The hantavirus debacle raises a key question: why would anyone go on a cruise? | Dave Schilling

I cannot think of one thing that a cruise offers that isn’t available in the safe bosom of dry landI don’t swim. This is a fairly crucial element of my backstory, something that defines me even if I don’t want it to and have begged people to stop asking me about it. Water and I simply have nothing in common. I’m a 41-year-old writer, and water is, well … wet. My son swims like a fish, and as soon as I dunk my head under the surface, I start wondering what it would be like to suffocate, how soon I can come back up, and what I’m even doing down there in the first place. As bad as a pool is, the ocean is even worse. It’s not just water. It’s water with living creatures in it. What’s down there? I don’t care to find out. Things are bad enough up here.My general lack of interest in swimming, perhaps better described as a horrible fear, is one of the reasons I’ve never been on a cruise. God forbid I have to escape because of some kind of Steven Seagal/Under Siege situation. I’d jump on the edge of the boat, desperately attempt to doggy-paddle and end up at the bottom of the Mariana trench.Dave Schilling is a Los Angeles-based writer and humoristDo you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters section, please click here. Continue reading…

I cannot think of one thing that a cruise offers that isn’t available in the safe bosom of dry landI don’t swim. This is a fairly crucial element of my backstory, something that defines me even if I don’t want it to and have begged people to stop asking me about it. Water and I…

I cannot think of one thing that a cruise offers that isn’t available in the safe bosom of dry landI don’t swim. This is a fairly crucial element of my backstory, something that defines me even if I don’t want it to and have begged people to stop asking me about it. Water and I simply have nothing in common. I’m a 41-year-old writer, and water is, well … wet. My son swims like a fish, and as soon as I dunk my head under…