Porthole Magazine
August 1, 2002
Mom and Me on the Infinity

I've cruised with just about everyone I know, but there's nothing
quite like a cruise with my mother. One minute Phyllis Diller, the
next Joan Crawford. Ok ok, I'm exaggerating. But when our moods
do occasionally clash, it's nothing a case or two of Chardonnay
can't fix. And of course choosing the right ship in the first place
certainly gets things off on the right foot.

When I had a chance to sail on Celebrity Cruises' stunning 1,950-passenger
Infinity in Alaska last summer, I knew this one was ours, 'cause
Mom wouldn't love just any ship. She likes pretty surroundings,
intimate corners, and darkened lounges. "I like pleasure," she declared
on the flight to the ship. Well, thank god I invited her on Infinity
then. The Infinity is as gorgeous and elegant as a megaship can
be, full of burled woods, dark velveteens, golden brocades, ornate
topiaries, intriguing art, and plenty of ocean views. While cruising
the Inside Passage round-trip from Vancouver, with the thick green
forests of British Columbia and icy-blue mounds of southeast Alaska's
glaciers as our backdrop, we took advantage of all Infinity had
to offer. We spent time bobbing up and down like a couple of teenagers
in the spa's Thalassotherapy pool, a supersized hot tub of soothing
salt-water jets. Afterwards, we lazed on the wooden chaise lounges
surrounding the pool and stared up at the blue sky through the glass
ceiling. We went back to the spa later for massages, choosing from
more than 40 different treatments and a range of exotic steam rooms
and saunas.

We watched a slide show on Alaska wildlife by guest lecturer Lana
Palmer. And we sat in on the tail end of an art auction, as a particularly
theatrical guest waved her way to ownership of a Fred and Wilma
Flintstone cartoon cel ("How exactly is Fred considered art?" Mom
asked). We sipped cappuccinos sitting on the undulating damask banquets
in the Cova Cafe, and felt like a couple of tourists taking a break
in Venice's Saint Mark's Square. We ogled the formalwear, accessories,
souvenirs, and Michel Roux cookware in the ship's extensive row
of shops. We searched like kids in a candy store for our captain's
night pictures in the photo gallery, and nearly keeled over from
laughter when we spotted them. Do we really look like that?

Quality time being all well and good, we also went our own ways
occasionally to keep the peace. A ship as large and well rounded
as Infinity gave us space to pursue alone time as well as togetherness.
I spent an hour a day pounding away tension on one of 14 tread mills
in the large, ocean-view gym that was never crowded. I had the choice
of several different kinds of exercise bikes, step machines, aerobics
classes, and equipment to tone the upper bodyóit was just as impressive
as my gym back home. One morning I thought about shooting a few
hoops on the outdoor basketball court, but came to my senses and
decided to click away some time on the blue-suede desks of the high-tech
Internet center, where the flat-screen computers allowed me to check
my email with the swipe of my cabin keycard at just $0.95 a minute.
I spent another afternoon at a wine-tasting seminar, and then zoned
under some headphones in the cool ocean-view music library choosing
Shaggy and Frank Sinatra from a huge selection of CDs. Another day
I wandered up to the Conservatory and sat in peace on a wicker bench
under a dogwood tree, surrounded by plants and ornate silk flower
arrangements (which are, by the way, for sale). Meanwhile, mom reveled
in less active pursuits, lingering after breakfast in the windowed
buffet restaurant watching Alaska float by, or relaxing on our cabin
balcony communing with the glaciers and whales.

Measuring 191 square feet with a 41-square-foot balcony, the same
size and configuration as more than 200 of the ship's staterooms,
our lovely cabin, done in shades of terra-cotta and butterscotch,
had a sitting area, lots of storage space, and a stocked mini-bar
(an amenity few megaships offer in non-suite accommodations). Mom
loved her little private retreat, and spent hours on end reclining
on the couch like Zsa Zsa Gabor, minus the furs and fake eyelashes.

We continued our part-time togetherness in port, strolling the main
drag in tiny Skagway, shopping for trinkets as snow-topped mountains
loomed around us. For a little excitement we made a stop at the
Red Onion Saloon, a bordello during the Klondike Gold Rush days
of the 1890s. Later, mom returned to the ship and I did an excellent
bicycle excursion, pedaling with a small group and a helpful guide
through a gorgeous field of wild irises and into a forest of spruce
trees to examine the ruins of another gold mining town. In Juneau,
we took the Mount Roberts Tramway up some 2,000 feet above the city
for spectacular views of the snowy Chilkat Mountain range and the
arteries of the Inside Passage. Afterward we shuffled across a sawdust
floor and settled down with a pint in the rustic Red Dog Saloon.
In Ketchikan, we shared a most excellent halibut sandwich, the bright
white meat as tender as tofu, at a small cafÈ on the boardwalk of
shops lining Creek Street, where fisherman and call girls crossed
paths a century ago. Later, mom headed back to the ship while I
kayaked across the Tongass Narrows on a shore excursion.

The evenings were our favorite time together, though. A drink or
two always lightened the mood, so we'd start in the Rendezvous Lounge
each night before dinner, settling in to the oversized golden bucket
seats to whisper about other passengers and watch couples twirl
around the dance floor. The Champagne Bar one deck above was another
appealing option, with its champagne- and sea-colored clusters of
chairs and couches facing the sea through giant-sized portholes.


Next we'd head to dinner. The highlight was an evening in the sophisticated
SS United States restaurant, designed with original etched glass
panels from the 1950s liner of the same name. There, a team of the
most professional wait staff I've ever seen at sea trotted to and
from our table tossing salads and drizzling sauce on asparagus spears,
after which the maitre d' carved our Long Island duckling right
in front of us with the finesse of a concert pianist. Afterward,
another waiter wheeled over the most impressive cheese cart I've
ever seen on a ship. I met my nirvana in this intimate restaurant,
and we agreed the experience was well worth the $25 per person cover
charge.

Other nights we dined at a table for eight in the Trellis restaurant,
where a grand staircase and 2-story wall of glass facing the ship's
wake created a glamorously retro backdrop for dishes like broiled
King salmon in a delicate orange sauce and roasted pork loin stuffed
with sun-dried tomatoes. Tasty food, yes, but the dishes and the
service just couldn't begin to compete with our SS United States
experience. I was spoiled.

Following dinner we'd start with the Vegas-type show in the dramatic
3-level Celebrity Theater (where Mom perked up for the West Side
Story medley), before checking out the entertainment in the sprawling
and airy Constellation observation lounge-cum-nightclub, high up
on a topmost deck with sweeping views of the scenery outside, a
big plus, considering in Alaska the sun sets late. Theme nights
included a 50s sock hop party, and gentlemanly hosts (a contingent
of older men hired by Celebrity to circulate, dance, and chat with
single ladies) were always working the room. In fact, one headed
for our cocktail klatch one night (to mom, not me, so much for the
allure of youth), and like a schoolgirl she grinned, shrugged, and
followed him onto the large dance floor.

Mom beamed that night on Infinity, as she did the whole week. It
wasn't Alaska that intrigued her, though she thought it was beautiful.
Instead, it was the ship she loved. How can I ever top Infinity
when it's time for our next cruise?