tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20056640046241912662024-03-05T04:44:39.237-05:00A Blog for Something Really ImportantGeorgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-40852884482068609462023-10-10T12:55:00.016-04:002023-10-12T12:14:50.454-04:00Beam Most of Me Up, Scotty!<p> </p><h4 class="x1heor9g x1qlqyl8 x1pd3egz x1a2a7pz xod5an3" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 12px; outline: none; padding: 0px;"><span style="color: var(--primary-text); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem;">While lying in bed, slipping aimlessly between thinking about tomorrow’s to do list and traipsing along with the sandman, somewhere between consciousness and dream world, I thought about being beamed up. I have no idea where to, just maybe to the Holodeck, but something occurred to me while I implausibly stood in my designated circle waiting for the command, “Energize!”</span></h4><div class="x1e56ztr" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 8px;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" style="color: var(--primary-text); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;">The famous science fiction tele-transportation method that disassembles your molecules and your life force in one portal and reassembles everything in another portal somewhere else may have many more possibilities than just simple transportation. The line “Beam me up, Scotty” was made famous by the TV series Star Trek, and was responsible for solving many problematic script exits from impending danger. Even though impending danger was part of my thought, my being beamed up was somewhat different: I dreamt, “What if I had cancer?”</span></div><div class="x1e56ztr" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 8px;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" style="color: var(--primary-text); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;">I thought, if they can identify all the biological components needed to recompose me, why can’t they leave out the pieces that shouldn’t be there, like cancer cells. Why not simply leave the bad parts out of the rebuild? Maybe even leave out any viruses, or even stray bullets. Could they even possibly reconfigure my nose during the reassembly process? You know, a little architectural rearrangement of my skeletal cartilage that might help with my self-esteem. When the teleporter process disassembles you, in what ever format or process that may take, each component, each molecule, must be meticulously identified and ported, incubated, and then either transmitted to its reassembly point or perhaps just replicated at a predetermined location for reassembly and activation. Maybe once you’ve been teleported, they could save a copy or two of you in case you’re needed somewhere else. Perhaps your disassembled self could be put in a container and put on a shelf for inter-galactic travel.</span></div><div class="x1e56ztr" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 8px;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" style="color: var(--primary-text); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;">The basic concept of somehow disassembling and reassembling our molecules along with their necessary life force has been around for a few years, from Thomas Reid’s letter about replication to Lord Kames in 1775, and more recently by Stanislaw Lem’s epic Fourteenth Voyage of the Star Diaries in 1957. The concept has migrated from science fiction to cautiously awaited anticipation, thanks to Captain Kirk, First Officer Spock and the famous Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott who solemnly pulled the activation lever.</span></div><div class="x1e56ztr" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 8px;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" style="color: var(--primary-text); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;">According to an essay by National Science Foundation released on July 6, 2020, “While human teleportation currently exists only in science fiction, teleportation is possible now in the subatomic world of quantum mechanics – albeit not in the way typically depicted on TV. In the quantum world, teleportation involves the transportation of information, rather than the transportation of matter.”</span></div><div class="x1e56ztr" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 8px;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" style="color: var(--primary-text); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;">They continue; “Quantum teleportation is a demonstration of what Albert Einstein famously called "spooky action at a distance" -- also known as quantum entanglement. In entanglement, one of the basic of concepts of quantum physics, the properties of one particle affect the properties of another, even when the particles are separated by a large distance.”<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x6umtig x1b1mbwd xaqea5y xav7gou x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz xt0b8zv xzsf02u x1s688f" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/297182124965900/?multi_permalinks=1047770833240355&notif_id=1696869117941927&notif_t=feedback_reaction_generic&ref=notif&__cft__[0]=AZXoubMVqbxX6iTlyJIYPDas8KZFwV2bHKzIIeNCcnPLmKDfY9xm62ERMUB9hnVayohUmXcAN8bKFTJykSVJXAilzwPEJwryNt9HOZkTx3r6emjnnhNsj9bDUUP2kL2VpMfmxMQKJ90GEBmHJ-99lsne7kwuN4gtmslPwHA5qLPEj2Vl7zkzYd3eVPAgwqhO-Qw&__tn__=-UK-R#sdfootnote1sym" role="link" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: transparent; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation;" tabindex="0">1</a></span></span></div><div class="x1e56ztr" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 8px;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" style="color: var(--primary-text); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;">Aaah! I’ll sleep better tonight. Unless my muse is restless once again. Wonder where I’ll be next time?</span></div><div class="x1e56ztr" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 8px;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" style="color: var(--primary-text); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x6umtig x1b1mbwd xaqea5y xav7gou x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz xt0b8zv xzsf02u x1s688f" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/297182124965900/?multi_permalinks=1047770833240355&notif_id=1696869117941927&notif_t=feedback_reaction_generic&ref=notif&__cft__[0]=AZXoubMVqbxX6iTlyJIYPDas8KZFwV2bHKzIIeNCcnPLmKDfY9xm62ERMUB9hnVayohUmXcAN8bKFTJykSVJXAilzwPEJwryNt9HOZkTx3r6emjnnhNsj9bDUUP2kL2VpMfmxMQKJ90GEBmHJ-99lsne7kwuN4gtmslPwHA5qLPEj2Vl7zkzYd3eVPAgwqhO-Qw&__tn__=-UK-R#sdfootnote1anc" role="link" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: transparent; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation;" tabindex="0">1</a></span> <span style="font-family: inherit;"><a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x6umtig x1b1mbwd xaqea5y xav7gou x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz xt0b8zv x1fey0fg" href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fnew.nsf.gov%2Fnews%2Fteleportation-possible-yes-quantum-world%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR3xZpeC7K0n38KVVGOal9NSFv36qZdJklb-uememdtH2_321odXSrSK-6M&h=AT385uPUybfpngut9zKnDBvCSuHPnk-NWGb7OtHwNP9yL2Y9r-mNgpfJwGDYdkb-sTVxI4n5jT9HkywpfRhtI-hsaPiEP60r1LMSQzdW1-Q8BAeeOhBNfsuKx2C-fJA0gilNw18lBjDxuRn_FQ&__tn__=-UK-R&c[0]=AT0Y43TNs7d32_vrqAlX9pyEzx1FqhE77QWY2YuWNV3ZRXMKl_GwJKGDNRJwX4IAL-0e71KuUduK6ULTtcVrzjaOlNVLb9GjMB7XTc126WkLpPkyx_2y4RDeJnDNglCspjZ7oXfzm2WhiYfZVPkcYJvJCDItIouQwnd1y8P6PG2xPgqiEkCoaK0CT8lXgxQMhPDWMGDCstRsr-5MVBvCN6U" rel="nofollow noreferrer" role="link" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: transparent; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; font-family: inherit; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; touch-action: manipulation;" tabindex="0" target="_blank">https://new.nsf.gov/.../teleportation-possible-yes...</a></span></span></div>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-41824513360946153042023-05-18T12:58:00.118-04:002023-06-27T09:43:29.806-04:00Laura, The Riveter<div style="text-align: justify;">
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</div></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;">This Blog was originally published in the Sleeps Two Blog in 2011 </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;">The blog is not really about camping, it is about my Grandmother</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;">It should be here instead.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;">George May, 2023</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">***************************************************************************************</div><div style="text-align: justify;">After several months of car shopping and driving all sorts of SUVs that could comfortably haul our new KZ Sportsmen 202, we finally traded our trusty, venerable 1999 GMC Jimmy for a newer, 2005 Toyota Sequoia. We simply wanted more towing power to haul our new 21 foot travel trailer than our six cylinder Jimmy offered. We wanted a comfortable vehicle we could use whenever the travel trailer was sitting dormant, waiting to be once in again connected and hauled somewhere exotic.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> </span><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeX9XrO0ftUCBmr6ApfJMDTmE8XApCQ0C_HgcV0JX6HHssYr8t65UNJ1zqOoQouaGjaOYCg4OLqEx3donl0umH9W3SU_IvsCxAfRzvrf-utDP0kJw9GI-KARMuKsz0wzlaVRqO1LyHP5I/s1600/DSCN5911.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeX9XrO0ftUCBmr6ApfJMDTmE8XApCQ0C_HgcV0JX6HHssYr8t65UNJ1zqOoQouaGjaOYCg4OLqEx3donl0umH9W3SU_IvsCxAfRzvrf-utDP0kJw9GI-KARMuKsz0wzlaVRqO1LyHP5I/s640/DSCN5911.JPG" /></a></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We test drove GMC Yukons, Toyota V-8 4-runners, Chevy something or others, and Fords with hoods so high I couldn't see the road in front of me. We drove just about every combination of pick-up truck or SUV that could haul the new trailer and still give us a vehicle we could use “off-duty.” We finally decided on Toyota's big V-8 SUV and drove several Sequoias before finding the dark blue unit we really liked. It only had ninety-five thousand miles on it, and other than a couple of cosmetic issues, was in great mechanical shape. I was surprised to find there were very few used Sequoias with less than 100,000 miles on them.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">My dad never kept a car beyond the 60,000 miles. He traded every car before the fenders might fall off or the floor board might rust out, but that was then, and this is now, since Detroit has been slapped up against the side of their corporate heads by foreign competitors. Our American-built, Japanese designed SUV looked like new, except for the floor mats, which we replaced. </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I added a new brake controller and was pleasantly surprised to find the necessary wiring was already in place, all I had to do was take off the existing plastic caps from the wiring coiled up under the dashboard and plug in the new controller. Nothing like planning ahead.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I had the Sequoia safety checked and all the inspections brought up to date, from spark plugs to brakes. When we test drove the SUV with the trailer attached, we knew we had a great combination. Only one thing needed to be resolved: The ride height difference between the two vehicles. The trailer hitch had to be lowered to keep the travel trailer level.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The two-inch box hitch receiver is fixed on each vehicle, but the shank on the trailer ball assembly for the load equalizer was adjustable. All I had to do was move the shank down and we once again had a level travel trailer. But I had a problem: I didn't have any regular wrenches that even came close to big enough to fit the nut on the hitch.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">However, using the Ford wrench from my grandmother, yes, my grandmother, I made the switch effortlessly. You see, my grandmother used to build bombers. B-24 Liberators, to be exact.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZ_KPe6nSD1Ou6NGnYYIAsOnqeUs_KlA1fVEFc1OKOjeboX0EGfW_yJ4z97Egecj-uaf2Sn41PAHUWUperrnfNLtiBnjn4IJAjZ7mMjH7WBZvXNMCV0-2O8gkDuimw9g68io4f66ItcP2jvjnsdMDFbCfa7Zp6LIA2QO2xGs7vAyQ1j-m8VVObgOB/s512/B-24_bomber_at_Willow_Run.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="393" data-original-width="512" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZ_KPe6nSD1Ou6NGnYYIAsOnqeUs_KlA1fVEFc1OKOjeboX0EGfW_yJ4z97Egecj-uaf2Sn41PAHUWUperrnfNLtiBnjn4IJAjZ7mMjH7WBZvXNMCV0-2O8gkDuimw9g68io4f66ItcP2jvjnsdMDFbCfa7Zp6LIA2QO2xGs7vAyQ1j-m8VVObgOB/w640-h492/B-24_bomber_at_Willow_Run.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">B-24 Liberators being assembled at Ford's plant at Willow Run, Michigan<br />1943 Ford photo from Wikipedia Commons<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Laura Corns Mindling, my grandmother, worked during the war for Ford Motor Company at the Willow Run Aircraft Plant, just outside Detroit, Michigan. She was originally hired as a stitcher, working on seats and strapping, but was soon promoted to the machine shop, or production floor as a press operator. She was so good Ford kept her after the war, moving her to the River Rouge plant, near Dearborn, where she worked as a press operator until 1956.</div></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPVZYkdvzHGHeCWoJVZOrBoW-AhnNDouFgUj-UBdYjd3XiMCPGPo5zSa1Fz8mrLuBB2RmSIKKIqvsIlUweEfDzWrlEzwN6V6UoLrp8NDaC6OKY0tEXq8QsQ9ikc2LlN0cp0zS4-xCdRBRo15AElJAQEDTGvsaC7Su6UHlZBnHscnEtBGaqMz5VjO1/s3000/Both_men_and_women_man_the_machines_which_are_turning_out_parts_for_America's_bomber_planes_at_Willow_Run,_Mich._-_NARA_-_195476.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2426" data-original-width="3000" height="518" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPVZYkdvzHGHeCWoJVZOrBoW-AhnNDouFgUj-UBdYjd3XiMCPGPo5zSa1Fz8mrLuBB2RmSIKKIqvsIlUweEfDzWrlEzwN6V6UoLrp8NDaC6OKY0tEXq8QsQ9ikc2LlN0cp0zS4-xCdRBRo15AElJAQEDTGvsaC7Su6UHlZBnHscnEtBGaqMz5VjO1/w640-h518/Both_men_and_women_man_the_machines_which_are_turning_out_parts_for_America's_bomber_planes_at_Willow_Run,_Mich._-_NARA_-_195476.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Assembly line at Willow Run, 1943<br /> Any of the women could have been my grandmother, Laura, <br />who worked as a drill press operator for Ford until 1956. <br />Wikipedia Photo<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">She slipped on an oily floor in 1956 and broke her wrist in the fall. When she was finished with her medical leave, she took medical retirement, and eventually moved to Miami. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwLQe_wox9LZb3Uie59TI8A-XWH7QOh-ApXW3b5tKpSuGejcGNeh1C8kx85J5VH4xvjXPndV_yLNI9N_hPqJhmuULyFQjTpMzT7B4BM6gOd6VUGJzBhJgv0SAzojbkb1K9o8-_ulQvzdT6qxYihEVyn6b25aqKPON7irUoeeV3AMyV2PS1kBBaol8/s1216/Detroit-May-1945-2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1216" data-original-width="800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwLQe_wox9LZb3Uie59TI8A-XWH7QOh-ApXW3b5tKpSuGejcGNeh1C8kx85J5VH4xvjXPndV_yLNI9N_hPqJhmuULyFQjTpMzT7B4BM6gOd6VUGJzBhJgv0SAzojbkb1K9o8-_ulQvzdT6qxYihEVyn6b25aqKPON7irUoeeV3AMyV2PS1kBBaol8/w422-h640/Detroit-May-1945-2.jpg" width="422" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From Left: Daughter Ruth, Laura with Grandson, Dick; her Husband Louis, Son Glen, my father, <br />home from Italy, and me. Detroit May 1945<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">She and her husband, Lou, first with her son Glen and us for several years, then moving not far away in their own efficiency apartment. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Laura lived alone for several years in Miami after Louis, my grandfather, died in 1966, then moved to live the rest of her life with my Aunt Ruth in Denver. After Laura's death, my brother and I received several artifacts and family mementos. I received a few items, including a heavy, wrapped bag.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVQGyZtGH4r5GcmSN772dtC3UqCbc-8Sn8tbSF6fWU8UM27CO6oZ_ipBeEkodOiQmu10qIWGTTOBSaEQt_SEyxs_ibdL9Rqu-dIUPscPogp1gpce5z2Lvky8uNUf456wNPiMellcni42Vy88lxHZ3M2mX5dQbIaWAsP0gY8nujEoBNPKPaOWNo3rXG/s640/Wrenches.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="640" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVQGyZtGH4r5GcmSN772dtC3UqCbc-8Sn8tbSF6fWU8UM27CO6oZ_ipBeEkodOiQmu10qIWGTTOBSaEQt_SEyxs_ibdL9Rqu-dIUPscPogp1gpce5z2Lvky8uNUf456wNPiMellcni42Vy88lxHZ3M2mX5dQbIaWAsP0gY8nujEoBNPKPaOWNo3rXG/w640-h426/Wrenches.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Included were two wrenches used by my Grandmother at Ford, oh so many years ago. I like to think she used these tools to help win a war, or build a car that perhaps someone she knew may have driven. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Today, those wrenches helped me change out a ball hitch and a trailer shank that had me absolutely stumped. Grandma would have been proud.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4WhhzPMq-B7ZfjQyaAlXQjS-KfMGvUAEUw7L8B9ZB1zN0vU59jIC0O6l7iS9zyoqGGXnbjjOfD5VrhdrJto0-JR2lalmeFeJsUsnBR5CVPoeyX38QIsRcJ_0NOMQsWMkLGrvF68SAPkJwXKcyyg4lZ99z_rO631dJ5K2xn1rwePsiKJd7sYxFZV2z/s1578/Laura%20E.%20Cornes.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1578" data-original-width="990" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4WhhzPMq-B7ZfjQyaAlXQjS-KfMGvUAEUw7L8B9ZB1zN0vU59jIC0O6l7iS9zyoqGGXnbjjOfD5VrhdrJto0-JR2lalmeFeJsUsnBR5CVPoeyX38QIsRcJ_0NOMQsWMkLGrvF68SAPkJwXKcyyg4lZ99z_rO631dJ5K2xn1rwePsiKJd7sYxFZV2z/w402-h640/Laura%20E.%20Cornes.jpg" width="402" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laura Estelle Cornes Mindling - Circa 1917<br /><br /><a href="https://wwiiwomenmemorial.org/stories2/2020/7/8/laura-estelle-cornes-mindling">https://wwiiwomenmemorial.org/stories2/2020/7/8/laura-estelle-cornes-mindling</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">______________________________________________________________</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This Blog was originally published in the Sleeps Two Blog by the same author in 2011. It deserves to be here as well.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-56416715732121046982023-05-14T06:25:00.148-04:002023-05-18T14:07:51.242-04:00When My Muse Goes Back to Bed<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">What to write? I’ve been sitting in front of my laptop, reading Facebook posts and old e-mails, killing time waiting on my muse to inspire me. There must be something worth writing that hasn’t filtered out to my fingertips. I’m beginning to think my muse went back to bed. Maybe she didn’t even wake up in the first place.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It is dark out, it should be as it’s only 4:49 in the morning. The apartment is subtly noisy even though I’m the only one awake. It’s not noisy in the loud sense, it’s noisy in the odd sounds at odd times sense. The noises that would normally stimulate my writing motivator that we all call our muse. This dark, detached morning when every sound drifting in from who-knows-where should be questioned, my muse is oddly silent.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The refrigerator makes strange noises, clicking and straining as it cycles through its programmed duties. The building itself seems to occasionally groan, or burp, or emit steam and of course I can hear the ever present hum of electricity. Oddly, I can hear 60 cycle AC, 115 volt electrical power. I used to think I had ringing in my ears until Hurricane Andrew shut down all of our electrical power in Miami for several weeks. I didn’t really realize how quiet it was without power until the night it came back on and the ringing in my ears started again. Perhaps that is one of the reasons my wife and I love camping. I finally hear true piece and quiet when we get away from the outlets and extension cords, except for the ambient noises that come and go in the night. As long as they are not train horns I don’t mind.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3lm9Whm0mPUq9OGvwHkVLXxf-fsBhy77gS-EmISEE1DpYqVTUzzs8GMME07yNVZj1C6EjnwGNXKvs-t7BoEsEea4P873z_E3ABRHZuDp9Lu7f3fQB68c5Hh0iEv53yTgYsKqIB05wBcKSpQFn1Dudxi3KV5oQ_YPAL5zhLpvbzJBFGAAfFLLXnJwb/s1000/Oconee%20river.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="735" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3lm9Whm0mPUq9OGvwHkVLXxf-fsBhy77gS-EmISEE1DpYqVTUzzs8GMME07yNVZj1C6EjnwGNXKvs-t7BoEsEea4P873z_E3ABRHZuDp9Lu7f3fQB68c5Hh0iEv53yTgYsKqIB05wBcKSpQFn1Dudxi3KV5oQ_YPAL5zhLpvbzJBFGAAfFLLXnJwb/w294-h400/Oconee%20river.jpg" width="294" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">CSX Freight train crossing the <br />Middle Oconee River, Athens, GA<br /> - Photo by Nikos - Munich Germany<br /> </td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Train horns are why I’m awake now, sitting in front of my laptop screen trying to write something intelligent. My muse has abandoned me, leaving me here alone, unable put coherent sentences together. The freight train rolled through at exactly 3:14 am. The tracks really aren’t that close by our rental house here in the rolling hills of Athens, Georgia, but the main-line CSX railroad track between Atlanta and Charlotte runs along the crest of the hill on the other side of the Middle Oconee River from us, so the sound of the daily, sometimes hourly trains is unimpeded. In fact, I think the small valley is a great natural acoustic chamber and we’re unfortunately at the wrong end of Mother Nature’s really good amplifier.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I like to think one day a great piece of writing will appear here, but so far only detached musings and oddly mismatched pieces of memories display in front of me. For some unknown reason, thoughts about high school, in 1959, when all the cool, future leaders of America were reading their mother’s copies of “Lady Chatterley's Lover,” my friends and I were trading dog-eared copies of “My Brother Was An Only Child” and the book about the Roman Circus Maximus, appear magically on my screen. I don’t remember the name of the book about the Romans but I doggedly remember astonishing things about the Roman Coliseum and the gladiators. It was also when I read my first paperbacks by Ian Fleming, a collection of short stories and a hand-me-down copy of Casino Royale.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Since I was a teenage airplane fanatic, I also had a copy of Adolf Galland’s book, “The First and the Last” and of course Robert L. Scott’s famous book about the Flying Tigers, “God is My Copilot.” I also had the original, illustrated large hardback I got as a present from my Grandmother – with a little coaching help on selection – William Greene’s outstanding “Famous Fighters of the Second World War.” I still have the original book, along with the other three volumes of the set I collected over the years. I used the airbrushed illustrations to paint the multitude of plastic airplane models I built as a teenager. Probably well over a hundred between my brother and I. Most of them ended up hanging from our bedroom ceiling from monofilament fishing line and one time or another.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpSvJ6QYE-v-3g4m0Ys48vt30YoppAONkz51G5fi13XqeWGNswlfZMhkiKDy67W57y3pz5OcWY5-ozXqrGoL9o9nDKj70lg9mayjFVxGiDq-MkoWr1906BuBtKkdldxKYw_C2PCOsAvybQZX07K8KMnVTtu2EdniWOlCrudnWTJa5M4BcvY6G0C8M/s1202/Dean%20and%20George's%20room%20-%201956.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="676" data-original-width="1202" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpSvJ6QYE-v-3g4m0Ys48vt30YoppAONkz51G5fi13XqeWGNswlfZMhkiKDy67W57y3pz5OcWY5-ozXqrGoL9o9nDKj70lg9mayjFVxGiDq-MkoWr1906BuBtKkdldxKYw_C2PCOsAvybQZX07K8KMnVTtu2EdniWOlCrudnWTJa5M4BcvY6G0C8M/w640-h360/Dean%20and%20George's%20room%20-%201956.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">One of the books in that set I have is a replacement for one I loaned a friend and never saw again. It took over forty years to find a replacement book, but it did teach me to never, never loan a book to anybody. Period. Not a book you want to keep, at any rate. They never come back. Never.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I wonder why no one here complains about the trains, especially in the dead of night. It is Sunday morning and I seriously doubt anyone is driving across any of the several unguarded railroad crossings in the dead of night or in the early hours before daybreak, but I know the trains blow their mournful long blasts at the same places every time, day or night. Probably at the bridge over the river. That’s why the awful sound carries so powerfully down the valley.</span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;">And not just short toots or honks. I sometimes think the engineer might have died and collapsed on the horn button. Of course I researched train horns and why they have to be a loud, blaring nuisance at Oh Dark Thirty in the morning. I now know that under the Train Horn Rule, (49 CFR Part 222), blah, blah, blah, “Train horns must be sounded in a standardized pattern of 2 long, 1 short and 1 long blasts. The pattern must be repeated or prolonged until the lead locomotive or lead cab car occupies the grade crossing. The rule does not stipulate the durations of long and short blasts.” I also learned the volume can no longer be above 110 decibels, down from the old 130 decibels which is probably why railroad crew members are all deaf. I also learned that we are forty miles from any of the fifteen registered "Quiet" railroad zones in Georgia. I’ve heard so many horns in the last month I can tell differences between different types of locomotives. My wife just looks at me and shakes her head. It is now 5:52 am and there have been no more trains since the one that woke me up almost three hours ago.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;">It’s really quiet right this minute. The place has gone silent. It doesn’t last long as a compressor starts up somewhere in the kitchen or wherever back there in the dark. I look at my computer screen, apparently my muse was here after all. There isn’t enough to write about to take advantage of the otherwise secluded time of traction. Yes, look it up! Look up the opposite of distraction. That’s what writers do, they research! That’s why I know so much about train horns. Research. </div></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Maybe that’s why my muse went to bed. Muses just don't seem do well in the land of facts and reality. They much prefer to be free and unrestrained, flying on the backs of dragons or joking with the President about his golf game. They don't care much for the mundane universe of plausibility.</span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I’m going back to bed, too. The sun will be up soon and maybe, just maybe, they’ll forget to blow the horn.</div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p></p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-59006227724759078592023-05-05T15:20:00.169-04:002023-05-16T15:16:04.180-04:00The Magic Circle and the Loop That Isn’t<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Moving to a new city means getting lost at the strangest times. Like, while driving in a straight line. I was driving on Alps Road and then I wasn’t. I was dutifully driving straight and hadn’t noticed the street name had changed to West Lake Drive. Somewhere back there a ways it changed and my GPS was naively silent. Did I miss a turn? Nope!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Say you’re in Athens, Georgia, and you decide to find an address on Barnett Shoals Road. Barnett Shoals turns unexpectedly left at an intersection that will leave you on Whitehall if you don’t make the turn. But let’s say, just for fun, you do a U-turn to get back on Barnett Shoals, you will find several miles later, at a T-intersection with still more options, BSR turns unexpectedly back toward the way you were headed to start with. In fact, you’ll soon be in Watkinsville, three blocks from Simonton Bridge Road, which is what Whitehall turned into if you missed the turn that got you off Barnett Shoals in the first place. Stay with me here.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>“One day through the primeval wood<br /> A calf walked home as good calves should;<br /> But made a trail all bent askew,<br /> A crooked trail as all calves do.<br /> Since then three hundred years have fled,<br /> And I infer the calf is dead.<br /> But still he left behind his trail,<br /> And thereby hangs my moral tale.”</i></span></blockquote><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My first exposure to the poem The Calf-Path, written in 1896 by Sam Walter Foss, was a single-page insert into my first management course material package taken while was in the Air Force. I kept it with me until I moved to Athens recently, finally tossing it exactly 60 years after I took the course back at Bitburg Air Base, way, way back in a former lifetime. Dog-eared and often copied, passed on to my daughter, and proven time and again to be absolutely correct, it once again flashed through my memory as I tried to figure out where Timothy Road went. Not because I was curious where it would lead, but because I was driving on it and then I wasn’t.</div></span><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">“The trail was taken up next day,<br /> By a lone dog that passed that way;<br /> And then a wise bell-wether sheep<br /> Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep,<br /> And drew the flock behind him, too,<br /> As good bell-wethers always do.”</span></i></blockquote><p align="justify" class="western"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">But I don’t mind. Even with the
University of Georgia in full swing, the local traffic isn’t bad
and the countryside is just beautiful, turning even mundane address
hunting into a scenic road trip. They're even fixing the famous loop
that isn’t, the Athens Outer loop, sometimes called Athens Inner
loop. It all depends on whether you are coming or going.</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">“And from that day, o’er hill and glade.<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> Through those old woods a path was made.<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> And many men wound in and out,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> And dodged, and turned, and bent about,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> And uttered words of righteous wrath,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> Because ’twas such a crooked path;<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> But still they followed—do not laugh—<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> The first migrations of that calf,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> And through this winding wood-way stalked<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> Because he wobbled when he walked.</span></i></blockquote></span><p align="justify" class="western"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Are you going clockwise or
counter-clockwise? How would you know? According to some local
experts, it depends if you are driving in the inside lanes or the
outside lanes and where you are going or maybe where you might have
been. I don’t know how to tell the inside lanes from the outside
lanes since there are both left and right hand curves on the loop(s).
Which way you’re going is generally relevant on most roads, even if
they are a loop(s) because if you drive all the way around at east
once, you’ve usually covered all the points on the compass.
Apparently, a loop is not necessarily a circle.</span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>“This forest path became a lane,<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><i> that bent and turned and turned again;<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><i> This crooked lane became a road,<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><i> Where many a poor horse with his load<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><i> Toiled on beneath the burning sun,<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><i> And traveled some three miles in one.<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><i> And thus a century and a half<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><i> They trod the footsteps of that calf.</i></span></blockquote><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">In Athens, you still won’t have
a clue if you did it on the Outer Loop or the Inner Loop because it
still is the same road and it ends up where it began, the point where
you have to get off the loop to stay on it. Yes, you have to get off
the loop to stay on it. Believe it or not, the last exit, or the
first exit, depending if you’re coming or going on the inner or
outer loop(s), is number 10. It used to be exit 11 until they
improved the numbering. Exit number one is on the other side of town.
</span><p></p>
<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">“The years passed on in swiftness fleet,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> The road became a village street;<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> And thus, before men were aware,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> A city’s crowded thoroughfare.<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> And soon the central street was this<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> Of a renowned metropolis;<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> And men two centuries and a half,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> Trod in the footsteps of that calf.</span></i></blockquote>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">
First, how far is it from the Outer Loop to the Inner loop? Not very
far, I found out after my third week driving on them. Somehow, I
wasn’t surprised to discover they are the same road. The Inner Loop
and the Outer loop are halves of the same highway. Not like a highway
cut serially in pieces by toll booths, like a pizza, but cut in
parallel down the side like a sliced bagel. The SR 10 Loop highway is
a divided four lane, limited access highway, just like any other
divided highway you’ve ever driven on where two lanes go in one
direction and the other two lanes go in the opposite direction,
except the middle – median – of this oddly named road is an
important line of demarcation of sorts: the name changes from one
side to the other.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Each day a hundred thousand rout<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> Followed the zigzag calf about<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> And o’er his crooked journey went<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> The traffic of a continent.</span></i></blockquote>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">
The loop closest to town, by the width of the median strip, is the
inner loop, and since we are in the United States and drive on the
right side of the road, travels in a clockwise direction. The lanes
on the other side of the median, the furthest away from Athens by
about 100 yards, going the other way, counter-clockwise, comprise the
outer loop.
</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; text-align: left;">Oddly, there is something naively appealing about this simplistic
naming convention once you live here: Is it faster to get to where
you’re going by the Inner Loop or the Outer Loop because simply
cutting through town is out of the question during when the
University of Georgia is in session. You can drive the entire
nineteen and a half miles of the SR 10 Loop at the legal speed limit
in either direction and still knock fifteen minutes off driving
through town to get to the same destination.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western"></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>A hundred thousand men were led,</i></span></div><i><span style="font-family: arial;"> By one calf near three centuries dead.<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> They followed still his crooked way,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> And lost one hundred years a day;<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> For thus such reverence is lent,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> To well established precedent.”</span></i></blockquote><span style="font-family: arial;"> <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Just don’t get off on Highway
78. Highway 78 can be Atlanta Highway, which is U.S. Highway 78, but
not SR (State Road) 78. SR 78 cuts through the middle of the loop on
both the North and South side of the loop(s). The US 78 exit on the
west side of town is number 18, the same one where SR 10 coming from
Atlanta meets SR 10 Loop, also known as the Outer/Inner Loop that
goes both clockwise and counterclockwise, depending on whether you
are coming or going.
</span><p></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.49in;">
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></p>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">“A moral lesson this might teach<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> Were I ordained and called to preach;<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> For men are prone to go it blind<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> Along the calf-paths of the mind,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> And work away from sun to sun,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> To do what other men have done. </span></i></blockquote></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><p align="justify" class="western"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">According to Wikipedia, “Between
exits 4 and 8, there is an eight-route concurrency, consisting of US
29, US 78, US 129, US 441, SR 8, SR 10 Loop, SR 15, and the unsigned
SR 422.” Believe it or not, old-timers here still call the road the
Athens Bypass.</span></p>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">They follow in the beaten track,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> And out and in, and forth and back,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> And still their devious course pursue,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> To keep the path that others do. </span></i></blockquote></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">
They don’t mention if this is the Inner Loop or the Outer Loop
because they don’t know which direction you might want to drive,
and if you are a hometown fan of the National Champion University of
Georgia Bulldogs because then you have to sit on the other side of
the stadium regardless of how you get there.</span></p>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">They keep the path a sacred groove,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> Along which all their lives they move.<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> But how the wise old wood gods laugh,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> Who saw the first primeval calf.<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> Ah, many things this tale might teach—<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> But I am not ordained to preach.”</span></i></blockquote></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><i> 1896 – Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)</i></span></blockquote><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">
I can hardly wait for the football season kick-off. Game day here
must be something to behold.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.49in;"><br /></p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-27389248642292566422023-04-25T20:10:00.034-04:002023-04-27T12:14:38.875-04:00Migration<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I rocked back and forth on my heels as we waited
patiently behind the red line admonishing patrons against having
cellphones beyond the Plexiglas barriers. Not allowed, the sign said.
Please forward all documentation via email or texts to the Tag agency
at the following e-address. No passing cellphones through the time/space portal of the translucent barrier that separates the world of the unknowing masses from the masters of the universe. If
you want to transfer your driver's license or register your car, the all-knowing beings on the other side of the
Plexiglas are indeed the undisputed masters of the universe.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Kind ones at least, in Clarke County, Georgia, home
of the National Champion College football team, the University of
Georgia Bulldogs. My wife and had I decided to relocate to Athens,
Georgia, and the first, mandatory actions were to transfer our driver's license and automobile registration.
</span></p>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The three county employees on the other side of
the Plexiglas were very busy as our diverse group patiently waited
for our turns. One of the patiently waiting was a tall, slender young Sikh wearing a dastar. </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The four other county representatives were apparently still
at lunch, causing the line to extend beyond the entrance alcove and
out the front door of the only automobile tag office in the entire
county.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I listened intently as the patron in front of me
turned dejectedly to leave. He stopped and said back over his shoulder, "</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">In Florida, our proof of
insurance cards suffice to get our cars registered, but apparently
not here in Georgia.”</span></div>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“No sir,” the young lady on the other side of
the transparent, dimensional separator. “Here you need the binder
from your insurance company to register the car. I’m sorry, but
you’ll have to return with the proper insurance document. Next!”</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">My wife and I looked at each other and slowly
approached the bureaucratic sanctuary, fully aware we didn’t have
the proper insurance binder either. All we had was the same proof of
insurance card required in Florida that all car owners have.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Hello,” I said as I pushed the wad of paper
work through the access slot, “If this keeps up, there won’t be
anyone left in Florida. We’ve recently moved here as well. Have you
seen many of us moving up here.”</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The young clerk looked up, her face mask covering
her face but not her dancing, expressive eyes.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Yes, It’s becoming more and more common, let
me see if all this is in order.”
</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">She dutifully read the old Florida title and
registration, then carefully looked over our brand new, temporary
Georgia driver’s licenses, and began typing furiously on her
computer keyboard. She glanced up and said, “I can issue the new
title, but not the registration. You’ll need the insurance binder
from your insurer as well. Sorry, but I can only do so much with
incomplete documentation. She slipped a blue stick-em note with the
amount $504.14 back to me and said, “This is the Ad Valorem tax
required to transfer the title.”
</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We thanked her, and headed immediately to the
nearest insurance agency that issued our policy. After an hour and a
half of travel, introductions and explanations, we headed back to the
county tag agency.
</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The counter positions were all staffed and there was
no waiting, and as luck would have it, the next open clerk was the
pleasant young woman we had earlier.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Welcome back! All set?” she asked.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“We hope so,” I said as I pushed the newly
acquired paper work through the trans-dimensional portal.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">She laughed, keyed a few lines and held up two
different style license plates we could choose from. Ilse made an
artistic selection and after a twenty dollar bill disappeared into
the void of government coffers, we received our new Georgia license plate.
</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">As we traded pleasantries to say our goodbyes, I
turned and stepped on the biggest shoe I have ever seen. The bright
yellow color startled me as much as his huge black ears.
</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASZnjndJY1Y2Bko9jBOMFjhfa7bWAJ8XblsgneSbsYOwexu_3qfq1Ei6a8mJqqXw5hUJ5u8Zug9329bZ0p7HDkAPUlBoOuYw3rZsucp1bgdciFhSfIvHyYO01pKHWbreHUarzSAGQSIea5qLN3gDPALRd_ZRJIoOfkUjrkQMvl3ln16CS4gCvhI81/s301/feet.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="167" data-original-width="301" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASZnjndJY1Y2Bko9jBOMFjhfa7bWAJ8XblsgneSbsYOwexu_3qfq1Ei6a8mJqqXw5hUJ5u8Zug9329bZ0p7HDkAPUlBoOuYw3rZsucp1bgdciFhSfIvHyYO01pKHWbreHUarzSAGQSIea5qLN3gDPALRd_ZRJIoOfkUjrkQMvl3ln16CS4gCvhI81/s1600/feet.png" width="301" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“I’m terribly sorry,” I said, “I didn’t
see you behind me!”</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Gosh!” he said in his instantly familiar
high-pitched voice, “That’s all right! I sure hope they take my
insurance card! I’ve heard it’s different up here.”
</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We looked back several times as the Magic Kingdom
icon stood on his tip toes to see over the counter. We could tell he
was listening to the same instructions we received as his ears began
to slowly fold down,”</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Maybe they are moving to Atlanta.” my wife
said. “It would serve DeSantis right.”</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<br />
</p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-63834636232869898262022-10-10T16:49:00.047-04:002023-03-02T12:54:03.708-05:00The Flight Engineer and the Nose Wheel <div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">The 76th Troop Carrier Squadron, 435th Troop Carrier Wing, based </span><span style="animation-name: none; color: #050505; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a style="animation-name: none; color: #385898; cursor: pointer; transition-property: none;" tabindex="-1"></a></span><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">at Miami International Air Depot, had the distinction of not only hauling our Civil Air Patrol drill teams around the state for drill competitions, but they also got to fly all the cadets from the Miami area to the two week long encampments held annually at different Air Force bases. The first CAP Summer Encampment I attended was at Eglin Air Force Base in the Florida panhandle in July, 1959, and once again, we flew in a C-119G Flying Boxcar of the 76th Troop Carrier Squadron. With three cadet squadrons in Miami alone, one of which was the Miami All Girls Squadron, the competition between the drill teams was fierce, but this year, our Miami Composite Squadron II won not only the Florida state championship, but our regional drill competition held in Memphis as well. The summer encampment was scheduled just before we flew up to New York City for the National Drill Competition. Spending two weeks at the Air Force Air Proving Ground Center was a treat for all of us, watching, inspecting, and even sitting in practically everything flown by the US Air Force. Nothing, however prepared us for the flight home.</span></span></div><div style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; text-align: left; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><p style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; text-align: left; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The long, droning flight from the Florida panhandle was uneventful. We never flew above ten thousand feet and most of the cadets took turns looking out the few windows that were not scratched or discolored, watching the Florida landscape slip slowly beneath us. The magnificent Florida thunderheads never interfered as we started the long approach from the Marco station on Florida’s west coast, approaching Miami over the Everglades. On the long, gradual descent into MIAD, the flight engineer climbed down out of the cockpit and casually looked out the window on one side, and then crossed over to the other side of the cavernous, square box of the troop compartment and leaned against a window to get a good look at the engine on the other side. The fabric troop seats mounted sideways along the fuselage walls were in the way, so he would lean between whoever was sitting there to see out the window. The flight engineers always checked for oil leaks from the powerful Pratt and Whitney radial engines on every flight, and sometimes before we started an approach to land. They always came down from the flight deck when the landing gear was lowered.</span></p><p style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; text-align: left; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />He was satisfied and climbed back up the short ladder on the left side of the front bulkhead and disappeared back into the flight deck. Not soon afterward, the huge wing flaps began to extend and the buffeting that accompanies their extension began in earnest. The huge main landing gear doors opened and the main landing gear began to noisily lower. The C-119 was unique as some of the passengers could watch as the huge landing gear assemblies extended downward right beside the passenger windows. Another unique feature of the C119 was it required almost full power to fly with all the drag of the wing flaps and exposed landing gear. Those who were in the Flying Boxcar for the first time always got quiet and you could usually see the whites of their eyes from anywhere inside the fuselage as the noise levels rose and power was applied to the big Pratt and Whitney engines. The whole plane would shake and vibrate. Us “old” cadets would usually talk heroically to the rookies but some you just couldn't console. Besides, you had to yell which didn't help matters.</span></p><p style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; text-align: left; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />The flight engineer, a dark haired young looking fellow, probably in his mid to late twenties, climbed back down into the troop compartment for a second time. The flight engineers usually came down to spot check the main landing gear, a routine task done for every landing. This time however, he couldn't mask his concern. He turned and squatted down looking at the center of the bulkhead in the very front of the compartment. The bulkhead had an access panel held in place with Dzus fasteners, the standard Air Force twist-lock type quick access fastener. In the center of the panel was a small inspection panel that allowed a quick check of the nose landing gear. When the landing gear was up, the huge double tires of the nose wheels were clearly visible from inside the cargo area. You could squat and look through the panel window and see the tread on the tires on the nose landing gear, folded compactly inside the fuselage just under the flight deck. That was the problem for our flight engineer: they weren't supposed to be there, at least, not when the pilot was trying to land. They should have been down and locked for landing. The adult members of our squadron began to look like the first timers. You could see the whites of their eyes in the dimly lighted compartment. We all had on the mandatory parachutes but only the cadets were excited about possibly having to bail out!</span></p><p style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; text-align: left; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />We hadn't changed course, still droning on directly toward Miami. We knew we were still over the Everglades west of Krome Avenue, but we knew we weren't too far out or the pilot wouldn't have lowered the landing gear. The flight engineer removed the panel and looked around inside the nose-wheel compartment. He backed out and stood up, grabbing a red painted D-Ring hanging just above the panel. The D-ring was on the end of a metal stranded cable which barely protruded into the troop area. It was the emergency gear release should the hydraulic system fail. He braced himself by putting one foot against the bulkhead and yanked the D-ring with all his might. He practically fell on the floor as the D-ring pulled off the cable, leaving our surprised flight engineer with a useless, red painted D-ring in his hand and the nose landing gear still firmly stowed inside the aircraft. He scrambled back up the ladder and almost immediately reappeared as if speed were of the utmost importance. We all watched, absolutely fascinated by the drama unfolding right before our eyes.</span></p><p style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; text-align: left; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />He had grabbed a pair of vise grip pliers from the flight deck, a type of locking pliers that can be adjusted for size and locking grip, and returned to the stubborn cable. Working to get a grip on the cable proved to be futile as attempt after attempt to pull the cable met with failure. Finally, with absolutely no recourse, he twisted the remaining Dzus fasteners and took off the main panel. He laid it off to the right side of the bulkhead. With the panel removed, we could all see into the wheel well from the troop compartment. The flight engineer took a deep breath and climbed into the wheel well, squeezing past the struts and braces that cluttered the opening. He disappeared from sight completely and all the cadets as well as the few adult members held their collective breaths.</span></p><p style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; text-align: left; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />It was a moment I will never forget. The flight engineer couldn't be seen, yet we knew he was struggling with no tools inside a dark, cramped compartment with absolutely no room. The droning was incredibly intense, yet none of us heard it. Suddenly, with an indescribable noise, the nose gear doors slammed open and the huge landing gear swung free. The inside of the fuselage was blasted by 150 mile an hour wind! Dress uniforms, carefully wrapped in plastic, hanging from the static jump lines that ran the length of the aircraft, blew all over the back of the airplane. I could see the landscape below with the nose gear fully extended, and our incredibly dedicated, unsung hero, bracing himself with one foot against the fuselage and the other foot against the other side of the bulkhead, inches from the gaping hole! Nothing below him but the Everglades some 2000 feet down. And he didn't have on a parachute! He couldn't fit in the wheel well with one on.</span></p><p style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; text-align: left; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />The young flight engineer slowly backed out of the wheel well, stood up and brushed off his pant legs. He climbed back up the short ladder while we sat in wind-blown awe. The landing was without further incident, even though we were followed back to Base Operations by an Air Force O1A fire truck.</span></p><p style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; text-align: left; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />He got a round of applause but I don’t think he heard it. We never even found out his name. We all disembarked from the aircraft, and waited on the apron, but we never got to meet him. He was probably busy filling out paperwork.</span></p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-32076500224276607192022-09-30T18:23:00.130-04:002023-03-09T06:51:48.941-05:00Ludwig and the Donkey<p><br /></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="tw-target-text"></a><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">An </span><span lang="en-US">image of the old farm just off the highway
immediately popped into my mind as my wife and I turned sharply into
the triangular courtyard at the bottom of the hill. </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 16px;">The Bauernhof looked astonishingly familiar.</span><span style="font-size: 16px;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The house was </span></span><span style="font-size: 16px; text-align: left;">nestled between the highway and a small farmer’s access road that ran along the river. I drove past it every day for three years on my way to and from work in the early 1960's.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">The farmhouse was
just over a small bridge over the minuscule River Nims, which in
North Carolina would probably be called a creek, </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 16px; text-align: left;">b</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ut this is the Eifel region of Germany, and the small, innocuous river played havoc with the area just two years earlier with horrendous flooding. </span></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Luckily, our hosts for the next three weeks, </span></span><span style="font-size: 16px; text-align: left;">Ludwig and Walburga Pax, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">were spared any damage.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6DpB2tcdNMmY_TIKZD7fh80j81lkL2vCVraJQ5o_BI_kJfTSGtrVzO6E2SAhK-DPYAMTW6GgngXZF8pd5ySZUWjM6lXELqNf6NX06fOAMFf_u3jS_S7_27FoEGomPg9p1rNOrZVY_lU0BZA5p4LFCqnvAizuFJ5MZ5CYqq7YjI-uqPsY85rLrSWdM/s5472/IMG_0065.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6DpB2tcdNMmY_TIKZD7fh80j81lkL2vCVraJQ5o_BI_kJfTSGtrVzO6E2SAhK-DPYAMTW6GgngXZF8pd5ySZUWjM6lXELqNf6NX06fOAMFf_u3jS_S7_27FoEGomPg9p1rNOrZVY_lU0BZA5p4LFCqnvAizuFJ5MZ5CYqq7YjI-uqPsY85rLrSWdM/w640-h360/IMG_0065.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></span></div><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /><span lang="en-US"><br /></span></span></span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">They were kind enough to let
us stay with them as they had an empty apartment on the ground floor
of the old, but completely refurbished farmhouse. The arrangements
were made by other German friends of ours so we could spend time in Bitburg, Germany, my
wife’s hometown. Bitburg Air Base was also home to the 36th Tactical Fighter Wing and the 71st Tactical Missile Squadron, my duty station for over five years during two separate assignments. Bitburg was made famous in May, 1985, by President Reagan's visit to a local cemetery that drew both praise and condemnation.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">Our
hosts</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"> were very </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">cordial</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
as my wife and I spent the first several days </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">going
and coming, shopping in town, sightseeing and </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">catching
up on old friendships. </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">We also got to meet several</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"> people we had friended on-line, mainly through Facebook. Soon, </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">Ludwig and Walburga invited us to join them in their garden
patio for a glass of wine and we </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">immediately
accepted</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">. They had just returned from Tirol in Northern Italy where they celebrated their Silver Wedding
anniversary. They </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">h</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">ad
arrived home the night before we got there. </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">They
were settling in as much as we were.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">Even
with my rusty German, b</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">olstered </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">by
my wife’s translation skills, we were soon reminiscing about the
old days when blue US Air Force trucks roared up the hill on their way to
Bitburg Air Base, or further </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">on</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
to <a href="http://www.mace-b.com/38TMW/Bitburg/Site_8/" target="_blank">Idenheim</a>, </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">one of our two launch sites.
</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">T</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">he </span><a href="http://www.mace-b.com/38TMW/Bitburg/Oberweis.htm" target="_blank"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">mi</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">ssile
</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">s</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">upport </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">a</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">rea
</span></a><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">where I worked</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
was several miles </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">back up the highway </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">in
the other direction.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">The
Pax farmhouse was </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">directly adjacent to </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">the
</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">two-lane</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"> highway
that connected the areas. The traffic on the highway back then was
sparse, usually local farmers headed toward Oberweis or the farming
villages scattered in the area. Occasional Luxemburgers came across
from nearby Vianden, but the parade of blue USAF trucks and transporters and the colorful big,
American cars of the officers and sergeants who worked at MSA or the
other launch site we had at nearby Rittersdorf were just as common as the
black-on-white license plates of the local residents. In the several
days we had been there, it was obvious things have changed.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The
traffic was incessant up and down the hill. Trucks of all shapes and
sizes from Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany and even France were common,
and the license plates of the continual flow of cars and SUVs
reflected the economic state of the European Union, which seems to be
doing quite well. The traffic at night slacked off little but
the Pax’s newly rebuilt apartment had soundproof windows and window
shades that insulated us completely from the outside world. While we
were chatting about the differences between now and then, Ludwig
laughed and told me about the day an Air Force truck brought him a
donkey.</span></span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">I sat up. Again, old memories began to stir. </span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">Sometime during the late 1950's, while the TM-61C Matador was the primary weapon system of the 585th Tactical Missile Group, MSA was developed as the off-base maintenance area and the nearby <a href="http://www.mace-b.com/38TMW/Bitburg/Site_7/" target="_blank">Site VII</a> was then known as "B" pad. </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">Ludwig’s
parents rented the apartment on the ground floor </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">of
the farm house </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">to an American missileman who often brought candy or gum for Ludwig. One afternoon
</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">the renter was talking with Ludwig's father and asked </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">Ludwig, who was six or seven at the time, if he wanted a bunny, a
chicken, or a donkey. Young Ludwig said he’d rather have a donkey. </span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="en-US" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">Several days later, a blue Air Force truck pulled into the farmyard towing a trailer. Several airmen opened the trailer and unloaded a donkey, complete with a box of feed
and blankets. The American had asked Ludwig's father to house-keep the donkey for the Air Force, but Ludwig had no idea of how or why. Ludwig
said he was very happy to get the Donkey.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">I
sat and listened to his story, my mind furiously spinning. I
remembered posting a photograph on my <a href="http://www.mace-b.com/38TMW/Bitburg/bab_1.htm" target="_blank">web site</a> of a donkey that had
been brought back from Libya as a squadron mascot. It was taken from
a squadron newspaper clipping in the late fifties and I suddenly
remembered where to find it. I went inside and logged on to Ludwig’s
W-lan – it’s not called WiFi in Germany – and pulled up the
photo of the donkey. When I showed it to Ludwig, he was speechless.
He went inside and came back out with a photo of him sitting on the
donkey! Now I was speechless.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheXyKSnfWnMOVwe1G41L0fc7lUcLJbMuEH2XnFyMYDweyAZ2UXJVo3mi3R-BMPqfYFlk_fYmEVwYMUbWIwjtvCjbDULF9mIeo-dwVofwPRdz4oPwH2DK1FvfvNMTUtSMYqr4vmLAaDIhlVpgS4qgkekunB9DUhyUTG-arL3_mrtB0xfUPaKIvpOfGc/s1777/20220903_200828.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1777" data-original-width="1686" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheXyKSnfWnMOVwe1G41L0fc7lUcLJbMuEH2XnFyMYDweyAZ2UXJVo3mi3R-BMPqfYFlk_fYmEVwYMUbWIwjtvCjbDULF9mIeo-dwVofwPRdz4oPwH2DK1FvfvNMTUtSMYqr4vmLAaDIhlVpgS4qgkekunB9DUhyUTG-arL3_mrtB0xfUPaKIvpOfGc/w380-h400/20220903_200828.jpg" width="380" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ludwig Pax, about 5 or 6 years old, with his mother<br />Photo courtesy of Ludwig Pax</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">A
Martin Company civilian named Bill Baily accompanied the 71</span><sup style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; text-align: left;">st</sup><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
Tactical Missile Squadron to Wheelus Air Base in Libya as a Technical
Representative during a live-fire exercise done annually by all of
the tactical missile squadrons assigned to NATO. The exercises,
called <a href="http://www.mace-b.com/38TMW/Wheelus/Wheelus.htm" target="_blank">AMLO, or Annual Missile Launch Operation, </a>were done from 1954
through early 1959, with thirty-six Matador missiles launched annually
at an area sixteen miles from the Wheelus flight line. While on the
1959 exercise, Bailey somehow acquired a burro from a Libyan local
near the launch area outside of Tripoli and managed not only to get
it on the C-119 flight back to Bitburg, but also got the Squadron to
adopt the animal as its mascot. Renamed to Mahl Ish from whatever it
was called before, the new name supposedly reflected the phrase “mox
nix,” the military bastardization of the German phrase “machts
nicht,” roughly translated as “doesn’t matter.” Someone even
had a blanket made, probably in Libya, with the burro’s new name
across the top and the squadron insignia proudly emblazoned in the
center. It would be hard to imagine the 585</span><sup style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; text-align: left;">th</sup><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"> Tactical
Missile Group commander, Col Fred Vetter, wasn’t in on the stunt as
1</span><sup style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; text-align: left;">st</sup><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"> Lt. Sherman J. Uchill was assigned as Mahl Ish’s
custodian.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVo6qD2KCDEOqktSckaIk0BJmcipTHSHid4pb1NC9PSJX3jt-gCD053CBLlfXOpnyiUvXnZwosRPw3zZisbvPVPFjx9887TGaVDlrWOxi4cJMz9XZaJ3PjNy0m76cuqEccJ2gwspC7SCwxG4TyxHOHHCChf5zQUW4ARQO1NZf-FVZW7AGx7tcEQXtC/s466/boro1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="349" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVo6qD2KCDEOqktSckaIk0BJmcipTHSHid4pb1NC9PSJX3jt-gCD053CBLlfXOpnyiUvXnZwosRPw3zZisbvPVPFjx9887TGaVDlrWOxi4cJMz9XZaJ3PjNy0m76cuqEccJ2gwspC7SCwxG4TyxHOHHCChf5zQUW4ARQO1NZf-FVZW7AGx7tcEQXtC/w480-h640/boro1.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">Ludwig
did not remember the name of the American family his father rented
to, but he remembered when the Air Police – since renamed to
Security Police – knocked on the farm house door one afternoon asking to speak
with the American renter. The tenant produced documents about the burro that satisfied
the police and they left, leaving the burro with the Pax family.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">Ludwig
remembered having the burro for several years, with the Air Force
coming by every once in a while to pick up the animal for special
events, but they always brought the animal back to the farm. He also
remembered the burro getting out of his pen more than once, one time
going all the way to the main street in Bitburg before Ludwig's father
found him.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">Ludwig doesn't know the fate of the burro, only that one time the Air Force picked up the burro and that was the last time he saw it.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHl0Wvbns97sB8f3NCQo7EDkrePIX4oe9riPrn4Zp9zOh_mlmUNjkyxxzsKyTKGNMhnJ7L71JWzFq4zG_I-15Onsgp48t2w4Yhqj-5Agt8Q2Eia204m6rZ5jBhSTlKwjxnMS9lY_kj4YvjnLVEsdfu8lp5i78lY0LBEX2XP2JGKr-mnI3jE3yVVAQr/s4032/20220906_103258.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHl0Wvbns97sB8f3NCQo7EDkrePIX4oe9riPrn4Zp9zOh_mlmUNjkyxxzsKyTKGNMhnJ7L71JWzFq4zG_I-15Onsgp48t2w4Yhqj-5Agt8Q2Eia204m6rZ5jBhSTlKwjxnMS9lY_kj4YvjnLVEsdfu8lp5i78lY0LBEX2XP2JGKr-mnI3jE3yVVAQr/w640-h360/20220906_103258.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Not only does Ludwig still have the shears used on the burro...</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41OkjNF51TWRtnwOe4u9DZSTka-Eyb1rvOTEp32CFCRBP1dO_PwzEhW_cgFwxHLQ9nIBkSOH1h46oVzzVFIigHjWc3Cxzj6dJZel43zRjxyUfmseDGgQeEkwoAqqBYy6GH6gqaJN65Ec5v77Y23UnxOPB5lFlozv9wr_sPLrmc-aW0Ds-02nuAreS/s4032/20220906_103252.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41OkjNF51TWRtnwOe4u9DZSTka-Eyb1rvOTEp32CFCRBP1dO_PwzEhW_cgFwxHLQ9nIBkSOH1h46oVzzVFIigHjWc3Cxzj6dJZel43zRjxyUfmseDGgQeEkwoAqqBYy6GH6gqaJN65Ec5v77Y23UnxOPB5lFlozv9wr_sPLrmc-aW0Ds-02nuAreS/w640-h360/20220906_103252.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>...he also still has the original box it came in!<br /><br />Both photos courtesy of Ludwig Pax</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">Determined
to fill in the blanks </span><span style="font-size: 16px; text-align: left;">after we were back home,</span><span style="font-size: 16px; text-align: left;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">I asked Russ Reston, webmaster for the TAC
Missileers Association if he could put a blurb on their site asking
anyone for information about the mysterious squadron mascot. He put
my odd request on the Web page and the next morning I had an answer from
Mike Fedrick, a missileer who served with the 585</span><sup style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; text-align: left;">th</sup><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"> TMG
from 1959 until 1962, the year I arrived in the group.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.49in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mike
wrote “I was in the 71st TMS from 1959 to 1962. The donkey was
brought to Germany from Libya in 1959 by the last group to go to
Libya for combat ready launches. The rest of us went to Cape
Canaveral for launches.</span></span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.49in;">“<span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
got to know the donkey up close and personal. When the 585th Tac
Missile Group had a summer picnic for dependent children, the group
commander (Col. Vetter) had me pick it up from the German farmer that
was taking care of it, load it into a weapons carrier, take it to the
picnic, and lead it around with kids riding on it, load it back, and
take it back to the German farmer. My memories of this event are
unpleasant because the donkey did not want to get into the weapons
carrier, both when I picked it up and when we had to load it to take
it back. The German farmer got it loaded the first time, but it took
several of us to load it to take it back.</span></span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.49in;"><span style="text-align: left;">“</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
was told I was chosen for this onerous task because I’m from Texas.
I’m actually good with horses, but never had to deal with a donkey
before or after. As you know, Mox Nix means "makes no
difference".</span></span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.49in;">“<span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Best
regards, Mike”</span></span></p><p class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.49in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I have no idea what strange stories will pop up next time we visit Bitburg, but it will be hard to top meeting Ludwig and hearing about his donkey.</span></span></p><p class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.49in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">George</span></span></p><p class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.49in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.49in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.49in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_6TZ9LeAlVye61uJs-cdIemyssiKWmStj8iPKgCFMiISVMvwCu9LE6TXME_3qaZPWj6jtPXPhj4dAVZhh_CJx3MpDqqyu9X6cC7U9NX4f_-BX6-8bmAWWJCZmWt06r24unrKUy-L1IxU54luAL_HBxXn4gGXrC6tCVsKk1d8okYmgkdmOrK9Q21zS" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img data-original-height="834" data-original-width="1483" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_6TZ9LeAlVye61uJs-cdIemyssiKWmStj8iPKgCFMiISVMvwCu9LE6TXME_3qaZPWj6jtPXPhj4dAVZhh_CJx3MpDqqyu9X6cC7U9NX4f_-BX6-8bmAWWJCZmWt06r24unrKUy-L1IxU54luAL_HBxXn4gGXrC6tCVsKk1d8okYmgkdmOrK9Q21zS=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ilse Mindling, Walburga Pax, Ludwig Pax, George Mindling<br />Steinebrücke, Bitburg, Germany, September 2022<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-25511911291255738322022-01-29T09:37:00.171-05:002023-04-22T14:12:30.359-04:00Moths to a Flame - Part 12, Rollin' Home<div class="separator"><br /></div><p> </p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">
The trip back to the US from the lesser Antilles of the Caribbean is
a solid two day voyage, and a great time to relax and enjoy cruising
for what it really is: sanctuary.
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidL3AwITwdc5ab3k9nuFghgFZMMp4PjkJnFx8G_0rA3i0fTGo-fHbBjh0Kac_Kn278Fa825RdHQyLGFjZ5pWBOLChUYK6sihMnQ41qPwCZlU-H6wX46zgAGN3BeB6tR9Xa1qdKnKoo_VS5LYZCI0vBrF4RGA7w7pbHj2PqPNZl7avftitI5Z4VjXoT=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidL3AwITwdc5ab3k9nuFghgFZMMp4PjkJnFx8G_0rA3i0fTGo-fHbBjh0Kac_Kn278Fa825RdHQyLGFjZ5pWBOLChUYK6sihMnQ41qPwCZlU-H6wX46zgAGN3BeB6tR9Xa1qdKnKoo_VS5LYZCI0vBrF4RGA7w7pbHj2PqPNZl7avftitI5Z4VjXoT=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">It is
about birds and flying fish. The wrong birds, it turns out but cool
birds after all. I watched them on our way into San Juan as they flew
alongside the ship into a strong, blustery headwind. They often flew
close to the surface, between the cresting waves, flying in the
toughs between the spray-capped peaks as flying fish, startled by the
ship, would leap out of the water and soar along the wave line trying
to escape the huge, blue hull that pursued them in the water. I saw
the big, dark brown seabirds, with huge wing spans and long bright, beaks that looked like spears <span style="text-align: left;">between the other islands as well, but not in the abundance we
saw in the Atlantic north of San Juan. I
watched them soar overhead, circle each other and then float easily,
almost motionless alongside a cruise ship that was shoving its
ninety-one thousand ton mass relentlessly through a protesting,
cobalt-blue ocean.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgC4F-L1pjlMStsXZlpAdREMHevM2sDOtvwyp13JatDXC-Syt8UElAowTaxdPomK3biv1zfOACswB8Kai_eQ92pXCeiMFwcdcEGIq9k3Xyw86xwaDcdFRPf9185Dyktm_8FHKb3LVmjXccXMTX4HfAUP93ZwDc2L0WL5ETNSBeOhVSfn-Iqk-1Y4U4j=s2015" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="2015" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgC4F-L1pjlMStsXZlpAdREMHevM2sDOtvwyp13JatDXC-Syt8UElAowTaxdPomK3biv1zfOACswB8Kai_eQ92pXCeiMFwcdcEGIq9k3Xyw86xwaDcdFRPf9185Dyktm_8FHKb3LVmjXccXMTX4HfAUP93ZwDc2L0WL5ETNSBeOhVSfn-Iqk-1Y4U4j=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="text-align: left;">I called them Albatrosses, not that I know what an Albatross really
looks like, but it sounded right. I knew they weren’t forked-tailed
Frigatebirds that soared overhead in every port. It was almost a given they were going to be
Albatrosses, after all, that is what writers call them when writing
about ships and the sea, right? The graceful birds would suddenly
dive down into the ocean, just like on the television shows on PBS.
The white, turbulent trail of bubbles and foam would dissipate before
the birds reappeared on the ocean’s surface. They would take off
immediately and rejoin the others in the hunt. Several of them would
skim along the cresting waves and grab an occasional fish that leapt
into the air. But they weren’t Albatrosses, they were Brown
Boobies. Yes, Brown Boobies. Now you know why writers call them Albatrosses.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPaZyPgQBUD2R66ynDe-hzUk4xgB1c7CFLMZzsV7RZXdb4GsrWOtzP5CviXqDlxQwGE1JgvTuAnRXB6CqnBRgh61c5bF7jQEhBouJky2FhuciWjKc3sHX8R96I-oRjIa6H9Ed5kUPwSKnntBuOIfI7OvpqmHdTY6TeC7evf0IE2BMmme1Wu0k_Dw49=s2537" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1428" data-original-width="2537" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPaZyPgQBUD2R66ynDe-hzUk4xgB1c7CFLMZzsV7RZXdb4GsrWOtzP5CviXqDlxQwGE1JgvTuAnRXB6CqnBRgh61c5bF7jQEhBouJky2FhuciWjKc3sHX8R96I-oRjIa6H9Ed5kUPwSKnntBuOIfI7OvpqmHdTY6TeC7evf0IE2BMmme1Wu0k_Dw49=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="text-align: left;">Perhaps
one reason they’re so common north of Puerto Rico is because that’s
the deepest part of the Atlantic Ocean. Well, probably not, but when
the captain announced the ocean we were passing through was over
16,000 feet deep just north of Puerto Rico, I had to research, why
here?</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUNUoj-OWPCpXY-Ys-WxpSdD9DJx9_0baCoWWn3OaZ3KFKZuBKD014hMmcL3EdfIQAvjFTHm6Xg7gvLli3qMdfT8Spxj3qAmvCwWDa59RlSdvnDu3rrVBms-8hLPTJwvNCIcxs6H1i0FY5Dc9Oq9X8Ur4XQVfu8d_1Bx0zwg6PpOUM6eSOa7q91Z8L=s4472" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2516" data-original-width="4472" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUNUoj-OWPCpXY-Ys-WxpSdD9DJx9_0baCoWWn3OaZ3KFKZuBKD014hMmcL3EdfIQAvjFTHm6Xg7gvLli3qMdfT8Spxj3qAmvCwWDa59RlSdvnDu3rrVBms-8hLPTJwvNCIcxs6H1i0FY5Dc9Oq9X8Ur4XQVfu8d_1Bx0zwg6PpOUM6eSOa7q91Z8L=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="text-align: left;">This is
what happens when I have two whole days without telephones and
television and very limited Internet. With plenty of time to write
whatever wanders through my mind, complete, coherent sentences would magically appear in my spiral notebook. I thought they were coherent
at the time, but now I’m simply happy to have the abstract notes
and tidbits that trigger memories all in one place. As I read them
now, I often drift off in memories and unanswered questions. The
second answer is the Puerto Rico Trench. It is the deepest part of the Atlantic Ocean and full of long, floating patches
of Sargasso sea weed.</span></p><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">I’ve
often wondered why the land in our neck of the woods is flat.
Florida, the Bahamas, even the parts of the Yucatan peninsulas are
flat and featureless, while the islands south of us are typically
mountainous, starting with Cuba, not all that far away. Except oddly enough, for the Cayman islands, which from what we saw, looks like Key Largo. Maybe the
Puerto Rico Trench doesn’t have anything to with that either, but
it does separate two major tectonic plates. Neat, huh? Just a few
hundred miles further south and we could have earthquakes like Puerto
Rico, and volcanoes such as the one on St. Vincent that erupted
violently two years ago. Instead, we get flat, featureless, boring
Florida.
</p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">Something
else neat about the trench we can not see even when we pass over it.
According to NASA, “beneath the trench is a mass so dense it has a
gravitational pull on the surface of the ocean, causing it to dip
somewhat. It also has a negative effect on the accuracy of
navigational instruments.” Apparently it doesn’t bother the
birds.
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVw4bZ70vpfOP2gfbB3ceEEmGdZpQCRtqQRgamkGhXRe6G3RA7xPrYBALilizHQWac_W4JSJhxtFY2GnIHVwwV4CpOP5dEPtwBpzvUi7Us9NOtw8bHGULBIq7M-YI7BG8oCUXPxhFF8ddeqx_QE_X1ap_lkDYqeH0eFk9vROEnCibVvCpGWXPWRrAJ=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVw4bZ70vpfOP2gfbB3ceEEmGdZpQCRtqQRgamkGhXRe6G3RA7xPrYBALilizHQWac_W4JSJhxtFY2GnIHVwwV4CpOP5dEPtwBpzvUi7Us9NOtw8bHGULBIq7M-YI7BG8oCUXPxhFF8ddeqx_QE_X1ap_lkDYqeH0eFk9vROEnCibVvCpGWXPWRrAJ=w640-h360" width="640" /></a><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">The
weather was beautiful. Sunny, with the winds behind
us in a following sea, the ship was perfectly at ease. We slept in,
taking yet another tour of the boat after our late, late breakfast. </p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVcvYUvUI25oN_y2bzFhtXboFFJoHfryEv82-YON1alUUR3zUB9tj67Byh846NutjNGywyell32KcxGLlTlWl5zwiCfeEJtLY1Ljdo_ctb1VSCMQ-wclaGuU-Zhb_W62Vli-cklj2_RJj9tyJ8mkdCtZnEj5ZH3aUzBdtyH-kz01LD2MExnWjOq2C4=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVcvYUvUI25oN_y2bzFhtXboFFJoHfryEv82-YON1alUUR3zUB9tj67Byh846NutjNGywyell32KcxGLlTlWl5zwiCfeEJtLY1Ljdo_ctb1VSCMQ-wclaGuU-Zhb_W62Vli-cklj2_RJj9tyJ8mkdCtZnEj5ZH3aUzBdtyH-kz01LD2MExnWjOq2C4=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">Being fascinated by the open ocean, I stood on our balcony and
watched the big birds flying alongside us for several hours and took
hundreds of photographs. I deleted all but the few that weren’t
blurry, keeping one or two that show they distinctly are not
Albatrosses.
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwn_d4TfeELeRt6UD8EnEpJBWjrBV0I6AcPatNh_5NcYcpYsMKGRoLN_3LIsO-ZmY4NYR3PRy2AgcZN5p89TfUfow0td0D_7txHRbgqLVJth4fJIn-byqUyMi-B20sbkH7ZGKZsr5YhEuVadPm0j5KnhmqIORWZWH2pVRrb1WSo3gPPpf1wy2xr3Ax=s4027" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2282" data-original-width="4027" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwn_d4TfeELeRt6UD8EnEpJBWjrBV0I6AcPatNh_5NcYcpYsMKGRoLN_3LIsO-ZmY4NYR3PRy2AgcZN5p89TfUfow0td0D_7txHRbgqLVJth4fJIn-byqUyMi-B20sbkH7ZGKZsr5YhEuVadPm0j5KnhmqIORWZWH2pVRrb1WSo3gPPpf1wy2xr3Ax=w640-h362" width="640" /></a><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0udb1kkkCHi58CGQc8UVrKBhKBX1fURDNpiKhRDSJu9gvlAILOdyu7lAIuFhBKrJozmxfLUwr0cuL-1HopwV-hPuPJkutwQeVMTTvXYTg0RJtV2lUWaqLkyUQixJqIgmo82hWfEBtm6WIoRkbX6QIH4A764XoEBFNj3HuHpog-wFXoTtEDaq25bqb" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="1074" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0udb1kkkCHi58CGQc8UVrKBhKBX1fURDNpiKhRDSJu9gvlAILOdyu7lAIuFhBKrJozmxfLUwr0cuL-1HopwV-hPuPJkutwQeVMTTvXYTg0RJtV2lUWaqLkyUQixJqIgmo82hWfEBtm6WIoRkbX6QIH4A764XoEBFNj3HuHpog-wFXoTtEDaq25bqb" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="text-align: left;">The
telephone rang and we both looked at each other in surprise. It was
Concierge services but the voice was broken and erratic. We could
barely complete a sentence without popping noises and sporadic
silence. She apologized and said she would send a technician to fix
the phone. I know that’s what she said because ten minutes later, a
technician knocked on our door with a new telephone set. The
concierge called back on the new, working telephone because we had
earlier asked for the room temperature to be raised a few degrees.
The room controller didn’t work and couldn’t be adjusted by us,
so again, they sent a technician to solve our problem. They were
checking to see if the temperature was to our liking when they found
out we had the telephone problem. We told her the room was fine.
Thirty minutes later we had another knock on the door. The concierge
sent us a complementary bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon for our
inconvenience. The service from Celebrity is outstanding.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhc5Ps_0iR7Jrqew1CQIOy_x1wQgl-63ycATudzSmJ8ta35qIa0xGjOUp8NLCgJPhLdOnKsc0yfjNZB-G-kY6RwAkLcXxCAMPLK5XachgDubeh1x7vuSdOAe1_2HA5wVwSmDKBVaJR1yn1tL6aeTTrvG8ApOqLnH2j_76VjsDU7XiHO5FojcIMTVISf=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhc5Ps_0iR7Jrqew1CQIOy_x1wQgl-63ycATudzSmJ8ta35qIa0xGjOUp8NLCgJPhLdOnKsc0yfjNZB-G-kY6RwAkLcXxCAMPLK5XachgDubeh1x7vuSdOAe1_2HA5wVwSmDKBVaJR1yn1tL6aeTTrvG8ApOqLnH2j_76VjsDU7XiHO5FojcIMTVISf=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">This was
the second dress-up night for dining, and for the second evening in a
row, we had the pleasure of meeting Dany and Seba for dinner. We had
the option of dining at one of the upscale specialty restaurants, but
we all agreed to dine in the main dining room again. </p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1SwAcZXcf5qLfKFbhw7GXuVXBGoMm2Y6-9-sSJhZPWKbEMEnieFpU9gDsCW0Om--J5XjFsXUddW2qPkkC4acQAihKMAmYVeqHji5BncG6au72MaEkvsFrfDCRa3RROd9RaQ4pCnsv2vKMzlWHcXuy4RnNsK44k2jZ9kKZIEtaf3uJcz5ygYknPc91=s4032" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1SwAcZXcf5qLfKFbhw7GXuVXBGoMm2Y6-9-sSJhZPWKbEMEnieFpU9gDsCW0Om--J5XjFsXUddW2qPkkC4acQAihKMAmYVeqHji5BncG6au72MaEkvsFrfDCRa3RROd9RaQ4pCnsv2vKMzlWHcXuy4RnNsK44k2jZ9kKZIEtaf3uJcz5ygYknPc91=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luh and David, great people and part of the memory</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="text-align: left;">The service staff of the Millennium was without doubt, one of the best we have encountered, and that includes the SS Norway. David, our waiter, never missed a hint or gesture and by the second meal, had our quirks and tastes so well known we didn't have to ask for anything, it was already there, and Luh, our server, was even so comfortable with us she did the infamous dropped coffee cup routine not only on me, but on Seba as well. On our final night, Ilse asked them to "bend" the code a little bit and please remove the masks momentarily so we could finally see their faces and take a photograph. That is without doubt, one of the biggest drawbacks to the COVID procedures which Celebrity adheres to religiously; we don't get to see the faces of the people we meet. </span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhA24UJes_tIuypgQwHnAt0QwuituADtKGjjZWVafizZBsuq8iEDbib0nImW0QXQQ5mYvgsWqHAGqQlWo4U5Kn2dKuUN0BLgnqpPSwNOvyJ_MNLE91k2HKHegQ32_rml3hAyW9kHpL6SgNsCbC61N9ob8Ws3ZGwXjBXH0RVSld3AZZ7TF6bMRcGTGCE=s4032" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhA24UJes_tIuypgQwHnAt0QwuituADtKGjjZWVafizZBsuq8iEDbib0nImW0QXQQ5mYvgsWqHAGqQlWo4U5Kn2dKuUN0BLgnqpPSwNOvyJ_MNLE91k2HKHegQ32_rml3hAyW9kHpL6SgNsCbC61N9ob8Ws3ZGwXjBXH0RVSld3AZZ7TF6bMRcGTGCE=w200-h150" width="200" /></a></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="text-align: left;">Tonight was
lobster night, so once again, had a great dinner along with great
company. We all retired to the lounge on the fantail where we were
joined by several other musician friends of theirs, and their
fiancées, and ended up listening to music and chatting until 1:30 in
the morning. A really great day.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPQ5FVR7GsAUvAXTMNfgLdwTcLNtC1AtqdGY4g7KGKWcJA68I36U7p9Uw9Ek1McyzNFd55dfBhKcO5riEAvX3LJkDul6Ff81xhmOjhC2tnvuIL8e4nr5E5h9weYMRMgFTAFP8O4CzgRYfQQRy-Qj5tOdm9vtxxwoS93ps7mEVdABLxFGWWk4b2xjrw=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPQ5FVR7GsAUvAXTMNfgLdwTcLNtC1AtqdGY4g7KGKWcJA68I36U7p9Uw9Ek1McyzNFd55dfBhKcO5riEAvX3LJkDul6Ff81xhmOjhC2tnvuIL8e4nr5E5h9weYMRMgFTAFP8O4CzgRYfQQRy-Qj5tOdm9vtxxwoS93ps7mEVdABLxFGWWk4b2xjrw=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPWZ90mTkYAhdlzwLbft1Bzo9uQ39vMHIvoPC6t-GTJWvEYAD6tM6v5Um1e2wgNChgeDj3usqnervi0fdnIpR-jHeVzCDSlIWzzifHUq-oWNP2o6hPyDaXoMLCsZayt_GJnSZqTeBSEn41e4y016dPPK5LYtP56as3TR7iBHl1LTTMuwkO1V7G0t0O=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPWZ90mTkYAhdlzwLbft1Bzo9uQ39vMHIvoPC6t-GTJWvEYAD6tM6v5Um1e2wgNChgeDj3usqnervi0fdnIpR-jHeVzCDSlIWzzifHUq-oWNP2o6hPyDaXoMLCsZayt_GJnSZqTeBSEn41e4y016dPPK5LYtP56as3TR7iBHl1LTTMuwkO1V7G0t0O=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Our last day at sea was an indoor day. The weather turned rainy and
windy, with one break long enough to hear a final pool-side
performance by Dany and Seba, Supernova Duo. They performed “My
Life is Going On,” the theme song from “The Money Heist.” the
hit Netflix series, just for us. There could not have been a better
note to end the vacation. Without a doubt, one of our best vacations
ever.
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDfEI4aqRV4" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="882" data-original-width="1567" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCoWU931-0g9RGVFR_FcgHl1jHi3gVvu1QmnR67RNe4LS6ZpCoLDzaYqasMbaitamYuuibjxkKg9-8rY-gDj__DA4WLLFStjccpoTwPzc5lRf1T9XO1Zi42a_nQfsIruGhR15nVVGh5z6jx0uYyfDxO9l3DsAVuFV_Hhq_8AzIWcydkGSJyV7377oh=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDfEI4aqRV4" target="_blank">Seba and Dany - SuperNova Duo - open our Home video, simply click on the photo!</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">As far as cruising? We’ve already started planning our next one.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRjPNQ0C8HtXCqcWOt_daOrFuDM7BMbATkyuwQDHmj3WDX4eNHe3LZQInciWDJcx0xafvUL7nG3LGLSnddYyFTcAVRgp1ku3H21mIL88YsKshWNN-1_-jcd5Y6IxQ0PeMOQRa4ChFZA8r_pzZlND2jFL-YK-7GeJpXzl6Qp0ALbYURWrAwZpvFmWqk=s5472" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRjPNQ0C8HtXCqcWOt_daOrFuDM7BMbATkyuwQDHmj3WDX4eNHe3LZQInciWDJcx0xafvUL7nG3LGLSnddYyFTcAVRgp1ku3H21mIL88YsKshWNN-1_-jcd5Y6IxQ0PeMOQRa4ChFZA8r_pzZlND2jFL-YK-7GeJpXzl6Qp0ALbYURWrAwZpvFmWqk=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ft Lauderdale at sunrise - Welcome back to reality.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-31160221543423383292022-01-24T22:19:00.114-05:002023-05-11T15:13:18.603-04:00Moths to a Flame - Part 11, St Maarten<p> </p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Philipsburg is our last port call of the cruise, and as usual, I wake up before daybreak. Instead of going up on deck to take photographs, I roll over and go back to sleep. This is our second visit to Philipsburg, St Maarten. We were here in 1992, long before they opened the Dr. A.C. Wathey Cruise Facility that facility allows four huge cruise ships to dock simultaneously just a mile down the beach from town. We arrived on the SS Norway back then and we went ashore on a tender, one of the smaller boats that ferried passengers between the off-shore anchored ship and the small dock at the edge of town. The costly, time strangling tenders are no longer required with the new facility.</span></span></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSLo11wE94RhucLeWqe86kK_xZfgKjBZSYjHLs1pED2bIgWXWW90feQIYfGp7RO-_e9TgcadZkPV2MFaYQuvGLei9_giaupseTmEmUGqoFAh-tXqPhABSsC1fTnc-hZimVKDmj6k6DcTXYtqnyOvSa309zMvhB-EbOzX3-cej5BAEOVEBrCZlMFLpY=s1200" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="677" data-original-width="1200" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSLo11wE94RhucLeWqe86kK_xZfgKjBZSYjHLs1pED2bIgWXWW90feQIYfGp7RO-_e9TgcadZkPV2MFaYQuvGLei9_giaupseTmEmUGqoFAh-tXqPhABSsC1fTnc-hZimVKDmj6k6DcTXYtqnyOvSa309zMvhB-EbOzX3-cej5BAEOVEBrCZlMFLpY=w640-h362" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SS Norway anchored at St Maarten - 1992 - The tender is alongside the ship.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">I wake up to a barking dog. I roll over and groggily look at Ilse.
She says “Is that a dog?” I opened the balcony slider part way
and looked out at a hill just behind the cargo wharf. There are
shipping containers stacked neatly the length of the dock. We are
tied up just several hundred yards away from a small island-hopping
freighter, the ones that are the life blood of all the Caribbean
islands. A small, yellow tow boat idly motors between us. The dog
barks again and I slowly focus on the top deck of the freighter I
would have called a tramp steamer in the old days. I really don’t
know what a tramp steamer is, but I imagine it would look something
like this clunker that has a dog kennel just behind the bridge.</span></div>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54Ldk4j7upGBkl3wle25rnXdcuViQh_LmhWV8xA26V-ns5f7CcU05iadMr5t-nVkYUFUIllYHOjNE2wTypizGeeJ2ClYtcPuXkHi5bc2n_ETVnDSmMTH7xCK7Fxg7-QXyx3Jdp2tLPMg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1324" data-original-width="2358" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54Ldk4j7upGBkl3wle25rnXdcuViQh_LmhWV8xA26V-ns5f7CcU05iadMr5t-nVkYUFUIllYHOjNE2wTypizGeeJ2ClYtcPuXkHi5bc2n_ETVnDSmMTH7xCK7Fxg7-QXyx3Jdp2tLPMg/w640-h360/image.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We dressed, went up top and ate breakfast, still not mustering the
moxie to try coddled eggs, and returned to our cabin just as another less-than-pristine island freighter tried to negotiate the pilings
between us and the wharf she had been tied to. Her anchor was still
down as she tried to power away from the dock and I told Ilse there
was a good chance the ship would ram the piling if he wasn’t
careful. He wasn’t. The ship slammed against the huge concrete
piling before the little yellow tow boat could push against his
stern, and at full power, shove it around the stubborn, unforgiving
piling. The anchor finally winched up and the boat eventually quit
scraping noisily along the massive concrete pillar. I don’t know if
the boat, on its way to some long lost pirate cove, would have
actually collided with the mighty Celebrity Millennium, but I
guarantee you the crew on our ship was watching closely, if somewhat
helplessly, from the bridge.
</span></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6JdN5ki2eKOvV9IGq-w9AGdChvBHCuPONfUZrw3-KX6JCiyA5ru4zBD_TIsHQLHItX_Fk3d79gj2BvKOMoPG7maP2N1WUCoseHj9x0HRsZKpWymBK3vCcbNHGPBF_fRHx5xiuDMPX5zuyDzq_Z4V4mFqmHmloGO6Dt5glspRmsRzKZDniPWpvAynY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6JdN5ki2eKOvV9IGq-w9AGdChvBHCuPONfUZrw3-KX6JCiyA5ru4zBD_TIsHQLHItX_Fk3d79gj2BvKOMoPG7maP2N1WUCoseHj9x0HRsZKpWymBK3vCcbNHGPBF_fRHx5xiuDMPX5zuyDzq_Z4V4mFqmHmloGO6Dt5glspRmsRzKZDniPWpvAynY=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">Ilse and I walked down the dock toward security but I dawdled, taking
photographs of a three-masted sailing ship, the Stad Amsterdam, tied
up across the dock from us. A beautiful, nostalgic clipper ship
geared to those who wistfully want to relive the golden age of
sailing ships, she calls St, Maarten home-port. Most everyone stops
to look at the beautiful ship as they head toward the security
checkpoint.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhH2wHoX4f6fvV9Z2bdis0sWOhE7cdJtuv98n5TJiPl9r4PgsvOlEOvvJUd5Erp8-xaYywS2KDzt_coHv_dODDtFR7L86_uE85Ndfn2shu-ci9T5HAl6gNenHg2nXsoSqyJbaLgy0EP-v2pntFrWfDV_H4vF0f15WVvyz2jGkMCjN12cwSDoPf8encU=s2815" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1585" data-original-width="2815" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhH2wHoX4f6fvV9Z2bdis0sWOhE7cdJtuv98n5TJiPl9r4PgsvOlEOvvJUd5Erp8-xaYywS2KDzt_coHv_dODDtFR7L86_uE85Ndfn2shu-ci9T5HAl6gNenHg2nXsoSqyJbaLgy0EP-v2pntFrWfDV_H4vF0f15WVvyz2jGkMCjN12cwSDoPf8encU=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
A German cruise ship arrived earlier and docked at the other dock
directly across from the black, magnificent sailing ship. It makes a
great photograph as the new arrival, the huge German AIDA Sol, is
painted with gaudy, goofy lips and extravagant eyes and eyelashes
that go from the deck to the waterline, contrasts between a bygone
era of primitive, survivalist exploration, and one of surrealistic
entertainment that now dominates our coming future. A long, blue
stripe representing hair, runs the length of the ship. It is quite a
contrast to the sedate, serious schooner.
</span></div>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5bXjfgTMOYeEbm8zDVdAfGgCaWsauWHJsm-4NDzRPKoMpsExPNYxM2FTvouWnpaDIfAGTadvc0b-dn8HRWe31g6j03XQC70D8fjpEYwmerKvkLxOVK9_AQjgZD2PaHAfZm_9i905vN_M/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2270" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5bXjfgTMOYeEbm8zDVdAfGgCaWsauWHJsm-4NDzRPKoMpsExPNYxM2FTvouWnpaDIfAGTadvc0b-dn8HRWe31g6j03XQC70D8fjpEYwmerKvkLxOVK9_AQjgZD2PaHAfZm_9i905vN_M/w640-h360/image.png" width="640" /></a>
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
By the time we get through security, a second German ship, the AIDA
Perla, has docked alongside her sister ship. They must be related,
they are painted identically. The Perla, while quite a bit larger
than the Sol, is to me, just as gaudy and quite honestly, goofy. Ilse
and I walk across the concrete wharf to get a better photograph of
the two ships and stop to talk with a couple walking slowly from the
newly docked ship toward the port exit. They sailed from Hamburg,
Germany, on a thirty-eight day cruise and will visit the Dominican
Republic and Cuba before returning via Lisbon. We laugh and chat for
ten minutes – mostly them, my German is not up to par these days –
before saying goodbye. Everyone remarks what a small world we live
in.
</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXH9K9baTAatho5jXUvBz0uUEuq33YeV8C-XfAgWYBBzqwaYxE9h-_126SbX0CC4lf0NBuF53gHQs19TUtLRcGIh9nB7TFb38kGEtP38icJeBkDGl11AfbvsAo9Z0JkXrpyWlX6CgfakunsuYNCiKTNF1fziq9qzTaezmEyMESrGudi9aowCa1cxzH=s3245" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1826" data-original-width="3245" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXH9K9baTAatho5jXUvBz0uUEuq33YeV8C-XfAgWYBBzqwaYxE9h-_126SbX0CC4lf0NBuF53gHQs19TUtLRcGIh9nB7TFb38kGEtP38icJeBkDGl11AfbvsAo9Z0JkXrpyWlX6CgfakunsuYNCiKTNF1fziq9qzTaezmEyMESrGudi9aowCa1cxzH=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">Ilse and I decide to catch a mini-van or jitney so not to wear ourselves out too early by walking the mile into town. There is a designated waiting area for vans and taxis in the cruise terminal, with passengers, most them looking at maps or guide books, from all three ships milling around. We join the queue at the port exit and find it is well organized. The vans are stacked up one behind the other, taxi cab style. When we have six people waiting, the honcho waves for the next van and asks our destination. He loads us so the closest people get off first. Ilse and I are in the very front.</span></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYXHdF80p7o9oE6OF8pVwRtCw0qGQPJnmApTyo-KEowXSYo0z0PH5fvVqkA5jWpHUdPY1q04D5w1i7jiw-yfTXn_A0Mltiei7bbQb0qwGLHKKSVCjKZAYpUD6sRYF1INLNidAGHLF3G5v3TEtrgVQMNJHVRJfThuYaA37CPQzpi6UO6-CYf6_am1-Y=s3648" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYXHdF80p7o9oE6OF8pVwRtCw0qGQPJnmApTyo-KEowXSYo0z0PH5fvVqkA5jWpHUdPY1q04D5w1i7jiw-yfTXn_A0Mltiei7bbQb0qwGLHKKSVCjKZAYpUD6sRYF1INLNidAGHLF3G5v3TEtrgVQMNJHVRJfThuYaA37CPQzpi6UO6-CYf6_am1-Y=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">All the other
passengers are German from the same ship as the people we talked to
on the pad. They are considerable younger than we are and we remember
all other civilized nations except the US and Canada, get a basic
thirty day vacation as a minimum so this is common everywhere else
but here. We’re number One! We’re number One! Damned socialism!
We end up chatting with them, masked of course, and exchange
pleasantries before we get out of the van.
</span></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6KBl4uYhogQYI0pIyrNC3oZOVAxYfjXBlLUpqbfxW7vSbhyphenhyphenh_GBtnTjNoQz8OL3WQvFeIEadsumxV10x2L8hGqNDNUrZPIcbpmsCMMckjR-jK7u9M58vF8cjLwsSfAYAlvajTVTziGj8/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2308" data-original-width="4032" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6KBl4uYhogQYI0pIyrNC3oZOVAxYfjXBlLUpqbfxW7vSbhyphenhyphenh_GBtnTjNoQz8OL3WQvFeIEadsumxV10x2L8hGqNDNUrZPIcbpmsCMMckjR-jK7u9M58vF8cjLwsSfAYAlvajTVTziGj8/w640-h366/image.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
The fee for the interesting, toot-filled trip through town was seven
and a half dollars. When I gave the driver fifteen dollars, he smiled
and gave me back seven and a half dollars. “The fare is for you
both,” he said. I begin to wonder if I’m dreaming about the way
the world should be. It is a pleasant surprise.
</span></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_65HvtuhT5X4buZpcTl7SnqPQoH4w5vp08s7hD1pep2iM_ZZoF7-4oAFs31C7WQ5HUHgfieNXrkQzr3Jf8nYE-X056bjEj2JZzo8V1ZVT0y90nJyqj2CnebswqNDADTMvopJtiVplPGSqHshTNK8VulCZ1mYeOxXdK_FRW2gk58ZcQlxbvBiTWZF5" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_65HvtuhT5X4buZpcTl7SnqPQoH4w5vp08s7hD1pep2iM_ZZoF7-4oAFs31C7WQ5HUHgfieNXrkQzr3Jf8nYE-X056bjEj2JZzo8V1ZVT0y90nJyqj2CnebswqNDADTMvopJtiVplPGSqHshTNK8VulCZ1mYeOxXdK_FRW2gk58ZcQlxbvBiTWZF5=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">We walked through the old dock area and the boardwalk, taking photos
of the old landmarks we had seen many years before. Ilse haggles with
a street vendor for a swimsuit cover-up, settling on a price less
than half the original asking price but still twice as much as it was
worth. When I asked her why she paid the price, Ilse smiled and said
“They have to make a living, too.”</span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHs7UsWeNqgpsNyfeHrgK1y6D6uzW_JcJMMYgMfXp2GEqmIWLm_iOmAG-TQvceoSNnpCCaKpDzsSFvCBsnaRFQqzf75dEfoz82hcHnSWWGrcl6z8DiKAzM89kCjwXlp4tjCFS5wwdg14/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHs7UsWeNqgpsNyfeHrgK1y6D6uzW_JcJMMYgMfXp2GEqmIWLm_iOmAG-TQvceoSNnpCCaKpDzsSFvCBsnaRFQqzf75dEfoz82hcHnSWWGrcl6z8DiKAzM89kCjwXlp4tjCFS5wwdg14/w640-h480/image.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br />
<p></p>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
We stopped and asked for a local drug store as I needed band-aids for
a nasty little whack on my shin from being careless on deck. I ran
into a deckchair that had been pushed into the walkway and really
banged the devil out of my shin. Blood running down to my shoe type
stuff. I cleaned it up but we couldn’t stop the bleeding and we
used up the meager supply of first aid stuff we brought with us
within a few hours. I wouldn’t go to the ship’s medical center
for attention unless it was imperative to do so. But, so far so good,
and we found an Israeli-owned store – it is indeed a small world –
a few blocks from the beach that had what we needed and two and a
half dollars, we were good to go. We decided to walk back to the
cruise center, enjoying the warmest day of the trip.
</span></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHKu_gKDZWso9vjikOTXfjN2NUK7ZqdFiscYzE-H65LaFj2X5DVCz8vzViL-b9zZTbuSrOFc7bpt2Tac9OpJvUB2xKFROczDT-2zYJ5jIBAOXV2WgoldMF34pf3oMTi-kJn8R8YLN5opsmu7h6XfPMrPbtqXMcgm0TvVUis4AhvpeflUr7LoY9KfSu=s3648" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHKu_gKDZWso9vjikOTXfjN2NUK7ZqdFiscYzE-H65LaFj2X5DVCz8vzViL-b9zZTbuSrOFc7bpt2Tac9OpJvUB2xKFROczDT-2zYJ5jIBAOXV2WgoldMF34pf3oMTi-kJn8R8YLN5opsmu7h6XfPMrPbtqXMcgm0TvVUis4AhvpeflUr7LoY9KfSu=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">One of the shops caught Ilse's eye, especially since she's a yoga
instructor. A store had a row of yoga pants mounted on mannequins on
display on the sidewalk. The very first form-fitting pair of pants
was one with snowflakes and reindeer. "Where did you get
those?" "Why, in St. Maarten, of course!"</span></p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p></div>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVBAbBEl2KoikLVMdUqfWTCcrKfWbyMgDx63S9HQ4lREqy09Ur3vuUu_wG-iFXfEzQhEIjW0DwzSaOWmv9eayxkAm3Lo1KJE2tAG-8tQC7__1kyMe3af4c9uBoFsV91DheyehLn90jKEcsKuDgoYIB8weEy0WbR-lqb3ZzSaDLezYHYjJdLmZ6mm-V=s2290" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1287" data-original-width="2290" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVBAbBEl2KoikLVMdUqfWTCcrKfWbyMgDx63S9HQ4lREqy09Ur3vuUu_wG-iFXfEzQhEIjW0DwzSaOWmv9eayxkAm3Lo1KJE2tAG-8tQC7__1kyMe3af4c9uBoFsV91DheyehLn90jKEcsKuDgoYIB8weEy0WbR-lqb3ZzSaDLezYHYjJdLmZ6mm-V=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">A cat was sitting in the walkway at the security checkpoint. It looked as if it was checking the ID cards as well as the several uniformed guards who leaned on turnstiles and waited for the few straggling passengers. I smiled at the guards, but instead of showing them my ship’s ID card, I bent over and presented it to the cat, which in perfect cat fashion, looked at the card, then slowly looked up at me and meowed. I said “thank you,” to the cat – and showed the card to the guard just to be safe.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The guard said, “You want a cat? Take this one.”</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgj9vpdrKKXvnRma0_J5fwd44-Dm_7hdJ0sIjDu0ozjIciIU5XNcRkXe7gPjLN-gyl6Kceke-eBEt-keDzIrdICF8emkxjVoVHxwE34iBiDTdb6DVd7jGXFdVDqo0seHB07nMB75M2o8DJr9Lqn41svO4jZtkGmMlrAsaX4AUU7YZsafeL8wqFQT44b=s1339" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="753" data-original-width="1339" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgj9vpdrKKXvnRma0_J5fwd44-Dm_7hdJ0sIjDu0ozjIciIU5XNcRkXe7gPjLN-gyl6Kceke-eBEt-keDzIrdICF8emkxjVoVHxwE34iBiDTdb6DVd7jGXFdVDqo0seHB07nMB75M2o8DJr9Lqn41svO4jZtkGmMlrAsaX4AUU7YZsafeL8wqFQT44b=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><p></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We went back to the cabin, ordered drinks, went out on the balcony
and put our feet up. We were looking down into the almost clear
water, it was almost a milky blue, when a huge sea turtle surfaced
right beside the boat. I went inside grabbed a camera, and when I got
back, there were two of them! They stayed beside us for several
minutes before diving out of site. If we had been in St, Croix, we
would have seen them underwater. </span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The heliport is opened for the departure from St. Maarten, but Ilse
passes and I went back up to see if I could catch any unusual shots.
One single gentleman I had chatted with several times a day, older
than me, was complaining bitterly to a steward that it really wasn’t
much of a party. The steward, serving free drinks to the passengers
watching the dock disappear as we pulled out, didn’t have an
answer. The complainer was originally from Belgium but now resides in
Florida, and was simply being petty. I couldn’t help but butt-in.
“I didn’t even know there was a party, my friend,” I said,
“Would you like to dance?” <span style="text-align: left;">My grumpy friend put his empty margarita glass back on the server's
tray and climbed back down the stairs. I glanced back at the steward.
You could see the twinkle in his eyes above his face mask.</span></span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6SaEVGxS_hEfQq2yG74CVD9qq20WZv7vJ8Im-B42muS4L2JWqx-kdW5Shnu7IkQ-7wnrWnu03HWFYkN3RiJgeXhvS2CCdJ_y1adSjiv0uUkxNmM6-TtltyTMg2l_bGW21ZRIVGGKnTJXeTvFCJIZsQDAsQhWET40KA70qK0Fyvfc0-S7ZbV8jBV-W=s3648" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6SaEVGxS_hEfQq2yG74CVD9qq20WZv7vJ8Im-B42muS4L2JWqx-kdW5Shnu7IkQ-7wnrWnu03HWFYkN3RiJgeXhvS2CCdJ_y1adSjiv0uUkxNmM6-TtltyTMg2l_bGW21ZRIVGGKnTJXeTvFCJIZsQDAsQhWET40KA70qK0Fyvfc0-S7ZbV8jBV-W=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
Our dinner was very special as this was the first evening we ate with
Dany and Seba. We didn’t leave the dining room until 10:30 in the
evening. A wonderful way to wrap up our final port call of the trip.
</span></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQyQk51AlGfwqAp7NliyweUxllGbFUlKqUU8oRTMv7R9gk3l13KULUfRJyuL8EDcAVW8VWXY72B7LLDUDlxA2aknL-h3ZDyVrSOAzLV3z2TMzPyZPHCoYupSV-1yAD7Hph6oCVSuTtQQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQyQk51AlGfwqAp7NliyweUxllGbFUlKqUU8oRTMv7R9gk3l13KULUfRJyuL8EDcAVW8VWXY72B7LLDUDlxA2aknL-h3ZDyVrSOAzLV3z2TMzPyZPHCoYupSV-1yAD7Hph6oCVSuTtQQ/w640-h480/image.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">We have two glorious days at sea ahead of us on our return trip to Ft Lauderdale. A perfect vacation.</span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRzVbjYFvwCIqwi9-VJgAUjYE9AV2deq5PbVLB2nqCD1pfyyZCX7La-RYPX6oOfjM8jpPI5IU_JJ0998An_3ubV8kklPCE-zKYIZsU0AmOFJIG4jdgno3VNl7_W7z4NdvC_UUoEcHNdjPBNvctEiPaG5epNiallq5zqtvXndc1xEyuVdAT39Gx5QR-=s1024" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="1024" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRzVbjYFvwCIqwi9-VJgAUjYE9AV2deq5PbVLB2nqCD1pfyyZCX7La-RYPX6oOfjM8jpPI5IU_JJ0998An_3ubV8kklPCE-zKYIZsU0AmOFJIG4jdgno3VNl7_W7z4NdvC_UUoEcHNdjPBNvctEiPaG5epNiallq5zqtvXndc1xEyuVdAT39Gx5QR-=w640-h362" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjy_dl_ebSXHuhOleBEhQUxGZlEn5lBxYhYCspUpzKAilgRm2kC7A4scEzJ3cIn_pxlkSOvEz1ETYOWLivcWnQNpYTpBKShz3cDypovhniioEJt9Ni8-uFtEJkuapn2KZGY-sWNIH9CumKH-PowwVUe6QUXt-wJEETk4WaCAU_N6FBBj1pU7DBjty80=s1600" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjy_dl_ebSXHuhOleBEhQUxGZlEn5lBxYhYCspUpzKAilgRm2kC7A4scEzJ3cIn_pxlkSOvEz1ETYOWLivcWnQNpYTpBKShz3cDypovhniioEJt9Ni8-uFtEJkuapn2KZGY-sWNIH9CumKH-PowwVUe6QUXt-wJEETk4WaCAU_N6FBBj1pU7DBjty80=w114-h114" width="114" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-12-rollin-home.html">https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-12-rollin-home.html</a></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-19444992173556634852022-01-21T22:54:00.118-05:002022-01-24T22:21:02.972-05:00Moths to a Flame - Part 10, St Kitts<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_NkcLWqTvWHMbpxGZC6_gO5aJ4u9L4Lsh0EdMsyxStWLnSKqPskOouKuuGn022_x7cX6jjwxGc-evsJOSd8jESREJqJydB4_IYDeRs1F8H6tC1hwi7aocLnRscJ91MkoVjb4k2mfFrfFxyEVM3qxigF8DkSGXvD-iZXXuoJgjYLQ5mKbq71u5wTYa=s3648" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_NkcLWqTvWHMbpxGZC6_gO5aJ4u9L4Lsh0EdMsyxStWLnSKqPskOouKuuGn022_x7cX6jjwxGc-evsJOSd8jESREJqJydB4_IYDeRs1F8H6tC1hwi7aocLnRscJ91MkoVjb4k2mfFrfFxyEVM3qxigF8DkSGXvD-iZXXuoJgjYLQ5mKbq71u5wTYa=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;">Not much I can say about St Kitts, we didn’t get off the boat. The
incessant rain squalls made going ashore a real test, even for the
die-hards who were determined to ride the old sugar mill train around
the island. With the huge Celebrity Equinox docked next to us, we had
created a wind tunnel that occasional roared down the pier, blowing
umbrellas back over the heads of tenacious passengers headed toward
the security gate at least several hundred yards away. Every time the
wind-lashed rain subsided, people would make a mad dash for shore but
many got caught between the ships by gusts that could almost knock
them over. They were all soaked to the skin, regardless of what rain
gear they had on. Many had absolutely nothing but the ship’s
courtesy umbrellas. Many passengers just gave up on the umbrellas and
plodded forward anyway, dragging their useless, collapsed umbrellas
behind them. They looked like they had been sprayed with fire hoses.
Ilse and I put our feet up and watched dryly from several stories
above.</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRV2YP26VP310YQAsSQRpAEHGUPKsfhobzcptZexuljZNtVPDJ92bqBxzoU9pqVzZKrDT5tv9HF780-0x9pLHSQGzKktgIqQtjQ4n13dgwqnd9-krWfWqX22adPhIlm4SNtigTuQflfSSdK1DXO9pDTC-gCPROm40ayVB53fh6nWtREeyXuWBNYnA4=s3648" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRV2YP26VP310YQAsSQRpAEHGUPKsfhobzcptZexuljZNtVPDJ92bqBxzoU9pqVzZKrDT5tv9HF780-0x9pLHSQGzKktgIqQtjQ4n13dgwqnd9-krWfWqX22adPhIlm4SNtigTuQflfSSdK1DXO9pDTC-gCPROm40ayVB53fh6nWtREeyXuWBNYnA4=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><span style="text-align: left;">Several stories above us, several Frigatebirds soar easily,
effortlessly, sometimes hovering motionless directly overhead in the
stiff wind between the ships. I’m surprised as the five or six
birds are obviously using the weather to their advantage, but I can’t
help but wonder what it is. We’ve seen them in every port we’ve
visited and they usually stay with us until we are well out of port.
English sailors called them Man-O-War birds. Most passengers on our boat simply call them “birds.” </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKOW2uqMOiLWBm-pZ4ucTrVkuCu9rMcPk7ZQTxdbDS5GVSCrYAu84wV3qNS5I9HdxtE2nUVgarmxTJ4QD18GNeS6K5_oMnFqlSF8jnCVhcy27NJkCns3xMTy_RDAnDfF62EHEhjcE0o_BuJsxBeGF2WdAlCoWSuUn-DYpQ-aGLGPxPWldo9pMAX7W_=s3648" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKOW2uqMOiLWBm-pZ4ucTrVkuCu9rMcPk7ZQTxdbDS5GVSCrYAu84wV3qNS5I9HdxtE2nUVgarmxTJ4QD18GNeS6K5_oMnFqlSF8jnCVhcy27NJkCns3xMTy_RDAnDfF62EHEhjcE0o_BuJsxBeGF2WdAlCoWSuUn-DYpQ-aGLGPxPWldo9pMAX7W_=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><span style="text-align: left;">It had been a gray, dismal morning as we approached St Kitts at
daybreak. Heavy rain showers were scattered across the entire horizon
and the weather after breakfast did not improve. Two men sitting on
the huge concrete, anchoring pillar, in the harbor fifty yards behind
our boat, sat huddled together against the foul weather, waiting for
the ship’s lines to be thrown to them. I lost track of them for a
few minutes in one of the rain squalls even though they were wearing yellow raincoats. There was no way to get on or
off the pillar except by boat, and with the waves crashing constantly
against their open, concrete, man-made island, I couldn’t help but
wonder if they had on life vests. They were out there for over an
hour and were drenched three times.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEini_zTuyz4g6a6eHoH2U_DTN6S2S2VpBAORNUlEJLmoqpdhN3CzyElma7tlA1Mk9IC2NQSFmytGcCG0w0qD-DefbbHMtq4el0DfOyJgN3-0U_ekEDf7_KQSNw0i0G9OGTnk1usOExUkZ9joeAA1C8QSl9dnQ7myTkRItV5SpDnFrvFscKyak7BeRO5=s3648" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEini_zTuyz4g6a6eHoH2U_DTN6S2S2VpBAORNUlEJLmoqpdhN3CzyElma7tlA1Mk9IC2NQSFmytGcCG0w0qD-DefbbHMtq4el0DfOyJgN3-0U_ekEDf7_KQSNw0i0G9OGTnk1usOExUkZ9joeAA1C8QSl9dnQ7myTkRItV5SpDnFrvFscKyak7BeRO5=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;">
Getting to St. Kitts was different from the other overnight cruises.
I watched our position during the evening and noticed the Captain was
just killing time. The distance from Antigua to St. Kitts is less
than sixty-five miles, so we sailed away from St Kitts for several
hours before we turned and sailed back toward the island. The first
time I looked we were thirty two-miles away, then thirty-eight miles,
then after we turned around, we were down to thirty-three miles from
our second-to-last island visit. Secure in the knowledge we were
finally headed toward the right island, I went to bed.</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYYQ1kZwvNsAzTLNxvmQAUMGbGBDiwj0mB2u1q6LxMs3rSImDPpnCDZV01B1VJ4d0i88SNrbXCL0wrPk-ShppmJeGGZc1TIY29COFSdskLfakKC3kfMRxBXax_pF6b_Fs4t6yU897cwNFu8BNRUYRTlFa1GyKpoQANWMo1oNZAwKRGhFm4j57n_5z1=s3648" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYYQ1kZwvNsAzTLNxvmQAUMGbGBDiwj0mB2u1q6LxMs3rSImDPpnCDZV01B1VJ4d0i88SNrbXCL0wrPk-ShppmJeGGZc1TIY29COFSdskLfakKC3kfMRxBXax_pF6b_Fs4t6yU897cwNFu8BNRUYRTlFa1GyKpoQANWMo1oNZAwKRGhFm4j57n_5z1=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><span style="text-align: left;">Our balcony was protected by the Celebrity Equinox moored across the
pier from us. Our sister ship was taking the brunt of the tropical
storm force winds blasting the other side of the ship, but also oddly
creating a strange wind tunnel between us that relentlessly
rain-whipped the passengers who tried to walk on the pier. A great
time to read and write, and occasionally tour the boat to see if we
had missed anything.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhljTTji2NHJmsSbls_PZRhMnFnmqCKI_bH1x8n45xSeFD5rCVRwhsyh7uBrKkM9bH75CzU4ihVQPxTwgbqw7FtuM7sGnwpUcmcHaCLtedZn_zYWSjELRptyGWY5V_l-r-9k87Vrj-5s8JU4hRu5fBnv78rZVenSwiDk1vuwpxRNvpoHPUo_QnbXR6_=s3648" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhljTTji2NHJmsSbls_PZRhMnFnmqCKI_bH1x8n45xSeFD5rCVRwhsyh7uBrKkM9bH75CzU4ihVQPxTwgbqw7FtuM7sGnwpUcmcHaCLtedZn_zYWSjELRptyGWY5V_l-r-9k87Vrj-5s8JU4hRu5fBnv78rZVenSwiDk1vuwpxRNvpoHPUo_QnbXR6_=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><span style="text-align: left;">Reviewing my notes from our visit to Antigua the day before, I
decided – don’t ask me why – to add up the population of the
five cruise ships simultaneously docked yesterday in St Johns. The
cumbersome Seaview can carry five thousand, two hundred passengers,
which is quite an impact on a town with a population of only
twenty-two thousand people. The rather small Grandeur of the Seas
carries another one thousand, ninety two and the even smaller Saga
Spirit of Adventure, another boutique cruiser, only carries nine
hundred and ninety nine. The smallest was the Azamara Quest, the
pinnacle of boutique cruising. She only carries six hundred, ninety
passengers. Add that to our capacity of two thousand, two hundred and
thirty one and you have well over half the population of this port
city, which is larger than most ports. If we had been full, as is
usually the non-COVID case, there would have been almost eleven
thousand oddly dressed tourists wandering around the town falling off
sidewalks or taking tours to a short-lived, prepaid trip to nirvana
of some sort. Just a different view of the cruising industry and why it has become so important to certain Caribbean countries.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjz8BWhZ0GMQuTOBf_f1LnPU4-aMgr4pMvGy8f2EUC31ckEIGtraLf3_GPJZp7CX3DtMw192XoGNk9MXyVBmnufGWzLO9ViTTvhP3xdmPNx74sq_QejGeXmhWd_P79DHeYwCDztkABxVECa1pyalyLnxFdKra1ylnWJvZ7EAIFDMVOTr3b_4oIuSvpQ=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjz8BWhZ0GMQuTOBf_f1LnPU4-aMgr4pMvGy8f2EUC31ckEIGtraLf3_GPJZp7CX3DtMw192XoGNk9MXyVBmnufGWzLO9ViTTvhP3xdmPNx74sq_QejGeXmhWd_P79DHeYwCDztkABxVECa1pyalyLnxFdKra1ylnWJvZ7EAIFDMVOTr3b_4oIuSvpQ=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><span style="text-align: left;"><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><br /></span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><span style="text-align: left;">Ilse stops in front of a painting of a tree in winter in one of the main foyers. She doesn’t have to say a word. I take a photo of the artwork which is mounted upside down. We wonder how many people notice the playful exercise in observation. Even better, while strolling forward toward the heliport, we met a steward, busy rearranging his cart after servicing a cabin. I stopped to look at a large color photograph of a young girl wistfully, almost tearfully looking back to her left, hanging next to his cart.“</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;">"Do you know what she is looking at?” asked the young steward.
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7EjE9bw_ZVMP4OusXFDcEZcXkr_THCNnmFJD9DR6yY1oy10uaEbEUEfYpFDyuqXdbQ7Q40h1obd01qUxu6lmN9QZYsw42mxaEqhyxQOpc2V8N9KSiIXtYd0BGyx8-0HB8E1kqpsgWXwy6A3j97n7up6w3qDulHwHYKIFLwmp_X0zJxp5dsOEERH_A=s1024" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7EjE9bw_ZVMP4OusXFDcEZcXkr_THCNnmFJD9DR6yY1oy10uaEbEUEfYpFDyuqXdbQ7Q40h1obd01qUxu6lmN9QZYsw42mxaEqhyxQOpc2V8N9KSiIXtYd0BGyx8-0HB8E1kqpsgWXwy6A3j97n7up6w3qDulHwHYKIFLwmp_X0zJxp5dsOEERH_A=w200-h113" width="200" /></a></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><span style="text-align: left;">“No, not really,” I answered. “What do you think she is looking
at?”</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;">
“I know what she is looking at,” he replied. “Go to the other
side of the ship, in the same position as this and you will see the
answer.”</p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;">
Ilse and I walked across the next passage and down the corridor to
the same position, exactly across from where we were. A photograph of
a young man, obviously by the same photographer, looking back
remorsefully to his right hangs in the exact spot. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjANSvwxmeAhyzzumq273uErtQYpzfBIXurU8bWcq5whVOZViFZKvSWEZctdgxXGfB4xlONErkVOraAe22fihqLBTm1YbLct0wWjNTvOAFl7irJFYLHF0I1cGuW796hU-sFmV3zE35NYvqpQ8qlbOLbbsl9zCkQ8KhrhHVHReqfTYh-FOkGza-TBvgZ=s1024" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjANSvwxmeAhyzzumq273uErtQYpzfBIXurU8bWcq5whVOZViFZKvSWEZctdgxXGfB4xlONErkVOraAe22fihqLBTm1YbLct0wWjNTvOAFl7irJFYLHF0I1cGuW796hU-sFmV3zE35NYvqpQ8qlbOLbbsl9zCkQ8KhrhHVHReqfTYh-FOkGza-TBvgZ=w200-h113" width="200" /></a></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><span style="text-align: left;">We wonder if there
are more Easter Eggs, as they are called, on the ship. We are not impressed with the art available in the ship’s art auction, but
then again, we don’t cruise to buy art, but we are always curious
as to how the ship’s decorators pick their choices for display.
Most of the ship’s artwork and photographs are generally </span><span style="text-align: left;">bland and unobtrusive, but there
are some nice art pieces in the stairwells and foyers.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidIqAsnLiMJA16Nv1LOq_4Kw9mCXPMMl22-xQ2EJ1mUVfmOQzQxgE0NYoXVjV0C01XiqMMbfm6MKlaRSPij8VJw8nRPFHGBT1KU_epEUfu2qB61AjjGkvu_X6RSNH0owUrF-25ocOL5yBwOgs2N87mlQOFHqVu2LtYDs9rHWq0p326bpd3zmMetFGj=s1024" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidIqAsnLiMJA16Nv1LOq_4Kw9mCXPMMl22-xQ2EJ1mUVfmOQzQxgE0NYoXVjV0C01XiqMMbfm6MKlaRSPij8VJw8nRPFHGBT1KU_epEUfu2qB61AjjGkvu_X6RSNH0owUrF-25ocOL5yBwOgs2N87mlQOFHqVu2LtYDs9rHWq0p326bpd3zmMetFGj=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">The rains subsided by late afternoon and by the time we cast off had drifted away completely. Staying aboard has been a relaxing, if uneventful, day and we decided to go top-side to watch our departure. A huge refueling barge that has been alongside us most of the day, casts off and slowly lumbers away from the docks.</span></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><span style="text-align: left;">Laughter and even plans about visiting echo between the two huge
Celebrity ships. Crew members are yelling greetings to one another
across the narrow gap that separates us. Many crew members have
crewed together, and we found out later, there are even family members
serving on several different Celebrity ships. We watch one young
girl, dressed as a room steward, standing, talking on a cell phone as
she vigorously waves to someone on the other ship.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEht4oi3yf5suQb64ncLteoj29VkelN37YQ47T9ttxPJkKPDKFKBbh8nTFEGzf2Nd6BVtuqYoF-MxdWMGQDJj4kse6JNbN0numr3gtOIeX8yjjsYuglEe6FlNEe5s_Gs_h7Nyy85gjl-FaONlwH38rjFcyLhpql6gkBr7QrYRPXe_O9UfkSMCnqJXTd3=s3648" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEht4oi3yf5suQb64ncLteoj29VkelN37YQ47T9ttxPJkKPDKFKBbh8nTFEGzf2Nd6BVtuqYoF-MxdWMGQDJj4kse6JNbN0numr3gtOIeX8yjjsYuglEe6FlNEe5s_Gs_h7Nyy85gjl-FaONlwH38rjFcyLhpql6gkBr7QrYRPXe_O9UfkSMCnqJXTd3=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">As we silently move away, Ilse mentions we didn’t get to see any mountain tops while we were here, they were shrouded in clouds our entire stay. As if they were required by the tourist industry, a rainbow appeared just for our departure. Ilse takes a marvelous photo of Nevis Peak, on the nearby island of Nevis that sums up our memory here. Perhaps, some time in the future... </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiY9OmHnXEeyZkZhSjSB3Hhanm76ZOZms8w18EIzNpS8Mo_rQmBIfesEwfJLgOV-idiAwL41iox-0g5AZJWNjwZBSuKj8DPbjjQCrlIKzwvXK5QsE5yYYr9qZ5BdKSa4XdoQJXuCDGtzn6v0Y6T2bI4JpEf17ox8IyRtR0KFpt3VItgQjmO3SQ0oruH=s3122" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1756" data-original-width="3122" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiY9OmHnXEeyZkZhSjSB3Hhanm76ZOZms8w18EIzNpS8Mo_rQmBIfesEwfJLgOV-idiAwL41iox-0g5AZJWNjwZBSuKj8DPbjjQCrlIKzwvXK5QsE5yYYr9qZ5BdKSa4XdoQJXuCDGtzn6v0Y6T2bI4JpEf17ox8IyRtR0KFpt3VItgQjmO3SQ0oruH=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;">After dinner, Ilse and I headed toward one of the normally mellow
lounges amid-ships, and found people dancing in the lounge and
corridor, but there was no music! A host slipped a headset on Ilse
and one on me and gestured to dance, which we immediately did. We
love to dance and the music was great. Once we had the headsets on,
everything made sense and everyone was having a ball. The music
played disco-style with no breaks or interruptions and finally after
about the third or fourth song, I took off my headset and asked what
the different colors beaming from the earpads meant. He explained the
control knobs on the head set and showed me the volume and music
selection options. There were different colors, one for each of the
several different stations available. I laughed out loud, but no one
heard me, they were all still dancing. Even Ilse, who had her headset
set on blue, listening to oldie Rock and Roll. Mine was set on red. I
was listening to Rhythm and Blues. We had been dancing for ten
minutes to different music! We probably looked like idiots, but it
didn’t matter, we were having a great time.</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNNCBRwMX0MB8w0_S7b8GbQ5KRew_198m5U7LcbVEQ12cO2EYAw_WLyrTmFENntd51P55-m_T_KB2bFfKNmKsKhwzeuiBj8Ma110BOxlNR5XrlIyzNM27wmVqhfdX9h3zyzpBCsNltNCWoIozb09ZWp6QvGYlH2zSOjy5dIjyQZlYHxORjArDFHBVj=s1024" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNNCBRwMX0MB8w0_S7b8GbQ5KRew_198m5U7LcbVEQ12cO2EYAw_WLyrTmFENntd51P55-m_T_KB2bFfKNmKsKhwzeuiBj8Ma110BOxlNR5XrlIyzNM27wmVqhfdX9h3zyzpBCsNltNCWoIozb09ZWp6QvGYlH2zSOjy5dIjyQZlYHxORjArDFHBVj=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"><br /></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;">
<br />
<br />
</p></div><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBty3uMQ6jnd2k2O8v5c6XMIK3c_YDfMFosAhT5_aA55jixMmjQoy0l3cHzU29WiPmjrMg-0dmD6VDEzHgANYAuIDLLaHLn9Gi4X7--tvQxa5-Kg0DYSzqaoFkvMUyF_WaeVLGd8LCfyMelUmit0SOFPWBJShjpwVWlZSfLwmZEPH_uEsNQOJlC37M=s1600" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="101" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBty3uMQ6jnd2k2O8v5c6XMIK3c_YDfMFosAhT5_aA55jixMmjQoy0l3cHzU29WiPmjrMg-0dmD6VDEzHgANYAuIDLLaHLn9Gi4X7--tvQxa5-Kg0DYSzqaoFkvMUyF_WaeVLGd8LCfyMelUmit0SOFPWBJShjpwVWlZSfLwmZEPH_uEsNQOJlC37M=w101-h101" width="101" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-11-st-maarten.html">https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-11-st-maarten.html</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /></div>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-50479399596737872782022-01-20T19:29:00.022-05:002022-01-23T10:07:17.676-05:00Moths to a Flame - Part 9, Antigua<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEixU1z9BBCOv8Xomt7g5DvpQBMRyQc6yrDwYJdlVbQ7amZIjnyCyEL5kRuDhtx_B-UCcKiIj2P0Ui3Mu5TIXAji7OWYxNVTyIaVfhvpWAaPuhGmsWKSv8TkjLTFxqLFwNlGTMWWaSxQhrliibBGHhtmU0faO-d0882Jjqvem9FYsm4kAA5Pa7iclrvB=s2736" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2736" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEixU1z9BBCOv8Xomt7g5DvpQBMRyQc6yrDwYJdlVbQ7amZIjnyCyEL5kRuDhtx_B-UCcKiIj2P0Ui3Mu5TIXAji7OWYxNVTyIaVfhvpWAaPuhGmsWKSv8TkjLTFxqLFwNlGTMWWaSxQhrliibBGHhtmU0faO-d0882Jjqvem9FYsm4kAA5Pa7iclrvB=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="text-align: left;">Saturday
morning breaks as an absolutely beautiful day. The sun shines over
the town of St Johns as we slowly approach the docks in the protected
harbor. It is day six of our cruise and the weather is perfect. There
are already two ships at the docks, one comfortably tied to our
right, and another that appears to be floundering off to our left.
The one to our left is the huge Italian MSC Seaview and her thrusters
are churning up the harbor into a coffee-colored anomaly in the
usually blue Caribbean Sea. Exactly the opposite from the pristine
waters of St. Croix. I have watched her for at least ten minutes and
she hasn’t moved more than a few feet.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTjaK2w56_PROKZ-0UIP-UrfsMkU4oVCNeOsGowJC763Kv4edLaFd-wg8mtaeKyk-LzMErfFK48fKCPu8e9a1Ie-CoSXqNPHnGgBGriSZtcmXCCUus8Zm2vrKF4eks4ScRZdFCi9-JR15ORhkH4K05yq2Jg3VOzkh_OnyNnW0NoWA31F_jR_A0uWug=s2249" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1264" data-original-width="2249" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTjaK2w56_PROKZ-0UIP-UrfsMkU4oVCNeOsGowJC763Kv4edLaFd-wg8mtaeKyk-LzMErfFK48fKCPu8e9a1Ie-CoSXqNPHnGgBGriSZtcmXCCUus8Zm2vrKF4eks4ScRZdFCi9-JR15ORhkH4K05yq2Jg3VOzkh_OnyNnW0NoWA31F_jR_A0uWug=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The small island in the US Virgin Islands just a stones throw from
St. Thomas is St John. It is not St Johns. St Johns is the city on
the island nation of Antigua and Barbuda, where we are. Those who
read my stuff know now I’m a stickler for getting things straight
because I don’t like people smiling while they think “This clown
thinks he knows what he is talking about” while I make a fool of
myself. I have heard the name of the island pronounced Antigwa and
Antigah. I decide to ask the locals I meet onshore and ask how the
natives say it. People may still smile at me but at least I know I
lined up my ducks.</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGesqK7BIqF2cWhben34dwJPH8U2pK0dhk-S_syJhV7M9jrUr-5yyuIPh5dk8HoencmiburE7OZJoggz5kYBKwDlEVCMLOMrYhKhSVaapdIYeAurKGpjJOLwB2XCya5z8xMi1bSMs6G_l2Io2y1EIyklel_yNuQppRif-rUr5T9dZsbiaqcWNRezKm=s1920" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGesqK7BIqF2cWhben34dwJPH8U2pK0dhk-S_syJhV7M9jrUr-5yyuIPh5dk8HoencmiburE7OZJoggz5kYBKwDlEVCMLOMrYhKhSVaapdIYeAurKGpjJOLwB2XCya5z8xMi1bSMs6G_l2Io2y1EIyklel_yNuQppRif-rUr5T9dZsbiaqcWNRezKm=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">We tie
up while the Seaview still hasn’t fully straightened out and wonder
if her massive size has created a problem. That does not appear to be
the case, though, as she eventually ties up alongside us in a comedy
that could have been from Benny Hill. High up on the forward hull, a
service door is open and the officers are yelling at the rope crew
far below on the dock. There is confusion about which big, heavy line
goes over which cleat, and the Italian crew, yelling as loudly as
they can, with their heavy accents, only get shoulder shrugs from the
confused dock crew far below. </p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_8YUttCi4bV-r76Wr6qkw8p-RUYECxWBhd_VIIuQeKFI3AbmOFLMrYX7sc9txidobv7gesFfxDrFP5lwgoTWkn6sF_PSueqD46v_VaWsc5PmXhzy9ejrxkkFcka8Q-TNaeLIK1uGt2Y/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_8YUttCi4bV-r76Wr6qkw8p-RUYECxWBhd_VIIuQeKFI3AbmOFLMrYX7sc9txidobv7gesFfxDrFP5lwgoTWkn6sF_PSueqD46v_VaWsc5PmXhzy9ejrxkkFcka8Q-TNaeLIK1uGt2Y/w640-h360/image.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;">Finally, lines get switched to the
crew’s satisfaction and all goes quiet in the man-made canyon
between the huge ships. The Millennium is ready to discharge
passengers by the time they finally get settled next door. Again, it
is time for us to go to breakfast.</span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1hQl5IXPi9BaT4eOfK_8FJWKVpPaDVGV-Q2ubn8yX6dz_-EjlJbxBQEcFbR-zof3WFg1KZSh3N27lGO4ENY7UCc3x8dMTIaXOlgLG9XDhFQEP43JEMRLAFwMQh4cBgk1K46vHUbekCrpcTyZWY3aTiGwQHsaALSa98fqJ_1GzuxESwzundlEsRn8D=s2736" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2736" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1hQl5IXPi9BaT4eOfK_8FJWKVpPaDVGV-Q2ubn8yX6dz_-EjlJbxBQEcFbR-zof3WFg1KZSh3N27lGO4ENY7UCc3x8dMTIaXOlgLG9XDhFQEP43JEMRLAFwMQh4cBgk1K46vHUbekCrpcTyZWY3aTiGwQHsaALSa98fqJ_1GzuxESwzundlEsRn8D=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="text-align: left;">We exit
the ship as painlessly as before, swiping our guest cards on the
security station and watching our beautiful profile photos pop up on
the security monitor. We stop to stare at the canyon created by the
two giant ships before we amble through the de rigueur security
station. As we get our bearings, we meet a woman we had met earlier
in the elevator as we headed out. Nicely dressed in a blue,
business-like pant suit, the woman who appeared to be about our age,
complained endlessly during the short elevator ride about being
charged by the pound for her luggage. I noticed she had everything
with her, several carry-ons across her shoulders and towing a huge
suitcase as she exited the elevator.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivXUUtcjR-r2sp5hlOW8fjmulQjv86b8CjiK52m8blkwzMNOaO9QcjFImUESZDWEyjRxuZev39xnTxDiWL2_NRZNz4GPSx85u3rs2Qk9XnYLoohwXg7qmbElgsVY2F3ETsgH9gRjl0_zfcq3fNdlTGT0wpiueZbojhT01ZXbHTiOQxNwoxWsdL0dW5=s3234" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1822" data-original-width="3234" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivXUUtcjR-r2sp5hlOW8fjmulQjv86b8CjiK52m8blkwzMNOaO9QcjFImUESZDWEyjRxuZev39xnTxDiWL2_NRZNz4GPSx85u3rs2Qk9XnYLoohwXg7qmbElgsVY2F3ETsgH9gRjl0_zfcq3fNdlTGT0wpiueZbojhT01ZXbHTiOQxNwoxWsdL0dW5=w455-h256" width="455" /></a></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="text-align: left;">When we
met her again, she was standing at the curb in a taxi-pick up area,
staring up the street as a ship's officer stood quietly behind her,
his hands behind his back as is common with European men. Ilse and I
felt sorry for her as we expected she had to make an emergency trip
home for some family reason or another. After we re-boarded later, we
were told she had been thrown off the ship for using profane language
toward one of the ship’s crew.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">It is
Antigah. Ahn-tee-gah, with the accent on the tee. We asked the
security guards at the dock, and even though they stared at me like I
had six heads, one of them finally laughed and said. “We call it
Antigah, but we hear everything you can imagine. Have a good day.”</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">So, we
did.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgsBjAICW5Z6XSKZoH6c8G0sczCzt8Ed_zcyFMGZkbsd6S_XcdAaWT6QVExNqWscuxHypR0P0IEQsg8Yua-yKDMwT5xx1nvUZ0yZF8mDOQiqXbhl97y6B8oeCuWHB2O-4pzGNj7NpfSNUQgHC1cdxbhEUCrWyMYy3vPaXMucH7bgOoYUO3efWk93yVT=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgsBjAICW5Z6XSKZoH6c8G0sczCzt8Ed_zcyFMGZkbsd6S_XcdAaWT6QVExNqWscuxHypR0P0IEQsg8Yua-yKDMwT5xx1nvUZ0yZF8mDOQiqXbhl97y6B8oeCuWHB2O-4pzGNj7NpfSNUQgHC1cdxbhEUCrWyMYy3vPaXMucH7bgOoYUO3efWk93yVT=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5SwdrjHNDCM1dsnY03-We_Wr1JZiFYXUBV-pRXwtv08t5UgL_ewQa9ZsBOgGblRfnYIRSrEQxTmswiIbIay9znkhPITO7i7NwI6nCOHFlVn6cplXc4fMzs3cGlglqN-IWwSoNWU4mHKVz73YU4DZUCcLRxe68Mdy0B-QftFytaROyW0pBossjp9du=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5SwdrjHNDCM1dsnY03-We_Wr1JZiFYXUBV-pRXwtv08t5UgL_ewQa9ZsBOgGblRfnYIRSrEQxTmswiIbIay9znkhPITO7i7NwI6nCOHFlVn6cplXc4fMzs3cGlglqN-IWwSoNWU4mHKVz73YU4DZUCcLRxe68Mdy0B-QftFytaROyW0pBossjp9du=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">Once we
left the dock area and stepped into the real world, reality reached
out and slapped us awake. Christmas decorations have been
surprisingly sparse in every port we’ve been to. It appears COVID
has dampened enthusiasm everywhere. This is a busy town, but when I
look back at the docks, I see why. There are two more cruise ships
lining up behind the Millennium to dock. I strain to see where they
are going to put them. There will be five cruise ships docked here at
the same time. The locals are gearing up for the rush of tourists.
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWBPm-IQRc65P_tbhttO65qOvpopPd2__j-Qeyh2RyCfbnx88NaLDC068iuXIKHjZPBBwOtj_Ah8pjiF6Pt6zJM-jwOCLu6wDYJjWsbnJiIuu2f1LtjduEYl1gpB7FHMpKHhLdjlnJC4nuZ_C629w_OSannh8FoI0WBIsvyWchk79lOon0THcdIfcw=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWBPm-IQRc65P_tbhttO65qOvpopPd2__j-Qeyh2RyCfbnx88NaLDC068iuXIKHjZPBBwOtj_Ah8pjiF6Pt6zJM-jwOCLu6wDYJjWsbnJiIuu2f1LtjduEYl1gpB7FHMpKHhLdjlnJC4nuZ_C629w_OSannh8FoI0WBIsvyWchk79lOon0THcdIfcw=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">This may not be the forum to air my opinions about the lack of leadership in most
third world countries, but in the thirty years we’ve been coming to
the Caribbean islands, not much has changed. Most cities in the
hurricane belt are just as crappy as they were the first time we were
here. This is our first time time in Antigua, but St Johns is no
exception. Within a block of the shopping zone, you can easily slip
off the curb into a three foot deep hole with weeds growing out of
it. There is no standard for anything here, especially safety, The
sad part is they are no different than most other Caribbean port
cities, although several towns, such as Nassau in the Bahamas,
Willemstad in Curacao, and Oranjestad in Aruba would rate better than
average. The average here is subpar by almost all American and
European standards, so caution, extreme caution, has to be used when
just strolling or walking, looking at the local sights. We dodged
pipes sticking out of the road and sidewalks as well as pipes
sticking out of walls at eye level. I’m sure the areas and resorts
built especially for the tourist trade are designed to make
foreigners feel at home, but if you decide to go au natural in the
port towns, be forewarned. I tripped over a stub pipe sticking out of
a sidewalk in Philipsburg, St Maarten, even though I was watching
where I was walking! I missed falling hard on the pavement by mere
fractions of an inch.</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5g0Bud7v5bzp2r61s5MeCbaLyVOZA-DJ5ene5kr7y4ddFsp2DlZfXvXi58FW0inIRXqPL6miCIKTv7F2NT0ZFIgrvQZkgoF0VoP6pohaKRNB0i8Fe2XjiVZGDRHsCGtSl4efH647YWOppm07FJrUnX78IQn8xch8O4LTKXgfbO1SDDkJU3lWw6FYe=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5g0Bud7v5bzp2r61s5MeCbaLyVOZA-DJ5ene5kr7y4ddFsp2DlZfXvXi58FW0inIRXqPL6miCIKTv7F2NT0ZFIgrvQZkgoF0VoP6pohaKRNB0i8Fe2XjiVZGDRHsCGtSl4efH647YWOppm07FJrUnX78IQn8xch8O4LTKXgfbO1SDDkJU3lWw6FYe=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="text-align: left;">We
decided to walk to St. Johns Cathedral, the Anglican church that
dominates the town. In the hustle and bustle of street vendors and
shops, we stopped and asked a local policemen who quite proudly gave
us explicit directions to the church, although we were only three
blocks away. The church is undergoing reconstruction so the main
entrance had two-by-four timber laid across the steps to warn people
to use a different entrance. Ilse and I wandered through the
tombstones, looking at the dates that go back several hundred years
before finally spending ten minutes in the church itself. In my
opinion, visiting churches is an acquired taste, but this one’s
history draws many visitors.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjuxMu4sgfnak2Oc3fUDM-B8ol5zUtBOpf3tN71lJLZJO4zzHiZ9-1M2B4WtVRa6tJxF-1xuOcX7jb94A6ZtWp3ixHxtYCveigWl71xFkqpftaX34LnNdPTgUSMeg4cHnUE12dgdAP73n4V2UJaobWZ4KnGHfmBZlPOWwRnTFohmaA9RrjfiFqmMkOZ=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjuxMu4sgfnak2Oc3fUDM-B8ol5zUtBOpf3tN71lJLZJO4zzHiZ9-1M2B4WtVRa6tJxF-1xuOcX7jb94A6ZtWp3ixHxtYCveigWl71xFkqpftaX34LnNdPTgUSMeg4cHnUE12dgdAP73n4V2UJaobWZ4KnGHfmBZlPOWwRnTFohmaA9RrjfiFqmMkOZ=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnQgG3tlvASLGa7dqsudxB7MYjXyG2NZ42NspYv9rLZ5oGd2DVND6yr0Y3fuwV-84c001Xsn1S0j2cKFnRdFQYzukn77n3fz72H8oE2DIPRFJMYIOix_FnBr8UvrEhh-3kzXYAo5VY-e0OFSmTvnr9BswZL0O2CEfuCr_gKTigSf6zi8QWSXRcPbF7=s3648" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnQgG3tlvASLGa7dqsudxB7MYjXyG2NZ42NspYv9rLZ5oGd2DVND6yr0Y3fuwV-84c001Xsn1S0j2cKFnRdFQYzukn77n3fz72H8oE2DIPRFJMYIOix_FnBr8UvrEhh-3kzXYAo5VY-e0OFSmTvnr9BswZL0O2CEfuCr_gKTigSf6zi8QWSXRcPbF7=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">We
wandered back through town using different streets, but decided it
was time to kick-back on ship and enjoy another great lunch. The
continuous beep-beep of the local traffic is again part of the
atmosphere as everybody here seems to know everybody else, which is
cool. Just mind numbing.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-khqBk8hRY-G1d4XEHwjlPvMG8RsDH7DsSRa4aTv9aXx7HI8QUte_pK1b6S0FkKopi2RUmBN3cZV3SBmqVfXmWROTcPjNmnPXJFWMU3zYfi-h6lfwLJETUpZRH3wYmzNxfo1E1NRGVayoalFg2yEhoadJUdjU6p8L62FiuEVWok4vtK3RHNZ7Vfxa=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-khqBk8hRY-G1d4XEHwjlPvMG8RsDH7DsSRa4aTv9aXx7HI8QUte_pK1b6S0FkKopi2RUmBN3cZV3SBmqVfXmWROTcPjNmnPXJFWMU3zYfi-h6lfwLJETUpZRH3wYmzNxfo1E1NRGVayoalFg2yEhoadJUdjU6p8L62FiuEVWok4vtK3RHNZ7Vfxa=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="text-align: left;">I take a photo of a sailing
sloop, probably thirty-two feet long or so, with its broken mast forlornly
drooped across the stern. It is swinging slowly around its mooring
buoy. She’s several hundred yards in front of the newly arrived Azamara
Quest, one of the newer, smaller, boutique class cruisers fast
gaining popularity in the cruising world. The disabled sloop just
in front of her belies the story of someone’s broken dreams, not
just a broken mast. That would be a story of its own.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJ7zNjEFD50j1CzIgrrbdWRruCE-LtLyM5NG2m_bMEqU0FgklVI0V7EM-dmFnQT832px09IWCZR15bTkoE52c0P9A9ihY3lH_kJoRZ-TJH9jg9Ca_0XLtdBQimCF6FugFFJ7yN_AFUZy6nFdAKXnIJblMDECi_6uMxBuzrvBFQ7EfUgYtzyWTm0WKy=s1461" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="820" data-original-width="1461" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJ7zNjEFD50j1CzIgrrbdWRruCE-LtLyM5NG2m_bMEqU0FgklVI0V7EM-dmFnQT832px09IWCZR15bTkoE52c0P9A9ihY3lH_kJoRZ-TJH9jg9Ca_0XLtdBQimCF6FugFFJ7yN_AFUZy6nFdAKXnIJblMDECi_6uMxBuzrvBFQ7EfUgYtzyWTm0WKy=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">I glance
up as an Airbus with its wheels down, flying just off the side of the
ship, throttles back while I’m daydreaming about the sloop.
Airliners coming from who-knows-where begin to approach the airport,
their flight pattern parallels our dock. I count seven in a ten
minute period as I sit with my gin and tonic, my feet propped up in
absolute, decadent pleasure. Perhaps someday we’ll fly in to one of
the islands, but for now, the Celebrity Millennium will do just fine.</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">Tonight
turns out to be one of those memorable nights that go in scrapbooks.
We finally had dinner with Dany and Seba of Supernova Duo.
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-D3t0jWwzKP0IQf6Cuglfooou6EIOGhBD837n8aycq9nDBtnLtebKn4fC2I3JKWGzE_bPLuBGHpVevGAgiL8TktY-eSvX5NQNMy2P3BZjvGdLO_6s_Anfoaxyla9qXHEcickgwVYrWAQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-D3t0jWwzKP0IQf6Cuglfooou6EIOGhBD837n8aycq9nDBtnLtebKn4fC2I3JKWGzE_bPLuBGHpVevGAgiL8TktY-eSvX5NQNMy2P3BZjvGdLO_6s_Anfoaxyla9qXHEcickgwVYrWAQ/w640-h480/image.png" width="640" /></a></div><span style="text-align: left;"><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p>It also
was a full moon. A Caribbean cruise with a full moon should be on
everyone’s bucket list.</span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgU8NfIxrrnwqtWSamE_qMRLvSzRlODjTHqJRvWVgbNai0b_qNPQglGuEuoEnCBWQ7OcoLcFSd25nxDTrD5zNpKoPIxghmoVklhkX-HdFnP-eybMxVKRdxRu2Qg3NTk5Tm_fDCoBk-mM5RqG66Jok4rAW-qGN7PK4wuMGv4ti4tNul1S2nenoHXKwZx=s3648" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgU8NfIxrrnwqtWSamE_qMRLvSzRlODjTHqJRvWVgbNai0b_qNPQglGuEuoEnCBWQ7OcoLcFSd25nxDTrD5zNpKoPIxghmoVklhkX-HdFnP-eybMxVKRdxRu2Qg3NTk5Tm_fDCoBk-mM5RqG66Jok4rAW-qGN7PK4wuMGv4ti4tNul1S2nenoHXKwZx=w640-h360" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGhePDdsLcsJyPEnVg7qtqI39O2Pbt3a06IdsVCUIoeoroHGJ_1uH42HtZR2oyyr2U2rX6978wuYN--Nc-Y0i2mdNInMINysX9CL5LgkPk76kjTEIudydtlA-Gv5FqbLQ2zuS7EZExclM_hBnRzZW7E0ETysdqAB33G4nD-YQ-_6LDwkTXGl4jVY01=s4032" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2id5qTkRI4bhyFjlez5MaYPoSYufnrEL27gNSn_gdAJVvLbNXrqyOC3zaIk5F6Tz5cDo0OEyvL-7fVpKKsos-VibfBHdKhI9ALk3m78urGyC3eK9M4ZbReBXIB8eAQwsVQtKH-9bd-g5ZJHya0olBfH_BL4LtFOczaOYVVJhX3Ehn8pD8sR71R9OD=s1600" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2id5qTkRI4bhyFjlez5MaYPoSYufnrEL27gNSn_gdAJVvLbNXrqyOC3zaIk5F6Tz5cDo0OEyvL-7fVpKKsos-VibfBHdKhI9ALk3m78urGyC3eK9M4ZbReBXIB8eAQwsVQtKH-9bd-g5ZJHya0olBfH_BL4LtFOczaOYVVJhX3Ehn8pD8sR71R9OD=w115-h115" width="115" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 24px;">St Kitts </p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 24px;"> <a href="https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-9-st-kitts.html">https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-9-st-kitts.html</a><br /><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western"></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-55960052172887317752022-01-19T12:42:00.058-05:002022-02-06T15:13:16.569-05:00Moths to a Flame - Part 8, St. Croix<p> </p><h1 align="center" class="western"><br /></h1>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
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</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg80ODc_f8T1S8T9mhK-qiuGH6y0j50zxUwf30SX_UcsrIuQB97rBwkwobYv8-k97x4KcP_G5TkPd0ja-jZpR-P1AMVxi9tPvxWPfGh2LV9KZ_qShL6lm04j273cSmNwhc2qe3l7T22madGBt70X1G69_l0v973NQRn97dDn_wSGaUThAKA8Sui7EJi=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg80ODc_f8T1S8T9mhK-qiuGH6y0j50zxUwf30SX_UcsrIuQB97rBwkwobYv8-k97x4KcP_G5TkPd0ja-jZpR-P1AMVxi9tPvxWPfGh2LV9KZ_qShL6lm04j273cSmNwhc2qe3l7T22madGBt70X1G69_l0v973NQRn97dDn_wSGaUThAKA8Sui7EJi=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Standing on the deck watching the island emerge in front of us in the
breaking daylight was different from Nassau or San Juan. I could not
pick out where we were going. There was no sign of a city or a pier
or any place to dock. We seemed to be sailing toward green, rolling
hills dotted with occasional houses with pastures scattered in
between. Coming in on the leeward side of the island was a nice
change from yesterday’s rough water approach in San Juan, adding to
the peaceful, almost pastoral first image of St. Croix. The cruise
since leaving San Juan has been slower, less hectic as St. Croix is
less than one hundred miles away. <span style="text-align: left;">By the time I see light traffic on the coastal road, I can see the
single finger pier that juts straight out from the seashore. There is
an old, unimpressive red fort off to the left side. After San Juan, two cars and a
pickup truck is light traffic.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">We quietly docked at eight in the morning, a new, single finger pier
that would accommodate two ships at once. While the ship went
through the arrival process, Ilse and I went for breakfast. This time we ate at the Oceanview café, the buffet style restaurant aft on deck ten. The selections of different breakfast foods is amazing and again, there are more servers than diners. I made a note to try coddled eggs next time.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
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</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkyAUE_J-a-cxtT1YLm4JMnYsYZ-I5TJgtZae1I0Bw_jDlIKG7cTpRKOEF2Fep5pIukIob_U2TN-NsYMfd3L7tsWnkYyWM-LnNePEdCEGFyahGQbj97mn18oNwRJC1KCiqfWV9-rOt5aZP7uGxL8lBJ28FEYmdYLYOxSwt1F6-_5BhDjCaep5U8eK6=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkyAUE_J-a-cxtT1YLm4JMnYsYZ-I5TJgtZae1I0Bw_jDlIKG7cTpRKOEF2Fep5pIukIob_U2TN-NsYMfd3L7tsWnkYyWM-LnNePEdCEGFyahGQbj97mn18oNwRJC1KCiqfWV9-rOt5aZP7uGxL8lBJ28FEYmdYLYOxSwt1F6-_5BhDjCaep5U8eK6=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">There were only a few scattered passengers ahead of us on the pier as
we walked to the security checkpoint, not anything like previous
cruises. The atmosphere was exactly opposite bustling San Juan. As we
walked toward the security tent at the end of the pier, I noticed the
water was so clear we could see under the boat. Three young girls
dressed in scarlet red local costumes welcomed us with bright smiles
and maps of the island, and we were disdainfully waved through
security with the priceless, limp-wristed motion famous around the
world.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
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</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgmw50NIMmIqV7YfJEGImUI7ZXvvj0HGOJLp0l-WQdBu1PeJLEKPLTU49_4-Yqf2TkRWXQf6MepKOBCuColyI1wrUQnmHgmHyHrlIvtoZ7OJ8GtkcLm7dnWwwQ12_yiA3bDaJVlpKc4kBzYx7jvktcziTzEj5mJQ7XoIUdLuyrAHBAYjhyF8WT_IzO3=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgmw50NIMmIqV7YfJEGImUI7ZXvvj0HGOJLp0l-WQdBu1PeJLEKPLTU49_4-Yqf2TkRWXQf6MepKOBCuColyI1wrUQnmHgmHyHrlIvtoZ7OJ8GtkcLm7dnWwwQ12_yiA3bDaJVlpKc4kBzYx7jvktcziTzEj5mJQ7XoIUdLuyrAHBAYjhyF8WT_IzO3=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The second thing to catch my eye was they drive on the left side of
the road. St. Thomas and St John, just over the horizon, also drive
on the left even though they are in the US Virgin Islands, not the
British Virgin Islands. The traditional beep-beep greeting between
the locals is a common language in every Caribbean island, but the
first time I heard it here, I turned around to look. There simply
wasn’t any traffic. The souvenir shops in tiny Frederiksted – the
town has fewer than a thousand people – all had bumper stickers for
sale that said “Drive Left!” Obviously they were for tourists who
rent cars and are not accustomed to driving in the islands.</p>
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</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEida0agnKu3G471pRrrMnoholrfCBkFi1CUEZsbQgOUC1TfHKx5NuPlD2MC51Dnic_uOZbqNmfLLKZ9oX5VjOsLOMlKClRgB-6PFfX1QxhFoRT9gPrqVCJHNhybB2aXXeWTfxBTAsY9F9VtxNuID_SW4SXoiH3BYtdxSZDEl8sv3GmN05tHPc9BN6Yd=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEida0agnKu3G471pRrrMnoholrfCBkFi1CUEZsbQgOUC1TfHKx5NuPlD2MC51Dnic_uOZbqNmfLLKZ9oX5VjOsLOMlKClRgB-6PFfX1QxhFoRT9gPrqVCJHNhybB2aXXeWTfxBTAsY9F9VtxNuID_SW4SXoiH3BYtdxSZDEl8sv3GmN05tHPc9BN6Yd=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Not that there were more than a handful of souvenir or tourist shops
in town. With only a few exceptions, they all seemed to be owned by
transplanted Americans. We were on the other end of the island from
where the cruise ships used to land at Christiansted, a bustling
metropolis by comparison of around three thousand people. The
population of the entire island, world famous for its magnificent beaches is only 40,000 people. All the beaches in St. Croix are free
to the public.
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;">The pretty bay front park is a nice welcome to cruise passengers, and the backdrop to many ship’s photographs. </p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzlD0TMYjaRYIQuDq7YG3NBtuJkxdn7JttZBI4xPoUriveelxtwsdSYPwQb8_bUVMbsHalpV11H6J9B8q2xmFgjOOaFR7c70aPKzb-jwjDabXUGd_F6kkbpjaOZn_Tq9TZGa1vhj3LC5mGjAtAn3YiwhBRsPihxOqSqKbgFJrgdMKab4SmEyJRu6Nk=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzlD0TMYjaRYIQuDq7YG3NBtuJkxdn7JttZBI4xPoUriveelxtwsdSYPwQb8_bUVMbsHalpV11H6J9B8q2xmFgjOOaFR7c70aPKzb-jwjDabXUGd_F6kkbpjaOZn_Tq9TZGa1vhj3LC5mGjAtAn3YiwhBRsPihxOqSqKbgFJrgdMKab4SmEyJRu6Nk=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;">Ilse and I have done package tours on previous cruises, but usually we like to see a place for ourselves the first time we visit a port, especially now with COVID restrictions in place on every island. We decided to avoid the little buses or taxis even though we wanted to visit the nearby botanical gardens, but it was too far to walk so we simply strolled around the small, odd little town. We were once warned in Charlotte Amalie about straying too far off the beaten path by ourselves, but here we are at ease. We are not carelessly unconscious as we always keep safety tucked in the back of our minds. I worked in downtown Miami for many years and old habits are hard to break.</p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
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</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNP6EGuqz2amlPj5i51ZGbJ9WmKXqzEGMLQwxrtGgwtqyW74yerXUSNx485DTu13Il3ouzmXrt8WQSP3d8Knn21k6dfW5teug4bEMV_Xyi-InaTZ-_fstaTK2HvTNYl440d0nQRl7w7c-n0UsMsArDJ4MMl7g9Cl-Ks_SRhorhHg1J_Ch50ZSODIBX=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNP6EGuqz2amlPj5i51ZGbJ9WmKXqzEGMLQwxrtGgwtqyW74yerXUSNx485DTu13Il3ouzmXrt8WQSP3d8Knn21k6dfW5teug4bEMV_Xyi-InaTZ-_fstaTK2HvTNYl440d0nQRl7w7c-n0UsMsArDJ4MMl7g9Cl-Ks_SRhorhHg1J_Ch50ZSODIBX=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">The town itself drops in attractiveness within a few blocks, so we head back to the fort at the end of the pier, buying my first cap of the trip on the way. The people we chat with are friendly, but disappointed in the small size of the crowd.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2gjvx8S2Jx97aCPl5B_i7kQISsV0tl2vnR4HMZ_61-dl3of2YIUwlYRE-2w-EPo2PIWABmB4D1Futn2V7UNi4Rd_Swr63jxSBm6VoWd1rN6A1QuZ0hWIfkFyh-CCAA4L33rIFFbSj4xS08m-8BTJ9qTD4Mkyr0X3OnVETN36xey5HnejpqbNYS7pj=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2gjvx8S2Jx97aCPl5B_i7kQISsV0tl2vnR4HMZ_61-dl3of2YIUwlYRE-2w-EPo2PIWABmB4D1Futn2V7UNi4Rd_Swr63jxSBm6VoWd1rN6A1QuZ0hWIfkFyh-CCAA4L33rIFFbSj4xS08m-8BTJ9qTD4Mkyr0X3OnVETN36xey5HnejpqbNYS7pj=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">I walked around the clock tower checking all four
clocks after I noticed the two sides I could see were completely different. A
perfect description of St. Croix: what you see depends on the
direction you are looking, all four clocks show very different times.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhh-96hurbNwJd48SBL13OEmf5DLkCh80U_MsyIrnj9PZTcWxSBZaPymnm9Q2ccbfbCQFCoWXWVRcQ7XqTJijieD5kc9ugUftL1qTR1pv5-qVt3qWK9qjiV-8S3P46ZJ6b2bAY72ZDPHZnYfp2lMmebn-N4WL6SeXGHk5nRktpV0oaW682oCUueiSWP=s2875" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1620" data-original-width="2875" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhh-96hurbNwJd48SBL13OEmf5DLkCh80U_MsyIrnj9PZTcWxSBZaPymnm9Q2ccbfbCQFCoWXWVRcQ7XqTJijieD5kc9ugUftL1qTR1pv5-qVt3qWK9qjiV-8S3P46ZJ6b2bAY72ZDPHZnYfp2lMmebn-N4WL6SeXGHk5nRktpV0oaW682oCUueiSWP=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
We headed back to the ship for salad and pizza and my first Budweiser
of the trip. After sitting on our balcony, reading and listening to
our own music – we always bring a Bluetooth speaker – I glance at
Ilse. She is sound asleep, holding her head with one hand and her
Kindle in the other. There is no one on the pier except the ship’s
staff idly waiting under the Celebrity Cruise logo sunshade. The
three young girls dressed in bright red local costumes have abandoned
their post and are all sitting in the shade of the security tent at
the other end, chatting and laughing.
</p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
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</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdzTjEzX-8IrwkBC5n4HtnPF9VJCNdsGBR1TFoba8fKXS_ptksFsvcpXjeJMvxjdJcSNKA4QnJnyGspVsXpg7rUuE5dUlfF-izIdjB03EmOEU7vpA_CCXV3UK0-RABsg8hn7xKv5yD_ykN9V6K6MrrAz4mUSJISqEFxS1g7rtz0jTS1EnUdIYw8JnW=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdzTjEzX-8IrwkBC5n4HtnPF9VJCNdsGBR1TFoba8fKXS_ptksFsvcpXjeJMvxjdJcSNKA4QnJnyGspVsXpg7rUuE5dUlfF-izIdjB03EmOEU7vpA_CCXV3UK0-RABsg8hn7xKv5yD_ykN9V6K6MrrAz4mUSJISqEFxS1g7rtz0jTS1EnUdIYw8JnW=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The helicopter landing pad on the bow is opened for our departure
from Frederiksted, so Ilse and I, wearing the required close-toed
shoes, climbed the ladder to the Helipad, wondering how they
transport anyone who isn’t ambulatory up there in the first place.
It is a wonderful view, especially as several rain showers began to
move down the hills toward the bay. Drinks are served as everyone
begins to ooh and aah at the rainbows that seem to be a departing
touch from the local tourist board. The ship quietly turns and heads
toward more rain showers off-shore.
</p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjuGxQOz9x9tE6AwD_vVwROxJ1kvlAsbUMIYjtKU6pW8ZlVo1A2iEiLQ2_zHSji6Arcs9C5yGpSpoiRCvcClk3iU3ls3TM5SVDcWWhW4wDKACmp6jLn-ZAxD86yS4IVhnNwhIRPuJ6n5wZp8fZHbEnSwyk-OCORubdcVrtMzjdb1aF0fq7kE1IMs36l=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjuGxQOz9x9tE6AwD_vVwROxJ1kvlAsbUMIYjtKU6pW8ZlVo1A2iEiLQ2_zHSji6Arcs9C5yGpSpoiRCvcClk3iU3ls3TM5SVDcWWhW4wDKACmp6jLn-ZAxD86yS4IVhnNwhIRPuJ6n5wZp8fZHbEnSwyk-OCORubdcVrtMzjdb1aF0fq7kE1IMs36l=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
After dinner we headed to the Sunset bar at the stern on deck ten,
our favorite lounge at night. The weather is beautiful and the moon
is almost full. Tomorrow is Antigua and a full moon. We can’t
wait.</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1AhP2fU3wiMAlX0Lnor-Ugy27KZpkp-7vsMuCVchX9eg7yQZTp3dYyheIYjSBVrvtXpt2grgx9AfULCfBiJU2ILGDV_KMV_q15m3UHlqIMct4GImoDVECuz7sROXWB8pb6tRYWTrFP19CzzDp__d-iseXrgRFWI6TAVwmdMuY5LL6uJ04BWqPc2WQ=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1AhP2fU3wiMAlX0Lnor-Ugy27KZpkp-7vsMuCVchX9eg7yQZTp3dYyheIYjSBVrvtXpt2grgx9AfULCfBiJU2ILGDV_KMV_q15m3UHlqIMct4GImoDVECuz7sROXWB8pb6tRYWTrFP19CzzDp__d-iseXrgRFWI6TAVwmdMuY5LL6uJ04BWqPc2WQ=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtexZwIalFNbly4EB7BAxbdGqdUxOvapipHCQ5JichLwN0gO46CxwZ2mGdrEGDFcO5nbnSGgwDxti4x0EjLTcil1Q3sx8oLbvr5M8vuhd-gfyTs76Hv2BH9hroShCBK3RO0u1lKsFMUXUWVaqlDjWZiqJPN1hpsM1VInnjK4v3wu3rxECgyQkhefrQ=s1600" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtexZwIalFNbly4EB7BAxbdGqdUxOvapipHCQ5JichLwN0gO46CxwZ2mGdrEGDFcO5nbnSGgwDxti4x0EjLTcil1Q3sx8oLbvr5M8vuhd-gfyTs76Hv2BH9hroShCBK3RO0u1lKsFMUXUWVaqlDjWZiqJPN1hpsM1VInnjK4v3wu3rxECgyQkhefrQ=w145-h145" width="145" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-antigua.html">https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-antigua.html</a></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p><br /><p></p><p></p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-37669196900927708752022-01-16T12:05:00.055-05:002023-02-19T08:01:36.810-05:00Moths to a Flame - Part 7, San Juan<p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicnT1-a7q3nMPVSbVzELsjbKivASGObw5SDY1ALLSeuNiMrdY_LeltVcQxCMJXfokSdvXXsmFAZGMnx_16lo_TwIxqr-vskF37OVCE0T-o6ejx7tTg64A59HILYL7XjWAC2-u2AmSGpPph63_c2Y328jCpyJHS4MVOM11cH8kyBzt-J7t2033FPKUa=s1710" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1003" data-original-width="1710" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicnT1-a7q3nMPVSbVzELsjbKivASGObw5SDY1ALLSeuNiMrdY_LeltVcQxCMJXfokSdvXXsmFAZGMnx_16lo_TwIxqr-vskF37OVCE0T-o6ejx7tTg64A59HILYL7XjWAC2-u2AmSGpPph63_c2Y328jCpyJHS4MVOM11cH8kyBzt-J7t2033FPKUa=w640-h376" width="640" /></a></p><p align="center"><br />
</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Day
four starts like the others, I’m awake before daybreak. Once again
I’m on deck as soon as I’m dressed. A beautiful, warm December
morning due east of Las Galeras, Haiti. Clear skies but the wind has
barely subsided, it is still whistling through the railing. I checked
my cellphone app for all the technical details that most other
passengers couldn’t care less about. We are eight hundred and
eighty-five miles from Ft Lauderdale and have only eighty-eight miles
to go. We should pass the famous Castillo de San Felipe del Morro
sometime around two in the afternoon. The afternoon is perfect as the
sun will highlight the side facing the channel as we enter. This is,
to me the prettiest and most symbolic port entry in the Caribbean,
and this time our balcony stateroom will be facing the iconic
fortress as we enter the harbor.</p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5Ws1wWl3BSL5JXCnswHtLisHyRaB5uCvcbh_w3kUa5xt4NynHfcz_xlyZupU6RtOXDxIAW8eVULoADWx1cvxeD0AOiL6cAQWgieuH2E4U5x-w8rEjXIw0LVi9jUm2XN_B4BeOdtFcBO-uwLNcX8B-awz4dNJlv1vO0N9L_Nq3EIiI5_42y5N5jtFg=s5338" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="359" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5Ws1wWl3BSL5JXCnswHtLisHyRaB5uCvcbh_w3kUa5xt4NynHfcz_xlyZupU6RtOXDxIAW8eVULoADWx1cvxeD0AOiL6cAQWgieuH2E4U5x-w8rEjXIw0LVi9jUm2XN_B4BeOdtFcBO-uwLNcX8B-awz4dNJlv1vO0N9L_Nq3EIiI5_42y5N5jtFg=w640-h359" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">During
the day we had the opportunity to chat and joke with our wait staff,
shop sales people, and several ship’s officers. Everyone was masked
all the time the entire cruise, so we quickly learned to read eyes.
The eyes speak volumes, and we saw eyes from Indonesia, Venezuela,
the Philippines, Korea, and just about any country you can think of.
The eyes all speak the same language. We met another Daniela from
Venezuela who now lives in Colombia, and still another Daniela who
was from Chile, just west of Bariloche, Argentina, where Dany of
Supernova Duo call home. We met Feliz, from Manila in the Philippines,
who went to hospitality school in Arkansas. Our drink hostess, who
was from Korea, told us all how to distinguish Asian nationalities as
westerners are at a loss when it comes to the many different far
eastern styles and features. “It’s how we cut our hair,” she
said, her eyes dancing at her chance to tease our group. We were as
at ease with them as they were with us. With only five hundred
passengers on a ship that usually carries over two thousand
passengers, everyone a chance to interact with other, passengers,
crew and staff with a cordiality we had never seen on previous
cruises.</span></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9wsGEHOdJLk1HaCQZl4EEb9TwWTH3_MGK9PQq_FN8uyFPfI1Hq7qhK9PD0GLJi9DXkCWMwcUa8TSq5gbfD1OCf_oJCauipMj2q9gmZxSbBwmCLOYgxwnh4vuGDIDNHz3k84N6t7VH7n-sAtnbrrYsaSjZjd-SKyVI2yJ3y1SOtCNWAy75lSxbAK5Z=s1920" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9wsGEHOdJLk1HaCQZl4EEb9TwWTH3_MGK9PQq_FN8uyFPfI1Hq7qhK9PD0GLJi9DXkCWMwcUa8TSq5gbfD1OCf_oJCauipMj2q9gmZxSbBwmCLOYgxwnh4vuGDIDNHz3k84N6t7VH7n-sAtnbrrYsaSjZjd-SKyVI2yJ3y1SOtCNWAy75lSxbAK5Z=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">I
double checked the battery for my camera as well as our cellphones as
we approached the coast of Puerto Rico, the mountains behind San Juan
visible well before the port itself. The pilot boat approached on our
port side – that’s sailor talk for the left side – burying the
bow in the heavy swells. It passes and turns behind us to come
alongside out of the wind on the other side of the boat. We’ve
slowed considerably to allow the pilot to make the transfer, but seas
are very heavy. Being on the leeward side makes it easier, but not by much.</span></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">A deep-sea fishing boat, probably in the thirty-two
foot range, not more than a mile away, disappears from sight
regularly in the deep troughs, only its outriggers visible above the
waves. We watched the small boat for several minutes wondering just
how much Dramamine it would take to go fishing with them.</span></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjqwai4Rdy4atGeXZSo4-oedNCJdFTnyb1fRsBhAMbCh5RVnA4EvaItqZU4_HHnfm8QaS2P2kBCPQAvk-f0GTtOERnJyauM5niSaJWY38Md1WmDlbDyQ4Z-yOLAeto4MzwEbw58lhZmdi3lAosl9NpljkJBEe8OHYS5JsIYgVmggxRx9VANHGoV08G=s5391" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3033" data-original-width="5391" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjqwai4Rdy4atGeXZSo4-oedNCJdFTnyb1fRsBhAMbCh5RVnA4EvaItqZU4_HHnfm8QaS2P2kBCPQAvk-f0GTtOERnJyauM5niSaJWY38Md1WmDlbDyQ4Z-yOLAeto4MzwEbw58lhZmdi3lAosl9NpljkJBEe8OHYS5JsIYgVmggxRx9VANHGoV08G=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Old
Town San Juan was a marvelous surprise the first time we were here,
and we planned our walking tour to include El Morro, but the sporadic
rains started before we disembarked and turned into a constant reason
to duck for cover. We did some sightseeing through parts of town in
between rain showers, but cut our tour short and headed back to the
boat. If you want to find a drugstore, all you have to do is watch
for the long lines as it seems that is the first place everyone from
the ships go. The Walgreens at the foot of the pier does a bang up
business every time a cruise ship docks. The first sign you see when
you step onto the pier is a warning sign about the one hundred dollar
fine for failing to wear a mask. Everyone in every store we stopped
in was masked. The crew and staff of the boat were on a tight leash
due to the COVID restrictions, and were restricted to crew members
only outings.
</p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZqsn-50a0Decg13uoA-SBUOuUtwmQSlghWw0wfCkIQHkG2GmSUycZuQIuvATBYNePCpYB70RV_P8FMiOJ5NLrbluvnyhhXDZtUf76OC_o9v_78Q64nvBfNR8eoVYqg6_jHxlakIl0OmhecCRVPVgNvZ4WeEKOBdAoyynpihTFZeOV2MNhSHD7hBmI=s5352" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3011" data-original-width="5352" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZqsn-50a0Decg13uoA-SBUOuUtwmQSlghWw0wfCkIQHkG2GmSUycZuQIuvATBYNePCpYB70RV_P8FMiOJ5NLrbluvnyhhXDZtUf76OC_o9v_78Q64nvBfNR8eoVYqg6_jHxlakIl0OmhecCRVPVgNvZ4WeEKOBdAoyynpihTFZeOV2MNhSHD7hBmI=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">We
had dinner in the main dining room which was even emptier than usual.
Dave, our waiter who has been with Celebrity Cruises for over
eighteen years, welcomed us warmly as usual, our preferred drinks
waiting as we were seated. The service on the Millennium is superb.
To our unbridled relief, this cruise has been the perfect antidote to
the last one we took some seven years earlier.</span></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNeOr-DrPtKsmjifcSBZdyq9u3XEBmLoDVikBpQhyZZ1c5n-TbMbbOclDhW8nmk4dz0JIE46Alt0qecosYbfKv7Ap36fXNgkyNXK7uNNs72m8Dv3JICar8p3yrUA2FDD5zNSi2kg3ObxFeFNFCp0lGCoMtWo09aSkk-QC7opMp-aCbXUTPR0vvLrXn=s5334" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3003" data-original-width="5334" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNeOr-DrPtKsmjifcSBZdyq9u3XEBmLoDVikBpQhyZZ1c5n-TbMbbOclDhW8nmk4dz0JIE46Alt0qecosYbfKv7Ap36fXNgkyNXK7uNNs72m8Dv3JICar8p3yrUA2FDD5zNSi2kg3ObxFeFNFCp0lGCoMtWo09aSkk-QC7opMp-aCbXUTPR0vvLrXn=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">We
were back on top by midnight to watch as we departed the brightly lit
city. Another Celebrity ship, the Constellation, which joined us
earlier along with Carnival’s Magic, shoved off just before we did.
The two ship’s Captains did a long tete-a-tete with the ship’s
horns to the delight of the passengers on deck. We were disappointed
to find El Morrow is no longer well lighted at night and the marvelous
structure is no longer dominate in the darkness as we sailed out the
channel. No problem, we joined the dance party on the pool deck.
Always a way to enjoy the moment. </span><span style="text-align: left;">Definitely not a Geritol cruise.</span></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDe71VS-U7Y-oK_7DaKdr1acdgTXBalJZpstwiceAPMB8HeeYyFM-SVck-r_irBEIUwKbfUpVMLYt8CfZoO2pJnT9pPlijBWYQsz2eUYdnmW6SF98T7CeMGtyYunpKCPNaW68rAlli4UQUcTqBOOY1NIkBVe03XTEG4Xv5kvMOLATr6iWP-6OnmIvO=s5338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="5338" height="359" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDe71VS-U7Y-oK_7DaKdr1acdgTXBalJZpstwiceAPMB8HeeYyFM-SVck-r_irBEIUwKbfUpVMLYt8CfZoO2pJnT9pPlijBWYQsz2eUYdnmW6SF98T7CeMGtyYunpKCPNaW68rAlli4UQUcTqBOOY1NIkBVe03XTEG4Xv5kvMOLATr6iWP-6OnmIvO=w640-h359" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Next: St. Croix</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtexZwIalFNbly4EB7BAxbdGqdUxOvapipHCQ5JichLwN0gO46CxwZ2mGdrEGDFcO5nbnSGgwDxti4x0EjLTcil1Q3sx8oLbvr5M8vuhd-gfyTs76Hv2BH9hroShCBK3RO0u1lKsFMUXUWVaqlDjWZiqJPN1hpsM1VInnjK4v3wu3rxECgyQkhefrQ=s1600" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="117" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtexZwIalFNbly4EB7BAxbdGqdUxOvapipHCQ5JichLwN0gO46CxwZ2mGdrEGDFcO5nbnSGgwDxti4x0EjLTcil1Q3sx8oLbvr5M8vuhd-gfyTs76Hv2BH9hroShCBK3RO0u1lKsFMUXUWVaqlDjWZiqJPN1hpsM1VInnjK4v3wu3rxECgyQkhefrQ=w117-h117" width="117" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-8-st-croix.html" style="text-align: left;">https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-8-st-croix.html</a></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-61596846463237442632022-01-15T13:22:00.048-05:002023-02-19T07:49:00.729-05:00Moths to a Flame - Part 6, Oh Dark Thirty<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">It was “oh dark thirty” when I slowly focused on the dim display
of the bedside alarm clock. I’m pretty sure the large numbers said
4:40, or something pretty close to it. “Oh dark thirty” was the
Air Force way of saying very, very early in the morning. Many
civilians don’t know the military says “Oh” in place of the
technically correct numeric “zero” when saying twenty-four hour
time in spoken English. Trust me, I can make this worse. You’d have
to understand that both words zero or “Oh” are redundant. There
is only one four-thirty in military time and that comes way too early
for most of us. Four-thirty in the afternoon for normal people would
be sixteen-thirty in military time. No excuse for somebody to miss a
war just because they were sleeping in. But everybody in the military
says “oh four thirty” as if they have to define the missing
digit. If they didn’t, it wouldn’t be funny to ridicule military
time.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I finally found my glasses and confirmed it was far earlier than I
expected. It was not pitch black outside despite being in the middle
of the Atlantic Ocean. I knew we were three days from the next full
moon but that didn’t seem to be source of the odd, dim light. I
pulled the curtains back slightly to see outside. Opening the balcony
door was out of the question. The ship was balking at leaving its
comfortable berth in Nassau and heading into a twenty-nine knot
head-wind over twelve hours ago. We turned south after clearing the
Northeast Providence Channel and were now in nine-foot seas. Moderate
seas, as I hear the Captain say later. We are one hundred twenty
miles due east of Port Nelson, Bahamas as we head toward San Juan at
nineteen knots, about twenty-two miles per hour. The wind across the
deck was a brisk forty-eight knots, about fifty-five mph. The low
white light was from the ship’s lights illuminating the periodic,
wind-swept ocean spray that seemed to encapsulate the ship. No wonder
we were occasionally shuddering and shaking. It didn’t matter, Ilse
was sound asleep as were most of the passengers on the ship.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">A small, odd, faint glimmer of light caught my eye on the dark
balcony sliding glass door. The dim light appeared to be on the
horizon. But then it was gone. I tried to find it it and once again
it appeared, and just as abruptly disappeared. Was that a ship? By
then I was wide awake staring blankly into the darkness when I
realized the pinpoint of light was on the glass, not on the horizon.
The light was coming from the hallway through the peep-hole in the
cabin door behind me. No phantom ships in the Bermuda Triangle to write about after all.</div></span></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLum5J39xxv-yEuT6uUOuJMNcLlVVeFfDUiI4A-pXzh5y6gmqI9z_y0T7_mOasOK-hiuwGa2ITHqU8DhINf10FmZv38rB1pSlWmYgqeosCilw5GoLa4Mt0lcVxhlF9eY5wO1yq0_Sqid62cTf8OchVPyGTcPF4JHcZwtCNSxlmN3QP86Y5T91zyidL=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLum5J39xxv-yEuT6uUOuJMNcLlVVeFfDUiI4A-pXzh5y6gmqI9z_y0T7_mOasOK-hiuwGa2ITHqU8DhINf10FmZv38rB1pSlWmYgqeosCilw5GoLa4Mt0lcVxhlF9eY5wO1yq0_Sqid62cTf8OchVPyGTcPF4JHcZwtCNSxlmN3QP86Y5T91zyidL=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">Sleep was out of the question, so I quietly dressed, picked up my
camera and slipped out of the room. I had the ship completely to
myself. I’m usually wide awake well before daybreak every single
day we’re onboard. This day at sea is no different. I watched our
early morning arrival in Nassau the day before, chatting with the
only two other people on deck as we watched the beautiful sunrise as
we pulled into port. They were both walkers, using the walking path
through the chaise lounges on the pool deck before the sunbathers
even woke up.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsNDaNTKF6HtBpFtMcxGH_LUU3hfW8Du1vtlLCjbg9_ZK2nOJQDD5xKjGpN1Dj95GVQ20pxaOtCIfgvvuO7hnf5YI4dt7Iussy7i19OfTHuE8kHhyOlN6huq9VLp90d7XwtP9sEeQ6QuxbxDg7noDyri28e5-CxQ4_9_qYgsmaSU3P2dr662Cmp1dm=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsNDaNTKF6HtBpFtMcxGH_LUU3hfW8Du1vtlLCjbg9_ZK2nOJQDD5xKjGpN1Dj95GVQ20pxaOtCIfgvvuO7hnf5YI4dt7Iussy7i19OfTHuE8kHhyOlN6huq9VLp90d7XwtP9sEeQ6QuxbxDg7noDyri28e5-CxQ4_9_qYgsmaSU3P2dr662Cmp1dm=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">The only people on deck are the same two dedicated walkers I met yesterday, but today we are at sea. They press on, both wearing windbreakers and not stopping to chat for long. I had a reminder from the ship’s app to move my time ahead one hour as we had crossed into the Atlantic Time Zone but I didn’t bother. If my cell phone self adjusts, great, if not I’ll just add an hour… maybe. I haven’t worn a wrist watch since I retired.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKLFPbgjFZXZymwIhWVKKhj0HJkngJk6iwMyLHpBXhY1FLfKhCuBVHDp8q5SO2IoCAK3Z-bC0DNUDj8uvKX3CQdSgFIq5tOeLIsJALRqhT8Sothce8Nz7wL7U0NcUgjiP1wLLuc5FPhGnh3MRVCQM4VPnibnKV6KXvPHhZHEGlR1s6VsrJ6-Lvs7qW=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKLFPbgjFZXZymwIhWVKKhj0HJkngJk6iwMyLHpBXhY1FLfKhCuBVHDp8q5SO2IoCAK3Z-bC0DNUDj8uvKX3CQdSgFIq5tOeLIsJALRqhT8Sothce8Nz7wL7U0NcUgjiP1wLLuc5FPhGnh3MRVCQM4VPnibnKV6KXvPHhZHEGlR1s6VsrJ6-Lvs7qW=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><span style="text-align: justify;">I stood on the top deck as the wind began to subside and the white caps began to to diminish. Once again, I get to see my favorite part of cruising, the phenomenal, deep blue of the open ocean. The shuddering subsided as the ocean smoothed out. It doesn’t take mother nature much to remind us we are just small humans on her big, powerful planet. Even though the ship weighs more than ninety thousand tons and pushes over twenty-one million gallons of sea water aside just to float, Planet Earth still taps us on the shoulder every once in a while to let us know we are here at her pleasure.</span><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7Q2X3j_T5iGC-g2MAN75-2LvFkrVdKDegg9hLWuX9PJfv1mJbYjmA4IWoWv3VqoY2z8vHNiAZXb3SdInqKnd5VUeHLjK6_7YWcQDb2kO7YXLtSYu1gnyUxWe5h-RaxEafq0ixIJoyVH00o7Si7cxiwFZr_sWoeTuvPxXLmPjwBAtnfls6XJoKrdUx=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7Q2X3j_T5iGC-g2MAN75-2LvFkrVdKDegg9hLWuX9PJfv1mJbYjmA4IWoWv3VqoY2z8vHNiAZXb3SdInqKnd5VUeHLjK6_7YWcQDb2kO7YXLtSYu1gnyUxWe5h-RaxEafq0ixIJoyVH00o7Si7cxiwFZr_sWoeTuvPxXLmPjwBAtnfls6XJoKrdUx=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaDzY278usiVAAQrMXVapFeNDcdNJkGRxpV7chYFhIwXcdebMF7p5nVPT2h6-TVsjys6E-SVwDm19eu8DcL1I0CGFHdtGv1_NkvoJEz_I1hKOM_aUjW4PkFD7pox5W8OipGdsKpL4TeiB_ngd8T56mARzfgYyEx7oNXj1vgnjCsscDVjhWiTU4qIUK=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaDzY278usiVAAQrMXVapFeNDcdNJkGRxpV7chYFhIwXcdebMF7p5nVPT2h6-TVsjys6E-SVwDm19eu8DcL1I0CGFHdtGv1_NkvoJEz_I1hKOM_aUjW4PkFD7pox5W8OipGdsKpL4TeiB_ngd8T56mARzfgYyEx7oNXj1vgnjCsscDVjhWiTU4qIUK=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1SDY9O95OJPNRH2KS623GVVFodH6i2h6Wc8gVpCHyvalufYy-r-XQvZwT2Nx00o43G_mZktA3ANmX3v8jtNuEh26WxzHhGXn_UmyeXjJvkrwR7e9VP1U_fRMyP7KsMVOVq_jC36OAsBe8RFU8oIUp_FY_Kezd2URBPfTrAM_LZ33sCsQu4BuklDJ6=s1024" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1SDY9O95OJPNRH2KS623GVVFodH6i2h6Wc8gVpCHyvalufYy-r-XQvZwT2Nx00o43G_mZktA3ANmX3v8jtNuEh26WxzHhGXn_UmyeXjJvkrwR7e9VP1U_fRMyP7KsMVOVq_jC36OAsBe8RFU8oIUp_FY_Kezd2URBPfTrAM_LZ33sCsQu4BuklDJ6=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">Ilse and I sat in the room and talked about our plans and promptly
forgot about the time change. When we went to the dining room for
breakfast, of course we were late. It was quarter after nine not
quarter after eight, and the tables were being reset for the next
meal. Besides, they were having a tour of the kitchen later. When we
realized our mistake, we got up and apologized, told them we were
going up top to eat at the open buffet, but Maitre ‘d and our
staff would would not hear any part of it. To say the service on the
Millennium is outstanding would be an understatement. We were
re-seated and served a marvelous breakfast as if nothing happened. We
decided not to miss the kitchen tour.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgizSWLkIBdKp6r5RCdsLk4Pq6YHeP5fpDGXN_77mda03zUpOQoVzJL7OG7SYa4L0YE0Utmo3xdNoMD8dXevOkSxTmqBT2n_ci6VWnjzlLHL79Trkouajaeu98JzhRyuYQvgRIA-jdHsE6iccUfts3YfvAMLzGNXVwOgCq-bsILzUFICoTMCcJw-O_D=s1024" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgizSWLkIBdKp6r5RCdsLk4Pq6YHeP5fpDGXN_77mda03zUpOQoVzJL7OG7SYa4L0YE0Utmo3xdNoMD8dXevOkSxTmqBT2n_ci6VWnjzlLHL79Trkouajaeu98JzhRyuYQvgRIA-jdHsE6iccUfts3YfvAMLzGNXVwOgCq-bsILzUFICoTMCcJw-O_D=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjeAQXM3DMkcn5LBmRoHDc9UO3M_0E35ekc7D4y5Nqz8ZX0U5eARBxK27hOCeAn36S1JQqC29j425paZZPXVkQ_kslLiyVEVRLy09L0V9P0e72jN0ZWnrOsI3_gND3Wr1kSTi1WwiYrj6Sq_ILx1CwybclIrRqKAt7TzgggkNIaTboWNqSpA5OBZBhG=s1024" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjeAQXM3DMkcn5LBmRoHDc9UO3M_0E35ekc7D4y5Nqz8ZX0U5eARBxK27hOCeAn36S1JQqC29j425paZZPXVkQ_kslLiyVEVRLy09L0V9P0e72jN0ZWnrOsI3_gND3Wr1kSTi1WwiYrj6Sq_ILx1CwybclIrRqKAt7TzgggkNIaTboWNqSpA5OBZBhG=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">We spent the rest of the day after the tour just exploring shops and
facilities, and of course back on deck where for the first time ever,
we looked down on a rainbow. </span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjEwa6lqlcHLqRXAaV9vC3DIAI5YywcAkworO8T8i5kZfEXG65uG2O5McfIjfe1GsdzE9D78u8YScwQULVlLfgXKeqntxkii3yo7Bln-S9RMghAxILK8zqm6jYsv4v6wIMn9DYgAL9Xawyzv4cAQQYb2GVXlbQhp4gkNG-An9scnQXelzZHVYJ1ytvY=s1024" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjEwa6lqlcHLqRXAaV9vC3DIAI5YywcAkworO8T8i5kZfEXG65uG2O5McfIjfe1GsdzE9D78u8YScwQULVlLfgXKeqntxkii3yo7Bln-S9RMghAxILK8zqm6jYsv4v6wIMn9DYgAL9Xawyzv4cAQQYb2GVXlbQhp4gkNG-An9scnQXelzZHVYJ1ytvY=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSHr2ZQuZIZNPC0qmZlWgqqTSn-P6oS7VBu56M2Rrhvs5eaqMdNs6AcgGkLBZgI_PtLtpV1dIVtKxDxzLQSgt9a0MsuKnShFCRJBZF0Ibw9Pe94UYVaWGdzylZ1u44pWtIP_4svG5ZYNqZKIP4qv9e9dL6si1Gbc7AeTeelYelI3NuZx_LNPAuEHLW=s1024" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSHr2ZQuZIZNPC0qmZlWgqqTSn-P6oS7VBu56M2Rrhvs5eaqMdNs6AcgGkLBZgI_PtLtpV1dIVtKxDxzLQSgt9a0MsuKnShFCRJBZF0Ibw9Pe94UYVaWGdzylZ1u44pWtIP_4svG5ZYNqZKIP4qv9e9dL6si1Gbc7AeTeelYelI3NuZx_LNPAuEHLW=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">By four in the after noon, the wind was
down to around forty knots but the shuddering snuck up on us
occasionally.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi52J_YJgmJzVoKku1NawgKHUCDUdCDpVL54pzEfYJKLP4hTCHLxURwM-IIa9eD9GPRLAfaM8ZHnhLyCcUYZswssaeaXrVfDPq-Xvh1FgcqfDSEFq9Gc_3rE55TSq96hFwWCKG3vvfTfKnvDXM-pMSiCnO7ZULRDCwlj0FK5at96Af3lJv0Pb9Csmqa=s1024" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="1024" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi52J_YJgmJzVoKku1NawgKHUCDUdCDpVL54pzEfYJKLP4hTCHLxURwM-IIa9eD9GPRLAfaM8ZHnhLyCcUYZswssaeaXrVfDPq-Xvh1FgcqfDSEFq9Gc_3rE55TSq96hFwWCKG3vvfTfKnvDXM-pMSiCnO7ZULRDCwlj0FK5at96Af3lJv0Pb9Csmqa=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="text-align: left;">After another great meal, we worked our way slowly to the theater for
the evening show, stopping at several lounges and getting to listen
to our friends Daniela and Seba once again. </span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1E2uBiDDRr7n9IGzcgHPi4fTER1IxgAkaudRNICcQPexAIgJzlusmQ6KNFiCUgVCVxXfUQogTI5nODdk7ZqkkcHjWPV0DoiqSJqRQi2qLEebdV6lweDhsB8PmmT1xPgjv3u5_xNQxZPa0xj_VRD-S_AFNde-OxeBloEWUsuZZcBWp1tC2SFEdTA-v=s1024" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1E2uBiDDRr7n9IGzcgHPi4fTER1IxgAkaudRNICcQPexAIgJzlusmQ6KNFiCUgVCVxXfUQogTI5nODdk7ZqkkcHjWPV0DoiqSJqRQi2qLEebdV6lweDhsB8PmmT1xPgjv3u5_xNQxZPa0xj_VRD-S_AFNde-OxeBloEWUsuZZcBWp1tC2SFEdTA-v=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">It is eleven thirty when we head back to the room after meeting new people who dance socially distanced from each other. The huge beautiful skylight lounge had a five piece band and exactly seven patrons.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9Xm2gHbPijcZc5LQDi5Eb5kQ0yFoIXoGdULMPh8gQsttbHqfbFNAcojsQLutIbgb6fKuQO_4D_Q0mbMSWvCS244lhs6whl4oLmko5Rx0sFY5z0VyQGN5jgDxHxpAGbemmNkPPNqobD5H3mq2LUl9fShtzmWgtTGfJBQU2ydOVBCq7eN-XC2aKuiWM=s1024" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9Xm2gHbPijcZc5LQDi5Eb5kQ0yFoIXoGdULMPh8gQsttbHqfbFNAcojsQLutIbgb6fKuQO_4D_Q0mbMSWvCS244lhs6whl4oLmko5Rx0sFY5z0VyQGN5jgDxHxpAGbemmNkPPNqobD5H3mq2LUl9fShtzmWgtTGfJBQU2ydOVBCq7eN-XC2aKuiWM=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">We are two hundred and fifty miles from Puerto Rico.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEha9SpK4q9o4MZf2VPOwXeM5diSN-0LKDIqWiwcd7A-o5sBpgI1cjMB50HvlgeNz98UqWiKIMogCMP5y3kPg3nt8p3_WTaRStB7pAxysKkqjx5LbOvVSpvh3uFgXdy2AKuNETn6kNqNIo69cXbbTbYWDxhDF72eT1LDR4VynboUqWRn9f01sHMBC0g7=s1600" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="61" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEha9SpK4q9o4MZf2VPOwXeM5diSN-0LKDIqWiwcd7A-o5sBpgI1cjMB50HvlgeNz98UqWiKIMogCMP5y3kPg3nt8p3_WTaRStB7pAxysKkqjx5LbOvVSpvh3uFgXdy2AKuNETn6kNqNIo69cXbbTbYWDxhDF72eT1LDR4VynboUqWRn9f01sHMBC0g7=w61-h61" width="61" /></a></div><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-7-san-juan.html">https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-7-san-juan.html</a><br /></span></p>
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</p></div>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-38891373906439649342022-01-09T15:13:00.139-05:002023-02-19T08:23:12.148-05:00Supernova Duo<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>Several weeks before our scheduled cruise on the Celebrity
Millennium, we recorded Jimmy Fallon’s interview with Spanish
actress </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #111111;"><span>Úrsula
Corberó on the Tonight Show. Úrsula is world famous as Tokyo, the
villainous female lead in Netflix’s number one show, Money Heist.
Ilse and I decided to join the rest of the civilized world and see
what the show was about.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #111111; font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="color: #111111; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Only a few seconds
into the theme song, we both sat up. We had listened to our friends
Seba and Daniela, sing Cecelia Krull’s song, <i>My Life is Going On</i>,
on YouTube while the two of them were in quarantine in Bariloche, Argentina,
over a year ago. Ilse and I had never heard the song before we heard Dany sing it, but we recognized it within a matter of seconds on the TV
show. Daniela the female half of Supernova Duo, absolutely enthralled
us with her rendition of the now world-famous theme song.</div></span></div><div style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #111111; font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="color: #111111; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: normal;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Through a unique
set of circumstances and coincidences, we once again met Dany and
Sebastian on a cruise ship seven years after we first met them in
2014. Not the same ship, not even the same cruise line, but they had
once again traveled from Patagonia to Florida to accept an
entertainment contract, this time on Celebrity Cruises, the same time
we decided to once again go cruising.</span></div></span></div>
<p class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #111111;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #111111;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHRRwoehP82qaGPZPmRrBbAzA0zVBy2wsv8UzfP1xeE6gTZcvAqQ-A9YZ6X_NuVDsAhvbEe69B3CdXmwqGoX4FXPQm_gdh32EA_OcVcI9F8AMSF3l8sPIentc9AQx5jGYlZP4cTyx2HVxDxJijU-SpIW2f0rM76F2qp16j-kHMHKL2lTbE9rP0IspS/s3841/PXL_20211219_003300750.MP.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="3841" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHRRwoehP82qaGPZPmRrBbAzA0zVBy2wsv8UzfP1xeE6gTZcvAqQ-A9YZ6X_NuVDsAhvbEe69B3CdXmwqGoX4FXPQm_gdh32EA_OcVcI9F8AMSF3l8sPIentc9AQx5jGYlZP4cTyx2HVxDxJijU-SpIW2f0rM76F2qp16j-kHMHKL2lTbE9rP0IspS/w640-h480/PXL_20211219_003300750.MP.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="color: #111111;"><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #111111;"><span><span><span>It
is indeed a small world. </span></span></span></span></span><span style="text-align: left;">The first
chance we had to chat with them was squeezed into their performance
schedule and we only got to say hello. We decided to meet after a
show in a lounge amid-ships after we left Nassau.</span></span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
We watched Dany and Seba as they finished their set and began to pack
up their gear. They were relocating to a different part of the ship
for their next performance. Two crew members took apart the
microphone stands and rolled up cables and power cords.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
Dany and Seba were doing forty-five minute segments, as most of the
performers on the ship, and after a short break, would resume
somewhere else on the ship. The entertainers all played the same
locations in the ship, we just didn’t know who was playing where if
we didn’t check our cellphone app.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
Seba suggested we get together for drinks after they finished their
last show, or even possibly having dinner during their one day off
while the ship would be in San Juan.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
Ilse and I headed back to the ship early in San Juan, our planned
walking tour in old town cut short by constant, intermittent
heavy rain showers. We laughed and hoped Dany and Seba were having
better luck in their precious, controlled excursion to the Plazas las
Americas in San Juan. The crews and staff don’t get to go ashore
like they did before Corona virus. It is a new, controlled world for
all of us.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
Ilse and I went up top to watch our departure from San Juan in the
evening light and are disappointed the old Moro Castle is no longer
lit at night as we depart past on of the most iconic landmarks in the
Caribbean. We’ll have to do with the memories of our first visit
here,</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
We met Dany and Seba as we headed toward St Croix and made tentative
plans to have drinks after their last show tomorrow. We are all
cautious, yet warmly surprised by the same chemistry that drew us
together seven years ago. They are oddly enough, half our age, from
another continent and speak a different mother tongue, yet we
converse as if we have known each other for years.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
“We’ve altered our schedule a little bit so we have our last show
tomorrow before dinner. Would you like to have dinner tomorrow with
us after we finish our last performance?</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
“Absolutely,” We answered, <span style="text-align: left;">We decide to meet in the Metropolitan dining room, our regularly
scheduled dining room at six thirty.</span></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">Ilse and I stood in front of the Maitre D's pedestal at 6:25,
so we could greet them and enter together. The gracious Maitre d offers
to show us to our table and show them in when they arrive, but we
decide we would rather walk in together. Ilse and I move discreetly to the
side of the alcove.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
Seba arrived some ten minutes later, after Ilse and I have excused
ourselves to numerous arrivals who didn't want to intrude on our
obvious position as first in line.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
“Dany will be late, I’m sorry but we couldn’t alter her
on-board appointment and it has run almost two hours longer than we
thought.” Seba says. “Please forgive us, I’ll go in with you
and Dany will join us as soon as possible.”</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
We were seated and chatting cordially with Seba, I apologized to Dave, our
waiter as I had told him previously we would have guests, but in the
anxiety of the moment. I forgot to introduce our guests. Dave smiles,
and quietly introduces himself. I felt like I was still in
highschool.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
Dany arrives with a smile that illuminates the entire dining room.
Within minutes, we are chatting and laughing as if seven
years had been seven minutes.
</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">The world is indeed a marvelous place.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgPj8q9HlfwRM89y4PIbBGVIx8QtzIsdl_gMyIdBmbgDCgPY4lCakqIgTasUYuWRQrDkCPmRtA2JOnLybq_jRrD92pYZUy5FcCIUzp2seK9bOFP1Rvx6hIYFh0JRaE10VblLesy9bUIBIJhEaHgA8V-jqsdoCSyapbsYJbQ-C202acAd2iYB_CtySAo=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgPj8q9HlfwRM89y4PIbBGVIx8QtzIsdl_gMyIdBmbgDCgPY4lCakqIgTasUYuWRQrDkCPmRtA2JOnLybq_jRrD92pYZUy5FcCIUzp2seK9bOFP1Rvx6hIYFh0JRaE10VblLesy9bUIBIJhEaHgA8V-jqsdoCSyapbsYJbQ-C202acAd2iYB_CtySAo=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguWqFvLxdCShX26klfdrksh_FBU0wTDEAZ6qjGDUF3WhV_XHI_3aFcFLlV3QqHPsH3ux0u8jaxVTxnu3qe4mPzpnf6wayo9FOaYThaalsPrb_zwAOTmCPmc0Vi4-zHVzOqctGmb9nPzAApAV2_rDqeow4MllDRrUUx9k6DmvtbFnUcc0yFzi83mdv0=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguWqFvLxdCShX26klfdrksh_FBU0wTDEAZ6qjGDUF3WhV_XHI_3aFcFLlV3QqHPsH3ux0u8jaxVTxnu3qe4mPzpnf6wayo9FOaYThaalsPrb_zwAOTmCPmc0Vi4-zHVzOqctGmb9nPzAApAV2_rDqeow4MllDRrUUx9k6DmvtbFnUcc0yFzi83mdv0=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibA5VTrq3irW0OYrMFzwY0kown5YdWBgHq_6A33Jgb0Lz_RDbiiGEGQf8xjAH-Z46oWO8mHLNwRao-PzDkoWy6xe5vLZArTqbFvkKHsuLLcuY2bXT6toqUB0MH6FRhA4FhoL53nOSGS02TV0qLYBdyaQQ13QH19_04hAs1iLWA5DLpQQnIyIUBnoce=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibA5VTrq3irW0OYrMFzwY0kown5YdWBgHq_6A33Jgb0Lz_RDbiiGEGQf8xjAH-Z46oWO8mHLNwRao-PzDkoWy6xe5vLZArTqbFvkKHsuLLcuY2bXT6toqUB0MH6FRhA4FhoL53nOSGS02TV0qLYBdyaQQ13QH19_04hAs1iLWA5DLpQQnIyIUBnoce=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQ_jFV9tanV2d_9UVlIB5GpEt0d1HsAiKdq-pnC0rGx-FopFdKHfn0C36zMFBqAmjOQhV8Dpr8Os8e19cm13zIJxLs1JbH7-V0DWSg2xzabQvfGuxd2L3l-V_GqI9turxkRNahm7luLshtEjmKwE-EiqLXtr5qYAwi7cn0ZJYTQfF11rtWenDqXf6h=s1600" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQ_jFV9tanV2d_9UVlIB5GpEt0d1HsAiKdq-pnC0rGx-FopFdKHfn0C36zMFBqAmjOQhV8Dpr8Os8e19cm13zIJxLs1JbH7-V0DWSg2xzabQvfGuxd2L3l-V_GqI9turxkRNahm7luLshtEjmKwE-EiqLXtr5qYAwi7cn0ZJYTQfF11rtWenDqXf6h=w121-h121" width="121" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/oh-dark-thirty.html">https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/oh-dark-thirty.html</a><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.49in;">
<br />
</p></div>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-14599296083169167142022-01-05T16:19:00.188-05:002023-02-19T12:30:28.576-05:00Moths to a Flame - Part 4, Nassau, Revisited, Again<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">T</span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">he sun </span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">dramatically</span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"> rises in front of us </span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">as we slowly approach Nassau</span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">. The </span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">barely perceptible</span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"> light on the iconic, battered lighthouse flashes dimly in the breaking light as we glide silently, effortlessly past </span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">into the narrow Nassau channel.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWZrszZidGvSU7SXUA5AvVS0jHV_KVOeu5Km2e_qLfG_0lwXFgPQznHECfFxinNOKPcytDGde3YPJO9jAqcuF_MwWYaCdDsDFKx5PLC7fWLYl1-BxDn2he8W9uRWghnC6X3K9qnsx34RUtCXJYa_BLQuLYNfFeVURHO7JZf6nBfe2iMj4jWJAUL4BP=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWZrszZidGvSU7SXUA5AvVS0jHV_KVOeu5Km2e_qLfG_0lwXFgPQznHECfFxinNOKPcytDGde3YPJO9jAqcuF_MwWYaCdDsDFKx5PLC7fWLYl1-BxDn2he8W9uRWghnC6X3K9qnsx34RUtCXJYa_BLQuLYNfFeVURHO7JZf6nBfe2iMj4jWJAUL4BP=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The 990 foot long, 91 ton
ship slows and turns around easily in the narrow channel. She backs
into the dock as if by magic. All of the modern
ships turn effortlessly within their own length, and they do it every
day. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">The days of tugboats pushing and pulling with ropes and cables faded away years ago.</span></div>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTtjciuAfH41fMlrhLhRibgcIasVeoCFgZnoZlx83IGUYCiGiGyBRB0if4hYoj3Bg-4ZV7GlASErVy46UqCjSf5jWeMIz6xZZCoTUFs5B7YTljygykE0Yx4-7lBPo2-O-Plxjn8VA6pYjkPaE6LiOOwRNX1_BvMEu1nHPxkfVoJWy0EvBXDhQBnAEj=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTtjciuAfH41fMlrhLhRibgcIasVeoCFgZnoZlx83IGUYCiGiGyBRB0if4hYoj3Bg-4ZV7GlASErVy46UqCjSf5jWeMIz6xZZCoTUFs5B7YTljygykE0Yx4-7lBPo2-O-Plxjn8VA6pYjkPaE6LiOOwRNX1_BvMEu1nHPxkfVoJWy0EvBXDhQBnAEj=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><p align="justify" class="western" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; margin-bottom: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span>I
usually sleep like a rock, but not on a cruise ship. I’m always
awake before daybreak and wander around the top deck looking for
opportunities to take photographs. I love to watch the sun rise at
sea. Something new or interesting in the morning light usually
catches my eye. Besides, I like having the whole boat to myself. </span></span>
</p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; margin-bottom: 0.2in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span>The
cruise ships rarely enter port before dawn and this way I get to see
when the pilot boats come alongside to allow us to pick up the local pilots who bring the huge ships into port. Ilse enjoys the time to sleep in
a little bit, a nice break from the daily routine. And that brings me
to another reason cruising is popular with us, time.</span></span></p>
</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7Gx6Ym6hr97LiZExR5LbUV6rk0GmIBSouw7_pODk67CQu3mo63EckVq2l03fh3XTPhl1-8gqCFIe4HqpRlpKOoakav4L_Xu7n3p1QLnVxZHKAa-cyCBYzWabcO0lU3pydboXA5WhBCRPH55YBhjQes8WHWheD8NyDqDUHey32xaDbnZJSddmPwZze=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7Gx6Ym6hr97LiZExR5LbUV6rk0GmIBSouw7_pODk67CQu3mo63EckVq2l03fh3XTPhl1-8gqCFIe4HqpRlpKOoakav4L_Xu7n3p1QLnVxZHKAa-cyCBYzWabcO0lU3pydboXA5WhBCRPH55YBhjQes8WHWheD8NyDqDUHey32xaDbnZJSddmPwZze=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>
Time to sleep-in that doesn’t always happen at home. Breakfast here
is just a few feet away, even in your cabin if you want it, and we
don’t have to cook or drive anywhere. Breakfast can be just about
anything we choose. We always eat in the main dining room the first
day as Eggs Benedict are as much a tradition with me as my French
Onion soup, and that is one of the few things not found in the
informal breakfast line found on the upper decks. The breakfast
serving line on deck ten had everything imaginable, but it is no
longer self serve. Instead, mask-wearing servers wait patiently to
serve what ever you point at, from coddled eggs to custom made French
toast and different fares from Asia and the Far East. There are more
servers than passengers.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><br /></span>No sooner are we docked in Nassau than another huge ship approaches
us head-on as if we aren’t even there. She slows and begins
spinning – turning is not the right word – and within minutes the
Celebrity Silhouette slips quietly backwards into the dock across
from us.</span></div>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKAViMsPYT2_XXxF9-cbCCpp3B7zqFu3Km8ZczPgt48qy8fzQ6dVNcxjfdUNmrX72K2qMO2ODy0tXgG4MzIxlbifvV1IRBF3uNSON3mdR1Y2xqq94BvLr0AaxjWlswAadWTfuRbJ103ud6asndcBTiPsrDfPZsFM83xGM8clL4zyUotoEXayWQngGA=s5259" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2957" data-original-width="5259" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKAViMsPYT2_XXxF9-cbCCpp3B7zqFu3Km8ZczPgt48qy8fzQ6dVNcxjfdUNmrX72K2qMO2ODy0tXgG4MzIxlbifvV1IRBF3uNSON3mdR1Y2xqq94BvLr0AaxjWlswAadWTfuRbJ103ud6asndcBTiPsrDfPZsFM83xGM8clL4zyUotoEXayWQngGA=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
I check on Ilse, who has dressed, and we head down to eat breakfast
as the ship’s captain announces disembarking the ship is now open.
There are no long lines when there are less than a quarter of the
regular passengers to disembark, but we always avoid the initial
rush, usually by getting something to eat. We did not sign up for any
shore excursions so we had no fixed schedule. We’ll walk into town
after the we eat and the crowds have thinned out. We have until
3:30pm so we are in no rush.</span></div>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6OOdi-Kn-P_msEJrqGvr6ImosaZS8qqN4TtBYfrxIZKxvQBvrApgywp8YvxG7wiT8zSTBUb6TvGcuExSYAtMNTLvXPgtnzlDzeXZKT8VAbSPtd5k8gg4kuqhVzNIW0uTr-nz5klBI5rga_JzyxCNiD47D95pyWfbPSDAX6QpAgXh8uGoGqjMQYrI_=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6OOdi-Kn-P_msEJrqGvr6ImosaZS8qqN4TtBYfrxIZKxvQBvrApgywp8YvxG7wiT8zSTBUb6TvGcuExSYAtMNTLvXPgtnzlDzeXZKT8VAbSPtd5k8gg4kuqhVzNIW0uTr-nz5klBI5rga_JzyxCNiD47D95pyWfbPSDAX6QpAgXh8uGoGqjMQYrI_=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
We are the only passengers in sight as we disembark onto to the long,
empty dock. We take our prerequisite photos next to the ship and
wander into town for a nostalgic stroll along Bay Street, stopping to
chat with the pigeon man, several police officers, and many clerks
and store keepers. The first thing we notice is the bleachers that
are usually assembled and in place along both sides of Bay Street
this time of year for the Boxing Day Celebration known as Junkanoo,
are missing. We are informed by several sad Bahamians that the day
after Christmas celebration has been canceled for the second year in
a row.
</span></div>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6ctkQ_dSj5mm-fXsAf7fz04lhOzReze49wyur4YZ7ZBlFrkk356zyxSOsTzmr0d5F9I-FJeLcc_g7F8v7bkb5aeRnNua38Ka57ByQRWQiMaIp7rqymlgvHcjHpH6TzMdNsl9u6-YgHhaCpnKa9ReMoQzLegT4DjbBX2XAjtxi7jqSmqQ5QbV6Ehr9=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6ctkQ_dSj5mm-fXsAf7fz04lhOzReze49wyur4YZ7ZBlFrkk356zyxSOsTzmr0d5F9I-FJeLcc_g7F8v7bkb5aeRnNua38Ka57ByQRWQiMaIp7rqymlgvHcjHpH6TzMdNsl9u6-YgHhaCpnKa9ReMoQzLegT4DjbBX2XAjtxi7jqSmqQ5QbV6Ehr9=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="text-align: left;">We
are immediately struck by the change in attitudes from past visits
here. Everyone we talk with is openly friendly. The sharp, usually
abrasive marketing atmosphere has mostly disappeared. This is our
third time in town, not counting flying in and out of the Nassau
International airport where we would fly to Luxembourg, just a few
kilometers from my wife's hometown, and the welcome change in the
atmosphere seems to be universal. They are obviously glad to see
cruise ship visitors back after a year and a half absence, even if
there aren’t that many of us.</span></span></div>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFi6WvCvbk8zMXxCrHbAlFtWZ5Yt-ovCM_WYpbo1N72vgHUa1mfiJNuVmueP6RCyJ22f88rtq-JtEsAVPxJz9SvYYX2UAAzeqrpPA5xXbdcozFZJYFrT5W2tAxDTO-KfzP5BLJJkJ_cNmCE8FEbUF0O4mLsDO7EtSqYVzbfzKMsr3uqL207dqwONHU=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="5472" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFi6WvCvbk8zMXxCrHbAlFtWZ5Yt-ovCM_WYpbo1N72vgHUa1mfiJNuVmueP6RCyJ22f88rtq-JtEsAVPxJz9SvYYX2UAAzeqrpPA5xXbdcozFZJYFrT5W2tAxDTO-KfzP5BLJJkJ_cNmCE8FEbUF0O4mLsDO7EtSqYVzbfzKMsr3uqL207dqwONHU=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
Nassau is undergoing another port reconstruction as well as major
building projects along the waterfront area and in town itself. Even
though Nassau is one of the most modern, up-to-date cities in the
Caribbean, caution is still required when walking along the streets
and pathways. One of our fellow passengers suffered a serious head
injury just outside the entrance to the dock when he tripped on the
uneven pavement and fell, striking his head. His wife joined him in
the emergency ambulance as she requested a hospital check of his
injury. They pulled away as we were showing our photo ID’s and
ship’s room cards to reenter the port.
</span></div>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkPbjOAgxJVz-fvdYdFmVS8tHji9FS603ag-4M8Dx8FtqPLorU6OZfeiIGyQogqMWJ0pUaxDR7oBzuaPhvySNQLvBP8mLml65BhDjPBHp4ilMCo5CgU6Nx8XwoEFPkkSzSTVY38vzr330FOjaBp87qQ-HNci_Rzxmc68gzqqRgzTcauludusePns26=s4505" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2532" data-original-width="4505" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkPbjOAgxJVz-fvdYdFmVS8tHji9FS603ag-4M8Dx8FtqPLorU6OZfeiIGyQogqMWJ0pUaxDR7oBzuaPhvySNQLvBP8mLml65BhDjPBHp4ilMCo5CgU6Nx8XwoEFPkkSzSTVY38vzr330FOjaBp87qQ-HNci_Rzxmc68gzqqRgzTcauludusePns26=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>
After we board, I wander off with my camera as Ilse retires to the
cabin to do some restorative yoga. I watch as another ship
approaches through the channel, but instead of turning and backing
in, it charges up to the dock, raucous Caribbean party music blaring
obnoxiously from loudspeakers apparently mounted on every square inch
of the ship. The Carnival carnival arrives via the Conquest, a twenty year old ship famous for its youth oriented </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">Guy's Burger Joint</span><sup style="text-align: left;">™</sup><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">, Red Frog Rum Bar</span><sup style="text-align: left;">®</sup><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">and SkyBox</span><sup style="text-align: left;">™</sup><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">Sports Bar and the </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">Alchemy Bar</span><sup style="text-align: left;">®</sup><span style="text-align: left;">. One of
my fellow passengers dryly comments the ship is misnamed, he thinks
it should renamed the Carnival Sideshow. Its appeal is definitely the other end of the cruising spectrum from the Millenium.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="text-align: left;">I head back to the cabin as
I know Ilse’s yoga has come to an unexpected end. Our room is only
yards away from the source of the oddly out of date music echoing
between the ships. I take several photos and notice there is also a
lack of passengers on the youth-oriented party boat, the Conquest is
as empty as we are. The shop owners in Nassau are going to be
disappointed.</span></span></div>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcbvIDp171RcY9GXql-aBZORaUSN6e4JGz3WIrFil9zhsWntLPhyWpO3i6ojs6CSoZQ9t_WvmGt92nhDTGerJR_OmBrhYGdezfqDPXawQ6sURj9iFGQTKdh7azLGHJDyeb0yyxwHKVNWcgxROE2nCVuQn7pYqVoAstmLfLEx_dxkcn-3v9m64o2gcg=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcbvIDp171RcY9GXql-aBZORaUSN6e4JGz3WIrFil9zhsWntLPhyWpO3i6ojs6CSoZQ9t_WvmGt92nhDTGerJR_OmBrhYGdezfqDPXawQ6sURj9iFGQTKdh7azLGHJDyeb0yyxwHKVNWcgxROE2nCVuQn7pYqVoAstmLfLEx_dxkcn-3v9m64o2gcg=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">
Departure 3:47 pm - <span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">Someone
</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">stood
</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">patiently</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">
on the </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">otherwise
empty </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">dock</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">
</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">with
his luggage for almost an hour. </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">He
was allowed to board</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">
at the last minute </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">just
</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">as
the boardwalk was being retracted.</span> The weather was great, even with
scattered showers in the distance. They moved away as we headed out past the lighthouse and turned north toward the Northeast
Providence Channel that will take us to the Atlantic for our
forty-hour trip to San Juan, Puerto Rico. </span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We will have a day and a
half at sea.</span></div>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2fKIGLrOs2dpaShlXPBpLrJ4z2L-28NXqloSpJovRP1jpBjFhruat8ED-SbqAZy5eC9A9Qji-HPGFiqtkeOTY2sM7ic3GK0J96oLt9Rl8XZj5K3dcvV-9Kyk6Ryr7L9h8rtpo7MxcqfB7YEE11zNVeppIq63eF7Aw6lLhSn-ZVM3n1DMnrcevvzRL=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2fKIGLrOs2dpaShlXPBpLrJ4z2L-28NXqloSpJovRP1jpBjFhruat8ED-SbqAZy5eC9A9Qji-HPGFiqtkeOTY2sM7ic3GK0J96oLt9Rl8XZj5K3dcvV-9Kyk6Ryr7L9h8rtpo7MxcqfB7YEE11zNVeppIq63eF7Aw6lLhSn-ZVM3n1DMnrcevvzRL=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0OkmM-TZbfDKvNbDMJb2nlUOmY5tAuRaDJoxC6NWtZ1ztlVUsfA2qG5PYcpqDpq5jTWVwLVHA4E3kOHt4n02HmcNJEQojzCTvsAfiDwV3q9t5RnB8LAUY-Zt08Xl9wkGUlXGliFpZGQuwtSZYx6Ouq2xwvGcsxndhExHywa4sUeZC3roQqGon0mcM=s1600" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="108" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0OkmM-TZbfDKvNbDMJb2nlUOmY5tAuRaDJoxC6NWtZ1ztlVUsfA2qG5PYcpqDpq5jTWVwLVHA4E3kOHt4n02HmcNJEQojzCTvsAfiDwV3q9t5RnB8LAUY-Zt08Xl9wkGUlXGliFpZGQuwtSZYx6Ouq2xwvGcsxndhExHywa4sUeZC3roQqGon0mcM=w108-h108" width="108" /></a><span style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/supernova-duo.html" target="_blank">https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/supernova-duo.html</a></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-1273413734538015442022-01-03T21:11:00.189-05:002023-02-19T07:30:57.986-05:00Moths to a Flame - Part 3, Modern Times<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">Stepping
out of the covered gangway onto the open deck of the Celebrity
Millennium was both a nostalgic moment, and a gamble for us. We
decided seven years earlier, after our last cruise, not to waste any
more money on cruising. Were we wrong to once again to schedule a
cruise? A cruise that was to be the longest we have ever taken? I’m
sure the Millennium's waiting officers and staff had no idea what was
going through our minds as we emerged from the gangway. This was our
seventh cruise and we had high hopes.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">We
experienced a full spectrum of pleasure cruising on our first six
cruises. We were surprised one time by huge, orange lifeboats
blocking the view from our “ocean-view” staterooms and on another
cruise by running out of sugar two days from the end of the cruise.
But those issues didn't stop us from cruising. It was the last cruise
ruined it for us. It was notorious for its atrocious food and poor
service. The cruise line – which we had cruised with three times
before – was trying to force everyone to upgrade to the specialty,
extra cost restaurants by making regular dining unpalatable
regardless of how much you paid for the cruise.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">There
have been industry-wide changes since our first cruise when we went
to the ship’s drugstore and bought liquor to take back to our small
room with two single beds and a port-hole. The industry no longer
focuses on gambling as soon as the ship is outside the twelve mile
limit and has become attuned to all ages of travelers and
vacationers. Profit making is no longer an art, it is a science. Our
last cruise proved to be too much squeezing for us. It simply was no
longer fun or worth the cost. Besides, if we went camping instead, we
could always bring our dogs. Cruising was no longer attractive to us.
The cruise lines could no longer compete for our money.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">But
here we were, once again, seven years later. Like moths to a flame.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">We
were greeted on the deck of the Millennium by several teams of
officers and staff, even assisting us with our carry-on luggage.
There were no exotic cocktails with little umbrellas and servers
immediately asking for your room number here. I was pleasantly
surprised, not only by the Millennium greeting, but by my wife as
well. She wandered off toward the bow of the ship, pulling her
carry-on behind her, engrossed in her own world as I received
directions from our greeters to our stateroom. It was all smiles –
I’m going by the twinkling eyes here, everyone was masked – and
pleasantries from the entire staff as we finally got organized and
headed toward the aft elevators together, toward our home for the
next ten days. The Millennium would be our first cruise with
Celebrity cruises.</span></span></p><p>
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">Celebrity’s
stateroom package included the first level drink package, all tips
included, and free, if somewhat restricted, WiFi, so we were
apprehensive, at best. We were pleasantly surprised by Celebrity as
they unexpectedly upgraded our cabin from Veranda to Concierge just
before checking in and we were now a deck higher. The ship appeared
to be almost empty except for the ever-present staff. All of the
staff were masked the entire time, and most of the passengers we met
as well. Ilse and I were the only passengers on the pool deck for
most of the afternoon as we waited for our 4:30 departure. And our
suitcase, of course, which was placed outside our cabin door well
before we shoved off.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfI62VjYgjup0__FvE0zwwidnDjOnMHgFlXuGkFJ7dPSwbEohgpDCFqBAJd2Ic2BkYFeOcKDvt9lUCcVg774hzqGvKY1MhO1X7_V6Jtp2I6_gnbAJ9ciXwjEWeMSRKHApYB1QOMr9k3CN0O-FwjfH675y_reBkDiw-EAywONgzbaCxag5AH_x3s_Hw/s640/887.tmp-001.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="359" data-original-width="640" height="359" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfI62VjYgjup0__FvE0zwwidnDjOnMHgFlXuGkFJ7dPSwbEohgpDCFqBAJd2Ic2BkYFeOcKDvt9lUCcVg774hzqGvKY1MhO1X7_V6Jtp2I6_gnbAJ9ciXwjEWeMSRKHApYB1QOMr9k3CN0O-FwjfH675y_reBkDiw-EAywONgzbaCxag5AH_x3s_Hw/w640-h359/887.tmp-001.jpg" title="Welcome aboard the Millenium" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to the Millenium<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">There
were scattered passengers around the top deck as we departed busy,
cosmopolitan Ft. Lauderdale headed for our first stop of the cruise,
the seemingly mandatory stop in Nassau. We feel like old hands at
Nassau. Watching the preparations for Junkanoo is always fun and our
timing was right on for the third time.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">We
struck up a conversation with another couple on the top deck as we
waited for departure and everything seemed normal except for the odd
lack of passengers. We stayed on the deck until Florida began to fade
in the distance and setting sun as we were once again seduced by
heading toward the open ocean.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij-LAXajDibH0XvPvToPfooC2m6XipM0kUM7GMQ44hcl4K6SEBt_CuZc8sO7Ie8OikiQ2frOa0k5mvecsQY4S9WXalmxsBeJHkfIVDOWrC6fsUhywl-hytBANiONL0oqsr6s1r2VQtEwmXyqk6rhbkMxWfe7O5CJQ7vQYU607ZcmHAfxl4ul-nk9PD/s3115/IMG_0080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1754" data-original-width="3115" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij-LAXajDibH0XvPvToPfooC2m6XipM0kUM7GMQ44hcl4K6SEBt_CuZc8sO7Ie8OikiQ2frOa0k5mvecsQY4S9WXalmxsBeJHkfIVDOWrC6fsUhywl-hytBANiONL0oqsr6s1r2VQtEwmXyqk6rhbkMxWfe7O5CJQ7vQYU607ZcmHAfxl4ul-nk9PD/w640-h360/IMG_0080.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">We
selected early dinner, served at six pm at the Metropolitan dining
room on the 5th deck as we love the service of a wait staff that
knows our names. We later found the second seating had been
eliminated altogether as there were not enough passengers to warrant
it. The Metropolitan dining room on the 4th deck served as an open
dining room until 11:00 pm. The first night is always casual as we
found on past cruises, not everyone gets their luggage delivered to
their cabin in time to change for dinner.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPkGIOxNp5T9ZTq0nMXQUsXytwezyO9I0AF5-aabGAFfnbVx9-XZPdzLHCRdInT1K5hWECGS8vTXlzY2wTFNz9VgvzkyLyPFJij5GojCDoMa7AZIb9rnJpJBXRfHpWQwmYe9kMnpWUUj9c1VFO7TKAjZNKMPkMbI3qYT441EM4YBgI1NiPthe3fATT/s640/4217.tmp-001.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="359" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPkGIOxNp5T9ZTq0nMXQUsXytwezyO9I0AF5-aabGAFfnbVx9-XZPdzLHCRdInT1K5hWECGS8vTXlzY2wTFNz9VgvzkyLyPFJij5GojCDoMa7AZIb9rnJpJBXRfHpWQwmYe9kMnpWUUj9c1VFO7TKAjZNKMPkMbI3qYT441EM4YBgI1NiPthe3fATT/w640-h360/4217.tmp-001.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At berth in Ft. Lauderdale</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%;"><br /><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">Ilse
was disappointed when we were taken to our table for two, which
turned out to be two tables, pushed together, side by side. The
Maitre d’ had the two tables respectively separated and the wait
staff immediately removed any vestige of seating at the adjoining
table.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">The
couple we had met on deck as we departed Fort Lauderdale walked up
just as we were meeting our waiter, Dave, and his ever-smiling
assistant, Luh. The couple asked if we minded if they joined us. We
did mind as we had different visions of our first dinner on ship, but
never-the-less, we graciously, if somewhat reluctantly, invited them
to join us. We inadvertently created problems for the wait staff as
they now had no choice but to add the settings back to the table they
had just cleared. They only dined with us that first night and did
not return for any more dinners, but their settings were in place
each night should they return.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">As
far as the dining was concerned, I had no choice but to perform my
French Onion Soup analysis. My analysis has become the benchmark by
which the rest of the cruise shall be measured. I never turn down the
opportunity to order the soup and although I ordered it on the
Millennium with great trepidation, my fears were unfounded. The
French Onion soup on was delicious. So were all the meals we ate in
the Metropolitan dining room. Score a big one for Celebrity Cruise
Lines.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">We
spent the evening exploring the ship and taking in a little of the
evening show. As we headed around the central staircase – I won’t
call it an atrium – we heard familiar voices coming from the
entertainment podium. It was Daniela and Seba, Supernova Duo, who we
met back in 2014 during their very first contract. We walked around
the corner and Seba recognized us. We have been friends on Facebook
and have followed each other for several years. We chatted and
laughed and made plans to meet when they had a break in their
schedule. A really great surprise and definitely a highlight of the
trip.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWVZDshyTKvb4XQMBEUacEb7Q24h8pnscwzqHFDsiznWABvBfUazzXTAu8c-0vbTnQObOVZRCIEW4w7kE2IpfpDXYE2J64NzYkVCFHaYjDTvDu0txfjlwC5qEXp1nG0ovFwpo6WoJlw6WKDmvhZaod6rwYL4XbSvHRiVr0zT5-Hly--fWLZhJF3cf5/s447/35E.tmp-001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="447" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWVZDshyTKvb4XQMBEUacEb7Q24h8pnscwzqHFDsiznWABvBfUazzXTAu8c-0vbTnQObOVZRCIEW4w7kE2IpfpDXYE2J64NzYkVCFHaYjDTvDu0txfjlwC5qEXp1nG0ovFwpo6WoJlw6WKDmvhZaod6rwYL4XbSvHRiVr0zT5-Hly--fWLZhJF3cf5/w640-h360/35E.tmp-001.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p>
<center>
</center><p align="justify" class="western" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">Ilse
and I returned to our cabin where we made short order of our
complimentary sparkling wine, sitting in the lounge chairs on the
balcony enjoying the ocean and wondering where all the other ships
were. There are usually several other brightly lit ships on the
horizon, headed for Caribbean ports unknown, but there was only one
other ship and we soon lost sight of it. The usually busy channel
between Florida and the Bahamas was eerily dark.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%;">
</p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%;">
<br />
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2235OUVopIMGLvfUhu-olVXTe6a_BwnOyFjW1nZAIjBvjm_GhgonB3-UvIyIiGEIThQ--6z-tzCdJ0IGXP4yQrn8SA-rTQM38dZ8SwxApdcd6oGS6lvjybouGB09dHJz-n83vJzl_owuX3132svr17qF9UVkXVQwIGeFMXtbBcidOAI6bxNaMYfoa/s640/A78F.tmp-001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2235OUVopIMGLvfUhu-olVXTe6a_BwnOyFjW1nZAIjBvjm_GhgonB3-UvIyIiGEIThQ--6z-tzCdJ0IGXP4yQrn8SA-rTQM38dZ8SwxApdcd6oGS6lvjybouGB09dHJz-n83vJzl_owuX3132svr17qF9UVkXVQwIGeFMXtbBcidOAI6bxNaMYfoa/w640-h360/A78F.tmp-001.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">By
11:30 pm, we were 90 miles from Ft Lauderdale and the weather was
wonderful. We found out there were only five hundred passengers on
board our ship with a capacity for over two thousand! With over nine
hundred crew, it was like having our own giant, private yacht! Great
us, but not for the industry. No wonder the ocean was dark.</span></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 17.0775px;"></p><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivC9y8F0aa8Hz-xWvkkkFX8edtzydYq3mTbZY3VtwmRozYR-GfXY0mS4k3V7QrbIkZFjhrN1CeBet6mL0HagQwmqTbHc-fb09Gmn7fDxah6_WvoTF2tnCLoAGC2l8Qd2I_TomG7uTcd4OVDOmwgoUWZxQr_T8pNVyyCVbsw5TW8Ft9BXJ3_QZ6msaF=s1600" style="clear: left; color: #992211; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivC9y8F0aa8Hz-xWvkkkFX8edtzydYq3mTbZY3VtwmRozYR-GfXY0mS4k3V7QrbIkZFjhrN1CeBet6mL0HagQwmqTbHc-fb09Gmn7fDxah6_WvoTF2tnCLoAGC2l8Qd2I_TomG7uTcd4OVDOmwgoUWZxQr_T8pNVyyCVbsw5TW8Ft9BXJ3_QZ6msaF=w152-h152" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="152" /></a></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-4-nassau-revisited.html" style="background-color: white; color: #992211; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: start; text-decoration-line: none;"><br /></a><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: left;"><a href="https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-4-nassau-revisited.html" style="color: #992211; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-4-nassau-revisited.html</a><br /></span></p><div><br /></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;">
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%;">
<br />
</p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-73926283472091934132022-01-03T07:24:00.077-05:002023-02-19T08:12:49.529-05:00Moths to a Flame - Part 2, Not The Millennium Falcon<div style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">It
did not take long after boarding the Millennium to realize the ship
was exactly what we were looking for, or rather, what we had missed
on our last cruise some seven years ago. Launched in 2001, she is the
oldest ship in the Celebrity Cruise Line fleet, but you would never
know it. The mid-size ship was completely upgraded and modernized in
early 2019, spending over a month in dry dock and 60 million dollars
being refitted and modernized. After spending most of 2020 and early
2021 waiting out the COVID 19 at San Diego, the Millennium was one of
the first cruise ships to reenter service in late 2021.</div><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><div style="text-align: justify;">I
couldn’t help but smile as we boarded her. I wondered if this
wasn’t also like an old space ship, designed to transport its
passengers through space and time, but in luxury and cleanliness as
opposed to the worn-out space freighter, the Millennium Falcon, made
famous by the 1977 Star Wars movie. In contrast, the Celebrity
Millennium carries its 2,138 passengers in contemporary style and
luxury.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><div style="text-align: justify;">We
joined the Celebrity Millennium in Port Everglades at Fort
Lauderdale, Florida two weeks before Christmas, 2021. Our first
scheduling attempt didn’t work out, but we were pleased to find our
friends Seba and Daniela, the Supernova Duo, were still entertaining
onboard as we enthusiastically signed up for an eastern Caribbean ten
day cruise. With the fear and anxiety of the COVID pandemic setting
the tone for several weeks of concern and worry, about whether or not
we would even get on board the ship, the actual process turned out to
be beautifully handled. Let’s start at the beginning though, back
before our enlightenment.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><div style="text-align: justify;">We
knew our required passports were up-to-date, and would not expire
within six months of our sailing, so that was no problem. The COVID
requirements were no problem, either, as we were both vaccinated as
soon as the vaccine was available. We had the booster shot as well.
We also had the flu shot, which we do annually. The only problem was
having proof of a negative COVID test within 48 hours of departure.
Neither my wife nor I had ever been tested for COVID and we simply
weren’t sure how to go about getting tested and proving we were
safe. While we follow the mask protocol religiously, we still
interact with people who travel or could otherwise be carriers. Of
the three required items, we had two – the passports and the proof
of vaccination – but the negative test caused us grief simply
because we did not know what to expect. What would happen if either
one of us failed the test?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><div style="text-align: justify;">We
confirmed our trip cancellation insurance covered testing positive
for COVID-19, which was a financial safety blanket, but the anxiety
of being stuck in port as the ship sailed away without us doggedly
clouded our enthusiasm. Celebrity made testing kits available for
less than one hundred dollars, but several friends told us they had
to order multiple test kits as the first kits received were
defective. We were leaving on a Monday, so we had no desire to
scramble on Sunday to find a testing location. We called several
testing companies and made arrangements at a walk-in clinic for
testing first thing Saturday morning. Of course that turned into a
two and a half hour wait before we were presented with our
certificate of a negative COVID test. With our priceless certificates
in hand, all we had to do was get to the boat some 200 miles away.</div></span></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvbU_b4MEhx64FVYTdolIX016wDpGTSPFiBct0kXvFCO-Dptv6D0nsp3C0hDcqNAn4ory7FqR1UOnV-vYszIbqxqy91f8mZFxTbvsVqBtcOYhqoNrM9NU5CP6ySRJpEvCW4lzGpDs7sPXA0wlfXWI_vr8q9hFB3yO3-_u4hLV6Tf30MYAbi_Msmu-w=s2636" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1483" data-original-width="2636" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvbU_b4MEhx64FVYTdolIX016wDpGTSPFiBct0kXvFCO-Dptv6D0nsp3C0hDcqNAn4ory7FqR1UOnV-vYszIbqxqy91f8mZFxTbvsVqBtcOYhqoNrM9NU5CP6ySRJpEvCW4lzGpDs7sPXA0wlfXWI_vr8q9hFB3yO3-_u4hLV6Tf30MYAbi_Msmu-w=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><br /></span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">We
have used Cruise Connection, run by the ESCOT bus line, several times
in the past to travel to and from the ports of Ft Lauderdale and
Miami. Easy and convenient, the service picks up customers at local
locations along Florida’s west coast and brings them directly to
the port terminal. They bring you back at the end of your cruise as
well. Our problem was the bus line was just restarting as were the
cruise lines themselves and there was some confusion on whether they
would run a bus on the days we needed transportation. Running a first
class bus service from Florida’s west coast to the ports depends on
customers, and when we called for reservations were first informed
they weren’t servicing our area for Celebrity cruises. After
several phone calls the situation changed and we were in business.
Neighbors graciously agreed to take us the local bus stop and
everything was in place. </span>
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">Perhaps
the pressures and constant conflict about the COVID pandemic just
wouldn’t let us relax. We were concerned about every little thing,
especially after we later missed a call from Cruise Connection asking
us to call them back as soon as possible. This was on the weekend
prior to our departure and did nothing for our nerves until we found
out they had simply moved our scheduled pickup time back an hour.
That made it a little easier for our wonderful friends, at least. </span>
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">The
huge, cross country tour bus had seven passengers when we got on, and
we stopped only once to pick up two more for the ride to Fort
Lauderdale. An indicator of things to come. The trip across the
Everglades is always fun when you don’t have to drive, and I don’t
mind letting someone else do the task while I sit back and watch
traffic. </span>
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7E4K00vzh0nv-x_iOcJNJLcgRYWOGZ0w2pLj0ivqP0gQtGtfCLX6nSMKYXda_BkskJQMpBteA6_iSO0KEzEveCCywNcGQpfk07LFSa7BrC0e-iKF_eICuA17tM-6F66w-L2oqW0TDjX_OScUzqK7cTCkNgjSKWhZVys6dxabJb5YDFHLH_LxidSMz=s3648" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7E4K00vzh0nv-x_iOcJNJLcgRYWOGZ0w2pLj0ivqP0gQtGtfCLX6nSMKYXda_BkskJQMpBteA6_iSO0KEzEveCCywNcGQpfk07LFSa7BrC0e-iKF_eICuA17tM-6F66w-L2oqW0TDjX_OScUzqK7cTCkNgjSKWhZVys6dxabJb5YDFHLH_LxidSMz=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><br /></span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">Port
Everglades, the name of the port in Fort Lauderdale, was under a
massive rebuild the last time we were there and I had no desire to
fight the madness, but all that is in the past. The port is modern
and easy to negotiate, I could have driven and parked in the parking garage almost across
the walk-way from the terminal. Personally, anything to ease getting on board is my choice and using Cruise Connection is one less thing to worry about. </span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpPGD9TDublFVOSV8Zvekt2oY_-wWUbywyXYXXOLV55Cmjl4CB4Wh8rX_BNpe53SXsWGn33yq_Vp7w01r1ms1KCiuqnViLiQ99SYpTMF2_plIbVF_0hb5rdMIho44EnPXf99tbI-T4Jl6dHoMxQozLoVW_mEP5Wq9sM8_eHcZSzFR9MFMfUZLZYG31=s2673" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1504" data-original-width="2673" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpPGD9TDublFVOSV8Zvekt2oY_-wWUbywyXYXXOLV55Cmjl4CB4Wh8rX_BNpe53SXsWGn33yq_Vp7w01r1ms1KCiuqnViLiQ99SYpTMF2_plIbVF_0hb5rdMIho44EnPXf99tbI-T4Jl6dHoMxQozLoVW_mEP5Wq9sM8_eHcZSzFR9MFMfUZLZYG31=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="text-align: left;">Five minutes after arriving, we were
in the terminal showing our passports and COVID papers and test
results. We were slightly ahead of our scheduled arrival time but it
created no problems. After receiving our cruise identification cards
and passing through several staging areas, we were walking up the
gangplank to our next cruise adventure.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9vBo0a93M3cXMiavGEkd5OTvB0BIntLztil1xnQ4zk6pJ21XQm0j0jvifTV1rYuhgYyWbnRjnGajKZJjTKAPo2u2xoD74LRZBNaBj5JQUBs357IUHdCk-KJqXmSqmNuE-sA3cf9O5rJOhmzCBURQzRSQLVcVMVMHWlMww0vFdu6eXncnhGXrjEcrl=s3648" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9vBo0a93M3cXMiavGEkd5OTvB0BIntLztil1xnQ4zk6pJ21XQm0j0jvifTV1rYuhgYyWbnRjnGajKZJjTKAPo2u2xoD74LRZBNaBj5JQUBs357IUHdCk-KJqXmSqmNuE-sA3cf9O5rJOhmzCBURQzRSQLVcVMVMHWlMww0vFdu6eXncnhGXrjEcrl=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;">We were surprised by how empty the terminal was. It appeared COVID had dampened everyone's desire to cruise. We would soon find out.<br />
<br />
</p><p align="left" class="western">
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
<br />
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">More to come </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusehttps://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-cruise-7-part-3-old.htmlrcontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbwEgFzUfKY2llnmWii-qPpYhHFmjdMhIunrbO-1JwpfgYOuLA9dZEG_pmVz-bLGC4daUU2oB2YkmlRSv86TpBFTEDa2-5utWOqqF-XxcJwwEM1SDI9_pZ7oEMWxX7e6EfAREsbhM8J2_QBcN0f3kJTVQJjdKjZqeNdylCKENYy-RXUBfd94DwRX5g=s1600" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbwEgFzUfKY2llnmWii-qPpYhHFmjdMhIunrbO-1JwpfgYOuLA9dZEG_pmVz-bLGC4daUU2oB2YkmlRSv86TpBFTEDa2-5utWOqqF-XxcJwwEM1SDI9_pZ7oEMWxX7e6EfAREsbhM8J2_QBcN0f3kJTVQJjdKjZqeNdylCKENYy-RXUBfd94DwRX5g=w139-h139" width="139" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
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</p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;">Next <a href="https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-cruise-7-part-3-old.html">https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-cruise-7-part-3-old.html</a> </p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></p>
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<br />
</p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-44688946044973996122021-12-01T15:07:00.049-05:002022-01-20T11:37:53.085-05:00Moths to a Flame – Part 1, The Inspiration<h2 align="center" class="western"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></h2>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: left;">Like moths to a flame, we are once again drawn to spending time on
the only place on earth you can see the dark blue of the world’s
oceans: the world’s oceans themselves. We are again going cruising, even after having been </span><span style="color: black; text-align: left;"><span><span lang="en-US">dismayed</span></span></span><span style="text-align: left;">
and discouraged by the debacle o</span><span style="color: black; text-align: left;"><span><span lang="en-US">f</span></span></span><span style="text-align: left;">
our last cruise back in 2014, where for a daily cost of almost five
hundred dollars a day, we were fed food that was just plain awful. M</span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">y wife and I had decided to reenact our memorable first cruise aboard the old Norwegian Cruise Lines Sunward II twenty-five years earlier, but things have changed.</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: left;">Out of four main dining room
meals, we sent three of them back as inedible. W</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">e unbelievably lost weight</span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"> on a cruise, a holiday Christmas holiday cruise at that!</span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">If it had not been for custom made pizzas and
pasta on the Lido deck, we </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><span><span lang="en-US">might
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">have starved. Obviously we’ve changed cruise
lines </span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">for our upcoming cruise</span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">.</span></span></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: left;"></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></span><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="897" height="665" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiblAZvz9rwt-IDOyJe5hISro7rtG-6a-PXzWN2YEOAV2v3XygsVo-TGpysPLaRac_7ircdLWTtBz_wbQgbfm7pBIRvP2ir6kEVScV_0dEmRG2HdDfbGeL-Hj8f8DjzmapZQJosP-kL-Ho/w371-h665/Ilse+-+Nassau-+cruising.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Nassau, 1989" width="371" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ilse with the M/S Sunward II, Nassau, November 1989. Our first Cruise.</td></tr></tbody></table><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiblAZvz9rwt-IDOyJe5hISro7rtG-6a-PXzWN2YEOAV2v3XygsVo-TGpysPLaRac_7ircdLWTtBz_wbQgbfm7pBIRvP2ir6kEVScV_0dEmRG2HdDfbGeL-Hj8f8DjzmapZQJosP-kL-Ho/s1600/Ilse+-+Nassau-+cruising.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: arial; font-size: large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"></a></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span>We met two young, talented musicians</span> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">from Patagonia </span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">during that otherwise lackluster cruise</span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">, a delightful, married couple who sang and played guitar. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><span><span lang="en-US">We had </span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">friendly chats with Dani and Seba between sets and ended up watching them whenever </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><span><span lang="en-US">we had the chance</span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">. </span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">We enjoyed their personalities, and we loved their music.</span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">We have followed them as SuperNova Duo on Facebook ever since, even through the trials and tribulations of the Covid epidemic which has altered our entire world. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgefymc0qjAZIFeCFoBGSbL2zbEO7qxa_e8139OD6KPKgNnPir8rQFGpMiW4Q68YaGx8u3BbluofwFZMM6OcIPZ8Lu0lJzhjzreiAQx_GTk9C1yY_-oQX4IPuGRcptZWMwVvAIDFyKCpcGo51-5cT8bwiIsILWFErM5XiOyuD_T8-N0ts4woRSM26j5=s640" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgefymc0qjAZIFeCFoBGSbL2zbEO7qxa_e8139OD6KPKgNnPir8rQFGpMiW4Q68YaGx8u3BbluofwFZMM6OcIPZ8Lu0lJzhjzreiAQx_GTk9C1yY_-oQX4IPuGRcptZWMwVvAIDFyKCpcGo51-5cT8bwiIsILWFErM5XiOyuD_T8-N0ts4woRSM26j5=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">We watched them from thousands of miles away as they did a tour with Disney Cruises, and later, </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><span><span lang="en-US">after</span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"> Covid struck, </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><span><span lang="en-US">when</span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"> they were at home in </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Bariloche in the</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> beautiful, snowy mountains of Argentina. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilRXs_UWuSZm4wzV9EWhc26vZ8Pwg3vt1igBkW2DpVIztiM2mvHIdIxV5l24haj6TAlb96_9pN2ffTy5JICFN0Pfw4-kp2i7aKrISSJcN32PwwVC_Xtm9lZBOU3MVi_JajRCqJYU38Uw83fHK1NJQhOQL167IUH_Gz2RPmLITAG2s--F_lkHQGo638=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilRXs_UWuSZm4wzV9EWhc26vZ8Pwg3vt1igBkW2DpVIztiM2mvHIdIxV5l24haj6TAlb96_9pN2ffTy5JICFN0Pfw4-kp2i7aKrISSJcN32PwwVC_Xtm9lZBOU3MVi_JajRCqJYU38Uw83fHK1NJQhOQL167IUH_Gz2RPmLITAG2s--F_lkHQGo638=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">They announced earlier this year they were coming to Florida with Celebrity Cruises, doing the mandatory quarantines and reassignments off the Florida coast. They </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;">were booked</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> on the Celebrity Millennium, headed to Alaska. That’s whe</span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;">n</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;">our</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> deep seated </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;">wanderlust</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> decided to flare up yet once again.</span></span></div><p align="justify" class="western" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdAmJksdp7qhP0YI35lrIqodGFZTopNPCdRd6VhWMEHH45WIBjEHhJMdlvL9FHO8DGDAGID3TQi-FUG610M4uhb1Scf3kq-iSSWTV7hghF3uAPQ2eZV9Kab2rbbgFt2zOq11bnfmyPRg/s3514/TrainRide-002.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1977" data-original-width="3514" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdAmJksdp7qhP0YI35lrIqodGFZTopNPCdRd6VhWMEHH45WIBjEHhJMdlvL9FHO8DGDAGID3TQi-FUG610M4uhb1Scf3kq-iSSWTV7hghF3uAPQ2eZV9Kab2rbbgFt2zOq11bnfmyPRg/w640-h360/TrainRide-002.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ilse on the tender "Little Norway" approaching the S/S Norway, St. Thomas, USVI, 1992<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">An Alaska cruise had always been on our to do list, at least until 2014 when our desire to cruise was </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;"><span><span lang="en-US">prematurely</span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> extinguished. I began to study the Millennium. She appears to be an older, medium size ship at around </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;"><span><span lang="en-US">two thousand</span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;"><span><span lang="en-US">passengers.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> She’s perfect for us. No way are we getting on a ship that engorges – and disgorges – five thousand passengers at a time. We decided to pursue the possibility of cruising Alaska, one of our two bucket list cruises - the other is a full transit of the Panama Canal - perhaps in a year or two after the world has stabilized enough to get back on a boat. Covid restrictions and precautions are absolutely paramount to us, we have absolutely no desire to contract the disease. Period.</span></span></div></div><p class="western" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: left;">We were curious about the </span><span style="color: black; text-align: left;"><span><span lang="en-US">Millennium's</span></span></span><span style="text-align: left;"> itinerary and when the winter schedule announced the ship was being re-positioned for eastern Caribbean cruises, we decided to finally treat ourselves to a long overdue cruise. We carefully selected a ten-day cruise with lots of open ocean time and several ports we haven't yet visited. </span></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: left;">We also researched Celebrity Cruise Lines and we liked what we found. While many of the changes we’ve come to dislike or avoid are now industry wide standards, Celebrity appears to offer more of our style and relaxation for a more inclusive, higher but still reasonable cost. The extra cost drink packages – and especially WiFi packages, can still blow an unsuspecting cruiser’s budget out of the water, so to speak, but the regular fare, passage services and amenities </span><span style="color: black; text-align: left;"><span><span lang="en-US">seem</span></span></span><span style="text-align: left;"> far more in line with what remember from past cruises.</span></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: left;"></span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga1aTTmwHS9mVLY6BFlz2PquZJ-ME1oPkI3JyRYZWC92AJMqs_iw0_TDprP5S8jyRezVuXOoJ_nM7AAJsO2F_0tLzo81yVZZzMUdSdrjt6dsx53cygdmCW64ch2au-lUkmC_560xIdVaQ/s1661/Cruise+3+-+23..jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="1661" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga1aTTmwHS9mVLY6BFlz2PquZJ-ME1oPkI3JyRYZWC92AJMqs_iw0_TDprP5S8jyRezVuXOoJ_nM7AAJsO2F_0tLzo81yVZZzMUdSdrjt6dsx53cygdmCW64ch2au-lUkmC_560xIdVaQ/w640-h364/Cruise+3+-+23..jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">George at Ocho Rios, Jamaica, M/S Seaward, 1993</td></tr></tbody></table><p align="justify" class="western" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 18.4px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"></span></p></span></span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><span><span lang="en-US">We
have long avoided </span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">the “Private Island”
beach day where you eat hotdogs and get sand
in your bathing suit. We </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><span><span lang="en-US">got</span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">
off the ship for the beach picnic on our very first cruise way back
when, but we have no need to compete with the multitudes who stampede
ashore for a day of fun and sun. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><span><span lang="en-US">Those
stops are</span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"> a great day to do on-board stuff as
the ship is practically empty. No problem, the Millennium doesn’t
</span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><span><span lang="en-US">have
a stop scheduled for the subsidized alternative to a real port of call.
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">Our first stop will still be in the Bahamas, but in Nassau. We don't need to disembark in Nassau. Been there, done that, got the straw hat. </span></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-MLcki0qbQNHKoK8cLI8QQAxsg3gIiHgsxLox_xhmi5NeM1LmBjJqegOgUayertMIY7Zr8wxnkMx7noVRCV7hL_sNhH0Q_i409KLdCxfwrq1XTyEQti0J8YIbqzl6BrHvHvDXq9I8P0o/s1272/P1010070.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="715" data-original-width="1272" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-MLcki0qbQNHKoK8cLI8QQAxsg3gIiHgsxLox_xhmi5NeM1LmBjJqegOgUayertMIY7Zr8wxnkMx7noVRCV7hL_sNhH0Q_i409KLdCxfwrq1XTyEQti0J8YIbqzl6BrHvHvDXq9I8P0o/w640-h360/P1010070.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In San Juan, Puerto Rico, M/S Star Princess, 2004</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">Then we head to old San Juan where we will get to do want we
want, COVID restrictions not withstanding. We simply ran out of time during our first visit there and
decided to come back someday. Believe me, that’s so much better
than wondering what to do after being ashore for an hour amid the
jewelry and perfume shops that define the boundary of your security.
Been there and done that, too.</span></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlRh4EwjNcfCMNYEimzgll8KU84PsLi4Cocn6TTZzzeALEAf1mujkgTY2rsOW1NJy9eXrJNtvNO5myQwP-4w3Y1N2TZFWXyQ9Ohp_eUtHsngRzHaWdbI9v2mY0TGp9wd_ecbDXuTb0a-4/s4114/CIMG0131.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2313" data-original-width="4114" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlRh4EwjNcfCMNYEimzgll8KU84PsLi4Cocn6TTZzzeALEAf1mujkgTY2rsOW1NJy9eXrJNtvNO5myQwP-4w3Y1N2TZFWXyQ9Ohp_eUtHsngRzHaWdbI9v2mY0TGp9wd_ecbDXuTb0a-4/w640-h360/CIMG0131.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach Day in Eluthera, M/S Crown Princess, 2012</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">So we get to cruise and occasionally watch the flying fish while we
sit on our balcony and wonder about the phenomenal colors of the deep
ocean. In the evening we get to listen to two talented entertainers
who are going to wonder about the two enthusiastic, old people
sitting in the back, clapping and smiling, and think, “Do we know
those people?”</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh07mPuWGQoN9s4BBQtEFTyZFQkvmWBzzvc4tIZBuRPG5zdJUhq801XjMvjspTEy7M4kB8MQ-hD780Sb6cDmWHoGMSdZ8eW811I1ALtuzFvXL3QhHobd1euEtH8evItXx2Na3KacmbEca4/s1065/IMG_1879.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="1065" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh07mPuWGQoN9s4BBQtEFTyZFQkvmWBzzvc4tIZBuRPG5zdJUhq801XjMvjspTEy7M4kB8MQ-hD780Sb6cDmWHoGMSdZ8eW811I1ALtuzFvXL3QhHobd1euEtH8evItXx2Na3KacmbEca4/w640-h360/IMG_1879.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ilse with the M/S Norwegian Sky, Nassau, 2014 </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; text-align: left;">We'll get the chance to tell them in person they were the spark that got us back doing what we love.</span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">George</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbwEgFzUfKY2llnmWii-qPpYhHFmjdMhIunrbO-1JwpfgYOuLA9dZEG_pmVz-bLGC4daUU2oB2YkmlRSv86TpBFTEDa2-5utWOqqF-XxcJwwEM1SDI9_pZ7oEMWxX7e6EfAREsbhM8J2_QBcN0f3kJTVQJjdKjZqeNdylCKENYy-RXUBfd94DwRX5g=s1600" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="59" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbwEgFzUfKY2llnmWii-qPpYhHFmjdMhIunrbO-1JwpfgYOuLA9dZEG_pmVz-bLGC4daUU2oB2YkmlRSv86TpBFTEDa2-5utWOqqF-XxcJwwEM1SDI9_pZ7oEMWxX7e6EfAREsbhM8J2_QBcN0f3kJTVQJjdKjZqeNdylCKENYy-RXUBfd94DwRX5g=w59-h59" width="59" /></a>Next - </span><a href="https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-cruise-7-part-2-not.html" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-cruise-7-part-2-not.html</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br />Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-70772849278201452402021-11-14T17:40:00.008-05:002021-11-14T17:49:53.473-05:00State of the Art - Manga, Manga<p> </p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span face="Arial, sans-serif">I was <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US">bewildered
</span></span></span>after my wife and I walked into our local BAM
this afternoon. Yes, BAM, and therein lies a hint the message on my
brand-new T-shirt is painfully accurate. My wife’s new 79<sup>th</sup>
birthday gift to me has “It’s Weird Being the Same Age as Old
People” printed boldly across the front.</span></p><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">BAM
is the new, hip, catchy name of what used to be Books A Million. That
name change took place well before COVID so I’m just making excuses
here, but what is new are the third, fourth, and five aisles of the
store labeled FUNKO and MANGA. In the distance, I saw BUSINESS and
COMPUTERS sections so I knew I wasn’t in a grocery store by
mistake.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWd9OGX1JxXmcK4LnEhwf4PvgggbVs_yt-o8dZxeHSmj1IGGXyB7bHRTJx_HpWj33Or3E6o8tdvwSbxCF8Ovd-VnD0coGD9pPebjIbMSWLTqdo_m1m6OhfLyV-S6kqaOWQ8Twm9d4Ow3g/s4032/20211114_143516.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWd9OGX1JxXmcK4LnEhwf4PvgggbVs_yt-o8dZxeHSmj1IGGXyB7bHRTJx_HpWj33Or3E6o8tdvwSbxCF8Ovd-VnD0coGD9pPebjIbMSWLTqdo_m1m6OhfLyV-S6kqaOWQ8Twm9d4Ow3g/w640-h360/20211114_143516.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">There
must have been several thousand titles in the MANGA section, along
with several groups of teenagers chatting and comparing books. I
stopped a clerk working several aisles over and asked her to please
bring me up to the twenty-first century. She adjusted her face mask
and led me back to the FUNKO section.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJyqy3_0nwt-RL2DKxXAZtpZUaYycQILGebHCjc5pzSgPVZ4xaYQRZONUxBU79ZyY3vyKc6_bkE8cx4RZXK2WRztVMAd0B2Jl3mh-3O7a425HNrBGoq2Fiu5U0MWXTMGTPXhIdbKUbBiI/s4032/20211114_141632.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJyqy3_0nwt-RL2DKxXAZtpZUaYycQILGebHCjc5pzSgPVZ4xaYQRZONUxBU79ZyY3vyKc6_bkE8cx4RZXK2WRztVMAd0B2Jl3mh-3O7a425HNrBGoq2Fiu5U0MWXTMGTPXhIdbKUbBiI/w640-h360/20211114_141632.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><br /></span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;">“<span face="Arial, sans-serif">Looks
like a toy store, doesn’t it?” as she waved her hand along
shelves filled with plastic characters and avatars from a distant
universe. “They’re supposed to be collectibles,” she said.
“They sell pretty well, I guess.” She turned to the two full rows
of shelves behind us marked MANGA. “At least these are books, sort
of.” </span>
</p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;">“<span face="Arial, sans-serif">What
genre are they?” I asked. The teenagers stopped chatting and looked
at us as if we were infringing in their domain. One group moved to
the end of the row of shelves. I think the clerk smiled behind her
COVID mask, at least her eyes sparkled as if she was smiling. It is a
young person’s style,” she said as she pulled a book off the
shelf and handed it to me. “It isn’t for everybody.”</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;">“<span face="Arial, sans-serif">Oh,”
I said as if I knew what I was talking about, “It’s Y-A, Young
Adult!”</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;">“<span face="Arial, sans-serif">Not
really,” she answered. “They’re picture books.”</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">I
thumbed through one book, and then another, stunned by the graphic,
pen and ink art panels with minimal or no dialogue printed anywhere.
They looked like comic books in 6” x 9” format. The books seemed
to be in sets, with one title having fifteen or twenty subsets. There
are thousands of them. </span>
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoqEOWduOB3WNtcmAfJtR6zJzMZ6219vjbgSewBuLLyYsBukdc1HkBZvpvLVZd2IJaXSuGh7UAuHxpBPAgJ8CuqXwlSby_D9gEoT4iUH6bX3zHxHByGjkp573jKJnXjexihwGpR6J6yTM/s4032/20211114_143349.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoqEOWduOB3WNtcmAfJtR6zJzMZ6219vjbgSewBuLLyYsBukdc1HkBZvpvLVZd2IJaXSuGh7UAuHxpBPAgJ8CuqXwlSby_D9gEoT4iUH6bX3zHxHByGjkp573jKJnXjexihwGpR6J6yTM/w640-h360/20211114_143349.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><br /></span><p></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;">“<span face="Arial, sans-serif">I’m
stunned. I had no idea this type of book even existed.” I said</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;">“<span face="Arial, sans-serif">Well,
it is one way to get kids to read,” she said as she walked away.
“Look on the wall across from us, there is another type of book in
the same style over there.” </span>
</p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">The
whole back wall behind us was a sectioned labeled “Graphic Novels.”
I thumbed through several of those as well. The only quick difference
I saw was they were printed in color instead of black and white.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ZGQU32INtH9SyNV8_Q9LPKDTmaRu0MkuLkSas5FwAlHx1yTZFXs1STddjCsYybNb3rM5ymPBi_L8p9jZCZyiTgDkOxSlIwprDHRfPnWl0hLROiYNrZ5TIvft2YMtE-icIRC9PkIif40/s4032/20211114_143629.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ZGQU32INtH9SyNV8_Q9LPKDTmaRu0MkuLkSas5FwAlHx1yTZFXs1STddjCsYybNb3rM5ymPBi_L8p9jZCZyiTgDkOxSlIwprDHRfPnWl0hLROiYNrZ5TIvft2YMtE-icIRC9PkIif40/w640-h360/20211114_143629.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="text-align: left;">I
thought the birthday T-shirt was cute, but now it reminds me of an
old sweatshirt my mom wore that said “My Go-Go got up and
Went-Went.” I have a feeling my go-go got up and went-went just
about the time they renamed he store to BAM.</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><a href="https://www.nypl.org/blog/2018/12/27/beginners-guide-manga#:~:text=Manga%20is%20an%20umbrella%20term,only%20used%20for%20special%20releases.">https://www.nypl.org/blog/2018/12/27/beginners-guide-manga#:~:text=Manga%20is%20an%20umbrella%20term,only%20used%20for%20special%20releases</a>.</span></p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-68016041605860873472021-10-23T18:02:00.005-04:002022-01-25T16:09:03.050-05:00College football in Florida<p> </p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Disgusted, I turned off my TV and decided to find out if my next door
neighbor was watching a College football game. Of the four local
channels I get over the air on the “Big” four local networks, I
could only find games like Slipstich U vs Podunk St. from somewhere
west of the Mississippi.
</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">My
neighbor was busy making noise and sawdust, but he turned off his
sander when he saw me walk into his garage.
</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Hey,
man, what's up?” he asked, lifting his sawdust-framed glasses so he
could see.</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do
you watch Saturday college football?” I asked.</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Nah,
man my son goes to UCF in Orlando and my daughter graduated from USF
in Tampa. They don’t show those games here in southwest Florida.
</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah,
I know,” I answered. I’m from Miami and they don’t show any of
our games here either. They don’t show anything from the Canes or
FIU or even FAU in Boca. They don’t even televise any of the
conference games, the SEC, AAC, ACC or Conference USA.
</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Well,
you know,” he answered, “They cater to the snowbirds, even if
they aren’t here yet. They show college football games nobody
locally cares about. Maybe it’s cheaper that way.”</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“In
the old days at least we got to see the Gators or the ‘Noles, but
they don’t even show those anymore.” I answered. “By the way,
do you know anybody from Utah or New Mexico?”
</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Nah,
Why?</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“How
about El Paso or Iowa?” I asked.</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">He
laughed and pulled his glasses down. “Why do you think I don’t
watch Saturday College football?”</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Later,
Man!”
</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">The
sander drowned out any lingering conversation. Maybe YouTube on the
Internet might have something to watch.</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">George
Mindling</p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">Port
Charlotte, FL</span></p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-70823352631801045992021-09-01T19:15:00.035-04:002023-01-20T20:53:34.120-05:00Fooling Mother Nature<h2 align="center" class="western"><br /></h2>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">According to C.W. Hawes, writing in <i>Tag: Writing for Men</i>, “Male
readers prefer, for the most part, the genres of adventure, humor,
horror, and science fiction. They also tend to shy away from books
that are focused on relationships (such as romance).” </span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">Anytime I see
a writer use initials instead of a full name, I assume the writer
simply doesn’t want to be categorized by gender, a practice used
for many years by women who didn’t want to be excluded or belittled
by a male-dominated industry.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">I assume </span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">C.W.</span><span style="text-align: left;"> is British as </span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">he/she</span><span style="text-align: left;">
uses the term “throw a spanner,” which few Americans understand.
(spanner is a British term for an open-end wrench). M</span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">any
male</span><span style="text-align: left;"> Americans my age can sing the lyrics to Dire Straits’
Industrial Disease without knowing what </span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">was
thrown,</span><span style="text-align: left;"> but </span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">is that a sign</span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">men</span><span style="text-align: left;">
don’t read? Maybe they just don’t read what women read.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">First, C.W. Hawes is male, and second, he is not British. Born in
Ohio, he now lives in Texas. I have no idea why he used the term "spanner" instead of wrench, but
I’m sure it fit the need. When Joanne Rowling published her first
book, the publishers decided to use initials instead of </span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">her</span><span style="text-align: left;">
real name. This was to disguise her being a female so the Harry
Potter novels would appeal to a young, male audience, </span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">who
the publishers had decided would be the primary market.</span><span style="text-align: left;"> Joanne
is now </span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">k</span><span style="text-align: left;">nown to the entire world as J.K.
Rowling. Many of her readers do not know her first name.</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">“For most of history, Anonymous was a woman,” wrote Virginia
Woolf. So, have we gone half-cycle? Do male authors need t</span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">o</span><span style="text-align: left;">
use abbreviations now just to get an agent to call back? One of my
favorite writer’s </span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">m</span><span style="text-align: left;">agazines - yes, I have
a subscription – lists a current issue’s article’s authors as:
</span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">J</span><span style="text-align: left;">era, Catherine, Kara, Sharon, Whitney,
Amy, Cassandra, Barbara, Estelle, Sadie, Kristie, and Robert. That's ten to one against male writers. What's the opposite of misogynistic?</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">I don’t have the figures for the book publishing universe about
gender diversity, but the realm of writing, editing and marketing has
flash-banged into a new reality. I wonder how Tom Clancy would have
broken into the Best Sellers lists if his books about submarines and
warfare had been universally seen as insensitive or unemotional,
basically considered unmarketable in today’s writing environment?
Kind of smells too much like machine oil and grimy hands for today's book
buying public?</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">I really think if a man had written Fifty Shades of Gr</span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">e</span><span style="text-align: left;">y,
he’d have been physically a</span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">ccosted</span><span style="text-align: left;"> and
emotionally assaulted until he “crumbled asunder” </span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">in
front of</span><span style="text-align: left;"> the “Me, Too!” </span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">m</span><span style="text-align: left;">ovement.
</span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">A man</span><span style="text-align: left;"> would have had to have hidden behind
his initials just like the women used to do... Oh, wait a minute! E. L. James wrote the now famous, blog-inspired,
self-published phenomena that jumped not just to the corporate
publishing world, but the movies as well. Erika Mitchell, E.L James’s
real name, just </span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">threw a wrench into the works</span><span style="text-align: left;">.
Or </span><span lang="en-US" style="text-align: left;">was it a spanner</span><span style="text-align: left;">?</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">:)</span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-16095312665944445202021-08-12T16:10:00.365-04:002023-03-16T15:37:53.537-04:00Our “American” History - The Patriot's Tour<br /><br />We started our “Patriot’s Tour” in Charlottesville, Virginia, originally planning on seeing James Madison’s estate at Montpelier first, but it was closed when we arrived, so we decided to drive the short distance to see Thomas Jefferson's Monticello instead. Monticello, the nationally revered plantation home of Thomas Jefferson, one of the creators of our Constitution, and third President of the United States was next on the list. We were following the American revolution and the great thinkers who founded our country. I always had this trip in the back of my mind and we finally had the opportunity to wander through Virginia at our leisure. Unfortunately, Charlottesville is also the center of the American rebirth of blatant racism which blossomed under President Donald Trump just a few, short years ago. The irony wasn't lost on us.<br /><br />Monticello isn’t a National Monument open to the public as is the Smithsonian in Washington. While it isn't Disney World prices, it certainly makes one wonder if there are musical rides and talking robots waiting in the corridors ahead. There is a sliding scale for entrance to help alleviate the financial cost depending on what you want to see. While we expected nominal entrance fees, my wife and I were surprised with the cost to see such a “National” treasure. The price of a forty-five minute guided tour of the main floor – and the basement of the homestead – was inconsistent with what we have experienced at other historic sites.<br /><br /> <a href="https://www.monticello.org/visit/tickets-tours/monticello-pass/">https://www.monticello.org/visit/tickets-tours/monticello-pass/</a><br /><br /><div>It appears to be an excursion into history reserved for the more affluent. According to their website, the attraction is run by “Thomas Jefferson Foundation, Inc., which owns over 2,500 acres of Jefferson's 5,000-acre plantation. As a private, nonprofit 501(c)3 corporation, the Foundation receives no ongoing federal, state, or local funding in support of its dual mission of preservation and education.” There are extra costs to see the second and third floors, and additional costs to see the gardens. We simply felt like we were being taken advantage of using our patriotism and desire to immerse in our history to their financial profit.<br /><br />In a moment of enlightenment, Ilse and I decided to visit the where General Robert E. Lee surrendered the Army of Virginia to end the Civil War. We decided to head south to Appomattox, the symbolic location of the end of slavery in the United States. Slavery, the economic system that supplied most of the free labor that sustained the plantation style of the Confederacy, was defeated and the Union was saved just a little further south of our planned trip.</div><div> <br />Our journey south started innocently enough by simply asking Waze how to get there from where we were, and had the pleasure of one of the nicest drives of our vacation as we headed down the four-lane divided highway toward Lynchburg. Highway US 29 was a pleasant, easy ride and I was minding my manners, toodling comfortably along in the right lane with a Virginia State trooper just behind us, when I was abruptly informed by our guidance system to turn left in three hundred feet. I waited until the trooper went around us and we made our turn into unknown territory. Why are we taking State Road 739 and where does it go?<br /><br />When we came to the one-lane railroad underpass that had a sign that read “One way traffic - Blow your horn!” we knew we were in rural Virginia. I was glad we weren’t towing our travel trailer as we slowly proceeded under the old railroad bridge when my muse tapped me on the shoulder - she pops up whenever she wants me to pay attention and asked, "Is this the actual railroad that US Army General George Custer had captured the Confederate supply train that altered the course of the war? <br /><br />The next thirty miles or so of twisty, backwoods, two lane road was a slow-motion thrill. The beauty of the area and the cleanliness and pride of the residents is worth a trip of its own. But, soon, I needed gas.<br /><br />We pulled into the town of Appomattox, and drove past the gas station I wanted. We doubled back to fill up the gas tank. It isn’t a busy place. We checked our road map – yes, I use one religiously - and compared the local road signs that seemed to point off somewhere in that direction over there somewhere… and decided to go that way.<br /><br />After one stop at a memorial marker on the top of a hill, we saw the main park entrance a half-mile away.<br /><br />That's where the U.S. Park service recreated the Appomattox Courthouse and the surrounding buildings in 1964. The original buildings were burned down some thirty-five years after the end of the Civil War, but by whom is still considered a mystery. It seems to fit the time frame of the pinnacle of power of the resurgent Klan which continued well into the twentieth century. Today it is called the Ku Klux Klan, but at its height of popularity forty years after the surrender at Appomattox it was simply called the Ku Klux. <br /><br />The location at Appomattox is authentic and the buildings have been rebuilt. The old stage coach road has been isolated and maintained as it once was. I’m sure the buildings look better than they did in 1865, but they only symbolically portray the image of the four-year long war’s conclusion that was unexpectedly thrust upon them in a world-shaping event.<br /><br />Missing from the Appomattox historic site is the soul. I had no feeling of wonder there. The buildings are freshly painted and properly maintained and the grounds are immaculate. The Crepe Myrtles flower beautifully along the parking lot, but there is no overpowering feeling of remorse or sorrow, joy or triumph. It is simply there. The heart was burned out by the white supremacist's whose grandchildren marched four years ago in Charlottesville.<br /><br />There is a gaping hole in our identity that we have yet to heal. It will take more than new buildings and fresh paint. We were awakened to the cruel reality that slavery slowly and methodically has morphed before our very eyes into a sadistic, vengeful retribution of defeat known today as white supremacy.<div><br /></div><div>Perhaps Appomattox isn't really that far from Charlottesville after all. <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6gu2f_cjMI8dIMfhERpsZ6TfOn8DciffWcrtDJgomNaWAOkfcM30VCvcz4zUwkJQeXVsuxKkDVpCsAJ2ZPUQjMaW6MqeFXGbeAOrDOQiKnfMJ_SCxO222Hj0Ggw8ZFchaSv2G4nMjeKM/s3648/IMG_5694.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3648" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6gu2f_cjMI8dIMfhERpsZ6TfOn8DciffWcrtDJgomNaWAOkfcM30VCvcz4zUwkJQeXVsuxKkDVpCsAJ2ZPUQjMaW6MqeFXGbeAOrDOQiKnfMJ_SCxO222Hj0Ggw8ZFchaSv2G4nMjeKM/w640-h360/IMG_5694.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p align="justify" class="western"><br />
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</p></div></div>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-22736934576423240572021-07-16T20:32:00.007-04:002021-07-16T20:41:40.724-04:00Appalled<p> </p><p align="center" style="break-after: avoid; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.08in; margin-top: 0.17in; page-break-after: avoid;"><br /></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">(Written 7-30-2015)</p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">
Whoever thought a 72 year old, white American male would be appalled
at the thought of an innocent, unarmed creature being lured, even
taunted into a gruesome, unnecessary shooting death by a white, armed
hunter.
</span></p>
<p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="text-align: left;">Well, I am, and I don't understand the reaction of the rest of the
world. No, I really don't understand why everyone mourns a lion lured
to its death </span><span style="color: black; text-align: left;"><span><span lang="en-US">to
satisfy someone’s ego as</span></span></span><span style="text-align: left;"> I do, but not
the death of seventeen year old Trevor Martin, also lured and taunted
by an armed adversary he didn’t know was stalking him. </span></span></p><p align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="text-align: left;">Maybe if
Cecil had been a black lion with a hoodie instead of the ordinary,
King of the Jungle type, nobody would care, just like they don't care
about Americans killing innocent, unarmed blacks daily as if it
were a field day. I am appalled. I am really appalled.</span></span></p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2005664004624191266.post-60005772238818605832021-07-16T20:02:00.102-04:002023-09-11T05:14:14.489-04:00Cloaks<p> </p>
<div style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 0.14in; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><p align="justify" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 115%;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I
was introduced to a neighbor's son not too long ago, who, within two
minutes, told me he was an
ex-Navy Seal. My
Air
Force veteran’s
fib
detector
went off immediately. Of course we didn't call it a "fib detector" in the military, it had a more cynical name based on a great ingredient for growing mushrooms, but it </span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 11pt;">hadn't
gone off that
loudly since
2012 when some barfly in Wildwood, Florida, told me he used to fly
the airplane we were removing from in front of his American Legion
post. The
“airplane” he supposedly flew was in fact a Mace cruise missile, one
that I worked on for eight years.</span></p>
<p align="justify" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 115%;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The
aircrew members, fleet commanders, weapons mechanics, launch
officers, submariners, anyone who sat at a control panel with
millions of tons of explosives literally inches, or seconds, away
from their control, were cloaked. They were cloaked by security
procedures, and often by political situations as well. They sat in
silence, often in boredom, minute after minute, hour after hour, day
after day, shift after shift, startled, often terrified, when the
klaxon horns went off. </span></span></span></p><p align="justify" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">They did it for almost thirty years while
cities, military bases, naval ports and airbases were dialed in as
targets for the nuclear missiles that sat sixty feet above them or behind them. Are
we practicing destroying the earth or our we really doing it this
time? Is this real or another exercise that will stop just short of
an actual launch? Did the Soviets really invade West Germany or did
China roll into South Korea? Is Japan under attack or are we just
pretending once again? You know, for practice.</span></span></span></p>
<p align="justify" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 115%;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Our
nuclear power, not only at home but in Europe and the Far East as
well, was the only possible way for us to offset the numerical
superiority the military forces Communist regimes had aligned against
us. Don’t believe me? You are among the many Americans who
suffer from amnesia or naivete. You probably believe Captain American will sweep
down and save us from malignant adversaries set on destroying our
country. No, it was the guy next door. He wore a cloak then, and most
likely still does today. Most who wore the cloak knew they would kill
millions of people if the war order came. People they would never
see.</span></span></span></p>
<p align="justify" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 115%;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Do they still wear the cloak? Your neighbor who proudly boasts he was a
Navy Seal or a Green Beret or a Ranger? Probably not. More likely your neighbor is
wearing the invisibility cloak inside out so it shimmers with glory.
Forty years ago all the wannabe heroes I met while I was in the
service were “Green Berets,” even though the majority of the
braggarts I met didn’t even know what an MOS was. No, I’m not
going to tell you except in the Air Force it was called AFSC and in the Navy it's your rating. Today, thanks to media suffocation, most of the
wannabes claim they are Navy Seals, even though you can tell by
looking many of them couldn’t swim across their own bath tubs. Real
Navy Seals cringe and the old timers just smile.</span></span></span></p>
<p align="justify" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 115%;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The
people who won the cold war sit next to you in restaurants and shop
with you at Walmart. But you don’t know who they are and probably
never will. They still wear the cloak. They wear it the way it was
meant to be worn, not inside out. They don’t tell you what their
job was.</span></span></span></p>
<p align="justify" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 115%;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">You
cannot conceive what the cloak-wearer’s finger tips represented to
mankind. The first time a live nuclear weapon was delivered to my
unit’s first operational launch bay, the launch crew
Non-Commissioned Officer in Charge (NCOIC), who had trained with the
same launch crew in the United States at the Tactical Missile
Training School in Orlando and practiced for over a year with his
crew on site, broke down and cried. The operation was suspended as
the maintenance and launch crews watched in stunned silence. Would
the powers-that-be-pull the whole crew, or would they proceed
replacing the only the overwhelmed crew chief? The operation was
briefly interrupted, but soon finished by the book. It only took
minutes before the entire crew adjusted and the insertion was
completed.</span></span></span></p>
<p align="justify" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 115%;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">There
are the Cold Warriors you didn’t know were cloaked until they
unexpectedly let it slip. It is understandable. They served every
corner of the world the United States had military bases or Naval
Fleets. Many units weren’t even acknowledged, such as the 498th
Tactical Missile Group on Okinawa. Secretary of Defense Robert
McNamara ordered the only Air Force nuclear missile unit in the Far
East not be identified by name, only its initials.</span></span></span></p>
<p align="justify" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 115%;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I
think that cloak today is nothing more than a revelation of our
American society.</span></span></span></p>
<p align="justify" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 115%;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">It
is those who did, and those who want everybody to think they did.</span></span></span></p>
<p align="justify" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 115%;">
<br />
<br />
</p></div></div><p class="western" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">
</p><p align="justify" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 0.14in;">
<br />
<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;"><br />
<br />
</p>Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02165325439708519673noreply@blogger.com0