Light and hearty observations from a fat and ugly guy. Home of hackneyed drivel and ersatz-existentialist effluence. Choleric biliousness a specialty, since 1958.

Striking out on a cruise ship in 1973

Yesterday's post about Spring Break reminded me of something.

Now, regular readers of this drivel and spew are aware that I've been fortunate to live in a variety of countries growing up. This wasn't due to family wealth; rather, it was because of my dad's work. My parents were cool about trying to expose me and my brothers to different experiences during our travels, so sometimes this included alternate methods of getting from one place to another. Occasionally that meant long trips on ocean liners.

Back in 1973, we spent 3 weeks meandering across the Pacific Ocean. Australia to New Caledonia to Samoa to Tahiti to L.A., San Francisco, and finally disembarking in Vancouver. Back then, the ships weren't resorts on the water the way they are today. This was well before the TV show "Love Boat" changed the face of cruises. Back then, it was very posh, dontya know, and really designed almost exclusively for well-heeled adults with sticks up their asses.

So I'm 16 and hanging around on this ship. My parents were in the casino or library or by the pool; my brothers were doing whatever. I had the run of the place, and it was mostly ok though kinda lonely and sometimes even a bit boring.

Until we got to Tahiti.

Up the gangplank in Papeete comes this family--mother, father, daughter. Your humble Nigel goes totally slack-jawed at the sight of the daughter. Me, and all 137 of the P&O cruise line British crew. Staring, hanging over the railings, tongues hanging out like the dogs we all were. This...vision...was 17 and French. And she looked exactly like Brigitte Bardot, circa 1956 , around the time of "And God Created Woman". A photo of Bardot at her best is at right, and I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that this 17 year old girl could have been her twin sister.

A number of thoughts went through my mind at the time. First, I had to speak to her somehow. Second, I needed to do that as soon as possible because we only had 7 days til arriving in Los Angeles and if I was gonna get my mojo working I needed to get it going immediately. Third, what to do about my acne problem, and quick smart like? And fourth, how to do all this and get through the next 7 days while trying to hide the extremely obvious tent-like lump in my pants.

Ho-ho! The game was on! My chance came the second day on the Lido deck. She's standing there by herself, looking out to sea. No one else around. I screwed up my courage and walked up to her and started talking to her in what I thought was French. After all, I'd taken four years of the fucking language in school, and I'd progressed to the point well beyond "la plume de ma tante est sur la table".

Her name, she told me, was Muriele Chiche (can you believe I can remember that 35 years later?), from Paris, and from what I could discern she and her parents were traveling to Montreal. Speaking "French", I apparently regaled her with the following things: my name was Nigel and that I was from outer space and I lived under a freeway culvert in Pago Pago with my pet toothbrush and speaking of my teeth, they all had names, every one of them! And that my hobbies included sucking on plastics and look, Muriele, I'd really like to see you again to introduce you to my thermo-nuclear device and so whaddya say?

At least, that's how it must have sounded, translated, to her. My fumbling attempt at speaking French resulted in a baffled look on her face--then she started laughing. Couldn't stop. Walked away, left me standing on the deck alone, and never spoke to me again. And ended up immediately hooking up with some 23 year old blond California beach-bum type also on the cruise but who could speak no French at all. Apparently, though, they could speak the language of love pretty well to each other.

The two of them spent the 7 days a-humpin' and a-gruntin'. Me, I'm in my cabin alone, furtively, quietly, desperately "squashing Stonehenge" as I fantasized about what could have been.

*Sigh*. Merde.

posted by Nigel St.John Regina Smegmatica Howle-Raines @ 7:45 AM