Our last shore excursion was a full day trip to the Mayan ruins at Chichen Izta on Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula. I’d been interested in the Mayans since sixth grade when my best friend, Carol, and I, began reading about them and the Egyptians. She made it to Egypt; I made it to Mexico.

We spent more time traveling from the ship to Chichen Itza than we spent at the actual site, but it was still worth it for an introductory view into this culture.  Our main guide was of Mayan descent himself, and he was proud to share his wealth of information about his ancestors.

For their time (pre-Columbus) in history, the Mayans had an advanced civilization steeped in astrology, mathematics, and religion.  They identified five of the planets we know today; they created accurate calendars before the Gregorian calendar was generally adopted; and they believed in many Gods and in reincarnation.  They also believed in human sacrifice, which prompted one woman in our group to exclaim, “They were a horrible people.”

Yet, they built what you could call a city today, complete with several temples to their Gods, an arena for their favorite games, and platforms to celebrate both dancing and death. They wrote books, and three have survived to this day.

The Mayans were ultimately obliterated by the Spaniards in the fifteenth century, but the ruins they left behind are testimony to the sophistication of their culture, human sacrifice notwithstanding. If I ever go back, it will be to spend at least a couple days instead of a couple hours.

Regal Princess, the ship we are on, is the largest in the Princess fleet. It holds 3600 passengers and 1500 crew members; and, really, it doesn’t seem crowded at all. Still, after two weeks on the Regal last spring and another two weeks this time around, I’ve decided I like the smaller ships (That would be the 1500 passenger range.) better.

There’s a certain “vibe” to a ship, as strange as that seems. If you’ve sailed only once, you might not notice. But when you’ve been on a variety of ships, you have a basis for comparison.

The Regal is about flashy entertainment, specialty dining experiences, and more structured game options. This translates to more singers and dancers, more comedians, more food, and more ways for passengers to participate in shows that test their knowledge of their mates, their ability to recall trivia, their recognition of lyrics from songs of various decades, and – generally – more ways to look foolish.

I’m not against looking foolish; that’s part of the charm of being on a cruise vacation. At the same time, I’ve had enough of the “more” concept.

I can’t name all the Princess ships we’ve been on, but I do remember the ones I liked best. The Crown Princess, for instance, had a cozy coffee café, while the Regal is more like an assembly line. Several older ships have a real promenade deck that actually circles the entire ship; the Regal doesn’t. If you want to get some walking exercise, you have to fight the winds on the eighteenth deck instead of the seventh (the standard promenade deck). On older ships the specialty restaurants were secluded from the general areas; on the Regal they’re not.

I imagine a lot of this has to do with money. When you are the largest ship in the fleet, you are probably the most costly. So it’s important to get passengers to sign up for all the activities, particularly the ones that are extra. Perhaps they’re more apt to do this when the options are front and center.

I will say that large or small doesn’t matter when it comes to service. Occasionally we’ll overhear some other passenger complaining, but we have never had anything but the highest level of attention from every crew member on every ship we’ve sailed.

I am struck with how a cruise ship could be a television soap opera complete with all kinds of passengers and all kinds of crew. There are the passengers who cannot be satisfied, regardless of how tender the filet or how perfect the cocktail. And the passengers, mostly first timers, who are in awe of everything.

There are crew members who are veterans, like our current room steward who has been doing this for eleven years.  He’s told us this is his last contract, finished in June, and he’ll never come back.  I imagine he’s seen a lot of changes in those years, as have Earl and I.

And like the passengers, there are also first-time crew members.  I haven’t met any so far on this cruise, but I have met a woman who works in the spa who is only on her second contract.

This morning the Captain came on the public address system to say that one passenger was being evacuated by helicopter for medical reasons, and that it required various restrictions for part of the ship so that the helicopter could land safely.  Some passengers had to leave their cabins. Over the next couple hours he kept us posted as the situation unfolded. And when it was done he thanked everyone, especially a couple whose wedding was postponed because of the helicopter’s arrival.

So it goes: yin and yang. A vacation ended by a medical emergency and a life together temporarily delayed by the same event. Some passengers leaving tomorrow, while others staying on.  The same with crew members.  It’s a modern version of the Love Boat.

I’ve never been a devotee of sailing even though Earl has tried hard to convert me over the years. But when the mast breaks and falls off the boat during your first sailing lesson, he’s working against overwhelming odds.

Still . . . Earl convinced me to participate in a regatta in St. Maarten’s that simulated the famous America’s Cup races. That meant a racing boat, no motor on board, and everyone given a job to make our boat cross the finish line first. I opted to be the bartendress.

Let it be noted that racing boats do not have bathroom facilities, which made my job easier as most of the women declined a beer. The men were less cautious.

I approached this race with the idea that I only had to endure the next two hours, and it would be over. I wrapped myself in a towel, found a place to sit near the cooler that was the bar, and prepared to clench my teeth. The captain and his two mates gave instructions while one woman, who seemed more anxious than I, became seasick. The countdown began.

Even though one of the mates explained the course and the competition, I didn’t understand a thing other than we would be tilting (This is not the technical term.) at a fifty degree angle. That’s pretty precarious from my perspective, so I made sure to hunker low and hold on.

Perhaps it was the wind, which was light, or the Caribbean waters, which are enticing, or the comradery of group, which was instantaneous.  (Sailors are like that.) Or perhaps it was because we won the race. Because, in spite of my trepidation, I had a great time aboard the Canada II.

Yes, Earl, I’d do it again.