, but it didn’t really fulfill my seagoing fantasies. I was thinking of the murky deep, of quietude and brooding, a secluded deck chair and a good book.

It took me a while, but I finally found it. I hesitate to mention it, as I don’t want it to be overrun, but in the interest of honest reportage, I feel I must. Also, it just may be that what I enjoy the most may not have the same appeal to others, so I’m probably safe. On the lower couple of decks, out where the lifeboats and some of the mechanicals necessary to keep the ship at sea abide, there are narrow outdoor decks which are much closer to the water and much less encumbered by bustle and noise. There are shuffleboard courts, but little else to impair the intrepid sailor or walking enthusiast. It is even possible- and this is both my favorite part and the thing that I am most hesitant to reveal- to go up a set of stairs and find yourself on the bow of the ship. The first time I discovered it, I was blissfully alone, hearing the sound of the rushing waves and feeling the force of the wind in my hair. Finally, I had my moment of Zen.  

On subsequent days, there were occasionally a few other passengers up there, posing for the inevitable Titanic picture or marveling at the sky and sea. But by and large, it remained a reprieve from the bustle of the voyage and my favorite place to be. Whenever I could, I would sit out there and read or look out at the sky or the stars. Though I enjoyed our daily routine of food, entertainment, and camaraderie, I also appreciated these quiet moments and can picture them in my mind even today.

The first two days of our voyage were spent at sea and that was all there was to see. These days were spent, as I say, in exploration and settling into something of a routine, and were anything but boring. If anything, I was overstimulated, what with the constant barrage of sight and sound, entertainment, new friends, rich food, sales pitches (there is a constant effort, especially the first couple of days, to upsell you on the fancier restaurants, duty-free shopping, and of course, your next cruise,) and Caribbean cocktails. Did I mention that there are drinks to be had? So naturally, I sought respite in a good book, sitting on the deck, just as I had fantasized.

I was reading Kerouac at the time, predictably delving into On the Road for the umpteenth time as inspiration for our upcoming travels, and I sank into his language, as I am wont to do when I read any of the authors that I have loved over the years. In a drowsy stupor, I heard his voice in my head as I stalked the ship. At first, he didn’t seem so happy; (cue Charlie Parker)

Listless, I walked the long wooden decks, where finally I found solace from the buzzing brainless, the moiling mass of bing and bang, the nothing time of filling. The ocean at least had something to say, though in tones too deep for understanding. Wild but caged, I paced and looked through bars at inviting swaths of cool blue waves and envied the denizens of the deep. I needed to move, to drive fast through landscapes of dry and dust, or along looming mountains of good solid rock and threats of avalanche, through unfathomable straightaways of amber grass, to be in charge of destiny and its great maw of consumption. Aft-ship, I stood on a small and slippery platform and watched the roiling wake as we moved inextricably through the sea. Hands on rail, I thought of vaulting over, taking my chance at freedom, swimming for it. And then the irony- as this grand greyhound sailed for distant horizon, I should get my freedom from sinking slow into depths. I laughed loud and hard, shook my head and moved on.

Having shaken off the ghost of Kerouac, I went on about my day. I ate. I drank. I played cards with my sister and Wendy. I sat in on a talk about the artist Peter Max, which turned out to be a sales pitch for prints of his work, purportedly at prices significantly below the market. Though I love his work, it turns out that I don’t have thousands of dollars to invest in such things and I think that the pitchman knew it right away. I ate some more. The show that night (there are multiple shows most every night) was a big band concert. It was there that the voice of Kerouac returned;

The clamor of dinner and the empty talk behind me, I wandered again the limpid nothing of nautical interior until through half-opened door I heard some pale but adequate imitation of swing. Entering to empty table, of which there were many, I ordered a drink, paid no attention to the waitress, and settled into my malaise. The band played, indifferent, and I looked around the half-empty room, an ancient genealogy, heads bobbing, a midwestern dream bop bar. Old feet tapped themselves sore and complacent shipboard musicians, chained here at their oars, sucking the teat of mercenary corporate moneybags, couldn’t help but loose the crazed ecstatic wondering of sound. I watched, dull pallor of mind giving way slowly, with drop of something black and bitter, and let the hymn drip over me like store-bought honey, not wild but still sweet. There, behind the beat, not in the notes, hidden in harmony, masked by melody, there was the ringing note of life, blade slicing air, not landing, just moving on like we’re all moving on, crashing forever into the inevitable crest of Now. In that moment I saw again the Truth, dissolved into it, and all was right with the world.

So there you have it. It took music and the spectre of Jack Kerouac to rouse me from my slumber. Having embarked on this voyage thinking that it was somehow the lesser of my adventures, I realized that new revelations can be had anywhere if you only remain aware. I found my personal Liberty at Sea. New experiences are valuable in and of themselves, and travel, any kind of travel, is an open door. It’s a lesson worth remembering.

STAY TUNED.