The Thrills and Spills of Embarkation Day
After an uneventful 32-minute drive from Friendswood to Galveston, I pulled up to the chaos of the Carnival terminal. The scene was a blur of porters juggling luggage, their carts clattering over the pavement, and a cacophony of eager cruisers buzzing with anticipation as families frantically searched through overpacked bags for their passports. I dropped Becky off, and a porter expertly added our bags to a cart already loaded with luggage, stacking them like a Tetris master who never misses a piece. Becky grabbed our carry-ons, her beautiful smile radiating excitement for the adventure ahead.
Leaving the buzz behind, I drove off to face my own ordeal: the parking adventure. Galveston Park n Cruise may be right across the street from the terminal, but getting there isn’t as simple as it sounds. Instead of a quick zip over, I had to embark on a winding, congested road that seemed designed to test both my patience and my faith in modern traffic management. After what felt like an eternity, I finally emerged from the port-ironically, four blocks away from my parking spot directly across from the terminal. Eight minutes-eight long minutes-after leaving Becky, I pulled into the parking lot with a relieved sigh. After checking in with the parking attendant, I secured a spot and prepared to make my way back to the terminal.
With my car finally secured, I hurried back, eager to find Becky and get on with our adventure. After checking in, I made my way back to the terminal, crossing the street via the designated crosswalk. A traffic cop managing the chaos smiled and wished me a great cruise.
Nice cop
I had barely basked in the kindness of the traffic cop when I followed a clearly marked footpath, my eyes scanning the terminal for my redhead. That’s when a shrill voice cut through the air: “You can’t do that!” The voice belonged to a young female officer, and she was directing her frustration at me.
Preoccupied with finding my wife, I’d neglected to notice the path crossed a lane for parking shuttles. I’d strolled right out in front of a distant but steadily approaching shuttle bus, full of departing passengers and their piled luggage. After nearly achieving “permanent press” status courtesy of the loaded shuttle, I made a mental note to be more careful.
Perturbed cop
Relieved to still be in one piece, I found Becky, and we tackled the next hurdle together: terminal security. Having survived my near run-in with the shuttle bus, we made our way into the terminal. Check-in and security went smoothly, and we soon took the escalator up to the second level. Along the way, no fewer than five terminal employees skeptically examined our boarding passes, as if we were peg-legged pirates who had stumbled in from a rogue ship, trailed by a parrot squawking, “Pieces of eight!”
Just when it felt like we’d passed every possible checkpoint, our boarding group was called about 25 minutes later. After-I kid you not-two more rounds of boarding pass inspections, we finally began the walk to the ship. Normally, the gangway leads onto the promenade deck, where passengers are treated to their first breathtaking view of the grand atrium-a scene crafted to deliver that perfect “wow” moment. But today, for reasons only known to Captain Steubing, we boarded on a lower deck, greeted not by grandeur but by a labyrinth of hallways and the unmistakable aroma of industrial disinfectants.
Wait, did Norovirus book this cruise too?
We braced for the grand entrance, but instead, we encountered a host of smiling staff members who were escorting guests to “express” elevators to lunch. As with every ship we’ve been on, the embarkation lunch buffet is a madhouse. Imagine a couple of thousand disoriented people wandering around with plates in their hands, navigating the chaos like human bumper cars.
A Buffet of Chaos
Everyone is dodging each other while eyeing their culinary options, trying to decide if a chicken drumstick is worth committing to their plate. We had somehow managed to assemble large salads topped with meats and cheese as we navigated the bustling crowd. No time to marvel at the ship-we were thrust straight into the lunch madness. Like Black Friday shoppers desperately looking for any parking spot at the mall, we wandered around in search of an empty table, dodging entitled cruisers who were determined to seize our rightful table.
Having barely survived the lunch madness, we thought the deck might offer some relief, but the time after lunch on embarkation day is one of the few aggravating parts of cruising-a limbo between boarding and the moment cabins are finally ready. With over an hour to kill, we joined the huddled masses yearning to breathe free in a cool, comfortable spot. We ventured out onto the deck, but Galveston’s August heat hit us like a brick wall, suffocating and relentless. Even the shade offered no mercy. With the ship docked, the usual ocean breeze that makes summer cruising bearable was nowhere to be found.
Defeated by the heat, we stumbled into a nearly empty atrium, which was uncharacteristically quiet. Grateful for the reprieve, we parked ourselves on a couch and settled in to wait, enjoying the rare moment of peace amidst the embarkation day chaos. The minutes ticked by slowly, but at least we were out of the heat.
Despite the chaos and near-misses, a sense of anticipation buzzed beneath the surface-a reminder that the sail-away and the real adventure of cruising were still ahead.
