#'wavy like a cruise ship' is iconic

[projectcruise]

Chapter 1

“More than meets the eye”

The following morning, the sun remained absent. The grey, cloudy coverings of the sky hadn’t moved an inch. It almost felt as though no time had passed.

Soon enough, a petite coffee colored rabbit girl arrived at The S.S. Iris in full investigator’s attire. She donned a mid-length, tan trench coat, some sturdy, brown lace less boots, and an iconic detective’s hat with a flowery pattern. She was as cute as a button, yet her face told an entirely different tale. She didn’t take any time to stop and admire the view. The cruise ship’s impressive size and extravagant decor were meaningless in her eyes. There was nothing fascinating enough to distract her from the mission at hand. With a steady gaze, the lagomorph hastily made her way towards the steam ship. This detective meant serious business.

Upon entering the terminal, the Captain came out to greet her. He was a particularly well composed gentleman. Penelope watched as he disembarked from the ship. He had a striking appearance. The shark-like being, dressed in a dark blue uniform greatly contrasting his snow-white, wavy hair and light grey fur. He was tall and long with icy blue eyes, sharp claws, and four horns on his head. He extended his arm and gently shook Penelope’s soft small paw.

“Penelope, Correct…?” said the captain.

“Yes sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Replied penelope with her usual professional attitude.

“Wonderful, You’re right on time. I’ve been awaiting your arrival” the captain said to her in an inviting yet serious tone of voice. It was obvious that he had high expectations for Penelope.

“Punctuality is always my top priority.” She replied. It was true, she always made sure to arrive exactly as scheduled wherever she was needed. Never any sooner nor later. She made sure not to waste any time.

“Very well, let us discuss this inside,” he said as he escorted Penelope to the bridge of the ship. They walked along the gangway into the vessel and passed through the massive lobby decked with large chandeliers hanging from the lifted ceiling. Surprisingly , the ship seemed smaller on the inside than from its exterior. It was a private cruise. While the boat was still an impressive steamship, it was small in comparison to more commercial cruise ships, yet still kept a luxurious appearance. It had vast open spaces and important areas such as a large lobby and banquet style ballroom diner.

Once they arrived, the Captain sat down at his chair in the wheelhouse and turned towards Penelope. The technology was incredibly impressive. Each button and switch performed its own small function. How did anyone manage to learn what it all does? There was so much to take in. The detective was admittedly rather impressed. However, she didn’t let this distract her from the mission at hand.

Near the window sat a manila folder, a couple of sticky notes with various memos or short poems written on them, and a small, framed photograph of a young Captain and his sister. They appeared to be at the beach. The captain wore a smile while his sister was bursting with laughter. The photograph was old and rather faded. Penelope caught the captain staring at the image.

“What was she laughing about?” she asked.

“Well, the truth is, I can’t seem to remember. “I used to recall this day so vividly, I remember we called it the summer of the century. Now, I can’t even tell what my sister was laughing about. First, I lose her, now I have begun to lose her memory...” replied the captain defeatedly.

“Please Sir, don’t feel bad.” replied Penelope. “Perhaps it’s just your mind’s way of coping with everything going on. I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you.” she said, attempting to reassure the captain. It was not uncommon for people to suppress memories of lost loved ones.

“Enough about that.” Said the Captain, turning his focus away from the image.

“As you might already know, I’ve called you here to investigate the murder of my dear sister, Marigold Seashine. It pains me to even speak of it, but, alas, I must...” The captain said while gazing at the window. He looked out towards the horizon where the deep lapis colored sea and grey sky collided. He turned his attention back to Penelope. Slowly, he picked up the manila file folder and handed it to her.

“Here is the file containing the details of the case… it’s important.”

“Yes, of course Sir,” she replied and then paused before following it up with her next statement. “I apologize for your loss… I promise I will do the best I can.”

“Very well. I admire your determined attitude.”

She remained attentive to the captain. It was clear how heavily this event had weighed on him. He was a man of great composure, yet it was easy to see right into his broken soul.

“Well, the first thing I’d like you to do is to meet the suspects and conduct an interview with each one. They should all be located in their cabins on the lower deck. Only Marigold’s Cabin and D3 should be empty,”, He said as he reached towards the pocket on his uniform and pulled out a fancy golden keychain. Each key was engraved with its respective room number in a calligraphic font.

“Here are the keys in case you aren’t able to access a cabin. I instructed the passengers to unlock their doors after hearing a specific knocking pattern but knowing these folks, they can sometimes be difficult…”

He gently handed Penelope the keychain.

“Here is the pattern I came up with since I do believe knocking first is the polite thing to do.”

*double tap* *triple tap* *single tap*

“Thank you, sir, I’ll keep that in mind” replied Penelope, making a mental note of it.

The Captain once again pulled an object out of his pocket. This time, it was a small piece of paper containing the complete layout of The S.S Iris. “Oh, and I almost forgot. Here is a map of the ship. This will make it easier to locate the cabins.” he said as he handed it over to Penelope.

She took a quick look at it and turned her attention back to the captain.

“Once you’ve finished, please return with the keys. I have another important tool that may aid you in this investigation once you’re done with the interviews

“Yes sir,” replied Penelope. This seemed like a simple task for someone with her experience, yet she proceeded with caution.

“Very well. Best of luck detective, I’m counting on you,” he said as the young lady waved farewell and made her way towards the cabins. She knew there’d be more to this case than meets the eye.

#Project Cruise ⚓️ #Chapter 1 #illustrations #literature

[shayanyaan]

Two Eleven Super

“London is very human-scale,” I am quick to pitch for one of my favorite cities in the world. 

Her eyes widen and her face lights up. She nods her head vigorously and points her finger at me, in complete agreement. This is the moment in a conversation when one person articulates perfectly what the other person was thinking but couldn’t quite put into words. B and I have been explaining to each other how both of us are more comfortable living in cities where we can walk or take public transport.

“Oh gosh London, yes! Seeing a London trip on my schedule always fills me with immense warmth. Imagine being able to walk around a city slowly absorbing all that it has to offer, the sights, the sounds, the traditions.”

They say never meet your celebrity heroes because you’ll inevitably find something disappointing. I think the same applies to some of the great cities of the world. But both of us conclude hands down that London does not fall in this category. 

“Actually London is not even a celebrity. London is a reliable old friend. A friend that has not lost their sense of culture and tradition. The monuments, the churches ...”

“.....and the bridges across the Thames - each one steeped in history.” We are finishing each other's sentences now. “The railway stations. The tube - a subterranean metropolis beneath a metropolis. The Mind the Gap jokes.” 

“And what about the black cabs and then … and then the red double decker buses. Oh the red buses - what an icon! They say tourists take the tube but real Londoners take the bus.”

“Aha! You’re probably right. Flocks of pigeons on Trafalgar square, the shops on Oxford Street.”

“And you can’t forget the ever present murky skies, steady rain, rippled puddles, umbrella bearing pedestrians.”

“Of course you just had to mention the Great British weather!” A disapproving look is thrown. The entire body of humor surrounding the British weather is a road we agree not to go down. 

---

I continue to quiz B on some of the other cities that she thought would fit the human-scale bill. New York inevitably comes up as a place she has not only travelled to but lived in. I am glad she brought up New York. Now New York is not an old friend. New York is a person you know you shouldn’t fall for, but you do anyway. There is something about the pace and the madness that sets New York apart from the rest of the US. Something about the people, coming from all corners of the world. To make a living, or even half a living. American dream and all that. 

In New York you are acutely aware of the class divide that exists in society. New York is dirty. The subway is full of creaking old trains. New York has JFK and LaGuardia both of which are dismal at best and soul destroying at worst. Oh and Penn Station. Never has there been a more classic case of the mighty having fallen. A complete and utter hell hole out of some post apocalyptic world. 

But somehow it all works. Barely. And that is where New York absolutely has you. As you walk around the city, you peel back the layers and beneath all the flaws and scars, you will find a genuinely captivating person. A person that knows how to push your buttons and make you forget the pandemonium, if only for a split second. Through the dollar pizzas on the street corners. Through the sheer magic of Central Park and the museums. Through the Manhattan skyline; hands down the best skyline in the world. Standing next to the Hudson, under the Brooklyn Bridge, with Lady Liberty keeping a quiet watch from a distance, you will be powerless as New York sucks you in. One glittering high rise at a time. Dreamy eyed, you cannot help but stare in wonderment. Hundreds of floors, thousands of windows. What goes on inside? And the lights! Yes so many lights. What could be a better tribute to Tesla, Faraday and the like?

“In general, the east coast of the United States is on a much more human-scale. Relatively small states with trains taking you across borders within a couple of hours at the most.”

“Going west of maybe Illinois, they started drawing great big rectangles for states.”

“And then there’s Texas. Vast open skies in an almost revolting shade of blue. Just as vast are the expanses of highway, further than the eye could see, or care to see. Wide, long and monotonous. Not a single human-scale building in sight”

“And who the hell builds highways passing through the center of a city!? Makes going to get some milk feel like a great expedition to the other side of the world.”

More chuckles. 

Then a brief silence, during which I am suddenly reminded of where I am - in a lounge on the upper deck of an A380. A massive ship hurtling through the ether, pushing the speed of sound. A big TV screen near where I am standing silently glares back at me indicating that -50 degrees is but a mere 10 meters from where I am standing. Yet here we are, B and I, chatting like two friends catching up over coffee. 

But of course, we are not friends. Not even acquaintances. She is on the Emirates cabin crew. And I am just a passenger. 

---

Back at my seat, halfway through an episode of Chernobyl, I pause to stare out of the window. Beyond the wing, which seems to stretch out to eternity, a smudge of orange is forcing its way through the royal blue of the sky. I can hear the muffled yet reassuring boom from the four Rolls Royce engines. It is then that I realize that there is nothing about the A380 that is human-scale. There is nothing about the skies which she inhabits that is human-scale. I've travelled on the beloved Super dozens of times. Yet I continue to be amazed at the size and scale with which she operates. Devouring continents and swallowing oceans. Bringing the other side of the world just a little closer to home. 

A friend of mine often describes journeys on the A380 as the closest we can get to the long sea voyages on gigantic ocean liners in the 1930s. And he is right. Two decks with so much space to stretch out. Bars, lounges, showers - no expense spared in ensuring luxury. Imagine peering out of the window from your first class cabin on the Queen Mary and seeing nothing but vast open sea. Right now I am doing exactly the same. Only from 36000 feet above the Earth, and all I can see is the vast open sky. Far below, Moscow and St Petersburg slip behind us. Scandinavia and the Atlantic Ocean lie ahead. As we burn more fuel, over North America, we will eventually settle in the exclusive airspace of flight level 410. 

The Boeing 747 is a work of art. Sheer poetry. The Airbus A380 however, is a lesson in outsmarting the laws of Physics. It is an absolute whale of a plane that looks like it should never leave the surface of the Earth in the first place. But somehow it does, through the most languid and sluggish of take offs.  Once up at cruising altitude though, it is steady ship all the way to your destination. The ability to punch through the sky without even the faintest of trembles is simply unmatched. I continue to stare wistfully out of the window, thinking about how much I’ll miss the A380 when she’s gone. She’s right up there with the Concorde in that nothing like this will ever be built in my lifetime.  

---

Resting my head on one of the fluffiest pillows ever to have taken flight, I gaze at the roof of the cabin - tiny twinkling stars gently coaxing me to drift off into a deep sleep. And frankly, it is not hard to. The bed is completely flat and the mattress is more comfortable than the one I have at home. The blanket is ever so soft. The fake gold and wood around the windows is not something I’d furnish my home with, yet up here in the sky, it somehow adds to the coziness. From my own little cocoon, I can see neither the aisle nor other TV screens. Not a single window shade in the cabin is raised. I don’t remember the last time I fell asleep on a plane without an eye mask.  All I can hear are the engines whirling away, and the hushed sound of the air beating against the fuselage - no more than a relaxing white noise. 

In the moments between lying down and falling asleep, I am thinking about the countless journeys I’ve made with Emirates over the last two decades. Leaving home as often as I’ve had to, I’ve come to really treasure the sense of familiarity that an Emirates flight brings to me. I’ve never stopped to think about it before but there is a certain warmth and tenderness you feel when you have an old faithful travel companion to share your journeys with. And Emirates has been that companion for me, helping me wipe away the homesickness. Slowly at first, then all at once. The boarding music that says “Hello Tomorrow”. The inflight announcements that say “Tayaran Al Emarat”. The reassuring voice of Sir Tim Clark answering questions on the default podcast channel. The wavy curves on the cabin wallpaper. The cabin crew with their brown blazers and their red hats.  When choosing an airline to fly, it is hard to look past this comfort of familiarity resulting from a bond first formed unwittingly, many years ago. And strengthened over numerous journeys from one side of the planet to the other, including this one. Before I can process any more thoughts, I slip into a happy and peaceful sleep. We are probably somewhere over the North Atlantic. But in this moment, it hardly matters. 

---

Six hours have passed. B is on hand to wake me for dinner. It seems the crew has saved the best meal till the very end. Three courses this evening, starting with a chick-pea salad that doesn’t make you hate your life with its dreariness. I politely refuse the alcohol but ask for a piece of garlic bread on the side. Which is brought to me, warm, from a basket lined with cloth. The main course is served with the Jeera rice cooked in just the right amount of butter. The ratio of jeera to rice - perfect. The Rajma has the power to rival any dhaba in North India and along with it is a second curry made with melt-in-your-mouth soft paneer. Actual phulkas to go on the side, instead of pita. 

And if you're going to go full North Indian with your meal, you need some achaar. Which obviously is on my tray as well. Emirates just knows how to serve Indian food. If I had any doubts about this, they are well and truly shattered when B brings the dessert. Four of the finest pieces of Rasgulla. Sometimes you have a meal so sublime that you are moved to shedding a tear or two. This AVML has been one such. 

I call B over one last time to thank her for everything. She passes me a brownie, one very similar to those I’d been wolfing down earlier while talking to her in the lounge. This of course, brings the widest of smiles to my face. Not because I like brownies. But most certainly because of the fact that she had noticed. And remembered. The crew has been absolutely stellar on this flight. 

---

Business class. A crew that knows how to pronounce your ridiculously long last name. A crew that has time to engage in conversations with you. Meals served on crisp white table cloths. Meals that come in courses. Flat beds to stretch your legs. Flat beds to rest your weary soul. On a grueling ultra long haul flight across 10 time zones, almost anything that seeks to make you feel more earthly is highly appreciated. 

This has been Emirates Two Eleven Super - Dubai to Houston in just under seventeen hours, albeit the best seventeen hours of my life.