Cruisin' for a Bruisin' on Holland America's ms Veendam

In a perfect world the word cruise would surely conjure up visions of long, seafaring days floating on placid blue waters, decadent midnight buffets, and steward service so prompt and precise you might begin to wonder aloud: how do the commoners survive?

But in the world I happen to inhabit, the word cruise has recently begun to summon visions of an endless sea of Purell hand sanitizer, green apples and soda crackers (a common antidote to seasickness), and clogged heads. Not the one on your shoulders, the one in the stateroom privy.

Last May my husband and I embarked on our maiden voyage to Alaska to celebrate our 10th anniversary. Recently we completed our 2nd cruise to celebrate my 50th birthday. Looking back I now know that cruise lines secretly identify first-time cruisers, or "cruise virgins" as I like to call them, and create a flawless, floating, fantasy environment in order to get them to fall immediately and passionately in love with cruising and book at least a dozen more cruises before they even disembark the ship. From daily surprise invitations to the Captain's cocktail receptions posted on your door, to the chilled champagne and fruit plate waiting in your glistening stateroom, to the toilets that flush each and every time on demand. They reel you in like a prize Marlin, then set to work pampering you like a Las Vegas whale.

Life is good in the Love Boat land of cruise virgin heaven. But be forewarned - once visited, not unlike Toyland on the Island of Misfit Toys, you can never again return. For when you try - say, on your second cruise, you will find that, indeed, the ship's hull is not really made of Belgium chocolate, and that any glimpse of the 1300 miles of U.S. coastline you anxiously anticipated viewing on the horizon through the complimentary binoculars in your room was, alas, simply a mirage.

My husband and I giggled like school kids when we found out after checking in at the San Diego cruise ship port that we had procured a starboard side room. (Or, "Starbucks" side as my husband prefers to call it.) This meant that as we sailed up the west coast of the United States to Vancouver we would be on the side of the ship facing the breathtaking California coastline, Big Sur, and the states of Washington and Oregon. Of course neither of us ever bothered to ask anyone if we would actually be sailing close enough to shore to see the coastline. Had we asked, the response should have correctly been, "Nope. You aren't going see land until we hit Canada, then we're going to close the ship's casino for two full days which will really tick off your husband, close all the hot tubs, and then cancel your Champagne and Chocolates tour of Victoria City. But you will get one whole hour to explore Seattle. Have a nice day."

But, I'm getting a tad bit ahead of myself.

Still giddy over our good luck, we boarded the ms Veendam of the Holland America cruise line. A crew member, holding a plastic bag of clear jell-like substance, asked us to please hold out our hands as we stepped onto the gangway. My quizzical look must have prompted him to say, "It's for your own good."

Well, I'm all for anything that's for my own good so I slathered it on.

The substance was hand sanitizer. Having become accustomed to sanitizing our hands at the self serve buffets on Cruise Number One, it didn't seem unusually odd.

The significance of the sanitizer, however, would sink slowly into our consciousness later in the afternoon as we finally sailed away from San Diego and the captain came over the loudspeaker to update passengers on the day's events - the first of which was how many passengers had succumbed to the Norwalk virus so far that day. Only three, which apparently was a good thing. We would learn from other passengers who had boarded the ship 18 days earlier in Florida that the Norwalk virus epidemic erupted aboard the ship somewhere around the Panama canal and was now pretty much under control.

"They quarantined some passengers, but they kept sneaking out of their rooms," one lady confided at diner.

With that comforting knowledge I would have slept like a baby that first night, had it not been for the high "sea swells" as the captain referred to them, which caused the ship to vibrate violently approximately every 60 seconds.

"I sure felt sorry for any passengers who boarded in San Diego," a fellow passenger would later remark to me. "We never had any rough seas the whole time until that night."

Travel tip: Do not eat breakfast after a night of rough seas - especially if it is your first night, and your first rough seas. Because you won't really know you're seasick until after you eat something.

After my husband and I cheerfully gobbled up a room service breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, ham, toast with butter, assorted pastries, coffee and juice in our room, I headed up to the fitness center on deck 11. With the ship still pitching, I clung to a stationary bike overlooking the ocean and started pedaling while observing the multitude of white caps. After a minute or two I started to perspire and began to feel a little strange. I decided to switch to the rowing machine, also facing the angry sea.

Bad move. Barf bag please.

The fitness center attendant recommended soda crackers and green apples to counteract the seasickness. I staggered down to the Lido deck, ate a green apple and some crackers and began to feel slightly better. This lasted until I reached the pool area exit and noticed a pale, queasy-looking figure that vaguely resembled my husband standing in the doorway, holding on with both hands.

Our toilet's broke," he said, weakly.

Thus began Cruise Number Two, our five-day ocean voyage whose misfortunes apparently were surpassed only by those who sailed on the fateful the Poseidon.

Next week: we explore in depth what items can and cannot be flushed down a cruise ship toilet.

Come to think of it, the only problem the Poseidon cruisers had with their toilets was that they were upside down!