Dogster: The Azamara Army

[dogster]

I’ve hesitated about putting this in here – but I reckon Cruise Critic is open-minded enough to allow a variation on the trip-report. I think it’s time to break out of the box. Let's hope Host Andy will cut me some slack.

This is Mr. Dogster’s experience of thirty one days at sea on Azamara Quest in November/December last year; three B2B cruises; Istanbul/Athens – Athens/Dubai – Dubai/Singapore. It’s written with love – although it may not seem like it some of the time. I imagine it’ll get deleted within milli-seconds anyway… think of this as a test.

Here's chapter one:

 

*

 

 

‘Dogsterrrrr!’

 

She leapt to her feet, leant over the guest-relations counter and grabbed at me.

 

‘Give me a hug!’

 

Rather startled, I obliged. I didn’t recall such intimacy between us when we’d met before. I was rather glad there was a counter in-between.

 

‘I saw your name on the passenger list,’ she gushed, ‘oh, oh, I said, here’s trouble!’

 

As her cheek brushed mine, she laughed and whispered.

 

‘I didn’t really say that.’

 

Yes, you did.

 

A young blond man stood behind me, holding a welcoming glass of champagne. Unfortunately, I had to decline. My hands were full of Guest Relations Manager.

 

‘Come to dinner tonight! Aquilina.’

 

She was a largish woman, smart as a tack, with eyes as cold as ice. Somewhere between twenty-five and forty, I think - I never really looked that close; I was always a bit nervous in case she bit me. She could be warm as toast and cold as ice, all in the space of a sentence. As Dorothy Parker once said, she ran the gamut of emotions from A to B.

 

It wasn’t entirely her fault. If I had to relate to a ship full of cruisers for a living my emotional range would veer from rage to murder. She was very good at her job – except for those eyes, those killer Aza-eyes. They gave her heart away.

 

*

 

My nemesis was a robust New Zealander with a penchant for ping-pong. I mean that in the literal sense, not the Thai. Once each cruise she would host the Aza-Pong tournament, clad only in a headband and shorts. She played a fierce game of defensive Table Tennis, always alert to the slightest threat – which was rather the way she guest related.

 

Madame Pong was an Aza-professional, devoted to the team. If they wanted a hired assassin, she’d be perfect for the job. Had the company asked her, she would just as readily have hit me on the head, thrown me in a pot and eaten me – instead, she was going to kill me with kindness.

 

‘Dogsterrrr!’

 

She would drown the pooch in Aza-love, blitz him with invitations, stun him stupid with special treats, indulge his personal foibles - the poor mutt couldn’t possibly complain. Then, at tomorrow’s Heads of Department meeting there’ll be a little announcement:

 

Beware of the Dog.

 

That should fence him in.

 

I had the feeling she’d read my last story about her employer.

 

‘Death by Azamara’.

 

*

 

Now, I was stepping aboard a new Azamara.

 

Since my last abortive voyage some changes have been made. The company has re-branded, re-aligned and repositioned itself; now they are ‘Azamara Club Cruises’ and in the process of styling themselves as ’boutique’ – whatever that means. In the interests of fairness it was time to try again. Admittedly, only another staggeringly cheap last minute deal brought about this fit of fairness.

 

No matter what happened, Dog would not jump ship this time. He would neither fight nor flee; he was going to enter into the spirit; he was going to see the light. No more cynical distance, no more elegant spite, he would join in and be one with the people, suck up the Aza-Mojo and have a wonderful, wonderful time.

 

The mongrel was on a mission of surrender; I would abandon myself to cruising. The Azamara Army must prevail.

 

*

[dogster]

I love Cruise Critic.

 

If you ever want chapter and verse on the sheer small-mindedness of human existence, log in. Want a discussion about the thickness of the crepes suzettes? Log in. Need to know about the latest stunning developments in Afternoon Tea? You know where to go. You can discuss laundry for hours – just don’t criticize.

 

The Cruise Critic Meet & Greet is held on the first day of each cruise. It’s an important bonding exercise. A parade of brass is led out to schmooze the customers, greasily assuring them that they are the most important sub-species on board.

 

Really. Honestly.

 

Azamara care, they really, really do – and the more you pay, the more they care. In return Cruise Critics careabout their company – they take ersatz Aza-ownership. The Azamara Army is growing by the minute.

 

People just want to belong.

 

There they are – our Masters and Commanders; all lined up in a dark blue row. There are introductions; from Executive Chef to Chief Engineer, Housekeeping Supervisor to Food and Beverage Manager to Environmental Officer, Human Relations Officer, from Staff Captain to Club Voyage Hostess - a parade of brass from each department, all paying homage to the most important Critical Cruisers in the world. If there was an Aza-medal for Niceness, they’d be wearing it.

 

‘We read all your posts,’ the Hotel Director will ooze.

 

‘We learn from everything you say,’ the Cruise Director will coo.

 

‘Anything you want, just come to us!’ Guest Relations will positively drool, ‘without you we are nothing…’

 

‘Just tell us – we can’t read minds…’

 

'We consider every suggestion...'

 

‘We ne-e-e-d you,’ choruses everybody in a uniform.

 

The staff is dressed in dark blue quasi-Navy uniforms with gold epaulettes and identifying golden stripes. It’s a look from another time, barely changed since the Twenties. Where are their swords? They are virtually the only thing missing. The heavy gold stripes on their cuffs and shoulders draw witness to their service in battle. They are all scarred veterans of the Cruising Wars.

 

Trust me, all that blue is saying; trust me, says the gold on their arm; trust me, I am powerful; trust me with your life. For all that their uniform says, they might as well dress up as firemen.

 

How about the Azamara Arm-ani? Prada-mara?

 

Dolce and Gabbazamara?

 

Who was it that decided that Azamara should adopt military uniforms? Militaries exist to counter perceived threats. What do they do when they find a threat?

 

Neutralize it.

 

Just like these fancy-dress Generals were doing to the Cruise Critics.

 

*

 

Was there a roll of drums? A puff of smoke? With a subtle flurry of deference the uniforms parted and there, spot-lit, was the Captain. Poking round his legs I saw the smiling face of a child.

 

Captain made a witty, self-deprecating speech. He looked perfectly capable but amazingly young. He must have been young. He was still reproducing, positively glowing with life.

 

‘We’ll do everything in our power to make sure…‘

 

His son absently scratched and wiggled.

 

‘You are the Most Important People… ‘

 

The kid stared out at the crowd.

 

‘We listen, we really listen to everything you say…‘

 

Cruise Critics respond with a gush and sigh. This is what life should really be like. Even the Captain has come to see them. Azamara listens.

 

A tiny hand tugged at Daddy’s sleeve.

 

Captain looked down at his son. He laughed and nodded and, with not very much shyness at all, four year-old Isaac took centre stage. The little boy hesitated, twitched a bit and took a deep, shuddering, excited breath.

 

Dad prompted with a whisper.

 

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,’ Isaac said very seriously.

 

Everybody clapped and laughed.

 

Then he bowed and fled back to his Daddy’s legs, beaming. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

 

It’s a new Azamara.

 

*

[Bpos]

Dogster - what have you been drinking or smoking???

[dogster]

More? Up to you. The Azamara Armyis long. Let's see how things pan out.

[dogster]

lol lol lol - well, read on Bpos and you'll find out. Things get much stranger...

[mugwood]

Dogster, I'm intrigued! looking forward to something different here.

[dogster]

*

 

 

‘Can you help me?’ she said in a girlish, sing-song voice.

 

Francine was squashed somewhere in her seventies, a great Florida dame with hair like the Lion King, dripping with bling. At some point in the recent past she’d obviously been mummified. Rather like the bling, it was impossible to tell which bits of her were real or imitation. She chattered away to anyone, a happy motor-mouth; prattling to strangers with not a care in the world - there was just one little problem.

 

‘I need you to get me over the line…’

 

She held out one arm.

 

‘Of course, my darling,’ Dogster chirped, not knowing what on earth she was talking about.

 

‘What line?’

 

‘That line,’ she said sadly.

 

She was pointing to a crack on the dock. The crack in the concrete was about an inch wide, the kind of connection you find on docks and wharves. It wasn’t a chasm; it was a one inch gap.

 

‘Ever since I had my accident, I can’t cross gaps. I freeze. I need someone to take my arm before I can move.’

 

So here she was, frozen on the dock, looking down at The Gap, unable to cross.

 

All she needed was a helping hand.

 

*

 

Ruth was bent nearly double over a walking frame, moving very slowly. Dog let the others go ahead and stayed back to escort her to the table.

 

'I see you have some mobility issues,' I said gently.

 

She stopped dead and looked up at me with incredulity.

 

'No. What makes you think that?’

 

*

 

Leela stayed in her cabin for the first three days, consumed with terror, nibbling at the basket of fruit. Her hands trembled; her lips trembled, all of her trembled – she was quite the most tremulous woman I’d ever met. She worried about hygiene, she worried about health, she worried about worrying about worry itself. She existed alone, somewhere in Chicago, trapped in her terrors, her anxieties locked in a bitter embrace.

 

In an act of quiet strength Leela fought back. She made up her mind to break out of the cage she’d created. She would travel and see the world. In between panic attacks she actually booked, actually paid and actually arrived in Istanbul – all on her very own. For Ms Leela, this was huge. That she’d made it here without expiring from multiple anxiety was a testament to her bravery.

 

Now here she is; Mother Courage, sitting next to all of us at the Tragic Singles Lunch.

 

*

 

Silent Mike was in his sixties, a soft-spoken, gentle man you might think timid. He wasn’t – just shy.

 

‘How long since your wife died, pal?’

 

‘Three years, two months, thirteen days and six hours,’ he said without a blink.

 

*

 

They were mostly women with a convenient smattering of timid widowers, as broad a mix of personalities as you could find. Some were full of terror. Some were full of rage. Some were bereaved, some never married – some never had a choice. Some were shy, some talked too much, some couldn’t stop once started.

 

For some it was clear they were single because nobody in their right mind would take them on. Bruised, defensive, determinedly dull, they clung to manners the way a drowning man clings to driftwood. Everything had its place. They liked to tut tut tut and tsk tsk tsk. It gave some form to their anguish.

 

Some were simply traveling alone. No reason, no tragedy, no drama. They just liked it. There is always an intrepid octogenarian tramping around the decks in khaki shorts. Most were just making the best of things.

 

‘Stuff happens,’ one said when quizzed on her martyrdom, ‘some people slip through the cracks.’

 

Either way, by choice or accident, act of God or fate, we’d all ended up around the same large table – twenty tragic singles on the Azamara Quest.

 

 

*

[dogster]

She spotted me.

 

‘Woo hoo! Can I join you!’

 

We were already intimates from the tragic lunch.

 

‘We have to support each other,’ we all agreed.

 

Well, now I was being supported.

 

‘It’s my birthday,’ she gasped as she sat down.

 

Miss Bentley’s twinkling eyes hit mine. She giggled.

 

‘I’m sixty-nine.’

 

She was a great gal. Obviously, not everybody on the boat thought so. She’d just been rudely frozen out at another table.

 

Oh, but then, Miss Bentley was black.

 

On Azamara, the only black women you see are in a uniform with a tray in their hand. Of course, that’s by no means company policy – nor a particular whim of the guests: but obviously cruisers of color go elsewhere. Quite where, I don’t know. Not on Azamara relocation cruises, that’s for sure.

 

‘If they don’t want a black gal at their table, I thought, well, sweetheart, eff... you,’ she laughed, ‘excuse my language, darlin’…’

 

I assured her I’d heard that word before.

 

She snorted and smiled.

 

‘What are we drinking, honey?’

 

 

*

 

I heard a squawk from a distant table. Someone had fallen off their chair. A flurry of waiters erupted and descended on the culprit. A little old lady lay hidden between tables, the only visible sign a pair of surgical stockings waving feebly in the air.

 

Miss Bentley rolled her eyes and chuckled.

 

‘Honey, in the old days, that would’ve been me...’

 

In the early eighties Miss Bentley was a real-live disco diva. She had hit records - even caught the Soul Train to fame and glory.The divine Miss B had been there, honey, and done that. I was tremendously impressed.

 

‘I’m retired now, darlin’ – this old gal can’t go on singing Disco forever...’

 

We spent dinner excitedly swapping London stories, names, dates and places. She gave great gossip - unfortunately I ended up too drunk to remember a thing. Miss Bentley’s anniversary was celebrated in style - that much I remember. I was lucky to be invited.

 

The birthday girl was Aza-brated, Aza-dored and Aza-loved to death. Somewhere after the main course, a choir of waiters formed behind her, a cake with sparklers was wheeled in and delivered spitting sparks and flames, to a beaming Miss Bentley feigning surprise. All around her the waiters erupted into a spirited multi-national version of ‘Happy Berr-day to You-u-u-u…’ and everybody cheered. Hip Hip Hooray! There was cutting-cake, fussing and smiling and some cross-cultural hugging. I even think there were tears. Oh, that was me.

 

She stood up uncertainly and waved vacantly to the room.

 

‘Well, g ‘nite honey, it’s been great…’ she said thickly, ‘thank you for your company,’ then she gave me a squeeze and wobbled a bit.

 

‘But, if you’ll ezcu-u-use my French, this old gal has gotta pee.’

 

*

 

I saw her later, laughing gaily, surrounded by the girls. Miss Bentley was glowing, lit up from within, accepting birthday praise as to the manor born. For a moment the Disco Diva was back.

 

Those ‘tragic’ solo women had formed a feral pack. The speed of their bonding was startling; they seemed to melt into each other on arrival - now they traveled as an Amazon Army, complete with a gaggle of gossiping troops. They all had a very good time indeed, growing old disgracefully together – nothing remotely tragic about it.

 

Silent Mike was in the middle of them all, a broad shy smile on his face, talking animatedly to his instant harem. Ruth lay drunk on the couch; Francine twirled wildly on the dance floor. No gaps on Azamara. There was anxious Leela, too. She was having a great time, adrift in the company of similar souls. I think she’d even stopped trembling.

 

I stood in the shadows, too drunk to take part. A little miracle. All the girls were dancing like banshees in the moonlight. It was a crazy, wonderful sight.

 

*

[dogster]

Well, I think that’s more than enough for Cruise Critic.

 

The next chapters get a bit more grown-up and probably inappropriate for here. Just as well; Azamara might have a fatwa out on me by now. Actually, it’s much more of a love story than you think.

 

To read the complete piece – in which Mr. Dogster casts his kindly eye over the Connoisseur Dinner, certain members of staff, the entertainment crew, fifty-two more passengers [count them], Egypt, Somali pirates and Elvira, Azamara’s own Mistress of the Dark – a canny Cruise Critic would simply click The Azamara Army , grab a glass of wine and come cruisin’ with the dawg.

[Bpos]

Thank god I got on the Quest in Singapore on 21 December after you got off - I could have been bitten by a dogster and picked up some exotic disease.

[Emdee]

Thanks so much Dogster!

Enjoyed reading it as well as your addendum.

 

I can see you have been totally Azamized. What is your next Azamara cruise?

 

Posting was closed earlier and under lock and key but now open again.

 

Hope your friend of the Russian ballet reads it too!

 

Miriam

[mugwood]

Very entertaining stuff, will definately follow up at azamara army. Funnily enough a lot of those characters rang a bell with me, just hope no one recognises me as one of the characters. superb

[Susan-M]

"Dogsterrrrr! "

 

What a fun read ...so glad that you 'broke out of the box'! I was hooked as soon as I started reading the first chapter (thanks for posting the link to the full story). :)

[Emdee]

Susan,

Since like me you have become a fan all of the Dogs stuff you can read the rest of it at

http://thedogster.wordpress.com

 

Miriam

[Susan-M]

Thank you Miriam!

[Emdee]

Susan,

the dogster is a legend in his own mind and in the mind of all the Fodors Asia forum readers and writers and you can guess why! He is like the Scarlet Pimpernel we are always seeking him hither and thither!

Miriam

[SFL]

Great wit, cynicism and dead spot on truth about the very tiny c in the word critic. Just want to know who is the Col Klink and Sgt. Schultz of the Azamara Army??

[Scruffy666]

What a load of ,pretentious rubbish

[mikesms]

gotta love what salt-air can do to a person!! I have to 'sort-of' agree with the "dog", though ---- an Azamara trip can change your perspective of a vacation --- that's for sure!

[dogster]

Well, well, well – what a lot of people have come to read my little war story – not only in here, but in the website, too. You’ve just smashed all my website box-office records. lol. I see by the stats that almost everybody is being greedy and gulping up the story in one big hit. Best way to go if you have the time. I’m very flattered. Thank you.

 

One day there will be Part Two – it’s a quarter written but I might need some more research. … I was eyeing the relocation cruise Sin – Athens, looking for a last minute deal but I’m hesitating. I’m just not sure how welcome I might be on board. Maybe Rudi will be there…

 

So I’m relieved I’ve come through the Cruise Critic Valley of Tears relatively unscathed. Thanks for your kind comments. Thanks also for that good idea SfL. I realize that my Australian upbringing brings with it a different set of cultural references. Emdee is being very kind, mentioning my website. I’m not sure that this board will be interested in my bizarre adventures in India and Asia but a smart surfer could click on ‘Cruising’ on the home page for some fun. Yup, Mikesms, cruising with Azamara is rather more than the sum of its parts – but you have to have eyes to see.

 

Scruffy – I know, I know. Mr. Dogster is a complete pain in the bum.

[Emdee]

Dogster,

I am sure that there is room for all 'religions' on Azamara. The only danger is they may try to reform you with extra Azamizing and security will give you a double frisk

Miriam

[tango9]

Mr. Dogster, I started to read your website story with interest, as I was also on the Azamara Quest last fall. I recognized several people,staff and guests, with whom I spent good times with on my cruise and was saddened to see how you described them in such a rude and offensive way. These people did not harm you . You were insensitive to human frailties and chose to exaggerate the negative and publicly humiliate them, by name, on your blog. I can see how you might wonder if Azamara may not welcome you back. I stand in defense of the character of these specific people! Maybe there was a reason you were one of the Tragic Singles , as one attracts more with honey than vinegar. Your cynical wit crossed the line

[leonjo]

I completely agree with your excellent post merkelcg. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions and often these opinions will vary from person to person that is only natural and to be expected,however I don"t know if Dogster is playing devil"s advocate,or taking artistic license,a bit of tongue in cheek or whatever but I met most of the staff mentioned last year on Quest and only found them to be helpful, pleasant, and very friendly without exception, not over the top or ingratiating or nasty, in fact I sometimes wondered how they did manage to keep smiling(as it"s not always easy when dealing with the public) So I suppose you could say I"ve been willingly Azamarasised,the only solution I can see for Dogster is maybe to try another cruise line but somehow I don"t think that will happen" P.S.there are worse accents than Scottish

[Emdee]

Dogster has his own brand of wit - yes its not run of the mill - yes its not what everyone enjoys but he is entitled to his literary licence. I recognize both the real and imaginary characters on board the Quest and most other cruise ships I have been on. Lighten up! Dogster made fun of me specifically and people like me and it didnt bother me. Knowing yourself is the first step. Allow every dog to have his day....

[SkystheLimit]

Think that Dogster is promoting his own agenda! WE do not agree with his/her assesment of the Quest. Had at great time on our cruise in September, loved the staff, and had alot of fun with Rudi.