Dearest Rachel -
As comfortable as I am in my stateroom – and as much as I know I'm going to be familiar with every inch of this ship soon enough – I have this sense that I can't simply stay in my room all the time. If nothing else, my attendant, I Komang, is knocking on my door, apologizing for the intrusion, but stating that he needs to come in and straighten up the place. He assures me that he can come back again later, but as there's no point in keeping him from his task, I collect a few things and head out for the moment, at least. None of my tasks are as insistent as his, after all, especially when he has so many other rooms to deal with, too. I've always tried to give the housekeeping staff the weekend off when I'm at a convention, for instance, but I think that would go against their principles here.
So after ascending and descending all the staircases by each of the main elevator banks – since the gym doesn't have a stair climbing machine, I've decided to eschew elevators for the stairs as much as possible (although I promise I'll film a trip in one of the centrum lifts for you at some point) in order to keep myself in shape – in order to collect shots of each deck's layout…
There's no such map on the second deck (the lowest one we passengers can access), but here's a look up the elevator shaft through the centrum.
…I'm settling in for the moment to collect my thoughts and write to you.
Here's the view from my seat in the corner of the Castle Lounge, where the Diamond Class members hang out. At this point, most of the "Niners" – the seven hundred folks who are here for the entirety of the world cruise (all nine months, you see) – are eligible to hang out here. Fortunately, they don't all do so at once, or it would get terribly crowded up here...
It seems ridiculous to say that I don't have much in the way of thoughts to tell you at the moment, but now that I'm sitting down and trying to write, nothing's coming to me. As I said at the beginning of this letter, I'm going to be intimately familiar with every inch of this ship before I have to leave it behind – and I'll do my level best to show you as many of those inches as I can in the process – but just as we can't take in the entirety of three months in a single moment, so too, do I not want to show you everything all at once, leaving nothing for me to show off to you as the days and weeks wear on.
So, what is particularly distinctive about what's going on today? As I sit here in the lounge, looking over the pool deck and the Pacific Ocean beyond, nothing comes to mind in the moment. It's embarrassing.
Maybe it's just the feeling that I need to get back to my stateroom; not only do I not feel particularly comfortable doing online stuff in public, unlike so many others – would you believe I ran into a couple of ladies were browsing through Amazon in the centrum? They actually laughed when I asked if Amazon could deliver to the ship, as if they realized the absurdity of what they were doing – I've got this whole two-screen setup that I'm loathe to take down and haul around with me. If I'm going to sit around and do nothing, why should it bother me that I'm doing so in the room I paid for, anyway?
But there's always that nagging sensation in the back of my mind that says that I ought to be out and about, rather than cooped up in my room. Maybe I am still dealing with Basel Syndrome as I originally defined it.
Then, again, in Basel, I couldn't sit out on a balcony and enjoy a gorgeous view like this. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity.
Still, it isn't as if I haven't gotten out of my stateroom and into the wider world of the ship, even without I Komang's prompting. Witness my attempt to put in a workout while filming myself just this morning:
Just for that, I dare say I deserve the opportunity to be a little indolent for the remainder of the day. And if I'm in my stateroom while I'm doing so, what of it? Besides, I actually do have a few responsibilities to take care of, along with keeping in touch with you, so I need to get on with those as well.
So I'm going to let you go so I can take care of them. Until later, keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck; I'm going to need it.
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