For me, that will be Wales and Ireland.  Ireland, because of my Irish half and my very good high school friend, Mary de Meulemeester O’Beachain.  Wales, because of my great old neighbors on Ile Perrot, when I was first married, and my new friends from the Queen Mary 2, Ceri and Andy.  It’s also an incredibly beautiful place, as the illustrations show.

On April 25, in Barcelona, I was up at 6:45am and downstairs for the 8:00am shuttle.  Checking in was easy, but I forgot to ask where the Lounge was, having bought business class when I checked in for my flight, yesterday.  It didn’t end up giving me much, except very slightly better seats, with a very little more legroom, and a better breakfast at noon.  The flight was delayed.  I had a helluva time finding the Lounge and, when I did know where it was, getting there involved climbing two flights of stairs or walking 100 yards to the right, to walk 200 yards to the lounge, and it wasn’t worth it to me.  I went to the KLM desk near me and ordered a wheelchair for my connection in Amsterdam, which had been shortened.

When we got to Amsterdam, the wheelchair attendant would not take me to the lounge because they had a two hour minimum time between flights for that.  I had no sooner been dropped off at my gate when the forty minute delay was posted.  That upgrade was not the best eighty-five bucks I ever spent.  But the plane finally arrived and took off again, with me in it and, these days, that’s as lucky as you get.

The driver I had booked on line, with the impressive name of Daniel Harper-Jones, was waiting at Cardiff airport and it was a very nice drive, through what had been a ruined landscape, thanks to 300 years of coal mining.  The land is slowly returning to pasture, but some of it is still seriously scarred.  It does manage to support a lot of sheep and it was lambing season.  There’s nothing like fields and fields of lambs to bring a smile to this face, unless it’s the faces of good friends at the end of the journey.  They popped over to Peterstone Court, my home for the next three days. We had a little drink together, before I had to make last call to dinner.  Supper was very well executed fish and chips, with soda water.   What a time not to be drinking, but I had to get control of the tongue thing, and it was time for my annual liver cleanse, anyway.

Peterstone Court is a lovely old place.  This is its library:

And this was the view from my room the next morning, Saturday the 26^th:

Sheep and lambs!  Delightful.  What wasn’t so delightful was the walk up two long flights of stairs to what they called the second floor and I called the third.  It was a lovely big room and made me a fine office, after breakfast.  I ignore my diet for a comes with, full English, well, in this case, Welsh, breakfast.  I started with the self serve yoghurt and granola.  Then, nothing would do but I needed to try Welsh rarebit.  I had never had it before, so I asked the server and she explained it was toast with a cheezy chef’s concoction on it and a posh egg.  “That’s a poached egg” I ventured and was told the egg could be done any way I liked.  It was just a “posh egg.”  From a free range chicken, I suppose.  Anyway, it was delicious and I followed it with another piece of toast, on which I used about 1/3 the jam I usually do, cutting down on sugar, for the tongue thing.  I discovered, that if you put a lot of butter on the toast, you don’t miss the sugar.  Just a teeny taste of jam is enough.  It looks like that’s life, going forward.  The price I am paying for all those 4 o’clock desserts on board. 

Andy picked me up at 1:45PM and we tried to find a bank or a post office in Brecon (I think) who would take a paper twenty pound note, that I had been saving, mistakenly, it seems.  No one accepts anything but cards and plastic banknotes, now.  Canada has them, too, so I get it.  We might have better luck on Monday.  For now, we gave up.  I bought some socks in the little town.  You used to get such fabulous socks in the British Isles, but they, like us, dismantled the factories and shipped them to China, back in the eighties and nineties.  I remember in a small part, being part of that.  It was a terrible mistake and we are paying now.  The socks are nice but not a patch on the ones I was wearing, which were a good forty years old, and finally wearing out.

We circled back to Peterscourt, and Andy’s house, which was about a mile away, to pick up Ceri.  It’s in a place called Scethrog, in Powys, Wales.  Bob Weeks and I had a wonderful Maine Coon Cat, named John Cowper Powys, after the author.  I never did talk about that, while I was there.  There was no shortage of things to talk about, but now I regret not having talked about JCP, both cat and man.  This afternoon, we were off to a nearby lake, with a lot of both history and wildlife.  The locals were delighted with the weather.  It wasn’t raining, which is a rare day in those parts. 

When we arrived at the lake, the first thing we noticed, was this beautiful swan, swimming with the male mallards. 

It looks like the sheep weren’t the only ones with young families.  Sure enough, we soon came upon mother ducks leading their broods around.  We never did see mama swan, and the ugly duckling, though.  Only the cute ones:

The lake has a lot of history, dating back over a thousand years, when a king lived, in exile, I guess, on a very small island in the middle of it.  Those are the beginnings of the Brecon Beacons, in the background.  I saw a lot of them, and they are gorgeous.  Here’s a better picture.  I have a lot of them.

We drove around a little more and went back to my friends lovely home, where Ceri showed me around her fascinating garden overlooking the flood plain, while Andy was very busy in the kitchen. 

It was really a terrible time not to be able to enjoy a drink before dinner, but Ceri and I did have a lovely chat in their den, with their cat, MacCallum

She’s a beautiful Bengal, but just as stand-offish as Robbie.  

In a very timely fashion, meaning just as I was getting hungry, dinner was served.  It was amazing.  Local salmon two ways, caught by Andy and served fresh and smoked in his own smoker. 

The main course was, of course, lamb:

And was it ever delicious.  Oh, yum.  It was roasted to absolute perfection and those potatoes were to die for, too.  I ate too much, of course, but I wasn’t drinking, and the food was fabulous.  I needed to enjoy myself thoroughly, and I did. 

Dessert did have Proseco in it, a whole bottle, but I am assuming the alcohol had evaporated.  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

This was the Proseco jelly.  It was light and scrumptious.  I could not have been in a better restaurant, no matter what I was willing to pay.  We repaired to the den, while Andy did the washing up.  Where did Ceri find that man?  I want one.  MacCallum remained stand-offish, but demanding.  Ceri and I found ourselves doing door duty.

Andy joined us presently and we solved the problems of the world, until it was time to take me home.  We hadn’t been on the road two minutes when we saw a flash and heard a bang.  We were going towards whatever it was, and it was soon obvious that it was fireworks.  Andy was trying to figure out where they were coming from, while they kept getting brighter and louder.  We turned in to my inn and it was clear that they were coming from right on the property, the swimming pool to be exact.  I have had some good welcomes in my life, but never anything quite like this:

See that window at the upper left of the building?  It was mine!!!  Can you imagine what I would have thought if I had been all nicely tucked in for the night?  Huge thanks to my hosts for keeping me out!  I suppose you also want to know what the fireworks display was in aid of.  You are demanding.  Some staff members I knew were coming in the front door, while Andy and I were still talking in front, so we asked.  It was a wake.  And I thought I knew how to do a celebration of life.  Next time, and it will likely be my own – fireworks.

On Sunday, the 27^th, after another decadent breakfast and an even more decadent massage, we were off, right into the mountains.  It was an even better day, with full sunshine, rare in these parts.  I like this picture with the sun on the gorse bushes in the foreground:

And the views were spectacular, but for some reason, I got better pictures the day before.

Nepalese take out was on the menu tonight, Ceri’s contribution.  There’s an Infantry Battle School in these parts, and it’s the Royal Gurkha Wing. The soldiers are real Gurkhas, from Nepal.  So naturally, a Nepalese restaurant sprang up and it does take-out, which the locals are happy to buy, along with the soldiers.  It was yummy.  No pictures, though.  I haven’t found Indian food to be particularly photogenic.

Monday the 28^th, we found a solution to the paper 20-pound note problem.  A clever teller wouldn’t change it but told Andy to deposit it in the ATM and withdraw twenty pounds.  When they empty the ATM they’ll never know who put the paper note in.  Wonder if that would work with counterfeit?  Never mind – I googled it.

Off we went to Tretower Castle and Court, in Crickhowell.  Good of Google to provide that, too.  I wasn’t paying attention.  The castle, mostly in ruins, dates back to the 11^th century

 and the Court to the 14^th.  Like all these things, it had fallen badly into disrepair, but this one as lucky and a group of concerned citizens raised the money to have it restored in the 1930s, for us to go play in.  We had some fun:

And we tromped around the place, soaking up history and our own fun company.  It was my turn to do dinner, so that was at Peterstone.  It was very good and a very nice way to end three wonderful days with some of my very best cruise buddies.  I hope they enjoyed it as much as I did (they did say so) and that we get to meet again, sooner than later. 

Tuesday, April 29, I was on the road again, off to Ireland.  Andy picked me up around 9am and took me to the train station at Abergavenny.  It was going to be a complicated enough trip, as I had to take a train to Manchester to catch a flight to Dublin.  It was a bit soon in the season to have Cardiff to Dublin, nonstop.  The traffic is seasonal. 

That would have been fine, had not there been damage to the track somewhere near Hereford.  After a bit of a panic, and some nice, friendly locals, it was determined that it would likely be OK, just involve a bit of a bus ride past the damaged track.  It looked like I had plenty of time.  After getting off at the second stop, on to the bus, off the bus, back on a train, it didn’t look that good at all.  Luckily trains have conductors, and nowadays, conductors have smartphones, and the conductor was able to advise me to get off two stops before I would have and take a taxi to the airport.  That cost me another 26 pounds, and a few more grey hairs, not that it matters at this point.  I ended up making it, but it was a very stressful journey all in all. 

My high school friend, Mary, met me in the airport and took my sorry ass home with her.  We weren’t going to have dinner together because she had gone and won the president’s prize at her Bridge Club.  I had got to order what I wanted her to leave me, and it was smoked salmon and Irish brown bread, with cream cheese and capers.  I was perfectly happy and glad enough to rest on my own from the stress of the day.  I was pretty well knackered.

Then the lights went out.  Of course it was still light outside, so I just thought it was an Internet glitch, until resetting the router did nothing at all.  So I went around the house, trying all the light switches, but nothing came on.  I looked out the window and there were a couple of little knots of neighbors chatting in the street, but, for all I knew, they do this every night.  Mary has been living in this house for a good 50 years.  She and Sean bought it when they moved back to Ireland, which has to have been about 1974.  It’s fun to visit a place you have been visiting every few years for most of your life.  There’s a nice homey feeling about it.  Homeyer with the lights on, mind you.  I was careful to have myself in bed before it got fully dark.

The lights came back on before Mary got home.  She only had to deal with the alarm, which was flashing.  I was sound asleep. 

We really only had one full day together.  I was informed I needed to stay longer next time and I was not, under any circumstances,  to come when I wasn’t drinking.  So we made the most of our day.  The weather was glorious here, too.  First, we went to visit Sean, where he is staying in memory care.  The facility is beautiful, spotless, and located a very pretty walk, from a very pretty town.  We took Sean for the walk.  I wish I could say he remembered me and all the fun times we have had, but sadly, not.  I know only too well how nasty it is.

Mary and I stopped back at the house, because it was as close as anywhere, and grabbed a bite to eat.  It was shrimp on toast, pretty darn good for a little grab.  Her daughter, Mairin, whom I also love, dropped in and that was a treat.  Then we drove off to the seashore and a picturesque old mental institution.  Mary thought it was warm at the seashore.  I was freezing my ass off.  This reminded me of pretty much all of my trips to Ireland. 

There was no better place to have dinner than Mary’s house.  It was simple, but delicious, and wanted only some wine to be perfect.  We, too, had lots to talk about and relished the quiet.  I care more about the friends I visit than the places.  Mary has been one of my closest friends since I was 13.  We don’t look a day older, do we?

The next morning was the first of May.  I was up at 5:30am to catch my plane.  Mary would get up at 6:30 to drive me.  At 6:20, I opened my email to find out that the plane was delayed, an hour.  I woke Mary up to tell her she had another hour to sleep, and worked my email while I waited.  It didn’t get any better when I got to the airport.  The plane was further delayed and it’s no longer nonstop to Montreal.  You go through Toronto, which is 350 miles out of the way.  The 2.5 hour connection I was grousing about, turned out not to be enough.  It would have been, if I had not let the agent in Dublin convince me to check my bag.  She said it wouldn’t matter, since I was going home.  The bag could follow me.  That may be true in Europe now, but over here, you still have to be on the same plane as your bag, and someone had decided I wouldn’t make it and put my bag on the next flight.  So, I took that, but the bag missed it.  I got home two hours later and the bag got in the next day.  You have to love travel to put up with it these days.  And you all know, I do. For the summer, however, I’m home with Robbie and happy to be here.

Saturday, April 19 was the day of the DV Shore Excursion in Lanzarote and it was a perfect match for all we had heard about Lanzarote.  You can be told a place is “volcanic” but even the wonderful onboard education we got couldn’t prepare us for vineyards that looked like this:

We talk about quality in Napa, hand picking, etc.  It’s not a patch on the hand labour that goes into tending these babies.  The vines are three feet down, each in its own hole, with a stone wall windbreak.  The vineyard workers have to climb in and out of the holes to keep them clean and pruned.  How many times do you do that before you pick? 

Lower in the valleys, they can plant in rows, but still far apart and with rock windbreaks:

It will be hundreds of years before this place even starts to look like Napa.  And the earth keeps spinning.  We learned more about the evolution of Lanzarote and heard all about Cesar Manrique’s tragic accident, when we passed the scene of it.  Our next destination was a museum, restaurant and cultural center Casa-Museo del Campesino with its monument to Fertility – Manrique again.  What a difference that one man made.

There was a little glitch, about our gofio and sauce making lessons and we had a free 20 minutes, so some of us shopped and some grabbed a glass of wine.  I was in the latter group.  Eventually we were led into a Manrique design a beautiful underground restaurant and the fun began. 

The chef demonstrated how to make gofio.  It’s named after and made with the indigenous corn of the island.  The island got its first desalination plant in 1965, before that there was almost no water, and very little grew.  This gofio stuff is amazingly hardy and needs a fair bit of work to even be edible.  What the early people came up with is the ground corn, mixed with sugar, and a lot of spices.  It comes out like cookie dough and they served us quite a bit of it.  We ate it all.  We knew there was a “tapas lunch” coming, but were unclear as to what that would consist of, although the silverware should probably have given us a clue. 

Next lesson was mojo rojo and mojo verde, the sauces of Lanzarote.  They are good on all sorts of fish and the little potatoes that grow here.  We were served some very good sourdough bread with the two sauces and olive oil.  Then it was three cheeses with fig jam, and bowls full of the little potatoes to have with the two sauces.  Then came fish croquettes, delicious octopus, that we could barely finish.  There was a lot of wine, all through the piece.  Then, and only then, when we were well stuffed, came the main course.  Oh dear God, it was substantial, a block of pork, sort of a terrine, but heated, with gravy, mashed squash, carrots and brussels sprouts. urp. 

Of course there was dessert, again it was some interesting concoction that featured small pancakes and honey.  We waddled out.  My table mates were my regular table mates and the table voted to skip dinner.  Only I could not.  I had a dinner date with my Canadian friend. 

Somehow, I got through dinner, with a glass of wine before and one during.  I drank all this over a period of at least 8 hours, so it never gave any sort of problem, or so I thought.

The next morning, April 20 was Easter Sunday, and we were docked in Agadir, Morocco.  I woke up with a funny sensation on the edges of my tongue.  I have had this before and I knew that I wasn’t going to be having any more wine for a while.  It would really burn.  That was a shame, because I had been invited to dinner with Ron Houtman, the Food & Beverage Manager and that meant free drinks before and wine with. It was a nice congenial dinner table, a particularly delicious dinner, and Ron Houtman was very entertaining, but I did miss my wine. 

On the 21^st, Easter Monday, we were in Casablanca.  I went walkabout with Glen, and nobody bothered us.  Well, hardly anybody.  This fountain on a public square was pretty and attracted both tourists and locals, pigeons and seagulls.

We circled back to the square where we started and I recognized it as having been where Lenora and I were last year.  We were very close to the souk. So, there we went.

And it was interesting.  I even found a thing or two I actually needed.  But mostly it was for the local color and here it is:

Yes, Casablanca is a Muslim city now, so much so that when we went for our beer on the square before I boarded the bus, it ended up being a mocktail.  They were good, and the waiter took pictures but they are on Glen’s camera, so I don’t have one for you.  It’s the usual, just sans alcohol, which is good for my tongue, anyway.  Might as well do liver cleanse month, now that I have a start on it. 

At dinner, Suellen diagnosed my problem as possibly sugar related and sure enough, my Montreal nurse practitioner, whom I had contacted, told me to stay off booze, acids and sugar and gargle with warm salt water. 

Coloratura soprano, Christina Johnston was on the stage with a lot of my favorite love songs and arias.

I didn’t even go out in Gibralter on Tuesday, April 22.  I probably should have but work was starting to back up.  I did go to happy hour twice, once with my new friend, Stacy, and the other with my Canadian friend, Glen.  I like them both a lot and we are getting near where I get off, so friendships trumped location.  Of course I have been to Gibraltar before. Yes, I did both happy hours dry, sigh. 

On Wednesday, April 23, we were at sea, and it was time to pack and tie up loose ends.  We’d be in Barcelona tomorrow, and I would be disembarking at 9:00am.  Before I knew it, it was time for the last supper at the table.  I’ll be missing my table mates for a long time, but I know I will see them again.

Thursday, April 24, we docked in Barcelona.  It was a big, interesting day. I have been on board for the Amazon leg of the Pole-to-Pole to be with Wells, Dee, Lynann and a new couple Dee brought to me as clients, Tanner and Suellen.   HAL’s regular Round the World, on the Zuiderdam, is Henk Mensink’s last hurrah as Hotel Manager.  Today, the two ships meet in Barcelona and there’s a lot of partying around Henk’s retirement.  I applied to get invited to the Zuiderdam for that.  It had to be approved by Henk himself and he did.  I was happy, touched and flattered.  Henk and I do have a history of 5 world cruises together and the DV Host’s desk is right outside the Hotel Manager’s Office on the Amsterdam.  I used to sit there working most of every day, very accessible.  Dolly Smith would stop by and chat.  Remember her?  She lived on the Amsterdam for years.  I also spent a lot of happy time with Christel, Henk’s wife and the Guest Relations Manager. 

I checked my luggage with the front desk and debarked at 9:00am so that the ship could get down to its zero count for the segment.  Then I got my visitor’s pass for the Volendam and got back on board.  I ran into Glen, as I was checking my computer out again for a few hours.  He volunteered his cabin for the day, for luggage storage, and I took him up on it, trading one of the too many presents HAL have been giving us. 

Glen was going out for the day, with a couple of his friends, both named Susan, and they waited patiently while he helped me get the 3 pieces of carry-on to his cabin at the other end of the ship.  There we found out that the key they had given me worked, but now his own, didn’t.  That cost him more time at the Front Desk getting a new one, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he has to do it again when he gets back.  No good deed goes unpunished.

I decided to eat around eleven because who knew how the day would go.  I had to wait until 11:30pm for Dive-In, the burger joint by the pool, to open.  So I set up shop with my computer, while I waited.

The Zuiderdam sailed into port and greeted us with her horn.  We blasted back and it nearly blew me off my chair.  Then I felt the tears welling up.  It must have been the good memories.

A half hour later, while I was still chowing down on my Flying Dutchman with caramelized onions, to use In-‘n-Out’s secret menu terminology, Henk and Christel and 3 or 4 very important looking people, doubtless executives from Seattle, strode into the pool area.  I popped up abandoned my food, and very rare for me, my computer, crossed over to port and chased them.  By midships, I had drawn even and shyly waved at Henk, just to let him know I was there.  Next thing you know, I had a big hug from my good old friend and he was calling Christel over.  More hugs and “so happy to see yous”.  The parties don’t start for a couple of hours, but I am properly happy.  It’s a good day.

Lynann joined me for a chat and it was back to Glen’s room to change and rest a bit.  I was to be escorted to the Zuierdam at 4:00pm.  The Volendam 5-star Mariner concierge escorted me to the Zuierdam, where I got another visitor’s pass.  My Zuiderdam escort never materialized and I was fine with that.  I know the Zuiderdam well enough, having spent 4 months on her in 2023.  It turned out I wasn’t invited to the Grand Meet-Up Dinner after all.  That was just for President’s Club and Suite guests.  I could, however have dinner on the Zuiderdam before the party, which started at eight.  Here it was 4:30PM, and I wasn’t going to go back and forth to the Volendam.  Ships are big, and even though they were docked butt to butt, there was quite a bit of distance to cover, and I wasn’t ready to do that twice more. 

I walked around, to see whom I would meet and ran into Tom Mullen, a lovely friend from 5 world cruises, where he was the Criuise Specialists host to my Distinctive Voyages Host.  He would be working tonight.

I was thirsty, so I went up to the Crow’s Nest and had a glass of water.  It was empty, The Crow’s Nest, not the glass.  I didn’t meet another living soul I knew in any of the public areas, so a little after five, I went to the Ocean bar and caught a set of jazz.  At six, I moved to the Rolling Stone lounge and caught a set of Vintage Rock that ended with “Satisfaction”, of course.   The forced relaxation did me a world of good.  At seven, I presented myself in the dining room and enjoyed a particularly delicious dinner with four very nice people. 

A little after eight, it was time for the Grand Meet up party on the aft deck and I understood why the ships were butt to butt.  It was like one big party, only we each only had access to one side of the “room”.  I met up with Ginny Stibolt, right away.  I have known her since 2012.  She’s a HAL speaker now, an authority on all things horticultural.  I know she’s good, I get her blog.  I saw a few other faces I recognized, but had never been friends with, and then I ran into Rosita, who, with her husband Karl, were friends.  Then the toasts and such started, ship to ship, and we heard Daniel as well on the Zuiderdam, as if we had been on the Volendam.  I am guessing they heard the Zuiderdam cruise director, Kim, too.  I was bragging about how good Daniel was, but I couldn’t sell Rosita, who just loved Kim, who she said was the best Cruise Director they ever had.  The 2026 World Cruise will be on the Volendam, and Kim will be the Cruise Director.   It looks like that will work just fine. The last person I had a chance to chat to, before I turned into a pumpkin, if I didn’t get back to the Volendam, grab my luggage and be off by ten, was Lenora, with whom Nona and I had fun in ports in 2023.

I covered the flyway between the ships at top speed, for me, retrieved my bags, turned in my visitor’s pass, and was off through the largely empty terminal.  There were no taxis but I got an Uber easily enough and he got me to my simple airport hotel .  I was in bed by midnight, and slept well, if not long.  A couple of bugs got in the open window and bit me, but even that couldn’t keep me awake.

Continuing up the West coast of Africa on April 16, we were in Dakar, Senegal.  I went out for a walk with a fellow Canadian whom I had met in the airport in Montreal.  It wasn’t the kind of place I wanted to walk around, so I was glad to meet him at my door.  We took the shuttle to Independence Square and started to walk around it.  It was as bad as the market, but we didn’t want to engage a “guide”.  So we kept having to discourage them, one after the other.  At the far end of the square, we ducked into a bar and ordered a beer.  That kept the number of hawkers down, and got rid of the wanna be guides, for a bit.  The beer was really good:

And the blackboard graffiti better:

I could have posed for it:

On leaving the bar, we picked up another guide, like you pick up burrs in the bush.  He was going to take us to a big market, which ended up being his father’s store, a table on the sidewalk.  We wouldn’t have followed so docilly, had the route not being back in the direction of the bus, just on the back streets.

When we finally shook him, we found ourselves near La Galette – a French pastry shop.  I had to go in and see if they had a millefeuille and sure enough:

So I had one and they had Easter chocolates, too.  I bought some for everyone at the table.  Fish, a chicken, eggs, an egg, and a bell.  How strange.  No bunny rabbit.  In Senegal, he turned into a bell.

The Chamber Trio were on the World Stage and they were very good.

We were back in the Atlantic on April 17, Holy Thursday.  The ship has been taking small groups of us on a behind the scenes tour and today it was my turn.  I have done such things before on various ships but this was the first one that took us to the bridge, the Suites Only Lounge, the galley, laundry, the fridge, the freezer, the wine cellar, the engine control room, the marshalling area, the crew bar and mess. My favorite was the biodigester. 

It takes all the food scraps, but the bones, adds only water, and works like a giant stomach, until it turns out something that can be used in power generation.  The ship uses a lot of power.  Essentially, its diesel engines, just generate electricity and the electricity power everything from the propellers, to the lights, stoves, washing machines, etc. Fun tour.

Right after that, Daniel gave a good talk on Lanzarote.  I had been to Arricife, but only to the town, to sample the jamon, I had no idea the whole place was so interesting.  The Canaries are volcanic and they didn’t push up out of the sea all that long ago.  Until they had a desalination plant, life was seriously hard.  Daniel told us about the first settlers, and its iconic devil symbol, created by Cesar Manrique, an artist who returned to his native island, made it more beautiful, and fought for its environment. 

Christina Johnston, Coloratura Soprano, entertained us at night, with a very unique voice and personality.  She hasn’t been entertaining at sea all that long and is still thrilled with this new life of hers.  It was a lot of fun.

Still at sea on Good Friday, April 18, Daniel gave us an appreciation for the every many and varied people who had lived in Morocco, in sequence and in parallel.  There were the Amazigh or Berbers, the Arabs, the Jews and the French and, in the early part of the 20^th century, they were all living more or less in harmony.  After Morocco gained its independence from France in 1956, things went downhill in a hurry.  By the 70s, the Jews and the Christians had mostly left and it became a Musim state.  Agadir had a massive earthquake in 1960, and is not what it was.  Casablanca is more interesting.  Daniel’s talk was followed by Katie Chang, who enlightened us further on Cesar Manrique and his legacy on Lanzarote.  He was born in 1919, so was in time to be in the Spanish civil war under Franco.  He hated war, but was a good artist and ended up in NYC, making a name for himself.   He returned to Lanzarote after the 60s, when air travel was starting to cause a tourist boom.  He wanted Lanzarote to keep the cachet created by it’s unique, volcanic landscape, and fought hard against another row of beachfront high rises.  He succeeded in having it declared a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve, with strict limits on the heights of buildings.  Quite a unique place.  We visit tomorrow.

We had Katie and her husband Mark for dinner and it was a hoot.  We liked them a lot.  Katie is a BBC and Mark figured that made him a BBB.

The repertory company did a thing they called Rock Britannia and we found it a tad disappointing because they did a load of songs we didn’t know, by a bunch of rock stars that we very much did know.  Old farts aren’t hard to please.  We like some old, same old, as long as it was good old.

And so on April 6, we were clear of Brazil, in the Atlantic Ocean and on our way to Devil’s Island.  It’s still French, but they don’t keep their prisoners there anymore. Daniel had a great talk about it, including a sad tale about a man wrongly convicted, and how he was finally brought back to France.

Devil’s Island and The Dreyfus Affair

The World Stage featured pianist, Katie Clarke, and I always love a piano.

On April 7, we were at Devil’s Island.  The Island we actually tendered to was Ile Royal, the largest of Les Iles du Salut (Salvation Islands).  You could see Devil’s Island from there

Make no mistake.  Those are shark infested waters, at least they were when they were feeding them dead prisoners in the day.  I went out with Bev Moon and we walked around a bit, until the skies just opened and dumped on us.  We took shelter under a pretty substantial tree, but still got soaked to the skin.  So, it was back on the tender and into a hot shower.  So much for that.  Nice place but I wouldn’t want to live there.  I missed the magician, Craig Diamond, but I heard he was good, so I’ll catch his second show.

As of April 8, we were in for four sea days, and, of course I had high hopes of catching up – and I didn’t.  You guys must be wondering what I am doing with my days, and it’s not snoozing and having massages.  It’s not even playing Bridge.  I am as busy on a cruise as I am at home, busier when I am hosting.  It’s nice not to be this time, but I am selling cruises and servicing bookings, which can include selling insurance, working on claims, creating and maintaining Tripits for my clients, interacting with tour suppliers, booking my own travel, etc.  I did manage to get a blog out on April 8, so the catching up started well.

The Runaround Kids were on the main stage.  A four-piece boy band like we had in the late ‘50s, 60s.  Think Runaround Sue.  They were silly but fun and that’s my music.

The 9^th was another sea day, and I was busy with miscellaneous and assorted travel work all day.  There’s a lot of minutia in this business and that’s what people pay me to do.  The theory is that I get better at it, the more I do, and the new tools make it faster.  Well, some of them do, and some of them don’t, and pretty much all of them break a lot.  The good news is that It’s now cheap and easy to phone just about anywhere in the world and get your business done, even from as ship, as long as you’re patient.  I never thought I would be getting paid for patience, but that’s how it’s turning out.  Patience and persistence are the keys to success in this game, and it doesn’t hurt that I know my way around a computer and its mate, the Internet.  My assistant, TripIt, is going through some growing pains at the moment and I am helping by reporting problems, with screenshots, etc.  Their support team is pretty responsive.

We had Susana, the Hungarian violinist for dinner tonight, and she was delightful, then we all went to the World Stage for another dose of Martin Beaumont, who makes us giggle.

Daniel Edward was back on the stage on April 10, with a moving description of Cape Verde, where the slave trade began, think Roots and its hero Kunta Kinte.  His memory was evoked rather strongly.  YouTube doesn’t seem to have this video.  Maybe someday.  I took time out for that and went back to work.  I also had a nice walk around the deck, a good dinner at my fun table, and a half hour at the fun fair, where I managed to toss a couple of rings over a couple of bottle necks and won a couple of tickets, which won no prizes in the lucky draw.  Oh well.

On April 11, having run out of ports to talk about for the time being, Daniel got very philosophical and delved into the topic Pole to Pole to Pole.  The third pole being the middle, not the North, not the South, not the highest, nor the deepest, but the middle, where most everything lives.  It got deeper than I will ever be, but he’s always fun to listen to, and so were the Repertory company on stage at night. 

April 12, Land Ho! Mindelo, Ilha de São Vicente, Cape Verde.  You really need to send someone else out in the world to report.  I never even got off, after four days at sea.  What a bore I am. When I stay aboard on a port day, I really get to get some work done.  The best I can do is a picture taken from the promenade deck of an interesting mountain skyline of a sleeping giant.

And Katie Clarke was on the piano on the World Stage.

I did get off on Sunday, April 13, in Praia, Ilha de Santiago, Cape Verde.  And, well, it was Sunday.  I took the shuttle into town.  It left us off at this slightly frightening place. 

The locals were waiting for us, ready to walk us around any place we wanted to go.  I wanted a pharmacy and a very pushy passenger wanted to buy a couple of bottles of booze.  She was well on her way and willing to share, but I thought not.  What I wanted at the drugstore was Imodium.  I didn’t get it either.  It was Sunday and there was only one drugstore on the island open.  It’s address was posted on the shuttered one near us, but it was a 5 euro taxi ride away.  I didn’t need the Imodium that badly. Somebody on the ship always has it, if you do.

A little walk around and back to the ship. Craig Diamond was on stage and he’s a very good magician.

We were still at sea on April 14.  The Atlantic is a big ocean. Daniel was there to teach us about The Gambia and Senegal.  Daniel often teaches me things I feel I should know already.  No one has taught me quite as well before.  As often as I have traveled I never really realized that The Gambia, home of Kunta Kinte, looks like a snake on a map.  Apart from the part that touches the Atlantic Ocean, which makes it so valuable, it’s just a long curly sliver of land along the Gambia river.  

Britain had a lot of forts along that river and they manned them to be impenetrable.  The 1783 Treaty of Versailles gave Great Britain possession of the Gambia River and the French got the rest of Senegal.  The river was that important to the slave trade.  Wikipedia is a good source, once one’s curiosity is piqued.  Who knew this little country has meant so much? 

The Runaround Kids were back on stage, still silly, but good enough for a night’s entertainment before bed.  This is the life.

And the next day, April 15, we were IN The Gambia.  I was in the market, of course.  There were way too many “guides” waiting to escort us through.  I tried to get rid of mine by saying I had been here before.  He said he remembered me.  I told him that was unlikely because I had not been near the market the last time, having just shopped on the pier.  I knew that was right because I read my own blogs, usually right before I re-visit a place.  He stuck with me like glue.  Leading me all the way through the market to its outer edge, when I said I wanted a black marker.  I took pictures along the way whenever we turned, so I could find my way back out. 

There wasn’t a chance I would need them.  Your man remained stuck.  If I found a stall I liked, he became part of the negotiations. 

When he finally got up the courage to ask for money, for milk, for his baby, twice, I explained that I had planned to give him $10 for his services, keeping me safe and getting me back to my bus, BUT, every time he mentioned it again, I was going to subtract a dollar.  That worked so well, I wished I had come up with it in the first 30 seconds of our relationship.  He became focused on good things like making sure I got my change in a timely fashion, etc.  He was now motivated to get me through there and on to that bus, ten dollars lighter.  Money talks. I am learning its language.

Happy Easter from Agadir – Morocco – Instead of Easter bunnies, I have something quite different. The story continues …

On Wednesday, April 2, still in Manaus, we were going on a “Pink Dolphin Encounter”.  Unlike pink elephants, which are a figment of your imagination when you have had too much to drink, pink dolphins are real.  I spent my time photographing one of my favorite marine photographers, Dee, while she found just the right angles:

The next day, we docked in Parintins, home of the Boi Bumba Festival.  These are the people with the blue Coke cans, remember?  They have figured out how to turn their town’s obsession into money.  It helps pay for the costumes, staging, and all.  I signed up for the show but got all screwed up in the time changes and arrived way early, two full hours early.

I spent the first one touring the town in a tuk tuk.  

Note the politically correct shirt the Tuk Tuk driver wears.  He’ll take a red fare or a blue fare.  Makes no difference.  Parintins isn’t a city.  It’s just a town.  It has a church, which my driver assumed I would want to visit:

A waterfront:

Traffic and shops:

But, what’s important here is the Boi Bumba Festival, the costumes, the dancing, the floats.  The festival celebrates the Bumba Meu Boi, a legend about a resurrected ox. It is also a competition where two groups that perform this play, the Boi Garantido (red) and Boi Caprichoso (blue), compete in extended retellings of the story, each team attempting to outdo the other with flamboyant dances, singing, and parade floats.

There are installations all over town creating this kind of thing:

This would be the red side garantido.

Here’s some blue side work:

All of which is very cool, but I never did get a blue Coke.  When I got made to the Pier, very near the show venue, I was still an hour early.  I had made a bigger mistake than I thought I had.  Luckily I met up with another passenger, Bev Moon, from Tennessee, who had managed to do the same.  With another hour to kill, we went out in search of an ice cream cone, or a beer, whichever we found first.  It was the beer.  The bar was interesting.  At the same counter as the libations, you could also buy snacks, cigarettes, razors, menstrual period supplies,

On the opposite wall, were the groceries, and, if that wasn’t complete enough, that wall was just a divider.  There was a bank and a notary on the other side of it. Here we sit, bellied up to the bar:

We thoroughly enjoyed that little interlude and it put us in the right mood for the Boi Bumba show.

It was a hard act to follow, but our comedian, Martin Beaumont, did a creditable job that night.  We have had him to dinner a couple of times since and he’s a lot of fun.

On April 4, we were at Alter do Chao and I decided to give it a miss and catch up a little.  If that had been more successful, I might not be writing about April 4 on the 18^th, but now I really am catching up.  Maybe.  Alter do Chao looked like another Boca de Valeria only less lively, if that was possible.  The ship obviously didn’t think much of it, as we pulled in at 8:0am and out again at 1:30pm. They even scheduled a dressy night, which they pretty much never do on port days.  They put the Repertory company on stage too, and that’s always good. 

On the 5^th we were back at sea, and crossing the equator yet again.  We were sailing away from Brazil after a whopping 18 days.  I don’t know if I have ever been on a cruise ship that spent that kind of time in one country.  Oy! Brazil

At long last on Sunday, March 30, we docked in Santarem, our first Port on the Amazon.  The city of Santarem is actually on the Tapajós river.  The meeting of the rivers is a big deal.  The muddy Amazon meets the clean Tapajós and you can see the demarcation for miles.  Here it is:

We were on that small boat, bound for a piranha fishing trip.  It was about a 45 minute ride up the Tapajós river and our guide filled it with all sorts of interesting facts.  We were well into the rainy season but not yet at high water.  So the farmers would still be home here.  This is what a farm looks like as we approach it:

As we got closer, we could see the animals.  This farmer had water buffalo, pigs, goats, chickens and all.  Here are the goats:

Since we are not at high water yet, it seems to be time to be getting worried.  The farmer is prepared:

He’ll just load his livestock on to this boat, with his family, and enough food to last and they’ll ride it out.  If he is rich enough to pay for grazing on higher ground, that’s good, if not, they’ll float it out, maybe a couple-three months.  Methinks I’d rather be on the Volendam, where a nice dinner and violinist Susana awaited.

But we were on a fishing trip, so we had to fish for an hour or so, first.  We each had a baited hook and a line, but no pole, nor reel.  I was lousy at it.  The fish ate my bait five times before I could get it out of the water.  There was a prize for the biggest piranha and this one won:

Tanner won the prize for the biggest fish overall, with this impressive catfish:

You get the idea.

The next day’s port, Boca de Valeria, was a sight more primitive, but not so primitive that they hadn’t figured out the value of the tourist dollar.  The cruise lines had got together and funded a very basic dock for tenders. 

You had to walk through a bit of water to get to shore, even so.  But it worked.  The village swole to about five times its normal size when there was a ship.  The welcoming committee consisted of the children of this and neighboring villages, with their pets, wanting a dollar for a photo op.  But we weren’t going there just yet.  The local fishermen had their own business taking us out two by two in their motorized longboats.  I hooked up with Lisa Moser, who was on my tender and whom I knew a bit from the Queen Mary 2 last year. 

We left the village behind and meandered up and down the tributaries to the suburbs:

And among the giant lily pads:

To a bigger village with a church and school:

Back past a country house:

To the dock at Boca de Valeria.  You can see the Volendam in the middle of the river as we approach.

It was time to pet the animals, click the shutters and pay the children, and so we did.

There was obviously some rivalry:

And this guy was my favorite:

But you have to give this girl and her turtle their due:

I was surprised there weren’t more people patronizing the bar.  It was up on stilts, a little up from the water and with a great view and a breeze.  Lisa and I had a thoroughly enjoyable local beer:

And were happy to get back to the Volendam, a good dinner and Luca Lattanzio on the stage again.  He was just as good the second time.

On the first of April, we docked in Manaus for an overnight.  I got off late morning and walked to the market, which was supposed to be good.  On the way, I met one of Robbie’s relatives:

I met a nice lady from Montreal, so we did the Market together.  It wasn’t much.  She continued on to the Cathedral and I went back to the ship but via the back streets which looked interesting.  There were a lot of shops for locals, and tables on the sidewalk, selling anything you might need.  I bought three pairs of socks for $5.  They are cute, too.  Then I has another pastel de carne lunch, in the park, with the locals, at this spot:

Cheap, delicious, plenty of local atmosphere.

Since we were overnighting in Manaus, the Wescotts, David and Wendy Clarke, from Montreal, and yours truly, went out to dinner.  We took one taxi and one Uber to Gaucho’s Churrascaria, a Brazilian BBQ place, or what Dee’s grandkids call “steak on a stick”.  I found their web site and browsed through their 34 pictures and the one they didn’t have the one that tells it all.  So, here’s mine:

That drink you see with all the limes in it is Brazin’s national cocktail, the “caipirinha” and it’s delicious.  Quite strong.  We only had one each.  The Uber had come in about three times the price of the taxi, and the taxi driver had given me his phone no.  I WhatsApp’d him and we got two taxis for the way home.  You never know what’s going to work best.  Every city is different, but this is fact in Manaus in 2025.

Our Cruise and Travel Director’s web site is still not delivering, but I heard that his talk on the Selaron Steps, in Rio, is on YouTube, too, so I googled around and sure enough: The Selaron Steps in Rio de Janeiro  is there for your viewing pleasure.  There are other videos there, too, but I like the simplicity of the web site – if it ever works again. Meanwhile, enjoy the YouTube. 

Daniel posts his talks at www.danieledwarduk.com but at the moment, the web site is broken and not delivering.  He promised me he’d look into it but a Cruise and Travel Director doesn’t get a lot of free time, so bear with him.

Back to my own blog.  I left you in Brail on March 23, and we had a lot more Brazil to go.  We were privileged to have aboard, a group of educators, animators, singers and dancers called OiBrasil.  They gave lectures, taught crafts, dancing, musical instruments, cooking, just about everything about a culture you can think of… They even put on a couple of Carnaval type shows.  I missed one of those in Rio, but caught a few lectures and the second show.  They were great to have around for a couple of weeks.  HAL billed them as Cultural Ambassadors, and they sure were.  You can get a little taste at: Bing Videos  and if you want to hire them, go to www.oibrasilshows.com

On March 23^rd, we docked in Maceio, a biggish seaport, where the market had taken over an old stadium.  There was a free shuttle to it.  I indulged myself with a new hanging purse that won’t work after all, and will likely be abandoned because it won’t fit in my carry on, a new top that might be able to replace a worn one I will abandon, a pair of sandals, which are pretty flat, a pastel de carne and a coke. 

This thing is really good.  It has both meat and cheese in it and comes to you piping hot from the deep fryer.  The coke came with a glass of ice, which I should have thrown away, but didn’t.  I survived but it’s a good thing there is no shortage of restroom facilities on a ship.  Dee and I could compare footwear at the table and the Repertory company was on stage.  It was a good day.

On the 24^th we were in Recife, where the Girards and I took a Catamaran cruise called “Venice of Brazil”.  We had hoped to be going into the three rivers that meet here but it was a silly big catamaran , a flat tour boat that just poked around in the hot sun and all the pictures were full of tourist debris.  So I don’t have much to show for it.  See what I mean:

The next day, the 25^th, Bosco of OiBrasil filled us in with a little history and explained Brazil’s ties to medieval Europe. He dove deeply into the climate, soils, and early settlers.  Now I don’t totally understand this but it seems, the discovery of America coincides with the last years of the Reconquista.  That was the 900 years war that drove the Moors and Jews out of Europe.  A lot of the Spanish and Portuguese Jews came to Brazil.  The Dutch conquered the place and all of that was fine because they didn’t try to convert the Jews but when the Christians won in Europe, they come to the colonies to drive the Dutch and Jews out.  So that lot left Brazil, moved north and founded, you guessed it, New York.  You can see it in the architecture of Recife, our next stop.  But in the countryside, along the Amazon and into the jungle, the culture of the poor doesn’t change much.  They don’t travel and they barely have schooling.  They dress in leather and ride mules.  It’s a thorny place and it’s still medieval and old stories get passed down.  Bosco told us of a prize bull, who was killed for his tongue to satisfy a pregnant lady, whose husband was a little over zealous.  But not to worry, the bull got resurrected and everyone lived happily ever after, only they react the whole sorry mess every year in Parintins, and we’ll be going there.  More to come.

Richard Watson, another OiBrasil speaker, taught us more about the culture along the river, how they farm, catch fish, gather fruit, and move every year when the water gets too high.  We learned about the different soils, table mountains, waterfalls and a lot of other geography that amazed, amused and confused us.  It left us with a healthy respect for this mighty river and we hadn’t even got there yet.  Eli Moore, the Piano Bar entertainer, was on the World Stage.

The 26^th, we were in Fortaleza.  Another town, another market, another top that I hope I can get home.  My carry on will be bursting at the seams.

The entertainment that night was spectacular, and that, I don’t have to pack.  OiBrasil were on stage with their Carnaval themed show and it was marvelous.  If you didn’t take the link up there in the first paragraph, you might want to now.

The 27^th was the first of three more sea days before we would get to the mouth of the Amazon.  It’s some mouth, 200 miles wide as it opens to the sea.  Daniel had a wonderful talk on the Amazon and our first two ports on it, Santarem and Boca de Valera.    Discovering the Amazon River: Orellana and the legend of Naia The stories are good, but I warn you, Danial’s talks take more than a half-hour each to watch.  You might just want to remember they are here, to watch when you are about to venture to the Amazon.  The stories are good, and little known.  In this one, you learn about the first European to venture into the Amazon on a boat and how it got its name. 

That night there was a lovely Hungarian violinist on the World stage, name of Susana.  She was very easy to listen to.

On the second sea day, Daniel told us all about the rise and fall of Manaus.  How the city grew under the Portuguese, built fine palaces and a fabulous Opera house, only to shrink back when the British exported rubber plantations to Asia, particularly Indonesia and Malasia, from whence it was much easier to distribute than from hundreds of miles from the sea.  A great disservice done to the Brazilians, a favor to Asia, and pots and pots of money for the British Rubber Barrons.  Daniel tells it so much better than I: A Cruise Tourist’s Guide to Manaus, Brazil  Oi Brasil had a good talk for us in the afternoon about Brazil’s geography, the river that runs under the Amazon, the reef system in the Atlantic, and the horror that is the trans Amazonian highway, fortunately not completed.

It was Wells Wescott’s birthday at our table.  Panjang amurnia.

Our repertory company were on the world stage, and they are always good.

On March 29, we began cruising the Amazon river, itself.  You might as well be on the ocean for all the shoreline you see, when it’s 200 miles wide at the mouth.  But the color is different.  It’s not the clear blue sea, it’s the muddy brown river.  We are going to have to do without laundry for 5 days, because it just takes too much water.  Better that than not being able to shower, because it’s hot, and we’ll really feel it when we get on shore.  The ship, you see, makes fresh water from sea water for all its needs, but it can’t make clean water out of thin mud, so we’ll only have what we go in with.  Our tanks are full, but there are more than a thousand of us on board, passengers and crew.

Daniel’s talk, about two of the places we would be visiting, was great, as usual.  This one delved into the story of the resurrected bull that OiBrasil had told us about, and how that story spawned a festival that is so big and so divisive, that the Coca Cola company makes Coke in Blue cans, because the blue side won’t drink out of a red can in June.  We could hardly wait to get there.  A Cruise Tourist’s Guide to Parintins and Alter do Chao, Brazil

Richart Watson, of OiBrasil, enlightened us on how the indigenous people managed the soil for centuries, and what a terrible toll the rubber boom took on their civilization.  Whole tribes were wiped out, others lost 90% of their people, many retreated farther from the river, where they remain.  In the 1960s, indigenous territories started to have governmental protection, so there is some hope, but the gold rush which was still going on in the 1980s wasn’t helping.  It’s a polluting process.

We celebrated Wells’ birthday again, this time in the Pinnacle, with the Captain Rens Van Eerten, who is delightful, at our table for 14.  And I don’t have a picture.  There’s a professional one but I never did lay my hands on it.  An Italian vocalist, Luca Lattanzio, was on the World stage and we just loved him.

St. Patrick’s Day was a Sea Day and Dee insisted we all go to Daniel’s Port talk on Rio.  DanielEdward is our Cruise and Travel Director and port talks are his specialty.  This was the best port talk I have ever heard.  Dee was especially proud of it. She put Daniel on to the material, as it had special significance for Holland America.  It was all about the Seleron steps, and how their creator, the artist Jorge Selaron had made them his life’s work, and how a HAL passenger created a memorial to him, after he was murdered and was lying in a pauper’s grave.  Dee knew the passenger, you see, and put Daniel in touch with her.  He certainly did her proud.

The next thing you know, I was booking us a Black Tie Van to take us to see the steps, the memorial, and, of course have a good Brazilian BBQ lunch.  That done, we all had dinner and enjoyed Irish soprano Emer Barry.

That green enough for you?  Marilyn always told us Barry was an Irish name. ‘tis.

Next morning at the crack of ten, we met our driver, Arlindo, and were off to the Sao Joao Batista cemetery to see Selaron’s grave. 

There are a bunch of Holland America tiles in this version, and in the original, as the idea caught on and a number of passengers, and even HAL itself, donated them.  If you are going to Rio, you really need to watch Daniel’s talk,  (See below) but here are a few of Selaron’s own words to get you thinking:

Dee bought a couple of red roses and we laid them there and went to lunch.  Dee made a stop for some typically Brazilian soft drinks she likes, called Guarana.  Guarana is like gingerale with just a bit of fruitiness.  Try it if you are ever in Brazil.  While she was making the purchase, I started to feel nauseous, which isn’t easy when you haven’t had breakfast or lunch.  I sent in word that I needed some fizzy drink and out came a lime tonic.  The restaurant was Marius, and it’s quite a fancy one.  I didn’t see much of it except the inside of the bathroom and the patio.  It was looking like I had met a norovirus or some such.  I ended up taking a taxi straight back to the ship, while the others did a drive by of the real Selaron steps.  They have become quite the tourist attraction, but the neighborhood is dodgy to say the least.  A drive by is enough.

I went into voluntary quarantine for a couple of days, though all the action was done by 5pm.  I slept like a log for about 32 hours, and had a nap the afternoon of the 19^th. 

By the 20^th, I was myself again. We were docked in Armaceo dos Buzios and I didn’t even go ashore.  We have a lot of ports in Brazil.  Michelle Montuori was on stage that night.  I swear the woman is everywhere you cruise.  She says she’s the best in her price range.  Likely true.

Back at Sea on the 21^st, I still didn’t do all that much, but I did go to Daniel’s port talk on Fortaleza and Recife, which was excellent, again, as was the Oi!Brasil talk in the afternoon.  This cruise is a very good education.  It leaves me barely enough time to catch up with work.  Emer Barry was back on stage and she was absolutely excellent.

On the 22^nd we were in Salvador da Bahia, where I did get off and go to the market. I bought a bit and had a coke with Dee and Wells, watching some Brazilian Martial Arts Dancers.  On the way back to the ship, I met Emer Barry, with whom we were having dinner that very night.  Small world, or small port. She was a delightful dinner guest and no one was onstage, so dinner went rather long.  This is a great cruise.

Daniel posts his talks at www.danieledwarduk.com but at the moment, the web site is broken and not delivering.  He promised me he’d look into it, but a Cruise and Travel Director doesn’t get a lot of free time, so bear with him.

Two weeks at home is ridiculous number, I probably should have flown straight from Hong Kong to Buenos Aires.  It didn’t help that I chose to fly Air Canada through SFO.  I don’t know when, if ever, the last time I flew THROUGH San Francisco.  I usually fly TO San Francisco and spend a week or three with my California friends.  The poorly shod shoemaker had no idea that a two hour layover was not a viable option, when you factored in fetching luggage, going through customs, checking the luggage back in, and changing terminal.  It’s a doable project if you order wheelchairs, because then you jump the customs line and the airline waits for you.

Do I always book wheelchairs for you, gentle clients, whether you really need them or not?  Yes, I do.  Did I book them for myself?  Don’t ask.  Close to heart attack territory, I arrived at the gate to watch the Air Canada plane to Montreal taxi away from it.  Merde, alors.

AC wanted to put me on a plane, through Toronto, that would get in after midnight, but, since I bought the ticket through United, I thought I would see what they could do.  It wasn’t a lot better, but it did get me in around ten, flying through Newark.

By the time I got home, without my luggage, I was sick as a dog, with yet another respiratory infection.  I didn’t bomb this one out with antibiotics, because you only get so many tries at that, and I am afraid I have been using mine up.  So I suffered through it with cold meds only, and my immune system does work.  It just took its time, and I slept a lot.

I never check luggage on the way out, and almost never on the way back, but I had bought a few things in HK, you see.  My “carry-on” arrived the next day, with a broken wheel.  I didn’t have time for United to replace it, because I was flying out again so soon, so I bought a new one, and, after a good few web site interactions, phone calls, etc. UAL paid me enough to cover the new one and a little more.  I’d still like to have the old one fixed but the Cordonnier downstairs, who also sells luggage, wouldn’t touch it, and the company that sold it to me isn’t answering my calls or emails.  Sigh, more landfill. And I love that little red bag.

After I recovered, I did manage a couple of dinners with my good Montreal friends, but not nearly enough.  On Tuesday, March 11, I was back in the air, on the way to Buenos Aires.

I have had a friend in Buenos Aires, for well over 10 years.  I hired her as a tour guide, lo those many years, and, as we are kindred spirits, we have kept in touch ever since.  Eilat has moved on from the tour guiding business, and now has a lovely seven-year-old daughter, named Olivia.  They were part of my plan for BA, as were my client friends on the Pole-to-Pole. 

I boarded the plane in YUL on time, pre-boarded, no less.  I had booked wheelchairs.  I do learn.  After fifteen minutes or so, we all got off again, as there was a software problem being documented.  We were assured it was fixed.  They were right and we did take off, only a little more than an hour late.  This, of course, meant a very tight connection in Sao Paolo, Brazil, where we also had to go through customs, but this time, we made it.  Wheelchairs, Helen.  I likely would have made this one without them, but they offered comfort and peace of mind.

I had booked myself into a wonderful old Grande Dame of a Hotel, the Palacio Alvear, so I could treat my ship friends and my BA friends, to the super Tea I remembered there, from 2018. It’s the Hyde Park Hotel for a third of the price.  The hotel had upgraded me and I had a fabulous suite with a Jacuzzi. Ooooo, yes. 

I just had time for a short nap, before dinner with Eilat, our private catch-up time.  She picked me up at the hotel, and took me to a pharmacy, where I stocked up on toiletries.  That’s a necessity, if you want to get through 42 days aboard, and you fly with carry on.  It didn’t take long and soon we were are at La Cabrera. 

Eilat had taken my group to La Cabrera, back in about 2012, when it was relatively new.  It has since become a popular institution. You pay for your meat and pretty much everything else comes with it.  There must have been 15 side dishes.  Since Eilat knows what she is doing, we ordered one rib steak to share and had them cut it in half, so I could have blue and she could have well done.  All of this was possible.  We ate on the terrasse, and we did catch up, until I started to digest, and it was quickly downhill from there.  I had likely been up close to 24 hours, with just a one hour nap. 

So, I got to bed early, had a wonderful night’s sleep and was ready for my tub in the late morning.  The hotel let me check out at one, and I just moved into its bar to catch up on my emails and travel work.  I liked my office:

I was in touch with everyone I needed to be, including my Volendam passengers.  Lynann had got the bright idea to use the Hop-On-Hop-Off Bus to get her here, after a nice city tour.  She arrived around four.  Tanner and Suellen Girard, had stayed overnight in the nearby Hyatt and walked over, Eilat and Olivia came in her car, and Dee and Wells came in a taxi, including his very neat, 35-lb, suitcase sized scooter. 

Tea did not disappoint.  It was great to see everyone, and Olivia had the time of her life.  She was very well behaved, and she took in all feasts, visual and culinary.  She didn’t like every single thing, but she tried it all.  Good on her. 

The Girards walked back to the Hyatt, Eilat and Olivia went home for a short night’s sleep before their Chilean adventure, and the hotel found a big taxi for the rest of us back to the Volendam.  There was no bother checking in in the evening, and no line either.  My key was in my room and I was ready for bed. 

We were docked in Buenos Aires until 5pm the next day, but I wasn’t interested in going out again, with Eilat out of town.  I was still recovering from the long flights, but not, Hallelujah, from any sort of respiratory thing, yea AvaMys.  The highlight of my day was dinner with my old table mates, the Wescotts and Lynann Barnes, and my new ones, Tanner and Suellen Girard.  They have our stewards, Dian and Amin, trained to bring crudites, and dips to start, cater to their culinary wants and needs, and make ginger tea at the end.  Just like home.  I ordered my wine package and enjoyed my first glass with roast prime rib.  With the production show team on stage after dinner, life doesn’t get much better.

I fiddled around with trying to upgrade my cabin, but it was almost as much to upgrade it as I had paid or it in the first place, so I let that go.  I like the location on the promenade deck, and I can see out just fine. 

On the Ides of March, we were in Punta del Este, Uruguay.  Wells Wescott, the Girards and I went on an Olive Oil tour and tasting.  It was just like a Wine tour and tasting, only the snacks were better.  Everybody has something for us to taste nowadays.  We came back to lasagna for dinner, at least I did, and Joseph Anthony, an Italian-American comedian, on the world stage.  The lasagna was more to my taste.

On March 16, we were at sea and I settled into my routine, which consists mostly of working in my cabin during the day and playing at night.  The Internet is good at sea now, and T-Mobile gives me free WiFi calls, so it’s pretty much as good a working environment as home.  

At 4 o’clock there was a block party to usher in the segment.  These things are fun.  You just bring a wine glass out into your hallway and your stewards pour wine into it and pass hors d’oeuvres.  It’s a great way to meet the neighbors.  Towards the end, I decked back into my cabin and grabbed the stuffed beaver I had bought for the Wescotts in YUL.  They, like me, decorate their cabin with stuffed animals, only more of them.  I thought they need a typically Canadian one.  So I sauntered through the rest of Deck 3, starboard, with the beaver in the bag from the duty free at YUL.  It happens that the lanai cabins midships are full of Canadians, even some Montrealers.  I couldn’t resist showing them what I had in the bag.  Next thing you know, I had an armload of miscellaneous wildlife in my arms and a bout five cameras pointing my way.  It dawned on me that they all wanted a picture with my beaver.  And so I said so.  And then I realized what I had just said.  Sometimes life is like that, so here’s the picture, with my beaver:

Dee made him feel very welcome and he is now living in the Pinnacle Suite, among good friends and even has his picture on the door. 

The pianist on the world stage after dinner was Pablo Bendersky and he was very good.

This is egregious, I know, but we pick up our story on Saturday, February 8, in Phu My (Saigon),Vietnam.  I have been in to Saigon a whole bunch of times, seen the sights, and bought a lot of clothing and other stuff.  I am traveling in carry-on this time and don’t need much. All I wanted was a good Vietnamese meal and to see what there was in the Port City of Phu My.  So, I took the shuttle to the gate and negotiated for a taxi.  I wanted three hours, so he would wait for me while I ate. 

The port city has a very nice wide highway running through it, with a lot of commercial establishments along it, including restaurants, massage parlours, bars and karaoke lounges.  Lam, my driver, volunteered to take me to the supermarket, since I had managed to make him understand I wanted food, but I didn’t want to cook it myself, so that was a non-starter. 

I asked him for the best restaurant he knew and he took me down an alleyway, to what might have been a great place but, the chef wouldn’t be cooking for another hour, and I was having a hell of a time making myself understood.  I finally got the server and Lam to start google translating with me, and things improved. 

I understood that once we left this town, it was 30 km or 1 hour each way to get to a better one, and Lam would want more money, in that case.  We settled on him just finding me another restaurant.  He did pretty well the second time.  It was Quan An 46, which I decided to keep because it had tanks full of live seafood, and was next door to a massage parlour.  I never did have the massage because I was too hungry to have it before dinner and didn’t think it would be a great idea on a full stomach.

The seafood was good. It was a typical Chinese (or Thai, or Cambodian, or Philippine, or Indonesian) fresh seafood place.  Only the sauces vary a little.  But live seafood shines, and I was happy. 

I got back in time for Michelle Montuori’s show, and she was better for sure.

The next day, I had another office hour and a couple came with a good but ambitious plan of what they would see in Hong Kong on their one day.  I felt better about it when he said the two of them walk about eight miles a day, every day.  They have a chance but not much time.  All ships should overnight in Hong Kong.  I posted my log and blog, wrote and delivered another newsletter, caught up with my travel work and got myself to my 6:00pm Happy Hour in The Crow’s Nest, before dinner.  The Sons of Soulville were on stage.  They were worth going to.

Monday, February 10. At Sea.

My apologies if it is sparse from here on in.  I had too much fun in Hong Kong, and got too sick after I flew home.  Next thing I knew, I was at sea again.  It is now actually March 23, and I am on the Volendam Pole-to-Pole for a segment, because I have three cabins booked on it, and because it meets up with the Zuiderdam in Barcelona.  There will be a big retirement party for Henk Mensink, Zuiderdam, and formerly Amsterdam Hotel Manager.  Henk and his wife, Cristel, former Guest Services Manager on the Amsterdam, have been a big part of my hosting career.  I am flattered that they want me. 

There was always someone at office hour, wanting to talk about Hong Kong, but no one had any problems for me to help with, which is the way we all like it. I had a little no-host cocktail party before dinner and about six people came.  After dinner, StepOne did a thing called Musicology, and, as usual, it was very good.

Here’s where (on Mar 24) I took up this narrative on Tuesday, February 11, in Da Nang (Hue), Vietnam. I stayed on board and worked on the fun I was going to have in Hong Kong, a bit of a shame, but you can’t do it all.  I took a night excursion into Hoi An for a delicious meal, as good as it could be, considering they were serving hundreds of us.  Hoi An has come a long way since I first visited it.  It was more charming and more authentic before, but it sure looks like it is prospering now.  I couldn’t resist buying three of these great lanterns.

What I am going to do with them, I have no idea, but something will present itself.  I have friends.

The next day, we were still in Da Nang (Hue), Vietnam, but I didn’t go out again.  It was still a good day.  Jocelyn Ng, a modern violinist was on stage.  She was good.

Back at Sea on Thursday, February 13, HAL had its Mariners’ parties.  They are always interesting.  The cruise is winding down.  I’ll miss my nice people.  There are two brothers and their wives in the group, who have sort of adopted me for dinner.  It’s nice. The Sons of Soulville were back, and even better than the first time.   

On Friday, February 14, we docked in Halong Bay, Vietnam.  I took the shuttle in to the market and had some delicious street food, on the back street behind the market.  The Street Food Chef did her cooking in a sort of chimney and didn’t look like she would want her picture taken so:

That’s her, in black.  The one in blue is my fellow client.  This is what I got to eat for next to nothing:

And it was wonderful.  My only regret was that I didn’t have two of them.  Should have gone back.

This was the restaurant:

I know it just looks like a street and not a very salubrious one at that, but that’s where some of the best food is.  All you have to know about street food is that it must be cooked right in front of you.  Follow that rule and you’ll never get sick from it.  I sure didn’t.  My tummy purred for hours.  It only wanted more.

Back on board, Step One did a show called MOVE, and they sure did.  I think I am jealous.

Saturday, February 15 was our last day on board.  It’s the day everyone packs and says their “goodbye”s.  I don’t have much to pack, so it’s quick, but I had a lot of last minute communications with the Hong Kong side.  I was pretty excited. 

On Sunday, February 16, we finaly docked in Hong Kong.  I took a taxi to my usual home there, The Conrad in Pacific Place, HK side.  I am going to, give my nine days in HK very short shrift here, because it’s old news now and because my HK friends tend to be very private people and shun the Internet, as best they can. I did have fun, though, I had a ton of fun. 

It started with brunch with my HK family family at the Country Club in Deep Water Bay, a couple of hours after I checked in to The Conrad.  I decided to just provide a picture of the guest of honor.  This is no ordinary brunch.

After an afternoon nap, and a bit of work, I took a tram to WanChai, my old workplace.  I met some nice people from Chicago on the tram, and we ended up in a Dai Pai Dong, on Johnston Road.  Perfect.  Monday, I was invited to the unveiling of a new wing of the Art Museum at Chinese University of HK.  While I was out ShaTin way, I met up with a couple of old Mensa buddies at another Dai Pai Dong.  It was great, but half way through dinner, my appetite left me and all I wanted was a taxi home and my bed.  I didn’t want to waste any of my HK time, so I gave myself an immediate dose of Cipro and stuffed myself with cough meds.  I was going to the races on Wednesday night.  A kind friend sent me 4 tests, not only for COVID, but 9 other respiratory viruses, too.  Luckily, I didn’t have any of them and spent the whole day in bed.  I was feeling fine by evening, fine enough to take a young exchange student from McGill, to Ye Shanghai, one of my favorite restaurants in Pacific Place.  She has fallen in love with Hong Kong, too, despite having to put in 20,000 steps a day, just to live her life.  Wednesday morning I woke up in fine fettle, still testing negative.  This is my view from the Conrad.  It has been changing over the years, the harbour shrinking:

I got the horse race tips, and managed to make a little money at the races.  I place a lot of exotic bets in the hopes of a big haul, and that doesn’t happen that often.  But my host, who was more conservative, managed to pay for dinner for four, with two bottles of wine, in the Voting Members’ Box, and have a little left over.  That made me very happy.  My HK hosts are all so generous. 

The next day, I was on the tram to WanChai, again, this time to buy tea and presies for a few people at home.  Near Wing Kee Tea shop are some lanes, not as commercial as Li Yuen E and W, in Central, but well suited to my purposes.  I got some nice char siu to nibble on for my “breakfast” too.

Of course, by night I was having dinner in The Hong Kong Club, which is still going strong, albeit with a lot more Chinese members.  I told my hosts about Wednesday’s races, and next thing I knew, I’d be going to the races on Saturday, too. 

Friday, night, a nice Indian meal, and too much beer, at the Foreign Correspondents Club, but not the old silliness, which is how we used to drink ourselves.  We had a great time at the races in Shatin on Saturday.  The buffet in the Hong Club Box was amazing.  We wanted for nothing except for it to have been a better day for the tips.  But, that’s the way they work, and I know it.  I didn’t mind a bit. 

I caught some damn thing on the planes home, which were delayed again, seeing me home over twelve hours later than planned and feeling totally crumby.  I spent a few days in bed with Robbie, which would have been nicer if he were a cuddly cat, like Cowper, Henry, Charlie, or even Sylly P.  But he’s my guy, and I love him.

The eleven home days flew by and I’m back on board the Volendam, from whence this comes, and the next one will be all about South America.