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It’s been a tough week since returning from our cross-Atlantic adventure. I haven’t felt much like sitting down at the keyboard after bouts with dizziness and nausea. Initially, I thought I might have Covid, but the test proved negative. I sat down at my desk on Monday and the room began to spin. Maybe in the back of my mind I was suffering from Tax Day, but I had already sent in my pound of flesh before the trip. My wife was playing bridge, while I watched our new schnauzer puppy, Fosse and her sister Tally. Otherwise, I was ready to settle into a homebound routine. By dinner time, I had the chills, lost the chocolate that filled my stomach, and couldn’t maintain any sense of balance.
I was hard pressed to remember the last time I was this sick, undoubtedly vulnerable after heart surgery. I was soon in bed under a pile of blankets but still couldn’t control the chill spasms that racked my body. Also, my head was pounding like the Iron Claw had a death grip on me. In the past, I would have probably recovered by morning, but the day was spent on the couch with a diet of plain toast, rice, and sips of Gatorade. My wife picked up my grandson at the bus stop and prepared for her first day of school in more than a month. She also had an evening Zoom meeting with her former high school classmates as they finalized details for their 50th reunion. I struggled to set up the computer.
Wednesday wasn’t much better. Dog duty was a hassle, and the grandkids were coming over to see the new puppy. We ordered for Pizza Boss delivery. I took a couple of Nyquil Cold & Sinus Nighttime tablets to knock me out. By morning, I suffered another relapse and made a doctor’s appointment. All the energy I had went into binging of the Stormy documentary and the series, Truth be Told. I tried to go for a walk but was just too weak and unsteady. I was not looking forward to driving my wife to and from school the next morning, along with picking up my grandson, and running a slew of errands in between. There would be no time for a nap before our Borrego Street get-together in the evening.
An early alarm set me scurrying for dog duty, followed be a quick shower and drive to school. The doctor then scheduled me for a MRI, wanting to take a look at my inner ear. I picked up a prescription for Dramamine, got a haircut, shuttled my wife home, mailed a package, and delivered my grandson home from the bus stop. It turned out to be a nice evening with the neighbors, but I had little energy.
Today is our 23rd wedding anniversary. We were married in Las Vegas at the Bellagio. My wife had already bought herself some pearl earrings on the cruise, claiming them as an early gift from me. We’re headed to the Pink Elephant in Boca Grande for dinner. I wrote this poem to celebrate the occasion:
Pink Elephant
Not too much to drink,
Or a hallucinogenic pill.
I saw a Pink Elephant,
And it was a thrill.
We dined there, too,
In a romantic light.
As the sun sets,
On our anniversary night.
Gasparilla Island,
Surrounded by Gulf.
Where the privileged play,
Tennis and golf.
No more pirates,
Just Bush and Saban.
Snowbirds abound,
A tropical haven.
Boca Grande,
With its beaches nearby.
As we drove the miles,
Under a sunny Blue Sky.
It’s the perfect spot,
For a Twenty third.
No flying Elephants,
Bird is the word.
I want to express,
My love for you.
Because of all,
The things you do.
My wife, best friend,
And nurse of late.
Travel companion,
And dining date.
You cook and clean,
Without much help.
While mothering two pups,
The newest full of “whelp.”
My go-go girl,
You’re always busy.
Maybe it’s you,
Making me dizzy?
Afternoon bridge,
Aqua-fit and tap.
While elderly me,
Takes a nap.
You thrive on friends,
And party planning.
And if there’s time,
Poolside tanning.
You love the beach,
And your golf cart.
Thanks for giving,
Your whole heart.
I couldn’t ask
For any better.
Lover, Looker,
And Go-Getter.
Twenty-four hundred miles,
From where we said I do.
I’d do it all again,
As long as it’s with you.
Copyright 2024 johnstonwrites.com
Ramblings from a Traveler
On the way,
To Barcelona.
Leaving our house,
For Peter and Mona.
Four Continents,
In thirty days.
Eight Ports,
But short stays.
Dress slacks for dining,
Were required each night.
But with only one pair,
I packed a bit light.
We land in Buenos Aires,
St. Pat’s Day Parade.
But missed all the parties,
As jet lag made us fade.
After heart surgery,
Can’t carry a bag.
Plus, my pace,
Tends to lag.
Carnaval Show,
In Montevideo.
And when at sea,
On walks we’d go.
Rio de Janeiro rain,
Pancho Giant Jesus?
Luz does her best,
To try and please us.
Hot and muggy,
Bad tour of Recife.
Lost our guide,
Kind of a relief,
Equator crossing,
Kiss the fish.
Sky full of stars,
Make a wish.
This Viking journey,
With Cindy and Pat.
With all this food.
We’re sure to get fat.
Double Cappuccinos,
Unlimited wine.
A glutton’s delight,
All “Mine Mine Mine!”
Pat had a birthday,
Another wine toast.
As we were approaching,
The African Coast.
Caprese and Gelato,
Almost every night.
But the other courses,
Made my pants get tight.
Five full days at sea,
I tried to keep my steps up.
But devoured those bone-ins,
One too many pudding cup!
Through Good Friday,
Another deck lap.
Afternoon bridge,
While I took my nap.
Paolo’s covers,
The Viking band.
Piano Tim, Jakub’s bow,
When no place to land.
Explorers’ Dome,
3-D and cocktails.
Movie Popcorn,
Talks about whales.
Sao Vincente bus,
Cobblestone roads.
Snake to the top
For a shot of Ponch.
Easter Sunday,
April Fools jokes.
Chocolate bunnies,
But sugar-free Cokes.
Casablanca docking.
Classic movie words.
Boobies everywhere,
Too bad they were birds.
Losing my debit card,
I guess I’m one, too,
A visit to the doc,
And scaring you.
Rock of Gibraltar,
In the midst of the night.
All that I saw,
Was a flashing light.
Next stop Malaga,
Picasso’s birthplace.
And as a young boy,
Sketched his first face.
An overcast Barcelona,
But still quite unique.
Sagrada Familia church,
With peak after peak.
Gaudi is gaudy,
Kings too haughty.
Cathedrals lawdy.
Flamenco naughty.
The time kept on changing,
Our clocks never right.
A mall fills the arena,
Where bulls once did fight.
Never enough Euro,
To pay the fee to pee.
And there was no water,
Though right on the sea.
All of the fountains,
Were bone dry.
So there was little urge,
When I strolled by.
Hop to Mallorca,
For an extended stay.
Dozed by the pool,
While spring breakers play!
Placemats and magnets,
The shopping goals.
Our Son Antem villa,
Amidst eighteen holes.
Needed Fire Starter,
For burgers on the grill.
Denise made the meals,
With master skills.
We rent a Bimmer,
Parking a bummer.
The tormenter turns,
A knuckle numb-er.
No annoying horns,
But cyclists everywhere.
Not good at sharing,
Pass if you dare.
Narrow parking rows,
Mediterranean views.
Dancing Panda,
Shops full of shoes.
We hopped on,
But off -not too much.
Except when we,
Were hungry for lunch.
Port de Pollenca,
Miles of blue.
Romantic Lunch
Just us two.
We met our British friends,
On a Plaza to dine.
Dinner was affordable,
But not the parking fine..
Two trips to the airport
Six bags plus carry-ons.
Bolduman donuts,
Early morning yawns.
Tour Barcelona,
Renaissance night.
Spanish paella,
Six movie flight.
Home at last,
Back in our bed.
To travel again,
We need more bread.
Copyright 2024 johnstonwrites.com
As an Indiana University basketball loyalist, I rarely offer kudos to other college programs, let alone those in the East. I know that over the course of time, jealousy will prevail, and I will learn to hate the man. However, I wrote about their success with my “Rule of 60” last year, and this year is no different. Dan is the new Bobby, and I don’t mean his dad or brother. He’s the new Robert Montgomery Knight. Since the departure of Knight from the Hoosiers, no team has exemplified the power of 60 any better. Plus, he’s doing it while battling the never more popular three-point shot.
Last year his Huskies beat San Diego State 76-59 to win it all. This year Purdue was the victim of his defense 75-60. From an offensive standpoint, the 1967-69 UCLA Bruins and their legendary Coach, John Wooden and Hurley’s 2022-24 UConn squads are the only other teams to win back-to-back titles by 15+ points. Knight was never able to join the back-to-back club, although he came close in 1974-1976, joining Wooden with an undefeated National champion. Neither of those coaches played 40-games in one season like UConn.
In that 40-game span this season the Huskie defense held opponents to 60-points or less 17 times, winning each time to finish 37-3, including Indiana 77-57. Of the six NCAA Tourney games that UConn played, 5 were won in this manner, plus two of three in the Big East Tournament. They capped of the season with “Magical” victories over three more BIG teams, 75-58 over Northwestern, Illinois 77-52, and Purdue75-60.
The three games the top-rated Huskies lost were at Kansas 69-65, at Seton Hall 75-60, and at Creighton 86-66. The Pirates, who went on to win the NIT, were the only team to reverse the 60 “magic” on UConn. The BIG East, lived up to being the BIGGEST Conference of all, winning both major post season titles, another fact I hate to admit.
When it comes to the three setbacks, well anyone can have a few bad nights, especially on the road. The first one this year was at Kansas when the Jayhawks got to 60 first at 61-54, just ahead of the final media timeout. Hurley’s Huskies shot a season-low from the three-point line but made 11 of them to stay in the game. UConn pulled back within two late and had a look at a 3-pointer to take a lead in the final seconds, but it rimmed out and KU was able to ice the game.
Conference foe, Seton Hall, got to them next in decisive fashion 75-60, performing a little reverse magic. The Huskies finished 22-of-58 (37.9 percent) from the floor and 4-of-21 (19.0 percent) from 3-point range. Conversely, Seton Hall shot 29-of-56 (51.8 percent) from the floor and was 3-of-8 from 3-point range. In the home rematch a few weeks later, “Dan the Man” Hurley got revenge, 91-61.
In the third and final loss, before their 13-game run to the Championship, UConn ran into a Creighton buzzsaw 85-66 in Omaha, their last loss of the season. The Huskies were-out shot 44.1 percent to 54.7 percent, but the game’s key difference came behind the 3-point line – UConn shot 3-of-16 (18.7%) from deep while Creighton finished 14-of-28 (50%).
Congratulations to the Huskies and while I’m being a good sport and handing out accolades to the enemy, I’m also envious of the rival Purdue Boilermakers. Coach Matt Painter rallied the team from last year’s disappointment. However, UConn was just too much, but that doesn’t take away from a great Purdue campaign, while reaching their first NCAA Championship game in 64-years and adding a sweep of the Hoosiers. Until the start of next season, “Boiler Up!”
Continued from Post #2506
I walked back to the Marriott resort center first thing in the morning, but the rental company had no cars for delivery that day, and suggested I grab a cab to their offices in Palma. The driver took me to the wrong location, so I had to walk the extra blocks in search of the right place where the rental agreements were signed. I had no access to GPS, internet, or Spanish language skills and spent the rest of the morning wandering aimlessly in my BMW SUV. After many wrong turns and fruitless conversations with non-English speakers, I stopped at a CEPSA gas station and got directions. Somehow, I made it back to our Villa.
Our friends, fortunately, had GPS service and directed us back into Palma to visit the Catedral-Basílica de Santa María de Mallorca and the Royal Palace of La Almudaina. Parking was a nightmare as I tried to familiarize myself with the BMW and navigate the narrow underground spaces in the crowded garage. After this experience, the men decided to sit in a café drinking cappuccinos at Palau while the women did the tours. We all then walked across the plaza to a sidewalk table at Dalili for pizza, caprese, and gelato. The drive back to the resort was less stressful, but only three of us ate the chicken dinner my “younger” wife prepared while us three septuagenarians napped.
Our travel companions were under the weather the next morning when we planned to drive to the North coast of the island. My wife and I traveled alone to Cap de Formentor where we battled thousands of cyclists, hundreds of tight curves, narrow roads, and steep drops to get to the top. They apparently come in droves to train for the Tour de France. For me, it was white knuckles from top to bottom, so the spectacular views were not worth it, so I was glad to stop for lunch in Port de Pollenca at the Hotel Miramar. I was relieved to get a break from the stress of the mountainous rollercoaster, while gelato on the beach overlooking the surrounding marina offered a picturesque change of pace. It was then an hour back to the villa and a quick change for dinner.
Unless it is to warn a driver or avert an accident, horn use is illegal, according to Spain’s highway code. It makes city driving very peaceful unlike the horn-crazy U.S. drivers. The government also offers free public transportation to residents in an effort to reduce traffic congestion. Plus, they love to ding us tourists with parking violations and make it difficult to pay the fines, a boost to the economy. My advice: don’t park in the Blue zones without a permit. It cost us a 45 Euro fine to go to dinner at Quina Brassa in Llucmajor on Placa Espanya. This open plaza is where we met our British friends for dinner, conversation about our Egypt trip together last year, and Herbes de Mallorca, an anise liquor nightcap produced on the island.
With our friends feeling better in the morning, we once again took the rental car into a relatively less-congested Palma for a Hop- On-Hop-Off tour of the city, with no hopping off. Lunch at Tapas Palma and shoe shopping followed. I watched the giant, dancing Panda strip out of his costume for a smoke. The street venders rolled up their blankets and scattered as the police made an appearance, but quickly set up shop again in once the all-clear was signaled. We retreated back to the villa to pay my parking fine and dine for the final time. A last load of laundry, our two remaining bottles of Mallorca wine, and packing for departure led to a short night’s sleep.
I was up at three, our final day in Mallorca, preparing for two trips to the airport. Our BMW rental would not handle four adults, six bags, and carry-ons. My wife was my first drop-off with luggage before I headed back for the other two passengers. They helped me find a gas station before their exit at the terminal. I returned the rental car to SIXT after a solo ordeal on the poorly marked, dark, roundabouts, another challenge without language skills. Finally, the four of us were back together for check-in, security, and takeoff on our hour-long Yueling Airlines flight back to Barcelona.
A taxi at the Barcelona airport shuttled us to the Renaissance Fira for our last look at the city. First, however, we needed nourishment, so we turned to the Boldú Bakery and their unique glazed donuts in the shape of a plump little men, choosing caramel, chocolate, and raspberry fillings. Upon arrival at the hotel, we were told that our rooms would not be ready until late afternoon, so we cabbed to the Hop-On-Hop-Off for several hours of cruising the sights. Lunch for me was an authentic Spanish seafood paella, while happy hour took place on the roof of our hotel, 27 floors up, with panoramic views of the city and palm trees. It was then a sad moment of goodbyes to our travel companions as we went our separate ways home in the early morning.
A unique high-tech room at the Renaissance, all white with a curtain surrounding the king and a single on the other side. The nightstand tops were under-lit and bedside switches controlled the window shades. The large tub drained from the center. We entered from an open hallway with a 25-story drop through a heavy glass door. It did not appeal to my fear of heights.
It only took an hour to get to the airport, through security, and past immigration, so we had two hours to wait for our United flight to Newark. Pans & Company was the only option for breakfast, as if I needed to add more fat to my frame. In total, we’ve been away from home for a full four weeks, and I’ve probably gained ten pounds. It will be good to get back into the home routine, although we have three neighborhood parties to attend and an anniversary to celebrate at the Pink Elephant.
Barcelona to Newark was the first leg. Watched five movies: The Iron Claw, The League, Last Goal Wins, Anyone but You, and the 38 at the Garden documentary about Jeremy Lin. Security was a mess in Newark, a long wait even in TSA-Pre, following the AirTrain and shuttle bus to finally get to our Terminal then gate. It was a good thing we had plenty of time between flights, especially after a 45-minute mechanical delay once we had already boarded in Barcelona.
During the final leg to Tampa, I watched the movie, “Priscilla.” A poem of our overall adventure is in the works. My neighbor friend was waiting at the airport and got us home by 10pm to sort through mail and get organized for bed. The Party’s Over!
Continued from Post #2505
Recovery from surgery has reached eleven weeks. Soon it will be time to get my body back in shape. We skipped the afternoon concert but attended the “Port Talk” presentation about excursion options for the upcoming “White City of Morocco,” Morocco stop. I also sat though a talk regarding, The Natural History of the Western Mediterranean before our dinner at The Chef’s Table. Marc Paul performed a second mind-reading act to close out Tuesday.
Wednesday, Day #18, started with the Morocco tour before embarkment in the early afternoon. The main draws are the Hassan II Mosque and Rick’s Café, “of all the gin joints,” made famous in the 1942 Hollywood production – but in name only because the film was studio produced not in Casablanca. “This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.” Afternoon activities were cut short by a trip to the ship’s doctor after I began to have some balance issues on the walk back. Dehydration may have been the cause, coupled with the stress of losing my bank card. I froze the account as a precaution, but it elevated my blood pressure. As a result, I stayed away from alcohol and rich foods. The confusion of two separate on-hour time changes in one day, coupled with early tours the next day led to an early bedtime.
We passed through the Straits of Gibraltar, marked by the famous rock, in the middle of the night and arrived in Malaga, Spain, our next port, in the early morning hours. “Does anybody really know what time it is?” Another boring bus ride with a heavily accented tour guide distracted from the beauty of being high above the Mediterranean Ocean, overlooking the Bullfight Arena. I elected not to sit on a park bench next to Pablo Picasso, who was born there. We couldn’t afford one of his paintings so we got magnets instead. The wives stayed in the city for more shopping, while the men returned to our rooms for a nap. After a solo lunch in the World Café, I went to two late-afternoon presentations on the Universe (in the Explorers’ Dome Planetarium) and Pirate History, including arguably the greatest, a woman named Ching Shih. As the Jupiter left Malaga Harbor for Barcelona, dinner in The Restaurant and Showman Tim Able on the piano concluded Day #19.
Day #20 was our last day at sea. I continue to be plagued with muscle cramps and woke up disappointed that Indiana State did not win the NIT. A somewhat hobbled one mile walk enabled me to listen to a few more chapters of “Good Bad Girl.”
I’m also reading “The Edge,” the second part of David Baldacci’s “6:20 Man.” Laundry was the top priority. Lectures included “The Habsburg Empire” and a wildlife recap of our voyage, including “boobies,” vultures, dolphins, butterflies, turtles and whales, none of which I witnessed myself. They don’t hang out in the bars and restaurants aboard where I spent a majority of my time. Some passengers even saw the illusive green flash at sunset. Lunch for us was at The Restaurant. I then took in an afternoon siesta, before the Port Talk presentation, Explorers’ Dome 3-D film, and dinner with the bridge partners. I can’t play with them but can certainly share a meal. The finale of the evening was a toast to the crew and musical performance by the Viking singers.
The last day aboard ship was filled with two very different guided tours by shuttle and foot, along with packing for Mallorca, so naturally we couldn’t miss a meal. Our morning excursion was identified as “Iconic Barcelona,” highlighted by Gaudi’s famous La Sagrada Familia. It was the second of the two landmarks that I looked forward to seeing in person, after Christ the Redeemer. It took 22 days to finally get here, including our day-long flight plus 21-days at sea. The wait was well worth it, despite not having tickets to see the interior, while the Rio statue was a bit of a letdown because of the overcast weather. We also walked through Old Town, and dined twice, first on the boat, and again on tapas in the Spanish Village. Flamenco dancing capped off a very entertaining evening in Barcelona. We returned to the ship, finished our packing, got a couple hours of sleep, and caught a bus to the airport for the Vueling flight to Mallorca.
The next thing we knew we were napping on pool chairs, with towels for blankets, waiting for our room at the Son Antem Marriott Vacation Club (MVC) to be readied. It was late afternoon before we finally officially checked in after a cab trip to the Hiper Centro for groceries. My wife cooked our first homemade dinner in over three weeks, and we shared a bottle of wine before a long overdue full night’s sleep. While we dozed, the Iowa women lost the National Championship game to South Carolina, ending Caitlin Clark’s stellar collegiate career without a ring.
Our location on the island is very remote, surrounded by two 18-hole golf courses. I was beginning to get my land legs. However, we quickly realized there would be little to do without renting a car. I made the arrangements with the help of a MVC interpreter through SIXT. Unfortunately, I got my days mixed up and made the long walk to the resort center to make the correction. I was told that these arrangements would need to be made the next morning when their offices opened, so we cooked burgers on the outdoor grill and hit the hay early, long before the Purdue Boilermakers lost their Championship bid in the middle of our night – six hours difference.
Continued ….
Continued from Post #2504
On day #9 of our Trans-Atlantic adventure, lunch was a hot dog prior to stepping off the boat for a tour of hot, humid Recife – the furthest east point of South America. It has Dutch and Jewish influences but most of the old buildings are under construction or in need of repair. Our tour guide spoke broken English and we somehow got separated from the group, joined another, and prematurely returned to the Viking shuttle bus. It was frankly a relief to leave Recife. A nap, shower, Indian themed dinner at the Chef’s Table, and a poor ABBA performance sent us to bed early. While we slept, the Viking Jupiter started its voyage across the Atlantic.
Day #10 also marked my 10th week of recovery. I was craving a cheeseburger from the Pool Grill. Paradise, for me, was sitting on our deck in the sunshine with nothing to see but Sea. Dinner for me was another steak at The Restaurant. Violinist, Jakub Trasak, warmed up with Devil Came Down from Georgia and proceeded to WOW us with his string skills. Day 11 Walking the corridors of the ship has become my latest routine. Nine floors up and nine floors down to the morning lecture, where this morning I played on the phone, ignoring information on selecting the best binoculars for birdwatching. Next on the agenda were the somewhat silly Equator-crossing ceremonies, featuring our cruise director as King Neptune. Lunch at The Restaurant began the numerous birthday salutes to our Decatur friend. The clock moved forward an hour for the 2nd of five times before my wife and I sat in on “The Stars Above Us” presentation in the ship’s unique observatory, one of only three in existence. We enjoyed similar talks on the Viking Orion during our Alaska travels. Birthday cocktails continued at Pap’s in the Explorer Lounge and throughout dinner at our favorite, Manfredi’s. Chocolate cake, along with the rich diet and wine sent me to bed on a sugar high that disturbed my sleep all night long.
Day #12 began with clock confusion and sore shoulders from incision discomfort. I discovered in the midst of my morning walk that it was an hour later than what our phones indicated. I woke up my wife for her scheduled cooking class, and then struggled with lectures about NATO and Mass Extinctions between walks. Despite my continued weight gain, belly flab, and sour stomach, I somehow still had a lunch appetite. The afternoon called for a walk, a nap, and the documentary, Free Solo. Dinner was in The Restaurant, but just before we enjoyed the guitar and vocals of Paolo Polan and another impressive set of James Taylor hits.
Day #13 was not unlucky and a Good Friday. “Land Ahoy” loomed ahead and a third time change. I walked, read, ate and drank as usual. Paolo played by the pool and Jakob fiddled around as a night cap.
A full two weeks on the boat and I literally fell out of bed to start the day. Fortunately, I did nothing more than bump my head on the nightstand. We were docked for the day in Sao Vincente, off the coast of Africa. Busses took us to the peak of the island on twisting, bone jarring, cobblestone roads. Ponch, the local liquor was served by the beach, almost as a reward, once we rumbled down from the mountain. The guide proudly pointed out their soccer stadium. My wife and I then relaxed on the stern deck as the ship pulled away from the city of Mindelo just before sunset, had a cocktail in the Explorer Lounge as we headed back into Atlantic waters, and wined & dined at The Restaurant, as usual. I did get a brief glimpse of the sun through the powerful on-board solar telescope, but it appeared to be just a red ball in the sky. Mind Reader, Marc Paul, wowed us with his stage act.
The Easter Bunny apparently couldn’t find us in the Atlantic approaching Morocco, but there was a chocolate treat in our stateroom from the crew. Another time change, the fourth of five, has us all confused. I walked the hallways as the ship rocked, weaving along as if drunk. It’s the final day of March and I managed to reach 90 total miles, after just 28 and 18 respectively in January and February due to surgery. Presentations on Submarines and Weightlessness filled the time between the buffet and more formal Restaurant dinner. Tim Abel performed, Liberace style, on the piano. Good Night.
April Fool’s Day #16 and we remain just off the coast of Africa approaching the Tropic of Cancer and Canary Islands. Six days on the ship remain, including 2 docked in Barcelona. The rocking and rolling continues as I navigate the narrow corridors. Another load of laundry was in order after a lecture on “Majestic Celestial Ballets” regarding the upcoming Solar Eclipse, an event that we will miss while continuing our travels on this side of the Earth. We did visit the stars later, after dinner, a sparkling blanket on a clear night. The lights of the Canary Islands were in the distance as we passed by. Too much red wine and rich foods made for a miserable night’s sleep.
Day #17 began with a series of walks. Pauses in between for sips of decaf coffee, a bad habit I’ve picked up on this voyage. It’s certainly not the bad taste in my mouth that is attractive, but the warmth of the cup is comforting. My wife hates both the smell and taste, but the Coke Light is not satisfying. There is a cooking demonstration before lunch and I was running behind this morning, so no lectures to fill my pre-lunch schedule. Yesterday, the movie, “Everything Elsewhere All At Once” filled the bill of sea-day boredom. The scale is not my friend as I persist in trying to get a reading between wave swells that occasionally vary up to fifteen pounds from low to high. Could I have possibly gained that much weight? My gut and expanding waistline both tend to agree.
Continued …
Buenos Aires was disappointing. Our guided tour took us through the colorful La Boca market district, home of the Juniors soccer team. We passed monuments along the way and went through a mansion that became a tenement and now museum through the years. In the underground space beneath, we enjoyed empanadas and wine In what was once a sewer tunnel leading to the sea. We also stopped at the church, Metropolitan Cathedral of Pope Francis, Jorge Mario Bergoglio, 17 December 1936, who was born there and served the Catholic community. I will have to settle for Coca-Cola Light or Zero rather than Diet Coke. However, I’m assured of a steady diet of Argentine Cabernets and Malbecs.
The seaside capital city of Uruguay, Montevideo was much more interesting than downtown Buenos Aires, with lots of trees, stone architecture, and the Carnaval Museum, a tribute to the 40-day festival celebrated annually starting every February. We watched a stage performance representative of this event by costumed vocalists, and of course went by their soccer stadium, home of the “Blue Skies,” fierce rivals of the neighboring Juniors. They call it football, but in our game the foot is sparingly used. This is as far south of the equator as I’ve ever been (-34), and the first time in South America. Before this trip, it was Bora Bora (-16.5) that was my Southernmost point of travel. Valdez, Alaska is my Northernmost (+61) stop.
It’s a rainy Wednesday, after thunderstorms last night, so the slippery Promenade Deck that circles The Jupiter was closed. I’m still restricted from using a treadmill, so I walked the hallways and stairways. I’ve overdone indulged on food and wine, so sleep has been sketchy. Stomach and shoulder aches have me tossing and turning all night. I could drink less, but only time will heal the wounds.
Two days at sea will deliver us to Rio, with the Christ the Redeemer statue to greet us. I’m in the bar area drinking decaf coffee, the warmth of the cup in my hands the main appeal. I’m curious about the local coffee alternative, yerba mate, made from the leaves of an evergreen tree grown in Paraguay, Brazil, and Uruguay. It apparently has a bitterness that takes some getting used to but has the buzz-effect of caffeine and other stimulants.
It’s the “Good Ship Lollypop.” We’ve dined lavishly each night at Manfredi’s, The Restaurant, and Chef’s Table. The World Café, a giant buffet, serves every other culinary need – ice cream, cookies, even sushi. Despite the daily walks, I’ll easily add another five pounds to my already flabby frame. It will be at least another month before I can get in the gym. Before turning in on Night #3, there was a Welcome session, with crew introductions and champaign toasts.
The girls are playing bridge, while I stroll the halls or sit in the lobby listening to “Thunderhead,” my latest book on tape borrowed digitally from the library. At bedtime, I’m reading “First Lie Wins.” With little else to do on Sea Day #4, I did three walks totaling over 4 miles, paid some bills, and got some limited sun on our deck. Tonight will include another steak dinner in The Restaurant and more wine guzzling.
Day #5 on water started with an attempted walk on the Promenade Deck that surrounds the ship, but wind and sea spray quickly interrupted. I finished my 2-mile jaunt indoors and attended a lecture on Plate Tectonics, explaining the shift of the once enjoined continents of Africa, Europe, and America. I then came back to the room to recharge for a second walk, and a boring lecture on Brazilian history. Dinner was in The Restaurant, while bedtime came early, as the boat approached Rio.
Another upset stomach had me up and down most of the night. I pulled the drapes back several times in the dark hoping to catch a glimpse of shoreline. My wife woke me up in the midst of a dream, excited to see Christ the Redeemer before it once again ducked behind the clouds. It would be the last we would see of it as rain continued throughout the day. We donned cheap pink ponchos and toured the mosaic patterned streets of downtown Rio. Our guide spoke irritatingly rapidly to the point that I turned her off. The ornate, gold-trimmed Opera House and World-renowned Library were the highlights. The tour bus then drove us to the The Metropolitan Cathedral of Saint Sebastian, a modern pyramid structure based on Mayan architectural style. Four rectilinear stained glass windows soar from floor to ceiling. On the way back to the ship we passed by the famous Copacabana Beach shrouded in fog. Guitar music by Paolo by the pool, then dinner at the Chef’s Table, and a dance party to conclude the day.
A full week at sea and this was the most uneventful day of all. The weather was clear, and it grew too hot to sit out on the deck. I attended an afternoon lecture about the planets, after several miles of walking the hallways. Dinner was at The Restaurant, concluding with chocolate lava cake.
Three lectures, more walking, and a cheesesteak by the pool were the highlights of Day #8. “Finding ET” and “Whale/Dolphin/Porpoise Watching” were the educational subjects, along with a Port Talk about tomorrow’s Recife excursion. The good news is that I can’t get an accurate scale reading as the boat bobs along, although I can feel the weight gain of too much ice cream, cookies, and cake. Dinner, a bone-in filet, was at Manfredi’s, followed by Southern Cross star gazing, and the uninspiring vocals of Camila Andrade.
Continued …
