Admission: I went on a cruise. I did not kill myself.
by Candis Jean
In the event that I lose all backpacker street-cred on this one, I need to admit that Carnival and I had a horrific week out at sea. It was just so damn boring. Never once was I convinced I might die, or get robbed, or contract food poisoning. In fact, I felt like I was locked in a jail cell, eating chocolate covered strawberries with towels folded into the shape of zoo animals, scratching “days until freedom” into the wallpaper.
I will say that I didn’t pack enough books, and the library on Deck 4 was appalling. You can’t call something the Alexandria Library and not have it fully stocked with decent material.
I slept a lot. Worked on my tan. Wandered around Mexican ports for a couple hours when I could.
But if you’re going on a cruise for work one week, don’t expect to get anything done. Unless you find a cantina somewhere when you dock, you’re stuck with $4.00 a minute internet connection and a desire to throw yourself of the closest balcony.
