Last week, Hubby and I spent a few days in on Mount Desert Island in Maine. [Fun Fact: They pronounce it “dessert” like the cake, instead of “desert” like the dry climate, which really bothered Hubby. I suggested maybe they were pronouncing it like the verb, as in to “desert” someone, but he was not happy with that either.] It was a mostly beautiful vacation. We hiked in Acadia National Park, stared at gorgeous views, went on a ghost tour, ate lobster—they pronounced it “lobstah” but Hubby was fine with that—and enjoyed glorious weather with sunny skies during the day and starry skies at night and a temperature that was perfect for both coffee and ice cream (but not at the same time). It really was a mostly very beautiful vacation.

Mostly.

Before I tell you about the whale watching tour Hubby and I went on, I’d like to share some important lessons we learned during our trip (for educational purposes).

Things I Learned on My Trip to Maine

• Always confirm what appliances your cabin comes with before buying groceries on your vacation.
• Do not confuse the word “toaster” with the phrase “toaster oven.”
• You can’t cook a frozen deep-dish pizza in a pan on the stove.
• Late 40s is not too old to attempt to cook a frozen deep-dish pizza in a pan on the stove if you are tired enough from a day of traveling.
• Late 40s is not too old to be so embarrassed over trying to cook a frozen deep-dish pizza on the stove that you dispose of any evidence of the fiasco, vow never to tell anyone about it, and refer to it only as the Frozen Pizza Incident from that point forward.
• Sometimes, the ill-planned, embarrassing experience you *think* will define the worst moment of your vacation (i.e. the Frozen Pizza Incident) does not even compare to the actual worst moment of your vacation and becomes such a minor footnote that you forget about it for days until you re-read your trip journal. But by then, the other Awful Thing has happened, so you shake your head at the thought of the Frozen Pizza Incident being a big deal.
• When the information about your whale watching tour provides helpful resources for combating seasickness such as Dramamine, ginger chews, and peppermints, you should purchase more than just peppermints.
• When your weather app alerts you about a High Surf Warning, you should read it carefully.
• When your whale watching tour is cancelled due to turbulent waters, and you rebook for the following day, and there is still a High Surf Warning the following day, you should give that considerable thought.
• When you are getting on the whale watching boat, and a knowledgeable, seafaring person is standing at the front making announcement after announcement warning passengers that the seas will be rough and anyone who struggles with motion sickness should probably reconsider going on this particular boat tour, you should listen to her.
• Reminding yourself that you don’t get motion sick in cars and have not been motion sick on the few small boats you have been on in calm waters should not lead you to believe you will not be sick on a four-hour boat trip in the ocean over high waves and choppy waters.
• Never assume the number of sick bags already placed on the table for your convenience will be enough.

A Quick Summary of Our Whale Watching Tour (Because the Long Version is Not Fit to Print)

Seasickness is terrible. It’s a whole-body, all-consuming sort of disaster. Weak limbs, shaky hands, headache, roiling stomach… Ugh. And peppermints don’t do anything except make your vomit slightly minty. I did glimpse a couple of whales and a few dolphins, so… check. However, I saw a lot more seasick bags than I did wildlife. And I have no photos of the dolphins and whales because merely reaching down to get my phone out of my bag would have killed me. I can’t even fathom actually trying to look at a screen in that situation.

Before you think Hubby and I were just being weaklings, we were not the only people sick on the boat. It was a puke-fest. Many people were seasick. However, many people were not. Those people got to see tons of dolphins and whales. They got to move around and talk to their families and look through binoculars and drink sodas and turn their heads without worrying that it would send them into another round of barfing. One group near us played cards while the boat sped over choppy waves. On the way back, they opened take-out containers and ate dinner. I hated them.

When the seemingly eternal excursion finally ended, Hubby and I stumbled across the street to Agamont Park in Bar Harbor, where we collapsed on the grass and lay there amidst the picnickers and dog-walkers and ice-cream-eaters until we had the strength and balance to walk back to our car. We spent our last night in Maine in our cabin eating comfort foods, discussing our poor choices, and watching soccer. At one point when one team was relentlessly attacking their opponent’s goal, making multiple attempts to score, the announcer said, “The attacks just keep coming! Wave after wave after wave…” and we burst out laughing because it made us both sick just hearing that.

The next day, we packed our bags, tidied our cabin, took the trash with the forgotten Frozen Pizza Incident evidence to the dumpster, and began our travel day home, feeling extremely hungover, dehydrated, and exhausted.

That boat ride was a terrible experience. Getting sick in public, for hours, in a place where you’re trapped is something I never want to repeat. But it was still a beautiful vacation. Truly. After all, I did see a whale, and Hubby and I survived. Our stomachs survived, our bodies survived, and our relationship survived. We got queasy together, we puked together, we laughed together, and we comforted each other as much as possible, which mostly entailed him clumsily patting my back with one of his numb hands and me occasionally saying, “Are you okay?” and him replying, “No.” At one point, he told me he wanted a divorce since the whale tour was my idea, but he hasn’t followed through with that and I’m hoping he’ll forget.

My last piece of advice to you is this: Marry someone who you can puke next to and still love the next day.

And now, some poetry…

The boat tour inspired me to write the following limerick:

In Bar Harbor, me and my hubber
Took a boat to see beasts made of blubber, 
But the sea threw its punches
And we tossed our lunches, 
Confirming that we are landlubbers.