Big Ships, Quick Trips

Norwegian, for example, markets its "freestyle" arrangement, which for the most part allows passengers to do whatever they want whenever they choose. (On its flier of activities, the Freestyle Daily, the slogan reads, "You're free to whatever!" Is the staff channeling ninth-graders?) There are no assigned times or tables for dinner, the gym never closes, and the bars are open till . . . whenever. Carnival pushes its fun like a hopped-up camp counselor, with oodles of diversions that often overlap, leaving guests too busy even to contemplate not having fun. Royal Caribbean does not have such a defined motif, but it does seem to have the edge on sportiness (e.g., rock climbing walls, ice skating rinks, onboard surfing) and style (at dinner, I had nearly as many waiters as I did pieces of silverware).

The decor also varies wildly, though oddly it does not reflect the line's dominant theme. For example, I expected the interior of Carnival's Fascination to be bright and festive, as if the boat were dressed for a nonstop party. Instead, I had the sensation that I was trapped inside an Eastern European strip club, with a shadowy palette of black and copper and mysterious opaque doors hiding who knows what. In contrast, the Norwegian Sky, which formerly sailed among the Hawaiian islands as the Pride of Aloha, seemed like Designs by Don Ho, circa 1970. The least jarring scheme was on Royal Caribbean's Majesty of the Seas, which was renovated last year for $40 million. It has the safe, unassuming appearance of a four-star hotel, with open spaces and natural hues, including spongy, color-flecked cream carpeting reminiscent of a Funfetti cake.

Despite the differences, which also extend to the staterooms (loved Fascination's spacious cabin; deplored Norwegian's tiny cave; oddly paid more for the latter) and restaurants, the sameness is unavoidable and undeniable. The boats have similar entertainment, usually a bawdy comedian and/or variety shows with earnest-yet-awkward performers; games that embarrass couples; singalong piano bars; bingo and casinos; and art auctions featuring lesser Picassos. The pool area is usually bubbling to a beat of reggae lite, tropical staples such as "Hot, Hot, Hot" and the newest dance craze, the Cupid Shuffle, this generation's Chicken Dance. The buckets of beer help loosen your steps. Additionally, every fitness center offers a lecture on flat abs, and every buffet is determined to keep those stomachs flabby. Rare is the boat that will make you thin and sober.

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Here was my breakdown of land to sea, spread over 10 days: Factoring in two unscheduled days at sea because of hurricanes, I spent nearly three-quarters of the time floating. I clocked nearly two days in Nassau (8 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. the first Saturday, 8 a.m. to 11:30 p.m. a week later), a full day in Cozumel and five hours in Key West. Between voyages, I walked no more than 15 minutes between terminals in Miami. You can count that as an onshore excursion or not.

A wise man of the sea, Majesty of the Seas cruise director Jimmy Rhodes, said to me: "This is not reality by any means. I spend at least an hour at every port of call and put my feet on solid ground." The next-generation Julie McCoy logs four months on the ship.

With a fairly small window of time to stomp around on terra firma, I did not want to dillydally when we were in port. Though I wasn't necessarily the first one off the boat, I often was part of the second wave, after the buffet breakfast, of course.

Veteran cruisers recommend skipping the boat's (often overpriced) excursions and signing up with a company onshore. The savings, they say, far outweigh the slight inconvenience of seeking out a local outfitter.

Socking away that recommendation, I decided to go out on my own at every locale except Cozumel. I had visited Nassau and Key West, so I had a strong sense of place there, but I had never set foot on the Mexican island. Plus, my grasp of Spanish does not include such words and phrases as "shark" and "My air is leaking."

To enter the Bahamian capital of Nassau, visitors must pass through a frenzied information center and marketplace where vendors sell conch salad and fried fish, crafts, scooter rides and other diversions. After untangling myself from the crowds, I headed west, to the Land of the Marching Flamingos. Three times a day, the Ardastra Gardens, Zoo & Conservation Center holds a flamingo parade in which the skinny-legged, knobby-kneed birds high-step it around a grassy area.

I arrived early for the procession and just in time for the afternoon feeding of the lory parrots. The birds are gluttons: Hold out an apple slice and they will nibble it down to a thin thread of peel. In addition, the endangered birds disdain personal space, using every part of your body as a kitchen table. Among my group, Robert Shepherd, a cruiser from North Palm Beach, Fla., was transformed into a coat rack, with two parrots perched atop his head and five more forming a daisy chain along his arms.

The flamingos were more aloof, strutting around like divas wrapped in full-length pink boas. Their ringmaster was a gruff man dressed in a yellow slicker who started the show with a loud " Fallll in!" Then he chased the birds around the circle. Every few steps, a voice on an intercom entreated us to applaud. Clap, clap. Run, run. Clap, clap. Getting dizzy. Clap, clap.