The Hideaway: a neighborhood bar (non-smoking in accordance with state regulations) that is so firmly tucked away inside a standard residential subdivision that only people in the know can visit. Bro and SIL took us for karaoke.

What a blast! All the patrons know each other, the beer is 2.50$ for a pint of Yuenling on tap, the Karaoke Jockey was fun, the physical plant was basic cinderblock and plywood. The big TV screen at one end of the bar broadcast ice hockey, but no one was watching because everyone's eyes were rivited to the other end of the room: the karaoke stage.

The musical talent varied from OK to just plain awful but the applause was tremendous. Everyone was relaxed and friendly even before the alcohol level increased. People danced with partners or by themselves. Songs were primarily country with a few western thrown in for fun and the audience clapped and sang along, just as if it were a Weinfest or Bierfest in Deutschland. It was great!

And OK, I sang, too: All Summer Long (Kid Rock) and Sandra Dee (Grease). SIL sang a very sad ballad in memory of a local family killed in a car crash who were known to most of the patrons, and there were plenty of wet eyes at the end. Then Bro sang Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy to liven things up again, and I sang Sweet Home Alabama (Bro joined in partway through) and the place was rockin'!

A highlight!

Have a good TG....

This morning early we slid quietly into a postcard. White sandy beaches, palm trees, wooden boardwalks, scrubby bushes, thatched cabanas.   The water is amazingly blue. But not just one shade, a whole range, from dark navy blue off in the distance where the bottom is deeper, to turquoise up close to the beach.

GL at first didn’t want to go ashore, but when I asked if she would mind if I went by myself, she was motivated enough to join me. We remembered our sunglasses and sunscreen! But forgot a hat. We were ashore long enough for me to paddle in the water some (GL took my picture to document that I was “in” the Carribean), walked across the island to a small bay on the other side (a different shade of blue altogether), had a drink in the “I Want To Stay Here Forever” bar, and then went back to the ship.

We spent the afternoon dealing with business matters and flight arrangements for tomorrow, boring but necessary.

Sick, sick, sick. Huddled over my tea and nibbling on a corner of dry toast, while GL chows down on oatmeal, yoghurt, bagel, cream cheese and sausage. It was the aroma from the last that did me in. She had to finish up alone.

Fully recovered by about 4 pm. I think it was something I ate, so once I got rid of whatever poisoned me, I was fine.  NOT mal-de-mer!

Last business day of the month, and GL is a bit anxious about her monthly financial tasks that she usually does on this day. But she’ll be home on Monday, which is just the next business day, so she admits that will do. 

In 1978, K and I worked our way around South America on a cruise ship, lecturing on wind, fish, stars, currents, Incas and Aztecs every day while we were at sea. I recall we each had to give 11 lectures over an 8 week period (or something like that), which meant we were at sea for 22 days. How did we forget our boredom? We made a solemn vow at the end of that trip that we would never ever take a long cruise again. I hereby make the same promise. Never ever will I take a cruise with more than one day at sea.   This is just too too boring!

The ship provides entertainment: mahjong and bridge tournaments, poker games, lecturers on politics and climate change, dance lessons.   There’s a pretty good library, too. Nevertheless, I am not sufficiently entertained.   I know that boredom is in your head, and it’s not too bad, really. But aside from the lectures and the library, I'm not enthralled by mahjong etc., and I find myself playing Spider Solitaire for hours. 

Reeling in shock from our first glance at our preliminary statement from the front desk. $11/day for a tip for our cabin steward and dining room wait staff has been added to our bill! Each! That’s $22/day for a tip! Yowzah. Those cute little animals made out of towels that the cabin steward makes every night aren’t worth it. Fortunately, the statement allows that we can “make adjustments” on the tip amount at the front desk.  We’re adjusting down by a factor of 2.

Days at sea are slow and easy, even when the swells are 4-5 meters and the ship is rocking like a baby’s cradle. There is much time to watch the waves, observe your fellow passengers and contemplate the mysteries of life, such as: what the heck is going on with our soap?

Our cabin was provided with a bar of soap, that is, not a bar, exactly, but a round disc about 2 inches in diameter labeled Citrus Soap Slice, 40 grams net weight. We opened it and used it at the sink, and the next day our steward had restocked our little pile of goodies with another bar. Thus, we have a brand new unopened bar to compare to the opened bar we have been using for the past 9 days. The used bar gets bigger every day. Yes, it does! Current estimates of its diameter range between 2-3/4 inches and 3-1/4 inches. And it doesn’t get any thinner either! Just bigger and bigger every day. At this rate, we could sail around the world and the soap would be as big as a dinner plate.

How does this happen? Inquiring minds want to know!

My hypothesis is that it is absorbing the tiny bit of water left in the dish every time we use it. GL doesn’t think this is it, exactly, because the soap isn’t getting any softer either. 

We will continue to peruse and if any new insights occur, we’ll let you know.

It’s official: I’m still pick-up worthy! How flattering! And I have to say, funny. It’s because Holland America caters to a, shall we say, older clientele.   As in, over 60, no, make that over 70. I’m one of the youngest people on the ship, other than the crew. There might be, oh, 100 people younger than I in a crowd of 1950. 

One guy asked me to take his picture, the other asked what I was reading. Both seemed intelligent.  And yet they want to come on a ship for old folks by themselves? Of course, I just assumed they were by themselves. I suppose they could have a wife or companion tucked away back in the cabin.

Or maybe they just felt sorry for me and started a conversation the way you might with a 4-year-old at an adult party!

We docked into Funchal (means fennel in Portuguese) at about 8 a.m. GL and I were already up, washed, dressed and breakfasted by then, the ship having gone through a time change overnight. I love these 25-hour days! 

Funchal is the largest city on the island of Madeira. Tropical, volcanic, black sand and amazing vegetation, you might even think you are in Hawaii. It’s quite the vacation spot for Britishers, we heard, and there were plenty of British accents on the streets, in addition to the Portuguese we were expecting. Even the churches had a service in English. Of course, the 3 cruise ships in port could have had something to do with that! The other two ships were a little smaller than ours, but even so, we figured about 4000 cruisers were wandering around the island, some on tours, but some unaccompanied, like us!

We took a shuttle bus from the ship into town (yes, we could have easily walked it in about 20 minutes) and set off in search of the Se Cathedral. Wasn’t too hard to find, as the old town is about 5 streets wide. Because it was Sunday, services were being held, so we went in as if we were going to mass and waited until they were finished. In the 10 minutes between services, we looked at the gold chapel with the silver chalice. The entire chapel was covered in gold, lit up by the sun streaming in through a stained glass window. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the chapel lost its heavenly glow. But gold walls, ceiling and altar are pretty impressive even without the celestial lighting. 

We also found the Municipal plaza, which is paved in black and white stones. The weirdest tree: pink and white flowers, no leaves, and hanging fruit 8 inches long and 3 inches in diameter, dark brown. What the heck is it?

Even though it was Sunday, the little kiosks along the main street were open for your shopping pleasure. T-shirts, mattresses, salt and pepper shakers, baskets, terra cotta frogs for the garden, candy, flowers, etc. I bought a handful of beads and some string to make a necklace, both to remind me of Funchal and to have something to do on the ship over the next week. Then back to the ship by the shuttle.

7 days at sea, next stop Bahamas on Monday, Nov 1. Hoo-boy.

Boring! Thank goodness I can write for LJ, I’d go crazy otherwise. I seem to have got out of the habit of reading. How can that be? This afternoon, I’m headed to the art auction (not to buy anything but to watch the other passengers). And for a real thrill, I’m getting my hair cut!

We sailed up the Tagus River from the Atlantic to Lisbon in the full daylight, so we had a chance to see something of the landscape, which is hilly and tree covered with a row of 3-4 story apartment buildings lining the Lisbon side of the river.   As we got closer to the city, we could see the huge bridge that crosses the river, and then the Tower of Belem and the Discovery Monument (more on those later). We sailed under the bridge with 10s of feet to spare and then docked at the first dock on the other side of the bridge. What an amazing location! Within baseball throwing distance of the bridge and between Belem and downtown. You could hardly be more handy.

On the street, GL grimly stalked past a Starbucks, and we turned up our noses at the McDonald’s across the street. Growing fainter and fainter with hunger and exhaustion, we reeled into the first restaurant past the Starbucks and collapsed at a table. It turns out we had found the famous café Pasteis de Belem! This place does an OK line in sandwiches and casual fare, but is famous world-wide for its small round custard pastries. We ordered Tostis from the menu and they turned out to be grilled cheese sandwiches. Limonada is not a 7-up-like beverage as it is in Germany, no, it’s straight lemon juice mixed with water served in a glass with packets of sugar on the side for you to add your own.

The little pastries were yummy. About the size of a home-made American muffin, it had a crust made of very thin sheets of dough, thinner than filo or strudel, a creamy custard filling and baked until the top was patched with dark brown. At 90euro cents per, it was a bargain, I would even say worth a special trip!

After the monastery, we repaired to the ship. We even took a taxi! Normally I don’t do much of that, but facing the long and dangerous walk from the bus stop across the RR tracks and the two big streets, we decided that it was worth it. A quiet night aboard, and we cast off about 10:30 pm heading for Madiera.