Amazon cruise Miami > Rio de Janeiro

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Away from winter. Off to the sun. And great relaxation with a touch of adventure. But the start was an obstacle course...

The outbound journey (17/12/22): to Miami. Transatlantic flight to the US, a Saturday after an airport strike: we were advised to be at Zaventem three hours before departure. Because of the strike, we had already had to rebook our KLM flight via Amsterdam to Miami to Delta BRU-JFK-MIA. At the scheduled departure time, we were grounded for over ninety minutes. It turned out to be a problem with the kitchens. Technicians were running around. Upon arrival in New York, with all passengers already standing, it took another twenty minutes before we could disembark. As a result, our connection time was reduced from two and a half hours in JFK to barely fifty minutes. It was hopeless to make the connection, considering how many checks and procedures you had to navigate in the US just to reach a distant gate on time.

But that's not what this clever Pipo has anticipated. Since Nella can't walk, I ordered a wheelchair through the cockpit. A sturdy black woman pushes and speeds up, shouting " tight connection ." I can barely keep up. Past passport control and interrogation, customs, baggage claim and re-checking, security check, hand luggage check, metal detector, and sprint to that far-off Delta gate. We just make it.

In Miami, the plane sits idle for fifteen minutes because something is preventing taxiing. Out of my seat, same situation. Another fifteen minutes of standing waiting because no one showed up at the gate. I loudly rename the meaning of Delta to " Disastrous Experience Leads To Agony !" Once inside the airport, I notice the many overweight Black women with elaborate hairstyles. We're struggling with our luggage. I tell Nella: Your excess baggage is carrying the weight of your needless fears.

Once at the hotel, we immediately collapse onto the bed. Then, a moment of wonder. From my pocket, I pull out two (!) smartphones: mine and one belonging to a certain Latino American. Apparently, I'd casually retrieved the phone from the seat slot on board and slipped it into my pocket, presumably forgotten. I'll leave it to the front desk to sort it out.

The next morning, around ten o'clock, we watched the first half of the World Cup final, featuring France and Argentina. It was on Fox, which I once swore I'd never watch. Then we took a taxi to Cruiseport Miami Terminal J. This meant there were ten mega cruise ships there, all in embarkation mode (it was Sunday). Our ship only took 1,250 passengers. But the others averaged 4,000 to 5,000, I estimate. That means there were about 40,000 people embarking right now.

Miami is the busiest cruise port in the world, and that's not even counting Fort Lauderdale. What do you expect with all those Caribbean islands in America's backyard? Carnival, Royal Caribbean, Celebrity, Disney, NCL, and MSC all have monstrous floating condominiums, some with giant slides and theme park attractions. Horrific. Where has the elegance of old-fashioned cruising gone? The romance of stylish sea travel? No, I choose small ships, more personalized instead of mass tourism, and a beautiful maritime infrastructure full of art and class. But oh well. No wonder the cruise industry, with 19 million guests per year, has a turnover of $29.4 trillion.

We have concierge level , which means priority embarkation. Everything runs incredibly smoothly, from the document, passport, and COVID checks to the photo for the internal computer so all staff stations always have all the information about you and your habits. And don't be under any illusions, including whether you're a nuisance or not. Our World Card is our stateroom key and payment card. Boarding and disembarking is done via facial recognition. So, it's smooth sailing, but still, why do we have to have our parents' names on our ESTA and ask questions like, "Have you ever had cholera?", "Were you ever part of a terrorist group?", or "Have you ever been arrested for drugs?" Who would ever answer yes to those questions? It's December 18th, and the ship is in full Christmas mode.

The central stairway in the Atrium features a giant Christmas tree, decorations everywhere, and, of course, the inevitable jingle bells. And so we experience the most absurd, surreal World Cup final of all time. We watch the second half on a Balinese lounger at 25°C next to the pool, staring at a giant screen that flickers every three seconds, forcing us to guess what happened. There's no commentary or stadium sound, but it's bathed in loud choirs belting out Spanish Christmas carols of "Feliz Navidad."

The marina has a crew-to-person ratio of 1.56, which is exceptionally high, and this is reflected in the smooth, superb service. There are eleven passenger decks. The ship is 239 meters long, built in Italy, and registered in the Marshall Islands. Everything is practically perfect, except for the satellite internet, which frequently struggles to function properly, let alone quickly.

We settle into stateroom 9009 ( no license to kill ). It features a spacious veranda with a terrace. Our steward, Prakash Rao Chalagali, comes to explain everything to us with a smile. A bottle of champagne is chilled. In the evening, we eat in the Grand Dining Room. Everyone is registered by a flamboyant, cheerful Filipina. A surprising number of people are still wearing face masks. A Ukrainian waiter offers us a table, but our actual table waitress turns out to be Aigun, a petite, blonde… Russian. No kidding.

Days 2 and 3: At sea (Atlantic) The first two days we're busy with all sorts of things, and above all, we're breaking the world sleep record. Jet lag, the incredibly comfortable bed, and the gentle rocking of the ship all play a part in that. While Nella gets her latte and breakfast delivered via room service (24/7), I go for a well-prepared Egg Benedict, but that quickly becomes just an Illy espresso macchiato at the " buongiorno dottore !" coffee bar, staffed by Italians, Baristas. After one day, Neapolitan Davide already knows everyone's usual orders. The passengers are mainly Americans (" Hi, how are you guys doing ," Canadians, and Brits). Belgians: us and two other couples.

Day 4: Philipsburg (Sint-Maarten). I've been here several times, most recently in 1993. God, how things have changed. Three mega-ships and we're moored. The obligatory steel band plays the familiar Caribbean cauldron music, calypso, which immediately gets you in the mood.

The terminal building is overflowing with tourists, souvenir shops, and a surprising number of jewelry stores. The specialty here is jam and guava-flavored treats. We stroll down Front Street and back along the beach. I buy a colorful island shirt. Why not? Well, like all the islands here, Sint Maarten has lost so much of its original character and authenticity. That was already the case 35 years ago, but now everything is over-touristed and completely Americanized.

Back on board, we watch the impressive production show "The Brill Factor" in the evening, featuring a cast of twelve singers and dancers. Everything revolves around The Brill Building, where countless songwriters defined the hits of the '50s and '60s. Well, I could only dream of the technical possibilities 35 years ago, although I did have an eight-piece band with three horns back then.

Day 5: Castries (St. Lucia)

For me, one of the most beautiful, greenest, and lushest islands here. It's a struggle to ward off the taxi touts. They're loud, bordering on pushy, but they accept a firm no with a smile, always smiling and friendly (what a contrast to Muslim countries!). It's 27°C. We take a taxi for a short panoramic tour, the best way to enjoy this island. We take photos from the Hill of Good Luck. Nella has her picture taken with a wiry, half-crazy guy in a marcelle. Joy. We only pay our driver half the agreed-upon sum because the deal turns out to be a misunderstanding between him and his swaggering tout.

In the evening, the Rock the Boat party on the pool deck is moved indoors due to strong winds. The entire entertainment team is there, and yes, many join in, turning it into a real dance party, despite the rather heavy sea swell.

Days 6 and 7: At Sea (Atlantic) Reading, lounging, sipping tropical cocktails, and enjoying delicious food. It's all there. Here, in addition to the Dining Room (classic, attentive service, a wide selection of à la carte menus), you'll find the Terrace Café (buffets, sometimes themed, open seating), the Waves Grill (sophisticated burgers, even with Wagyu, surf and turf, deluxe hot dogs, grills, paninis, tacos, tortillas, etc.). There are also four specialty restaurants (à la carte, reservations required: a unique operation, top-notch service, unique character, about 120 seats each, I estimate). There's the Polo Grill (Best of America, dozens of steaks, lobster dishes, etc.), Jacques (classic French gastronomy by Jacques Pépin), Toscana (refined Italian), and Red Ginger (Asian culinary delights from across the Far East).

For drinks, you have the Waves bar (poolside), the Horizons (180° panoramic view, sublime orchestra with the brilliant keyboard-playing lead singer Eunice), the Baristas (all sorts of coffees and goodies), the Grand Bar (next to the casino) with a string quartet in the adjacent lounge, good for cheerful waltzes, frivolous baroque pieces, and other lively classical music.

There are also the Martinis (classical cocktail bar with a pianist), and of course, your own fridge and room service. The waiters are incredibly friendly, and after a while I became friends with Hannah "long legs" from Ukraine, Sabrina from Jamaica, John, Marvin, Jerry, you name it. The crew consists of over 65 nationalities, most of whom are Filipino, Indian, and Indonesian. The captain is Croatian, the general manager South African, the bar manager Bulgarian, the cruise director English, and the head chef Jamaican! It wasn't until the very end of the cruise that I saw a blonde person. Remarkable.

You can drink variations on Bloody Marys, Margaritas (mango, lime, raspberry, blueberry), pilsners from around the world (Tiger, Corona, Newcastle Draught, you name it, plus Stella and Leffe Blonde). No, not Duvel.

Onboard activities include lectures, bridge lessons, deck sports like shuffleboard, ping-pong, golf, and paddle tennis, quizzes, art classes and other courses or workshops, wellness and fitness events, karaoke, crafts and handicraft sessions, and much more.

Those who wish can find the daily talk of the cruise director, usually with his assistant, a camera view from the bridge, explanations of all destinations, the ship's position and weather, your account status, all menus, and a pack of films on the TV channels.

There are also many varied, specialized cooking classes, but they cost €89 per class. The themes are quite tempting: Perfect Pairings, Caribbean Heart and Soul, If It Swims, Cocina Latina, Discover Patagonia, Fresh and Healthy , etc.

A lot of things on board are included, but if not... Brace yourself. Massage? $249. Excursions? A regular city tour? $179. No, not for us.

24/12/22 Around 4:30 PM, crew members and passengers sing Christmas carols around the large Christmas tree, one of the few moments that really gives you that instant Christmas feeling.

Meanwhile, we pass Macapa , the landmark where the Amazon River begins. Special rules apply in Brazilian waters, such as casinos not being open, and worse, all drinks are subject to a 25% tax. But I avoid that thanks to my pre-purchased drinks package.

December 25, 2022: Christmas on the Amazon . Christmas Day under the tropical sun. In the evening, we dine at Restaurant Jacques, where I, woe betide, sorry Gaia, indulge in two versions of foie gras. Thanks to my premium beverage package, I can drink whatever I like. So, I'll also be tasting all the wines on this trip (by the glass, of course). They'll be poured generously, and sometimes refilled without asking, everywhere on board.

Day 9: Santarem Bom dia! Good morning! 31°, humidity extremely oppressive, paralyzing.

Even breathing proves difficult. We're tendering, and that takes a long time. I make a quick visit via a rattling, ancient shuttle bus. And search for some coolness.

Day 10: Parintins It's raining cats and dogs all day long. Few disembark. I have the tender practically to myself and set off, armed with the umbrella from our hut. This place is only accessible by boat or plane. I see the open Amazon boats shielded by plastic tarps, crammed with natives and hamacas. Water spouts everywhere from sewers and through the enormous drainage ditches in the streets (10 times larger than ours), orgasming into the river.

It's precisely in this difficult location, an island in the river, that the country's second- largest festival, after Rio's Carnival, takes place every year: the Boi Bumba . It revolves around a black ox (boi) that is kidnapped, dies, and is resurrected, and around two rival "oxen groups." A competition between the red and the blue. The only excursion here. This over-the-top spectacle is a mix of theater and circus, drums, song, and dance, normally held in the Bumbodrome (35,000 seats).

Day 11: Manaus After four days of sailing on the Amazon, we reach Manaus, the heart of the Amazon region and its final destination. We can't get enough of admiring the banks of this river. So, Manaus sounds quite magical. The distance from Santarem to Manaus is four days by Amazon boat. Some distances take twelve days of sailing, sleeping in hammocks, literally chickens and all. Manaus is 1,600 km from the sea, and the city has a population of one million. The Amazon River is sometimes up to eleven kilometers wide here.

We're back to the gigantic floating dock (Porto Flutuante), a feat in itself, but necessary. The river's flow can vary by as much as fourteen meters, please. From there, we take shuttle buses out of the harbor, but once we leave the Alfâdanga terminal building and the remarkable Custom House, we find ourselves right in the heart of the city. Immediately, we encounter a park, wide avenues, and bright, shimmering shops. A teeming mix of all kinds of people, traffic, and bustle. Girls nurse their babies as they stroll through the crowds. We walk to the famous Teatro Amazonas (opera house), the city's landmark. Eclectic neoclassical, not particularly remarkable in itself compared to our opera houses, but naturally remarkable in this tropical context, namely, in the middle of the jungle. It was built at the height of the Rubber Boom at the end of the nineteenth century, by and with exclusively European materials and construction workers.

Remnants of large Christmas sculptures still stand everywhere, which clashes a bit with our winter Christmas spirit. We resisted the touting taxi drivers selling tours but with guides who spoke at best broken English. But then we approached an old man at a taxi stand and, gesticulating, made a deal. He would show us all the city's sights. His commentary was in Portuguese, but we picked up a few things here and there: the Museo di Indio, the Palacio di Justitia, the Jesuit Cathedral...

There are no favelas in Manaus, but the more beautiful houses, full of latticework, crystal, and porcelain, contrast sharply with the many dilapidated, empty buildings that clearly reflect their lost glory. Sometimes we don't understand a word the man is saying, even though Nella keeps saying "si, si, si." We've seen the most extraordinary thing. The cost? $5 for an hour. We stop at the Mercado Municipal , an Art Nouveau building modeled after Les Halles de Paris, but inside it's one big orgy of life, with every imaginable produce, marginal food stalls, souvenirs, handicrafts, artisanal objects, a fish market, a section with giant hunks of meat, exotic fruits and vegetables, you name it. From here, it's only a short walk back to the terminal, full of locals sitting around three-liter beer containers, each one constantly pouring beer into plastic cups.

We're staying here for two days. I dream about the "swimming with pink dolphins" excursion, and luck smiles on me. At Martini's, a woman gives away her ticket for it (worth $179). Free of charge. Of course, I take the chance. In the evening, a quartet plays delightfully beautiful folkloric music, full of jungle sounds, using all sorts of unique percussion instruments.

Day 12: Manaus Excursion Day! A tender boat, and right next to it, a local covered speedboat. Heidi is also going, but we'll end up on a different boat, which is a shame, because who's going to take pictures of me with those dolphins?

The guide introduces himself: "You can't forget my name. My name is Ronaldo." It's raining again briefly. It's summer here, but also the rainy season, so we'll just lower the plastic tarps. It'll be an hour and forty minutes by boat. Ronaldo explains. "There are no roads; for us, the roads are our many, meandering rivers." Nevertheless, we sail under a high, long bridge over the Rio Negro. There was strong protest against this at the time. Manaus was once wealthy because it was a rubber plantation. Until the English stole seeds from those trees and artificially planted them in places like Ceylon (now Sri Lanka), which was much easier to exploit than in the wild here. This explains why, alongside lively neighborhoods, the city is dotted with dilapidated houses and ruins. Yet, there is some industry; the ubiquitous motorcycles are a cheap commodity here, as are watches. Especially since its free port status in 1967. The sandy soil here is poor, but a little further on, where the Amazon joins the Rio, it immediately becomes richly fertile.

The rivers are home to 125 species of piranhas. There are also anacondas, caimans, electric eels, vampire fish, and 3,000 other species. In its day, it was an ideal paradise for the famous underwater explorer Jacques Cousteau. Furthermore, this largest rainforest in the world is home to some 1,300 species of birds, 378 reptiles, and 400 amphibians. And mammals, including the jaguar, of course. The Rio Negro has a very slow current compared to the brown, muddy Amazon, which rises 5,000 km from here in the Andes (Peru), is sometimes up to fifteen kilometers wide, and reaches speeds of up to seven kilometers per hour. Incidentally, the Amazon region is larger than Europe.

We dock at the dolphin spot. I'm wearing swim trunks but thought they'd provide towels. They don't. The first ones get in the water, where a "waterman" repeatedly holds a fish slightly above the water, at which a pink dolphin jumps up, gulps, and disappears with a splash. I join them and hand my iPhone to a local who promises to take beautiful photos and videos. Which miraculously works. The water is quite clean, and once in, you feel that smooth dolphin skin all over you, on and beside you. I manage to touch one a few times. A wondrous experience. Why this pink river species occurs here and nowhere else is beyond explanation. I dry myself off with my underwear, change into underwear, and enjoy the spectacle. A pool of giant fish is also introduced. These too are snapping at a piece of fish on a stick and line, making a sensational racket. Giant creatures up to 2.5 meters long!

We continue sailing and moor at the Indian village of Acajatuba, which looks neat and idyllic,

Certainly not poor, though they have to fetch fresh water elsewhere and their electricity comes from generators. Deeper in the jungle, the tribes are more primitive, and there are as many as 150 different tribal languages. There are colorful flowers everywhere, and an exhibition of handmade jewelry, beads, dolls, masks, and more. The riverside setting is beautiful, but it's shocking to see how much land, trees, and shrubs are completely submerged when the river reaches its highest point.

A woman asks $5 for a Heineken. But a local beer (tastier, by the way, my Dutch friends) is only $1. Speaking of, on board: $7.50. Then it's full speed back, with plenty of splashing.

Days 13, 14, 15, 16 (Amazon/Atlantic) Four more port-free days follow. Two more on the Amazon and two on the Atlantic, en route to Recife. Sailing down the river along those dark green banks remains a highlight, and for the rest, we largely spend time in the fine art of dolce far niente. Sunbathing, swimming, jacuzzis, and the occasional Daiquiri, Mule, or Mojito. We have a stateroom with a terrace on the starboard side. If you wish, you can sunbathe there privately all day, even naked, with a drink gazing at the distant horizon. The sound of the sea, the tranquility of the waves, the play of clouds… blissful. And then, after a pre-dinner drink with piano playing, or daydreaming with the violin quartet, or dancing to the wonderful Synth band in the Horizons, we head to a specialty restaurant. We always have an informal lunch on the outdoor terrace of the Terrace Café when the sun isn't too strong. Plenty of choice, but strangely, the further the cruise progressed, the less we ate. A few homemade salads, a special soup, something from the fresh, custom-made pasta stand, or an Asian snack.

Looking at the bellies on board, I feel at peace with myself again. But it must be said, there are loads of people walking the hiking trails, and the ultramodern spa is always packed. In our category, we even have a private deck complete with jacuzzis and unique loungers with sunshades, but there's no pool or bar. Being able to cool off with an average temperature of 29°C seems essential to me. Although it is front-on with a phenomenal view, that is.

Special activities on board:

The Country Fair . The pool deck is decorated with flags. The deck chairs are gone. The concept is similar to the country fairs often featured in the series Midsummer Murders. Each personnel department has a booth with a game or tasks, usually inspired by their role in providing onboard service. For example, with the Shopkeepers, you have to dress a doll blindfolded; with Housekeeping, you have to change a pillow as soon as possible; with Destinations (excursions), you have to guess the destinations; with the Purser team, you have to guess the officers' nationalities; elsewhere, you try to hit a ping-pong ballet lesson with a baseball bat. With the Cabin Stewards (sorry, stateroom attendants ), you play bollo smitto at stacked packs of toilet paper. With the Bar Staff, you throw rings around bottles. Nella is tempted by a cardboard tissue box filled with ping-pong balls tied to her back, trying to get them out by dancing wildly and shaking your behind. Fun! You can win lottery tickets for everything. In the end we got loads of them but no tote bag, wind cap, champagne or other prize for Pipo.

The Crossing the Line, or King Neptune Ceremony, is a classic equatorial crossing. I've organized it quite a few times myself, and I've been King Neptune myself on several occasions. The concept is pretty much the same everywhere. The ship's horn starts blaring, and King Neptune arrives with his consort and entourage to his throne. The Pollywogs, passengers crossing the equator for the first time, are "baptized." While the Shellbacks shout "Kiss the Fish!" they have to kiss a giant fish and then get ladles of goo (oatmeal?) poured over them. Personally, I think the version here is a weak performance, poorly dressed. Back then, I had a giant trident, a crown, a costume covered in green algae, fish, and shellfish, and the dancers wore real mermaid costumes. Not here. Anyway.

Day 17: Recife and Olinda What a welcome!

On the dock, a small orchestra plays, featuring two dancers who are dancing to the infectious music. Nella starts bouncing along in her colorful dress, and immediately three camera crews from various TV channels rush towards her, busily filming her dancing, immediately followed by an interview. They want to know her name and where she's from, but the questions don't go beyond: "What do you think of Recife?" (We still have to visit!) or "What do you think of Brazil?" And that's about it. You can just imagine the evening news with a caption in the lower left corner: Nella, cruise passenger." Then comes the print media, recorders, and iPhone recordings. Yikes. No idea why our visit seems so important here.

It turns out to be quite a hassle, with first a shuttle bus taking us out of the port area, then through a modern but absurdly impractical new terminal building, and then another free shuttle bus for those who hadn't booked an excursion to the city center. This one drops us off at the Casa da Cultura , housed in a former prison, making it a unique place. The corridors and cells are full of shops with all sorts of handmade items made of wood, leather, lace, fabric, and ceramics. It's quite special to wander around there. Of course, as everywhere, you're approached to buy something. But what strikes me is that, once again, there's no pressure to say "no!"

We take a taxi to nearby Olinda (seven km away, $5) with its fully UNESCO-listed center, parks, baroque churches, hilly cobbled streets and sometimes brightly colored charming houses.

Prosperity at the time came from the sugar industry and the ideal soil for sugarcane cultivation. At a higher point, near a monastery and a begging mother, we take photos with the city of Recife in the distance. Once back, we explore the old town not far from the ship. Recife itself is quite unique, with its mix of bombed-out houses and rubble alongside ultra-modern buildings (mostly government buildings) and the occasional more typical house in blue, salmon pink, and even yellow facades. And the Baroque churches like the Capella.

Recife is sometimes called the Venice of Brazil, thanks to its many inlets and streams (around the Capybara ), its peninsulas and islands, protected by numerous reefs, and consequently, its many bridges (40). The Dutch played a significant role in this city's history. It is also the city of liberation fighter Dom Helder Camara, one of the heroes of my teenage years. Recife is also known for its vibrant nightlife, its many poets, students, musicians, and street entertainment. A poet once wrote: " Half of it stolen from the sea, the other half from imagination."

Day 18: Maceio. Hooray, another shuttle to a bustling market pavilion overflowing with artisanal crafts, artwork, and kitsch souvenirs, rugs, pareos, and countless hats. We cross the street and are right on the beach.

We immediately immerse ourselves in the truly vibrant Brazilian beach life. We're amazed by the lively spectacle. Along the walkway are a few trees, and almost everywhere people are selling drinks, grilling skewers, or beheading coconuts with machetes. Everywhere are simple plastic chairs, hundreds of colorful parasols, and thongs and thongs adorning the faces of Brazilian, mostly curvy, butts. I drink a Brahma pilsner (500 cl, $1). We thoroughly enjoy the would-be beach party atmosphere.

Day 19: Salvador de Bahia

A beautiful awakening. With a view of the Forte de São Marcelo, originally built to defend against pirate attacks. I'd been to Salvador before, long ago. I immediately remember that unique lower city, connected to the upper city by its giant elevator. We stroll past the Mercato Modelo once again amidst a buzz of atmospheric activity, where the residents are actually the main attraction. They come in all shapes and sizes, always dressed casually but colorfully: flip-flops, skirts, shorts, T-shirts, and all set. They are, however, quite a large population, and the women in particular are often disproportionately endowed.

The elevators easily handle hundreds of passengers. They clearly belong to a bygone era. Once at the top, you're rewarded with panoramic views of the lower town, the harbor, and the sea. And then we get back to that macedonia of stalls, stands, and vendors of all kinds.

Plaza after plaza, filled with old colonial buildings, lavishly decorated churches filled with gold leaf, markets, fountains, and people, people living on the streets despite the frequent downpours. The cobblestone streets and squares bustle with life, animation, and activities you can never capture in a photo. Or they come, spotted, and ask for money, especially the women in wide, flowing folkloric dresses.

On top of that, there are the many tourists (many Uruguayans, Argentinians and natives). In short, a samba and carnivalesque zest for life abound, swirling with a visual, auditory, and fragrant joie de vivre . Capoeira dancers showcase their skills, percussion bands play, street entertainment, fresh fruit juices, stacks of coconut ready to be chopped, and jewelry, hats, beads, dolls, folkloric trinkets, snacks... We're driven around again in a modern rickshaw. Fun and protection from the rain.

Salvador is the most quintessential city in this country because South America truly embraces Africa here. And you can hear it. Rhythms and drumming everywhere… And life. Life!

Day 20: At Sea. The main activity this morning is a challenge between passengers and officers, pitting their skills against each other, playing games like throwing and swinging, mini golf, ping-pong, and so on. I'm proving to be a disaster at swinging balls around a rope rack. It's hot. Splash. Better. Nice.

At 5:30 PM, a James Bond Show by the twelve-member production team and the Marinaband follows. But it's Eunice , the singer of the Synthband, who gives everyone goosebumps with a stunning rendition of " For Your Eyes Only ." The show is followed by a farewell with a walk-up by dozens of waiters, stewards, cooks, officers, sailors, and crew members from all departments, culminating in a dance by the entertainment team at, gulp, YMCA, in which most guests join in gesticulating. Yes, you feel it, only two more evenings and it's all over.

Day 21: Rio de Janeiro

We arrive around noon, and outside it's pouring rain. The clouds are heavy and gray. We settle into leather Chesterfield armchairs in the library, amidst the dark brown wood and copper chandeliers. Resigned. Because what a shame, that rain, that gray, dreary sky. We cruise past islands, past the mythical Pao de Acucar , the Sugarloaf, 396 meters high, at the entrance to Guanal Bay. Rio is one of the most unique cities in the world to sail into, but unfortunately, we see almost nothing. And certainly no Christ the Redentore (art deco, 700 meters high, itself 30 meters tall and weighing 700 tons) atop Corcovado in the mist. Not so bad for me, I used to have a radiant entrance and exit, but still a shame.

I'm taking a city trip through the " Cidade Maravilhosa," which is surprisingly quiet with little traffic. It's Saturday, I'm told. Few Cariocas, the name for the exuberant, 'gay' fourteen million Rio residents on the streets. Next to me sits Ed, an elderly man with limited mobility. And the inevitable conversation begins with the eternal: what's your name and where are you from ? Clearly a still-obsessed war veteran, because he immediately fills me in on all things Brazil related to WWII. Rio is surprisingly modern (that tram line!) and clean, something we've noticed before in other coastal cities. Street sweeping is clearly not a bottleneck profession, nor are military police and security guards (everywhere). And trinket sellers, of course. I take the two cable cars to the top of Sugar Loaf, but the view is quite limited by the fog and low-hanging clouds. The beaches of Copacabana (with its many beach volleyball courts), Ipanema (3 km long), and wealthy Leblon can't play their cards. And so there are no would-be Pelés on the beach. Even the favelas are invisible. And a withered Botanical Gardens.

In the evening, there's a performance by a percussion band and the inevitable scantily clad ladies, adorned with large colorful feathers and glitter, dancing with asses shaking and butts swaying. Fine meats, admittedly not quite plumed yet. But that's Brazil in the truest sense of the word, of course.

Day 22: Rio, Disembarkation, Return Flight Everyone has to disembark by 9:00 AM at the latest. Our flight is at 2:30 PM. Plenty of time. Unfortunately, a monster MSC ship is disembarking at the same time, which means chaos in the terminal. Jostling, queuing. Noise. Porters are more of a nuisance than anything else. Once outside, hordes of jostling taxi drivers are waiting for us. We walk past them all to negotiate with a nice man at the back who, while driving, spontaneously tells us about everything we pass. Like the soccer field where Ronaldo once played. Then the Maracana stadium in the distance. Our driver is a "Flamengo". That's the name of Rio's most central neighborhood and the local soccer team. The name Flamengo, by the way, comes from the Flemish people who were the first to settle here. Our driver regularly records something on his smartphone, which then translates into English and shows us. Also photos of his family and such... It's irresponsible from a safety perspective, and we're uneasy. Because even though there's little traffic again (Sunday morning), we're driving at breakneck speed to Galeon International Airport. Luckily, once we're out of the city center, we're driving on nearly empty five-lane highways.

The airport seems deserted. We're spending our last reals on tapioca with Brasileirinho . When I google it, I find a well-known pornographic Brazilian film. After further searching, the translation turns out to be "Brazilian girl" but no connection to food. After an attempt at explanation at the ordering counter, a waitress says "carne." Well, I'd already been there.

Epilogue: Everyone had been repeatedly warned not to wear jewelry or anything like that, because pickpockets are a serious problem in this country, especially Rio. A passenger who was wearing a necklace under his T-shirt lost it. At the baggage check, they were very confusing. Finally, my watch had to go through as well. I gathered all my things, and we passed through immigration and passport control. Only then did I realize I wasn't wearing my watch. I walked the long way back, but couldn't go any further. I called a help desk, who looked bored and fatalistic, and then said: nothing found. Once at Schiphol, I saw that my expensive wireless headphones were also gone. How they managed that is a mystery to me. In short, after the trip, this is the final tally. Loss: Sony headphones + Seiko watch. Gain: one and a half kilos.

We covered 6,463 nautical miles, nine ports in 22 days. It was well worth it.