rear window

This is what a realtor would call a cruise ship “stateroom.”

The less florid call it a “cabin.”

I call it my "bed closet."  You can see why.  It is simply a place for my bed to live. 

It is my home for the 15 night cruise from Barcelona to Dubai.  And noticeably larger than my cabin for the 16 night crossing from New Orleans. 

Probably because of that window.  More on it later.

Both are interior cabins.  That means I do not have a view of the sea.  My first cabin was like a cave.  At least, this cabin overlooks the interior promenade. 

The cruise line refers to the promenade as the ship’s Main Street.  To me, it looks like a rather low-brow strip mall.  But it is a gathering place on special occasions: parades, formal nights, dances.

I started having Mexico withdrawals after living in my cave for over two weeks.  The lack of light was not too bad -- even though I have always slept best when a room is lit with outside light.

What I really missed was noise.  When I entered my windowless cabin, it was almost like entering a recording studio.  It was eerily quiet.

In my promenade cabin, I knew I would get plenty of ambient light by leaving the curtains open.  Of course, it was a bit like living in a Big Brother episode.  But that was my neighbors’ issue.  Not mine.  And I nearly have my act up to Sally Rand quality.

What I hoped for was noise.  Some evidence that I was not alone on this ship.  Just a little bit of Mexican chaos.  After all, I was only two decks above The Action.

But technology worked against me.  Even with the window, the cabin is as quiet as Trappist monastery.

On most cruises, I stay in either a balcony cabin or a balcony suite.  And I live on the balcony on sea days.

Here are a few statistics.  My interior cabin was 160 square feet.  My Promenade cabin is a spacious 167 square feet. That includes a bathroom the size of an airline toilet with a bit of extra space for a shower that allows admittance to most of an average body.

The good thing about the tiny interior cabins is that the lack of space shoos me out to play like some insistent mother. 

But these cabins were built for two things.  To store a small wardrobe.  And to provide a place to sleep.

And ships have always provided a great place for me to sleep.  No matter the size of the cabin.  The movement of the ship is even better for nodding off than the clickety-clack of a Pullman car.

And, for that purpose, it deserves an honorary “stateroom” appellation.