The USS Midway and the San Diego Maritime Museum

On Thursday, Mommy, Timmy, Joshua, and I went down to San Diego to visit a retired aircraft carrier-turned-museum—the USS Midway. The inside of this massive vessel closely resembled a maze; tight corridors branched out in infinite directions, bound to make any unsuspecting visitor completely lost. I wouldn't be surprised if, somewhere deep in that labyrinth of a ship, a marine—who hadn't been informed the carrier was out of commission—was still working. Another thing about these corridors was the staircases. In an attempt to cram as much stuff in the ship as possible (not to mention increase the chances of slipping and dieing a horrible death), the stairs were all about five inches wide and declining at a sharp angle. Not very well thought out. And yet, despite the uncomfortableness of the ship, the marines had had some pleasures. A store sold goodies and rented movies to interested sailors. Each group of marines had its own room for viewing the movies they rented, sitting on the chairs while eating their goodies, re-viewing the movies, or just hanging out (all the rooms only had one screen with a bunch of chairs in-front of it). At the end of the trip, I was left feeling a greater appreciation for all American soldiers everywhere.



We next visited the Star of India, a beautifully-carved, 19th century cargo ship. Unlike the Midway, the designers of this vessel seemed to have actually cared about the ship's appearance: the doors displayed gently-curving designs, the walls furnished with daring paintings, and the white sails fluttered in the wind, eager for the next voyage. This splendor, however, ended as soon as we reached the hull. Thick ropes slung all along the walls, boards rotting with age, smells of rotting food wafting throughout—these were the things which greeted us as we walked down. Down below was a small, outhouse-like bathroom which seemed too small to adequately serve its purpose. Although the Star of India had been skillfully made, the effects of age had eroded away its glory. I was glad when we left that vessel.



Adjacent to the Star of India floated the HMS Surprise. From the outside, it resembled the previous ship; from the inside, it was completely different. Being a warship, the Surprise was supplied with four or five canons, aimed and ready to fire at some unseen enemies. The vessel itself was used as a movie set a couple of years ago; hence, the wheel near the bow was fake, while the real one was hidden away below the deck. This arrangement allowed a real captain to steer the boat while letting the actor does whatever stupid things he wanted to do. There wasn't much to see on this ship.



Unlike the previous two ships, the next vessels we went on—the B-29 and the USS Dolphin—were not ships but submarines. In all honesty, the first vessel, the B-29, seemed more like the inside of a toaster than something for transporting people. Lining the walls and roof were exposed tubes and wires; I needed to watch where I stepped to avoid hitting one. In addition, the entrances, barely big enough for even one person to pass through, were frighteningly small. As if this weren't enough, the designers lit the rooms with an eerie, yellow glow, perhaps in an attempt to constantly terrify the sailors and therefore keep them active at their posts. Near the end of the boat were the sailors' bunks—or, at least, what seemed to be the bunks. Each bunk consisted of a cold, metal rim interwoven with a lattice of springs (I can see why all crew members on a submarine cut off all their hair). And then, on top of these death traps was spread out a single blanket made from something like gray felt. I was glad to leave the B-29; I'm sure all the crew members had felt the same.



Compared to the B-29, the USS Dolphin, our next stop, was like a luxury liner: the couches and bunks had thick, cozy cushions (for the record, the Russian submarine didn't have a single couch [those Russians!]); the walls were wide and allowed an easier passage; the lighting, bright and natural, made the whole boat seem comfortable and livable. There was even a small kitchen, which gave the whole vessel a relaxed, homely feeling. Also, happily for Timmy, the periscope, even though out of commission, was in working shape (we were able to look out on the San Diego harbor and see people walking by). We passed through this vessel very quickly because Mommy was getting tired and wanted to speed on through. All in all, I was very pleased with the USS Dolphin—especially after being in that Russian sub!