tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-98451372024-03-12T20:15:04.346-04:00Touch You LastUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger555125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-77244128790500408892023-10-02T01:12:00.180-04:002023-10-02T01:12:00.151-04:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjtNCCAuCRTDJbGYei4SZPMQs40QDIMfFBCSnEZwdgF38x2xpW_Ia-KrS8_QIX14FM3cO1nBf1_768ux90ng5QxlRH-6Y2uvZRh-2Z4pasIQ34to-YHAQ0Kt7sNyJZNgOr9mfYzHgksXr8iWGE2mkjSZAPDuUpU14yaLbGOXtfHX3pLBstsMBlTQ/s1245/IMG_3238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="934" data-original-width="1245" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjtNCCAuCRTDJbGYei4SZPMQs40QDIMfFBCSnEZwdgF38x2xpW_Ia-KrS8_QIX14FM3cO1nBf1_768ux90ng5QxlRH-6Y2uvZRh-2Z4pasIQ34to-YHAQ0Kt7sNyJZNgOr9mfYzHgksXr8iWGE2mkjSZAPDuUpU14yaLbGOXtfHX3pLBstsMBlTQ/s320/IMG_3238.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The term "rope-drop" has become a weirdly ubiquitous phrase in our family. I didn't realize how commonplace it was until this past summer when we were at a waterpark and Teddy suggested we rope-drop the lazy river ride. <p></p><p>If you've never heard the phrase before, it's essentially a Disney thing where you arrive at the park before it opens so you can march directly to your ride of your choice once the staff drops the rope. You typically target the most popular ride, and by rope-dropping, you have a 15 minute wait for the ride instead of a 2 hour wait if you get there later in the day.</p><p>Sarah was a pro at this for our first Disney visit, and has perfected the art over subsequent trips. We've rope-dropped Seven Dwarves Mine Train, Radiator Springs Racers, Rise of the Resistance, Test Track, Web Slingers, Big Thunder Mountain - I won't attempt to do the math, but I can safely say she's saved us 25 hours of waiting with this skill (not counting subsequent park-planning mastery throughout the rest of the day).</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkRd-_xSRsmthEJ5bETbTOmNDCsb1VUfhHJeQb54m3UOPrESHbVhFyDJcL_EY5Yk52CrUfs1PVKzL0Gl7iwiBWtPwBnVx6eNAAeIW7ruDO1Zh4w0Vf9Q-lX2-G32QiHJxcq9qZxlYlfAl9Elz3Ayij8QROdOrAAL-zM-2gmhoNJduvPwl_wsDog/s934/IMG_20170923_090226.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="934" data-original-width="934" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkRd-_xSRsmthEJ5bETbTOmNDCsb1VUfhHJeQb54m3UOPrESHbVhFyDJcL_EY5Yk52CrUfs1PVKzL0Gl7iwiBWtPwBnVx6eNAAeIW7ruDO1Zh4w0Vf9Q-lX2-G32QiHJxcq9qZxlYlfAl9Elz3Ayij8QROdOrAAL-zM-2gmhoNJduvPwl_wsDog/s320/IMG_20170923_090226.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It's not just a Disney thing. We've been there for the figurative rope drop at zoos, museums, carnivals, waterparks, buffets, and just the other day, we rope-dropped an apple orchard.<p></p><p>What's fairly remarkable about the whole thing is that, done well, it involves <i>very</i> early mornings and Sarah is <i>not</i> a morning person. But she's a strong believer in:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>getting value of her money</li><li>maximizing fun</li><li>minimizing boredom</li><li>avoiding the sweaty, flatulent masses</li></ul><div>What's nice for her is that everyone in the family finally gets it. Back when it was just the two of us, even I was a Grumpy Gus the first time she got me on a theme park shuttle bus at 6AM. But a) I mostly internalized it and b) I came around to her way of thinking pretty quickly. With the kids, it was a longer slog and all of their complaints were <i>very</i> <i>clearly articulated.</i> But now they're largely over it and they see her genius. I can see them carrying it forward, too. Some day in the future, we'll be getting a text from Veronica about meeting her family for apple picking. "Be there by 8:30," she'll write, "We're rope-dropping the Cortlands."</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-52185309483988545302022-10-02T02:55:00.006-04:002022-10-02T07:57:57.264-04:00<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis95x79yirDLY6CxWWx0y05pGADNaHBA9mWpaJJtQbfF7ZsGA88sq1L4CDHac0TbwK9mA02Hs3LuVfxo-9iXtCaJAdsb56PvOgep7uR-lRBTKct_syamGgxLAataZWqIElsQNMA_-n8aEgYXONO7s-S3EHeljkp2ufbKThzobFSCUpsN-JSr4/s1429/SCAN0711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="1429" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis95x79yirDLY6CxWWx0y05pGADNaHBA9mWpaJJtQbfF7ZsGA88sq1L4CDHac0TbwK9mA02Hs3LuVfxo-9iXtCaJAdsb56PvOgep7uR-lRBTKct_syamGgxLAataZWqIElsQNMA_-n8aEgYXONO7s-S3EHeljkp2ufbKThzobFSCUpsN-JSr4/s320/SCAN0711.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Earlier this year, Sarah and I had a rare experience: a long
car ride without the kids. It was just the two of us in the car for over four
hours – with no kids shows playing in the background, no interruptions, no little
ears nearby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we spent four hours just
talking about us. I don't quite remember how it started, but it became this
moment-by-moment retelling of our relationship from the very start – from back
in high school as we were just becoming friends. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For decades she has been my favourite person in the world,
my best friend, the heart of all my best memories, and you'd think there wasn't
much more we could learn about our story. But maybe through complete honestly, new
perspectives earned over time, and Sarah's still shockingly good memory for
details, we both learned things we didn't know. When we got home, I pulled out
a box of old letters and it became this archeological dig. The words I’d written,
I'll admit, were shockingly juvenile at times, but I think the biggest surprise
was how clearly we loved each other before we even knew it. And Sarah's letters
reaffirmed it when we found her bundle. We'd begun writing as friends, before
unconditional friendship became unconditional love. Our friendship came though vulnerability
– sharing our "darkest secrets" (not <i>that</i> dark, in retrospect).
And it's clear through how often we wrote and some of the content (we were both
seeing other people throughout most of it, and while the letters never <i>really
</i>crossed the line, Sarah pointed out a few choices sections saying, "Does
a <i>friend</i> write this to a <i>friend</i>?" <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Out of this little archeologic dig, we became absolutely obsessed
with each other again. It was unexpected and wonderful. I went back to
Georgetown alone with the kids the following week, but spent all of my time writing
or calling Sarah while I was away. It was just like when we first started
dating –wanting to spend all of our time together. But it wasn't just nostalgia
or recreating old times. Strange as it is to say, it was like existing in more
than one place and being more than one person at once. Loving Sarah as a twenty
year old kid but also as I am now. It was such a gift. This intensity we had decades
ago came back redoubled. And it's still there. Life hasn't let us live in it
full time like we did for a while after that car ride, but it's still there and
recoverable in an instant. <o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-43674850880002364832021-10-02T00:01:00.017-04:002021-10-02T00:01:00.259-04:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimplP2M6ak9nuEHpLN0fPbKTDL0GsPJGHKBoVHfASR77k6vN6zrJ1XCL3hvVBrRWI90JqBT2SSlDoj8NxmQkxClhQfXUgwvGXxWY1yIwrfwjCRvqXP0driGh5F_wpsNo594Feu7Q/s2048/IMG_0290.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimplP2M6ak9nuEHpLN0fPbKTDL0GsPJGHKBoVHfASR77k6vN6zrJ1XCL3hvVBrRWI90JqBT2SSlDoj8NxmQkxClhQfXUgwvGXxWY1yIwrfwjCRvqXP0driGh5F_wpsNo594Feu7Q/s320/IMG_0290.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Understatement: Sarah is a reader.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">True statement (which may sound exaggerated but isn’t):
Sarah has read over 200 books so far this year. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She’s the voracious reader I wish I was and imagined I’d be
when I was younger. Real books, e-books, audiobooks – she eats them all up. The
area beside our bed is a minefield, where she’ll have 30 or so books
within reach. (She only reads two or three at once, but she likes to have
options.) Her interests are <i>broad</i>, and it’s easier to list off what she
doesn’t like: sci-fi, fantasy, and horror. She also doesn’t love depressing
fiction, but she has read some of the most depressing-sounding non-fiction that
you’ve ever heard of. <i>Falling Home: Creating a Life That Catches You When
You Fall, If I Knew Then: Finding Wisdom in Failure and Power in Aging,
Invisible Women: Data Bias In a World Designed by Men; What Happened To You?:
Conversations on Trauma, Resistance, and Healing</i>. True story – one night in
bed, I rolled over around three in the morning and saw her reading a book
called <i>Why We Can’t Sleep.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Over recent years, I’ve watched her do deep dives into
Sexual Harassment, Race and Racism, the Pandemic. When the each, new horrible world
event shows up, many of us are too depressed, afraid, or overwhelmed to learn more, but not
Sarah. She’s always conscious of blind spots she may have and she’ll shrink
them in any way she can. Not to suggest this is the only reason she reads: she
reads to entertain herself, and to relax. Between Ibram X Kendi and Michael
Lewis, she'll chainsmoke seven Meg Cabot books in a row. She also has a special
place in her heart for behind-the-scenes and oral history books about TV shows.
Recently she read one about Friends, one about the Wire, one about Jeopardy and
this one (which really belongs with the list of depressing titles above), <i>I Remember
Everything: Life Lessons from Dawson’s Creek.</i> <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim5CjfxEu_BrjHIqB0XCZr0FYI6DaIJC27aoiPTCMQyi86bi1_VYYGKoMklkLDcsm3086JG_Y1SpmWgwTTieyRDWsH8fq-mgjVa82DASN3sjbBNlYJmbsJYCTMR70Sv2n2znkDvw/s6000/DSC_1571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim5CjfxEu_BrjHIqB0XCZr0FYI6DaIJC27aoiPTCMQyi86bi1_VYYGKoMklkLDcsm3086JG_Y1SpmWgwTTieyRDWsH8fq-mgjVa82DASN3sjbBNlYJmbsJYCTMR70Sv2n2znkDvw/s320/DSC_1571.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What’s crazier to me is how much she retains. She holds
onto what she’s read for <i>decades.</i> I’ve been reading the Anne of Green Gables
series recently (a recommendation from Sarah from about 2001 – so I should catch
up on all recommendation by the time I’m three thousand years old). I came
across a funny line and went to read it to hear – and she completed my sentence
before I was halfway through. It makes her so fantastically well rounded. She’s
a polymath, my girl. This hasn’t happened in a while, but so many times after
she has just crushed some dude at Trivia Pursuit, the guy says something like,
“Well if these were all history questions, I would have beaten you.” And it’s
like, <i>dude, if it was history, or science, or sports, or politics, or
geography, or sociology, or mathematics, or culture, or specifically whatever you
got your </i>degree<i> in, she would have annihilated you all the same. </i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Happy Birthday, love. You are first in my heart, just as you
are my first pick in any trivia competition from now until the end of time.<o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-64172534562553150892020-10-02T00:00:00.001-04:002020-10-02T00:00:02.929-04:00<div class="separator"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ibOHwBufoRrD8gNmrmvpEctq2fxnF-phkCAgr6UJ5lBsxHdhZZOqBfSogbmjI2wS60QwZUEex49rdGqza_e_Fp7L8gtsiaWC4r8m-3hlXFT0ShRw44Q0PBDHmWcJ9UQnhY6v1Q/s1108/KT131804.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="739" data-original-width="1108" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ibOHwBufoRrD8gNmrmvpEctq2fxnF-phkCAgr6UJ5lBsxHdhZZOqBfSogbmjI2wS60QwZUEex49rdGqza_e_Fp7L8gtsiaWC4r8m-3hlXFT0ShRw44Q0PBDHmWcJ9UQnhY6v1Q/s320/KT131804.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My first draft of this began, "Sarah is not afraid of
having difficult conversations." And from the outside, that seems very
true. When she argues with someone who's being deliberately ignorant, or when
she tells a friend or family member something they need to know but don't want
to hear – she does it with confidence and conviction. These are the
conversations that most people would rather dive off a cliff then have, and she
marches right into them, seemingly without fear. But that’s only the way it
appears. She feels the same deep discomfort as you and I do, but pushes through
that to say what needs to be said. About half the time, it’s the choleric in
her that makes her speak up. When someone is promoting a mistruth, especially a
dangerous one, she’s all over them. Anti-vaxxers beware because (in her own
words) vaccination is the hill she will always die on. She regularly takes on
relatives (of mine, sadly) who post White Lives Matter-style garbage on social
media – and it’s a beautiful thing to see her rebuttal them into oblivion.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUrbTNM2Ng1FXy3ugnJfdysO8v1ai_3Ji0fd6ldT69ZhhUQNd0LOldhV6E7XSuFUJ1LbSL33PIKs_NXWt1soXN1vib_PjawjOdgelMD5b9AXp7phFc51NC2GCzOJqYsvIoaKPOw/s788/IMG_0339.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="591" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUrbTNM2Ng1FXy3ugnJfdysO8v1ai_3Ji0fd6ldT69ZhhUQNd0LOldhV6E7XSuFUJ1LbSL33PIKs_NXWt1soXN1vib_PjawjOdgelMD5b9AXp7phFc51NC2GCzOJqYsvIoaKPOw/s320/IMG_0339.jpg" /></a></div><br />But these fact-versus-fiction arguments are as much a tribute
to her intelligence as they are to her willingness to set aside discomfort.
She’s the only person I know in real life who reads literally hundreds of books
a year. I think the harder conversations (ones she’ll still have just as
readily) are those grounded in emotion. Not too long ago, she sat down
with a neighbourhood friend to talk about how one of their kids was bullying. Veronica
had alerted Sarah to a situation between two school friends, and within a day,
Sarah was sitting down with the mom to talk about it. I would have agonized over
it and put it off forever; Sarah agonized over it and did it the very next day.
She’s also unafraid to wade into issues of long-standing family dysfunction. If
one partner in a relationship is leaving the other to do all the heavy lifting;
if man-boys are taking advantage of their overly accommodating parents; if
elderly siblings have ridiculous late-in-life feuds – Sarah will be the one who
says something when no one else does. She doesn’t do this just to be
confrontational (and that’s not even how I would describe her approach,) she
does it because she knows that we’re capable of being more than we are. She’ll
never accept someone (her husband included) saying, “That’s just the way I am.”
She knows that everyone can be better.<p></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjwPFWtDpBtud-uNlLK6-hf3yyxhMGHPd0lVgwweAxT3G3Du1zA8kucBMVx9uvplY_3fWV_5mdaL6w4T_7sVQJPsyZ2wrjaioHYNZTvPMDRb_Cd0RoPeTfg6dUejSzgca35PHFNw/s739/IMG_2982.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="739" data-original-width="554" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjwPFWtDpBtud-uNlLK6-hf3yyxhMGHPd0lVgwweAxT3G3Du1zA8kucBMVx9uvplY_3fWV_5mdaL6w4T_7sVQJPsyZ2wrjaioHYNZTvPMDRb_Cd0RoPeTfg6dUejSzgca35PHFNw/w150-h200/IMG_2982.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>She does this all so well because she has a very deep
understanding of people. I feel like we’re both empathetic, but while I may be in
tune with <i>how</i> people are feeling, Sarah
has a much better grasp of <i>why</i>. Alongside
every fluffy book she reads for leisure, there’s another book she’s reading on
psychology or sociology or history. And that knowledge doesn’t sit idle. A lot
of it is turned inward as she’s still discovering new and vital things about
herself over four decades on. But it’s turned outward just as effectively. She'll draw parallels between you and your long dead ancestors. Her untrained diagnoses of special needs are shockingly accurate. She'll chip away at misconceptions you've had about yourself or your family for your whole life. She seeks and shares truth. </div><div class="separator"><br /></div><div class="separator">I feel like our kids will know themselves very well because of her. There are things I've learned about myself later in life (thanks to Sarah) that I wish I'd known when I was young. Our kids will be so much better equipped. I hope they'll know and love themselves, but still challenge themselves to grow. Sarah always asks them, "When am I proudest of you? When you try hard and when you're loving." It's how she feels about us all, really.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-56874334061926728862019-10-02T21:13:00.000-04:002020-01-10T21:32:41.746-05:00Adventure of the Seas - Fall 2019 - Day 6<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb02VTq7u4F2e4CtqKRge4U_CpyGUWUwiXPX3zKG0hyYfGfFbRArQcovrV-K3TNYkEUX8w_oawxTxHt7ozsZqvP7-3MAA0NjM9pwfJVciuNIX5fdOzX75ODIIYyW1ZHVswDFXpBA/s1600/IMG_4165-EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb02VTq7u4F2e4CtqKRge4U_CpyGUWUwiXPX3zKG0hyYfGfFbRArQcovrV-K3TNYkEUX8w_oawxTxHt7ozsZqvP7-3MAA0NjM9pwfJVciuNIX5fdOzX75ODIIYyW1ZHVswDFXpBA/s320/IMG_4165-EFFECTS.jpg" width="320" /></a>Day six of the cruise is Halifax, and we make no plans other than to see frieeeeeeends! I’d emailed Pat two weeks before (because I’m a disorganized piece of crap) to let him know we’d be in Halifax for the day… and would love to see him… but we understood that it was crazy last minute so no worries if he couldn’t… but we would <i>love</i> to see him, and further easygoing yet pleading statements followed by ellipses. Supercool guy that he is, he cleared his schedule for the day so he could be with us. It had been eleven damn years since we’d seen each other, when he’d passed through Ottawa on a road trip, and we were beyond overdue to meet up again. <br />
<br />
He met us near the dock, looking unaged in a way that was criminal (which did not surprise me in the least). I hugged him until he pooped, and then we went for a walk. There’s a very nice public park near his apartment and we started there, catching up a little bit on life and career stuff. Emerging from the park, he drew our attention to <i>the crane</i>. When Hurricane Dorian passed through in weeks prior, the winds were strong enough to break a construction crane than was affixed to a tall building downtown. The crane fell on the building beside it, causing damage but surprisingly injuring no one. Weeks later, the crane is still there, lodged into the building beside it, as people (crane authorities? the mayor? the descendants of Alexander Keith?) figure out how to remove it without causing a rain of brick and metal to come down on everything around it. Following this, the first thing out of the mouth of everyone else we meet that day is “have you guys heard about the crane?!?”<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDr4qa_KK-u5XnDQcZ-wjSxINwmoGWMDhxhYWtdAG73WGt7Yu8AeCnYfkYxVCDo57kHyHeLfN7yS8gB9N1RsjqfbZVbNgHAuzn85VESZCA2-RhOwIjuXgT7S-NigUIvG4-YMpXeA/s1600/IMG_4180.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDr4qa_KK-u5XnDQcZ-wjSxINwmoGWMDhxhYWtdAG73WGt7Yu8AeCnYfkYxVCDo57kHyHeLfN7yS8gB9N1RsjqfbZVbNgHAuzn85VESZCA2-RhOwIjuXgT7S-NigUIvG4-YMpXeA/s1600/IMG_4180.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDr4qa_KK-u5XnDQcZ-wjSxINwmoGWMDhxhYWtdAG73WGt7Yu8AeCnYfkYxVCDo57kHyHeLfN7yS8gB9N1RsjqfbZVbNgHAuzn85VESZCA2-RhOwIjuXgT7S-NigUIvG4-YMpXeA/s320/IMG_4180.HEIC" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
It’s a brisk frigging day, and I don’t drink anymore, so we spend a lot of time in coffee shops. The first is The Cabin, which Sarah reminds me is the same place the three of us had coffee the last time we’d travelled to Nova Scotia. We caught up on each other’s kids, and also heard fascinating stuff about Pat’s work (he’s a psychologist specializing in PTSD and childhood trauma). From there, Sarah split off to meet with Nicole, her friend from Catechesis who she’d worked with long distance but never met. Pat and I took a roundabout route to a place on the water that I think was called Murphy’s. (I usually rely on pictures to remind me of restaurant and place names, but I took about four pictures this day because I was just enjoying the hang so much). We had fish and chips, talked about old University folks – old friends, frenemies, enemies, and strai<i>I’ve ever experienced</i>, the waitress referred to me as “Mr. Green Eyes” while delivering my entrée. I will admit I went as high as 15.1% on her tip.<br />
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ght up nemeses (Stroud!) Then, in the most tip-soliciting fake flirt <br />
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Coffee shop two was The Apothecary. We met back up with Sarah and then wandered into various shops and fondled various merchandise. In a music store, Pat demonstrated that he still has guitar chops, and I demonstrated that I can play neither the banjo nor the mandolin. Then we met up with Pat’s girlfriend, Steph, picked her brain about her area of speciality (ADHD), and moved on to the third coffee shop, The Glitter Bean. On the menu was something called "Blank In The D<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3MjteJL35Q7-lkJNuGff2u8yNtTZt4dXeygrg7IXvaSekthGwzIMKgTjpsgG2jltkqGHzHW_YnS6NV92OCUPjinWmBK0nDj8SmSFBE-h4_ohGpX3kbJuA6rQ_7JILci25WyBdPw/s1600/IMG_4185.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; clear: left; color: #0066cc; float: left; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3MjteJL35Q7-lkJNuGff2u8yNtTZt4dXeygrg7IXvaSekthGwzIMKgTjpsgG2jltkqGHzHW_YnS6NV92OCUPjinWmBK0nDj8SmSFBE-h4_ohGpX3kbJuA6rQ_7JILci25WyBdPw/s1600/IMG_4185.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3MjteJL35Q7-lkJNuGff2u8yNtTZt4dXeygrg7IXvaSekthGwzIMKgTjpsgG2jltkqGHzHW_YnS6NV92OCUPjinWmBK0nDj8SmSFBE-h4_ohGpX3kbJuA6rQ_7JILci25WyBdPw/s320/IMG_4185.HEIC" width="240" />ark." Posters on the wall suggested that it had been named after some kind of experience (also called Blank In The Dark) that was recently held at the coffee shop. I call it an experience because that’s how the poster described it; <i>a multisensory experience</i>, if I remember right and not that I know what that means. I do know that it involved bands with names like <i>Torso</i> and <i>Panties</i>. And I do know that the poster was mostly just black. I decided that I didn’t want to know what the drink actual was, I just wanted to have one. When the barista handed the cup to me, I missed part of what she said but it was something like, “the <i>mumble mumble</i> machine isn’t working, so I only gave you the <i>four shots of espresso.</i>” There are times when I really enjoy the taste of bitterness, and thank God this was one of those times, but I was grimacing and shivering through those last few sips. We had a good little chat with Pat and Steph, but then we suddenly realized that it was 5:11, and the gangway was going up at 5:30. Pat zipped us over to the port as the anxiety/caffeine cocktail brought my heartbeat up to about 200 beats per minute. But we made it to the ship as a late tour was just getting back, and had no trouble getting in on time.<br />
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It was also Sarah’s birthday, so we had dinner at Chops for the second time that cruise. Sarah recreated her first meal to great enjoyment (I switched from a filet to a nine-pound ribeye which stayed lodged in my upper digestive tract until late the next day). The staff also brought over a smartly decorated piece of cake and sang their traditional atonal version of Happy Birthday to her, and it was a pretty great day from start to finish.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-32593273002824771432019-10-02T05:51:00.003-04:002019-10-02T05:51:54.515-04:00<br />
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I love the way Sarah moves. <br />
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She’s a hand-talker, but none of her motions are wild or flailing: she’s precise. If she’s talking about a sequence or an order of things, her hand does a dicing-vegetables motion. If she’s talking geography or anything spatial, she’ll drape her hands over imaginary items, moving them from place to place. If she’s not doing that, she’s plucking things from the air, spreading her palms over the expanse of something, or chopping both hands at the sky in unison.<br />
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When she overhears strangers talking and realizes she can help them out (with directions, facts, or general knowledge), she’ll literally tiptoe over to them, put her wrists down to her hips with her hands spread parallel to the floor, and she'll tilt her body the one side as if she’s peeking out from behind a curtain. It’s her delicate approach where she physicalizes her awareness that she’s been eavesdropping, and she’s sorry to interrupt <i>but I have knowledge to share!</i><br />
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When she dances, she moves <i>really </i>well. She’s a girl who understands that dancing is all in the shoulders. Her signature move (whether or not she realizes she has a signature move) is to run a hand through her hair and then waggle a finger in your direction. <br />
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But my absolute favourite little movement she does (which is so simple that it’s silly how much I love it) is the nonsensical way she goes up on tiptoes when she’s trying something on in the mirror. When it’s a dress or something formal: I get it. But I’ve seen her go up on tiptoes while trying on a jean jacket and it just melts my damn heart. <br />
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I will, forever, love the way she moves.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-78250956376239735592019-10-01T21:09:00.000-04:002020-01-10T21:27:15.349-05:00Adventure of the Seas - Fall 2019 - Day 5<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In Saint John, our plan is to follow the river walk and reach the Reversing Falls. This is an area where the Saint John river meets the Bay of Fundy. As a result of the difference in elevation (up to 50 feet depending on the level of the tide), the resulting effect can include whirlpools and crashing waves. The name given for this phenomenon is the Tidal Bore. It’s a hike and a half to get there, which is okay because I’ve got more than my share of meals to walk off. Once upon a when, the walk was just industrial wasteland, but there’s now a well-maintained brick path with various playgrounds, art installations, and informational signage along the way. While we take in relatively little of the informational tidbits along the route, we catch a shit ton of Pokemon, so at least there’s that. After about forty minutes of walking, we make it to the Reversing Falls. We get there relatively early in the day, so the water isn’t doing crazy things, but spectator-wise, the area is also fairly quiet so we can check things out from various angles and take all the pictures we want. After this, we cross over to nearby Wolastoq Park which has chainsaw-made statues of various people important to New Brunswick’s history. Off the top of my head, I can name Samuel de Champlain and Benedict Arnold (who apparently settled here after Benedict Arnold-ing his countrymen in the US). The rest have left my mind and the Wolastoq Park website is completly devoid of specifics or important details of any kind, so maybe Sarah can fill in the gaps.<br />
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After walking back to town, we had lunch at Big Tide Brewing Company. Sarah had a blueberry cream ale that she fell in love with. I had a diet coke that, at best, I’d<br />
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It’s been a good cruise to date, but people around us seem to be more full of complaints than your average cruise. Lots of bellyaching about service. My single favourite comment was when someone pulled their server aside after dinner and said, “Tell the chef this was terrible.” That’s right – guy who’s been breaking his back to fulfill our every dining whim – march over to kitchen and tell the head chef who just supervised dinner for like 1,500 people that he did a really shitty job.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-49619435956440061962019-09-30T22:19:00.000-04:002020-01-10T21:12:11.848-05:00Adventure of the Seas - Fall 2019 - Day 4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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One of the downsides to travelling on cruise ships frequently is that you’re likely to dismiss an entire city based on your very limited window of experience. If a city isn’t screamingly unique right off the bat, or if the <i>last</i> city was amazeballs and this city is noticeably-less-amazeballs, it’s easy to check out mentally. In my head, I briefly wrote off Portland. Probably because we started with a long walk through all the rubby-dub sections of town -- areas where heavy construction had been started but them seemingly abandoned. Sarah needed to find a TD Bank and then she wanted to visit a Trader Joes, and this dictated the path we took. I remember checking the time on my phone thinking <i>we still have seven hours to spend in this damn port!</i> But then we took a Lyft back to our ship, dropped off the 15 pumpkin-spiced somethings we bought at Trader Joes, and effectively rebooted our visit to Portland from there.<br />
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Sarah arranged a foodie tour for us. There were I think 12 of us on the tour in total. Our guide was Dennis (from away), and he was a well-informed but still very down-to-earth guy. Imagine if your chill, slightly overweight gym teacher decided to become a tour guide: that's Dennis. He started the tour with a talk about how Portland is a very entrepreneur-friendly city; how in the downtown core you’ll find very few chains. Starbucks is the one major exception, and he said that one day before the first Starbucks opened in town, someone threw a brick through the window. (Someone on the tour: “Oh no! Did they catch you?”) Our first official stop was Maine’s Pantry, where we sampled a local soda named Moxie. It tastes both medicinal and unremarkable at the same time, and if that sounds like a recommendation then there’s something wrong with you. Apparently there are local Moxie Festivals with Moxie-chugging competitions. And I’m not sure if I believe this fact, we’re told that moxie the attribute took its name from Moxie the drink, and not the other way around. Dennis also brought in samples from a place called The Holy Donut, which makes potato-based donuts. Totally solid, and more or less indistinguishable from the regular kind.<br />
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Next, we stopped briefly into Blake Orchard, which is an organic smoothie place. I do not recall all of the items in our smoothie except for the large chunks of bee pollen on top. Everything they serve is cold-pressed rather than blended – basically <i>squashed</i> into smoothie form, as apparently this process retains more vitamins and minerals. I suggest to our tour guide that I could really go <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfN5iTMXiqyJjH5x881PijtUqN_i6fjjmxto22ClQ9vSLEKA-49leVJ8MCJF-KoPyZ9_byKGUSWc8Ly230iMLu0oJ0Pjoczf3mH1q6CzgOxlqUV3Ecmq7ho71TEW1n5ZbfuDsDwQ/s1600/EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfN5iTMXiqyJjH5x881PijtUqN_i6fjjmxto22ClQ9vSLEKA-49leVJ8MCJF-KoPyZ9_byKGUSWc8Ly230iMLu0oJ0Pjoczf3mH1q6CzgOxlqUV3Ecmq7ho71TEW1n5ZbfuDsDwQ/s320/EFFECTS.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a>for some cold-pressed lobster, but the joke does not land at all. David’s Opus Ten is next, which is a more exclusive room within a larger restaurant. We have a decent clam chowder, but this is accompanied by <i>the best shrimp I’ve had in my entire life</i> (I know I’ve used that phrase more than once on this trip but I’ve meant it literally every time). It was massive, blackened, Cajun-flavoured and just <i>*kisses fingertips*</i>. They also randomly served pizza, which was good but paled in comparison. We walked about 10 steps next door to the Public Market House to sample sushi from a place called Mr. Tuna. The sushi was super unremarkable, but the building itself is very cool. It’s a place where food trucks looking to scale up can get indoor counter space – which allows multiple business to operate under one roof using a common kitchen (sharing the cost of both real estate and health inspections). While we’re there, Dennis gives us some detail on the lobster industry – how there are a limited number of lobstermen licenses, how you denote your traps by the colour of your buoys. Most interesting are the rules in place to sustain the lobster population. Lobstermen must throw back any females who have laid eggs in the past (spottable by a notch in their tail), and they must notch and release females who currently have eggs. They also have to throw back any lobsters that are too big or too small (there are specific measurements between eye stalk and tail). Smart work done here.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfN5iTMXiqyJjH5x881PijtUqN_i6fjjmxto22ClQ9vSLEKA-49leVJ8MCJF-KoPyZ9_byKGUSWc8Ly230iMLu0oJ0Pjoczf3mH1q6CzgOxlqUV3Ecmq7ho71TEW1n5ZbfuDsDwQ/s1600/EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Our second-to-last stop is a place called Gritty’s – which is eight times cleaner than the name would suggest. We have middle-of-the-road lobster rolls and beer (water for some), and it’s a good time. After we walked out (at least I think it was at this point), Dennis points out the other nearby restaurants we’ve visited, and how we’ve basically circled and figure-eighted around the same few blocks. Sarah knew this, of course. She asked if I’d realized it too. My response: “I am following a man in a hat. I know where he is. I don’t know where I am.” Our final stop on the foodie tour was Dean’s Sweets where we sampled truffles, which were… totally fine. Sorry truffles: it’s not you, it’s me. It might just be the premium that they come with, but I always expect to be absolutely knocked on my ass when I try a truffle, and I remain completely unmoved every single time.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-68734515312183824222019-09-29T22:24:00.000-04:002020-01-10T21:11:58.920-05:00Adventure of the Seas - Fall 2019 - Day 3<br />
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We’re in Bar Harbor, Maine, which is a brand new state for both of us. Disembarking goes smoothly, and we’re off and wandering the town soon enough. It’s just after eight so there’s not much open, but we stroll around, getting a lay of the land and hitting various Pokestops (because we are sad adults who make Pokemon Go a priority whenever we’re in a new place.) Eventually we stop for coffee at a place called The Independent, which happens to serve the hottest Americano that the world has thusfar managed to create. I can barely carry it to our table, and I tell Sarah, “I’m gonna drink this… tomorrow.” We soak up free wifi and I manage to get the coffee inside of me, and then we head over to church because it’s Sunday. I’m hoping for a super baa-haa-baa-ry accented priest, but this one just sounds exactly like Ray Romano (who is not from Maine, so far as I know, but I’m entertained none the less.)<br />
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After mass, we walk over to the water – to where the bar of Bar Harbour will later emerge. At this point in time, there’s nothing to see but water and an island on the other side, but Sarah promises that later in the day when the tide lowers, we’ll be able to walk across to Bar Island. It’s lunchtime (or near enough), so we eat at the Side Street Café, which is without question the best meal I have the entire trip. It’s a family -run restaurant that’s been around for a while. Under the glass tabletops are photos of the family that operates it, and most of the pictures are from 10 – 15 years ago. The mom, a little greyer but easily recognizable, is our bartender/waitress, and one of the daughters is easily spottable too. The two of us split crab-dip,<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3jrhKVRz40QSS2-eVwGVrchyOMgchGCcC46obDvi4_e3oLl6UaQvCm_m_Uj6L3Qie7WRAZ4qhshEiZCQJRhJa59Q99XPnvdmP2ldq3piIqWEjjANBlYXC5FrTJz6IkIL2fdr9Ww/s1600/IMG_3958.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3jrhKVRz40QSS2-eVwGVrchyOMgchGCcC46obDvi4_e3oLl6UaQvCm_m_Uj6L3Qie7WRAZ4qhshEiZCQJRhJa59Q99XPnvdmP2ldq3piIqWEjjANBlYXC5FrTJz6IkIL2fdr9Ww/s1600/IMG_3958.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></a> clam chowder, a lobster roll, and blueberry pie. Incidentally, this meal features the best crap dip, clam chowder, lobster roll, and blueberry pie I have ever had in my life. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3jrhKVRz40QSS2-eVwGVrchyOMgchGCcC46obDvi4_e3oLl6UaQvCm_m_Uj6L3Qie7WRAZ4qhshEiZCQJRhJa59Q99XPnvdmP2ldq3piIqWEjjANBlYXC5FrTJz6IkIL2fdr9Ww/s1600/IMG_3958.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3jrhKVRz40QSS2-eVwGVrchyOMgchGCcC46obDvi4_e3oLl6UaQvCm_m_Uj6L3Qie7WRAZ4qhshEiZCQJRhJa59Q99XPnvdmP2ldq3piIqWEjjANBlYXC5FrTJz6IkIL2fdr9Ww/s200/IMG_3958.HEIC" style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" width="200" /></a>Next we have a tour with Oly’s Trolleys, which will take us all through Acadia National Park. Our tour guide is Texan: “I’m Clay, and I’m from away. Because I’m not a local, I pronounce my Rs, so welcome to Ba<i>r</i> Ha<i>r</i>bo<i>r</i>!” Clay explains a localism that’s echoed a few times by other folks we meet: if you’re not from Maine, you’re from away. Doesn’t matter whether you live one footstep beyond the state line or St. Petersburg, Russia – in either case, you’re from <i>away</i>. (Our guide the next day – from New Jersey but into his fifteenth year in the state - tells a story about being at a wedding where his table mates asked, “where are you from?” When he answered that he lived in town, they said, “No, where are you <i>really</i> from?” <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRzak_hm01K1Bv6bM3NXQD0RjJgbJ0ezaKSEyOt30BnRno8FZntKFbuWCzmamOCahFPvsH-KOv4dk-UZR4MhMphN47QAlSaglE1TrbwkgKP0zS1tiH3ptyKUrCLWZkuWH6sHr6A/s1600/IMG_3978.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRzak_hm01K1Bv6bM3NXQD0RjJgbJ0ezaKSEyOt30BnRno8FZntKFbuWCzmamOCahFPvsH-KOv4dk-UZR4MhMphN47QAlSaglE1TrbwkgKP0zS1tiH3ptyKUrCLWZkuWH6sHr6A/s320/IMG_3978.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div>
On the way to the first stop, Clay tells us the history of the park (more than I can fully remember or copy in here). The gist being that extremely wealthy folks bought and donated the land a piece at a time, and the government readily agreed to turn it into a National Park because all of the property had already been paid for with private money. Also, the town was originally named Eden when it was first founded, but so much town talk was about the bar and whether or not it was currently blocking marine traffic, that the town was eventually renamed. Our first stop was the Thunder Hole, a beautiful scenic spot with rocky platforms and pillars – tons of great vantage points to sit and watch the water. Next we stopped at Jordan Pond House, where we took a quick walk on part of an old carriage path that runs through the park. Last, the trolley got us to the top of Cadillac Mountain. Beautiful but windy AF, and I soaked in the views as best as I could while pretending not to bitterly regret the choice I’d made to leave my jacket on the ship.<br />
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Before heading back to the ship, we returned to the area where the bar hadn’t been revealed earlier. Not only could we see it now, but it was probably forty feet wide in parts. It’s a mix of small and large stones, and a much dryer walk than I would have expected. We trekked across to Bar Island, and then did a kilometer-long walk to a nice vantage point of the town across the harbor. I don’t recall our total mileage for the day, but I’m sure it counterbalanced at least a third of the 4,500 calorie dinner I had that night.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-29540371322362252462019-09-28T22:23:00.000-04:002020-01-10T21:11:45.125-05:00Adventure of the Seas - Fall 2019 - Day 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitX0qY3937pdrybHuC1EHhh5vlvWZaJ7HZ9mWR3LKFvBD1sHxDSOAmmSeP0Am9s462HrDvw0sTF-dL79miGIVLElFhNc1BGo9QsueY0tHQ59iDtb9eXX_GCG5OqtwtD41YMCFC5A/s1600/IMG_3902.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitX0qY3937pdrybHuC1EHhh5vlvWZaJ7HZ9mWR3LKFvBD1sHxDSOAmmSeP0Am9s462HrDvw0sTF-dL79miGIVLElFhNc1BGo9QsueY0tHQ59iDtb9eXX_GCG5OqtwtD41YMCFC5A/s320/IMG_3902.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>
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Our first day at sea. We sleep in a little then try the Windjammer for breakfast and it’s a horrible mistake: just rammed. We console ourselves with nice coffees at the Diamond lounge. A little later in the day, the climbing wall opens. I go up twice and it is hard. The wall slants steadily outward and there’s fewer firm handholds than the last ship. But I make it to the top both times so hurray for me. The Flowrider is open again, but this time it’s surfing. There’s an older Australian couple on the trip (either in their late fifties or very early sixties) and they’re just <i>crushing</i> it while surfing. They take turns doing about eight runs a piece, looking like absolute heroes, then they notice me and apologize for hogging the ride, but I tell them not to worry because I’m totally divided about trying it. I watch for probably 20 more minutes before working up the courage to try. I know I’ll suck and my goal going in is to last four seconds by cruise end. I get to maybe three and a half seconds by my fifth try, and that’s good enough for now. Also: I don’t end up naked even once. Winning.<br />
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At dinner, we go to the main dining room and get seated at a table with six older New Yorkers, all from Long Island. It’s just like our honeymoon. They’re all very nice and very welcoming, and we have a great meal. Sarah continues her on-vacation role as Canadian cultural ambassador, sharing all kinds of knowledge about our upcoming ports and our country in general. Question she is often asked: do you work for Canadian tourism? Some other lady (I forget who, but it was sometime after this) suggests she should have a job going from ship to ship and just dropping knowledge on other cruisers. Dear Royal Caribbean: I think Sarah would be open to an arrangement of this kind.<br />
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After dinner, we join our table mates at trivia, and we lose by maybe a point, but Sarah gets a chance to show off her General Knowledge Of All Things. Later in the evening, getting a late night coffee in the Diamond lounge, we end up chatting with another guy from New York named Cecil. Super interesting dude – retired city bus driver. We talked about parenting, marriage, divorce, race relations, American politics, 9-11. It’s a fascinating talk, and surprisingly non-divisive despite the topics covered, but after about five hours of talking with new people, I was absolutely peopled out. I had a people hangover that lasted well into the next day.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-14844571132560443382019-09-27T21:05:00.000-04:002020-01-10T21:11:17.596-05:00Adventure of the Seas - Fall 2019 - Day 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht7Zo_gYLHsrGzELsbfyN9MFYukhNduRgjDTL_9Ne6xRjkB0HbvOexXh-LBCvFTb9w-EdHq-XnRMGJetQ7mz4NklvJVbi4wsnuFz8FXVuBurazQzkMoqKSIiI5YMS0OO0s7fpI8A/s1600/IMG_3864.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht7Zo_gYLHsrGzELsbfyN9MFYukhNduRgjDTL_9Ne6xRjkB0HbvOexXh-LBCvFTb9w-EdHq-XnRMGJetQ7mz4NklvJVbi4wsnuFz8FXVuBurazQzkMoqKSIiI5YMS0OO0s7fpI8A/s320/IMG_3864.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div>
We fly into Newark on a totally pain-free flight: breezing through security and immigration, board quickly, and snooze a lot on the plane. It’s usually disconcerting when you’re travelling without the kids because you always feel sure you’ve forgotten something, or that you can’t 100% relax because you have to scan around and make sure everyone’s happy. But we ease into our solo trip pretty naturally even on the flight. It looks like a pile of yuck for everyone at Newark trying to fly out, but we waltz on out of that airport and onto a Lyft that takes us to the cruise port. Because we’re Diamond status, we get to be among the first to board, which I have to admit is a really great perk. <br />
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It’s our second trip on Royal Caribbean and our first on a Voyager class ship, the Adventure of the Seas. Key differences include the Promenade – which is a boardwalk with shops, a pub, an ice cream parlor, and other stuff; there’s also the Flowrider (a surfing simulator); a skating rink; and waterslides. Throughout the trip, the kids are fairly pissed that we are here without them, and they're totally entitled to those feelings. There’s a nice little café on the promenade where you can get food, and it’s a great alternative to the Windjammer (the always-rammed buffet.) After eating, we wander and get a layout of the ship. Then we somehow end up on the helipad for sail-away. We’d watched several VIP helipad parties on a prior cruise, and it mostly involved cold-looking people trying not to let their drinks blow overboard. Watching then, we’d smugly thought: I’d never do that. But life will eventually find you doing all the things you said you’d never do. See also: cruising in an interior cabin (which we’re doing this time around). And not to forget: cruising on one of those absolutely massive, floating island cruise ship (which we’re doing next).<br />
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My wise wife had our swimsuits in her purse, so we got changed and tried the waterslides. Then I attempted the Flowrider. Depending on time of day, sometimes it’s boogie boarding and sometimes it’s surfing. I’d intended to jump straight to surfing (with zero prior experience and knowing that I was just going to bite it over and over), but thank God it was boogie boarding first because that was hard enough. It’s easy to get on the board, and you quickly figure out how to steer while on your belly, but then they encourage you to get up on your knees, and I rolled off it about six times in a row doing that. Still fun. Hot tip: tie your bathing suit tightly. When you get pushed to the back of the Flowrider after falling, the current rolls in a way that will very firmly try to strip the clothes from your body. I managed to get through the whole experience without public nudity of any kind, so that was a win.<br />
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The main dinning menu wasn’t looking great, so we went to Chops, the specialty dining steakhouse. We both had a filet mignon, and it was a thing of beauty. I had at least two meals this trip which were so good they made me a little emotional. This was one of them.
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-79786246878935848582019-04-15T18:42:00.000-04:002019-04-18T18:45:10.441-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH05hbVSztEsGDQ11Sl8dmEscxKUN4J4Sxklh-PnbAkJefYEwD9KGBJV1WJN0h7nX4nkt2a7ypBHrZZ41vwWu9NNXbUvZ_SAH08XeatQbFJYOMnMV1aOeoHl8aPGJek6x18AIZSw/s1600/IMG_2786.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="709" data-original-width="945" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH05hbVSztEsGDQ11Sl8dmEscxKUN4J4Sxklh-PnbAkJefYEwD9KGBJV1WJN0h7nX4nkt2a7ypBHrZZ41vwWu9NNXbUvZ_SAH08XeatQbFJYOMnMV1aOeoHl8aPGJek6x18AIZSw/s320/IMG_2786.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Our last day in Rome is a day of churches. I lose count of the how many we see total throughout our four days in Rome. There are standouts of course (St. Paul Outside-The-Walls, Santa Maria Sopra Minerva), but in my head a lot of the rest have merged into one, impossibly-full structure. Even Sarah has to make notes on her phone to keep all the names straight. (And she's more than welcome to share them here.)</span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">We return to the cat sanctuary, so we can do something nice for the kids who have been beyond patient. For the four days in Rome, they've walked forty kilometers and complained almost not at all. They've been really amazing. We also stop at the Trevi Fountain, where everyone throws coins and ensures their return one day. Back near the hotel, we spot a McDonald's and decide to give the kids a substantial lunch for a change, rather than apples, chips, or pizza with hotdogs in it. McDonald's, at least while we're there, happens to be the most popular restaurant in Rome. It is crudded up with people, though we do managed to get seats. For those of you interested in regional menu variations, the peculiar menu item in Rome is the Crispy McBacon, which is a bacon double cheeseburger with an egg on top. I don't even know how to feel about that.</span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">In our post lunch downtime, the kids finish up homework - journals and presentations they have to make about the trip, I go buy three sweet ties I'd spotted on our first day, and bags and packed to the degree that they can be packed. We return to the restaurant that's next door to the hotel and have exactly the same meal as last time. It is very good. Near bedtime, Sarah, her dad, and I walk across the street to Pompi, which serves excellent take-out tiramisu. We eat it sitting on the Spanish Steps and talk about what an excellent trip it's been.</span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Then we head off to bed and get ready to travel home.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-84589414934162014582019-04-14T18:10:00.000-04:002019-04-18T18:13:39.038-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj335Li0-zGMsS7GiVVePg2McFsEHh3xGj_D3pGZUySMO3_XTXB2_Sx08Xw4Q1uL47SAoaYlCdAP_jJ09QnMl476gr6ZG8M70gsc7DuGRBp0-tYGsn7bQAchD09sJ_2R4vFPprl8Q/s1600/IMG_2731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="757" data-original-width="1009" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj335Li0-zGMsS7GiVVePg2McFsEHh3xGj_D3pGZUySMO3_XTXB2_Sx08Xw4Q1uL47SAoaYlCdAP_jJ09QnMl476gr6ZG8M70gsc7DuGRBp0-tYGsn7bQAchD09sJ_2R4vFPprl8Q/s320/IMG_2731.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">It's Sunday and Sarah has identified a few churches that hold mass in English. The closest is Trinità dei Monti which is the church at the top of the Spanish Steps. As we walk, we see dozens of joggers - it's the only day we see any joggers, so apparently Sunday is Runday in Rome. Every runner we see, regardless of age, runs at a fantastically slow pace, and it makes me feel all smug and superior knowing that I can run upwards of 7 kilometers per hour - until I remember that everyone here is running on cobblestones and probably would prefer to keep their ankles unbroken. We hike the steps only to find out that the mass times advertised online don't line up with the real life mass times. So we hike back down to another church and attend mass in Italian.</span><br />
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">After this, we have a long walk (is there any other type in Rome?) in the direction of the Colosseum. We pass the Vittorio Emanuele II Monument - the wedding cake building - which was built in honour of the first king of Italy. We also pass numerous miscellaneous ruins. It occurs to me that my memory of Rome from nine years ago doesn't quite line up with how it is in reality. In my head, Rome seamless blended ancient ruins with ultra modern architecture. The seamlessness is there, but the modern buildings aren't as brand new as I remember, and while there are ancient structures, most of the older buildings are more 1850s and not Pantheon-era. Still, when you're walking down a street that leads toward the Colosseum, it gives you a disorienting, fallen-out-of-time feeling. Buskers add a fallen-out-of-place aspect to it as well. As we walk, someone is singing "No Woman, No Cry," we also pass a full on mariachi band playing an acoustic version of "Bamboleo", and somewhere else among all the cacophony, I swear I hear someone playing a didgeridoo. We don't actually go inside the Colosseum (it's my second lifetime Colosseum stroll-by), and it makes me feel a little lame, but Sarah has done it before and says that you don't really get onto the floor of it. You just walk around an upper balcony, and you have the option of getting your picture taken with some shoddy-looking centurions, but that's about it.</span><br />
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">From there, we stop at a few other churches. They're starting to blend a little at this point, and the names aren't easy to remember, so I don't always know which church I'm in unless I snag a picture of the name somewhere. (Photographic evidence reveals that we were at St. George in Velabro at one point in the day. Others: ?) We walked along Circus Maximus, where chariot races happened once upon a time, but you really have to use your imagination, because at this point it's a big grassy field with an oval track of gravel. Last time Sarah's parent were in Rome, they'd stumbled across a cat sanctuary, and we took a bit of a wandering path to get there, but we eventually did find it. The Torre Argentina Cat Sanctuary is situation among ruins where cats can wander and lounge. There's also an indoor area where the friendlier, pet-able cats stay, and the kids really loved it. Some of the cats there were taken in after getting injured - there are several three legged cats (getting along fine though). There's also a one-eyed cat named Calibano which I think we'll remember forever.</span><br />
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">It's a lot of walking, and once we're back we let the kids mellow and some of the adults take a nap. Sarah has a few additional churches she wants to hit, so she goes off on a solo adventure. I don't have a record of her stops, so I'll let her add in some details of her own (either in the comments, of she'll come in and edit this post - probably taking out all my best swears while she's at it). We finish the day with dinner at a fancier-looking restaurant, but the food isn't quite as good as the night before, and we pledge to return to the other restaurant for our last night in Rome.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-12984178575361093052019-04-13T16:16:00.000-04:002019-04-15T16:17:04.442-04:00<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-CA">On cruise ships with Sarah’s dad, we often
talk about what would be the worst job to have. Leaving personality preferences
out of it, laundry staff often tops our list. So far in Rome, the worst job
I’ve come across is the poor bastard who was the take care of the breakfast
room at our hotel. I say this because the room is about twelve feet wide, maybe
thirty feet long, and seats about twenty people. It’s like serving breakfast inside
a toy submarine. Despite the close quarters, the food is very good: pastries,
yogurt, cereal, bread with honey or Nutella, prosciutto, and cappuccino. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">We’re taking the subway to the Vatican
today. All nearby stations are closed due to escalator repairs, so the day
starts with a bit of a hike, but we eventually get to an open station and we’re
at our destination soon enough. The line to get inside looks about half a mile
long, but it’s sort of now-or-never. The next day is Palm Sunday (which will be
insane), and following that is Monday, which is a big tourist day and sure to
be just as busy. So we stay and wait and the line actually moves very quickly.
What looks like it could have been hours takes no more than twenty minutes. The
bottleneck is at the metal detectors. I totally beep walking through them (no
idea why) but no one stops me. It’s enough for them to know I have a secret
stash of metal, but the final details don’t seem to be too important.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Once inside, we very wisely set a meeting
point in case we get separated: the statue of St. Veronica. This immediately
puts Susannah in a mood because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">why can’t
we meet at the St. Susannah statue?</i> “Because there is no St. Susannah statue?!?”
is what I don’t say. Instead, I just point to any random statue saying, “Maybe
that’s St. Susannah! Maybe <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that’s </i>St.
Susannah!” Four minutes of this and she tires of both me and the whole idea. The
seven of us pretty immediately get separated into three groups, and we
reconvene at out meeting place. Then we decide to go down to the grotto and
Sarah’s dad gets caught up in a tide of tourist and misses where we’ve gone. But
he knows the drill and goes back to St. Veronica. Because I’m such a damn rebel,
I defy the twenty No Re-Entry signs, and squeeze past 1,000 people going in the
opposite direction, and I get back into the church to get Grandpa. Before I forget,
about the crypts: whoever arranged them has no sense of showmanship. The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">very first thing you see</i> is St. Peter’s
tomb. Save that for the end, people! But no, it’s St Peter, and then three tombs
later you’re into tomb’s for people like Monsignor Ludvig Kaas, and by the end
they’ve just got pieces of stuff stapled to the wall. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">We left the Vatican, got some random takeout
pizza (one slice had hot dogs which we thought we be a hit, but the kids saw it
for the abomination that it was). Then it was back on the subway to get to St. Paul
Outside-the-Walls. When his execution was ordered by Nero, because he was a Roman
citizen, St. Paul was taken outside the walls before he was put to death, and the
basilica was built on the site of his grave. It was a stark contrast to St.
Peter’s, which was mobbed with visitors. We arrived at St. Paul’s at the perfect
time, and there were maybe two dozen people there. It was enormous and silent. The
whole day, the kids were really well behaved, and very patient with all the
walking and all the waiting that the day entailed.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Back at the hotel, we had trouble figuring
out a good restaurant. We decided to take our chances wandering the street and immediately
next door to our hotel, we were coerced by a restaurant host hustling his menu out
front. I find it generally repellant when someone tries to sell me something on
the street, and the restaurant itself was 100% empty, so we had a very bad
feeling going in. But it was really great. Personable waitstaff who were good
with the kids, and the food was good and quick. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Back to the hotel, blogging, bed, end of
that day.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-33825949908406304992019-04-12T15:39:00.000-04:002019-04-14T15:39:47.805-04:00<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-CA">Disembarkation is as easy as can be. The
only thing that goes poorly all morning is that Teddy wants to take picture of
some of his friends but we only track down one (Kaveh). There’s another kid,
Drayson, that Teddy’s hoping to find, but it doesn’t pan out and he’s pretty
upset. He does eventually rally. As far as every other aspect of getting off
the ship, it goes absurdly well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
baggage claim, our bags are right there and easy to find, then apparently it’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You Don’t Need To Pass Customs Day</i> in
Italy because we just waltz straight from International Waters onto land
totally unimpeded. And then even though we’re off the ship 30 minutes earlier
than expected, the shuttle we arranged is already waiting for us. Our driver is
a middle-aged woman who is lovely but also chatty AF, and poor Nonna volunteers
to sit up front with her. By the end of the hour-long drive from Civitavecchia
to Rome, Nonna manages to squeeze in about four words. (And these words are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">si, si, preggo</i>, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">si.</i>)</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">We’re staying at the Hotel Condotti, where
Sarah’s parents had stayed last time they were in Rome. (And which they’ve
decided to pay for entirely, because they’re wonderful, ridiculous people). We
get to leave out bags but the rooms aren’t ready for a few more hours. We
stroll over the Spanish Steps, which are only two minutes away, and there we
try to recreate a photo of Sarah and Teddy taken here nine years ago. The two
main differences you’d notice if you compare both photos are:</span></div>
<br />
<ul>
<li><span lang="EN-CA">The steps are overrun with people in the
new photo where they were practically empty in the last one.</span><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-CA">Unlike the last one, the new photo heavily
features a photobombing Susannah holding a slap bracelet aloft as if <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that’s</i> what we were all really here to
photograph.</span></li>
</ul>
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<span lang="EN-CA">From there, we walk to the Borghese Gardens,
which is a very large public park (who knew these even existed in Rome?) Our
kids have started to become pains at this point, for reasons that are
alternately valid and absurd (valid: they’ve gone from the structure and
familiarity of the ship to flittering around Rome with no real goal or agenda;
absurb: Teddy wants to go back to the hotel and see what Netflix in Italy is
like.) We come across a really sad looking merry-go-round and the girls decide
they <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">absolutely have to ride it</i>.
Nonna puts down three euros for three rides and even though Teddy doesn’t want
to go on it, we make him, and he sits on a horse looking like he’s in a prison
camp for the length of the ride.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">We go back to the hotel and get access to
our rooms. They’re huge (not just by European standards but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">especially</i> by European standards.) Sarah’s
parents have their own room on the third floor, where we have adjoining rooms
on the second floor. It’s perfect for us. There’s just a big sliding door separating
both rooms, so all the kids can be in one together. It also has a cute little
balcony. The kids explored Netflix and we check out Italian TV: is short, you
can watch tennis and the TV show Psych at any day and any time. Sarah’s parents
discover that they have a neighbour who likes to blast music at top volume. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">We have gelato at Venchi, which is about 40
steps from the hotel. Then we take a walk to see some churches. For the life of
me, I cannot remember the name of the first and I have no photographs of the
exterior, but I did very meticulously photograph a statue of a totally swole
Jesus that was inside. This was like does-crossfit-when-he’s-not-too-busy-being-a-Lumberjack
Jesus. The second church was Sanit Ambrogio e Carlo al Corso (visited with no
specific purpose but just because we stumbled across it.) Then we took a detour
into the Pantheon where we could not really impress the age of the building
upon our kids. Me<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">: This temple is nearly </i>two
thousand<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> years old! You’ve never seen
anything this old in your life! </i>Veronica<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">:
I’ve seen two thousand year-old buildings. </i>Me<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">: Where? </i>Veronica<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">: In Ottawa.
</i>Me<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">: Where in Ottawa? </i>Veronica<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">: … in… Ottawa.</i> The last church was St.
Maria Sopra Minerva, which is where St. Catherine of Sienna is buried. The
girls are in Little Flowers (a Catholic girls’ club) and Catherine of Sienna is
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the </i>Little Flower, the saint the club
is named after—so this was a must-see on our list. St. Catherine is buried
under the altar and the kids were able to see it reasonably close up. Bonus was
a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">super intense </i>choir practicing
while we were there. About twenty choral singers, full orchestra, lead soprano.
Cinematically intense. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Dinner was at Café Dore. If was a Friday in
Lent, so meat was off the menu, which resulted in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so much bellyaching</i> from the children. But soon enough, they all had
bellies full of spaghetti and it was totally good. And having walked many,
many, many steps on cobblestones all day, we were all footsore and went to bed
readily soon after.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-73782107658056466142019-04-11T14:53:00.000-04:002019-04-13T14:54:02.887-04:00<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-CA">While our first day in the Med was
completely smooth, things got choppy on the second day. About 7am, the boats
started rocking and rolling – and it’s the worst seas we’ve had so far. Susannah
complains about a sore throat, and we assume it’s from the cough she’s had for
a few days. Veronica is feeling very green, and Sarah’s mom is rough also, but
Teddy is surprisingly fine. We decide that everyone would benefit from fresh
air, and just before we get out of the cabin, Susannah stumbles into the
bathroom and barfs. The sore throat is actually nausea, but once it’s out, she’s
right as rain. Everyone gets a little breakfast in them, and the greenest among
us have a walk outside, and everyone is basically okay again. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">We spend a lot of time with Kaveh today,
who I haven’t mentioned yet. He’s this very friendly kid travelling with his
family, and his parents let him roam freely (as long as he meets them at given
times). So he just sort of roams and makes friends and hangs out with whoever.
And he knows everyone and everyone knows him. He’s like the mayor of the ship. Anyhow,
he joins us at lunch, and when I take the kids to the arcade after that, he hangs
with us there. I’d saved the arcade trip for the last day because I knew the
kids would beg to return daily if we went earlier. There were a mix of driving games,
shooting games, ticket games, and prize games. There was one of those rubber
duck crane games, which is winner-every-time, and because my kids like a sure
thing, we left the arcade with about eight ducks.</span></div>
<br />
Not much noteworthy otherwise. Sarah packed
because she is an angel. We had a nice dinner and said goodbye to our great
waitstaff (Tiffone and Man), the kids had one last kids club, and we crashed.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-33538131982206739182019-04-10T09:29:00.000-04:002019-04-11T09:29:52.586-04:00<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-CA">We get off the ship soon after receiving
the all clear. We’re in Valencia, and our destination is the Oceanographic,
which is an aquarium and aquatic preservation area, and we have to get there
well before it opens to we can be first in line for tickets (and skip hordes of
people in the process). Sarah is wise in her planning. She hands me twenty euros
and arms me with the name of our destination in the instance that all five of
us can’t fit in the same cab. And she’s right, we have to take two cabs. If not
for her, when we got separated I’d just waving a toonie at passersby, crying, “Need
help! Find wife!”</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Out of the cab, Sarah holds our place at
the gates while I walk around with the kids. When we come back twenty minutes
later, there’s about 200 other people waiting. The gates open, we’re the second
family to get tickets, and we’re off to the races. We start at the outdoor
ponds where we see sea otters and huge sea turtles. There’s actually a pretty
big turtle area, including a rehab facility for injured ones. We see one poor
guy with a cracked shell who’d collided with a boat (but there are multiple displays
showing rehabbed turtles being returned to the wild). </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Next, we go underground and get to the absolute
best part of the day. There’s a huge conical room surrounded by an aquarium and
there’s a glass tunnel leading between this room and the next where you can
stand and watch sharks, manta rays, sawfish, and other things swim inches above
your head. It’s amazing. The sharks are very cool, but the rays are the best.
Some plaster themselves to the glass, open and closing their weirdly human-like
mouths. And fish just run into each other constantly. A shark and a ray will
just slap into each other, shrug it off, and keep on swimming. We stayed until
hoards of students descended, and then we moved on. Next was a room with belugas
– huge, muscular, and noisy. You could hear them clicking away to one another.
There were also big, mustachioed sea lions, swimming laps and being obesely
cute. We spent a little bit of time at a penguin exhibit, and a really tiny
amount of time with crocodiles, and then we went to see the dolphin show. The
show was mostly in Spanish, and began with like three different videos about
water conservation and recycling, and I commend everyone’s patience enduring
them. Finally, dolphins! They jumped, and flipped, and waved their flippers,
and played catch, and did all the things that make dolphins awesome. Big hit
with the kids, and now Veronica wants to be a dolphin trainer.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">We get separate cabs on the way back and
this time we haven’t thought ahead. My exchange with the driver goes like this:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"> </span><br />
<span lang="EN-CA"> Dave: Can we go to the cruise port?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"> Driver: The airport? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"> Dave: No, sorry. The port. With the boats.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA"> Driver: *looks confused*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"> Dave: *begins using his hands to create the
likeness of a cruise ship, thinks better of it* Um, we’re going to the boats.
The ships. The big ships. At the dock.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"> Driver: Ah, the big ships! Yes! Sorry, my
English is… video games.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span lang="EN-CA">I love that so much. If I live to be one hundred
years old, I will never, ever forget, “My English is… video games.”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">On port days, you can arrange to sign the
kids in earlier to kids’ club, and we do this. The initial plan is to sign them
in and run back out and explore the city. But after sitting in the stateroom
for a few minutes, we realize that going back out will just create this
watch-the-clock time pressure, and alternately we could sack out for an uninterrupted
three hours straight. We go with plan B, and it’s fantastic. Later, we spring
the kids and I take Veronica climbing. I don’t know how many times we do the
wall but I know that by the end the strength in my forearms and fingers is
completely gone.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">We finish the night at Izumi again. Sarah’s
dad gets hot rock beef tenderloin, which he seems to quite like. The rest of us
get about thirty pounds of sushi. It’s as delicious as last time, but where I
was proud of not eating myself to the point of illness on our first visit, I’m
fit to burst this time. I couldn’t even eat a mint. Not even a wafer-thin one.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-18996988372507612532019-04-09T08:44:00.000-04:002019-04-11T08:51:28.030-04:00<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-CA">Today, we sail into Alicante, Spain, and
because the ship doesn’t actually dock until 11am, it’s the first day that we
can really sleep in with gusto. So of course, the kids are all up at 8. I’m
woken by Teddy talking a mile-a-minute about some Hot Wheels track that he
wants to get when he gets home. He tells me all the features, the pros and
cons, what tracks it can be combined with, insanely specific details about the
commercials they’re featured in. I listen patiently with half an eye open. Sarah
(no one’s definition of a morning person) puts up with about two minutes of it
before going, “RAAAAAAGHHHHHHH!” until Teddy takes the hint.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">We take our time with breakfast and then
sign the kids into the kids’ club. Even though we’re docking soon, they’ll be
such a crush of humanity trying to get off the ship all at once that we plan to
stay until after lunch. Sarah and I go back to our room and watch music videos
for, like, a really long time. We discuss whether we should do one of the
ship’s activities, but literally the only thing available at the moment is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Picture Trivia: Name That Mammal</i> (I
couldn’t make this shit up if I tried). We hang out, then get the kids, have
lunch, and leave the ship to explore Alicante.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">There’s a courtesy shuttle bus that takes
us from the port to somewhere nearer to the city centre, and the journey lasts
the length of one Jon Secada song. Our plan is to find a way to Castillo Santa
Marina, which is a Moorish castle that overlooks the city from the top of a
mountain. We meander toward it, looking for some kind of bus or maybe a cable
car. There are shops on one side of the road and a beach on the other, and the
kids beg us to go souvenir shopping and play on playgrounds that they’ve
spotted along the way, but we tell them we’ll get to it after the castle.
Eventually, we find an elevator that’ll take us up, but there’s a pretty big
line. It’s 30 or 40 minutes until we finally get in. The kids are a little on
the crazy impatient side. Once at the top, it’s amazing and well worth the
wait, but with the kids belly-aching over being tired/hungry/souvenir-deficient
it ends up being a pretty shallow experience from a cultural perspective. It’s
just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">where does this staircase go? Let’s
take a picture off the city below. Let’s take a picture of that suit of armor. Let’s
take a picture of each other taking pictures.</i> I do not know a single thing
about why that castle exists or any of its history. I only described it as a
Moorish castle about because I literally heard someone describe it that way on
the shuttle bus over.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Once on the ground again, we get some
souvenirs. One of our kids (who’ll remain nameless) throws an absolute tantum
when she’s not allowed to purchase some weird, soiled stuffy from a sketchy
shop just off the beach, and it’s the last straw for us. We get everyone back on
board the ship and Sarah lays into them. She points out all the not-cool
behavior – the tantrums, the complaining, the begging for souvenirs. She tells
them that it’s hard work figuring out an excursion in a foreign city that will
make kids happy, and how the adults almost always forego what they actually
want to do. She tells them we were planning to take them to an aquarium in
Valencia, but now maybe we won’t because it’s too expensive a thing to do if everyone’s
just going to complain about it the whole damn time. Following this exchange, we
all take some cool down time – drinks for some, cartoons for others – and after
a dinnertime powwow, we’re all on the same page again. The aquarium trip is
back on. We promise the kids that they’ll get to do whatever they most desire
(buy a souvenir, see a dolphin do a backflip, whatevs). As long as they tell us
at the start we’ll make it happen, but they have to trust us and not badger us
about it a million times. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">The kids are tired and almost skip kids’
club that night, but then word gets out that it’s Pirate Night and suddenly
it’s the can’t miss event of the cruise. Sarah and I try our luck at gambling.
Sarah enters with $20 and leaves with $20.02. I enter with $20 and leave with
smoker’s lung.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-91296619833367334732019-04-08T16:59:00.002-04:002019-04-08T16:59:47.431-04:00<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hyphenhyphenUSb8tf0sAdlETL509kFl5Alz0LnLiezukQpb2WmLfPZd5PRMM05gHvG7vtfY3mLkEvWnR5TlJsE-DStZsNYgufgH9TMhyphenhyphenKzAhRva_mJyRMh7Bz1-grjgIfVaowT-sEc-hQrQ/s1600/IMG_2378.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="226" data-original-width="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hyphenhyphenUSb8tf0sAdlETL509kFl5Alz0LnLiezukQpb2WmLfPZd5PRMM05gHvG7vtfY3mLkEvWnR5TlJsE-DStZsNYgufgH9TMhyphenhyphenKzAhRva_mJyRMh7Bz1-grjgIfVaowT-sEc-hQrQ/s1600/IMG_2378.jpg" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-CA"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">It’s our earliest rise yet, but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> accompanied with a time change,
thankfully. We’re in Gibraltar today, and Sarah has set us up with a ship-based
excursion called Upper Rock Tour for Families. It’s a bit of a slow start in
the ship’s theatre as we wait for them to call our group number, but eventually
we’re off the ship and on the tour bus. Our guide is Chris, a Brit who has spent
the better of part of forty years in Gibraltar. He is smart, loud, totally
engaging, and probably the best tour guide we have ever had. The tour starts
straight-off, and as we drive towards the cable car station that will take us
to the top of the rock, Chris shares some facts about Gibraltar: the population
is around 30,000 and it’s about 2.5 square miles; seaborne trade and online
gambling are the top contributors to its GDP; the city’s been witness to
something like 16 sieges; the British captured it from the Spanish in 1704; and
the Spanish captured it from the Moors three centuries prior to that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvCTN7f4tbtCbdrLZJghJRW6ycmZCI1G_073kGd9Yr5cLzd4B5TAnHx8tzTUuDE6qfPl656lMuea00ZOYipQjfG62BReGhNCylJqC72Tpklw4yjH5RNfX4tAiKBZU3G0Rcd7fr5w/s1600/IMG_2346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="212" data-original-width="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvCTN7f4tbtCbdrLZJghJRW6ycmZCI1G_073kGd9Yr5cLzd4B5TAnHx8tzTUuDE6qfPl656lMuea00ZOYipQjfG62BReGhNCylJqC72Tpklw4yjH5RNfX4tAiKBZU3G0Rcd7fr5w/s1600/IMG_2346.jpg" /></a><span lang="EN-CA">While the cable car allegedly holds 30
people, our tour group of 20 is absolutely wedged in, but it’s only a few
minutes to the top. Once we clowns all pop out of the clown car, Chris gives us
some details on the monkeys that we’re about to meet. Gibraltar is home to a few
hundred barbary macaque. I could go to lengths trying to describe them but I
think the pictures above give a pretty good idea. What we get from Chris here
are the warnings.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Don’t feed them or try
to touch them. Don’t stare them in the eye for any length of time. They do bite.</i>
With the fear of God in us, we climb the stairs and meet the first one,
expecting chest beating and poop flinging. What we see is a very old, very
chill monkey that doesn’t mind getting its picture taken. We stop for a coffee
at the café there, and then press on to see more monkeys. And they’re all <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">very</i> used to people. They’re not freaked
out, there’s no monkey-rage. The first few encounters are further away, but by
the end monkeys are passing on the stairs just like they’re doing their morning
commute. Others are just sitting there, happy to be featured in as many photos
and videos people feel like taking. Still others are jumping over our heads
between walls and tour buses. It’s awesome. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">We take a quick break from the monkeys to
check out St. Michael’s Cave, a limestone cavern accessible from the rock. Once
inside, it’s very wide and open, and it’s actually used as an auditorium and
hall for weddings and dances. It was also used as an emergency hospital during World
War II. We spend maybe twenty minutes here and then head out. On the way back
to the bus, the monkeys are getting <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">especially</i>
comfortable with people and one jumps up on a lady in our group. Chris had advised
that, if this happens, just bend forward slowly and the monkey will jump off. She
does. It doesn’t. Then a second monkey jumps on. Then the two monkeys start to
scrap. Chris gets them off by blowing on them. Before it’s through, the lady
gets bitten in the arm (only enough to bruise, not enough to break the skin,
and she doesn’t seem too worked up about it.)</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Our last stop is The Gibraltar National
Museum. It’s a pretty quick breeze through the museum, but long enough. We see
some wartime propaganda films, a preserved Moorish bathhouse, and a forensic recreation
of two Neanderthals. Some of the oldest Neanderthal skulls every discovered
were found in Gibraltar – although the gent who found them didn’t really know
what they were and locked them in a drawer for a few years. The skulls were a
mother and a child, and the recreations did not rate very highly according to
my kids. “Why are they so short? Why are they so dirty? Why are they so naked?”
It’s aristocratic cave people or nothing at all for my kids.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">There’s more to the day, but the excursion
is the highlight. Later, Sarah and I head back out to explore the city centre. She
shops for kids’ clothes. I take a picture of a Burger King. Those are the second
and third highlights, respectively.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-58213082032528307632019-04-07T15:26:00.000-04:002019-04-08T15:43:13.941-04:00<br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We suffer through the
final time change of the trip. It’s Sunday, so we’re due to go to church, and
the kids leave claw marks in their mattresses as we haul them out of bed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the end of Mass, we’re all pretty fully
awake, so we have breakfast, and everyone’s off to do their thing. After two
days off, I make my victorious return to the gym. Previously, my favourite type
of person at the gym is the really fit old person. My new favourites are fit
people working out in ludicrous ways. Today, there’s an older dude with one leg
up on a railing, almost in a full splits position, doing bicep curls. I’d mock
him if not for the fact that he’s absolute <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">brick
shithouse </i>and clearly onto something the fitness community won’t figure out
for another few years.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It’s the first day in
a while where I feel like I have reasonable chunks of time to myself. Do I
avail myself of the ship’s services? Do I explore? Make new friends? Live life
as it’s meant to be lived? No. I watch Netflix. And I am <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so happy to do it</i>. So far this cruise, I’ve watched <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lucy, Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping,
Eighth Grade, </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hearts Beat Loud.</i>
It was my number one leisure activity on our last cruise too, although I really
intended for this one to be different. But it’s just easier to bring your own
entertainment. There’s at least an hour an evening where I’m waiting in some dark
room, killing time while waiting for kids to fall asleep (like right now). And when
they are down, I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">guess</i> I could go to
a Fine Jewelry Clearance Event, or Play Name That Tune: Big Band Edition, or check
out the Pre-Recorded Ballroom Dance Music at the Vortex Lounge (these are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">literally</i> the options currently available
to me), or I could sack out with Netflix.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Almost forgot: we ate
at Chops again. Giant cuts of red meat. Delicious. Between steak and the sun,
we’re all refilling our stores of iron and Vitamin D.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-88938536245098805162019-04-06T15:12:00.000-04:002019-04-08T15:13:37.608-04:00<br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It’s day two of
choppier water – nothing serious, just a constant rocking motion. We all take a
bonamine in the night and then another in the morning, and I end up in a brain
fog the entire day. They’re supposed to be non-drowsy, but it’s the same thing
that happens to me when I take non-drowsy allergy medication. Maybe it’s
psychosomatic, but man, I feel like I just woke up from a knockout punch, and
the feeling lasts for the entire day. Maybe the rest of my party had a gay old
time, but it was a total wash for me. It’s breakfast, nap, lunch, nap, dinner
and after-dinner drinks (where I’m thinking about sleep non-stop), then finally
sleep, where I am a Viking.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The only other
noteworthy thing is that I take Veronica climbing and she goes up the wall
about twelve times. There’s a very nice couple there who run climbing camps in
South Carolina, and they say a number of lovely things about her technique and
her determination, and we all cheer her on like mad. </span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-50135016176454183852019-04-05T18:00:00.002-04:002019-04-05T18:03:25.260-04:00<br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After six days, we
reach land! Actually, none of us are all that desperate for land because sea
days have been treating us just fine, thanks so much. (But neither are we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">unhappy</i> to reach land.) We’re in Ponta
Delgada, Azores. The last time we were here was nine years ago during another
Transatlantic, and the water was so rough that they couldn’t dock the boat. The
navigation crew tried their best for about half an hour, but then had to give
up and sail on. The poor crew was stuck on the boat for nine days straight.
It’s better seas this time and no trouble docking. We have no excursions
planned and no real agenda, just a wander around the city and some souvenir
shopping. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Azores are an
archipelago of volcanic islands that are part of Portugal (though 1,500 kilometers
away from Portugal proper.) Ponta Delgada is the main port of the Azores and it’s
the largest municipality on Sao Miguel Island. It’s a beautiful city – the buildings
and largely black and white brick and the downtown area – right next to the
port – is very pedestrian friendly. We visit three churches briefly – St. Peter’s
Parish Church, Igreja de Sao Jose, and Church of Saint Sebastian. Susannah, in
a bit of a mood all morning, hollers, “Are we just gonna <i>visit churches</i> all day?”
halfway through the first church. We don’t have the heart to tell her, “Basically,
yes.” We also see the city gate and the market, and we stop to let the kids buy
souvenirs. Teddy gets a deck of cards with the names of the island, Susannah
gets a small dolphin stuffy, and Veronica one-ups her with a dolphin stuffy
that’s also a pen. We also hit a playground on the way back, which is as big a
hit with the kids as anything else we’ve seen that day.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Downtime on the ship
after lunch. Veronica and I sneak out to wall climb and she absolutely crushes
it this time, making it to the top three times. There is much rejoicing.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sarah’s parents have
dinner at Giovanni’s Table again, and their experience is 200% better than last
time. Sarah and I have dinner at Izumi, the ship’s sushi restaurant, and it is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the best damn meal I have on the ship</i>.
If you happen to stroll onto the Jewel of the Seas some day and wander into
Izumi, I highly recommended the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Baked
Snow Crab and Eel Dynamite</i> and the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Creamy
Lobster Tempura Roll</i>. It’ll change your life. Or at least make you very mouth-happy.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-12629735023474040032019-04-04T11:11:00.000-04:002019-04-05T17:56:50.455-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHOzIXkYMGlcO52GYuTZJdZSHHSDLVKXz6lmJ5u8VqXha5SvBBZU4jqExnZokWRW1DBk-kJtF8LQh_wMO5VbhBRV4Feyznls74U-44eb0Psjvk6sGQqEPfRQSGXoqv4N6B-G0PrA/s1600/IMG_2195.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="219" data-original-width="164" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHOzIXkYMGlcO52GYuTZJdZSHHSDLVKXz6lmJ5u8VqXha5SvBBZU4jqExnZokWRW1DBk-kJtF8LQh_wMO5VbhBRV4Feyznls74U-44eb0Psjvk6sGQqEPfRQSGXoqv4N6B-G0PrA/s400/IMG_2195.jpg" width="299" /></a></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">First day with no time
change, but we’re still a little sluggish. The kids haven’t adjusted to the
timing in either the morning or the night. We head off to breakfast and note
that barf bags have been made available near all staircases, which is not a
great sign. The water was like glass the day before, and while it’s a little bit
choppier today, no one comes near to yarfing. After breakfast, it’s another
brief kids’ club, this time because we spring them early so we can go see Mary
Poppins Returns. The ship has a small theatre that seats maybe eighty people.
Even though the movie is playing six times today, we just barely get seats –
three between the five of us right in the front row. But it’s fine. The movie
is really good. Enough nods to the original without being slavish to it. (One
of my favourite parts is a short run of notes from the “Tuppence a Bag” song
played at just the right time.) The girls really love it. Teddy and I both get a
little nauseated from the rocking of the ship, coupled with a few rollercoaster
turns of the camera, but in the end he really likes it too. Afterward, he
reminds me of his last movie theatre experience, Moana, where his hand had
locked up because he was tensely clutching a mini box of smarties for the last
half of the movie. Mary Poppins Returns: 100% less tension-induced paralysis.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Not a super eventful
day so maybe I’ll catalogue some of the perks of our cruise level. Fortunately
for us, our Celebrity credits port over to the Royal Caribbean rewards program.
Here, we’re at the Diamond Level (beyond this is Diamond Plus and Pinnacle). At
Diamond, you get a few nice things. There’s the free drinks lounge open for
happy hour (happy hour is between 4:30 and 8:00, btw). Because there are so
many Diamond cruisers on this trip, they’ve also two free happy hour drinks loaded
onto our cards to be redeemed anywhere on the ship each night, in the instance
that you can’t get into the lounge. If you’re a big drinker, you could be the
Mayor of Shitfaced City. Once upon a time, I would have been wearing that mayoral
sash nightly, but these days I just redeem a few virgin bloody marys. But hey:
free is free. Beyond happy hour, there’s also a full day Diamond Club lounge
where you can get access to fancy coffee, and peace and quiet. Again, in the
instance that the lounge is rammed, they’ve also loaded a free specialty coffee
coupon that can be redeemed at the café once a day. Diamond fancy pants people
can also escape the buffet at breakfast and eat at the main dining room (while we’ve
availed ourselves of the other perks on a daily basis, the dining room
breakfast is a little header to manage). </span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-70304139404499009302019-04-03T17:57:00.000-04:002019-04-04T18:01:06.162-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwAUaeBVfUWV67ZjFFsRsgAO6U4IHfSDzOxVBK8hsEH4VHrhsGAJFDB6R7lme5vHlPJDIuRCjbG-NRtVzV3gedIY8zaNaenajU369y4aXzLM86BNJVXWTXslJBG-AoEufOV2R9_g/s1600/P1020005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwAUaeBVfUWV67ZjFFsRsgAO6U4IHfSDzOxVBK8hsEH4VHrhsGAJFDB6R7lme5vHlPJDIuRCjbG-NRtVzV3gedIY8zaNaenajU369y4aXzLM86BNJVXWTXslJBG-AoEufOV2R9_g/s320/P1020005.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">It’s the fourth day in a row that the
clocks have gone back and it’s taking a toll on the kids. Even Teddy – who bounds
out of bed most days – tells me to go away when I try to wake him. But I know
the kids will holler at us if they’re late for kids’ club. And they are late.
And they do holler. During the day, the kids’ club has these short windows of
operation: 10am to 12pm, then 3pm to 5pm. I can admit this far into the cruise
that those hours kind of suck. Celebrity at least had three-hour chunks of time
(along with the many other ways their programming seems to be better). On a day
like today, it’s almost not worth dropping them off as they’ll be in there for
just about an hour. As a parent, that’s time enough to do exactly one thing. Read
for a bit, sit down for a leisurely coffee, have a real quick nap – pick one of
those things and watch the clock the entire time (naps are especially
unrestful).</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">It’s getting colder as the boat heads
further North. Sarah gets the hero award for taking Susannah and Veronica on
the waterslide. Teddy, Nonna, and I do a round of minigolf. Veronica joins us
for the second round, shivering in her wet bathing suit, and between putts she
lies out on the nearest rock like a sea lion, catching whatever heat she can
from the sun. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">After lunch, we take the kids to see a
pianist in the theatre. The performer’s name is Brooks Aehron, a British gent
who I’d place somewhere in his sixties. He has high energy and lightening quick
hands, and he plays Chopin and Bach and tells entertaining stories about the composers
before each song. (Chopin could only grow hair on one side of his face – but it
was the side facing his audience so he didn’t mind. Bach’s first job was
writing arrangements for hymns at church – and he was selected by the hiring
committee because their first choice wasn’t available.) The kids like the show
enough, but they quickly tire of the between song banter. Susannah: “Why does he
keeps saying stuff that KIDS DON’T UNDERSTAND?”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Off to dinner. We’ve booked our second specialty
dining meal of the cruise, this one at Giovani’s Table. It turns out to be not
that special an experience. Despite our reservation, we have to hang out for
ten minutes until the table is ready, then service is sloooooooooow. If it’s not
the slowest service I’ve ever experienced in a restaurant, it’s at least in the
top two. And the food isn’t the best, at least for us. Sarah’s dad has osso bucco
and her mom has a gorgonzola gnocchi, and they enjoy it. Sarah has a very mediocre
filet mignon, and I have fettuccini carbonara with a sauce that is 99% egg
yolk. I go from absolutely starving to painfully full in a single course. When
it’s all done, our server apologizes for the wait and then – either because he
feels bad or because he’s fishing for a tip – he pours a half bottle of wine
into Sarah’s glass for free. We pick the kids up from Adventure Ocean, and
because of the time change, they all do the curly shuffle in their beds for
about an hour before falling asleep.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9845137.post-63717557860060820452019-04-02T07:00:00.000-04:002019-04-04T07:05:57.628-04:00<br />
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<span lang="EN-CA">It’s the first day that the kids
reaaaaaaaly sleep in. Sarah’s parents knock on our adjoining door to let us
know that it’s 9am and they’re heading off to breakfast. Veronica wakes first but
we have to shake the other two awake. (We’d let them keep sleeping but they’d
be outraged if they missed a minute of the kids’ club.) We get mobilized, shove
in breakfast, and the kids are off to where they want to be. I go to the gym,
which I’m totally loving, by the way. I realize that my models of fitness are
changing. Once upon a time, I wanted to have Brad Pitt’s physique. But I’m getting
into my mid-40s and I’m looking more and more into the future. Now, I see these
fit, old people and I think I want to be them one day.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>That’s right. You: wildly-bearded octogenarian running laps. You:
grizzled older broad into you sixtieth minute on the elliptical. I want to be
you.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Between kids’ club and kids’ club, the savages
get caught up on homework and then reluctantly shower. I catch up on blogging.
It’s a pretty low-key, low-energy day. Dinner is fine. For fun, I use the menu
to pick Sarah’s dad’s dinner from hell. The appetizer would be a Roasted Carrot
Cumin Salad followed by Eggplant Parmesan and ending with an Artisanal Cheese
Plate. He agrees and says, “Ugh, gag me. Now watch what Maria orders…”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">After dinner, the kids’ go back to kids’ club.
We have coffee then hang in our rooms, barely holding onto consciousness while
we wait for the kids to let us put them to bed.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0