We are on Day 6 of the cruise, and already made stops at a tropical island in Bahamas and fun day in Bermuda. Giddy had an adventure in Bermuda while Jim was busy for most of the day.
The sun rose gently over the turquoise waters as the Oceania Vista approached Bermuda, slicing through the sea like a silver spoon through sorbet. Giddy the Gnome had been eagerly awaiting this day. While many passengers were planning beach excursions or rum tastings, Giddy had one goal: to explore the historic Royal Naval Dockyard, gnome-style.
As the ship docked, Giddy caught his first glimpse of Bermuda’s pastel buildings and proud stone forts. The Royal Dockyard stood like a stoic guardian of history—old stone walls, iron cannons, and the kind of weathered charm that made Giddy’s boots itch with excitement.
“Think they’ll let a gnome in?” as Jim placed him gently to the gangway.
“I’m technically royalty back home,” Giddy said. “Or at least I once won ‘Best Beard’ at the Gnomefolk Festival. That should count for something.”
Giddy darted through the Dockyard’s sun-warmed stones, marveling at the grandeur of Fort Scaur and the Clocktower Mall’s twin spires. He climbed into an old cannon (just to see what it felt like) and waved to surprised tourists who thought he was part of the display until he moved.
At the National Museum of Bermuda, he squeezed through a window crack and roamed the galleries in awe. Shipwreck treasures, maritime maps, and pirate lore—this was Giddy’s kind of history.
He spent nearly an hour perched on a model schooner, pretending he was the captain. “Raise the sails! Bring me a seashell cappuccino!” he shouted, before falling backward into a jar of sea glass.
Around midday, Giddy grew hungry, which we provided him a fried fish sandwich and a thimble of Bermuda ginger beer from a dockside café. Giddy sat beneath a bougainvillea bush, munching contentedly while wild chickens strutted by, eyeing his crumbs.
But trouble came in the form of a curious green lizard who mistook Giddy’s hat for a flower and tried to eat it. A brief scuffle ensued, ending with Giddy riding the lizard three feet across the lawn like a rodeo champion.
“I should’ve packed a helmet,” he muttered, dusting off his vest.
As the day faded, Giddy returned to the ship, pausing to gaze out at the still waters surrounding the Dockyard. The stone ramparts glowed golden in the sunset, and the call of a conch horn echoed somewhere beyond the harbor.
He took one last look at Bermuda, sketching the view into his journal. “Note to self,” he wrote. “Return with more time, fewer lizards, and perhaps…a tiny snorkel.”
Back aboard the Vista, Giddy climbed onto a deck chair and let the warm ocean breeze wash over him. Europe still waited across the Atlantic, but Bermuda had left its mark.
A footprint in the sand. A tiny bite in his hat. And a page in his ever-growing story.