Grumpy Old Men

The green pine trees, craggy rocks and red wooden houses of Sweden are quietly gliding by outside our balcony. Chris is on his way up to the 16th deck to work out. I am sitting at our cabin's desk, waiting out the last thirty minutes of my 24-hour quarantine. They take their stomach bugs seriously on Emerald Princess. Good thing I had Chris to fuss and coo, "poor little sweetie" and pick out movies and make sure I rehydrated, otherwise I just felt like a criminal. At 8am, when the doctor's clinic opened, we paid the 55 dollars for a visit, because that was the only way to get any over-the-counter drugs. The gift shop remains closed when in port. Our cabin was cleaned, our linens changed by specially trained crew and I had 24-hours of free room service. Not any old room service, mind, but the Emerald Princess bland diet room service, which is really all that appealed any way. The incoming tray was handed directly to Chris -- the room service attendant is not allowed to enter the room -- the used trays were not placed outside in the hallway but handed off over the threshold when we called. Instead of going ashore in Helsinki, we both caught up on the sleep we'd missed the night before, watched three movies, ate five jello pots, and finished our books. We're really getting the full cruise ship experience.

For the two days before the "onset of the illness" we raced around St. Petersburg. In order to get ashore in St. Petersburg, without individual visas, we had to sign up for excursions. Before the first excursion of the first day we were all assembled in the Princess Theater in rows according to our tour and our bus number. Sadly, even the streamlined efficiency of Princess cruises could not overwhelm the slow moving bureaucracy that is Russian immigration. Our bus finally pulled out of the newly built and wind-swept "largest passenger terminal in the Baltic" one hour behind schedule. This was not our guide's fault, nor was the subsequent rush hour traffic, but so many of our fellow passengers complained and grumbled. The poor guide, Inna, was stuck in a bad place. Half the passengers wanted to rush and get back to the ship in time for their afternoon excursions, and the other half wanted to get their money's worth and take their time. The palace rooms at Peterhof were opulent and ornate, gilded and exquisitely crafted, but the golden fountains, glistening in the sun, and the rainbow-catching spray were the best part. There are no pumps, just the force of gravity, pushing the water through the pipes and out into the sunshine. In the afternoon, we motored up and down the Neva on a tour boat seeing the city as it's meant to be seen, from the water. We couldn't enter the canals because the high waters would have made the bridges into decapitators. We ended our chaotic, non-stop day with an evening at the ballet, Swan Lake. I am glad we did the excursions, because we really are trying to get the full experience of cruising life and we definitely saw a lot -- of St. Petersburg, and of our fellow passengers -- but I wish we could have explored on our own. There is so much more to see in a city than just the sites. On the second day we did get two hours of free time. Chris and I spent most of it at "Dom Knigi", the House of Books.