When our boys were young, my wife Laura would take them to a park as their daily treat. Being Filipina, other mums and caretakers assumed Laura was a nanny. Canadian mums enquired if Laura could work for them in her spare time. The Filipinas asked where in the Philippines Laura came from; when she arrived in Canada; how much she was paid and her weekly hours. Laura was so shy, she tried to humour them without letting on. The penny only dropped when one of our kids would shout, “Mum!” to complain about his sibling.
In our decades of marriage, I was used to being deferred to by strangers, servers, and airline staff, while my wife stood a few steps behind, with her head bowed. One day, to my horror, the roles were reversed.
We were holidaying in Greek Cyprus, a small Mediterranean island, a 20-minute flight from Lebanon. Instead of the regular one-week packaged holiday, more than enough to see all the sights and then some, we decided to spend three.
Our boys soon got bored. While waiting at the bus stop, I noticed a poster offering a three-day cruise and sightseeing in Egypt. The price was a few hundred dollars per person.
“Let’s go!” I suggested.
I’d never cruised before and my mind pictured a large, fancy ship with all the mod-cons. We arrived by taxi at the Port of Larnaca, Cyprus, at six in the evening. There was no sign of our fabulous cruise ship.
Instead, an enlarged tugboat sat along the wharf we had been directed to. A number of other tourists lined up behind us but no more than 30 would be passengers. The crew and captain, numbering eight in total, marched down the gangway to greet us. All were Filipinos. The captain, leading, ignored me completely. He only had eyes for Laura. As had the rest of the crew.
“Welcome, Mam,” the captain said. “Our first Filipina passenger. Follow me.”
That was all I could understand before he accelerated into high-speed Tagalog. The captain then extracted the bags Laura was holding and dumped them on me. Our boys stood smirking behind me.
“I have a special honeymoon suite for you,” the captain said. “No extra charge.”
We followed him through the corridors of the tugboat that were so narrow I could hardly walk through them without pulling my shoulders in. The honeymoon suite was situated at the front of the ship. It was wide at one end, then tapered at the front into almost a point. The three portholes on both sides of our suite were barely 18 inches in diameter.
“This is our largest room by far,” the captain said. “All for you.”
I was beginning to feel seasick. The boat hadn’t moved yet. The captain pointed to a bowl six inches in diameter. It bore an apple, grapes, an orange and figs.
“Specially for you,” he said. “Dinner at 7.30 p.m. I’ll have my chief officer fetch you.”
Our dinner was at the captain’s table. As Laura talked endlessly to the captain and his second in command, I was left to commandeer our boys. They were smiling and surreptitiously pointing to a middle-aged British couple arguing with each other. Both must have been drinking all day. Their heads swayed from side to side, almost knocking each other out. The pair continued to order wine to wash down their food, fresh fried fish and chips drowned in lashings of malt vinegar.
It was nearly 10 p.m. before we escaped. Our queen-sized bed was large enough for the boys and Laura to share. I ended up on a couch that sprang out into a bed.
Thank goodness the trip was only for three days…
