Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Well, today the dog ate my razor. Or tried to. No worries, he's ok. He seemed to realize the razor part was bad. Detached it from the handle. Chewed up the handle.
I came home today, did the usual search for damage, found the handle in one room... searched the entire house for the blade. Was afraid to step on it. Finally found the blade in the living room, next to several chewy bits of blue plastic. Dog was fine. Amazing.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
I also didn't see the books when I walked into the store.
I popped out of work on this sunny Sunday morning to pick up a copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. There was a skip in my step as I approached the bookstore. Expecting to see the windows filled with HP book covers and fans in lines down the hallway, I was a little surprised to find the shop nearly empty - and devoid of a visible stack of HP hardcovers.
Afraid of the answer, I asked timidly if there were any copies left. A chipper sales lady replied, "Oh, sure. We're just opening another box," and dipped into a cardboard box with BLOOMSBURY printed on the side. I'd found my stack, at last.
In Israel, where American movies and ice cream flavors tend to put on a belated appearance, Harry Potter arrived on time and in no hurry.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Usually what happens is, she rings the doorbell, wakes us up, and I get the dog ready to go out. I end up taking him down while she's finishing up. She always says something along the lines of "have a good day" or "bless your soul" - that kind of thing.
Yesterday, she was still cleaning when we got back. And as I passed her in the hallway, she said, "So when are you having kids already?" I was so shocked I just looked at her. How had the cleaning lady managed to poke into my business more than any friend or member of my family, grandparents included? And it didn't end there. When I didn't offer a satisfying reply, she kind of shouted, "What? Aren't you at least thinking about it?" I mumbled something I hoped was sufficiently indignant and went upstairs with her still yelling after me about my nonexistent babies. What I was thinking in my head: "Maybe I would, if you would leave us in peace and quiet!"
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
This was going to be my post on Day 3, when the weather brightened and the ship stabilized and all was well with the world. I thought: time for a cruise-neutral post. An apology of sorts for the last one.
However, since I am writing this entry 1 week post-cruise and 30,000 feet over
Day 4: Sea legs!
Once the raging wind had died down and the top deck was no longer being thrashed with mist from morning till night (and one could jog on the track without lurching around like a drunken sailor), life on board settled into a routine.
The daily drip
For many people, my brother Achim among them, the day started invariably with coffee. At first it was the buffet brew, made ever-so-delicately from syrup. This bitter, sour, watery caffeine drink was given but one charitable second chance. By Day 2 it had already become clear that this was not merely a chance encounter with the dregs from the bottom of the tap but rather the coffee was made this way – how shall I put this? – intentionally. Freshly brewed stuff – lattes, mochas and the like - was soon discovered (for a fee) in a specialty café at midships on the 5th floor. And then there was the regular drip coffee, nearly free, and not bad at all. Especially compared to the stuff on tap at the buffet.
After that first cuppa, it was time to go upstairs to the breakfast buffet on Deck 12 and join whichever family members one could find. At times, because the café was huge and U-shaped, several of us would end up scattered at different tables around the room, not knowing that the others were just around the corner in the parallel universe that was the other side of the U. We learned to scan the area first and eat second (unless solitude was the goal, in which case we ate at a very small table in a corner). Then, in a nice transition to lunch, and at tables still littered with the remains of bagels and lox, toast, muffins, cereal, fruit, milk cartons and juice cups, ham and bacon and sausage and bologna (!), the cruisers commenced to play relaxed games of scrabble or poker. Once in a while, the waiters would ask a card player or idle shmoozer to vacate the premises so that the table could be used for someone who was planning to actually eat. This was unpleasant. But most of the time, breakfast just melted into lunch, which melted into dessert and then tea at 3:30 (more on that to come), and then – voila – it was 5:45 and time for dinner in the main dining room.
If one managed to detach oneself from food, one could spend the day sunning by the pool on Deck 12 or running outdoors or working out in the underwater and windowless gym. And there was the odd entertaining PrinCESS activity, such as the competition to build a boat that would sail 24 cans of beer across the pool and back (the Lyon sisters won 2nd place) and the on-deck ice carving show. At night, there were several empty bars to hang out in. And a theater filled with an audience watching a show that was much like an overacted high school play.
See? Lots to do on a ship.
My favorite part of the day was tea, the best-kept secret of the cruise. For one hour, the main dining room was filled with tea napkins and dainty dishes; small sandwiches and bite-sized cookies; Lipton tea and – of course – tiny delicious currant scones with a side of jam and cream. We happily managed many hushed and polite yes pleases and no thankyous, despite the caffeine that was flowing into our system as more tea kept arriving with our scones.
We couldn’t get enough of the little scones, which were perfectly crunchy on the outside and good and sconey on the inside. And we weren’t the only ones. The international dining staff loved the word and couldn’t stop repeating it. “Scones?” they would offer frequently, singing to themselves “scone, scone, scone, scone, stone scone, rolling scone” as they held their trays high and navigated the rocking aisles with ease.
Cruise survival kit
Tea gave us an opportunity to sit and talk in a quiet environment. On deck and in the bars and lounges there was almost always music, often played to audiences of zero (except when Dancing Hannah was around). we were hard-pressed to find a quiet moment outside of the stateroom. The ship had several grand pianos; at tea, however, there was only a man playing keyboard music (poor thing), which could be escaped at the other end of the room. Headphones went a long way toward cutting out the noise; there are two other items that were not in our packing guide and should have been:
1 Walkie talkies. It’s a big ship with no cell reception. Either bring a pair of walkie talkies or spend countless hours wandering around looking for someone who might be right there in the next room.
2 Power strip. There is one outlet per room. One camera can be charged, or one computer plugged in, at a time. One. Bring along a power strip and you’ll notice a marked improvement in your lifestyle.
The great outdoors
Finally – after five days at sea, we were back on land! And yet, somehow, all our adventures still involved water.
In Hilo, a small picturesque town on the island of Hawaii, Achim, Deb, Ronit and I rented a car (by a fluke, we ended up with the overly luxurious Chrysler 300 instead of the Dodge Neon we had reserved) and headed up the coast to Akaka Falls State Park. Along the way, we stopped in a tiny town for victuals (local beer and sandwiches) and the post office. The drive was beautiful and so was the short hike through the rainforest to the waterfall lookout. We saw many Banyan trees and tropical flowers and plants, including bananas. A little disappointed that the waterfall itself was so far away, we headed for a small beach park, whose turnoff we missed twice due to the car’s inability to make quick, comfortable turns. Big laughs. At the park, a river rushed to the sea in a scenic rocky area surrounded by forest. Children swung over the river on a rope swing, but our desire to join them was overcome by rumors of an infectious bacteria in the river. We had lunch, rested, and, overflowing with mirth at our fancy Chrysler 300 tooling around in the rainforest, made an impromptu Borat-style commercial promoting it.
A few days later, we landed in
The book may have been old; the trail, unmarked, may have changed. After 10 minutes of hiking by the book (and one crazy rainshower), we were lost. The directions read something like this: Begin at the water tower at the end of
We returned to the ship wet, muddy and ridden with mosquito bites. It was great.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Day 1: A rockin' good time
I'd say Cruise Observation No. 1 begins with the following favorite reassuring line of experienced cruisegoers worldwide:
You Won't Feel The Boat Rocking – It's Too Big.
Then why is it that we ate dinner at a precarious angle; unpacked with not a few newborn-calf wobbles into walls; and were now nearly being dumped, sleeping, onto the carpet as we slumbered through the gentle rolling motion of our seabound vehicle? This cruisegoer's promise just doesn't hold water.
At 3am the only sounds are the creak of the ship and the hum of its motor (not unlike that of an airplane). Achim isn't even snoring. A few minutes ago, fully awake and indignant at being rolled about, I peeled apart the curtains hoping for a hint of daylight; what we had all oohed and aahed at during the day ("We're so close to the water!") had become, not far below my feet and a little too close for comfort, the threatening chop of rough dark waves topped with churning foam.
The good news in the churning department is that our stomachs are fine. The seasickness seems to be not gastrointestinal but rather mental. At dinner, the floor (much like my 6-year-old sister) just wouldn't stop moving and I found myself facing an urge to yell in quiet frustration, "Settle down already! Give it a rest!" I'm on vacation; can't the boat take it easy, too? Those who have leaned to the left in celebration of their freedom will appreciate the similarities between Seder dining and cruise dining. We hadn't ordered wine but we were feeling a little sloshed; my head felt like it needed an anchor. Or something. And my plate kept tilting away from me.
Before the boat started really rocking, though, there was much adventure and entertainment. Arriving on board, I was required to sign a form declaring I had been tummy-trouble free in recent days. Thank goodness the terrible Jerusalem stomach virus had attacked Benny and me at the beginning of the week and not at the end! I might have been quarantined otherwise. And no sooner had I signed the form when my attention was turned mirthfully to my fellow travelers. They seemed to be obeying a dress code that was not detailed in the guide booklet. Where had I gone wrong? Oh, let me count the ways.
The 10 Commandments of Cruise Attire
1 Thou shalt wear a new white tennis visor despite being indoors and despite the fact that you've never worn one before and are not playing tennis or planning to do so ever
2 Thou shalt wear blindingly white new tennis shoes despite the reasons stated above and the added logical motivator that there are no tennis courts on board
3 Thou shalt dress in shades of white and turquoise only, unless obeying commandment 4:
4 Thou shalt outfit thine entire family in creased Hawaiian print tops, even your 9-year-old son who probably would rather be playing with Legos
5 Thou shalt not be both not tan and not blond
6 Thou shalt wear only those clothes which have never been worn before
Extra credit for dressing like a Yalie or in full Hilfiger.
And I hereby reserve the right to determine the remaining four commandments after tonight's formal event. I can't wait. Hopefully I will be able to provide some visual documentation. No campground attire, this.
Before continuing I would like to tell you the name of our boat. It is the Regal Princess. Try saying that. I guarantee you'll get it wrong. That's okay – like me, you are not on the High Society mailing list and so are not privileged to know about their special dress rules or pronunciation guide. But if we work hard on ourselves we can improve. So our first linguistic lesson will be:
That's right. Prin-CESS. That's how it's done, as the captain ever so elegantly elocuted during the emergency drill.The drill
Before we set sail (set diesel?) there was a modest emergency drill which demonstrated why on airplanes we do not actually learn how to put on those life vests and if it is ever necessary to do so we will never make it out the exit door and off the plane. Apparently, it is human nature to play with life vests. The line "Do not inflate your life vest until you exit the plane" is very important because, as we learned today, when you are in a room filled with people wearing large lifesaving equipment it is impossible to move.
A few choice lines from the drill, all spoken in the captain's poshest of accents:
"The sounding of the ship's alarm does not mean 'abandon ship'" (though that desperate dying-duck sound would make me jump overboard in a minute, thanks for clarifying).
"If there is a man overboard, throw him a life boy." Sounds a bit like a eunuch. Where do they keep those guys? I haven't seen any yet.
"Please do not throw any burning cigarettes onto the deck below" uh… or anywhere? "and leave no naked flame burning in your room." Naked flame?
We couldn't stop giggling. Achim and I didn't catch the official evening entertainment program (a comedy routine by Dick Gold. I kid you not), we were too busy unpacking and passing out, but we sure did get a bellyful of laughter from everything else. We even enjoyed a really good chuckle with our porter, jolly Paul, when we came back to our room and discovered a huge pink bridal something hanging in our closet. "Oh, so that's where it is!" he exclaimed when we showed him. (Had it wandered off, we wondered?) When they turned our beds down and put chocolate on our pillows, they must have accidentally hung a massive wedding dress in our room. I'm sure it happens all the time.