It’s the last stop, but it’s a PIP
An LGBT Cruising ship.
The food’s delish, the view is art,
Our new friends are the bestest part.
We are as happy as can be
You just have to come and see.

The Harrises of Fountaingrove Lodge

4210 Thomas Lake Harris Dr., Apt 117
Santa Rosa, CA, 95403
707-738-3178 

Elvon, Helen and Sylly P

Cat’s Ass Cards, by Helen
www.helenmegan.com
where you’ll find the back story

And here it is:

Yes, we went around the world for the fourth time and, no, it never gets old.  We love the Amsterdam, its officers and crew, and the good fiends we have made over the years.  Elvon is slowing down, though, and it’s getting harder to take care of him, and about seventy other people.  So, after a brief visit with the Grays in Florida, we came home on May 5, to sell the house we had lived in for 22 years, and move here by June 10.

Pat Gustafson moved to Fountaingrove Lodge in February, and Susan Harris thought it would be just the place for us.  It had just opened up to straight couples, and we would be a good fit.  So, our place was secured, for occupancy May 31, thanks so much, Susan and Pat.  As she was living in our house with Sylly P, Susan also landed the job of staging the house, with Kim McPherson, our realtor.  It didn’t feel like home, when they were done, but it sure sold in a hurry, which was, after all, the objective.

The hard part was downsizing by half.  I miss some of the stuff we disposed of, but surprisingly little.  It’s liberating living small.  All that cruising was good preparation.  So much for moving out.  We’re still moving in, but we should be done in another two or three months.  We might even hang some pictures.  We brought enough with us.  For now, we look at our view, which is spectacular, and I work at keeping these old bodies fit, and selling travel.  2016 was my best year yet.  I am proud and pleased to report that, at least in one instance, I beat  the biggest Internet Travel Agency of all, on price.  There was never a contest on service.

We’re staying home, at least until June, and only taking short trips.  We enjoy dinner parties, almost every night, with our wonderful new friends. One of them turns out to have been in Elvon’s graduating class at Occidental College.  Small, small world.  Sylly P has settled in happily, but still demands a shrimp every night. We are planning a short cruise to Alaska in June, and, if that goes well, Northern Europe on the Prinsendam in August.  We love visitors and  Fountaingrove Lodge has a comfortable guest room.  Do come.

Love and purrs,

Elvon, Helen & Sylly P

Correction to my surmise on the Harrises.  This is from Isabel Gray, who comes from Scotland and goes back there pretty much every year:  “I don’t believe there is a Harris tartan – but I can assure you that Harris tweed is still made on the island of Harris – a small island off the North coast of Scotland and the islanders are still doing a good job!!”

My old agency manager, Scott, had a lot more to say on the subject:  “I’ve been wanting to respond, as a Scot Scott, to your attempt to spirit away the Harris Clan from their rightful home in the Outer Hebrides (I.e. Scotland) to the land of your own ancestors. Lassie, that just won’t do! And no, I did not just call you a dog to get even!  I have thought in the past that Elvon’s facial characteristics would fit in nicely with my paternal Grandmother’s family, especially when I learned Elvon’s father was a Presbyterian minister. The clues add up–and indeed, there is a Scottish tartan for the Harris clan: https://www.scotweb.co.uk/tartan/Harris/28141 “  Thanks, Scott.  I didn’t want to buy a kilt, but it’s nice to know.

I last left you on a plane from Amsterdam and we are now on a plane coming home from Montreal.  We got to Montreal in the evening of August 20, and picked up our rental car.  This year’s deal got us a Jeep Grand Cherokee for the price of a compact.  It’s a great upgrade, but the thing is enormous.  I loaded it up, called Chalet BBQ and drove straight there to pick up one of our favorite dinners.

I had been warned that Montreal was a construction site.  It hasn’t been this bad since Expo ’67, when they built the Decarie Expressway, the Champlain Bridge, the Turcotte Interchange and the Metro (subway).  Of course, except for a flurry of activity around the Olympics in 1976, they haven’t done much maintenance on any of it.  The past few years, you were taking your life into your hands driving around the city.

Montreal is turning 375 next year, and planning a big bash.  So, in true Montreal fashion, they are doing a “grand ménage”.  There are cones and barrels everywhere, excavators and earth movers, “acces au chantiers”, and no access to the street you want to drive on.  Somehow, I reached my destination and picked up our fragrant bag of chicken and fries.

We were staying at Ternis’ condo on Sherbrooke, because it was an apartment in an elevator building, and beautifully central.  Andrea and Paul don’t us it much in the summer, as they are mostly in their main house in Magog, in the Eastern townships.

Marc Edéry, a kind neighbor, had the key for us, and was waiting, when we arrived a little after nine.  Luckily, he’s substantial, or we would never have got in.  There are only two small steps into the building, but there’s no railing. Elvon just can’t handle that any more.  It’s as much a brain thing as a physical thing.  But, he placed his confidence in, and a good bit of his weight on, Marc, and made it into the apartment, while I parked the car under the building.

That was an adventure, too, and also required Marc’s help.  When they built that garage, there were no such things as Grand Cherokees.  It literally covered its parking spot.  We got the luggage out, and up to the apartment, just in time for Marc to join his friends at the cinema at 9:45 pm and Elvon and I tucked in to the wonderful offering from the Chalet BBQ.

That was it for the night.  We were exhausted.  I unpacked the bare necessities and we crawled into bed.  When we got up, in the morning, we were both in sore need of basic cleanliness.  But the apartment had only a tub, not a walk-in shower.  Elvon can’t get in and out of a tub.  So I gave him a sponge bath on the toilet seat.  When I was done, he couldn’t get off the toilet.  It was too low.  With a lot of effort, building up the level with towels on every attempt, he finally stood up, clutching the sink vanity.  He moved himself over to the door jam and glommed on to that.  I moved Winnie Walker into position and steadied her.

His hands were eight inches above the walker, and he would not let go of the door jam.   I spoke softly, and loudly, I pleaded, and swore.  I explained that he had no choice, he had to transfer to the walker or he would eventually fall down from exhaustion.  That was the path he took.

He managed to bum his way into the bedroom, but he could not get up on to the bed.  Over an hour had passed and I was at my wits end.  I took a shower to clear my head, and because I need one after a full day of travel and all that activity.  The shower did clear my head and I realized I needed help of the strong male variety.  If I called the cops, they would get him up, but they would also likely take us to the hospital for diagnosis.  I didn’t need a day there to know what’s wrong.

I called the Mapps, where we were scheduled to go to dinner.  My plan was to get Elvon up and take him straight there, while I moved us into a hotel with an accessible room and a gym.  God bless good old friends.  Chris came, with a lovely friend.  While they were on the way, I started packing.  They got him up, I got him dressed, stripped the bed, and we took everything, including the Ternis’ sheets and towels, to the Mapps’.  Marge gave us breakfast, while the clock struck noon.  It had been a four and a half hour exercise.

I put a load into their washing machine and found us a Holiday Inn Express near the airport.  While the Mapps finished our laundry, I went to the hotel, checked in, unpacked and managed 15 minutes of quiet meditation.  Then I went back to Mapps’, as dinner had been called for six.  I stopped by the liquor store on the way, but it closes early on Sunday, so I would have to deliver our wine next week.

Ginger Petty, and Andre and Jo Ann Dery, were the other guests, more dear old friends.  They were just what I needed.  It was the perfect evening.

To complicate matters further, my phone is dying.  Amazon agreed to replace it, but they can’t ship to Canada, so the plan was to pick it up in Newport on Monday, and have lunch with the Ternis and Fairchilds.

Monday, we slept a lot, showered, and used the hotel gym, which is a godsend.  We were going over to Linda and Bev’s for cocktails and consultation, and on to the Dump for dinner with Theresa Benedek, Kathie Keefer and their main squeezes, George and Peter.  Linda and Bev’s house presented problems, too, just a few steps up, but no railings for Elvon.  Luckily, the two of them are sturdy.  The Hong Kong Restaurant was easier, six steps with a nice serviceable railing.  The lobster and duck were as delicious as ever they have been.  The place has gone up and down in the forty years we have been frequenting it, but it’s at its peak now.

Tuesday, we went to Cornwall, where my cousin, John Sidorchuk, takes care of our teeth.  Usually, we sleep over at Rosemary and Nick’s in Long Sault, but tonight we had an event to attend back in Montreal.  Ellen and J.P. Morneau were celebrating their 50^th wedding anniversary, and we wouldn’t miss it for the world.

It took an hour and a half to get there from the Holiday Inn.  Without traffic and construction delays, it would have taken fifteen minutes.  Getting around Montreal is totally ridiculous.  The party was lovely, and it gave us a chance to connect with the Ternis.  Everything was delicious and the cake was unbelievable.  It was decorated with roses from their original wedding cake.  Ellen had kept them in her freezer all these years.  You would never have known they weren’t new.

Wednesday, August 24, we went back to Cornwall, for dinner with the family there.  We stopped at the Gascogne in Pointe Claire for Mille-feuilles, and other fine patisseries, chocolatines for breakfast, etc.  We enjoyed wine and appies on their lovely waterfront deck, and got to see John and Johanne’s lovely daughters, Sara and Lily, who are growing into fine specimens, indeed.  Best of all, we got to catch up with my closest relatives, and getting in to their lovely flat house wasn’t too hard.  Even there, we needed Nick’s strength and ingenuity to get over the two steps in, with no railing.  We also carry around a toilet raiser, so Elvon can get off the pot, when necessary.  We used it.

Thursday, we stayed in Cornwall until mid-afternoon, then drove to Montreal for dinner with Wendy Sissons.  We didn’t even bother to go back to the hotel, but just went straight to pick her up in Westmount.  It was another interesting construction avoidance exercise, but we had plenty of time.  We had settled on Elvon’s favorite Montreal restaurant, Bonaparte, in Old Montreal.  Wouldn’t you know it?  They had dug up the street in front of the restaurant and replaced it with plywood slabs, with eight inches of gravel between each one.  There were about 80 feet of this to get to the door of the place.  I went in and made my apologies, but I wasn’t even going to attempt this one with Elvon.  The Garde Manger, just down the street, had room, and it is usually a two month booking window.  Of course it did, no one could get there.  Our parking attendant drove Elvon right up to the door, where there was just one step, but, alas, nothing to hang on to.  Elvon wasn’t having any of it.

I remembered Le Bourlingeur, just at the corner and ran down to suss it out.  It’s just a modest bistro, in a very old building, six steps up from the curb, but it was fine.  The six steps were accompanied by a stout railing.  I went in and checked the location of the washroom, and it was on the flat, so we were good.  It was a few stars down from Bonaparte and Garde Manger, but my calf’s liver was excellent, as were Elvon’s fish and Wendy’s three kinds of sausage.  Profiteroles come in groups of three in Montreal, and they made a delicious dessert.  No French fries, though.  The city of Montreal won’t let them have a deep fryer in a heritage building.  We had a lovely time in spite of that.  Wendy is always fun.

Friday, we went to Ginger’s on Ile Bizard.  There, too, there are steps without railings to get in on the main floor.  So we came in through the garage under the house, on the lake side, where there’s a railing.  The place looks better than ever.  Both house and grounds are fabulous.  Ginger has a nice new three-tiered fountain, now.  It was a gift from Fox movies.  They filmed X-Men – The Apocalypse, on her property across the street.  They recreated their school there, with the fountain and a lot of special effects and moved the fountain to Ginger’s property when they were done.  There are glimpses of her grounds in the movie, and of her son, Mike.  Ginger’s personal assistant is Debbie Brousseau, who bought my 425 Victoria in 2000.  She had been in the Event Planning business for seven years, not so long ago, and still had all the contacts Fox would need to facilitate production in Montreal.

Debbie was there that afternoon, and it was great to reconnect with her, too.  Even Scruffy looked great.  Ginger has taken over his grooming and she’s doing the best job, ever.  We had fabulous butter and rosemary potatoes, filet mignon, and desserts from about three pastry shops.  When it came time to go, we reversed the process and all was well, until we got to the bottom of the stairs, when Elvon refused to transfer from railing to walker, again.  The three of us had to wrestle him off the railing, keeping him upright in the process.  That was the last straw.  Ginger called it.  We had to go home.

Cat and Matt were coming on Wednesday, though, and I didn’t see how I could take him away from a rare meeting with his East Coast daughter.  Ginger, however, just went into action.  Before we were even back at the hotel, she had called Cathryn and told her she had better get to Montreal in a hurry, because we could not go on as we were.  By the time I called Cat around nine-thirty in Saturday, she had rearranged her schedule and they would be in Montreal by Monday night.

I was still exhausted from the previous week, and took advantage of that by asking her to stop off in Newport, VT, and pick up my phone replacement.  Then I called United Airlines and brought our flights forward from September 10 to August 31.  I made sad phone calls to Ternis and Fairchilds, too, but was much relieved that all this was settled.  I don’t think it would have been all that safe for me to put in six hours of driving on Monday.  I wasn’t feeling that strong, and my heart was very heavy.

I finally caught up with my email on Saturday, and found out that the Simons had to get Sylly P out of their house, as Pati had developed a pretty severe allergy to her.  Luckily there was a contingency plan in place with The Lodge, and now she wouldn’t even have to wait long for us to come home.  Pat Gustafson met the Simons when they dropped her off, and visits her every day, so she doesn’t get too lonely.

We had Dim Sum at Kam Fung in Brossard with Roslyn and Real and stayed at the hotel on Saturday night.  We didn’t need much food after that.  We shared a bottle of wine and some cheese and duck liver paté from Gascogne, and were perfectly content.

Sunday we didn’t do much during the day.  I find I need a lot of sleep these days and I am indulging myself.  Elvon can sleep any time, anywhere, so it’s something we can enjoy together.  We have also been able to keep up our exercise program, thanks to the hotel gym.    Jo Ann Dery came over for a visit, around four-thirty and we met Rod and Claude for dinner at Le Petit Four Manago, on St. Charles Blvd., after checking that it was very flat.  They would have had us to their house, but we aren’t doing any more private homes.

We love Rod and Claude, and we had a wonderful meal at Manago.  I, for one, ate way too much, but the veal scaloppini with fettuccine Alfredo on the side was just too good.  Never mind the profiteroles.  Oh, my.  Oink.

Monday morning, I went out and replaced the cheap suitcase, which had broken, with another one.  I was ready to buy something better, but nothing I really wanted presented itself, so I went for another temporary solution.  Then I came back and emailed vcom that we wouldn’t be hosting around South America on the Prinsendam, in January and February.  We are going to stay home, and get help setting our lives up better.  Elvon will need a wheelchair, and I’ll need training in how to push it.  We’ll be welcoming visitors to our cruise ship that doesn’t leave the dock.

I spoke to Cathryn, as they were driving up, and suggested I go to Chalet BBQ and get us a meal that we could eat at the hotel, when she brought the phone by.  Matt was under the weather, so this turned out to be a good suggestion.  It’s nothing fancy, but very good, and a few pastries form Gascogne would make it special.

Tuesday, I packed, we exercised, and Cathryn came over to the hotel.  We went to Le Méac for dinner, and ate foie gras, rilettes, steak tartare, scallops, moules et frites, oh, yes, and crème brulée and profiteroles.  It’s time we get out of Montreal.  I can’t seem to do a fast day here.

Huge thanks to all our family and friends in Canada and California, for physical assistance, wonderful meals, moral support, and wise counsel.  Apologies and sincere regrets to those we missed.  We love you all.  I am going to have a nap now.

Footnote, September 3.  After a couple of days back at The Lodge, things are looking a lot better for us.  We are resting and picking up all our old activities, and then some.  Yesterday, we joined a discussion group on presidential elections, led by a resident named Terry Regan, and he’s a Reagan relative, too.  My grandfather Larry Megan, married a Mary Meehan, so I get that.  Today, we did a balance and movement class, that Elvon could follow from a chair.  He couldn’t do everything, but he followed along when he could and pronounced both classes of interesting.  He’ll come to anything, as long as I come, too, and seems to enjoy.  His favorite time remains dinner.  Mine, too.  It’s fabulous here.  Call me and we’ll buy you one.

No pictures.  My phone died and took them with it.

We made it to mainland Scotland on Monday, August 15.  Our port of entry was Invergordon, port for Inverness and Loch Ness.  I finally got to get off with Pat and Paul.  Now that I have a little less to do, and they are leaving the ship a little later, the planets aligned.  Elvon got his gym time early and, between the Olympics and the Presidential Election, he has lots to watch on TV these days.

We walked along the main street of town, and this one is nothing like Westmount.  After a mile or so, we got to the train station.  It took us a while to figure out which track we would be going out on, and that we could buy our tickets on the train.  No matter, because, we had about 40 minutes to the next train.  It was a lovely ride through the countryside, and we enjoyed it.  The weather helped.  This was the first day of the cruise that we were walking about in sunshine.

Pat had an app, and she had picked a nice walking tour along the river Ness.  I shortened it by about half, because I was flagging.  They are much more experienced walkers.  I spent the extra time in Pringle’s shop.  The cashmere sweaters were disappointing, designed in Scotland and made in China.  The designs weren’t even unique.  They were the same old twin sets that I likely have a dozen of.

I turned to tartans and made the interesting discovery that there was a lot of Harris tweed about the place, but there doesn’t seem to be a Harris tartan.  Did they actually ship the entire Harris clan to Ireland 200 years ago?  I am pretty sure that’s where Harris Tweed is headquartered. I have therefore deduced that Elvon is Irish, the good kind that fought with the Catholics, no less.

I ended up buying some shortbread sheep and went out to the street.  Pat and Paul were just about to cross the bridge to Pringle’s, so our timing was spot on.  We made the next train and I took Elvon to “The Music of the Highlands” at 4:45 pm in the Silhouette Theatre.  It was pretty amateurish, but they put their hearts into it.  The Ghurkas in Hong Kong did a better sword dance.

We had too much fun at dinner and missed the show, but the Masqued Ball on Deck 3 was fun.

We overnighted in Edinburgh on August 16.  I had been looking forward to it.  I had tee’d up dinner out at a swell restaurant on the Royal Mile, where the best of Scottish food could be had.  Willy Grey had chosen The Witchery for us, but it was very full, with four Fringe festivals in town, and not very accessible.  The nice lady there, with whom I had been corresponding, said they had another, fully accessible, restaurant, called The Tower, where the food was exactly the same and the view was better.  It probably has less old world charm, but it looked like the place for us.

But, “the best laid plans of mice and men, gang aft aglay”, as Robbie Burns put it.  There wasn’t enough water in the Leith harbor and we had to tender 2.5 miles.  I canceled the resie.  I worked all day, getting a letter ready for distribution on the 17^th, on my travel business and on personal stuff.

We had a nice dinner and went to a more professional Scottish show.  I have now had enough kilts and bagpipes to last me a good while.

We met Pat and Paul for breakfast, on the 17^th, with the printed letters.  They collated them, with the comments cards, and distributed them, while Elvon and I went to the gym.  The plan was to meet up in Edinburgh, but it never happened.  By the time I got to town, by tender and public transportation, they were half way up Calton Hill.  I had slept wrong, and had a sore shoulder, so I opted for the HopOnHopOff bus, sat upstairs, because it was nice and sunny, and rode it all the way around.

Then I got a bus back to Leith, that took me to Ocean Terminal, home of the Royal Yacht Britannia, decommissioned in 1997 and brought here.  It has a very nice audio-guide tour and I can recommend it.  I got back in time for us to meet Pat and Paul at sail away and proceed directly from there to our reservations at the Lawn Club Grill.  Celebrity has a devil of a time getting people to go to its specialty restaurants, as the free meal in the dining room is so good.  We got our meal for a little more than half price and it was fabulous.  They had enough heaters in The Lawn Club, that we could take off our jackets.  There was a great salad bar and you could make your own pizza.  One lady even tried to give her dough a twirl.  It was fun and funny.  The steaks and lamb chops were tender and done just to order, and the dessert was ridiculous.  It was a chocolate chip cookie, partially cooked in a crème brulée ramekin, with ice cream and chocolate sauce.  We loved it.  The experience was well worth the $25 each that it cost.  Regular price is $45, though, and I don’t know if I would have paid that, with the dining room so good.  We missed the entertainment again.  Too much to do…

Aug 18 was our last sea day.  Four people came to office hours, to say “Good Bye” and hand in their comments cards.  That was OK, I needed to pack. I got most of my packing done and we had another nice dinner and a show, It was Voce, four divas, singing everything under the sun in strange costumes.  We have heard better.

On Aug 19, we docked in Zeebrugh, the container port for Bruges, Belgium.  I had so wanted to get out early and in to Bruges, of which I have fond memories from about 1998,  However, when I assessed the state of my packing and realized I would have to schlep all the paper I didn’t sort through, I decided to do a little work.  We could not neglect the gym, either, as the next day we were flying to Montreal, and would never have time.  Then, my cell phone’s battery was drained because it had suddenly decided to object to that fact that it wasn’t on an ASUS charger.  I fussed with that a lot and went out with a tethered charger.  The upshot of all this is that it was after one when I got out.  The free port shuttle got me to Zeebruge, 31 km from Bruges.  The 20 euro shuttle was no longer running.  I had no idea how to do it on public transportation, as we were docked in a different place.  By the time I had walked up and down and assessed the situation, the two taxis, that had been waiting, had left.

The next taxi that dropped a group off, approached me to see if I wanted to go in to Bruges.  Well, I did, but not for 50 euros.  He finally met my price, which was 20 euros, but he was only taking me one way.  I stupidly got in.  He was a nice young Armenian man, who had been in Belgium about 17 years.  I sat in the front seat with him, answering a lot of questions about how life is when you are getting old.  I am not sure I want to be an expert on this subject, but, I guess I am.

When he dropped me off at the town square, all he showed me was where the taxi rank was, and told me to go there and make up a group, when I wanted to go back.  By this time, I had little more than an hour, and got so focused on that project that I never had a mussel, a French fry, or a piece of chocolate.  I was lucky to even get back.  All the taxis were pre booked, mostly by groups of 6, 8 and more.

Eventually, I found Marc, a sinewy, gap toothed, dissipated looking guy, with a nice small black car.  He was waiting to take back the people he had brought, but there were only two of them.  If they agreed, I could get in.  The odds were good, so I waited ten minutes with him.  His fare was a young German couple named Dietlin and Karl.  Dietlin is a doctor and Karl, a consultant.  We never managed to find out his field, though, which made me suspicious.  Politics?  Arms?  Military?  It wasn’t likely computers and communications.  We talked about where we worked and Hong Kong came up and I illustrated how good it was to work there, with my usual Hutchison AT&T Network Services launch story.  A little later Marc said he would bet that I had worked for IBM and one point. We never talked about big blue, how would he know?

He said it was the way I talked.  His girlfriend worked for IBM, you see.  I would love to meet the IBMer who would date this character.  But, he was fun, and he was clever, and he got us back to the ship on time and that worked for me.  I gave Karl 20 euros for my share.  Karl made a mistake and didn’t give Marc enough money.  Marc chased us and got everything he was owed, and, hopefully, then some.  It was a trip.

I cut up a set of labels, printed a fresh manifest, collected the comments cards that were in the envelope, and we went up to The Sunset Bar, where the sky off the stern looked very threatening.  There were two of my couples there, at a large table, and we joined them.  It was about 4:15 pm.  The ship left just in time to avoid the downpour and sailed just fast enough to outrun the rain, but not so fast as to freeze us out.  Another couple came around five and sat with us until six, when I retrieved the last of the Comments Cards, and we finalized who went into the envelope.  In the end, we drew from only 19 entrants.  Our very popular winner was my lady, who can use some cheering up, because her husband just died a couple of months ago.

The four of us had our last lovely dinner in the dining room and went to bed early, as the wake-up calls were set for 5:30 am.  It has been such a pleasure having Pat and Paul aboard, not only for the lightening of my workload, but for these lovely dinners every night.

On Aug 20, we disembarked in Amsterdam, Netherlands.  We got up at 5:50 am, had breakfast at 6:30 am, were off the ship by 7:45 am, in the taxi by 8:15 am and at the airport by 9:30 am.  That’s as efficient as it gets.  It slowed up waiting for a wheelchair for Elvon, and going through the whole airport performance, so I didn’t get to shop Schipol, but that’s probably just as well.  I am writing this from the plane.

Yes, yes, we’re in Montreal – and catching up

I forgot to mention that we finally caught a Celebrity show, after dinner on August 10, as we sailed from Dublin.  It was an all-singing, all-dancing, with acrobatics and all, one, called “Life”.  We enjoyed it, even though it was so new, we didn’t recognize a single tune.

Thursday, August 11, found us in Liverpool.  The omelet was, indeed, the best breakfast.  Ours was cheese and onion, something simple to go with a lot of bacon, sausage, toast and jam.  Then we did the gym and I went to work on the phone and computer.  The day before a tour can sometimes be a lot of work.  I thought I had done most of it on the 9^th, but it just kept coming.  I logged, I blogged, I sorted out all kinds of details.

I had decided to just pay for the 10-year-old third person in cabin.  His mother was sure she had been promised the tour and I didn’t want a bad taste in their mouths.  Luckily, I found out that kids were half-price, so it wouldn’t be so painful.  Having decided to do it for one, I put out a phone blast, last night, that anyone, with children wanting to come, should call me for very good news.  I could also use the blast to maybe drum up a bit more business.  Two more cabins signed up.

It was 6:15 by the time I got out and blowing stink.  I had planned to call Mary in Dublin, while I walked, but the wind was too high, and my Sim card had somehow disconnected itself.  I couldn’t fix that on the street.

When I got back I had a couple more phone calls to deal with.  One passenger was worried about being sick on the bus, as she had been a couple of days before.  I assured her it was just a city tour, and that she could have a handicapped seat in front.  We don’t have anyone badly handicapped.

We had another lovely dinner with Pat and Paul, and stayed up for yet another Beatles Tribute show.  We still like the music.

On Aug 12, the day of our tour, we docked in Belfast, Northern Ireland, at 10:00 am.  Around 9:00 am, I returned a phone call that had come in last night and sent out a short blast reminding people to be punctual at NOON, at our meeting place.  Since we had time, we had another omelet.  This time I replaced the toast with a waffle, for the best breakfast yet.  Then we did the gym and it was time to meet the group for our tour in Belfast

Paul came by the room about 11:30 to pick up his manifest and head out to meet the buses.  He texted me the info we needed.  I sent the lady who was handicapped by the possibility of bus sickness, out first.  Then I called the room to order and gave them instructions on how to get to Paul and the buses.  Pat and I compared our lists and we had accounted for every one of them.  We were down at the buses 10 minutes early, the best I have ever done.

Both buses did a city tour, Pat and Paul’s bus did the gaol first and then the pub.  My bus did it the other way around.  Our 72 people behaved beautifully, throughout, with no delays at all, at all, as the Irish would say.  We didn’t get much time to talk to them on the buses, though.  Irish guides have the gift of the gab and you can’t get a word in edgewise.  We all learned a lot and had a wonderful time, though.  Many. Many people told us it was the best tour on the cruise.  We hear this a lot.

The gaol guides won everyone’s hearts.  They must use acting students.  They put a lot of drama into it.  Then again, they’re Irish.  I can say this, ‘cause so am I, half, at least, Catholic from the North, no less.  No matter.  We learned that the tourism industry in Northern Ireland is very young.  It only started up around the year 2000.  Before the Good Friday agreement of 1996, no one wanted to come here.  Let’s face it, the place wasn’t safe.  “The Troubles” had left a terrible legacy of mental health issues, and a lot of doctors learned good plastic surgery.  No one wanted all that fighting.  The silent majority had to make itself heard.  Britain had decreed, 200 years ago, that no one who was Roman Catholic, or even Presbyterian, could have a decent education.  The Presbyterians were the Scots-Irish, who had been sent over to colonize Ireland and defend it from its enemies.  They fought with the Irish, against the British all through the troubles.

Now that equality has come, Belfast appears to be a lovely place.  The linen industry has moved to Asia and ship-building is a shadow of its former self.  The dry docks make good movie studios, though, tourism is catching on, and there are KFCs all over the place.  There’s also a lot of street art, both the un-commissioned murals of the troubles, and newly commissioned pieces, like the giant salmon, which is supposed to symbolize differing communities coming together in peace.  Canada should be proud that Bombardier is Belfast’s biggest employer.

On Aug 14, we were at sea, on the way to Scotland. We had a room service breakfast, and I talked to the guest who was looking for Edinburgh information.  I then went to the desk, where I was soon joined by Pat and Paul.  It was particularly quiet, and I ended up working there for an extra couple of hours, and a couple more after I had taken a gym break, with Elvon. I got a lot of PhotoShopping and blogging done, which felt good.

I was still there an hour later, when Lois Bacon came by all pumped up by an exercise class that had taken place on the dance floor on Deck 3, at the foot of the atrium.  She highly recommended the Lawn Club Grill, which we will do one night.

We had another nice dinner with Pat and Paul and the entertainment was a West End tenor named Andrew Derbyshire, who was tall and thin, so was his voice and performance.  Can’t win ‘em all.

On Saturday, August 6, we boarded and got to work in earnest.  Roxana, the Event Coordinator, met with me about 3:30 pm, and our lists matched.  I found out where our desk would be and we set the hours.  I adjusted my mail merge and the wonderful Roxana printed out the letters, with the Dates & Times document on the back.  Then I met with Pat and Paul, at our desk, and, in no time, we had added this last item to the packet and applied the labels.  We fanned out over the ship and everything was delivered by six o’clock.  I was on everyone’s voice mail by 6:30 pm, and we were in the dining room by 7:00 pm.  That’s as easy as it has ever been.  It’s wonderful having help.

The dinner special was roast beef.  It was delicious and we were ready for it.  We were also ready for bed, right after.

We were at sea on Sunday, August 7, and so we had office hours.  We got to the desk around 10:45 am.  I gave Pat a manifest and set her to collecting Passenger Ticket Contracts.  Then I gave Paul a camera, to capture pictures of whomever turned up.  We had a couple who had never heard of DV and the husband was pretty sure we were selling something, but she wanted to check.  We assured her there were no time shares on offer, and explained vacation.com and the DV the program to her.  She was thrilled.  Presently her husband appeared, they signed the Passenger Ticket Contract and she went off to Shore Excursions to cash in their Celebrity excursion for that day.

One very nice lady dropped off her waiver, but did not stop to chat.  Pat checked the list and saw there was a husband on the booking.  She questioned our lady at the cocktail party and found out he had died a couple of months ago.  They had planned a longer cruise, but she had cut it back to just this one.  We won’t talk about him anymore, as she really tears up, poor lady, but she is doing the right thing.

Next were a couple from Quebec, Roland and Ginette.  They were delighted that Pat and I spoke French, and we’ll never forget how she explained her name.  She’s “a little bottle of gin”. They are celebrating their 50^th wedding anniversary, and Roland’s 80^th birthday, this year.  They look at least 10 years younger.  What’s with these Quebeckers? I am sure glad to be one.

Another couple brought their waivers in, and the wife asked if the ship had dealcoholized wine for the party?  I promised to ask.  When I mentioned it to Roxanna, she had to wonder why anyone would want it, as it’s terrible.  I had to agree.  I drink it one month out of every year, when I go off alcohol to clean out my liver.  It is terrible.  She promised to ask for it, but no guarantees, there.

We stayed until after one, but no one else came, except a couple who were DV hosts themselves.  We had a nice chat about the job.

I went back to my state room to work.  First, I put the camera into the charger and put out a phone blast to remind everyone to bring their Passenger ticket contracts to the cocktail party, and to remind them to discuss any handicap they might have with me.  It’s a strenuous tour.  This serves as a subtle reminder to attend the cocktail party, and caused one guy to call in that they had lost their welcome packet.  I promised to bring extras to the cocktail party.  I updated the manifest, wrote the cocktail party speech, and had it printed, along with three extra welcome letters, three long versions of the tour description, three updated manifests, and one copy of the 2017 DV brochure, which I had downloaded from the Internet.

We got ourselves dressed up, as it was Formal night, which on Celebrity, is now Evening Chic.  Men can get away with a sports jacket, but there are always a few, like our quebecois, who want to wear their tuxes.  I had Paul and Elvon put on dark suits, to be sure we all looked dressy.  Paul had to go out and buy a suit.  He hadn’t worn one since he retired, and none of the old ones fit.  He looked very nice in it.  See:

We were mobbed.  Pat managed to register 68 people, but we think she missed about ten.  Celebrity did a beautiful job on the drinks, which included some very colorful martinis, and the hors d’oeuvres, which were multicultural and delicious.

As usual, having people sing out their names, and where they are from, was fun and interesting.  We have groups from Texas and Oklahoma, this time.  There’s rivalry.

On Monday, August 8, we anchored at St. Peter Port, Guernsey.  I had high hopes for this port, as ex-Montreal friends, Daniele and Jean Schère, had a house here for years, so I had good information.  I also had a lot of work, and both Elvon and I needed some exercise.

We had Eggs Benedict in the Oceanview Café, the buffet on Deck 14.  They were disappointing, overcooked and served on a piece of toast.  If they aren’t on an English muffin, they aren’t Eggs Benedict.  We’ll need a new favorite.  We had chocolatines as a consolation prize, and made for the gym.  By the time we got out of there, it was after eleven, but we felt better about ourselves.

By the time I had caught up enough with my work to feel comfortable, it was 1:45 pm, and last tender was at 3:30 pm.  There was exactly one other person on the tender, one of the lecturers.  Lawrence had worked at NASA, which reminded me of Ken Stein, and had pretty much the same subject matter.  His specialty was space suits, and he had worked it through all the manned missions.  He had pretty much the same goals I had, some exercise and something interesting to see.

So, off we went, with a map and some guidance from a volunteer on the pier.  It was too late to walk all the way to our friends’ ex-house, but we actually came close.  We might have done it, if it weren’t still up a steep hill, and we were not at a level with Hauteville House, which Daniele had highly recommended.  Victor Hugo lived and worked there, in exile, from 1856 to 1870.  He had opposed Napoléon III’s coup d’état, you see.  Hugo once said “I missed my vocation: I was born to be an interior decorator.”  I am not sure any of the Interior Designers I know would have agreed with him, but one follows the mood of one’s times and tries to innovate.  It’s very dark and ornately carved, with magnificent workmanship, tapestries, and ceramics.  The ideas are exciting, and the views magnificent.  I wish I could say we saw all of that, but we got there too late to go on tour, so we just got to peep in to the hall, see the gift shop, and take a walk in the garden.  It has magnificent views, though:

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The line for the last tender must have had a hundred people in it, all neatly arranged in cattle gates.  Luckily, there was a pub, right there, and the enterprising publican had set up a beer station outside.  It was $US7.00, but it was good, local beer, and it sure helped pass the time in line.  I invited Lawrence to dinner, as I thought Pat and Paul would get a kick out of him.

I came back to a few phone calls about our upcoming excursion.  I called them all back and wrote to our tour operator, with passenger count (69) and handicapped count (4).

We had a long wait for dinner, with pagers, and the dining room was right next to the Martini Bar.  Lawrence insisted we should try the “Martini Flight” and we did.  It was quite a show, and, if you haven’t had it, I won’t spoil it for you.  Do it the next time you are on Celebrity.  I won’t tell tales on our dinner conversation, either.  We have to leave some things to talk about when we see you in person.  We might have had Tee many Martoonis.

The next day, August 9, started the same, with fried eggs instead of the Eggs Benedict.  They were better, but still somewhat overdone.  I made a note to try the omelets tomorrow.  They looked pretty good.  After our time in the gym, I got back to work.  There were a few phone calls to deal with, tour details for Belfast and advice for Scotland.  That reminded me to make two bookings for 4 in The Tower Restaurant, next to the Castle in Edinburgh.  The Witchery was already all booked up, and my emailing there, about accessibility, discouraged me from bring Elvon.

Finally, around 4 o’clock, I got out in Cobh, with no chance of getting to Cork.  So, I just walked around.  The part of town I walked was pretty sad.  Many of the stores were vacant.  I had seen that in Guernsey, too.  I hope it’s just re-development, but fear the worst.  The headline on the local newspaper was interesting, too.  It read “It’s time for Gay Priests”.  Haven’t we always had them?  I could have bought a 300g box of After Eights for 6.89 Euros, and passed.  I was pretty sure Mary could find me cheaper ones.

On Wednesday, August 10, we docked early in Dublin, Ireland.  I had been looking forward to this port, as Mary and Sean O’Beachain live here, and this is probably the first time, since high school, that more than ten years have passed, since we have seen each other.  The weather was nasty and the gangway was steep.  None of that dampened my spirits, but Elvon dug his heels in and refused to go, even though Mary’s car was 50 yards from the gangway, and two big guys and a wheelchair had been summoned to get him off.  You can’t reason with him, once he has decided he won’t do something.  So, I took him back to the cabin and went out without him.

It was so good to see Mary and Sean.  Sean made himself scarce while Mary and I knocked off almost everything on my shopping list.  There’s nothing like knowing a local.  Around 1:30 pm, we met Sean for lunch at Wynn’s Hotel, about the last place where you can get an old fashioned Irish lunch, in my case it was lamb chops and three kinds of potatoes.  Even they have gone modern, though.  They included a piece of turnip, two beans, and a few carrots.  I have a picture in case you don’t believe me about the three kinds of potatoes.

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I have a picture of Mary and Sean, too.  They’re well and now have six grandchildren, all between the ages of 2 and 7, two in each of Dara’s, Mairin’s and Sean’s families.

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We had a wonderful time catching up and reminiscing.  We have known each other for more than 50 years, and have shared more than enough binding experiences.  We are still there for each other, always.  On our post-prandial peramble, Mary was the recipient of a present from on high, and had the occasion to thank the lord that cows don’t fly. She can also thank me for having Kleenex and Wet Naps.

In 2017, we have two assignments on Holland America’s 647 passenger, ms Prinsendam, January 3, 2017, it’s a 67-Day Grand South America & Antarctica Voyage. There’s a 37-day segment, too.
and next summer, it’s the ms Prinsendam again, August 18, 20-day Iceland, Greenland & Scottish Explorer. We would love for you to come along. Just shoot me an email and I’ll get you a quote.

The flights, and the transfer in Frankfurt, were uneventful.  United have improved their service, a lot.  We got more food than we knew how to eat, and it was free, because it was an international flight.  It was even edible, just amazing.  Add to that the fact that I could plug my computer the whole time, and even access the Internet, and I was a pretty happy camper.  It cost me twenty bucks and many hours of sleep, but I was happy.

We checked in to the Hilton Doubletree Centraal Station, while it was still light, Everyone was very nice, and the hot cookies were delicious.  Unfortunately, our key did not work.  Neither did the bellman’s master.  The duty manager, and a maintenance man, got involved.  While we were waiting for him, out in our hall, I asked the manager where I could buy a bottle of wine, to eat with our leftover United and Lufthansa sandwiches.  We were too tired to go out to eat.  She immediately had a bottle of wine sent up to compensate us for the wait.  Good on the Hilton, too.  It wasn’t great wine, nor were they great sandwiches, but they were just what we wanted, and we enjoyed them by our window, with its river view.

We woke up at ten the next morning, Wednesday, August 3^rd, much refreshed, and proceeded to have a lovely shower together, followed by some bath time for me.  Then we went to Starbucks, downstairs, for yoghurt, muffins and tea.  Pat Harrold and Paul Hart checked in by text message, and we both downloaded WhatsApp, for free calls.  My new ASUS Zenfone 2 is working a treat.  There are still things I don’t understand about it, but it’s performing, and the quality is high.

Elvon and I worked out at the hotel’s fitness center, while Pat and Paul went to the Rijksmuseum, to see the Dutch masters.  It’s fabulous.  We saw it years ago.  I could go again, but I have quite a bit to do, and what I didn’t do much of last time was walk the streets.  So, I set out for my walk.  I needed to fill a prescription for Elvon, as our derm had called me at SFO to tell me that a culture had shown that the infection in Elvon’s navel was not cancerous (good) but also not what she had prescribed for.  So, I needed a pharmacy, as well as a depanneur (what all Montrealers will always call a convenience store).  The concierge told me both could be found in the train station next door, on my way back.   He suggested a nice city walk to Dam square, right through the red light district.  It was great fun.  This is what you get for a jewelry store:

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Yes, I saw a lady in a window, too, but she wasn’t much.  She was built just like me.

The pharmacy in the station turned out to be just a drug store, and what I wanted was prescription medicine.  Onne, the concierge, called a real pharmacy, but they insisted on a doctor’s prescription.  This wasn’t a problem for Onne.  He has a doctor on call.  This doc is 93 years old, quite famous, still very smart, and only 70 euros.  We didn’t have much choice, so I had Onne bring him on.

The doc arrived, accompanied by Luke, the manager on duty.  He was there as translator, and general factorum.  He also sorted out the uncleaned room in a hurry, got us two more wine glasses, advised on a restaurant and provided a wheelchair to get Elvon there.  Onne bicycled off with a prescription for amoxycicilin-clavulin .  The doc didn’t like our Napa derm’s advice to use Aquaphor to keep E’s belly-button juicy, so it would not close over, as it had been doing for months.  He prescribed baby powder to keep it dry.  I wrote to Drs Duncan in Napa, and Sissons in Montreal, but I started on Dr. Lassen’s regime.  I was pretty sure the antibiotic was a god idea, and Elvon tolerates such things just fine.

Pat and Paul were there by now, and we started in on our Chateau Depanneur Sauvignon Blanc, with cheese and bread sticks.  I had bought Kaas and Zout flavors.  It turned out Kaas was cheese and Zout was salt.  Google translate on my phone would have told me this, had I been smart enough to look.  The depanneur had four kinds of cheese, but they were all Gouda.  I bought the one with the red cellophane, and it was very good.

The restaurant was Ganesha, named after my favorite Hindu god.  It was excellent, but not very accessible.  Once we got Elvon up the four steps, with no railing, short treads, and high risers, we found out the bathroom was in the basement, down a whole flight of stairs, with even shorter treads and higher risers.  Three of us had large Kingfishers.  Elvon had a little one.  He lasted long enough, so that when he had to go, Paul just whisked him away, while Pat and I stayed to pay the bill.  The food was wonderful, and we do recommend the place, but only to the able-bodied and able-bladdered.

On Thursday, the 4^th, we pretty much repeated the day, only we were up a lot earlier, and I got most of the computer work done for our hosting assignment.  Our Montreal dermatologist, Wendy Sissons, had weighed in with the suggestion that we use rubbing alcohol to cleanse and dry out Elvon’s belly-button.  I didn’t know whether to add the talc or not, so I did.  About mid-afternoon, Pat and Paul came over and we stuffed and folded for an hour or so… Then they went back to their B & B, as it was very close to where we were having dinner.  I went out for a walk to Dam square looking for golf shirts for Elvon and nail polish for me.  In other words, trying to buy that which I had forgotten to pack.  No luck, but it was a fun walk.

I got back to the room, freshened up, mustered Elvon, and we took a taxi to Restaurant MAX, Herenstraat 14, Jordaan area.  That’s the up market area Pat & Paul’s B & B is in.  It’s Dutch cuisine with Indonesian specialties, as Indonesia was once a Dutch colony.  We had the tasting menu, which was delicious and a lot of fun.  The rice chips were addictive, as was GrisBlanc, a rosé from the Languedoc.  We had three bottles.

Pat’s ex, Steve Harrold, has never met Paul, and Pat and Paul have been together for thirty-five years.  Steve refuses to believe Paul even exists.  He has never believed me before.  Maybe he will now.  Herewith, evidence, at MAX:

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On Friday, the 5^th, it was Starbucks, gym, computer, pack and go for a walk.  I was now treating Elvon’s belly-button with white vinegar, on the advice of Dr. Karyn Duncan, our Napa derm.  It gets those gram-negative rods, you see.  So I was shopping for vinegar, along with golf shirts and nail polish.  I didn’t get any of it, but it was fun.  There’s a Pride weekend just starting up, and the red light district was all in rainbow balloons, street vendors, and such.  I wished Elvon could walk, as it looked like a fun evening on the street was just about to start.

Pat and Paul had late Van Gogh Museum tickets, and a plan to crash not long after, so we made our own fun.  We still had half a baby Gouda and a bottle of Lindemans’ Chardonnay, from the depanneur run.  I added a fresh baguette and ordered one lasagna, and a side of white vinegar, from room service, and got a couple of free Hilton cookies from the desk.  By the time we had gone through that lot, the sun was just going down, so we rode the elevator to our rooftop SkyLounge, where there was a lovely view of sunset and city.  We only stayed for one glass of wine, as it was a tad chilly, but we were very happy we had gone up.

In 2017, we have two assignments on Holland America’s 647 passenger, ms Prinsendam, January 3, 2017, it’s a 67-Day Grand South America & Antarctica Voyage. There’s a 37-day segment, too.
and next summer, it’s the ms Prinsendam again, August 18, 20-day Iceland, Greenland & Scottish Explorer. We would love for you to come along. Just shoot me an email and I’ll get you a quote. 

Britain is leaving the common market.  That’ll teach the voters that a vote is not a toy.  You have to vote the way you want it to come out, just in case a lot of other people think just like you.  This is a lesson America needs to learn, and in a hurry.  If we had learned it sooner, we might have a better choice of candidates.

Anyway, it works for us.  We hope to pick up some bespoke clothing at bargain prices  We got rid of 70% of what we had.  Most of it was out of style anyway.  I had been keeping things because they had labels, and were expensive, but shoulder pads, double breasted, really?  Thanks Ritzie, for helping me be ruthless.  We did such a good job that there’s even room in the downsized closets for a couple of nice new pieces.

Speaking of the new digs.  They are fabulous..  We have a vista from our balcony.  The food is spectacular, and the people are terrific.  There’s not a rotten apple in the barrel, and that’s a lot to say for an old folks’ home,  You’d swear it was a cruise ship, and I do know what those are like.  If you don’t have our new address, it’s Fountaingrove Lodge, 4210 Thomas Lake Harris Dr. # 117, Santa Rosa, CA 95403.  My cell phone stays the same, and it now has free texting all over the word, where T-Mobile has service.  I can even call you back for 20 cents a minute, if it’s urgent.  I expect to save $1,000 a year over Verizon.  Stay tuned.  I’ll report glitches here, if any.

Since we got back to Napa on May 5, an awful lot has happened.  We sold the house and a lot of its contents, gave away the rest, and moved on June 10.  Thanks, Susan, Ruth and Kim. We lived in boxes for a couple of weeks, which were sheer hell.  We still don’t have much furniture, but there’s a lot on order and more will be soon.  Thanks Deborah and Val.  But we are having a lot of fun.  Thanks, Pat.  We have dinner in this gourmet restaurant every night.  There’s no corkage, of course, and that’s a good thing, because we have to drink up our cellar, as it will age a lot faster at 65 degrees, than at 55.  We eat with different people most every night and they are all delightful.  Dinner is often followed by a movie, with popcorn, no less.  On Sunday afternoons, there’s live music, with sweet treats.  There have been a couple of parties out on our “lanai”, with the best view in the place.  The last one was a fund raiser, and it had a wonderful danceable band.  I thought I had forgotten how, but my new neighbor brought out the dancing fool in me.

Then there are the outings.  We haven’t had much time to participate, but we will.  I can’t wait.  But now, we are on a plane, bound for Amsterdam, where we will stay a few days before boarding Celebrity’s Silhouette to go around the British Isles, with stops in Guernsey, Liverpool, Dublin, Cork, Belfast, Edinburgh, Inverness, etc.  On August 20, we’ll fly to Montreal to hang with our dear friends and relatives there for a bit.

In 2017, we have two assignments on Holland America’s 647 passenger, ms Prinsendam, January 3, 2017, it’s a 67-Day Grand South America & Antarctica Voyage. There’s a 37-day segment, too.
and next summer, it’s the ms Prinsendam again, August 18, 20-day Iceland, Greenland & Scottish Explorer. We would love for you to come along. Just shoot me an email and I’ll get you a quote.

April 25 was a busy day.  They get that way on the crossing home.  The ship schedules all kinds of parties, among which are three Mariners’ lunches, and ours falls today.  I schedule a couple of events, myself, to make sure the guests remember what we do for them, when they fill out their Comment Cards.  Tonight, 24 or so of us will be eating at Canaletto, all for the special 4*+ price of $5.  I will be pouring wine I bought on our Livorno wine tasting, and it should be very pleasant.

The guest talent show was today, too.  Harvey Cohen was in it, dancing to L’il Darling.  He used to dance on American Bandstand, back when we were all young.  The star of the show turned out to be a neighbor of ours on Deck 3.  She recited a very long poem, that she had written 20 years ago, when she took her first world cruise.  It was good, and she was better.  She still had it memorized, and it likely ran to three pages.  I’ll have to re-commit “The Raven” to memory.  I used to recite those three pages, but have lost most of them over the years.

Dinner at Canaletto was a lot of fun.  We drank twelve bottles of wine.  That always helps.  The entertainment was good, too, Island Magic, a steel band from Trinidad.   We’re on our way to the Caribbean, you see.  We had this nice pic of ourselves taken, while waiting for our guests to arrive.

On April 26, I did a bunch of paperwork, and even more packing.  It was the last Gala night, so we went back to our regular table to say goodbye to those very nice people.  May we meet again.  We skipped the Masked Ball.  There’s no point taking Elvon to such things and I had a big day on the morrow.

The next day, I went to the Pinnacle around 11:15 am  to meet with Tristan, the wine steward.  I only had about seven bottles of wine left, but with four from Michael and one from Alan and Lynn, I figured we would have enough.  Then the Healings arrived, God bless them.  They had each purchased a wine by the glass package and had about 125 glasses left between them.  That would do our whole lunch and then some, and it made life really easy on Tristan.  God bless you, Healings, we will think of you as we drink our own wine down, over the next couple of days.

“Show and Tech” went well enough, but only about four people spoke up. Next time I do this, we’re back to “Show and Tail.”  Everybody buys something animal-related and has a story to go with it.  It was still a delicious lunch and it’s always nice to see how well the group has bonded.

After lunch I went straight back to my desk and took more boarding pass information down.  Then I finalized and printed my letters, collated them with a comment card each, watched the Filipino Crew show, and delivered them.

Now that I had the last pictures, from the lunch, I started making screen savers on the USB drives Gene had given to me.  It took 5 minutes each, and 20 minutes for the special one for Norm Petersen, with all Dees fish on it.  I was popping USB drives in and out of my computer as I cycled through the shower, and got dressed for dinner.  I took a bunch of them out with me, and gave one to every DV passenger I met.  The rest will be picking them up at the desk, when they bring in their Comment Cards, or whenever I see them.  I will always have a few on me.

Chris Spano, the Librarian, and Mike Holt came to dinner, and we had a lot of laughs.   It was the last all-singing, all-dancing production show, and it was called The Midnight Hour.  It was their best.

April 28, two days before we were due to disembark, I was still making screen savers through morning ablutions and in-room breakfast, and I had enough to stock my desk with, by the time the time came.  There was a note in my door from Marcia, beginning what we called “The Case of the Squealing Pig”.  A bottle of wine had gone missing in the dining room last night.  Dan was having a party at a bigger table, beside his usual one.  His table is already DV people heavy, with Alan and Lynn and Bobbie at it.  He had added Michael and Marcia.  Marcia had given him a bottle of wine called “Squealing Pig”.  She had bought it at Matua, one of the wineries our tour went to in New Zealand.

Dan said he had brought it to the dining room, with his place cards, in the middle of the afternoon.  Come dinnertime, no one could find it.  I called both Marcia nad Dan for more info and took the case to Jacques, the Cellarmaster.  It was going to be trouble, because it spanned jurisdictions.  When Dan went to the dining room, there were no wine stewards on duty, so he had given it to a couple of dining stewards.  He did not know their names.  Jacques admonished me to interrogate Tom, the dining room manager, when I saw him at dinner, but allowed that he would make good on the bottle.

The desk was a madhouse, with many, many DV cruisers coming in with their evaluations, for a hug and a screen saver.  The evaluations are beautiful, by the way.

I met Jacques in the gym, and he was happy to report that he now knew where the Squealing Pig was.  The dining steward had taken it to his room for safekeeping and would be calling me to ask what to do with it.  I called Marcia and told her.  Then Dan called.  He had found the bottle in his cabin.  He must never have taken it to the dining room, when he took in the name tags.  He was pretty embarrassed, but, bless his heart, he had already called Jacques and owned up to it.  Case closed.  We’ll never know where the bottle in the Dining Room Steward’s room came from.  You can be pretty sure he didn’t steal it, as these guys are almost all Muslim, and they don’t drink.

The Yetkes and Healings hosted a small party in the Healings’ suite at 7:00 pm, and we were delighted to be invited.  It was nice and laid-back, full of martinis and left over wine, and the fabulous hors d’oeuvres that are there for the asking, when you live in a Neptune Suite.  We went on to have dinner at one of the two Yetke tables, and had more nice face-time with the Wescotts and Healings.  Terry Davies provided an excellent Piano Man show, with the music of Elton John and Billy Joel.

April 29, one day left. I was up bright and early and into my walking shoes for “On Deck for a Cause”.  Sadly, I have enough of my own people to walk for these days, and I had joined the Yetke, Wescott, Healing table group to walk for Roz Bricknell, an Australian lady, who has been at their table for years, and likely won’t be next year.  Cancer is so nasty.  I did a lot of the walk with Nicola, the IT Manager.  I like him a lot.  After about four rounds, I expected him to leave me in the dust, but he didn’t, he just left me to get to work.  I did another round with Rebecca, from Shorex.  Then she went to work, too.  I managed seven rounds, which is one more than I usually do, before I went to work.  Unlike the crew, I had done all I could, anyway.

I added a couple more boarding passes to my list accessed the Internet and went into business.   Won’t bore you with it, but it took most of the day.  I had a two hour break at one point, so I took Elvon to the gym, and finished packing.  I went back to the desk around five and did the late ones.

Once again, it was a wonderful experience and we finished it off with three days at Willie and Isabel Gray’s house, where the hospitality is always warm.  We got up at 5:20 am on May 4, crossed Alligator Alley in the fog, returned the rental car, shuttled to the airport and got there in time to catch the flight before the one we were booked on.  Good thing, than, because our 11:42 am flight wasn’t leaving until 1:20 pm, and would certainly miss its connection in Houston.  So we flew to Newark in the two middle seats of the second last row, and Newark to San Francisco, together in the very last row, where the seats do not recline at all, at all.

Susan met us and took us to Burlingame, where she had just traded my car for hers, I got into mine and we had a delightful dinner in a Burmese restaurant.  To keep our house clean for sale, we spent five days at Ruth’s.  At that point, she had other house guests coming in and we needed to clear out and all I wanted to do was get Elvon home to familiar surroundings he could function in.  So, we’re home.  It’s for sale.  We live very clean and leave whenever there is an Open House or a sowing.  The market is hot in our area, so we don’t expect this to take very long.  We are moving to Fountaingrove Lodge in Santa Rosa, and are both looking forward to it.  Another chapter opens.  Stay tuned.

If you are looking for a quick overview or our cruise around the world, Dee Wescott gave me what she uses for wallpaper when she’s out there:

Aprl 19 was the only sea day before our tour in Cadiz and I have concerns about it.  It’s a short bus ride, a long walking tour with cobblestoned streets, and a flamenco show, with drinks and tapas.  It sounds nice, but I have a lot of handicapped people who can’t do the walking.  I promised them all taxis to get past that part, but there are 9 of them, plus caregivers.  It will take 5 or 6 taxis into the narrow streets of the old town.  I hope they have that many.  Rebecca of Shorex knows, and she has alerted the tour operator, but it’s not an ideal situation, by any means.

I divided the buses up so all the handicapped folk would be on Bus 1 with me, wrote and delivered a letter, the bus list and tour description.   Then I prepared the tipping envelopes and delivered theirs to Michael and Gail, for Bus 2.

Norm Petersen returned their tickets.  It looked like too much for Annie.  He also gave me 250 Internet minutes, as he had about 500 left.  Anne had not used hers at all.  Carol Martis gave me another hundred, so I’ll be fine for boarding passes and anything else I might need.  Such is the Internet pricing plan that people buy 1000 on day one for 25 cents a minute, rather than 500 for 50 cents a minute.  People who have sailed with me before, tip me their excess.  I figure I can gratefully accept that tip, because they would only go to waste.  I promised Norm that his USB screen saver would be extra good, as I would put all of Dee’s beautiful fish and coral on it for him.  Another couple canceled out, too, just because the husband doesn’t like organized tours.

They had a local Flamenco Show for entertainment, and I think they were good enough, but it’s not obvious from the back of the Queen’s lounge, since all the action is at feet level.

On April 20, the day of the tour in Cadiz, Spain, I woke up around 5:30 am, still worrying about the taxi situation and wondering if I could have Bus 1 made into a panoramic tour, to keep all my handicapped people with me, and not have to worry if we would have enough taxis.  While I was dressing and having breakfast, two more couples called to cancel.  Now I was down to 36 people and the panoramic bus idea would work, if Shorex and the Tour Operator would give it to me.

I hustled myself to the Queen’s Lounge and found Rebecca.  I ran the idea by her and she called Nyron, who was outside at the buses, with the Tour Operator.  To my delight, they agreed.  This took the stress off me, and all the handicapped people and care givers.

Everyone was delighted, and off went Bus 1, with delightful tour guide Ini.  Ini was Dutch, of all things.  She came to visit Cadiz eleven years ago, and stayed, because she just loved the place and the people.  It is a very old town, once on the Roman supply route, as it is a strategic port.  It has been in existence since 1100 BC.  The Romans were here from 200 BC to 400 AD.  It connects easily enough to Rome.  There was ship building here at one time, and trading in all sorts of goods.

Cadiz has three beaches.  We saw the Women’s Beach, where it’s Ok to go topless, and the Men’s Beach, where it isn’t.  Surf and sand are lovely at both.  The Arabs took over what was left of Cadiz in 800 AD.  They stayed until 1200 AD, until the English and Dutch ran them off, to gain control of the strategic location.  Columbus left here on his second and fourth voyages.  In 1596 Cadiz was badly plundered and the House of Seville took over, so they became part of Spain.  In 1717 the Accounting House was moved here and started rebuilding the city.

Slowly, all Cadiz’ industries faded away.  The people get poorer and poorer, but they are famously joyful and good humoured.  They like to celebrate and will do it at the drop of a hat, often on the beautiful beaches.  The more difficult life gets, the more they laugh and cope.  A couple of years ago, the city issued a rolling plastic garbage can to every household.  About three weeks later, all sorts of people started showing up at City Hall, asking for another one, claiming theirs had disappeared.  The city eventually noticed what was happening.  The nice clean garbage cans were painted many colors, and entrepreneurs were filling them with ice and selling ice cream and cold drinks from them on the beach.  Bless the city’s heart.  It decided to look the other way.

Ini had the bus take us to the outskirts of the old city and took the time to show us a typical Nobleman or Rich Trader’s house, of old.  Most of them are now apartment buildings.  Each one is a square that occupies a city block, with a courtyard in the middle.  There are five stories, plus a rooftop terrace.  There is a wrought iron door on the courtyard side and a big wooden door to the street, wide enough for a horse and carriage.  The wooden door is open during the day and the air flows through to the courtyard.  The ground floor is for storage of goods for sale.  The first floor is offices for trading. The second floor has higher ceilings and balconies and is comprised of family apartments.  The third floor is more modest and houses the servants for the extended family.  On the 5^th floor, they hung clothes, looked out to sea for arriving ships, and defended the place, if necessary.

We got off the bus for 10 minutes of walking and Ini took us to our Flamenco Show, via the 1812 Memorial park.  The memorial is quite beautiful, and Ini described each of the statues.  The last one was Perseverance, a lady on a horse, with the inevitable pigeon on her head, and the white streaks, streaming down her face.  Standing there since 1812 is my idea of perseverance, all right.

It was a short walk up a very narrow cobblestoned street to the taberna, where the Flamenco Show would be held.  Ini explained that the streets were so narrow, because Cadiz enjoys so much sunshine, that they needed their shade.  We had sangria, or wine, and excellent tapas, with our Flamenco Show, and everyone pronounced it much better than the ship’s last night.  This is probably because it was done the way it was supposed to be done.  We sat on three sides of a stage, raised up about three feet, so we were at eye level with the dancer’s feet.  They were very good, as were the singer and guitarist.  When we got out, Ini pointed out that you could see the ship from the taberna.  We dismissed Bus 2 and only seven people took Bus 1 back.  Two of those were Joanne Ward, who had a Bridge Tour, and me.  Even many of the handicapped elected to walk to see a bit of the town.

I checked in with Elvon, took him to the gym, and was back out on the street by 2:30 pm.  I did a little poking around, and quite a bit of shopping.  The euro is down and the prices are good in Spain.  On the way back to the ship, is a lovely square, with a church on one side and a bunch of bar/restaurants on the other.  One had a signboard offering Churros and Chocolate.  That looked good to me, but I didn’t want to eat alone.  I was in luck.  There were Bob and Sheila Gan.  Bob is the Rabbi on board, this year.  They took me in and we had a lovely half-hour in the sun, with our decadent snack.  I can still taste the chocolate.  It was that dense.

Back on the ship, we went to sailaway, and I got wonderful comments on the tour, from handicapped and able-bodied, alike.  No one had any complaints on this one, except those who did not come.  But, it was their not coming that brought the numbers down to where I could effectively make two tours out of it.  I’ll be watching for this opportunity in the future and try to precipitate it out, where applicable.

The entertainment was virtuoso Flutist, Steven Clark, with his golden flute.

Back at sea on it’s winding down.  I have had good demand for my screen saver, with pictures of everyone on it, as well as a lot of Dee Wescott’s gorgeous fish and coral.  She takes professional equipment into the deep and does a professional job.  They’re fun, because we were all in the same places, even if we did stay above the water.  I went to Cruise Director Gene and offered him my entire bank of Grand Dollars, if he would give me enough USB thumb drives to give every cabin one.  He did and I am now in business, making the things.

It was Gene’s Birthday, and I made him a card, with a picture of him on stage in Skip Bardsley’s gorilla suit, donated on the 2013 Grand Asia. Events Manager Mark Beasley came to dinner with Michael Innis and Gail Hanson, and we invited Jim Wirtz over again.  It was a very nice group.  Jim is particularly fond of the Bridge teachers.  He came on board never having played tha game, and by the time Gail got off, they were winning consistently.  He has a new interest and he is delighted with it.

The entertainment was Rock Star Juggler, Mike Price, and we did enjoy him.

In April 22, we docked in Funchal, Portugal.It was our last port before Fort Lauderdale.  Elvon and I had our usual port pig-out breakfast in the Lido.  I took care of a few items of business, photoshopped a bunch of pictures, and all I saw of the town was as far as I could walk in the half-hour before boarding.  I did spot a nice looking yacht club, that will make a good Internet hot spot some year.  This year, I have enough Internet minutes now, that I just used the ship’s and saved myself the bother.

We had Doc Gisela and SOB Chas for dinner again.  They live in Halifax, so now we have two couples to visit there, once I get a Canada New England gig.  The show was ABBA Fab and we just love that music.  I’ll never forget us and the Harrolds standing on the seats at Mama Mia in San Francisco.

On April 23, I found out that, as usual, the ship scheduled three Mariners’ Lunches for this week, and, also as usual, one of them fell on our Pinnacle lunch.  So, I went to the Front Desk, found out who was in charge and got the usual special dispensation for my people, who had the conflicting date, to come to the DV Lunch and the Mariners’ Lunch of their choice.  I wrote and delivered another letter.

It’s Passover, which causes a problem for our Canaletto Dinner and Pinnacle Lunch.  I checked with the powers that be and was pleased to report back that all could be accommodated, as these restaurants cook to order.  Jan Yetke came to say she had not used up all their President’s Club Pinnacle Dinners, and had negotiated that she could use them to host at our DV Lunch.  Another donation in kind, gratefully accepted by yours truly, who spends a lot of her own money hosting these things.

Judy Carmichael, who plays the piano and sings, entertained us in fine style.  It was another very nice evening.

The next day, I was back at the desk, taking orders for boarding passes, dispensing Grand Dollars, and generally taking care of business. Two of the three Jewish couples just canceled out of lubch, sadly. It’s just too hard during Passover. Molly Wallace wants a wheelchair at the Port Terminal in Fort Lauderdale and the Front Desk is giving her trouble.  I saw Christel and got her one, but it will only go to the elevator and she is not to take more carry on than she can manage, as the wheelchair will not cross the hall to customs with her.  It’s about union rules in Fort Lauderdale.  That doesn’t exactly endear them to me.

We had Norm and Ann Petersen for dinner, which was lovely, and comedian, Buzz Sutherland, for entertainment.  He was excellent.