Join us to and on the NCL Encore Dec 3rd 2023

[swemto]

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!

[swemto]

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!

[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.