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Journal Entry: Alaska Cruise - page 6
THE TRIP HOME
AND REFLECTIONS
The morning debarkation was a piece of
cake, which, coincidentally, was also my breakfast. Thanks to the
arrangements made for those of us trying to furtively reach the 48
adjacent states without making direct eye-contact with a Canadian, we
went directly from the ship to a bus to the
Vancouver
airport with no Canadian customs involved. Our luggage was also taken
directly from the ship to our plane. So at about
9:30 AM, all we had to do was sit back and relax for five
hours at Vancouver International until our plane departed.
This wasn’t as hard as it
probably sounds to you Type-A personalities that actually think of your
destination as your goal.
Sue and I are great at waiting. We sit, we
read, we watch daily dramas unfold around us. After the past seven days,
it was sort of refreshing to be sitting in an environment where no one
was trying to force you to have fun.
And let’s face it; airports excel at
providing a no-fun environment.
There were some challenges, mostly of the soft-drink
variety. Diet Dr. Pepper was again in short supply. I spotted a bank of
vending machines, and they all took
US
currency, but for some reason, the soda machines were the only ones that
didn’t take paper money, which was all I had. So I had to go to one of
the fast-food concessions to buy a soft drink. Aside from my reluctance
to fraternize with the locals, I was afraid that these places would
accept only Canadian currency. After all, at LAX I sure didn’t see any
separate cash registers filled with bills that look like store coupons
and coins with holes in the middle. LAX is an American airport and
American cash seems to be the method of exchange, so I expected a
corresponding rationale at Vancouver International.
I shouldn’t have worried. The lady at the counter was
glad to take my hard-earned Yankee dollars for a Diet Coke (which, in Canada, has a
French label. I can’t remember what it was called, exactly, but like all
French words, they managed to spell it with two e’s and an accent mark).
The catch is that my change was in Canadian currency, so I got stuck
with these strange little coins that a three-year-old can bend between
his thumb and index finger. Later, when we decided to have some
authentic Canadian Fish & Chips (national motto: “You come for the fish;
you stay for the chips, eh?”) the same thing happened: American money
in; Canadian money out. I felt a lot like I was at Chuck E. Cheese’s,
getting tokens. Luckily, in both cases, I had less than a dollar coming
in change, so I didn’t end up with any paper money that looked like it
should have Art Linkletter’s picture on it, but still… I knew what the
folks behind the counter were thinking as they handed me my change: “Try
to spend that back in the states, you hoser.”
The plane was ready for boarding right on time, and
only one gate away from what was indicated on our boarding pass, and the
flight was smooth. We arrived in LA at about
5:30 PM and went down to see if our luggage had made the same
trip.
I find the human dynamic of
the luggage carousel interesting.
It’s amazing that we can spend so much time
picking out just the right piece of luggage to suit our needs, yet have
such a hard time recognizing it in a crowd. The method of fetching
luggage at the airport is sort of like fishing from the bank of a swift
stream. Except in the case of your own luggage (which usually makes
about as many revolutions as an average drive by Richard Petty), the
rule is “catch and release”.
You snag something that might be yours,
examine it, then throw it back, rinse, and repeat until you finally find
the right one. Usually you can make the final determination by examining
the luggage tag with your name on it.
If you’ve forgotten to tag your luggage in
an identifiable manner, then you have to resort to opening it up and
rifling through the underwear looking for a recognizable pattern. The
saddest thing is listening to some rookie tell his wife, “Ours is the
Samsonite.”
Our luggage was there, so we went out to the front
curb, at the designated FlyAway stop to wait for the bus that would take
us back to the terminal, where Ben would pick us up. The FlyAway buses
are scheduled to run every 15 minutes at that time of day, but we had to
wait close to an hour for ours to show up, possibly because it’s hard to
keep a viable schedule when every piece of machinery manufactured by Japan and Detroit is sharing your route.
Still, as we rode from LAX back to the FlyAway
terminal in the San Fernando Valley, and I saw the traffic that the
ordinary non-chauffeured humans were fighting, I was still happy with
the arrangement. I would never ask my family or friends to fight that
kind of traffic just to pick me up at the airport; someday I might want
a real favor and then realize I used it up on something as mundane as
a trip back from the airport. Looking at the traffic on the freeway near
LAX, it made me appreciate even more the natural beauty of Alaska, where glaciers moving at 7 feet per
day were out-performing anything on the road down here.
We called Ben while we were still in route, and he
picked us up at the FlyAway curbside and got us home safely. The house
was in pretty good shape with Ben in charge. There was no spoiled food
lying around; in fact, there was no food at all. Even the spice-rack
containers were empty, and maybe it was just my imagination, but it
seemed like there were more posters for missing pets around the
neighborhood.
So all that’s left now is for Sue to unpack, restock
the kitchen, and clean the house while I roll up my sleeves and make a
few random reflections about the trip, in no particular order.
RANDOM REFLECTIONS ABOUT THE TRIP IN NO
PARTICULAR ORDER
-
Sue and I had a great time on this trip, but not really because of
the cruising experience. It was because of the chance to see this
part of Alaska. If there had
been a way to do it without staying in a giant floating recreation
center, we probably would have chosen the alternative. But there
really isn’t a better way to satisfactorily see the scenery we saw
(by George, I think he’s got it!) than from the balcony of your
stateroom, floating past it.
Not that I’ve got any particular gripe with the cruising experience,
but it’s just not really our cup of tea (or glass of Diet Dr.
Pepper). Because I’m married
to Sue, being waited on hand and foot isn’t an uncommon experience
for me. And although it makes a great vacation for Sue, she’s not
entirely comfortable with the concept of eating and sleeping on the
tour bus, so to speak. She prefers good service on a solid
foundation, and she’s not prepared to trade off one for the other.
So bottom line is a firm recommendation for the trip, but the boat
ride isn’t the attraction (this is the same review I gave to the
“Pirates of the Caribbean” ride at Disneyland).
-
What is it about cruises and jewelry? They seemed to be pushing it
like crazy on our cruise, hawking watches and earrings and necklaces
and bracelets and rings for all occasions and appendages. They even
set up a “silver and gold chain-by-the-foot” table in the main
lobby. And they placed special emphasis on the location of the
jewelry stores at our ports of call.
It seems that the average cruise ship passenger is really
into accessorizing, and it only took a day of sailing before we
found ourselves on a boatload of bling.
I find it puzzling… it doesn’t seem like you’d want to load
up on jewelry on a cruise ship. These kinds of adornments aren’t
exactly flotation devices. But I have to admit, maybe it’s just sour
grapes on my part, since I felt a little out of place strolling on
deck with the inflatable horsie around my middle.
-
Is an Alaskan cruise geared more toward… how do I put this
delicately?... geezers? Sue and I are in our awkward low fifties
(too old to be called middle-aged, too young for any discounts), and
it sure seemed like most of our fellow passengers were older than
us. We were the youngest
couple at our dining table, and the only ones who didn’t have salt
shakers of Metamucil by our plates. Both times I visited the onboard
video arcade, it was empty (granted, there could have been a lookout
posted to warn of my approach).
The bars sure didn’t have to card anybody, although patrons
were still whipping out their wallets to show pictures of their
grandkids. I’ve heard rumors that there are cruises that are aimed
at younger people who want to “get down.”
As I recall, The Love Boat had a pretty balanced passenger list of young
attractive couples and washed-up TV stars. So is it safe to say that
destinations like Alaska tend to attract people who don’t want to be
pressured into a bathing suit and would rather
see than do things?
-
The weather was great (at least compared to Sue’s expectation). It
got chilly in places, but never the kind of conditions that would
lead to the steward finding your perfectly-preserved corpse sitting
on the balcony with a glass of Dr. Pepper half-raised to your lips.
It got pretty cold in Skagway and on the
bow of the ship as it made its way through
Glacier Bay, but this was attributable to the wind more
than the ambient temperature. I don’t pretend to understand the
wind-chill factor, but I know it alters reality in some way that
fools thermometers. Sue, who anticipated that we were going to face
Donner-Party-like conditions on this trip, insisted that we each
order heavy coats from the appropriately-named Lands End Company.
These coats weigh about 450 lbs. each; as you lumber along in them,
you knock over anything or anyone within a five foot radius; and in
Southern California they’re of no use, unless you prop one upright
in the front passenger seat of your car so you can use the carpool
lane. I can tell you that, standing on the bow of the cruise ship as
the wind whistled through glaciers before caressing every inch of my
body, those coats were worth every penny. Neither cold, nor wind,
nor rain, nor sleet, nor light artillery fire could penetrate the
linings of those babies.
-
This trip, ostensibly taken to celebrate 30 years of marriage to my
amazing wife, prompted me to reflect on my marriage.
Thankfully, it probably didn’t have that effect on Sue, or
she’d have kept her bags packed and kept cruising on her own.
I catch myself sometimes thinking that, as a couple
that’s stayed together for 30 years, married only to each other, we’re
something special. But then I realize that, although long-term marriages
might be a bit rarer today than they used to be, I still come across
lots of couples that have been married as long as or longer than we
have. Yeah, I’ll then say to myself defensively, but we’ve known each
other since high school. I married the first girl I ever went out with,
and it’s worked out for thirty years.
That’s something, I think
proudly. But then, like before, I’ll realize that there’s also lots of
married couples out there that started as high school sweethearts. We
might be a minority, but that doesn’t make us rare or special.
And the fact is that we’re not a perfect couple.
Anybody who’s exposed to us for any length of time knows that I don’t
treat Sue anywhere near as
well as she deserves, and I probably never will, maybe because I’m of
the male persuasion, and more likely because I’m human, or at least
genetically close enough to share one of the human race’s most
predominant traits: I often forget to count my blessings.
I’m sure my description of this trip probably gives
the impression that we were always busy, but there were opportunities
for me to relax and surreptitiously watch my wife, usually while she was
gazing out our balcony at the passing scenery. I’d look at her and think
about our 30 years together and realize that, if I’m going to be
perfectly honest with myself, I have to admit that, as a couple, we’re
not that special.
But she sure is.
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