early morning . . .

and armed with both MapQuest and AAA Trip Tiks, found us on our way to Miami. Now it's not exactly that we don't know how to get from here to there, it's getting to the Port that tests my sanity. Both sources offer 20 lines and 18 turns to make the two mile trek from I-95 to the the J Terminal. Mind boggling. But once we made it, there were customs to clear, people to watch, a boat to explore, all before sail away. Things were looking good.

I must admit that the city of Miami looks a darn sight better from the water than it does while enmeshed within its bowels.

and while we waited for our cabin to be readied, we wandered, happy to be back on an R class ship.

They are tiny little dinghies compared to most ships. A mere 650 passengers. No rock climbing. No water slides. No kids programs. Actually no kids. Not that they are not allowed, but there are no resources for them. And as the 9TS not so kindly nicknamed it, we seemed to be on the 'cruise of the living dead'. Oops can I repeat that? We were among the youngest on board. There were more liver spots than my old dalmatian. I'm not complaining mind you, we met some real pistols on board and loved every minute . . . well except for 'cab man' but you have to wait for Tortola to meet him.

And then the obligatory life boat drill and muster. Can you tell how happy the 9TS was as we waited for instructions in the grand dining room???

after a good dinner and a trip to the casino, he was a contented beast . . . captain of his own seas.