He's not telling you, of course, that you'll have to give it back when the cruise ends.
It only takes one cruise for the independent traveler to understand that the cruise industry isn't about transporting you from one tropical locale to another so you can experience the culture. The whole point of a cruise is about keeping you onboard as long as possible so that you won't spend money anywhere other than with the cruise line. And people drop a WHOLE LOT of money.
This is my experience on a recent cruise to Haiti, Jamaica, Grand Cayman Island, and Cozumel, Mexico. The cruise line and ship involved will remain unnamed to protect the innocent and not-so innocent.
It was difficult, the first day, to escape the din of the super friendly-yet-annoying cruise director belting out the virtues of the next moneymaking event aboard ship. "This is Keith the Caaaaaash Maaaaan! Here to tell you about Big Bucks Bingooooo-rama! And don't miss our Introduction to Shopping talk! You won't want to miiiiiiiiss thiiiiiiis one! All the best places to BUY on the islands!"
Desperate, I found a hiding place that would become my refuge for the rest of the trip: directly behind the smokestack of this floating moneymaker that passes for an oceangoing vessel. Don't tell the others about my secret spot. If you get behind it, you'll be safe from the Cash Man, the Drink Man, the Tour Man, the Makeup Ladies and all of the other cruise staff trying to sell you things. The trick is to find the corner between the sports deck and the fitness center's panoramic windows. Or really, anywhere no one can see you. Perhaps the laundry room where the thousands of white tablecloths go for cleaning in the bowels of the ship would be another escape area. But there's no view there, save for red wine stains.
In spite of the onslaught of vendors, the lapping blue waves and sunsets advertised in those fancy television commercials are pretty nice. That is, once you can hear and see them without the audio advertisements for drink specials. In my hiding place, only the occasional passer-by notices me. "That's a great spot," they say. Good thing I thought of it first, I mutter to myself.
Back to enjoying where I am: the middle of the Caribbean Sea. The salt kicked up from the breeze over the water somehow finds my bare legs here, in my secret spot. No need for a therapeutic mud wrap for $125. Nature will take care of me.
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