WEST COAST GETAWAY
WEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 26, 2014
We are off and running (driving) a few minutes after 9.
We've been warned that traffic will be tight as folks travel to their traumatic
Thanksgiving gatherings. And as I write this just minutes into out jaunt to the
dock in San Pedro we are crawling and ahead northbound there stretches an
ant-like line of unhappy vehicles--bad omen? Additionally we have a momentary
frisson when national news reports that traffic on a San Diego freeway had been
interrupted by barricading Fergusson protesters. Switch to the local station.
"Clearing”. But the world is too much with us to sort of quote that
uber-pessimist Hamlet.
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| ARE WE THERE? |
I lighten the
atmosphere by reading Princess' promised perks for premiere suite cruisers,
us!, and Bob coos with pleasure.
Smooth
sailing actually and almost two hours later we're getting close, passing Little
Saigon (really?), Reuel alert with the printed directions to the World Cruise
center sitting on his lap.
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| ABOUT TO TAKE RIGHTFUL PLACE |
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| OMG |
Onyx floors, gigantic bathroom,
separate bedroom and sitting room. And the promised orchid plant, a rose in the
bathroom. Special toiletries. A selection of complimentary mini alcohols on the
wet bar and beer and sodas in the fridge soon to be joined by our stash of two Smugglers
Supreme containers of vodka and olives. Hey we're professionals. 
We hightail it
down to the Donitello Dining Room for lunch and (“Will you share?” “We don't
share!") are seated at a cute round table in a sweet corner allowing an advantagous
view of the large, charming (it's still an old ship) dining room. Bottle of
Puerto Viejo chardonnay and appetizers R. Salmon mousse. And a chopped shrimp
concoction. Lovely. B. Salad. Very good. And his pasta is also very good, Al
dente. My London broil cooked just right, accompanied by a nice boiled potato
and baked tomato in bread crumbs. I note that this chef knows his sauces; the
food so far isn't bland. Delighted considering we'll be spending 31 days on
this very ship in March cruising around South America on our leisurely way to LA. Bob
says that the kitchen has more control on a smaller ship. I note that the round
the world ships have 600 passengers and offer him that 113 day experience for
his 80th. Denied. Guess for my 80th then. 
We note that
there are many families on this ship. Aha Thanksgiving weekend! Near us is a
family with teenage children, a boy and a girl. They actually seem to be
enjoying themselves. I say the father looks like a doctor or professor who
takes yoga twice a week (a favorable comment).
After an
hour of lunching--yippee--we tour the ship. I like it compared to the gi-normous
Royal, scene of our Copenhagen transatlantic adventure. There's a resistance
pool, complimentary sauna and steam rooms, all of the above denied us on the
Royal. So far no waiting for elevators. Good sized gym. Pretty interiors and
the usual bars and entertainment venues.
Back,
there's Leo our steward, who we instruct to bring us ice and canapés each day
and who takes an order for our pillows--I go for the body wrap one at my
potential peril. Then Bob offers that we are lushes so must have our
complimentary champs. A split each.
So far I'm in heaven and take champs in
hand to our giant balcony. Though the view is of San Pedro's pier structure,
the sun is wonderfully hot and the chaises most accommodating. I've made
reservations at Sabatini's Restaurant for Friday so most of our obligations
have been met.
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| POUR IT TO THE TOP! |
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| US? NOT US? |
Ok a
couple of Martinis with, mind you, olives and olive juice--oh experienced--and
we get Leo to get us the evening's diner menu from the dining room since we are
entitled to have selections on that menu delivered in our suite—yea. After Leo
delivers our various special pillows and requisite chocolates, we order dinner
in. Why not since our accommodations are famously pleasant. Momentary
interruption because our canapés are, knock knock, delivered. Yummy. This is
terrible! Will we even make it to tonight's entertainment.
As we wait
for the next stupefaction the weather report around the country is dire, cold,
impassably snowing. I say, we're doing the best thing we can do. I mean in this
whole world. In our suite, munching on our canapés, awaiting our room service.
No snow in evidence. Actually our trip promises to be unseasonably warm. Do I
feel guilty? No. Thanksgiving thankful? Yes.
Delivered
unto us at 7:40. Our dinners with a bottle of our new best friend, Puerto Viejo
Merlot $24, all from the dining room menu--another perk of the suite life. Damn
I'm having a shrimp cocktail, a prime rib and a Brie and Gouda cheese dessert.
And it's all lovely. Perhaps lovelier because we have it in our suite, a
tablecloth spread over our coffee table. Bob goes prole and is happy
nevertheless with his sirloin beef burger and a watercress and red lettuce
salad topped with balsamic vinegar.
Leaving my
compadre behind, I find a seat in the
crowded Princess Theatre where Sammi, the folksy cruise director, introduces
herself. There's one flashy dance number and a comedian who balance jumps on
one hand (his primary shtik) and works off the front row without much wit--even
does a mocking mincing walk as though it's funny. Hope quality of entertainment
improves.
NOV 27. THANKSGIVING DAY ON THE GOLDEN.
Establishing a
hard-won pattern, I'm up for an aerobics and abs sessions and when I arrive at
6:35 the ellipticals and treadmills are already occupied though I'm the first
to establish my territory in the aerobics space. 
Bob guides me to my next destination and as we pass the
art gallery I note that they have something for everyone except the
discriminating.
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| GOOD QUESTION |
Let's see what I don't know about digital photography
(hard to believe) at the seminar in the Pretty Wheelhouse. I'm early and the
lecturer says looks like it will be just the two of us. 5 minutes to and I'm
still the only one. Ah good a few others. And me taking photos exclusively with
an iPhone. Be brave. Be proud anyway.
Even with a cell
phone can tell it what to do. Look for the grey area and press on that. How to
hold camera: Elbows close to ribs.
Lock focal point.
1/2 press. Lock. Swing left or right for composition once have distance.
Don't put subject exactly
in middle. (Rules of turn). 1/3 area for main. 2/3 background. Or vice versa.
Keep using no
flash. Portrait mode is less depth of tone. Sports mode is highest shutter
speed. Macro mode is good for creativity.
ISO vs. Film.
Everything in one camera.
White balance.
Lower ISO, more
light needed. That's for outdoor. Higher ISO, less light is needed.
Anything lower than
f8 offers less depth of field. Higher number means more depth of field.
The slower the
shutter opens and closes more chance of blur.
Camera will always
focus on highlight. Makes surrounding darker. So look for the gray.
Built in flash
works up to 12 feet.
Use flash outdoors.
Best light source is 45 degrees. Not directly in front which makes subjects
squint.
Lecture finally boring because the focus is on overriding
the auto elements of photography whereas I'm an iPhone digital photographer. My
creativity is in finding subjects, the beauty to be found. Spontaneity rather
than adjusting. My fine tuning, editing occurs post-production. Not going to lug around a heavy super-duper
zoom multi lens camera. Enough rationale.
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| HI |
Back in the suite to find Bob has been sunning on the
capacious deck and is now lying corpse-like on the bed. He agrees that it's
gorgeous out there. I say for the third time today that I love cruising. That a
suite is wonderful but a mini-suite is fine too. "No", he says. I say
"I was afraid of that. I've spoiled
you." "You've turned me into a monster", he says.
Turkey carving demo in the piazza. The executive chef is German. They'll cook 300 turkeys today.
Move breast and
neck bones. Carve on the bone.
Sandi: "he's
brought his ties and strings along. He's into s&m . . . Scraping and
mopping." She's funny, an older funny looking American woman with a
husky voice.
Dark meat leg most
tasty. Make slices thin. Build from center and then up.
After receiving instructions from the hunky Balkan
Internet guy and actually connecting--we were in despair--with our free 150
minutes, we opt for the pub lunch in the Crown Room and are both well pleased,
Bob with his bangers and mash, me with my fish and chips. Bob tells me that
"they" like malt vinegar on their fries. I try it. Nope . But
Boddington's Pub Ale is as always the perfect accompaniment to Brit food.
"Traditional hand-pulled method producing a distinctive creamy head and
smooth body, with little gassiness." Bob says he prefers more gas and is
a little disappointed. Well! We succumb to the delicious "trifle"
special and talk of dieting before the next cruise. But for now we will be
trifled with.
Bob seems to
be enjoying his terrace and is actually allowing the cruel rays of sun to pelt
his face (the weather is gorgeous). I similarly take to a chaise with an interesting
book provided by Princess which consists of Princess executives and upper level
staff describing their favorite destinations replete with their vacation
photos.
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| GOBBLE AND GOBBLE |
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| STRIKE A POSE |
I am to be
thwarted this afternoon. First I go for what I think will be a resistance swim
at the spa. The machine is not working and after a parochial swim in the small
pool I ask the spa manager if it will operate when I'm next on the Princess.
Yes. (Health department needs to sign off first.) After that there’s a merry
time in the sauna with two black guys who had been raucously marinating in
the hot tub just steps from the
sauna--"It's my birthday. You see me, just say Happy Birthday
Motherfucker."
Then quick
shower to get ready for the Journalmaking seminar. And what are they gonna tell
this compulsive memoirist? Turns out nothing. No journalmakers in sight at the
appointed place except a phalanx of bingo ladies daubing away.
So it's
discovering a gorgeous sunset just west of our balcony, classical music to
enhance the ambiance, a small martini, a change into smart casual, and we head
to the Elite etc. Lounge--it's that bizarre high tech/old fashioned space atop
the ship aft wagging it's overwrought tail at the vast ocean below and beyond.
Elites and Platinums (we) and Suite-ers (we) cadging a comp drink (a martini
for example) before heading down to the theatre for the Starlight Memories
show. We think we’ve seen it before but who remembers. Tunes that we remember are
sung by pros who seem less engaged than the ever-smiling and attractive
dancers.
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| WE ARE INTRIGUED BY A CARTOON MOVIE. WHO KNEW? |
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| DESIGN DETAILS ON A BEAUTIFUL SHIP |
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| AWAITING THE BALLOON DROP |
Our turkey dinner is actually wonderful, amazing
considering the thousands of servings, moist, the veggies perfect, cranberry
sauce. And as to dessert Bob declares he detests pumpkin pie and orders
chocolate ice cream with butterscotch sauce. Any good? I ask. “It's ok.” I Order pumpkin pie in deference to the
holiday. Zero Mostel singing Tradition in my ears. And it's dee-licious.
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| A CUTIE READY FOR HER CLOSEUP |
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| PATE. YUM. |
We're seated next to the entrance. It's fun to see and
comment on the entering guests, the singer performers, the "tzazkas"
(women who are rather louche) and the pretty young things. "Ah youth.
Rather underrated," say I. "Something wrong with that", says
Bob.
Getting ready
for bed I try to loosen my belt and it's jammed. Happy thanksgiving to all and
to all a good fatness.
NOV 28 FRIDAY SANTA BARBARA
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| CAREFUL. |
We're docked. Who knows how many hours ago we crept
into Santa Barbara? I wake up full of anticipation for my special breakfast in Santorini's
with the mimosas only to have Bob remind me that we ordered an in-room
breakfast last night because we're going on an early tour. Where was I at the
time? In the land of alcohol perchance?
SB nestled
twinklingly in the early morning light against the mountains is as pretty as
any port in the world. Port might be the wrong word since we'll need tenders to
get ashore. (Harbor's the word.)
Though we are off
satellite and back in wi-fi (did I really need to buy an international package
for our cell phones for this west coast trip?) the cable TV isn't in service.
Forced to watch food channel videos there's a poignant moment that I find
funny: Italian chef contestant: "I spend more time in the kitchen than I
do with my wife and I make this dish. It's not fit for my dog! (Bursts into
tears) I do a parody for Bob who has misread, big deal, the tour meeting
instructions. "You spend more time cruising than you do with your husband
and you mistake tour A for B!” (fake tears)
Since I'm beguiled by the cooking shows I put jam on my English
muffin and the cheese omelette on top to create a dish worthy of -- an onboard
in-room breakfast.
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| OUR NEWEST BFF'S. BOB'S IS A GIRL. |
More significant managerial decisions are required. Is it
to be shorts or jeans? We discuss the variables as all discerning managers
must. Air temperature. Fashion equitability. Comfort. . . . Jeans.
Tender is the night and tender (shuttle) is this morning.
Sea lions of a blubber. Stay like rubber. There they are crowded on a tiny buoy
honking away.
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| SEALS FLOCKING TOGETHER. HONK HONK. |
Tour on a trolley with guide/driver Mike.
San Juaquin was its first name. 1582
discovered. 5 islands. Nat’l park established 1980. Santa Cruz island is the
largest of the Channel Islands which we can barely see behind the low fog cover
(though this is a beautiful day). Santa Rosa island -- 2nd largest. Was a
cattle ranch. San Miguel island westernmost used for WW2 bombing practice.
Huguette Clark died
in 2011. House here will be a major museum.
We're now in Montecito
(little forest). Entertainment industry people live here.
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| CLANG CLANG CLANG WENT THE TROLLEY |
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| CHARLIE CHAPLIN'S INN FORMERLY THE MONTECITO INN |
George Washington
Smith architect.
Oceanfront cemetery
plots cost $110,000. (You get a sunset view after all.)
Salt marsh.
Artificial islands. AKA Andrea Clark (yes Huguette's early-deceased sister) Bird
Refuge.
The Big zoo in SB
has a Giraffe breeding program.
Ronald Reagan
frequented SB. Oprah lives here.
Charlie Chaplin and
fattie Arbucle built the Montecito Inn in 1920.
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| CLARK'S SALT MARSH |
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| NO SHORTAGE OF WINERIES IN SB |
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| OLD LOBERO THEATRE |
Fess Parker winery
built in 90's.
City acquired a 2
mile stretch of beach which is now public -- 2000 palms.
We pass wine
tasting rooms.
Spanish American
War--we invaded California. Some resistance in SB. Fremont raised his flag at the
presidio.
State St. in honor
of CA's 1940 statehood.
Old town is 22 square
blocks. Must be Spanish style architecture.
SB had the 4th
presidio in CA. It's the only one to have undergone restoration. 1st presidio
is in Sd.
Lobero theatre
oldest continually operating theatre in CA.
In August there's a
big festival here complete with parades,
Egg Mcmuffin
started in SB. (Peterson, husband of our former San Diego mayor instituted it).
R H Dana 2 yrs
before the mast. Wrote "SB is treeless, rocky, bleak".
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| THE MISSION |
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| UNHAPPY MONK |
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| HAPPY MONK |
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| REAL MONK |
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| HUNKY JESUS |
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| CHALK SIDEWALK MURALS |
SB mission built in
1786 is the largest of the missions. After the 1812 earthquake it was rebuilt.
Later secularized. Citizens leased the mission from Mexico.
We stop here. Outside the bathroom is a sign saying “Leave
messages on this chalkboard, not in the restroom”. I wonder to Bob if anyone
ever left a public message on it "For a blowjob see me behind the mission".
I speak with a padre dressed in a padre outfit. Beautiful
church interior, hunky Jesus, pretty rose gardens.
Pass beautiful houses.
SB has around 80
parks.
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| BRIDGING THE CENTURIES |
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| REALLY? |
We and another couple get off the tour bus when the driver announces that those who want to walk along the strip and shop can do so though the tour still has about ten minutes.
So we pass by the shops--lots of restaurants--take in the charm and then of the shopping plazas we remember from 20 odd years ago when here we met my brother, sister in law and their progeny, stopping off from a family trip. It's a good half hour downhill to the wharf to meet our tender for the trip back to the ship. Not many of us aboard unlike the trip landward. Much honking as the tender tries to navigate through the paddle boarders.
Lunch in the Horizon Court. Smorgasbord! For Moi. Lamb curry, grilled
fish, brudje sandwich (pastrami with sourkraut on a grain roll) carrots,
barbecued chicken drumstick--all fine. B. Cheese and the little sandwiches
mainly. Not to mention a bottle of Chardonnay, accompanied by the chorus of a
rather neurotic mother in an adjacent table demanding of her little girl,
"Sit like a lady!", "Put your bottom in the chair", "Why
are you standing?" (Probably because she wants to escape her mother’s
racket.)
So what do we do once we're again in suiteland and
reassuring ourselves that the balcony and drop-dead view of Saint Barbara's
heavenly piece of earth are still there? We watch British comedies on the
Romance Channel. Who knew? Cinematic equivalents of comic bodice rippers.
Romance uber Alice. First a madcap, over the top--after all Christopher Walken
and Brenda Blethyn--film set in one of those zany English villages where rival
morticians vie for business and everybody's a character. This, since we're
inert and zombified, followed by a rom com about a modern American girl, Keri
Russell, who is obsessed with Jane Austen and decides to travel to Austenland,
also the movie's title, to live her fantasy where she discovers that make
believe can be a "dangerous game" until she finds true romance. An
interesting premise gone awry which spurs us to read aloud all the reviews with
delight. Verdict: as one critic puts it, "painfully witless".  |
| BLISS |
I write this whilst being massaged and liquified in our
suite's jacuzzi bath. I am now convinced that when we do our renovation if
that's what we decide to do rather than buy a house, that we've got to install
one of those walk-in jacuzzi tubs despite that they are perfect for "old
people". My knees judging from my performance getting in and out of the
tender shuttle have been requesting this amenity. That's my excuse and I'm
sticking with it. Bob fearing the worst, not an unknown nor unreasonable response,
after 20 minutes looks in. "It's Alive!" I assure him.
And now to lie nakedly abed whilst finishing our
afternoon wine and taking in the scene as the light changes over Santa Barbara
to the plangent strains of a string quartet. I guess I'll join Bob out there.
David Austin singer in the Vista Lounge. One of the 4
production solo singers. Sexy. Has presence. Good voice. British. Former
dancer, "twirling man". Engaged to one of the female dancers, his
future mother-in-law in the audience. Obsessed with Sinatra and particularly
with Michael Buble. Though he can show vulnerability (an essential) in his
renditions, there's that professional veneer that is a little off putting
(maybe because we're in the front row).
Special Reservation at Sabatini's at 8. Interesting sophisticated looking people
there. (Though at one table the younger people keep getting up to leave and
return--we opine there's something for their noses waiting outside).
Wine Ruffino Reserva Ducale Chianti Classico 2009. We
guess that it must be "terribly expensive" (turns out it's not
excessive) so Bob generously offers "Lets think of it as my birthday
present". Lights a little too bright. Wine glasses could be better. Not sure there's enough server coverage. Bob likes his artichoke soufflé appetizer
better than my Burrata.
Compliments from the chef Olives and air cured prosciutto
on flatbread. Nice.
B manicotti. R spaghetti. Can't get any meat out of the
crustacian. My tri-lobster would sit better in butter than in its Italian sauce
(but it's an Italian restaurant). A little disappointing (for a fee-added restaurant)
but glad we gave it a try and can spend nearly two hours dining and opining
about the two enormously fat men who look alike and were at the earlier show in
the adjacent lounge. Are they brothers? Gay? The latter when I hear one refer
to "my mother", the gorgeous exotic Asian older woman, expensively
dressed, with waist length hair Bob seems obsessed with. Are she and the man
she kisses married? She's got a big rock on her finger. I think entertainment
industry types. And then there's that family (Bob calls them the Duck Dynasty)
where the twenty something's repair frequently to their . . .stash? No wonder the
pater reprimands "You haven't touched your food" (wonder why) as the
mother looks on in consternation. To the Crown Steakhouse instead on the next voyage.
And so goodnight.
SATURDAY NOV 29
Today's stretch and abs instructor is one of those
enormous young Balkans (they must grow them on the trees in Balkanland). He's
good and I'm stretched for our suite breakfast in Sabatini's.
My eggs Benedict are (plural) delicious. We opine that
they were baked in the pizza oven of Sabatini's where we selectively are. Bob's
French toast and bacon--good. Perfect with our double mimosas. I say maybe next
year we'll have a suite on our Catalina Getaway. Promises promises he says.
"I said maybe." (But think absolutely.) Just think, if there's a novo
virus, at least if you're confined to your cabin let it be a suite with
plentiful chocolates and soft robes.
Wish we could sit here sipping mimosas and listening to
cheesy Italian ditties all day (I have on my Venezia t-shirt which excites the
Italian dining room captain) but it's time to bestir. Rescued, it's Betty our
Sabatini's server of last night who offers us yet another mimosa.
"Yes" we say without thinking. I ask the captain if he will be on our
South American trip. "No. Next is a 68 day trip." "Going
home?" "Of course. I'm married
to my wife, not to the ship." He reveals that after our trip the Golden
goes into dry dock for two weeks. I guess it's going to be refurbished. I note
to Bob that the predominant number of suite passengers dining this morning are
black. The bourgeoisie, he replies. I recall that the middle class blacks in
Jersey City when I was growing up always bought Cadillacs, purchasing the
clearest symbol of achieving the American Dream. My parents when they could
afford a Cadillac later in life refused that choice as too showy. (On the other
hand, I, traitor to my religion and my
parents' modesty, always buy that Nazi car Mercedes). And when they had their
store my mother would wrap her mink stole in plain wrapping paper lest her
customers would think she's wealthy. (She wasn't.) Bob talks of his uncle Carl
similarly buying a low priced car to set the proper image with his clients. Mimosa meanderings. Lots of dead people.
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| LARGE INSTRUCTOR |
Respite en suite and we climb up to catch Mrs. Doubtfire,
that wonderful classic Robin Williams comedy. Under the Stars but really In the
Sun and we get a lot of it. I find it interesting that in this 90's film Mrs.
Doubtfire, who becomes a TV personality (as was Dustin Hoffman's Tootsie--hmm),
tells a child questioning his parent's divorce that there are many different
parental arrangements, but leaves out same-Sex parenting in the list. There's
one illustration of the gigantic cultural progress made in a few decades.
While we watch, we note a drill going on. Staff in hazmat
suits handling a dummy body. Dead man says Bob. I think he just might be sick.
We'll never know as they drag the “body” away.
As if watching a movie isn't enough, we both are pretty
determined not to go ashore and experience Ensenada again. So we discover that
Princess offers an impressive collection of awful shows on in-room TV. Bob
thinks it's because they buy them cheap.
12:30 and we think we might be able to eat again (sinning
against nature it's called). Bob has a hankering for pizza, so we find the
Poolside pizza stand for its pepperoni special and beer (Bob) and wine (Reuel).
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| COULD BE WORSE |
A tour of Downton Abbey on TV is next, always watchable,
but interesting in this ship context of an elite of sorts being catered to by a
predominantly third world crew.
4:15 is the scheduled time for a Chocolate baking demonstration
in the plaza which we see from three floors above--the tops of the dessert and
executive chefs' hats. We get a little recipe book and watch them stir and mix.
They heat up these delightful mixes only to cool them down. There's not one
non/fattening ingredient to be found and we watch the assembled horde rush in
for plates of chocolate cookies after the presentation as if these are the last
morsels to be had before the apocalypse.
Stop off at the future cruises office. The probably gay
Canadian guy there tells me that he's not assigned to our South America trip on
this ship in March because he doesn't speak Spanish and, familiar strain, his 6
month contract is up and he's ready to return home. I ask him how much a suite
would cost on that voyage. He looks it up and discovers it would be almost
$11,000 per person, almost twice what we've paid. I reply that I now love the
mini-suite we've reserved. Besides the suites are sold out, which is typical. I
say there are a lot of rich people. He laughs and replies “you said it not me”.
Fill that tub over the jets, throw in bath salts (what
are they for anyway?) and I again partake of a massaging soak--ah pleasure, a
cold rinse and to find Bob watching the Princess' "Romance Channel”. I
catch the end of a romantic treacle vehicle with Nicholas Cage a hardened cop who wins and then loses a
lottery finding love at last with a forlorn coffee shop waitress (ok we're on
the Love Boat and Bob and Reuel are in its thrall.)
Martini time and we succumb to Woody Allen's latest,
Magic In The Moonlight, (we've paid for a suite and they'll have to pry us out
of it). This film received mixed
woodies. We think "absolutely a trifle" even though it stars the
fabulous Colin Firth as a famous magician exposing then falling in love with a
medium played by Emma Stone.
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| ENGLAND SWINGS LIKE A PENDULUM |
Heading to the dining room, we decide that this has
seemed a much longer trip than just four days.
It's almost 9 and we are seated next to those jolly fat
gay guys (we say hello) who seem much beloved by staff.
Again the service by a plethora of Philipinos is great
and Bob and I decide that the food also is better on the Golden than on the
Royal, has more flavor. I have a yummy tian of crab, scallops, and shrimp.
It's a kind of salad with dabs of caviar. It's followed by a surprisingly spicy
Lobster Bisque with Cognac cream which has more of a broth than bisque texture.
We both have a large and fine New York cut strip steak followed by the
inevitable last-dinner baked Alaska. I forget what bottle of wine we have--they're
out of the Mondavi for which we have a discount coupon. But it's enough to make
me sleepy and then will make me sleep while Bob, of course, will pack for our
disembarkation. I wonder as I nod off if he'll remember to include our
untouched complimentary mini-bar bottles. Zzzz
SUNDAY NOV 30 DISEMBARKATION.
Bob has gotten it all together as is his wont and all
is packed. Sabatini's suite breakfast restaurant is closed this morning so we
must breakfast with the rabble in the dining room. We choose the special
scramble with cheese and asparagus (delish, creamy), get our pastries and
muffins and we're off to the races.
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| READY TO GO, ALAS. |
Indeed I get to make my special concoction of the eggs on
an English muffin smeared with apricot jam.
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| PACK MAN |
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