I thought I would take a moment to describe the plethora of sounds that keep me awake during an average night here on the Voyager of the Seas.
There are various creaks and crunches of the walls and ceiling as the pressure of the water against the hull causes the ship to contort and twist slightly. This includes one particular little voice right near my pillow that at one time I thought was caused by the motion of my breathing because it had a rhythmic quality that seemed to follow the in and out of my lungs. There is a squeak and squeal of collin's plexi-glass shelf that rubs against the wall. There are many other less identifiable sounds of this nature that could be mice in the ceiling, although I certainly hope they aren't. There is the never ceasing sound of the air circulation system in the bathroom, which the door doesn't quite block out. As pleased as I am that it helps to curtail the unavoidable smell that inevitably saturates the bathroom, and that it keeps me from dying of smoke inhalation if there is a fire in the hall, I do wish that it would do its job a little more quietly or perhaps more intermittently.
Despite living in a fairly remote corner of deck 1, forward, port side, there is a constant stream of talking and busy noises coming from the hallway outside. Youth staff jabbering in spanish, workshop guys wheeling carts and speaking Tagalog, facilities people vacuuming, etc... Sometimes my neighbors, who happen to be members of the poolside reggae band practice in the room. Thankfully, whenever a show is happening in La Scala Theater I am generally there taking part in it, because the bass from the theater bleeds as easily in my room as blood through tissue paper. If I know the song, I can sing right along with whatever is being played upstairs.
However, all of these sounds are pancakes compared to the two real culprits of sleep theivery. One of them happens when the bow thrusters come on to keep the ship from drifting off while it is anchored off shore. This makes my room shakes like a magnitude 5 earthquake. Glasses clank together, small objects fall of shelves and my room is filled with a rumbling that would wake a drunken sailor(which is exactly what it does). Luckily this only happens when we are unable to dock and tie down the ship, which is once a week at Grand Cayman. Speaking of which, today was our last day there! Huzzah! The other incredible noise only happens during rough weather and that is the crashing of waves against the hull. As my room is situated in an outer corridor, there is relatively little that separates it from the ocean. When a wave hits the hull, it makes a sound like a car crash. Its loud enough not only to easily wake me, but it triggers my fear response, pumping me full of adrenaline and keeping me from going back to sleep for some time. The shock waves have a few times even knocked my phone of the receiver. The first time I heard it I thought we had hit a whale, until it kept repeating for so long that I didn't think there could be that many whales in our path. On a particularly rough day, or usually night because we are more often traveling during the night, there can be crashes every 30 seconds or so. I've often wanted to ask the waves why they can't peaceably slide along the edge of the ship like they do on so many other occasions, but unfortunately they don't speak English.
In other news, tomorrow is our very last visit to the Mexican island of Cozumel, which besides our home port of New Orleans is the only place at which I actually enjoy getting of the ship. The plan is, as always, to go to our favorite restaurant La Choza and enjoy the cheesy Choza sauce and chips in the breezy indoor/outdoor atmosphere of the authentic Mexican experience. La Choza is to my tummy as bow thrusters are to my room; its making it rumble.
