Day Six…Day Seven…Day Eight…Day Nine…Day Ten…
All Aboard the RMS Queen Mary 2
Setting sail from New York
Yes, it is still calledsetting sail,though that seems inexact. The weekend before our embarkation date seemed to stretch interminably. I guess it’s only before a Monday departure do weekends seem to crawl slowly by. We had a hectic Friday evening, trying to get everything packed and ready to go. Mary stopped by to wish us bon voyage, and we were off. We made it down to Newport in good time and were able to have a nice dinner at The Moorings, my favorite restaurant there. Saturday was filled with absolute soaking rain. Not a bad thing on your day off, but we had plenty of errands to run and I had to get a restorative haircut. The one I had on Wednesday night was incomplete, as if the woman lost interest halfway through the task. Rich and I made dinner for everyone (rib roast, a tradition), and then Caroline, Rich, and I played cards — Old Maid, to be exact, and it was amazing how enjoyably irritating the game was.
Sunday was an absolutely beautiful spring day: cool, brightly sunny, and fresh. All the rain really had a restoring effect on the land around the house. Snowdrops and daffodils are starting to come up there, so it won’t be long now.
Caroline and Rich take Buddy, Vince, and Nicholas out for a walk.
We headed out to New York, and made it in a relatively speedy three hours. Well, that was to 56th St. at the West Side Highway. From there, traffic came to an exhausting crawl. We were going to drive to Brooklyn to see how easy or difficult the drive would be the next day when our speedy and stress-free trip would really matter. As it was, we cut the drive short on 10th Street, heading east and back uptown. A frustrating exercise, but we made it to the St. Regis about an hour after hitting the snag on the West Side Highway. The hotel remains one of the loveliest places we have ever stayed, and while stratospherically expensive it can be managed when using points accrued elsewhere. Why, here’s Richie now:
A nice photo of the hero of this evening’s tale.
Surprisingly, I had a real taste for shopping. Even the eternal blandishments of Fifth Avenue can leave me nonchalant; maybe it was the idea of things specifically for the trip that allowed me to enjoy what I have always considered a fairly fey endeavor. I bought a new bow tie at Alfred Dunhill, and considered a new shirt to go with my dinner jacket, but the prices left me gasping and looking for the nearest chair in which to recover. I might have considered dipping into Vince’s college fund, realized that as a dog, he doesn’t have one, and decided that no, it was too much for a shirt, no matter how strikingly handsome it was. We walked around midtown for a bit, stopping for a moment to enjoy some fun New York sights.
A quintessential late winter afternoon activity.
An ad being shot outside of Bergdorf Goodman. Remember, you saw it here first.
Rich continued to shop, while I met up with my old pal Mark. Friend of my youth, ultimate roommate in Buffalo, and one who is never without a quip, a comeback, or a pat on the back. A good friend indeed. We stopped into a bar on 6th and chatted the late afternoon away. There is probably nothing in the world that would make me regret having dinner reservations at Union Square Café, but having to leave Mark while we were in mid-howl of a reunion probably comes closest.
After rousing Rich, we headed downtown and walk around a bit, early as we were for dinner. Walking around the Village is an endlessly enjoyable pastime, something we do unselfconsciously and with great appreciation. If, however, I took delight in these walks before, they pale in comparison to Sunday evening when, on 10th Street, we came upon this gem:
The apartment building at 9 E 10th St that was the home of Dawn Powell for an extended period.
To those familiar with Powell’s work, you will understand my excitement. First, I am glad to see that New York is finally affixing these plaques to the erstwhile residences of its famous citizens. It is one of the most enjoyable aspects of walking around London, spotting such plaques (theirs are blue), and I am glad that New York is doing the same thing. Second, Turn, Magic Wheel, in addition to being a favorite novel, is also the choice of our book group at the library. Finally, though, it was rather heartbreaking to imagine Powell, undervalued in her own lifetime and constantly beset by worry (her drinking, her difficult marriage, her mentally disabled son) and financial troubles, trudging up those steps to work on novels that barely merited attention in her lifetime. Writing was always a laborious endeavor for Powell, and it often made her miserable. To stumble upon her building was really touching.Dinner was nothing short of superb (Cabbage, apple, and bacon risotto: the singularly most delicious appetizer I have ever had in my life.) and it was enjoyable to enjoy a civilized dinner, with expertly prepared food served by impeccably polished professionals. I could go on and on, but suffice it to say that the USC has to be experienced to be appreciated. We took a bit of a walk after dinner as well, hoping to work off the heady atmosphere of the restaurant and its offerings. Heading to bed, knowing that we would be boarding the next day, was intoxicating enough so we chose to forego our usual night cap in the lovely King Cole Bar at the hotel.
Our embarkation day arrived finally. We feel that we had booked the trip ages ago, but we were finally able to start thinking that we would soon be on board. We asked for a late check out of the hotel, and the St Regis being amenable and gracious as always, agreed. This was perfect timing as we would then hit the Brooklyn Terminal at just about the right time. We could have boarded at any time after noon, but we thought between 1:30 and 3:00 would be ideal. This time, the West Side Highway proved to be relatively free of traffic, and we made it to the Battery Tunnel in no time, and further directions to the dock proved to be trouble-free. We pulled up, met Sal and John, who would be handling our luggage (say what you will about longshoremen, these guys were gentlemen). Rich parked the car, we walked through security and screening (no serpentine lines; just walk on through). We checked in, got our photos taken (for when you’re getting on and off the ship), and boarded the ship. From the time we left the hotel to entering our room took about an hour and ten minutes. I have stood in security lines that lasted that long at the airport (Las Vegas, anyone?). Here is the palpable superiority of going by ship.
Well, our room. Even sitting in the fetid water off Brooklyn cannot mitigate the lovely views from our cabin:
Gulp. If this has no affect on you, well, then go back to Russia, comrade!
Rich, Governor’s Island, and a little lady I call Liberty.
The Brooklyn Bridge with the Manhattan Bridge just behind it.
Lower Manhattan, as seen from the stern of the Queen Mary 2.
Dusk is starting to settle in. The light, not really appreciable in this photo, was really enchanting.
New York or New Jersey?
Rich and I went to lunch in the Queen’s Grille, another lovely spot that looks out over the stern.
From our table.
Lovely. Our departure was delayed somewhat by a late flight from Manchester (UK). That was fine as in the middle of dinner we say the Statue of Liberty slipping by, then under the Verrazzano Narrows Bridge. It really was quite amazing. I hope to God I never get blasé about such things. At dinner, we are sitting dead center of a row of seven tables of two; the three to our right and to our left are occupied by six British couples, all similarly aged (slightly older than us) and from the north of England. Their conversations are quite lively but Rich and I are nowhere near making the friends we did of the vibrant Jocelyn and Peter on our transatlantic crossing of a few years ago. No offense taken, but we are most definitely enisled.Well after that day, we felt it was all we could do just to make it to the room and collapse. Which we did, and nowhere arrived more happy men.
En route from New York to Tortola
Tuesday, our first full day at sea saw some much needed relaxation happening. This ship seems to have less going on than the Queen Elizabeth 2 or maybe it is just more difficult to find it. The ship is so damn big that getting from point A to point B can be a hurdle. Twice today Rich and I walked around Deck 7 three times for a total of 2.2 miles. Not bad and it is fun to do an old fashioned promenade. Greeting all the older women and allowing the older gentlemen to pass in the opposite direction is quite evocative of what shipboard life must have been like all those years ago.There was gloriously little to do, and we did it. Rich and I both knocked off good chunks of our books, I wrote, did some ironing (I know, right?), and had quite a bit of luck in the casino. Fun, since that usually does not happen this early in a cruise. Not quite as tight as it has been in the past, thank goodness. We spent some time around the ship and took some photos. We went to the Queen’s Room for tea, not quite as starchy and elegant as I had thought it might be (we had never been before). Rather slapdash, with lots of clanging of trays and crashing of plates. Well, aren’t I the dainty flower? I think that they use tea service for waiter training, as there is a loose collection of youngsters in ill-fitting clothes serving the sandwiches ("We have cucumber, tomato, egg salad, and that’s it," one informed me helpfully). Tonight was a formal night, so that meant bringing out the dinner jackets and putting on the dog. I cannot smile for the camera, it seems.
Our deck, comfortable, spacious, and in the afternoon sun.
A row of deck chairs on Deck 7, the Promenade Deck.
Gay blades. These are propeller blades from the first Queen Mary. Nice touch.
And this was the best of them.
Dinner was lovely, though I held off on the caviar thinking that two evenings in a row was a bit much. We usually have some served in our cabin by Claudio, the butler. Yeah, a butler. I know it seems a bit OTT, but he comes with the cabin, is effortlessly charming, and endlessly helpful. Carlos, his sidekick, is equally sterling and the two of them keep us well covered and saturated. They work every day from 7:00 a.m. until 9:00 p.m. With those hours we are loath to ask them for anything, hoping that they can just get through their day, but they will not hear of it. Expert and gracious.After dinner, we headed to the casino. I stopped into the pub to grab a beer and met up with the bartender Julie who, believe it or not, remembered me from our sailings on the Queen Elizabeth 2. Man, I thought I was good with names but that beats me by a mile. Again, after this morning, I had some more good luck in the casino. Quite nice, and a good way to call it a night. Rich is presently and pleasantly passed out, I am this close to doing so myself so I am calling it a night. I hope to get this on the Web site by noon on Wednesday.
At sea still, getting closer to Tortola
A morning constitutional around Deck 7 consists of trying to stay out of the way of serious joggers, walkers, and exercise enthusiasts, while simultaneously dodging the weaving elderly who frequently use their canes as tools to clear their way. It is treacherous out on the innocently-named Promenade Deck. The winds are very high, though the seas are calm with no waves.OK, start again, because that was boring. How, the writer must ask himself, does one make a day of non-events, of lounging, of sleeping when the mood strikes him, of doing — it must be said — not a goddamned thing? Well, that was today. We had breakfast, and then Rich went out to soak up the sun, and I began reading. And I read all day, fitfully, and falling asleep when the events of my book overtook me. I am reading Finn, by Jon Clinch. Now, my taste for fiction is specific, and often misinterpreted. Fiction must grab me and intrigue me immediately. In this regard, nonfiction has an edge, as I am most likely already interested in the subject before I even pick up the book. I cannot get to page seventy and then think,
Gee, this is a bit of alright.If I am not at that point by page ten or so, I drift, I wander, I lose interest. Invariably, I also think, the writer has lost me. We often have this discussion at the library, where general opinon centers around my
hatingfiction. Not at all, say I. I love it, and my eternal passion for certain works attests to that. But, honestly, if it takes ninety pages to establish your theme, then go watch television, a medium in which you have about eight seconds to grab your audience. Go, and learn something.
I am loving Finn; it is vibrant, occasionally disgusting, and quite chilling. Essentially, it concerns the life of Huck Finn’s father, a character of such frightening brutality that Twain made him practically a byword for for parental abuse. (Those who are sentimental about
the good old daysmay well be reminded that Twain’s characterization was not scandalous or shocking in its time, but rather seen as a matter of course. Huck’s friendship with a black man was much more cause for comment at the time of publication. Then again, even more so when Leslie Fiedler published his widely influential,
When You Comin’ Back to the Raft, Huck Honey?in 1970.)
So, even though we were invited to the Commodore’s cocktail party, we chose to walk around the decks, and take some photos. Tomorrow is Tortola, an island thought to be one of Columbus’ first landfalls. It promises to be rather hot, so I will complain about that later; for now, here are some photos.
Among enthusiasts, the funnel of all Cunard liners is justly famous. Looks like a smokestack to me.
An unfettered breeze; quite refreshing.
The many decks of the Queen Mary 2; here is the view of the stern from Deck 12 down to Deck 6.
The long hallways of the world’s longest ship.
The Chart Room, a lovely place for a drink before dinner.
At dinner. Unfailingly, the most civilized part of the day.
Docked at Tortola
There is something slightly disconcerting about waking up after a couple of days at sea and seeing land instead of limitless horizon. I am not at all familiar with the arrangement of the British Virgin Islands, of which Tortola is one, and I am lost without Google Maps. Internet access on board is about $20 per hour so we use it sparingly; I, for my part, just by uploading all the photos and updates, and RIch by checking the Newport newspaper. (Tight little islander.) But first, more about last night (Wednesday)…After I finished writing and inserting photos last night around 10:00, I turned around to see Rich fast asleep. Well, I had napped quite a bit yesterday so I was wide awake. I went down to the Commodore Club, a bar just a few doors down from our cabin. It is a beautiful room, looking out over the bow of the ship and is a great place to sit and read or relax (it is where we go for WiFi access in the morning). The joint was jumping last night and a quick glance around the room made me think that it was not exactly my crowd. A bit older, many larger parties emitting cackling laughter, that sort of thing. I took the long way out of the room and headed to the Golden Lion Pub. I got turned around and ended up in the Regal Club (I think that’s what it’s called) just in time for the 10:30 show with Emma Sinclair. Now, if you watch
American Idolyou will probably have heard one of Simon Cowell’s most dire criticisms:
It all sounded a bit cruise ship to me,or some variation thereon. La Sinclair might provide you with how stinging that observation must be. Not bad, no, not at all. She had a lovely tone, and handled some songs rather prettily. And yet. It was the inane patter that might qualify it all as a bit hack-y, or the breathless complimenting of the audience — how a woman with about seven million watts of lighting in her face can tell that each and every one of us looks terrific this evening seems a bit disingenuous. Or, her regaling us with tales of her voice teacher back in London whose previous student was… wait for it … Sarah Brightman, who was of course, the wife of … Lord Lloyd Weber. Oh la la, with that pedigree she must be a great singer, right? Then came the final thrust: she was there, and would be solely responsible for, taking us (I kid you not) on a musical journey. Egad. Well, my journey took me to the nearest door.
I stopped at the Queen’s Room, site of the nightly concert of Big Band favorites, meant for the oldsters in the crowd. It is a great band, and they played some genuinely lovely songs (
String of Pearls,
Stairway to the Stars,
Why Don’t You Do Right?,etc.) that were expertly performed. Many older women are single on board, so Cunard provides what are known as Gentlemen Hosts. These guys give the old dolls a swing around the dance floor, being ever so courtly when asking if they might have the pleasure of this dance. It is quite touching to see them enjoy themselves in a manner that must recall their youth. Once, on the Queen Elizabeth 2 Rich and I saw a woman overcome with emotion by a certain song. How dreadful widowhood must be.
On my way out of there I stopped and had my photo taken by the official ship’s photographer. We’ll see. I finally made it to the pub, listened to some alternately enjoyable and awful karaoke, and struck up a conversation with Roy and Maureen, a lovely couple from Britain who were among the late-arriving guests who delayed our departure from Brooklyn
So, this morning we wake up in Tortola, have breakfast in our room and wait until the mad rush off the boat is complete before we head into Road Town, the island’s capital. Without the time to really go about the place and not being a part of any organized tour we walked around a bit and found that we had pretty much seen what we could see. And it was hot. Tropical sun beating on my luxurious mane of hair (not) is just about the definition of hell to me, made worse by the fact that I can see my cap sitting on the front seat of the car. Drat. We headed back to the ship and had a swim in the deserted pool, had lunch in the deserted buffet restaurant, and read for a while in the deserted library. Hey, are you thinking what I’m thinking?
One more thing before we get to the photos. What the hell is going on with the Elliot Spitzer coverage? Rich, an inveterate news hound, has CNN (the only US news station we get) on all the tiime and the things I am hearing make my blood boil. A reporter said the other day that she could not continue to read from the wire tap transcripts because they nauseated her. Well, don’t we have dainty sensibilities! And why was this woman not fired for so clearly abjugating her responsibilities? The coverage has me running from the room. I am proud to be from Buffalo, but I have never looked to the governor of New York for moral guidance (that is what I watch
The Beverly Hillbilliesfor). Rich swears, and this is good and makes me admire his insights all the more, that these facts came to light by using the powers of the FISA court for political ends. In other words, that someone knew what was going on, and sought to embarrass political enemies. Spitzer, scourge of Wall Street shady types, is an obvious first target. This is good and bears watching. Rich thinks that there is much more to this than meets the eye. Oh, please let there be.
Let’s go to the photos:
Waking up in Road Town, Tortola, BVI
From the tender, after exiting from Deck 1 of the ship. Unnerving to see the hull open like that.
That is one big ass ship
A fellow passenger took this nicely composed photo.
From the docks at Road Town. It is easy to take too many photos of the same stationary object.
Rich naps on our deck; the color of the water is amazing.
The latter part of the afternoon was just more reading. I cannot tell you how freeing it is to be able to read with no hindrances. Should I decide to do so for a couple of unfettered hours, then fine. It is beautiful. We began getting ready for dinner; it was late this evening as we were going to Todd English, the specialty restaurant on board (meaning you pay a surcharge for dining there). The food remains superb, with signature touches (incredibly dense layers of flavor) but the whole thing seemed so old-fashioned and, frankly, ridiculous. This was almost without exception the fault of service. It was not neglectful at all; rather, it was almost suffocating. You know those places where you are having a conversation and the waiter keeps interrupting to say things like,Allow me to replace your fork,or takes a plate away with,
Excuse me sir, sorry sir, thank you, sir? It was that, with the wine steward complimenting our choice of wine (what the hell is that?), hovering to pour the moment you take a sip. This was capped by the woman who brought the dessert menu and showing us where the desserts were listed. Yes, I know, I can read the word
dessert(boy, can I!). It did not help that her countenance was all that more intimidating with her synchronized swimmer makeup and her Mittel Europa accent commanding us to enjoy dessert. Yes, ma'am! The waiter’s overpowering cologne (really, for serving dinner?) hung in the air like the most offending cigarette.
But the best part was the couple who were getting engaged and the singer from the onboard calypso band, Vibz — yeah, Vibz — came over and sang, per the prospective groom’s request,
I’ve Had the Time of My Lifebut not before we all had to snap our fingers to help this lunkhead keep time. It was made all that more embarrassing by his inability to decide on how to handle the pronouns of the song, leading to such ridiculous constructions as,
I’ve had the time of his [pointing to the groom] life.The couple was German and did not seem bothered by the mixed up grammar, and the group of Canadians one table over thought it was glamorous and romantic, and even awwww-ed impressively when the singer then sang
The Way You Look Tonight.And sang along. Rich and I could not bury our faces deeply enough in the menus. An absurd evening, made even more so when we came back to the cabin. I got ready for bed and Rich went out to enjoy the ship’s nightlife. Has the whole world gone crazy?
Docked at St Kitts
It was cloudy on our arrival into St Kitts, and because I had gone to bed so early on the evening before (an unheard of and unprecedented 9:30), I was up early to see the staggeriingly intricate docking procedures. For a ship that weighs about 200,000 tons it can make surprisingly supple adjustments to attach itself to the dock. We hung out for a while, checked out the tiny little port town and took a taxi to the Marriott. All beaches are open to the public on St Kitts and Nevis (amen!), so we were able to use the beach but no facilities. Meaning that we had to borrow a chaise longue and sort of hang out. The beach was beautiful but hellishly hot — what else, though,are we here for? I went swimming a couple of times, the water a refreshingly cool respite from the climate that makes even the sand inhospitable. It was a mad dash up to the hotel’s shower to take the sting off my feet. I did steal momentary use of the hotel bathrooms to get out of my suit; I did, aftre all, have to make myself presentable for the totally current casino. As a ship passenger I applied for membership and was given a $10 voucher for slot play. Nice. Ultimately, of course, I lost that, and $20 more, but it was fun. We took a cab back, had lunch, and repaired to our cool cabin. I read the afternoon away, being thiiiis close to finishing my book. It feels like an accomplishment, until I realize that Rich is also thiiiiiis close to finishing War and Peace.We had a lovely dinner, back at the Queen’s Grill, for good this time. We went up to Deck 12 where they were showing the second sequel to
Pirates of the Caribbean,which looked amazingly inventive, but the wind was high, my beer got warm, and my eyelids heavy. Again, an early night seemed inevitable though I was hoping to have a go at the music trivia contest in the Golden Lion Pub. Friday was, as it were, Hump Day of the cruise, so I want to make the remaining time a bit more fun-filled rather than strictly relaxing.
Morning breaks on the lush valleys of Basseterre, St Kitts, BVI
Rich outside the Smoke ’n’ Booze in Basseterre
As in London, seeing a row of well-dressed schoolchildren is an irresistable photo opportunity.
Since there ain’t no way I took bathing suit shots, here we are leaving St Kitts.
The ship (again) from the dock at Port Zante.
A valley to the west of Basseterre.
I was up on the observation deck and we decided to update the classic our room
photo.
Barbados
Are we dullards? We went ashore only to hit duty free, did not buy anthing, and headed back to the ship. I know, I know, we are indeed beginning to fetishize the damn thing, but I find it endlessly beautiful. I, a trainspotter of long standing, may become that geekiest of all geeks, the liner enthusiast. So be it. We had been to Barbados just last year and while every place has been hot, today was stultifyingly muggy. I needed a brown belt (not, I assure you, a shot of bourbon) and found one so I raced back to the pleasures of our cabin. We went to the pool, and struck up a casual conversation with a woman who we later saw lounging on the deck of her penthouse cabin. A Q1 stateroom. This is the seaborne equivalent to the Jackie O apartment on 5th Avenue. Oh, sure, you know it is there, but gaining entrée remains a distant dream. (That analogy needs updating: the Roberta Flack suite at the Dakota? Help me out here.) A missed opportunity is a dashed hope. We had lunch, I lost my brand new sunglasses (blimey!) and then had tea in the Grill Lounge. Oh yeah, Rich and I have been going to afternoon tea. Quite nice, not as fey as we had feared, and a nice pick-me-up. Then we went to the Golden Lion for the trivia contest. Our team, entitled,Where is Vince?won, with 19/20 answers. We would have had 20/20 but for the second book of Tolkien’s Ring trilogy we, that is I, wrote,
The Twin Towers,instead of
The Two Towers.The gave us credit for it, though we abjured; the said twin and two were the same thing (no, not really) and really not really when it comes to a title of something. The thing is that another team (score: 12/20) fought the emcee like crazy about giving us credit. Mind you, nothing was at stake — the next highest score was 17/20. It was just a nice gesture on the emcee and the other teams. This Jersey group (New, that is) tried to act like it was all about principal while they were showing a want of sportsmanship. Rich and I insisted to the emcee that everyone know the we did not consider it the same and did not seek credit for an answer that we know to be wrong. Those with experience at pub trivia will know that it can be a bloodsport, surprisingly, and not everyone is at their best.
Well, not many photos today, but I like the two we have. (Oh, we are shoving off; gotta run to the observation deck.)
The Queen Mary 2 and the Royal Clipper.
The standard of our ship in full furl (?).
Saint Lucia
Saint Lucia is a lovely island, though the port of Castries could not accommodate the ship so we had to take tenders in. The sea was very choppy, or at least perhaps the tenders (which are the ship’s lifeboats) are chiefly meant to remain afloat and to keep her passengers safe in the event of evacuation. I felt quite seasick on the trip over, the first time I have ever had that sensation, but it passed by the time we returned. We walked around the port for a while. It is a very colorful town, and while we had no luck buying another pair of sunglasses (we were told that the store owner would be inafter church,which is not a very helpful indication of time, but this is how things work sometimes. I did receive a rather sharp lesson in comportment. I was perusing the wares at the sidewalk fruit market, at which the owner was loudly asking,
May I help you?over and over. Finally, she said to me,
Why you stand there and no answer me?I had not realized that she was addressing me specifically, so I apologized and she said it was OK. I asked if I could leave, and hoped that we were alright. That got a smile out of her and she dismissed me cheerily. Later, we had lunch back on board the ship, and I continued my so-far fruitless search for my sunglasses. I admit to becoming obsessed with finding them. I think that if this were a transatlantic crossing, there would have been no question of someone returning them. Maybe in the Caribbean they had exponential value. I am still pissed, however.
I played trivia alone yesterday, Rich having abandoned me to pursue Stephen King&38217;s novel, Duma Key. I did not do too well, scoring 13/20, thus making Rich look the brains of the outfit. It was a tough one, with many questions outside my ken, though I really should have known that the fictional billionaire John Hammond set up Jurassic Park and not Fantasy Island. Duh. As a balm, I headed to the casino and hit a slot machine for $480. Wahoo! Crisis of confidence solved.
Bored to tears with this whole Barack Obama’s preacher discussion. When is someone going to ask the obvious: Isn’t it time that we stop demanding that our politicians cloak themselves in Jesus, thus making their close association with the clergy moot? I look forward to the day.
Photos, with a couple left from Barbados:
Three ships at dusk, leaving the port of Bridgetown, Barbados.
Returning to the cabin in the evening was always nice, with the room being most welcoming.
The port at Castries, Saint Lucia.
Now what would make a restaurant super sexy?
Check, and check.
Looks like Aunty’s Corner has seen better days.
A tender returning to the mother ship.
Saint Thomas
Happy St Patrick’s Day! There are some activities on board to mark the occasion, but I still regret not bringing my manhole-sized button that says,I’m the Irishman your mother warned you about. Well, anyway. Five years ago today in New York, on what had to be one of the most fun days of my adult life, a large group of us commandeered the corner of Fifth Avenue and 51st St, directly across the street from the Cathedral and watched the parade. It was the beginning a long, long, long day, but the memories are vivid still. I took this photo while we were in New York to commemorate that most laugh-filled day.
Happy St Patrick’s Day!
We had been in St Thomas last year, on that one cruise that still proves contentious between Rich and me. He thinks it was fun, and I thought it was beautiful and relaxing and enjoyable and… not quite fun. I guess that I do not particularly think vacations have to fun. This cruise, for instance, was a perfect example of having a thoroughly enjoyable time because I got to relax, read, not cook, and nap. The importance of these activities cannot be overstressed.We went for a gondola ride, those things they use to transport skiers. They take passengers to one of the highest points in St Thomas, Pleasant Point. Me, for it; Rich, not too excited. I must confess that there are places in the world (even this hemisphere) in which I would not be too trusting of the machinery involved. Oddly enough, it was I who turned into a scaredy-cat once we started going. Every time that damn thing hit a pylon and the car shook, well, so did I. Rich loved it, and I came to do so, but at first I got a bit jittery. Here are some photos from the early part of the day:
We went back to the casino and no one had touched the machine which paid out so handsomely.
Very early morning on St Thomas.
On our way up the sky ride.
The ship anchored in Crown Bay, St Thomas, USVI.
Both Crown Bay and Havensight Bays on our way down; you may view a larger image here.
Iguana on the rocks.
Upon our return we laid out in the sun for a bit. After a week I am able to stand outside in the sun for about 25 minutes, up from the five minutes of when we first hit the warm weather. I had a scheduled appointment that was canceled, and we lost a frustrating game of trivia today. Grrrr. The question, as asked, was,What are Park Place in New York, Park Lane in London, and Flander’s Lane in Canberra?Now, the impulse to say Monopoly squares was overwhelming, but here is where being too smart for your own good comes in: we know that Monopoly is based on the streets of Atlantic City. Had we just gone ahead and put Monopoly down we would have one by half a point. OK, it is anal and picayune and obssessive to be such a stickler, but there you are. Pub trivia, as I mentioned the other day, is anything but trivial.
A sea day, heading to New York
St Patrick’s Day on board proved to be a fun party, and I have the souvenir to prove it. Oh, sure, it is not as grand as Pete Little’s sash, but it is mine now and I love it. It is simply a banner, but I will yearly, on the vigil, string it up. I even sang karaoke (the Mysterious Master K) and while I admit I had a little liquid courage going into it, I was glad I did and had a fun time doing it. The applause was underwhelming, but nobody said show business was a walk in the park.Tuesday found us waking up early as the winds had really kicked up over the course of the evening and something had come loose. It took them an hour to find the offending object that was banging horribly and incessantly. Because of the damp and cooler weather, everyone slept in today. We thought we would be late for breakfast, but we were in fact one of the first to arrive about twenty minutes before the end of breakfast service. Rich and I came back to the cabin, read, looked out the window, chatted, looked out the window some more, and napped. It was one of those great vacation days when it is enough to watch the world go by. It is made that much more interesting by the fact that the seas are very high, and as we are towards the forward we are feeling the pitching most of all. Many in the dining room chose to eat in their rooms, feeling the worse for wear because of the seas. (It is the same storm that went through much of the south over the weekend, now just moved out to the Atlantic.) Afterwards, because it is going to take a hell of a lot more than a storm to keep my from my appointed rounds with fish and chips, I attended a murder myster/music trivia contest. Corny and a bit long, but fun. I didn’t do too badly, but I was nowhere close to the winner. I have spent more and more time in the library here. It is relaxing and well-stocked, with good reference works, plenty of newspapers from around the world faxed in daily, magazines, and a good nonfiction section. The busman’s holiday!
We have been invited to a cocktail party by the Commodore and his senior officers this evening. We will probably not make it, as these affairs are usually painful for me. I, who never stop talking, find party chitchat difficult and forced. I wish I could be better at it, but as cocktail parties, per se, do not take up a lot of our time I guess I can give it a guilt-free pass.
No photos today, as it is just nothing but rolling, rolling, rolling waves. Pretty by themselves, the photographs do not really reproduce the effect on the ship or on the body. I will try movies later tomorrow.
The last day
Well, here it is: the last day of Rich and Joe's excellent adventure. Sea days tend to take on a character similar to the one before, so there is not a huge difference in our activities. It was a very rough night's sleep, with the ship pitching forward and rolling from side to side. I woke about fifteen times, though Rich slept right through. Many of our fellow passengers at breakfast did not sleep either. It was lying awake, exhausted, on a half-filled water bed, with someone jumping on the other side. Impossible to explain, really, except boo-hoo, our one complaint, AND it's an act of God, so cram it.Rich was subject of a bit of mal-de-mer, so I wrote a letter, grabbed a bite of lunch, watched the art auction, played Wipeout trivia (like trivia, but you can bet the amount you have scored; like Final Jeopardy), hit the casino for a bit of a win, then came back to get ready for this evening. There is no sadness at the end of a vacation like this. It is, instead, quite bittersweet; the richness of shipboard life is not one you could maintain indefinitely. The food, the level of activity, the constant go-go-go, it would all be too much. Ten days, in fact, might just be one day too long. We all have to get back to our lives eventually. We dock early in Brooklyn tomorrow, about 7:00, but the approach begins around 4:30 a.m. or so, with the ship making an always risky sailing underneath the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge. The funnel clears it by a mere ten feet or so, when the tides are high. Now, that is job pressure. Some final photos:
One last shot of trying to capture the mood in the cabin before heading for dinner.
So there is this slot machine that Rich loves, especially when the cow somehow grows opposable thumbs and can clutch money. Winning on this machine happened so rarely that you had to document it.
