Porthole Magazine
March 1, 2001
Free to Be You, Free to Me

He doesn't like people, my brother. Well, he says he does, the ones
that aren't jerks at least. Which he seems to believe make up a
very small percentage of the population. As a burly driver of a
massive 18-wheeler, the road is his best friend. All the bad drivers
of the world have soured his view of humanity, and he's content
living his days as a loner on the highway of life, dodging speed
traps, potholes, and reckless drivers in snobby red convertibles.


Now, I like people. They energize me, they fascinate me, they make
me laugh. If you ask me, most people are basically good; I figure
even the prickly ones have at least one good bone in their bodies
or at least a good story to explain why they don't. As a fast-talking,
Type-A writer who calls Manhattan home, I chat people up for a living.


There's no denying, brother Eric and me are like night and day.
So, when mom very selflessly suggested I take him on an upcoming
cruise instead of her --- because "honey, he really needs a nice
vacation" --- I felt like I'd been hit over the head with a saucepan.
What would we say to each for a week? Could I survive his snoring?
His chain smoking? Sharing a bathroom? His anti-social inclinations?
Will he drink too much and gush about Rush Limbaugh in public? Will
he scare people away from the bar with his Arnold Schwartznegger
imitation? Will he clobber me over the head with a paddle when we
go on that kayaking excursion? Can we make it through dinner with
a group of strangers? Will he have anything to wear?

Will people think we're married?!!

Not knowing the answers to any of these questions, I decided to
forge ahead anyway. What the heck. I couldn't say no. Poor trucker
needed to get away, just like the next guy. And, hey, when's the
last time we spent any good, quality time together? A nice, cushy
cruise could be the perfect antidote to our hard-working lives.
Well, ok, no vacation with my brother would be anywhere near perfect,
but a cruise seemed as good a choice as any. I mean, we have some
things in common --- sleeping, eating, breathing, memories of mom's
bodysuit coming unsnapped in front of the corner grocery store in
'74 Ö..oh dear, is that it?!

Let the Preparations Begin

The planning started weeks before the cruise. I'd really make an
effort to get things off on the right foot, I thought. As the helpful
sister, my first call of business was getting his wardrobe in shape
so he would feel comfortable on formal nights. He wasn't nuts about
having to dress up, but he was willing to go along with it. I began
frantically scrambling to get him a suit (he doesn't, needless to
say, own one of his own) and making mom recite all the nice shirts
she's given him for Christmas through the years, in hopes of pulling
together an acceptable wardrobe to replace the flannel shirts and
steel-toed boots that are his normal garb. I began sending him frenzied
emails and calling him with tips for making small talk at dinner.
I was Dr. Frankenstein, he was my monster.

Then, I got the call. The call that saved him, and me, from a week
full of awkward encounters, bad suits and crooked ties.

Our Alaska cruise on the Norwegian Sky would be "freestyle." Huh?
Soon, I understood. It would be casual (yes!) and all the ship's
restaurants would be open seating (yes!). The suit shopping stopped
immediately, and so did the conversation lessons. Phewwww.

Freestyle Saved the Day

At the start of the Norwegian Sky's Alaska season in early June,
Norwegian Cruise Line rolled out its "freestyle cruising" concept,
a come-as-you-are, eat-when-you-want boon for people who hate getting
dressed up and being told when and where they can dine. NCL's new
loose-goosey scheme was the answer to our anticipated sibling strife,
to the clash of our different worlds, to a week of nagging. We could
both have our cake and eat it too--when, where and how we wanted.
In all five of the Sky dining venues, dinner was served any time
we choose between at least 5:30pm and midnight and we could wear
jeans and a T-shirt if we wanted to. Plus, the Ciao Chow pizzeria-cum-Asian
alternative restaurant operates 24 hours days, the Garden Cafe buffet
restaurant serves until 1am, and 24-hour room service includes pizza
delivery. He loved the pizza option, and three happy evenings resulted
because of it. I'd go to dinner with a few other writers on board,
and he'd hole up in the cabin with a boxed pizza, warm and gooey,
enjoying a drink or two (or three) before heading to the casino
a few hours later. We'd meet over a bank of slots to rehash our
evenings. Aahhh, those precious hours apart.

With freestyle cruising, we were spared lining up at the dining
room door like cattle at the gate, since there were no longer set
times to eat. One day we soaked in the hot tub for hours enjoying
a brew (softening not only my feet, but my sibling-jangled nerves)
before dragging ourselves back to the cabin to get ready for dindin.
With all the tables for 2 and 4 in all the restaurants, on two different
nights we easily got deuces. We were spared a full week of uncomfortable
dinners seated with 8 or 10 strangers who Eric would have to try
and be nice to, who might not understand his quiet ways and Married
With Children humor. Who might think we were married.

Eric was spared packing a suit and fiddling with a tie since all
of the ship's restaurants have a casual dress code every night,
except the night of the Captain's Cocktail party, when one of the
main dining rooms are designated formal. Eric looked longingly one
night at the guy in a baseball cap and jeans at the table next to
ours; despite the relaxed dress code, I made him wear dress pants
and a pair of stiff leather loafers, which hadn't seen the light
of day in years.

We were spared being relegated to only one or two main dining rooms
with the same boring menus night after night. One evening we dined
in the Asian-Italian fusion restaurant, Ciao Chow. Eric enjoyed
the whimsical Oriental atmosphere, but was afraid of the Firecracker
Chicken Wrappers (chicken satay) I ordered. That's ok, the daily
pasta special was more his speed. At lunch, he shied away from the
homemade sashimi and the great create-your-own Oriental soup with
fresh ingredients like turnips and tofu, and went for a grilled
burger from the Garden CafÈ buffet. I piled my plate high with chunks
of fresh salmon and California rolls.

No matter where we ate, he thought the food was "awesome " (quote,
unquote). I, the well-traveled New Yorker, thought some of it was
good and some of it was pretty mediocre. On one of his stay-in-the-cabin
pizza nights, I sampled dinner in the French-inspired Le Bistro,
the most elegant and cozy venue on the ship, and my favorite. I
loved my warm goat cheese spinach salad and sautÈed salmon in sorrel
sauce. He would have liked the gourmet-sounding Gruyere Cheese Crepes
Fondue (fried mozzarella sticks in sheep's clothing) served in Seven
Seas restaurant, where I dined another night without him.

All and all, the week worked. If there was something to please the
wildly divergent needs of these siblings, there's something for
everyone. Freestyle soothes the country bumpkin and the jaded urbanite.
True, with freestyle cruising, we did have to give up bonding with
the same waiter or possibly liking the people we might have been
seated with every night on a more a more conventional ship, with
assigned seating. (One night we were seated with a group of 8 because
we didn't want to wait for a deuce, and we actually had fun. A mother-daughter
couple seemed to know how to make Eric feel comfortable and a pair
of young honeymooners was as sweet as pie. From then on, we waved
and chatted with our new friends whenever we saw them around the
ship). I did miss formal nights (to me, they're a festive night
of people watching --- check out those bride's maids dresses!),
but I didn't miss seeing Eric stuff himself into a suit. There was
no doubt, the pros of freestyle cruising far outweighed the cons.


And, it didn't hurt Eric walked off the ship $250 richer from those
slot machines he'd been arm wrestling every night.