The Ship

Ernie drove us to the dock early for our 1pm boarding. He wanted to get to Portland to rendezvous with the beautiful Odette, while Jim and I were hoping to avoid a crush on the boat. This worked. Jim was recognized immediately as a VIP and we were ushered into the express lane. Aboard the ship the buzz was already in the air: food. Passengers want it and they know where to get it. We quickly stowed our stuff in our cabin and joined the herd at the Lido restaurant. We then carried our sandwiches out to the Lido deck, at the stern, nine stories up. Out in the sunshine, our attentive waiter, Jorge, served Jim an expensive, fruity grog and pestered me to try some. All-you-can-eat is the iron rule of cruising, but the alcohol here is strictly pay-as-you-go.

We were enjoying our afternoon in the sun, waiting for the ship to leave, when we realized we were all alone on deck. I searched for a waiter, found one, and was told that everyone was at the lifeboat drill. How did we miss that? No problem. We found our lifeboat and learned what to do when we hit the inevitable iceberg. (google WESTERDAM HITS ICE).

Now we returned to our stateroom to find a surprise: a metal-flake, cherry-red 6RUNNER10 powerchair, Jim's new toy. When I made arrangements for this machine over the telephone, I lied and told the authorities that Jim was an experienced driver. That was a big issue with the wheelchair folks. No student drivers allowed. Now, for the first time in his life, Jim climbed into the pilot's seat and seized the controls. Jim is always at his best early in the day, when he is fresh and strong. Now it was late, we were both tired, and he had been drinking. He shoved his joystick forward and sailed off down the hallway with me in pursuit, offering advice. He did very well as long as we were alone. But as soon as other passengers appeared in his way, his driving got crazy and the powerchair oscillated wildly across the carpet before crashing into the bulkhead.

While Jim was learning to drive, without our knowledge, the Westerdam left the dock. By the time we saw the ocean rushing past the side of the ship, we had been underway for about an hour.

The ship. The Westerdam is ten stories tall and about 500 feet long. At 58,872 gross tons, the ship is 27% bigger than the Titanic. Our stateroom is in the bowels of the ship and, in absolute terms, the cabin is tiny - only about 150 sq ft. But the space is very well designed and very easy to navigate. Two small bunks. Built-in cabinetry that reminds me of Frank Lloyd Wright's client-proof appointments. But the jewel of this cabin is the bathroom. This head is a sleek, minimalist paradise designed for someone who cannot move very well. Why can't I buy this shower fixture at Home Depot? Why doesn't Red Roof Inn have this type of hardware? Is it Euro-only? After seven days driving cross-country, enduring each hotel's version of an "ADA accessible" bathroom, I had to wonder: why is it so difficult for Americans to get this thing right? A good bathroom cannot be more difficult to build than a bad one. Hilton does it expensively, and does it wrong. Holland America does it simply and does everything right.

This morning at breakfast we met Wayne Wiggins, a 78 year old rice farmer from eastern Arkansas who had been momentarily abandoned by his family. He was missing one eye and one leg, and he wanted to talk. We learned that all of his children and grandchildren were doctors or nurses, and that his 2,400 acres of farmland were worth about $3,500 per acre. Not really worth it, that was just what crazy farmers and investors were willing to pay for it, you understand. He moaned a little about the fools in Washington who know nothing about farming, then he complained a little more about how Obama and the Black Caucus wanted to tax his estate. But he didn't seem at all bitter about this - just resigned. What can you do? He also showed some genuine interest in Jim's medical issues. He demanded to know Jim's problem. Jim told him his problem, and our Arkansan friend looked at Jim with his one good eye and said, "Man, you hit the jackpot."




Juneau. Memorial Day, 2011. "The Arctic Sun - penetrating, intense - seems not so much to shine as to strike." John McPhee, Coming Into the Country

It is hot in Juneau. Jim started the day strong, powerchair-ing his way down the steep gangway and into the carnival of Juneau. We search for suitable transport to the nearby glacier for two hours, without luck. A dozen locals try to help but cannot. Some of the ship's crew confidently intervene on our behalf, only to be stymied. Juneau is not especially access-friendly but today is Memorial Day and the only travel service that caters to the wheelchair trade has taken the holiday. There are four cruise ships in town and, by my estimate, this has added at least 5,000 extra souls to Juneau's small population. Whatever charm Juneau may have on a normal day has been lost with the addition of 5,000 head of tourist, looking for action. I cannot count the sightseeing buses. A line of them as long as a Wyoming coal train is headed out of town to the glacier - and to Walmart. Not one of them has a wheelchair-lift. Jim wants to buy tickets anyway, and climb up the bus steps on his own two feet, but I veto this plan. Taxis have vanished. We are hot. This is a different sun than the one I have known all my life. We dressed for a cool spring day but this is full summer weather. Jim has been back and forth across the town and he is listing heavily to port. There is almost no shade anywhere. We halt the relentless bus-train to cross the street, where we spot a bit of shade under a pavilion occupied mostly by homeless folks. There we sip some water and decide to travel a little further north to eat some fried Pacific halibut, being sold from a trailer next to a bar. The halibut is delicious, firm and white inside and crispy golden outside. Huge ravens perch above us to watch us eat. Meanwhile, a few yards away, floatplanes load an endless line of passengers to fly over the nearby glacier. The sound of small planes taking off and landing never ceases while we are eating. After lunch Jim is somewhat revived but we decide to return to the ship to get a bit of rest. We have bought a few postcards and some medical supplies, and eaten a fine lunch, but neither one of us has the strength to endure more of Juneau on this day.