Hedonism On The High Seas -- Bright Lights, Big Party, Aboard Ecstasy, A Ship Where Nothing Succeeds Like Excess

Whew! Hang on a second. Let me sit down and catch my breath.

I've just come off a week-long Caribbean cruise on the Ecstasy, one of Carnival Cruise Line's new party boats.

Trying to keep up with a boat load of party-loving folks, many of them just about half my age, is a bit exhausting. And it sometimes made me feel like an old codger in a kindergarten class.

Take my dining arrangements, for example, courtesy of of a mischievous computer which is supposed to match meal-time companions like a dating service.

The first night I got to the dining room a bit early, sat down, ordered a glass of wine and waited. I felt like a lad on his first day at a new school, wondering who his new classmates will be.

Just then, four fresh-faced women in their early 20s joined me - high-school pals from small rural towns in western Ohio.

Their delight in their first cruise was contagious, their questions fundamental. Will I get seasick? Can we really order anything from the menu? What's an escargot? Which fork do I use first?

For them, this already was a voyage of discovery.

Moments later, six young women from Boston, each dressed to stun, stormed into the room, swept past the maitre d' and headed for our table.

You guessed it: the other half of our dining party.

A table of opposites

For the next six nights it was East Coast big city meets small-town middle America - with a middle-aged travel editor from

Seattle in between.

Boston ordered a Manhattan; Ohio a Mountain Dew. Boston demanded a very dry Chateau Ste Michelle chardonnay of a specific year; Ohio asked for chianti. Boston ordered an after-dinner cognac or brandy by name; Ohio held her breath . . . and asked for creme de menthe.

When Boston spoke - everybody listened, even at nearby tables.

After dinner that first night, the maitre d' pulled me aside discreetly and said, "Mr. Macdonald, I'd be quite happy to find another table for you if you wish."

"Don't you dare," I said. "This group looks like too much fun."

And fun it was . . . especially the evening Capt. Raffaele Gavino joined his passengers for dinner.

During dessert, the boldest of the Boston bunch walked up behind the unsuspecting officer and swung his chair around so she could have her picture taken with him. Then she swung him sharply back in place, slapped him on the back and said, "Thanks buddy and smooth sailing."

The bewildered captain just blushed.

For six days, the sophisticated ladies from Boston, the country girls from Ohio and the rest of the 2,257 passengers ate, drank, gambled, sunned, shopped, danced, exercised and ran ourselves ragged for 2,015 miles through the Caribbean, from Miami to Nassau, San Juan and St. Thomas and back.

The port visits and shopping were OK, but the real star of this voyage was the ship itself.

The Ecstasy is 10 decks high and nearly as long as three football fields. It can handle 2,600 passengers. It's literally a giant floating crap game, a sophisticated city nightclub scene, gourmet dining, coffee-shops and fast-food restaurants and more all rolled into one.

Carnival Cruise Line welcomes all ages, but uses all the flash and fun and non-stop action it can muster to lure the 25 to 45 age set.

Compared to Carnival ships, other liners seem sedate.

Our high-energy week on the Ecstasy began even before we boarded.

The carpeted waterfront warehouse on the Miami pier where we checked in buzzed like a college rush party. Young women giggled about clothes and men and getting a tan. Young men snorted about booze, girls and gambling. The scent of shipboard conquest was in the air.

Bright lights, big ship

Once across the gangway, and inside the ship, we stopped cold as though on cue. Our heads snapped back. Our jaws dropped.

The seven-deck-high Grand Atrium engulfed us in bright lights, neon and color. Think of a huge hotel lobby, part Star Trek, part Las Vegas.

Neon lights outlined the decks above us; they were computer controlled to shift from cool blues, to serene greens to hot reds. Overhead, a canopy of fiber-optic lights twinkled like stars. Lighted panels of gold and black and mirrored metal resembled surreal big-city skyscrapers. Two glass-enclosed elevators outlined by white neon carried passengers to the upper decks.

All seemed a sure bet to wow big-city Boston, small-town Ohio and cruise veterans alike.

Joe Farcus, the ship's interior architect, had said he wanted to create a fun city-theme "bubbling with energy and rich in texture."

If bright lights and flashy colors create energy, he did his job, although one woman passenger said the lights gave her a headache.

After-dinner action

On most nights, the after-dinner action was in the Blue Sapphire Lounge for Broadway-style shows.

When the show ended, the scene changed.

Children of the 1940s and '50s peeled off at the stairways and elevators and headed for bed. The children of the '60s and beyond headed for the Promenade Deck and for the piercing lights, loud music and slot machines.

Action central was City Lights Boulevard, a walkway of neon, flashing lights and mirrors beckoning like a French Quarter pitchman - past the disco, the night club, the coffee bar and the casino.

By midnight, maybe 200 night owls took a break to hit the ship's midnight buffet, then returned to the music.

I made it past midnight a couple of nights, but my mealmates made it a point to

experience as much Ecstasy as possible. They gave the nightlife a thumbs up, but another young, more conservative passenger, called it a meat market.

Since I wasn't staying up all night, I was among 100 or so passengers to hit the ship's gym at 7 a.m. to work off yesterday's food and drink. But by the end of the drink. But by the end of the week, a spa staff member and I had the place to ourselves.

"Happens every cruise," she said. "They're here the first few days. Then the late hours, booze and food take their toll."

Made be think of the old saying: "Those who hoot with the owls at night can't soar with the eagles in the morning."

I rode the stationary bicycle for a couple of minutes then went for breakfast - champagne and orange juice, fruit cocktail, eggs benedict, toast with butter and jam and coffee. I figured I earned it. The night owls stir

But by 9 a.m. or so, the night owls were stirring. Half of the poolside lounge chairs were filled - or at least staked out with a blanket or a book. By noon, the deck was rail-to-rail sun-worshippers of all shapes, ages and sizes.

Mid-afternoon poolside events weren't exactly intellectual: a beer-drinking contest (won by a woman); pillow fights, men's hairy-chest and knobby-knees contests; and races by mechanical frogs across the pool.

It took me a couple of days to figure out why all those young folks could party into the wee hours and I couldn't.

While they were snoozing by the pool, I was exploring inside where the older set played bingo, studied napkin-folding, entered trivia contests, watched movies or listened to travel talks.

On Friday afternoon I stumbled across a little-known hideaway: the Explorers Club library-lounge, a place of mahogany paneling and traditional steamship decor. At the entrance was a relief globe four feet high.

Bookshelves held games and puzzles and books of ocean-going lore - plus 130 copies of "The New American Bible for Catholics" (yes, I counted). There were several gapes in the neatly-arranged row. Some repentant night owls perhaps?

Two girls, about 10 and 14, were doing schoolwork - geography, of course -in the library-lounge.

But 30 minutes was enough for me; the quiet was unnerving.

As I hurried toward the crowded pool I began to worry about myself. Had the ship's glitz and glitter finally won me over?

I'll admit that I had weakened, but I hadn't succumbed.

Would I sail the Ecstasy again? Probably not. But I sure can understand why some people keep going back.