Yesterday, 146,000 gross tons of metal became the Norwegian Breakaway.
(The metal was assembled in 73 blocks. I learned that onboard.)
This seems really strange, since we have been sailing on her for a week.
Still, technicalities are important at sea, and now she has been christened.
Now, she is a ship.
We were just on a test drive.
It was an interesting week. A fun week. A long and short week.
I never got seasick. I was a bit queasy in the “fresh gale” winds.
(If you feel queasy sailing, go outside, look at the horizon and breathe.)
Now, I’m home.
I’m going to work today.
I was home yesterday, even though I tried to catch up on work.
Reading emails all day. Trying to fix the home mail server.
I was bad and skipped my one meeting.
Shoot me.
Still, a long day staring at the screen.
It’s easier on the eyes to stare at the ocean.
Or a daiquiri.
So, now I’m on solid ground.
Nothing rocks me to sleep any more.
I don’t walk like I’m drunk.
(OK, maybe I was drunk.)
Still, the queasiness remains.
I think I’m landsick.
From June 1, 2001, originally. That was after a plane flight across the Atlantic. It still seems appropriate after sailing across the Pond – since sailing is a much more civilized way to travel than flying.
I crossed the ocean And it crossed me.
Where am I? I know the planet is Earth, Since that’s what we call it. I know the time (As much as anyone could know) But I’m still lost and floating Home seems an eternity away.
Long ago, the brave crossed oceans, To conquer and explore. But today it doesn’t take courage, Just an expense account, And another meeting to attend.
Travel is no longer an adventure (If ever it was before.) This is just routine, almost tedium, At five hundred miles per hour.
The oceans pass underneath, And continents appear. I’m in a crowded metal tube, Trying to find a reason for it all.
I left my house to cross the globe, But the website is still up, And email downloads still. Am I really gone?
When you are young,
Nothing comes slower than Christmas.
Assuming you are Christian,
And your parents buy you gifts.
(Santa may or may not be involved.)
When you are older,
Nothing comes slower than summer.
Assuming you go to school,
And your parents don’t make you work.
When you are a grown-up,
Nothing comes slower than vacation,
And you need a day off beforehand to plan,
And a couple of days off afterwards to relax.
So, when you book your vacation,
Make sure you have days on either side blocked.
Otherwise you end up with 5pm meetings,
Conference calls, and other stresses.
I am probably going to need vacation,
To recover from my vacation.
But I can’t afford to be away that long.
That is stressful in itself.
Vacations should not cause stress.
But they usually do.
I miss summer.
I miss Christmas.
I’m late for a meeting.
It’s vacation time at last.
The tedious part is the packing.
Women start this three or four days early.
Men start when the taxi pulls in the drive.
This is not the only difference in the sexes.
Women need three or four outfits per day.
Morning, afternoon, (afternoon tea), evening.
Men need one pair of pants for dinners, shorts for day.
Maybe an extra shirt per day in case he gets sweaty.
Maybe. (Hotels do laundry, you know.)
So, women need about one suitcase for every three days.
This is why in college, when I picked up a weekend visitor,
She had a steamer trunk.
It took up most of my Mustang.
My arms still hurt. (She did look nicely dressed.)
Airlines charge for extra luggage.
I’m getting my checkbook ready.
This is a ten-day trip, so my wife
Will have a ton of luggage.
Literally. (Eisenhower had less for D-Day.)
I have my carry-on.
I have more electronics than clothes.
I’m ready.
Yesterday, I thought I was going to die, all alone, while slowly approaching a French Citadel. Isn’t that what a vacation day on a business trip is all about?
Years ago, the Spousal Unit and I went to Southern France for a couple of weeks – I was on business, she was on vacation. Part of the time, we were both on vacation. On one of those days, we took the train to from Nice to Entrevaux, a Medieval city about two hours north of Nice. (Nice is a seaside town that is at the edge of the Mediterranean on one side and the edge of the Alps on the other.) So, Entrevaux is in the mountains.
Apparently, many years ago, somebody thought it would be a good idea to fortify the town by building a citadel (which means a fort way the hell up in the sky.)
“Monsieur, some evil people are attacking the town!”
“We need a citadel. How about putting it way up there out of sight?”
So, Entrevaux has a Citadel. The Spousal Unit and I shot some photos of it last time. From the ground. However, this time, I was not with my wife, I was with two of my co-workers. Co-workers desperately afraid they will miss something interesting while on a business trip with an open weekend in France. So, we climbed up to the Citadel. On foot.
So, the rest of this is a remembrance and tirade about taking a walk. Those of you in good shape who exercise regularly can roll your eyes and stop reading now. Those who know me and are already giggling or enjoy seeing me in pain (hello, family!) can continue on.
There was a helpful French guide at the foot of the climb who sold us our tokens to enter the passageway up. Three euros. Each. She said there were seven switchbacks along the way. She lied. The brochure says there are nine, as in the number of circles of Hell.
So, David from Austin, Sakamoto-san from Tokyo and I started the ascent. In retrospect, it is very clever to charge people for the opportunity to walk straight up into the sky. If you didn’t charge them, many would get to the foot of the walkway and decide against such a foolish escapade. With a charge, the thought is – “Hey, I don’t want to waste three euros!”
This is the same theory as joining a gym. At least you can skip going to the gym more easily than skipping the walk.
Quote: “How to get to the Citadel: Go through toll-gate [Editor: with the 3 euro token] and walk straight up for about 20 minutes. Easy walk on recently restored cobbled path (difference in height: 156 meters.)” Some key points, for those who don’t easily read between the lines:
Straight up. This is not an exaggeration, even though the path has seven to nine switchbacks.
Recently restored. France is in Europe. “Recently restored” could be sometime in the 1800s.
156 meters. For Americans, that’s actually 511 feet which sounds a lot higher than 156 meters. However, you don’t actually walk straight up, you walk fifty-seven miles through the “seven” switchbacks. Rappelling would be 156 meters.
This is not information. It is a warning.
David and Sakamoto-san are a lot like me, except for age, weight and general disposition. As they sprinted up the recently restored pathway, chatting happily, I got through the first switchback just barely before my heart began to pound.
Maybe I’ll just stop here and take a couple of photos. I’m not out of breath or anything, this is just a good vantage point, since it’s so close to the ground and all.
My colleagues are now out of sight. As well as out of earshot. So, at least now I can whimper in peace.
So, I’ll guess I’ll just stop here in the middle of the second switchback to {huff, puff} take some more photos. Wow. It’s already a long way down. I’m making progress! Wow. It’s an even further way up. I’m going to die.
Continue climbing.
Horrible realization – I don’t have a pen with me. I can’t leave a note for David and Sakamoto-san to find on the way down, asking them to deliver the camera back to the Spousal Unit. I also don’t have a safety pin to attach the note to my clothes before I breathe my last. Should I be concerned I’m already planning my last minutes on earth?
I’m only concerned about the camera because the Spousal Unit lent it to me before I left and asked me to re-shoot the town of Entrevaux, especially the Citadel. Hey! That means this is all her fault! Feel slightly better. Still out of breath.
Realize if I die on this walk, the Spousal Unit will just buy a truly expensive camera with her inheritance money. If I die, I’m throwing this camera off the mountain.
Continue climbing.
Horrible realization deux – I now know why I don’t remember the climb being this difficult the last time I was in Entrevaux. It’s not just because that was eight years and probably fifty pounds ago – it’s because we didn’t actually make the climb. So much for age and experience. I would yell at David for dragging me up this mountain, but he’s already at the top, and I’m here on the third switchback, out of breath. I mean, taking photos.
Well, {choke, wheeze}, at least I’m almost half-way there.
Continue climbing.
If Lance freakin’ Armstrong goes by on his bike, I’m putting a stick through his spokes.
Well, {sneeze, cough, whimper}, at least I’m almost half-way there.
Hey, that fort over there looks a lot lower.
Continue climbing.
Why am I not making any progress? I wonder what David and Sakamoto-san are doing at the top? I wonder if they will pass me on their way down? I wonder if they will recover my body?
Continue climbing.
Stop to catch my breath, uh, I mean, take some photos.
Meet a couple on the way down. Try to be polite without heaving too much. “Bonjour!”
Why do they look so damn happy? Oh, maybe it’s because they’re going down. Bastards. Wonder what “bastards” is in French? If I could get a WiFi signal, I could use Google Translate. Who am I kidding? If I had a WiFi signal, I would call for help.
Continue climbing.
Well, at least I’m almost half-way there.
I wonder if David and Sakamoto-san remember me?
Hey, I made it all the way through that switchback without stopping. I wonder why my heart is beating so far out of my chest?
I think that was switchback 27. If I ever make it down to safety, I’m kicking that cute tour guide in the butt, as soon as I catch my breath. And can move my legs.
Damn. More people coming down. Look pleased to be here. “Bonjour!” Well, at least a little old couple hasn’t passed me on their way up.
At least I’m almost half-way there.
Hmm. What kind of message does dying on Father’s Day send? I’d better get moving. I’ll just take a couple of photos, since this is a nice vantage point.
Dear Lord, if You could just give me one more chance and let me survive this easy climb on a restored cobbled path, I’ll build You a freakin’ chapel at the top, next to the Citadel.
At least I’m almost half-way there.
If I puke, will I hit the houses?
Holy Crap! (Sorry, Lord.) Another couple is heading down. How many old people think climbing a mountain to see an old fort is a rational idea? Were these guys stationed here at one time?
If this freakin’ Citadel is closed for lunch when I get up there, someone’s going to die. Unless I die first.
Bonjour. That man looked pleased to be descending. I’m pretty sure the woman said “Almost” in a slight whisper as she passed me. Almost to the top? Almost dead? Almost is some French word for “look at the fat guy dying on his easy walk”? I’m pretty sure that was a pity smile she gave me.
I wonder if it’s time to start saying “Bon soir”? I’ve been climbing for about fourteen hours (twenty minutes my ass) and it was late morning when we started.
Hey, at least my pants are getting looser. It’s either the altitude or the 37 1/2 pounds of sweat I’ve produced so far. It’s a bit warm in Southern France today.
If one of these couples calls the authorities, and I get med-evac’ed off this stupid easy climb, the first thing the Spousal Unit will say when the US Embassy calls is “Was he wearing sunblock?” What is wrong with her?
At least I’m almost half-way there.
Hey! That’s David up ahead! Hmm. I don’t remember him wearing a white robe. Why is there so much light behind him? Why is he telling me to come into it? Why are my grandparents behind him?
I think I have enough time to shoot some more photos.
At least I’m almost half-way there.
As I turned another corner in the 42 switchbacks, I wondered how the French architects and builders managed to make the switchbacks at the top longer than the ones at the bottom. I wonder if the French army lost any wars just because their soldiers couldn’t make it up to the fort in time. I wonder if the enemy soldiers could just dodge any arrows shot from the Citadel since it would take a half-hour for them to reach the ground?
Man, I thought that can of olive oil the Spousal Unit requested I purchase in Nice was going to be overweight luggage. Wait until IBM has to ship my corpse home. That is going to be one big-ass internal mail envelope.
Wait! This time, it really is David. I’m at the top. That was easy.
Where’s the welcoming party? The snack bar? The oxygen tents? The snack bar?
We’re at the damn top at last, let’s take some photos. Hey! A bench! Let’s rest, then take photos.
Well, that was fun. Let’s go down. Does France have a Care-Flite service?
Going down wasn’t nearly as bad as going up, and I did take a few more photos.
French soldiers were stationed here, waiting for attack. I’m waiting for a heart attack.
I even kept David and Sakamoto-san in sight most of the time. Most of the time.
I only stumbled once, but I didn’t even fall, since I’m an experienced climber now. I did, however, have a flash of rolling down a recently renovated cobblestone path, wiping out co-workers and tourists as I fell. Bowling for Tourists.
At the bottom, we saw a young couple with two bouncing sons in tow, approaching the entrance. I thought “That hike should calm those kids down.” Then, I thought, “This is going to be the vacation those kids discuss with their therapist.”
Once safely at the bottom, I realized that I had forgotten to build the Lord His chapel. Considering what He’s overlooked in my life so far, he may let that one slide. Come to think of it, it may not be the first chapel I’ve shorted Him.
Lord, I would go back and build Your chapel as promised, but I think that climb was a once-in-a-lifetime event. Mainly, because the next time would kill me, and I know how You feel about suicide.
I’m still alive. Next time, I’m buying posst cards at the gift shop and just telling people I made the climb.
David said he signed the guest book as “IBMers from Texas and Japan”. So, the next time you’re at the top of the Citadel, you can see my name in the book. Implied.
Just back from a week’s cruise on the NCL Pearl, a Christmas to New Year’s cruise. We visited Great Stirrup Cay, Jamaica, Grand Cayman and Cozumel. The Spousal Unit discovered she loves snorkeling. I discovered a Nikon CoolPix AW100 is a kick-ass point’n’shoot camera. Nobody got sunburned. We took my son and daughter-in-law, and we’re all still speaking to each other.
We were told this cruise is one of the most expensive cruises of the year – not because of Christmas but because of New Year’s Eve. People apparently really like to sail on New Year’s Eve.
Strangely, every New Year’s Eve, I’m reminded how arbitrary the choice of the date is. December used to be the tenth month (“decem”, a distant memory from my Latin class), not the end of the year, and there is no seasonal, solar or lunar reason for January first to start a new year, as far as I know.
However, January first does start the year, for whatever reason. Suddenly, at midnight last night, a ship full of people who had ranged from isolationist to surly became friendly. Every bloody one of them said “Happy New Year!”, even the ones who wouldn’t say “Hello” as they passed you in the hall an hour earlier.
Maybe it was the turning of the clock. Maybe it was the hope of a new beginning, no matter how arbitrary. Perhaps, it was just the accomplishment of getting free booze from a cruise line (and the champagne was nice). For a few short moments, we were all friends.
New Year’s Eve celebrations always seemed rather silly to me – you get as drunk as possible up to the actual minute, but that’s all there is – when the clock rolls from 11:59pm to midnight, you’re done. Plus, since it’s purely a timing issue, you can’t move to another part of the ship for a better view.
So, the Captain counted down the seconds, the previous year ended, and that was that. Then, the realization that it was after midnight, you were drunk, and your bags had to be packed and outside your stateroom by 1:00am kicked in. After that, the truly unlucky realized their spouse had decided 7:45am was a reasonable time to disembark.
People did not look as haggard as I expected this morning, as they left the ship with six hours or less of sleep, but Lord, they didn’t look pleased.
I really feel sorry for the crew who got to manage a midnight mob of merriment, herd people back to cabins, and then spend the morning preparing for the passengers due to start boarding by noon. I have a feeling there was more puke to clean than usual.
I’m glad we wanted a cruise to get out of the house for Christmas and to visit ports we hadn’t seen yet, because I don’t understand paying that much money specifically to hear ten seconds counted down in a Norwegian accent.
I much prefer a cruise where all the people are out-going all week, and not just storing all their happiness for a ten-second countdown on the last night.
It was a strange trip. People were very insular. Part of that may have been an “English as a Second Language” issue, as there seemed to be a higher percentage of passengers from outside the US than on previous cruises. Also, there were huge family groups onboard – not just Mom, Dad and the kids, but Mom, Dad, kids, grandparents, cousins and more. Those two conditions gave the trip a completely different vibe than previous “mostly American, small families, couples, singles” cruises we’ve had before.
Fourteen people signed up for a Cruise Critic Meet ‘n’ Greet, which was a pretty low number. Two showed up, besides us and the kids. As the officers arrived, I was beginning to fear they would out-number us. So, there was no real passenger participation, which was a change from last year, where we were above 50% attendance or more, and had forty sign up. It was sad, because we made friends at the meeting last year and hung out with them the rest of the cruise. This was a ship full of individual groups, where in the past, we had made some friends relatively quickly. On this cruise, people had so many built-in friends, they either refused to make new ones, or just didn’t feel the need.
A bad cruise is still better than a week at work, and this was not a bad cruise. It was just disconcerting that it was so different from the previous ones.
If you check the calendar, I think it will be a while until Christmas falls on Sunday, the day many cruises from Miami begin. So, maybe next year, people won’t wait until the last night to acknowledge there are other families onboard.
If nothing else, 2011 has been defeated. Happy New Year!
Unfiltered Thoughts 