Tuesday, April 12: At Sea

I love days at sea, free from a pre-planned schedule, a time of impulsive choice, or no choice at all. I chose the sunrise, as usual, but it was again rather ordinary, at least until the sun actually breached the sea in a blaze of red/orange, rising surprisingly quickly once it began and over within a minute or so. When I think about the world revolving, I always have the sensation that the sea is falling of its edge, like an infinity pool; it's easy to see how our ancient elders believed the world was flat and one could sail right off the edge.

The temperature, now in the 70's with a slight breeze, enticed me to breakfast outside on deck, which turned out to be a solityary one because Bill and Ted forgot to set their watches forward an hour. No matter. The poached eggs on toast were wonderful, perfectly cooked and served by Harlan and Joselitto who, like the waitresses at Jimmy's, now call me "Mr. Phil."

At another morning cooking demonstration - this one by the ship's Relais & Chateaux chef - Ted and I learned how to bone a rack of lamb and make a sauce from aromatic vegetables, lamb scraps (including the bones) and red wine. We also learned how to keep a lobster tail from curling, and how to saute it with baby aspargus. All this with a caviar croquette and champagne, and a couple, Jean and Dick, from Newport Beach who I discovered were on the first two legs of the Regent Voyager when I served as gentleman host on the last two legs. Small world.

Watching the mass of people jammed and scattered haphazardly around the pool is always fun. The middle-aged woman who fought with her floppy hat, trying to both see beyond its undulating rim and remain chicly hidden at the same time. She lost. The very elderly and wizened woman pushing her husband around the deck while he was seated on the Rolls Royce of walkers with regal, Aga Khan aplomb. the woman we named Chanel (after her huge quilted black bag with two C's) with the bad face lift and overblown lips. Bodies everywhere, basing in their oil in the bright sun, much like caramelizing the lamb bones for the morning's sauce. The three who always save their chaises with cute plastic clips shaped like flamingoes, holding their towels. The oriental couple with the day-glo bathing suits, a little too loud and very happy after their two Cosmos before 11 o'clock.

We won again at Bingo but failed mserably at Trivial Pursuit - who knows what sort of creature a jambalo is? - despite the lady from Palm Springs who hesitantly joined us, saying she wasn't competitive but then insisting that she knew the answers to everything. (Can you name the seven countries that border Turkey?) A nap, some of "Swan's Way," which I promised myself I'd wade through this trip, and this time, without bogging down. Dinner in the Italian restaurant with the very hot head waiter, Aldrin, from Bulgaria - his mother named him after Buzz Aldrin - and the night's show with our new friend Todd, the dancers and the singer. They were incredibly good. And I don't say that lightly. It wasn't just the margaritas talking.

I discovered that I've taken 20 pictures on my little camera without any memory card. I didn't know the camera could do that. So I'll have to get Aldrin to pose for me again. Forgive my errors in spelling and grammar. It's just too expensive to go back and correct them. On to Zihautenejo!

Stay tuned

Monday, April 10: Cabo San Lucas

Sunrise today was more interesting - great bands of fiery red above the horizon, with another ship on the sea between us and land, the ship lit up and sparkling in the distance. It turned out to be the Norwegian Star, with 2500 passengers, anchored in the great Bay of Cabo where we, too, anchored next to her like a little sister. We tendered into a busy port, with much confusion, people everywhere, boats, hawkers of souvenirs, where a group of us on a tour called "Cabo by Land and Sea" transferred to another boat for the short ride out to Las Arcos, a naturally formed rock arch close to the beach. Right at where the land ends, one can walk from the beach on the Sea of Cortez (Love Beach) to the beach on the Pacific called "Divorce Beach." I don't know why. The day was lovely, warm but not too warm, with a slight breeze. There were many people in boats and on the beach. Naturally, I took many pictures. Back at the dock, we transferred to a big blue bus for the land portion of the tour: a glass blower made a pitcher; we had a drink at an Italian restaurant with many terraces down to the sea overlooking the bay, quite a lovely place; and visited Cacti Mundi, a park filled with 40,000 species of cacti, the largest park of its kind in the Americas. Extremely tired after all of this, I staggered back to the deck bar for a much needed Margarita. Ted and Bill went kayaking, where Ted fell in the water - no harm, he thought it part of the fun.

At dinner, Jorge seated us with Todd, a young dancer with the show, and his boyfriend, Matthew, visiting from Sydney where he is a professional drag queen. They invited us to the Crew Party (a rare privilege) where Matthew will do his number with other members of the crew in a show that Todd calls a "Drag Off." There are two dance hosts on board, one with lots of beautiful grey hair and the other younger and so tall he towers a head above his partner. They're both good dancers, although I could see they had the same problems with their partners that I experienced on the Regent Voyager. Some partners only want to stand and move from one foot to the other, without any pattern. They're incredibly hard to steer. I'm so glad I'm not required to do that any more.

I met Frank and Catherine from the UK on their very first cruise to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversay; Myrna from Dade County (she wouldn't tell me just where), traveling alone; Avi and John from Atlanta - she's Israeli; and a couple from Australia by way of Mauri on a cruise holiday given to them by their son. Everyonoe is having fun, sunburned in the oddest places, where we forgot to put sun screen. Unbelievably tired. I didn't win the Silver Quiz, all about music: "From what opera comes a favorite aria about an overcoat?" Having this much fun is hard work. No pictures here now; they take too much valuable time to load. I'll add them when I get home.

Stay tuned...

Sunday, April 10: At Sea

Where once Silver Sea seemed the epitome of luxury, there are now small but sadly apparent signs of the line's efforts at economy: only one bar of soap for both bathroom sink and shower, no doorbells at suite doors, no welcoming fruit basket in my suite, no shower curtain. These things are only small inconveniences - I asked for and received another bar of soap - but the line's new policy about the internet is a real pain. In order to conserve precious and expensive computer time, I have always previously composed my blog on Word, before signing onto the internet, then copy and paste what I've already written onto my blog. But this is no longer possible; one has to log on to do anything. So the few so poorly composed paragraphs from yesterday cost me over $25 to post. Now I'll have to write my composition out in longhand and then retype it on my blog. This is not only inconvenient but also difficult. My handwriting has so badly deteriorated that I can hardly read it. This will unfortunately limit my comments (and correct spelling) and when the current block of time I've booked runs out, there will be no more posts. Sorry about that.

The weather is lovely - a cool 55-60 degrees but it's nice to have a sweater over a T-shirt in the wind. The sea is calm with crests of 2 to 3 feet but with stabilizers, the ship runs a true and straightforward course; no need to hang onto the railing in the passageways. And although our suites (Slver Sea never alls them "cabins") are very far forward, and way beyond the fulcrum point, navigating around the bathroom has been easy. So far, so good. Although I was up at 5:00 AM for my traditional photograph of the sunrise, it didn't burst into flame until 7:24. I spent a lot of time on the wet deck with only the deck washing crew for company. And then the sunrise was pretty ordinary. Pretty but ordinary.

We attended a much touted lecture on Zihuatenejo and Acapulco, spiced up with pictures of Elvis making a movie there but much of what was said I alreay knew. And the lecturer's attempts at humor fell sadly flat. After that, a guest chief tried to teach us how to make chou pasty - no mean feat; I don't know why he chose something so difficult for beginners - but it sadly nearly defeated him. He kept stirring and stirring and calling for more and more eggs, the chou falling out of the bowl in little missles that he picked up and put back into the bowl, saying, "not to worry; the tablecloth is clean." He had trouble finding his vanilla beans and totally misplaced his (apparently much needed) notes. Ted and Bill and I finally left him in a miasma of pots and pans. I won the Silver Quiz - it was all about numbers, i.e. 3= BM (SHTR) - I guess I've had a few - and also a couple of games of Bingo. Points for all this may ultimately get me a Silver Sea T-shirt or a corkscrew. The food is as good as I remember it and you can still get room service 24 hours a day. But the smallest amount of caviar, once free, is not $25.00. Oh, and Jorge, the Portuguese head waiter on two of my previous curises, is on the ship as maitre d'hotel. He remembered me, or so he said. His hair is now a becoming grey. He asked to be remembered, fondly, to Rhea. Formal night - Captain's reception - clothes, jewels, hair. Lovely. Ketel 1 with olives, please, blinis with sour cream and caviar, champagne sorbet, lobster, Bed.

Stay tuned.

April 9, 2011: In the Air

On the plane from Baltimore to Philadelphia, I found, after quite a long conversation with my seatmate, Stephanie, that her husband is an ER doctor at the Gettysburg Hospital and is quite friendly with my friends Tim and Troy. What a small world! After six and a half hours from Philadelphia to San Diego, with a kicking, complaining, whining child behind us, we were met, as planned, by a representative of SilverSea and sent on to the pier by cab. At first, the cabbie couldn't find the ship, dwarfed by a Holland America ship and the Crystal Symphony, and when he did, we were told that the ship had docked late and even though it was time for us to board, we had to wait more than an hour for disembarking passengers to leave the ship, a confusion quite unlike the service I'm used to from Silver Sea. Finally aboard, I found my suite, right across the passageway from Ted and Bill. The luggage finally came and I unpacked before going topside for sailing, right behind Holland America and the Crystal Symphony. It was clearly a beautiful day, but windy and cold on deck.

At the solo cocktail party, to which I was invited by virtue of traveling in a single suite, I met the two dance hosts, quite a bit younger than I am, and surrounded by at least 25 other solo travelers. I had a very pleasant conversation with Marie, from Oswego, Oregon, quite the most elegant lady in the group. (I was lucky to be seated next to her, by chance.) Probably in her eighties, she was carefully coiffed and made up and told me that she is just beginning to travel again after the loss of both her husbands. She was feeling a little timid but I put on my dance host demeanor and she warmed up considerably.

Dinner was great but I was exhausted after such a long day and went to bed immediately after it. Ted and Bill seem enthusiastic about the ship and the cruise although it's apparent to me, since I've traveled with Silver Sea before, that the economy has caused some little signs of lesser service. I suppose that's to be expected. Among the differences is that this time on the internet is costing me $.35 a minute so these posts may be short.

Anyway, I met our butler for our deck (a new wrinkle) and our maid. When was the last time you had a butler named Romeo and a maid known as Princess?

Stay tuned (if I post again)

Phil

Tomorrow, at 4:30 AM

Yippee! I’m on the road again. Or to be more exact, ahoy, for it’s actually on the sea again. I’m leaving tomorrow morning – a pick-up is set for (if you can imagine this) 4:30 AM – for a flight to Philadelphia, then on to San Diego where I and my friends, Bill and Ted, will board the Silver Cloud for a cruise down the Mexican coast, through the Panama Canal and back home through the Caribbean. Sixteen days. And THIS TIME, as a passenger/guest, not as a workhorse dance host. I’m looking forward to being pampered. No more dancing with ladies who just want to stand still and jiggle up and down, or the ones who want to rigidly steer me around the floor, or the timid ones who can’t keep time and didn’t want to dance in the first place. No more arranging Solos for dinner, trying to avoid the problems of “I don’t want to sit next to her,” or “not that table; I ate there last night,” or most especially, “…no dear; the limes there are not green; they’re yellow!” No. I can be as lazy as I want, without having to samba though morning and afternoon dance lessons. I can eat breakfast alone, without having to play host to slug-a-beds, hung over from the night before and, thank goodness, best of all, no Austrian roommate to complain endlessly about my conduct and warn that “…on Cunardt, you vouldn’t last ten minutes!”

Our itinerary takes us to Cabo San Lucas, at the tip of Baja California, site of Liz and Dick’s famous filming of a sorely failed “Day of the Iguana” and a place I’ve nonetheless always wanted to see. Then we’re on to Zihuatenejo, where one of my dear friends has traditionally spent the winter. Acapulco and its beautiful bay come next. Reputedly somewhat faded from its heyday as the resort of the rich and famous, I still look forward to seeing again the glorious sunsets I remember and a chance to catch on film the cliff divers in the middle of their plunge to the sea. Puerto Quetzal, Guatemala, at least sounds exotic; I’m going on an “auto safari” there. Then it’s on to Puntarenas, in Costa Rica, a port in the northwestern, more Americanized, part of the country. And next the highlight of the cruise: transit of the Panama Canal. In preparation for this, I read “Path Between the Seas” by David McCullough, of “John Adams” fame, almost 600 pages of the French and American slog through the mosquito infested dig toward a shorter route to the Pacific. We’ll also see the San Blas Islands, a part of Panama but administered by the original Indians, much like the Maori in a part of New Zealand. And finally, Categena, in Columbia, an ancient city, port of much loot from the Americas back to Queen Isabella of Spain.

Between these ports, there are a number of days at sea, a part of every cruise that I especially anticipate, where I can laze on deck with a good book and a bartender bringing me one of those fancy drinks with an umbrella and a slice of pineapple, or where I can sneak up on the jogging track to take candid photographs of the passengers below, slathered in expensive sun tan lotion, or sleeping with their mouths open.

My routine is to take notes every day of events or facts I think might interest you, my faithful readers, and then post to this blog early the next morning. That is, unless, like those guests I once took care of, I’ve drunk and dined and danced all night.

Stay tuned.

On the Road Again

In my last post here, I suggested that my next travel might be by sea. Well, so be it. I'm leaving April 9 for a two-week cruise from San Diego to Fort Lauderdale: down the Mexican Rivera, through the Panama Canal, up the coast of Central America and back home - 16 days of luxury on the Silver Cloud, and this time as a passenger (or "guest" as the line prefers to call us). No pampering Solos, because this time I'll be one. No dance lessons because this time I'll dance only when I choose. No arranging folks at dinner because this time I'll just be dining, not hosting. And best of all, a suite to myself. My friends, Bill and Ted, are joining me. Ted is having a big birthday this year and they decided to celebrate at sea. Ahoy!

Stay tuned.

Ending

Okay. It seems you won’t be traveling with Phil the few blocks from Linden Green to Mt. Royal Avenue after all. The Fitzgerald notified me this morning that the apartment I’ve so looked forward to occupying has finally now been occupied. After all my preparations – both practical and psychological – for the move, I’m disappointed. But not really upset. No matter. Now there’s no need to find just the right new round table to sit at the left end of my sofa in the living room. I no longer must decide which wall my desk should abut so that the view out the window will help me find just the right word when I’m writing. I won’t have to use a closet in the apartment as a pantry or grapple with a decision over whether to outfit the second bedroom in a traditional manner or use it as a den with a good sleeper sofa. There’s no conflict about where to put my antique chest, no need to cut down the base on my Paul McCobb credenza, no decision about how to make the lighting in the bathrooms more becoming. My friends won’t have to pay $10.00 for parking in the garage when they come for dinner. I won’t have to give up any of my art. And best of all, I can finally get rid of that sorely dog-eared chicken gravy box that’s been holding all my toilet articles for the last six months.

Last spring, when contemplating a move to The Fitzgerald, I talked myself into leaving Linden Green, imagined myself in new surroundings, tried on the feel of a garage, elevator, receptionist, all those subtle changes that apartment living entails. But as the quest to sell my house seemed less and less likely to be fulfilled, I talked myself back into staying right here, enjoying the view of my garden, the crackle of my fireplace, the freedom of that extra space in my basement, and the oh-so-satisfying feel of rooms so selfishly filled with my own peculiar personality.

If home is where the heart is, my heart’s back here on Linden Green.

Since this blog was designed for sharing my travels – to wherever they might take me – this will be my last entry until some new alluring place in the world attracts my attention. Maybe a cruise next (without a dancing gig) would be a good thing. Thinking about all that effort involved in a move has tired me out. Sunrise at sea, lunch on deck, tea at four and wrapped in a blanket in a deckchair with a good book as the world goes by sounds really relaxing.

Stay tuned.