Salon Wanderlust | Maiden voyage

[Salon Wanderlust: Travel with a passion]

T A B L E_T A L K
When is it a bad idea to venture off the beaten path? Weigh in on the hubris of going where the tourists don't in Table Talk's Wanderlust area

R E C E N T L Y
Family values in Africa
By David Kravitz
An elephant herd teaches a dad and his teenage daughter a valuable lesson
(10/06/98)
High on Huautla
By Derek Peck
Mushrooms are still the best way to travel in this legendary Mexican mountain village
(10/05/98)
Why I hate B&Bs
By Julie Garagliano
On the depravities of teddy bears, claw-foot bathtubs, breakfast quiches and shared bonhomie
(10/02/98)
A desert affair
By Tehila Lieberman
An eerie and magical encounter in the Sinai
(10/01/98)
Iowa heartland
By Jennifer New
The joys and dilemmas of being a traveler from Iowa
(09/30/98)

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E M P O R I U M
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Maiden voyage
______A 19-YEAR-OLD FINDS LUST AND ILLUSION
__________________ON A LOVE BOAT CRUISE TO ALASKA.
BY SUSANNA STROMBERG | People get lonely on ships. People get bored cooped up on a floating island the length of a football field with 3,000 strangers. People get lustful sitting in the cocktail lounge, sipping their second Bloody Mary at 10 a.m., with nothing but time, watching the wistful blond gazing out the window onto the aqua-colored glaciers as the ship floats by.
"Would you like another?" the cocktail waitress propositions, coyly, handing you a third, fourth, fifth drink before you can answer.
"What the hell. Charge it," you say with reckless abandon, pounding your fist on the table for emphasis, flinging your room key toward her with a flip of your wrist. You've got nothing to lose. You don't know any of the other passengers -- you've taken a cruise to meet someone, after all. In all likelihood, you'll never see them again. Besides, you say to yourself, what's life if you don't live it?
People develop a false sense of confidence talking to the bartender in the disco, leaning across the bar, dipping their fingers into the bowl of maraschino cherries, dancing with men twice their age, exchanging flirtatious glances across the room with Paul, the ship photographer.
"So, is it going to happen with us?" Paul whispered as he settled into the booth next to me. Our thighs touched beneath the table. He took my face between his hands. "Well?"
I set down my Electric Lemonade -- the bartender was right, you couldn't taste the alcohol -- and considered his question. Paul was wearing a fluorescent green sweater that glowed like anti-freeze under the flashing lights of the disco ball. The room spun. A couple dressed in shiny blue leisure suits pranced onto the dance floor. He swung her between his legs then pulled her in close to him and dipped her into a low back arch. Everyone let out an "Oh!" Then the room was filled with applause.
Nineteen-year-old girls on a cruise with their family get lightheaded and giddy in a hot, dark room filled with music and cigarette smoke and booze. They feel flattered by the attention of men with deep blue eyes and chiseled jaws -- "He looks just like Val Kilmer!" Distracted, my mind swam away from Paul's question into the sea of glitz and Electric Lemonade, past the curl of his upper lip, his lovely English accent. People become disoriented. Frozen. Mesmerized. Silent. What was the question? How should I answer? I was a novice at dating, never mind a 10-day affair with a cruise ship photographer.
"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Paul said, stroking my thigh. Then he took my hand and led me out of the bar, down long, windowless halls to a flight of stairs and into the bowels of the ship, to a door marked "Photographer."
"You're not supposed to be here," he hissed, looking around him. "I could get in a lot of trouble." An adventure. Suddenly I felt careless and daring. I pushed open the door.
The room was filled with three large color photo processors. Photographs hung by clothes pins from plastic cord spanning the room -- like the colorful laundry that you see hanging between buildings in photographs of Italy. Only here the laundry was pictures of people. Other passengers, posed with their families, wearing their most elegant attire. Photos taken that evening before dinner. I thought I saw a picture of my grandmother, her smoke-gray hair coifed neatly into a dandelionlike puff. But many of the passengers were old like my grandmother. Their gray hair and sallow skin gave the "laundry" a decidedly drab tinge.
Then I noticed a bulletin board on one wall, layered with different photos: topless women, women in underwear, women with puckered lips, pouty lips; women whose expressions were so seductive my legs tingled.
"This is my studio," Paul said. "Take off your shirt."
N E X T+P A G E | Stranded on an island of wannabe hedonists


	T A B L E_T A L K When is it a bad idea to venture off the beaten path? Weigh in on the hubris of going where the tourists don't in Table Talk's Wanderlust area R E C E N T L Y Family values in Africa By David Kravitz An elephant herd teaches a dad and his teenage daughter a valuable lesson (10/06/98) High on Huautla By Derek Peck Mushrooms are still the best way to travel in this legendary Mexican mountain village (10/05/98) Why I hate B&Bs By Julie Garagliano On the depravities of teddy bears, claw-foot bathtubs, breakfast quiches and shared bonhomie (10/02/98) A desert affair By Tehila Lieberman An eerie and magical encounter in the Sinai (10/01/98) Iowa heartland By Jennifer New The joys and dilemmas of being a traveler from Iowa (09/30/98) Browse the Wanderlust Feature archives Wanderlust's Official Travel Book Partner S A L O N E M P O R I U M FREE! 12-ounce bag of Salon Blend with a purchase of $30 or more. While supplies last.		______A 19-YEAR-OLD FINDS LUST AND ILLUSION __________________ON A LOVE BOAT CRUISE TO ALASKA. BY SUSANNA STROMBERG \| People get lonely on ships. People get bored cooped up on a floating island the length of a football field with 3,000 strangers. People get lustful sitting in the cocktail lounge, sipping their second Bloody Mary at 10 a.m., with nothing but time, watching the wistful blond gazing out the window onto the aqua-colored glaciers as the ship floats by. "Would you like another?" the cocktail waitress propositions, coyly, handing you a third, fourth, fifth drink before you can answer. "What the hell. Charge it," you say with reckless abandon, pounding your fist on the table for emphasis, flinging your room key toward her with a flip of your wrist. You've got nothing to lose. You don't know any of the other passengers -- you've taken a cruise to meet someone, after all. In all likelihood, you'll never see them again. Besides, you say to yourself, what's life if you don't live it? People develop a false sense of confidence talking to the bartender in the disco, leaning across the bar, dipping their fingers into the bowl of maraschino cherries, dancing with men twice their age, exchanging flirtatious glances across the room with Paul, the ship photographer. "So, is it going to happen with us?" Paul whispered as he settled into the booth next to me. Our thighs touched beneath the table. He took my face between his hands. "Well?" I set down my Electric Lemonade -- the bartender was right, you couldn't taste the alcohol -- and considered his question. Paul was wearing a fluorescent green sweater that glowed like anti-freeze under the flashing lights of the disco ball. The room spun. A couple dressed in shiny blue leisure suits pranced onto the dance floor. He swung her between his legs then pulled her in close to him and dipped her into a low back arch. Everyone let out an "Oh!" Then the room was filled with applause. Nineteen-year-old girls on a cruise with their family get lightheaded and giddy in a hot, dark room filled with music and cigarette smoke and booze. They feel flattered by the attention of men with deep blue eyes and chiseled jaws -- "He looks just like Val Kilmer!" Distracted, my mind swam away from Paul's question into the sea of glitz and Electric Lemonade, past the curl of his upper lip, his lovely English accent. People become disoriented. Frozen. Mesmerized. Silent. What was the question? How should I answer? I was a novice at dating, never mind a 10-day affair with a cruise ship photographer. "I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Paul said, stroking my thigh. Then he took my hand and led me out of the bar, down long, windowless halls to a flight of stairs and into the bowels of the ship, to a door marked "Photographer." "You're not supposed to be here," he hissed, looking around him. "I could get in a lot of trouble." An adventure. Suddenly I felt careless and daring. I pushed open the door. The room was filled with three large color photo processors. Photographs hung by clothes pins from plastic cord spanning the room -- like the colorful laundry that you see hanging between buildings in photographs of Italy. Only here the laundry was pictures of people. Other passengers, posed with their families, wearing their most elegant attire. Photos taken that evening before dinner. I thought I saw a picture of my grandmother, her smoke-gray hair coifed neatly into a dandelionlike puff. But many of the passengers were old like my grandmother. Their gray hair and sallow skin gave the "laundry" a decidedly drab tinge. Then I noticed a bulletin board on one wall, layered with different photos: topless women, women in underwear, women with puckered lips, pouty lips; women whose expressions were so seductive my legs tingled. "This is my studio," Paul said. "Take off your shirt." N E X T+P A G E \| Stranded on an island of wannabe hedonists