Friday, March 18, 1922 … continued
When we got back to the Muschett’s house, the results of the Antigen test were in, so I was good to board. Bermuda wanted a PCR, though, so I had to wait a few hours for that, but it did come in, and I was able to complete their Travel Authorization form, duly uploading it and sending them $40. All of this is a serious PIA.
While I was waiting for test results, I wrote yesterday’s blog and then cleared email. In my email was a solicitation about a Fund Raiser for the Courtois Cardiovascular Program at the McGill University Hospital Centre. I joined it a few months ago. It’s a study about hearts of all ages and 79 is the cut-off, so I figured I’d better get in. It gets me a lot of free extra special monitoring, so if anything goes wrong with my heart, they’ll catch it, while they are studying me. Can’t hurt.
Anyway, I got carried away and decided to walk for the cause in what I think might actually be a marathon.
You must be falling off your chairs, laughing. Not only am I 77 years old but I have never been athletic pour 4 sous. Bien c’est ça. I’m not going to run. I’ll walk, and if my ankle starts swelling, I’m quitting. But I am getting a lot of benefits from the Courtois Cardiovascular Program and I’d love if you would join me in supporting them. If you live in Montreal, you might even want to walk with me or to join the program. Check my fundraising page out here:
Neville, Peggy and I went out to dinner at J Marks, in a local shopping center because Friday night of Spring break wasn’t the time to do anything touristy. It was great, though. We got to eat outside, the food was good enough to recommend, and, if you asked for them, you got $3 drinks. Neville and Peggy had Mohitos and I had Margaritas, yes, two each. No wine that night. They were delicious and we had a wonderful time, so wonderful that I broke my first promise to you. We were having so much fun, I forgot to get the waiter to take our picture.
Saturday, March 19, 2022
I got up, packed and did my exercises with Miranda, like I do every morning now. (They’re great – I feel like a million bucks.) Then we all piled into Peggy’s car and Neville drove me to the port of Miami and Oceania Marina, which was waiting. That wasn’t the easiest drive in the world, but Google Maps and Neville made a great team and we didn’t have any major slip ups. Many thanks to the Muschetts for their fine hospitality and chauffeur services. It was great to see them again.
It was great to see my co-host, Tricia Harrold, too. Thanks to cell phone coordination, she met me less than five minutes after I got there.
That’s when the agony of COVID started again. We had to line up, outside and then in, a hot tent full of cattle gridding, to have our vaccination and testing credentials checked. It’s a bit of a process at the best of times, and very long, when a thousand people are boarding a ship.
We walked over and into the cruise building, got through a much shorter line and boarded. While she was checking us in, the agent drew our attention to a letter from the ship that had to be read. Not a good letter. It told us that because of weather, we would be taking a more southerly route and bypassing Bermuda, entirely. Neither Tricia nor I had been to Bermuda and it was on both of our bucket lists. And never mind how much stress, and PIA getting the right tests and authorization had been. Not sure we even believe the story about the weather. Merde alors, rien à faire, bien c’est ça..
My contact on Oceania is the Executive Concierge. What a concept. Her name is Conny and she said she would do everything for me, and she did. I got all I needed about our Hospitality Desk, Cocktail Party tomorrow, printing procedure, etc. We matched manifests, and I got to work, finalizing welcome letters and amenities lists, while Tricia made 34 phone calls to our people to welcome them on board and tell them what they could expect from us. I did the mail merge, emailed it to Conny and it was back in our stateroom, all printed , before I could unpack.
Tricia helped me put the newly printed information in the folders. At that point it was time for dinner and we were excited because we were joining Pat Gustafson, Mike Desky, and Pat and Toby Jordan in the Dining Room. It was old Fountaingrove Lodge week. Just like (the) home. Oh, but so much better. The food was good, the wine was good, the company was good. We were all so happy to be back at sea.
The welcome packets however, had yet to be delivered. So, we divied them up and took them out. We were tired puppies when we put out lights out, but we were on top of it. That felt really good.