Jam Cruise rocks the boat
story by Linda Oatman Highpictures courtesy of Dave Vann
Remember Max, in Maurice Sendak's great children's book "Where The Wild Things Are?" You know the one: Max gets on a boat and floats off into a surreal place filled with rowdy stomping creatures?
My husband John and I are in the Port Everglades cruise terminal, deep in the heart of Florida, waiting to board the boat for Jam Cruise 5. We're cruise virgins; newbies; first-timers. It's something we always wanted to do, but never managed to find the time or finances through the energy-drained stress-filled years of raising a blended family. Now though, here we are: boarding a boat that's heading for The Grand Turks. Let the wild rumpus begin. It's a refrain that runs through my mind again and again, as I gaze around the port.
This is definitely where the wild things are: There are lots of dreadlocks and tattoos and pierced body parts. This cruise is kind of like Woodstock on the water: a live music festival featuring a star-studded roster of the most happening acts from the semi-underground world of jam bands: Disco Biscuits, Perpetual Groove, Tea Leaf Green, Zero, Railroad Earth, Derek Trucks Band, ALO, Galactic, Burning Spear, New Mastersounds, Umphrey's McGee, Greyboy Allstars, The Dirty Dozen Brass Band. And more. Several of the bands are trickle-downs from the Grateful Dead, and some of their young fans are fairly far-out: psychedelic, rainbow-y, retro. I'm having flashbacks of the 1970s, and slightly worried that we close-to-50 suburbanites won't exactly fit into the general population of this cruise's community.
"Do you think we'll be senior citizens on this cruise?" I say to John. "How many other grandparents would you guess will be here?"
But then we start to see them. There's a gray-haired couple with their 33-year-old twin sons. There's a banker from JP Morgan, and a long-haired grandmother with her long-haired grandson. There's a tie-dyed Jerry Garcia look-alike. In fact, there's about a dozen tie-dyed Jerry Garcia look-alikes. The Dead is alive here, in this place. The vibe is friendly, gentle, connected. The energy is good. We meet fellow cruisers, and everybody - I mean everybody - is cool and kind and funny and smart. By the time we're called to customs, we have ten new best friends. Apparently, just booking Jam Cruise makes one mellow. Happy. Niiice.
Let the wild rumpus begin.
I'm dancing in a full moon, spinning, twirling, flying in the ocean breeze. It's a hippie moment, on a Caribbean sea, for a middle-aged American woman. Dumpstaphunk has kicked off the show on the pool deck stage, and they're rocking the boat. John and I are on the upstairs balcony, looking down. The wake of water races by. It's winter at home, on the East Coast, but here on the ocean it's breezy and warm. Wintertime somewhere between Florida and the Bahamas is surreal, sultry, and somewhat season-free. It's always summer here; an eternal beach season.
Below us, on the pool deck, people dance. Man, do they dance. The young, the old, and those of every age-in between are getting down, losing any inhibitions they harbored before boarding this boat. There's a couple in velvet Santa suits. A skinny hippie chick shakes her hips, hula-hooping. An ethereal winged girl glows white in the night, and a bald man wears a patchwork skirt. A tuxedoed dancer towers on stilts, and a myriad of capes flap majestically in the wind. The only dress code on Jam Cruise is glitter and shimmer and sparkle and shine. Somebody has a neon tambourine, and lots of people have flashing blinkies and glow necklaces. One guy is draped in Christmas lights, and another has a painted face. It's a show of humanity in all its funky glory. People are free here, and they've left jobs and worries behind in this no-stress zone. I spot the JP Morgan banker, and it's as if he stepped right out of The Summer of Love. He looks up, and he flashes me a peace sign. Bells jingle on his arms, and love beads rattle as he spreads his arms, bird-like, soaring in his space on the deck. He winks, grins, and then goes back to boogeying.
It's 1 a.m., way past John's usual bedtime, but he's hanging strong. I'm fading fast, but the music filling the ship's theatre is holding me rapt in the comfy blue velvet seat. JJ Grey and Luther Dickinson are playing, and tears stream down my cheeks. This hasn't happened in years, not since I first heard Eric Clapton's "Tears In Heaven." These guys are making music from the heart, from the soul, and they're connecting. I'm connecting. It's a Zen moment, a Life-Is-So-Sweet moment, a We're-All-In-This-Together moment. Here in this ship's theatre with its artsy hand-painted hippie banners, floating on an ocean in the middle of somewhere I don't know, I'm at home.
We sleep like babies, rocked in the womb of Cabin #8003, a room that boasts a stunning front-of-the-boat view. Rolling out of bed at 9:30, we leave behind our rubber chicken-decorated door (Jam Cruise has a door decorating contest. Don't look to Martha Stewart for ideas), we head to the restaurant for Caffe Americano. The MSC Opera is an Italian cruise ship, and it's obvious in the European flair and style.
After a buffet breakfast of lots of fresh fruits and muffins and omelettes, we're off to the pool deck to catch some much-needed rays. I wear a bikini, because - hey - it's Jam Cruise. There's lots of exposed flesh here, and nobody notices a few sags or wrinkles or extra pounds.
Hot Buttered Rum, a forerunner in the hot young San Francisco music scene, is playing on the stage. The sun is bright, and the stand-up bass resonates. We hop in the hot tub to join a couple of 50-ish women sporting green cowboy hats and a lot of underarm hair. A dreadlocked girl joins us, and our little circle of strange family chats. It's the usual round of questions: Where are you from? What do you do? Is this your first Jam Cruise?
By the time we split, the group is bonded, and a new band has hit the stage. The music never ends in this place, and neither does the fun. There's a lot of non-stop partying, which is a bit daunting for this straight-edged Baby Boomer, but in general the people are respectful. There were a few drunks, some stoners, but no jerks.
"Everybody seems to take care of everybody," commented one twenty-something. "There's a real hippie vibe. I watch my purse on a regular cruise, but here I don't have to worry."
Worry is a word that doesn't exist in the Jam Cruise dictionary. People chill. They kick back. They relax. Groovy.
We haven't turned on the TV all week, and we've been surviving on less than 5 hours of sleep each night... or day. On Jam Cruise, it's necessary to calculate the trade-off: Do you want to miss 5 hours of music and moon, or music and sun? It's all fun, so the choice is a difficult one. I'm running on adrenaline, coffee, and the tea-like Guayaki Yerba Mate, brought to the boat by an environmental organization called Rock The Earth. Spearheading the greening efforts on the cruise, Rock The Earth works with sponsors and a variety of organizations to ensure that a minimal footprint is left by the cruise. Jam Cruise is one of the only cruises leaving the U.S. that includes greening efforts in the agenda. Teaming with Clean Vibes Resource Conservation, the volunteers separate recyclables from overflowing trash cans. Programs are printed on recycled paper, and organic natural products are given away as the cruise freebies. Another cool feature of Jam Cruise's greening is Trees For The Future, a program designed to offset CO2 emissions from the cruise. For every $10.00 donated, 100 trees are planted on the islands visited by cruisers. The goal is to plant 71,000 trees, the amount necessary to eliminate the CO2 of one cruise. John and I donated 100 trees each to the Grand Turks and Cayo Levantado in the Dominican Republic. It's a good feeling to give something back to two islands that gave so much to us. We rode horses in the surf on the Grand Turks, with a Jamaican cowboy who called himself John Wayne. (Yeah, mon.) We swam in the crystal water of Cayo Levantado, surrounded by coral reef, lush green rainforest, and tropical birds. I like the thought of our seeds growing into tall green trees of shade that will one day make people and birds as happy as we are now, to be here in this place of beauty.
We're in the jazz-themed Cotton Club, listening to the ultra-talented Patterson Hood of Drive-By Truckers. Patterson is way cool, and humble. He's a family man, a dedicated daddy, and his little girl is on the cruise. Not a lot of cruisers bring their kids, but those who do seem to be responsible about it. The late night party scene isn't exactly kid-appropriate, so plan on taking turns in the cabin if you're bringing children. The children we did see were having a great time, though. One little boy - dreadlocked, of course - held two macaws on his shoulders on the island. A nine-month-old baby was wearing tiny pirate shoes, and a pigtailed girl coasted on rollerblades.
John and I go from venue to venue - the Cotton Club to the theatre to Caruso's Lounge to the pool deck. So many choices are to be had at this festival on the water.
"This is the best music festival ever," said Pu Tsu, a self-named gem artist from California. Pu Tsu is running for Jam Cruise President (yes; there's an election), and he's campaigning heavily as the "green" candidate. "The recycling is great, and the vibe is nice. It's great not to have to camp like at a regular music fest. Here, I shower. I eat well. I sleep in a bed. It's all good." Right on.
I'm interviewing several of the bands: Perpetual Groove, Tea Leaf Green, Hot Buttered Rum, the Disco Biscuits. I'm impressed by the quality of their musicianship, compassion, and caring. These young guys all seem to be highly knowledgeable, trained in music theory, gentle, kind. I keep getting their names confused, as there are too many Nates and Seths, Zachs and Joshes. They all have shaggy hair, and they sit yogi-like. They all talk about environmentalism and caring for the earth and making things better in the world. Hot Buttered Rum actually treks from restaurant to restaurant while on tour, collecting used frying oil to run their biodiesel bus. These kids are committed, and it's an admirable trait.
Not being an expert in the jam band scene, I wasn't sure what to expect. Now, though, I know: this is one music community that's truly non-competitive, collaborative, creative, and supportive of one another. Late night sessions in the Jam Room brought musicians of varied bands together, and the Sounds of San Francisco show was a collaborative effort from the West Coast bands. Joining the musicians on stage was Donna Godchaux, "Grateful Dead royalty," as one fan said. Donna sang with the Dead, back in the day, and she sings on to this day. Far out.
It's 6:45 a.m., and the ship is soaring toward the port. It's a gorgeous sight: the moon in the sherbet-sunrise sky, the twinkling lights of Ft. Lauderdale, other cruise ships sparkling on shimmering water. The warm Florida wind lifts my hair. I'm going home.
But not yet. Disembarking takes a while, because every single room has to clear customs before anybody gets off. Every single person has to pay their room tab before anybody leaves. It's 9:00, and we're waiting in the Sotto Vente coffee shop. The espresso here costs $8.00. The speaker system keeps calling names of unpaid bills, and people are sprawled everywhere: sleeping, groaning. A guy has a toothbrush tucked behind his ear. A girl in paw-print sunglasses is snoring. She awakens and complains. Another girl sleeps with a boa over her eyes. A hippie mommy is feeding Veggie Booty to a baby in a sling. Cell phones ring. Welcome back to the real world, somebody says. I'm going home to a broken hot water heater, somebody else says. One of the band members pulls out a trombone and plays a plaintive tune.
"I want to stay," moans a braided striped knee-sock girl.
"Me, too," chirps a well-groomed blonde woman who sells real estate for a living. She carries a backpack with vintage Barbie and Ken stuck in the flap, and she wore a killer costume for Pirate Night: fishnets and velvet. I keep thinking If only her clients could see her now.
"Who doesn't want to stay?" says a big man in furry claw-footed "Where The Wild Things Are" slippers. "I don't want to go back to the real world."
"Adulthood sucks," adds a guy in a nun's habit. I'd learned that he works on Wall Street. Don't tell the other brokers.
"Can't we go out to sea again?" pouts a 60-ish man who's been wearing a medieval helmet and carrying a stuffed fish evey time we've seen him.
"But there's no place like home," says a girl wearing sparkly red shoes. Her comment is apropos. I've been feeling Wizard of Oz-ish all week: as if a tornado of music lifted me up and plopped me down in this strange land where I gathered a new and somewhat odd family. Alice in Wonderland is another children's book reference that comes to mind (hey; I'm a children's book writer, so what'd you expect?!) I'm Alice and I've fallen down a hole - or onto a boat - into a wondrous land of silly weirdness and wonderful wackiness . . . and it's magic.
We're on the plane, looking down on the shimmery waters of Ft. Lauderdale.
"Hey, there's our cruise ship," John says.
"Our home on water," I say.
Goodbye Jam Cruise. I'm ready to go home, and see my flesh and blood family. Even Max had to get off the boat and go home eventually. The wild things, though, are still out there in the world, Oz is somewhere over the rainbow, Alice is happy in the rabbit hole, and Jam Cruise 6 waits in the wings.
