swemto

Wednesday morning As the ship gracefully gliding into Havensight harbor like a swan doing the cha-cha. I stumble onto the balcony, hoping for a view that makes waking up before noon seem worth it. Lo and behold, St. Thomas unveils itself like it's auditioning for "Nature's Next Top Model." Today's agenda? An excursion to Coral World and Coki Beach – the budget-friendly beach day, or so I thought. Hold up – the excursion costs $65. But fear not, because in the magical realm of cruise math, where logic takes a vacation, our Free at Sea credit of $50 and an extra $50 for being FAS+ superheroes somehow turns it into a financial masterpiece. it might not end up cheaper in the grand scheme. Welcome to cruise math, a realm far more intricate than regular math and seemingly more complex than rocket science. It's like trying to understand why cats do parkour at 3 AM – you just accept it. Fast forward to 12:15, we're in the theater, waiting for our group to be summoned like extras in a B-movie. Suddenly, we're told to abandon ship, descend to deck 4, and look for an English flag amid a sea of purple shirts. Swedes being the queue pros we are, we form a line, expecting wristbands like we're VIPs at a concert hosted by sea turtles. But wait – the rest of the world doesn't know how to queue. Germans might, and possibly the rest of Scandinavia. Armed with elbows sharper than IKEA furniture, My wife carve her way to the middle, trading tickets for wristbands. Mission accomplished. Now, enter the "taxi." Picture this: a Ford F-350 with the charm of a 5-star jalopy – benches welded onto the bed, no doors, no seat belts. It's like a Mad Max meets Caribbean cruise experience. As a Swede, this was shock therapy on wheels. I might not be a car expert, but even I can tell a transmission crying for retirement. Forget counting gears; I'm contemplating a eulogy for the poor gearbox. The brochure hypes up the journey to Coral World as a scenic 25-minute joyride. Who's the wordsmith behind this masterpiece? A failed real estate agent turned comedy genius? Amidst the laughter, we survive the trip, enduring a dozen engine stops, and voila, we arrive at Coral World. Coral World, a place that seems to have missed the memo on "ocean vibes." It's like a concrete jungle for fish, complete with parakeets that look like they need a beach vacation. Sorry, Coral World, it's time for a swift exit. Off to Coki Beach, a sandy paradise with more people than a mall on Black Friday. But hey, that won't stop us from soaking in the sea, sun, and questionable beachside aromas. After spending $25 on what can only be described as a beach relaxation kit (comprising an umbrella and two sunbeds of questionable quality), we set ourselves up for seaside enjoyment. We indulge in a refreshing dip in the clear water, soak up some sun, and just as I'm starting to fancy myself a beach aficionado, the sun decides to play hide-and-seek. It's at this moment that I start to detect the aroma of "herbs," and I'm not talking about basil or tarragon. I'm sure you understand – not exactly my favorite fragrance I open my eyes only to discover a looming figure, inquiring if we were in need of a doctor. A doctor? He presents a bucket of "medicine" . A swift reality check reminds us we're not patrons of his impromptu beachside pharmacy, and off he saunters, blending into the sands like a misunderstood "herb" sorcerer. Two hours on the beach fly by, and suddenly we're back at the ship. Straight to the cabin to rid ourselves of sand in places it should never be – a feat that requires strategic showering skills. I'm convinced there's more to share, but in a world where my attention spans rival that of a goldfish with a short-term memory disorder, let's call it a day and brace ourselves for Thursday's adventures. I don't even know if anyone reads my small texts.

The tales of customer service escapades. At lunch, we confidently ordered a bottle of Aqua Panna, only to have our dreams dashed faster than a toddler's tower of building blocks. Why, you ask? Well, we've got the premium plus package, a package that we proudly secured long before the cruise sailed into our lives. The restaurant staff, like water warriors, decided to let us have our precious aqua, but not without sounding the urgent alarm bells—check the account! Post-dinner, we embarked on a quest, not through uncharted seas, but through the never-ending line of customer service. This, my friend, is not the exotic adventure I signed up for. I swear, the time we spent waiting could have been used to master a new language or become a crochet prodigy. Finally, after what felt like a journey to the center of the earth, it was our turn. The person behind the counter, a hero among staff, claimed victory after approximately 10 minutes. Victory, my friends, was sweet – or so we thought. Armed with newfound confidence, we decided to test this solution at Starbucks. Lo and behold, the magic worked! Coffee, the elixir of life, was now within our grasp. Emboldened by our success, we set sail for the waterfront, only to be met with another storm of refusal when attempting to use our prepaid package. Seriously, is there a hidden treasure map we missed? Down we descended, like defeated pirates returning to the depths of the 6th floor and the lair of customer service. This time, there was no way we'd endure the agony of the never-ending line again. Sneakily, I slid in from the side, determined to unveil the mystery of our denied waterfront indulgence. It turns out, the agent at the service desk had delegated the task of permanent resolution to a colleague who, it seems, was more interested in ignoring voicemails than solving our maritime mysteries. Ah, the joys of cruising – where every misadventure unfolds like a comedy of errors on the high seas!

Tuesday translates to Taino Bay in the Dominican Republic. Hold up – you haven't even told the story about Monday! My extraordinary wife, the true superhero in our love story, adorned herself with a cape as we marked three decades of marital magic. I won't delve into the specifics, but let's just say Le Bistro played the faithful sidekick in this romantic monday. Picture this: My amazing wife, with her superheroic grace, effortlessly carried the weight of 30 years of marriage on her capable shoulders. Joining forces with Le Bistro, armed with culinary superpowers, they orchestrated a date night that could outshine any blockbuster movie. Sparks of love and laughter flew, and not just in the kitchen! In the enchanting realm of our love story, my wife emerged as the ultimate superhero, laying the foundation for more adventures in the unpredictable universe of wedded wonders. Here's to my superheroic wife, the heart and soul who kickstarted not only our week but also, most importantly, my heart! Now, back to Tuesday. We had this grand plan for the "Puerto Plata shopping and beach" extravaganza, but then we stumbled upon Taino Bay pics and videos. Cancel mission! Who needs shopping when you can just soak up the sun? So, armed with pool towels, we embarked on a quest through a labyrinth of small shops and winding paths. We hit the main pool, a colossal water arena with free sunbeds of every variety. But, surprise! If I had a hearing aid, I'd have yanked the batteries out. We're yelling at each other, suggesting a retreat to the family pool. Spoiler alert: same ear-piercing tunes that could wake a hibernating bear. It's like a musical battle royale, with each area throwing in their jams, creating a symphony of chaos. Three music pieces and styles clash in my ears, making my hair stand on end. As a has-been DJ, I shed a silent tear. We attempt to chill and swim, but the music, especially the volume, forces us to grab our towels and make a strategic exit. In the elevator, we find kindred spirits who agree: it was like a rock concert on steroids. Maybe age is catching up, or maybe it was just plain bonkers. Next up, St. Thomas – let's hope the island has a mute button for the background soundtrack!

Sunday afternoon: After lunch, we headed to the observation lounge to wait for our cabins to be ready. This place It's like a living room with a touch of magic and class. While waiting for the announcement that the cabins to be ready, we sipped tea and nibbled on fruit. By 2:30, impatience got the best of us. Taking a chance that turned out to be spot-on, we grabbed our backpacks and descended the stairs to deck 9. We booked a Sail Away Club Balcony, a mini-suite promising a fantastic massage shower. After the classic "getting lost in the hallway" routine, we finally located our cabin. Just before reaching it, we noticed our suitcases were already there. With key cards in hand, the door swung open to a somewhat narrow hallway. But then, the room revealed itself. The bed near the balcony, just the way we wanted it. Now, it was time to inspect the bathroom. Facing a petite letdown: no massage shower, just a tub. I'm 188 cm tall (or 6.2 feet for my non-metric pals). Predictably, standing tall meant a ceiling tête-à-tête. Not a lot of room for negotiation. Guess what? We rolled the dice with a Sail Away cabin. It's a bit of a gamble. But hey, who plans to be room-bound anyway? Now, the realization hits, as usual – what to do with all the clothes I packed from chilly Sweden? Anyone up for a flea market? Same story every cruise. After unpacking everything except our winter clothes, suddenly, it's dinner time at Taste. Navigating deck 6, we discovered a shortage of tables for two, forcing us into our favorite pastime – the art of shared tables. Call it dinner guest roulette, where the odds are uncertain Tonight, luck favored us, turning it into a jackpot. A mesmerizing dinner unfolded, weaving tales that spanned from nature's wonders to the thrilling escapades of cruise journey's At dinner, we confidently ordered a bottle of Aqua Panna, only to have our dreams dashed faster than a toddler's tower of building blocks. Why, you ask? Well, we've got the premium plus package, a title that we proudly secured long before the cruise sailed into our lives. The restaurant staff, like water warriors, decided to let us have our precious aqua, but not without sounding the urgent alarm bells—check the account! Post-dinner, we embarked on a quest, not through uncharted seas, but through the never-ending line of customer service. This, my friend, is not the exotic adventure I signed up for. I swear, the time we spent waiting could have been used to master a new language or become a crochet prodigy. Finally, after what felt like a journey to the center of the earth, it was our turn. The person behind the counter, a hero among staff, claimed victory after approximately 10 minutes. Victory, my friends, was sweet – or so we thought. Armed with newfound confidence, we decided to test this solution at Starbucks. Lo and behold, the magic worked! Coffee, the elixir of life, was now within our grasp. Emboldened by our success, we set sail for the waterfront, only to be met with another storm of refusal when attempting to use our prepaid package. Seriously, is there a hidden treasure map we missed? Down we descended, like defeated pirates returning to the depths of the 6th floor and the lair of customer service. This time, there was no way we'd endure the agony of the never-ending line again. Sneakily, I slid in from the side, determined to unveil the mystery of our denied waterfront drinks indulgence. It turns out, the agent at the service desk had delegated the task of permanent resolution to a colleague who, it seems, was more interested in ignoring voicemails than solving our maritime mysteries. Ah, the joys of cruising – where every misadventure unfolds like a comedy of errors on the high seas!

This refers to Sunday am. We've now ditched the rental car at Miami Airport. Despite it being just ten minutes past ten in the morning, we decide to head towards the port and NCL's new terminal building, the "Pearl of Miami." We don't want a repeat of the traffic chaos we experienced in April, which took nearly two hours to reach the ship from the airport. I can't handle more stress. We find a taxi and hop in. Or was it a low-flying plane? I have no idea how far it was between the airport and the port, but my gut feeling says it took shorter time than learning to spell "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious." The taxi driver does his best to find a drop-off spot, but buses and other cars keep cutting in. Eventually, he's had enough, abruptly shifts into park, rushes out, and unceremoniously tosses our bags onto the sidewalk. Simultaneously, a local authority figure gives our driver a verbal smackdown. Now it's close. After all the drama, no obstacles remain. We take the escalator up to security, and faster than a pig can blink, we're at the check-in counter, armed with our cruise cards and assigned to boarding group 8. We find some vacant seats. Suddenly, a clear voice announces the boarding for group 1 and so on. It probably takes no more than 10 to 15 minutes before we set foot on the Encore. Before we explore the ship and potentially get into some mischief, we locate our assembly station and check in. Next task: lunch! Why jostle with people in the buffet when we can be served? We decide on Taste, or was it Savor? Post-lunch, my memory decides to play hide-and-seek – probably because I turned the good drinks into my own personal memory erasers. It's like my brain went on vacation without me. Stay tuned for more. Later tonight, you'll get to read the story of why we stood in line at guest service three times.

So, waiting for something good apparently takes longer than convincing a cat to take a bath. After 465 days of anticipation, today's the day: we're about to embark on the NCL Encore. At the ungodly hour of 3:30 AM, I wake up with a headache, thinking it's just my brain protesting against such an early start. Coffee, my usual savior, turns out to be a traitor as the only capsules for the coffee machine are decaf. Decaf, the coffee equivalent of getting a high-five in the face with a Chair. But hey, who needs caffeine anyway? (Hint: Me. I do.) Fast forward to 7:00 AM – breakfast time. Guess who's leading the queue? You probably guessed right. Straight to the coffee machine like a caffeine-fueled Sherlock Holmes, solving the mystery of morning alertness. After I've downed that first cup, I can finally focus, transforming from a sleep-deprived zombie to a somewhat functional human., ready to conquer the buffet. Starving doesn't even begin to describe it; I'm so hungry, I could eat a dictionary – and that's saying something because dictionaries are notoriously bland. Back in the hotel room, we play a thrilling game of suitcase Tetris, fitting in winter jackets with the precision of a sushi chef. Then, my wife drops the bombshell: "I need an umbrella." Cue a GPS-guided quest to Walgreens, or so I thought. Plot twist – she wants Target! Because when life gives you choices, always choose the option that turns a simple errand into a shopping odyssey. After surviving the ULTA shop in shop at Target – a place where credit card weeps silently – we finally break free and head to the airport. Miami traffic greets us like a riddle wrapped in an enigma, driven by drivers who've either stolen their cars or they're smoking Jazz tobacco 24/7. Amidst this chaos, we navigate to Hertz, return the car, and now, the final hurdle: getting to the port. But that's a tale for another post – join us on this rollercoaster of embarkation, where the only predictable thing is the unpredictability.

After a lengthy flight, the wheels touch down at Miami International Airport, and suddenly, it's time to get a move on. Lufthansa's Boeing 747 joins the party at the far end of terminal J, like the VIP guest at the coolest building in town. Now, armed with passports, we find ourselves in a line for CBP that could give a giraffe a run for its money – the longest I've ever seen. Before we knew it, four mega planes landed just ahead of us. We estimated around 700 passengers, or as I like to call it, a small country. But hey, queuing for customs is practically a tradition. It didn't take more than 30 minutes, and the officer's glance at our passports was quicker than a microwave minute. Off we went, eagerly approaching the baggage claim. Would our bags show up on the belt? Or would we have to parade around the ship in our stylish travel attire? The suspense was killing us, but ever since Lufthansa started announcing their luggage-loading progress in their app, we felt as serene as a sloth on a hammock. Sure enough, like an early Christmas present, our bags gracefully slid onto the carousel. With a swift grab, we've got our luggage, and off we go to the car rental center. Renting a car for less than 24 hours, you ask? Well, two reasons: firstly, we always book the same hotel – the Best Western Plus, a 30-minute drive from the airport, unless traffic feels rebellious. The second reason? We're thrifty, or as Mom would say, economically responsible. Our costs are probably higher than those traveling domestically, what with transatlantic flights and all. With practiced steps, we head to the rental center, take the elevator to the Hertz Gold Members section, and snag our rental – a Polestar EV, thanks to fantastic discounts from my wife's job. Plug in the hotel's address into the car's GPS, and off we go to our first stop – because, let's face it, six hours of jet lag can turn anyone into a hungry, sleepy zombie. We steer towards the Miami Executive Airport area, where our hotel awaits. Ah, then it hits us – Taco Rico, the Mexican joint/fast food haven. We indulge in a fajita steak salad – absolutely divine and refreshing. Next stop: Walmart, for some last-minute shopping shenanigans. After a Walmart sprint to grab the essentials for our cruise, we head back to the hotel. Check-in goes smoother than a jazz melody, and before you know it, the room is filled with the soothing symphony of snoring by 9:00 pm. Because, after all, conquering a new city is tiring business.

"Are we there yet? Well, not quite hitting the destination jackpot just yet. We're navigating through the journey, and by the way, we've practically conquered half the distance – a milestone for us budget travelers in the cattle class. To keep things interesting in our airborne adventure, they've got us engaged in some grade-A entertainment. Picture this: 1. We're playing the thrilling game of 'Guess What's on the Menu Today.' It's like a culinary lottery, and everyone's a winner because, hey, it's food at 30,000 feet! 2. Attempting to savor a meal becomes an acrobatic challenge when the guy in the seat ahead decides to transform his chair into a makeshift rollercoaster. Eating while dodging abrupt tilts and turns – talk about a gastronomic obstacle course. 3. The crews table-clearing skills are in a league of their own. They dismantle that tray faster than you can say 'in-flight service.' It's a race against time, and let's just say, we're Olympic contenders in the 'Dining Decathlon.' Now, kidding aside, let's talk about the real star of the show – the in-flight cuisine. Today's culinary masterpiece featured ravioli adorned with spinach and ricotta. Taste buds, brace yourselves, because despite the mid-air antics, the flavors soared to new heights. Bon appétit, turbulence and all!"

Ah, the joys of air travel – a delightful dance of uncertainty and spontaneity. Our saga begins with the thrilling news that our flight was gracefully rescheduled via the magical land of Germany and the city of Frankfurt to the sunshine state of Florida Oh, the charm of airline punctuality – pushback scheduled for 06:45, and here we are at the edge of rebellion at 06:53. The plane, a beacon of timeliness, is currently being scolded, and soon, it will embark on a journey to Frankfurt on what appears to be the aviation equivalent of a clown car – completely full, of course. I can practically hear the collective sighs of those destined for Munich, forced to embark on the scenic train ride from Frankfurt to Munich, adding a touch of unexpected adventure to their travel plans. Bless my fortunate stars, as I impulsively lunged for the phone upon receiving the cancellation email. After a mere two-hour chat with the geniuses at United, they miraculously conjured up seats for us on LH809 departing from Arlanda, with a layover leading to the grand finale – LH462 bound for Miami. Pushing back from the gate at the remarkably precise time of 7:03 am, the captain, with an air of defiance, throttled the engines, and by 07:13, we were airborne. The captain optimistically estimates a flight time of 1:55 hours, a figure that should guarantee a nearly punctual landing. Almost too good to be true, isn't it? Fast forward to 08:45, and a voice, undoubtedly belonging to someone in authority, graces us through the speakers with the poetic announcement, "Cabin crew, prepare for landing." Thus, our descent into the wondrous embrace of Frankfurt Airport commences, culminating at airgate A17. A spirited jog through the labyrinthine marvel that is Frankfurt Airport brings us to our gate just in time for boarding. The race against time, a truly riveting part of every travel escapade. Now, with a leisurely 11 hours until touch down in Miami, I contemplate the gradual descent of my blood pressure and the potential transition from antacid tablets to the more refined company of rum and cola. Surely, they serve alcohol on the plane; it's practically a flying cocktail lounge, isn't it? Stay tuned for the next thrilling installment from us at 6:00 pm Miami time, where we may or may not be recounting tales of high-altitude mixology and navigating the intricacies of airline hospitality. Cheers to the unpredictable symphony of travel!

Oh, joy! Lufthansa just sent a love email– a cancellation notice. Now, I'm serenading hold music with United and Lufthansa, creating a symphony of stress. Who knew rebooking could be the comedic highlight of my day? *Cue nervous laughter.*

As the final suitcase clicked shut, and our Uber's imminent arrival was signaled by the cheerful ding of our phones, it hit us - vacation mode: activated. Miami, here we come! But not so fast; first, a pitstop at the glamorous Clarion Hotel at Stockholm Arlanda Airport. Because nothing says "let the adventures begin" like a cozy airport hotel, right? After what felt like the world's quickest half-hour journey, we found ourselves at the doorstep of Arlanda and SkyCity. Check-in was smoother than a freshly ironed shirt, and after a room inspection that rivaled the thoroughness of a detective searching for hidden treasure, we adhered to tradition. With a hunger that rivaled our excitement for the impending vacation, we made our way to Restaurant Pocket at Arlanda airport SkyCity. Here, we did what any self-respecting traveler would do - ordered the most Swedish meal on the menu. Cue the meatballs, mashed potatoes, cream sauce, and lingonberries - a dish so quintessentially Swedish, it practically sang ABBA songs. Now, you might be raising an eyebrow, thinking, "Aren't you tired of meatballs? Isn't that a bit too 'Ikea chic' for a pre-vacation feast?" Well, dear reader, let me regale you with the cautionary tale of the time we dared to deviate from the meatball routine. Picture this: a vacation without meatballs. Sounds daring, right? We thought so too. But oh, how the universe laughed in the face of our culinary rebellion. The result? A broken foot, courtesy of my wife, on the very first day of the vacation. Lesson learned: never underestimate the power of meatballs to keep you on your feet—literally. So, here we are, back at it again, embracing the meatball ritual with open arms (and mouths). Because when it comes to vacations, we've learned that some traditions are best left unchallenged. #WatchThisSpace

No coffee at 4am Ah, the joys of early morning flights. You set your alarm for what feels like the middle of the night, drag yourself out of bed, and stumble into the airport bleary-eyed and in desperate need of caffeine. But wait, what's this? All the restaurants are closed?! Stockholm Arlanda, you have some explaining to do. It's 4:30 am and you're staring blankly at the "Closed" sign on the coffee shop. You can feel the panic rising in your chest. How on earth are you supposed to make it through your flight without your trusty cup of Joe? You start to wonder if you can survive on the tiny, complimentary cups of airplane coffee, but deep down you know it's just not going to cut it. As you wander around the terminal in a daze, you can't help but wonder: do the people who run this airport not understand the basic human need for caffeine? Are they secretly trying to make us all suffer? Or do they just have a really weird sense of humor? You start to imagine what it would be like if the airport were run by a group of mischievous trolls who take delight in watching bleary-eyed travelers stumble around in a caffeine-deprived stupor. Maybe they think it's hilarious to see people accidentally board the wrong flight or fall asleep on the baggage carousel. But wait, what's that in the distance? Could it be? Yes! A glimmer of hope! You spot a vending machine selling tiny cups of lukewarm coffee. It's not exactly the Starbucks latte you were hoping for, but at this point, you'll take whatever you can get.

Disclaimer: Ahoy there, welcome to my cruise trip report Please be advised that the views and opinions expressed here are solely my own and are meant to be taken with a pinch of sea salt, a slice of lime, and perhaps a fruity drink with an umbrella in it. I cannot be held responsible for any unfortunate incidents that occur while following my suggestions, such as seasickness or overindulging in buffet food. Additionally, I enjoy adding humor to my writing and may exaggerate certain experiences for comedic effect. That "epic" sunset I described from the deck might not be as awe-inspiring as I made it out to be, and my description of the ship's spa as "heavenly" might just mean they had decent massages. Before I start sharing my thoughts with you, I want to clarify that English is not my first language. I hope you won't mind any occasional grammatical errors or misspellings that might slip through my writing. Despite my best efforts to ensure the quality of my writing, some mistakes are bound to happen. But let's face it, who needs perfect grammar when you can deliver some great jokes and humor? So, if you're ready to be entertained, let's dive into some interesting discussions and have some fun together! Woohoo! It's finally our turn to set sail on the Oasis of the Seas, our favorite ship! Today's the day and I'm practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. We're heading to Arlanda airport in Stockholm, Sweden at the crack of dawn (6:00am to be exact) for our flight to Munich, then Frankfurt, and finally Miami! But wait, let's rewind a bit. We've got to get to the Arlanda airport in Stockholm, Sweden first. Our flight is at a crazy early time of 6:00 am tomorrow to Munich, with a tight 50-minute transfer window before we hop onto the plane to Frankfurt. And then, off to Miami we go at 10:50 in the morning! Who knew booking the cheapest tickets would be such a wild adventure? But don't worry, we've got it all planned out. We've hailed an Uber to take us to the airport, and we're staying at the Radisson BLU Arlanda Terminal, which is just a short walk away from Sky City. For those of you who don't know, Sky City is this awesome building that connects Terminal 4 and International Terminal 5. And it's not just a boring old building, oh no! It's got hotels, restaurants, shops, and even currency exchange. Plus, you can gaze out of its windows and check out the planes parked between Terminals 4 and 5. It's like a mini airport city! Now, let me tell you about our hotel room. It's like we've stepped into a time machine back to 1993. The rooms definitely reflect the era, but at least they're still comfortable for sleeping. The bathroom, on the other hand, is a whole different story. We're talking 90s fashion in full force. But before we hit the hay early to catch our early flight, we've got to grab a bite to eat and some coffee. And we know exactly what we want - meatballs! We've got a tradition to uphold, after all. And these aren't just any meatballs, my friend. These are well-sized meatballs made from minced veal, served with a smooth potato puree and raw-stirred lingonberries that will knock your socks off. And the creamy sauce? Oh, don't even get me started. We each paired it with a Mariestads beer and coffee to round out our dinner.