Posted on by Debra Rose

Fjords and Friends: Day Nine

The alarm rang at 7:30 and after a quick shower we headed back to the dining room for breakfast. Next trip (!) we would enjoy breakfast in the dining room more often. We had a table for two near the window and watched a large cage being lowered to the level just below us and loaded with luggage. Then the cage would be lifted up and swung around to be emptied in the nearby terminal. Quite an operation. Next to us was an absolutely miserable couple. They did not speak English, but were not speaking German either. They were rude to all the servers, had absolutely dour expressions on their faces, and kept demanding more food, never once uttering anything that sounded like a please or thank you. What if THEY had been our table mates, we thought.

We returned to the room to gather our things, then headed downstairs at 8:20 for our 8:30 disembarkation time. Luckily we were able to disembark right away. As soon as we got into the large terminal, we saw our bags waiting for us. We gathered them and headed towards passport control and customs, our passports in hand. But no one ever asked us for them, or even took a glance at our luggage. We just walked right out the door where attendants with orange ties were waiting to direct us to the airport bus we had booked.

We were on the bus by 8:40 am, but waited in our front row seats for an hour before we left for the airport. Once underway, it was a much speedier trip to the airport than we expected from our earlier cab ride. Once there, it was a rather long walk from the bus to Terminal 2 but there was no need to rush as we had plenty of time until our 1:40 pm flight to Dublin.

We were so early that the Aer Lingus attendant was not at the check-in desk yet so we waited in the wheelchair assistance area for about an hour. Once checked in, we headed back to wheelchair assistance where we were assigned the same guy who had assisted us when we first arrived in Hamburg. He remembered us as well and asked jokingly if we came back every 6 days.

The Hamburg airport is very sleek and modern, all glass and pale wood. Very organized, with numbered check-in areas, clear signage, and large open gate areas. We breezed through security and passport control and got to gate B50 in time to grab a sandwich on good German bread for lunch. We were surprised when they started boarding our flight a full hour before the flight time. We had the best seats so far: 2A and 2B. Everything seemed to be going so smoothly!

But then . . .  we sat on the runway for over 2 hours. The flight attendants kept making increasingly pointed announcements about people taking their seats, but traffic in the aisle was stalled for a long time. Once that finally started to clear, we saw more people getting off buses and climbing the stairs to the plane. It seemed they were holding the plane for some incoming flights (too bad they hadn’t held our plane in Amsterdam for FIVE MINUTES so we could have made that flight!). After such a smooth beginning, we were now starting to worry about being able to make our bus from Dublin to Belfast.

We arrived in Dublin over 1 hour late – then sat on the runway for more than half an hour waiting for a parking place to open up. Once we were finally parked and the buses were waiting outside, we were told to stay on the plane and let everyone else off, then we would get our wheelchair assistance. So we waited. And waited. There was some glitch with the wheelchairs. Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty. We were becoming convinced that we would not make our 4:50 bus. When they finally came to collect us in a special van, it was 4:25 pm. We would still need to collect our luggage, go through passport control and customs, get from Terminal 2 to Terminal 1, and then cross the road to find our bus. What were the chances?

Luckily Paul, our wheelchair attendant, was determined to get us there in time. “I’ve never lost anyone yet,” he said, “and I’m not going to start now.” Soon we were speeding through passport control. At baggage claim, our suitcases were already waiting for us on the carousel Then we breezed through customs and started the long jaunt to Terminal 1 and the bus. Paul knew exactly where he was going and the most efficient way to get there. We made it with 5 minutes to spare. Whew!

Posted on by Debra Rose

Fjords and Friends: Day Eight

On our last full day aboard, I convinced Santo to have breakfast with me in the dining room. It was lovely and relaxing. Always makes me feel I am on vacation to have breakfast served to me, especially on a table with a white table cloth, silver cutlery, and flowers. Had oatmeal, fresh fruit, and tea, while Santo enjoyed eggs benedict.

After breakfast, I decided to walk around and read all the wall posters with historical information about the Queen and Cunard. Talked about all the various ship names, the use of the vessels during both world wars, and in the Falklands. As Her Majesty’s Ships (HMS), they were able to be enlisted in service to Britain’s military. There were also posters of the Hollywood stars who had graced the Queen, particularly Bing Crosby who liked to hide out in the photographers’ developing room. He was there so much they finally put him to work organizing the photos.

Next I wanted to check out the bookstore, which was on Deck 8 right next to the library. Thought I might find some gifts there to bring home, or a novel set on the Queen Mary, but no luck. Then I stopped in to the library to give Santo a whispered hello as he perused another gardening book in his favorite spot.

Then it was back down to Carinthia for some more blogging. As lunchtime approached, I checked out the offerings in Carinthia and had a dish with some small nibbles of fish and seafood. And one of the amazing date-nut bars that were always available in Carinthia.

         Back in the room, Santo was just getting up from his nap and ready for lunch, so I went with him down to Kings Court to see if I could get a little something else for lunch. Kings Court was absolutely packed. We couldn’t find a seat anywhere—not just a good seat but ANY seat. It was just crazy. One of the reasons I don’t like Kings Court—just too much hustle and bustle, not relaxing, not elegant, not what I want from a meal aboard the Queen Mary. We finally found a table and I held our spot while Santo went to get his food, then I took my turn and ate while he went for seconds. Not exactly a romantic lunch together.

         Since we still had not played a game at the lovely green-felt-covered gaming tables that were right by the water on Deck 2, we decided to meet there at 3:15. All the Rummikub games were in use, so we settled for a game of Scrabble. The game was tied on the play before last, when Santo took his turn and used all his pieces to win.

         Now it was definitely time to pack. Our bags had to be packed and outside our cabin by 11 pm, so we wanted to get well-organized before dinner. I went first, while Santo rested for a bit, and was able to finish my packing rather quickly, fitting everything in almost too easily. Then I dressed for dinner and left to go hang out in the Chart Room while Santo packed.

         At 5 pm, the sun was streaming in the windows of the Chart Room and I chose an empty seat right by a window. My favorite jazz trio was playing. I was relaxed, content. Soaking in every moment of my last evening on the ship. Ran into Marie Luisa, the lovely German woman I had meet at tea. She sat with me for a few minute and wanted me to write down my name and Santo’s, first and last, because she had not really caught what our names were. I wrote them down for her, then said I would put my email underneath, but she quickly said, “Och, nein. Nein. Ich brauch es nicht. Ich wird es nich benutzen.” (Oh, no. No. I don’t need it. I won’t use it.) OK then!

Santo finally arrived at 5:55 pm. Almost time for our last dinner. We had thought of asking for a table just for the two of us for our last night, but found out you couldn’t request that in advance so decided to just stick with our table mates. Michael and Sabine were at the table when we arrived. But there was no sign of the Yorkshire sisters. After a few minutes, another couple was seated at our table. They introduced themselves right away: Karen and Paul. She was originally British but had lived in Germany for more than 30 years. Paul was German. They lived in Hamburg.

Conversation with Karen and Paul was easy and delightful. It was true conversation, one thought leading to another, sharing stories, finding commonalities, laughing, engaging. If only these had been our table mates all week! But I did feel a bit bad for Michael and Sabine who must have felt somewhat excluded by our banter in English. So I tried to draw them back into the conversation with some questions in German.

My meal started with a salmon turnover, flaky and delicious. This was followed by a generous green salad, then an Indonesian chicken dish, slightly spicy, that was the best entrée I had had so far. The meal ended with a creamy vanilla tapioca pudding which cooled the heat in my mouth. A wonderful last dinner.

After dinner we headed back to the room so Santo could finish packing. I had wanted to catch the sunset in the Chart Room but it got too late. So we headed to the Commodore Club and for the first time were able to get seats right by window. The all-female string trio of violin, viola, and bass was playing—first classical music, then tunes from West Side Story. After a time, another couple joined us. We lingered a bit longer, then knew we had so say goodbye to our last lounge session of the trip.

Back in the cabin, we stepped outside to watch the moon casting a stream of moonlight from its place low on the horizon right to our balcony. It was a celestial kiss goodbye.

Posted on by Debra Rose

Fjords and Friends: Day Seven

         Woke up this morning docked in Alesund. Alesund is really three islands which together create a small city. Bridges connect the islands. Even from our balcony you can see the Art Nouveau architecture Alesund is known for.

In 1904, almost the entire city of Alesund burned to the ground. At the time, Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany was in union with Oscar II, who was king of both Sweden and Norway. Wilhelm was a great admirer of Norway and often vacationed there. When he heard of the disaster in Alesund, he immediately sent humanitarian aid. To this day the Kaiser is beloved in Alesund. When Alesund went to rebuild, they made an ordinance that all new construction must be in brick or stone. Kaiser Wilhelm himself was a great fan of Art Nouveau architecture (called Jugendstil in Germany and Norway) and several Norwegian architects who would design the new Alesund were trained in Germany. Therefore, almost the entire city is in the Art Nouveau style. It looks very different from other cities in Norway, even the much larger Bergen.

The buildings of Alesund are generally three to five stories tall and in paler shades than Bergan. We could see building after building in muted creams, yellows, greens, blues and terra-cotta. The façades have pointed towers and turrets with steep peaks, little spires, and elaborate gables. Many are ornamented with flowers, leaves, animals, and Viking-inspired figures. The whole thing has a slightly fairy-tale quality. I looked forward to visiting the city later in the morning.

I made a stop at the purser’s office to get a map of Alesund before heading to Carinthia for a light breakfast. Over my cappuccino, I mapped out the route I would take from the dock to the Alesund Museum and from there to the restaurant Emmy had recommended. The museum was set to open at 11 am, so at 10:30 I disembarked and made my way into the city.

The first building I saw was a modern building: the Alesund Rathaus, or city hall. Out front was a beautiful bronze statue of what looked to me like a Viking god. I stopped for a photo op. The map the purser had given me was a bit blurry, so it was difficult to make out the street names. At first I followed the crowd from the dock into the city, but then my map told me I had to take a right turn so I was off on my own. What I couldn’t tell from the map was that one of the streets on the way to the museum was very steep. I felt like I was back on the glacier trail!

Amazingly, my analog navigating had worked and I arrived at the museum just at 11. The building was an old wooden structure painted in the light ochre color I’ve seen so much in Norway. It must have been a survivor of the 1904 fire. It looked like it had once been an elegant home.

I stepped inside the grand entrance and arrived in a cozy entry way where I was greeted by a bearded gentlemen in a Norwegian sweater who welcomed me to the museum. “Jeg snakker ikke Norsk,” (I don’t speak Norwegian) I said in my stilted Norwegian. “Du snakker ikke Norsk,” he repeated. Then smiling, “This is OK because I speak English.” He took my entrance fee and then explained the museum to me: history of Alesund on first and third floors, including the 1904 fire and rebuilding and Norway’s occupation and resistance during WWII in the basement. “And what about the second floor?” I asked. “That,” he said smiling again, “is a surprise.”

I started on the first floor and was glad to find that descriptions were in Norwegian and English. There was much about Alesund’s history as a market town and its fishing industry. There were models and prints of 18th and 19th century ships, tools of the fishery trade, and artifacts from various periods. In one room was a scale model of the entire city before the 1904 fire. Photographs on the walls surrounding the model showed the devastating destruction after the fire. Remarkably, there was only one life lost, even though 85% of the town was destroyed.

         On the second floor was an exhibit called “City Glimpse” which recreated workplaces and shops from the 1920s through the 1960s. There was a dentist’s office, barber shop, photographer’s studio, shoemaker’s shop, women’s hat shop, and a general store. This was my “surprise.”

         On the third floor was the Brude-egget (“Brude Egg”), also called Uræd. The “egg” lifeboat was designed and built in Ålesund in 1904 by Ole Brude, a young Norwegian sailor who had become convinced that ordinary open lifeboats were dangerously inadequate. It was the world’s first covered steel lifeboat. It is about 18 feet long, made of galvanized steel, completely enclosed, and shaped something like an egg. It had sails but no engine. The idea was that its rounded, watertight shape would allow it to survive enormous waves without being swamped or overturned. In 1904, the Brude and three other men climbed into the little steel egg in Ålesund and set off across the North Atlantic. They intended to reach New York and display the boat at the World’s Fair in St. Louis. Instead, after an extraordinarily difficult voyage involving storms, illness and equipment problems, they eventually reached Newfoundland, and the voyage ended when the boat was driven ashore near Gloucester, Massachusetts. The Uraed I saw wasn’t just a replica or a model. It was the actual 1904 boat that crossed the Atlantic.

Downstairs I found the exhibits on the German occupation and Norwegian resistance during WWII. Unfortunately, not all of these exhibits were translated into English, though I was able to garner much from the photos and artifacts. There were images of German’s occupying Norwegian towns, sample ration cards, and old newspapers. One room depicted the operation of the Norwegian resistance to destroy a heavy water facility which the Germans had taken over. Heavy water is used in the creation of nuclear weapons. A small band of Norwegian resistors carried out the mission, which had a significant impact on German’s ability to create a nuclear weapon. A proud moment for Norway!

There was also a room full of old radio operator equipment. During the German occupation, radio was one of the Resistance’s critical links with Britain. Operators could receive information from London and transmit intelligence about German activities—especially shipping movements—back to the Allies. Altogether, the Norwegian resistance contributed much to the Allies success in the war.

Leaving the museum, I set out to find Anno, a restaurant where I could find the traditional Norwegian fish soup. I turned on my data so I could use Google maps on my phone to get me there. Even though I am usually abominable at any kind of map and directions, I managed to take the correct twists and turns and navigated my way there. The restaurant was just over a bridge connecting two of Alesund’s three islands. It looked like a wide river, and the shore was lined with pleasure boats of various sizes and types, including a replica Viking boat which I guessed was some sort of tourist attraction.

In the restaurant, I again tried to use my Norwegian. The menu listed four different zero beers: a German beer, Heineken, and two Norwegian sounding beers. I pointed to one of the Norwegian beers and asked, “Er det en Norsk ost?” meaning to say “Is that a Norwegian beer?” The server looked a bit confused, but seemed to indicate that it was not a good choice so I ordered the Heineken. I later found out that what I had actually said was, “Is that a Norwegian cheese?”

After lunch, I found my way back to ship WITH NO MAP. I had a sense where the pier was, and steered myself until I could see the Queen Mary looming in the distance. I headed that way, and as I neared the ship, I saw some other passengers in front of me and followed them back to the gangway.

         When I got back to the room, Santo was napping, so I collected my computer and headed to the Chart Room to chill and write.

Got back to the room around 4:30 pm. We had found out earlier that Elaine was not feeling well so our new friends had to cancel our rendezvous. So Santo and I enjoyed a drink in the cabin with fairy tale Alesund as a backdrop.

I had debated about whether to wear the gown again for the night’s gala. I thought of wearing one of my regular dresses with some nice jewelry, but at the last minute, decided to slip into the gown one more time. When else would I get the chance? These opportunities to dress up are one of the things we love about the QM2 after all.

We headed downstairs for dinner with our usual group. Conversation was a bit stilted, though we managed. While we liked out tablemates, we just didn’t have the kind of rapport with them that we did with Paul and Elaine. It might have been possible with Michael and Sabine, but the language barrier made it difficult.

After dinner we headed to the Chart Room to listen to some jazz before the Gala. I enjoyed seeing the parade of gowns and tuxes going by in the hallway next to our seats. It was like watching “E! Live from the Red Carpet.” There was a great range from the most elegant to borderline frumpy. I felt wonderful in Jane’s dress and Santo cut a fine figure in his suit and bowtie. Wonder what others would see when we joined the parade?

We decided to head down to the gala early to get good seats. We found a table for three empty at the front of the first tier on one edge of the dance floor. We would have a great view and be able to get to the dance floor easily. No matter how intimidated we were by the all the skilled dancers, we were determined to get in a dance or two.

Even though the band was the same as at the previous gala, we thought the song selection was just awful. It was still fun to watch the dancers, and make comments about them (!), but none of the tunes put us in the mood to dance. Finally, there was a slow song that we thought might be the best we would get, so we headed out. No matter the music, I always love dancing with Santo. It is how we first came together, and is still something we both treasure. This time I felt less intimidated, thinking instead how cool it was that I was sharing a dance floor with all these wonderful dancers. We sat down and waited, hoping for one more tune we could get up for. But we really weren’t enjoying the music so decided to head instead to one of the other venues where we could listen to some good music.

The first we came to was the Chart Room again, where there was a string trio playing. Perfect. We lucked out on two chairs with a view of both the performers and the moonlit ocean outside. As I basked in the magic of the night, I realized that we only had one more day aboard the Queen. We would savor this night and the day to come.

Luckily, we have our time with Alison and Maurice to look forward to.

Posted on by Debra Rose

Fjords and Friends: Day Six

         Santo and I are both excited for this day, when we will take the “troll cars” up to the Briksdal Glacier. Our 3 ½ hour tour begins at 11:30, so we decide to load up on breakfast at the King’s Court since we will be missing lunch. At a little past 11 am, we head outside to find our tour bus.

         We are welcomed warmly by our tour guide, Dario, a French guide doing Norwegian tours in English! He’s a handsome young man with a thick curly mane of long brown hair with a beard to match. He has just the right personality for this job: friendly and warm, funny, but not over the top, just the right amount of talking rather than narrating every second.

         The drive to the glacier is beyond magnificent. We drive past the greenish-blue waters of Olden Lake, then begin to climb up the mountain, one hairpin turn at a time. The rocks rise steeply on either side of us, and tall, narrow waterfalls cascade down from great heights, one after the other. There is a decent cloud cover, so some of the mountain tops are lost in the clouds, but we hold out hope that the glacier will be visible.

On the bus, I am seated in the back row next to a man wearing a neck brace. I do a double-take, then turn, as much as my brace will let me, to him and say, “Hey, we’re twins.” We share our neck stories (his was from a bad fall), then continue talking. Paul and his wife Elaine are from Virginia and are seasoned cruisers. They are in the middle of a 26-day cruise that started in New York. They are both easy to talk to and we connect with them more than anyone we have met so far.

The tour bus takes us to the “troll cars”: open carts that seat seven people plus the driver. At the stop, there are a restaurant, gift shop, and toilets. We have five minutes to use the bathroom, then get on the troll cars. Elaine and I stick together and make it back to the troll cars in time. As we are loaded into the cars, the drivers fold green plastic “blankes” over our laps. Is this because of possible rain, we wonder.

         The troll cars take us even further up the mountain, making hairpin turns that are too tight for a tour bus. Up here, the waterfalls are bigger and the blue and white water gushes at great speed down the mountain over tumbled rocks. At one point, we drive right through a large waterfall; it cascades down on our left, then rushes under the road and comes out on our right. Now we know why we have the green blankets!

         At the end of the troll cars the 750 meter trail to the base of the glacier begins. From the stop, you can see the glacier at the peak of the mountain: a triangle of blue ice filling a wide crevasse then trailing off, eventually emerging as a flowing waterfall. This is global warming in action. But it is stunning. There is a bridge over rushing water that gives a particularly good view of the glacier. Santo and I take some pictures, then I’m ready to make the climb. Santo prefers to stay at this spot, so I leave him at the bridge and head out. I am very nervous about making this steep climb, but feel determined.

         The first 250 meters of the climb are achingly steep. My thighs strain with each step, and after so many steps, my chest tightens and I have to pull off to the side to rest. Luckily, I am not the only one. As I climb, I keep wondering when the path will level out, as it supposed to do. It seems like that point will never come, but I keep saying to myself, “You’ve come this far, keep going!” Tall pines along with white birches line the trail, with patches of wild flowers here and there. Everywhere you hear rushing water. Along the way, through the trees, I catch glimpses of the blue glacier.

         Finally I reach the point where the trail levels out, with a sign pointing to the last 500 meters. This part is easy and the glacier is visible most of the way, getting bigger and more looming with each step. I eventually emerge at a real clearing with a small blue lake in front of me. Above me, the glacier dominates. It is living history, a remnant of events thousands of years ago. You cannot help but feel awed.

         The trip back down is of course faster and easier. I run into Santo, Paul, and Elaine part way down. Santo had decided to venture a little way up the trail. The four of us continue down to the restaurant where our treat of cake and coffee awaits us. There is a room dedicated to our tour group, and we choose from a large selection of cakes, taking small pieces of several selections. Both the desserts and coffee are better than anything we have had on the Queen Mary. We enjoy spending more time with Paul and Elaine, sharing more about our families and lives.

         The bus takes us back down the mountain, past all the wonderful scenery we saw on the way up. It does not get old. There is a photo stop at Olden Lake, then we are back at the pier. As we are getting off, I ask Elaine if they would like to join us for a drink before dinner the next day. We set on a time of 4:30 in the Commodore Club. We find out that they are in a Princess Grill room, the most elite accommodations on the ship.

         Consulting with Emmy, we found out that the hours between leaving Olden at about 6 pm and sunset at about 9 pm would be the best scenery of the trip. From 6 to 7:30 we will be sailing past Innvikfjorden and from 7:30 to 9 past Nordfjord. Emmy recommends getting situated on the deck in deck chairs before we leave Olden and planning to stay for three hours. In other words, bring your fleeces and rain jackets!

         Since our usual dinner time is 6 pm, we decide to forego dinner in Brittania. We’ll grab our spots about 5:30, then take turns eating at King’s Court. As we head out to the promenade deck, the deck chairs are beginning to fill and we snag two with cushions. As we pull out of Olden the wind picks up and it feels quickly cooler so I add my fleece under my jacket. At 6, Santo goes in for dinner while I hold our seats. People are starting to line up at the railing as well, and I’m afraid someone will position themselves right in front of my chair. Santo comes out to tell me he has found a table by the window inside and prefers to watch from there rather than coming back out to the deck. I really want to stay outside. Yet we both want to be together. Arghhh.

         It’s 6:30 and so far, we still have not seen any spectacular scenery. I keep holding out hope. As I do, I’m getting colder and colder. Almost everyone has left the deck except me—there are plenty of chairs available. Maybe Emmy got it wrong?

         By 7 pm, I’m wondering what to do. Santo comes out and I decide to go inside and check on the spot he has secured. It actually is a great spot and a view pretty much as good as that from the deck. So I decide to move inside with him. I get my first dinner while Santo fills up his plate for seconds. Still no dramatic scenery, though we are sailing by some lovely hills diving steeply into the water. Clouds still hide the tops of everything.

         After dinner, we decide to take a walk around the promenade deck and see what there is to see all around the ship. The wind is fierce, but we know we can duck inside any time. The views all around are about the same, and now it is getting dark. Beginning to lose hope of seeing anything more dramatic than what we have already seen. We decide to head inside and get a good cup of coffee at Sir Samuel and snag a seat by the window. Here and there, we see breaks of pasture land and farms, some small clusters of wooden houses.

         We are still basking in the wonders of the day and our trip to the glacier. That is what we came to Norway for and we feel satisfied, even though what we’re seeing now doesn’t quite live up to expectations. The weather, which can’t be helped, probably has a lot to do with that. As we sit in Sir Samuel, I begin to feel out of place, seeing everyone around us dressed more elegantly in their “smart attire.” If we are going to go anywhere else, I feel we need to change. It’s past sunset, so we head to the room and spiff ourselves up a bit. Next stop, the Chart Room, where a jazz trio is playing.

         The Chart Room is lovely at night, like a night club from the forties. We love seeing people dressed up and enjoying it, just as we do. I feel so relaxed and happy. After this day, and in this moment, how could we be disappointed?

Posted on by Debra Rose

Fjords and Friends: Day Five

         Today we arrived in Bergan. Still haven’t seen any fjords. Bryggen, the historical district that is the “must see” of Bergan is not near the port where we are docked. And it’s raining. Santo was not interested in going into town, but I felt I should at last take a look while I’m in Bergan. I won’t likely be here again.

         So I booked a ticket on a jump on-jump off bus for a tour around the city. I could see the highlights of the city in one one-hour loop. It was a long walk from the pier to the city street where the bus would pick me up. It was waiting when I got there, so I jumped on. A German woman I had interacted with on the ship got on ahead of me and I sat in front of her. It was fun being able to converse with her along the journey.

         Bergan is a lovey city of colorful wooden homes, not just the historic ones in Bryggen, but throughout the city. There was also an old fort, a historic wooden church, and lots of shopping. Sadly, many of the shops were the same international brands we had seen on Grafton Street in Dublin. The rain had not let up, so I decided to stay on the bus rather that get off at Bryggen as I thought I might. I later regretted this decision. Bryggen is renowned for the colorful wooden facades of the houses. But what makes it special is that it has preserved the original medieval arrangement of long, narrow rows of buildings separated by tiny wooden passageways. These could not be seen from the bus.

         Back on the ship, I took up my home spot in Carinthia to continue writing. I was passing on lunch to enjoy the 3:30 High Tea in the Queen’s Room.

         The Queens Room looked so different during the day: light and airy with white tablecloths on the small tea tables, set perfectly with China and silver place settings for four. All the tables were occupied, though many had empty seats. I would have to ask someone if I could join them. I scoped out the room: there was a gentlemen sitting alone, but I thought that would be weird. There were several tables with two women and two extra seats. I looked for friendly faces. Then I spotted a small older woman (perhaps seventy?) seated alone. She looked shy, and a bit dour, but something drew me to join her. As soon as I asked if I could join her, her face brightened with a warm smile and she waved her hand at the empty seats. “Yes, please,” she responded enthusiastically.

         I noticed her accent immediately and asked, “Sind Sie Deutsche?” Her face lit up again when she realized she would be able to converse in her native tongue. She was an extremely pleasant and welcoming person, and spoke slowly and simply, choosing her words to help me understand. After a few minutes, a younger woman, perhaps in her forties, breezed in in a rush, shedding her scarf and sweater as she sat down. She was an attractive blond, quite friendly and quickly joined our conversation. She spoke much faster than my original companion, and was seated further from me so I began to have trouble understanding and keeping up with the conversation. At precisely 3 pm, everyone in the room started rhythmically clapping. Then in walked a long row of white coated waiters carrying silver trays of tea. They spread out throughout the room and began serving. Then came the first course of small finger sandwiches. I took two and nibbled as I continued to strain to follow the conversation. Then to my surprise, who should show up to our table but Santo! He looked a bit out of place in his jeans and plaid shirt, and certainly surprised my companions. He arrived just in time for the service of scones with jam and coddled cream (delicious!). The scones were small but oh so tasty. Santo left as quickly as he came before the desserts were served, so I tried to jump back in to the German conversation. I had one small lemon tart for my dessert, finished my tea, and my first High Tea was complete.

         Dinner was again with Michael and Sabine, and our British ladies, Karen and Linda, had returned. They seemed a bit more talkative. Santo sat next to Karen and was able to draw her out a bit. He found out that she had lived in South Africa for forty-five years and had returned to England to be with her mother and sister. There’s more to Karen than meets the eye!

         Our after-dinner evening began at Carinthia where the duo we had liked from Friday was supposed to play. However, a different group showed up, four guys playing cool jazz. Quite enjoyable. It is amazing how we can just sit around, relax and talk, when we’re here. How can we replicate this at home? We are determined to try to spend some evenings at home just being together, sharing a drink, perhaps listening to some music. I know it will require me to set aside my “work” and disconnect in order to connect to Santo, and to my own center.

         Our next stop was the Commodore Club to listen to piano and get a glimpse of where we were headed from the bow. I was excited to see an empty table but as I approached realized that is was in front of a wall, not a window. The German couple sitting one table over reminded us that the curtains would be closing in a few minutes (at sunset) anyway, so we took the table. It’s still a lovely space. After the curtains close, they light the battery candles at each table with a remote and dim the other lights, which creates a lovely atmosphere. We are certainly getting used to all this pampering!

Posted on by Debra Rose

Fjords and Friends: Day Four

         Santo woke up still raving about the lightning storm. It was pretty amazing. Can’t imagine the Northern Lights being any better.

         Even though he hadn’t slept that much, Santo got up early and headed to King’s Court for his breakfast fit for a king. He hasn’t stop raving about King’s Court since our last voyage. I had hoped to go do dining room for breakfast, but since I slept in, I missed the 9:30 am cutoff. So I headed to my beloved Carinthia where I enjoyed a breakfast of Greek yogurt and fresh fruit. It is also my favorite spot to write.

         I started in on the blog after breakfast. A LOT to catch up on. Eventually, a couple came to sit in the two seats opposite me, which I welcomed. I’m always hoping to meet new people. This couple was British and seemed lovely; the only problem was that they were very soft spoken and difficult to understand. There are some British accents where the speakers seem to swallow their words before they project them and with my ears, that can be tough.

         Shortly after they sat down, there were stirrings about the Trivia game set to begin at 10:15 am. Another couple, Americans from North Carolina, came over with an answer sheet ready to play and asked us if we wanted to join. So I did. Interesting questions and a good group. But after the game I was ready to start writing in earnest.

         At 12:30 pm I went to a lecture in the theater about Norway’s progress on global warming initiatives and how they have achieved so much. It gave a good history of how we got to where we are, then detailed some specific reasons why Norway is doing so well. One is that much building in Norway is wood, which is more carbon-friendly that other types of building. They also incinerate a large percentage of their trash. The speaker joked that in a country where there are months with no sunlight, solar doesn’t really make sense. But they have tapped hydropower in the water flowing down from the fjords.

         The talk finished just in time for me to make it to the dining room for lunch. I was quite comfortable sitting by self and got a great seat looking right out at the ocean. I had an appetizer of pate with a fennel salad and a fish curry for my entrée. Also tried to drink tons of water since I am not getting my usual water intake without my water bottle.

         After lunch, I checked in with Santo in the room. I thought maybe we could play Rummikub, which they have here, but since he needed to catch up on sleep, he opted for a nap. I returned to Carinthia for more blogging.

Tonight was the first gala evening on the ship, the Black & White ball. We wanted to go to the Commodore Lounge before dinner, so we both got dressed by 5 pm. I was able to wear the beautiful dress that had been created from two of my friend Jane Herman’s dresses. I had fallen in love with the deep silver and black skirt as soon as I saw it. Unfortunately, when I tried it on, the attached black velvet sleeveless top did not fit. But I had the idea of putting the beautiful skirt together with the black velvet top of another dress Jane had given me. Luckily, I was able to find a seamstress in Auburn who was able to magically produce the desired garment. I wore it with my Downton Abby style necklace and earrings. Very classy.

Santo wore his good black suit with the silver and black bowtie, pocket square, and cuff links we had gotten for our last cruise. The suit really looks like a tux and he looked very dapper in it. We love dressing up!

The Commodore Room is on Deck 9 at the very front of the ship. It is shaped like the bow, following the contours of the vessel. Large, elongated port hole style windows line the walls, which are of gleaming wood. The carpeting is a swirl of light and dark blues and gold. Comfortable chairs of dark blue or gold are grouped in front of the windows. The low ceiling is all white, with hidden blue lighting circling the room. Nautical pictures and illustrations dot the walls. The whole effect gives the impression of a ship captain’s white uniform. At the center of the room is a grand piano where tonight’s pianist plays a lovely mix of classical, Broadway, and adult contemporary music. A great way to enjoy a relaxing drink before dinner.

A little before 6 pm, we headed to our second dinner on the ship. Everyone is required to wear their gala clothes for dinner in Brittania, or eat in another one of the dining options. As we walked through the main lobby, I loved seeing all the lovely dresses and men in tuxes. So many wore black and white for the gala theme and everyone together looked magnificent.

Our German table mate Sabine wore a black dress with a glimmering white wrap and looked lovely. Michael wore a tuxedo. Sisters Karen and Linda were absent, perhaps choosing to forego the gala. After several minutes, another couple joined us: Michael and Lynn, a couple from Australia. Michael is a handsome black man in a tuxedo who immediately introduced himself and his wife, who is a tall and graceful white woman wearing an off-the-shoulder turquoise gown. She is equally friendly. Both of them also speak German, having lived in Germany for many years. So the conversations were lively, in both English and German.

Having time to kill between dinner and the gala, we headed back to Carinthia to listen to some jazz music. The gala was due to start at 9 pm, so we headed down to the Queen’s Room about 8:45 pm. The room has two levels of seating: on the floor level with the large dance floor and a few steps us to a second level. The room is large and elegant, decorated for tonight’s back and white theme. Tuxedos and elaborate gowns abounded. We scanned the room for a seat, and the place was already nearly full. We finally spotted two seats at the back of the lower level and shimmied our way in.

The dance floor was already full, and the dancers all looked like professionals. Lovely to watch, but very intimidating. Santo and I love to dance, but we are nowhere near on par with the level of talent on the dance floor. The official band for the night started at 9 pm and played an appealing mix of contemporary and older tunes, all played with a distinct rhythm for ballroom dancing. We could picture our friends Jane and Bob, seasoned QM2 travelers, all decked out and dancing away. They are such an elegant pair. How we would have loved to share a journey with them.

Santo kept wanting to dance, but I was too intimidated. The dancers were all in step with one another and paraded around the dance floor in one fluid circle. It felt like we would be trying to jump into a swiftly rotating jump rope. He finally wore me down though, and we did enjoy a few dances on the edges of the dance floor. It felt good to be out there, to be in Santo’s arms gliding across the floor. I was even able to keep my head held up over his shoulder!

We came to the end of our first full day on the Queen Mary and already felt immersed in the rhythm of life aboard ship. At least it was easier to jump into than the synchronized dancing!

Posted on by Debra Rose

Fjords and Friends: Day Three

         I slept well and felt rested when the alarm went off at 6 am. We had to get the 7 am shuttle from the hotel back to the airport. Santo had had more difficulty sleeping. He felt so much better than the night before but still tired.

         At the airport, my wheelchair was waiting as we got off the shuttle bus. Since we already had our boarding passes, we went straight to the gate, again traveling what seemed like several miles to get there. With our 15-Euro vouchers, we each were able to get a Greek yogurt, coffee, and a bottle of water for our breakfast. Perfect.

         When it came time to board, I wanted to talk but Santo insisted I get in the wheelchair. It was a good thing I did because there were two special assistance people looking for me. They had one of the motorized carts and were going to take us to a special van that would drive us directly to the plane. I wondered if this service could have saved us last night, if a van could have taken us from the plane to B22. This time we were last to board, but we were just fine after the  VIP treatment.

         At Hamburg airport, we sailed through customs and got a cab directly to Steinwerder Cruise Center. Hamburg is huge with massive construction everywhere. Lots of big buildings, high rises, lots of traffic, but also many trees and green spaces. We cross the bridge over the Elba River and several over some of Hamburg’s many canals. I was able to converse some with our driver in German. He called himself a Volga German. I later found out from Emmy that this is person descended from ethnic Germans who were invited by Catherine the Great of Russia to settle along the Volga River in the late 1700s. It took us an hour to get to Steinwerder where the majestic Queen Mary awaited us.

         We first dropped of our bags, then headed into the terminal. There were few peope in line, so we sailed through and were on the boat in no time. After checking in at our muster station, a strict requirement, we headed to our stateroom, 5138.

         The room was the same as last time but with a reversed configuration. King size bed, love seat, desk, bathroom, and pale wood cabinets with plenty of room for all our stuff. We unpacked and were settled very quickly. Then it was on to our first drink in one of Queen Mary’s many lounges. We chose the Chart Room, a nautical themed room with dark blue leather chairs and light brown loveseats. We chose one of these and our zero beers and toasted to our second Queen Mary cruise. We also raised a glass to Alison and Maurice, who had been with us the last time. We truly missed them, but were glad that at least we would be able to spend time with them after the cruise.

         We went back to the room to change for dinner, then headed to the main dining room, Brittania. The room, in tones of burgundy and gold, is two-stories high in the middle, with balcony seating on the second level. We had requested to be assigned to a table of 6 and wondered who our dinner mates would be. Our table was on the main floor, in the middle of the room, directly beneath a two-story wall hanging: a hand-woven tapestry with the image of the Queen Mary leaving New York Harbor. Two of the six seats were occupied when we arrived at the table.

         We greeted the two women sitting there. They responded with a nod. Only one added a smile. We added the customary “How are you?” They responded that they were fine. No question in return. Hmmmm. This was going to be a challenge. After some silence, Santo asked, “Have you sailed on the Queen Mary before?” The one who hadn’t smiled told us that they had been on some shorter cruises on the Queen Mary. That gave us the opportunity to talk about our first voyage. Then we got to the where-are-you-froms, and found out that they were originally from Yorkshire, but now live in the Midlands. When we found out they were sisters, Santo has who the boss was. The one who had smiled looked like she wanted to answer, the other looked annoyed by the question. Then Smile sheepishly said, “I think I am.” Somehow I think not.

         At that moment, our other table mates arrived. They were a German couple. She looked pleasant but shy, he was smiling and more gregarious. He spoke English quite well while she didn’t which I think accounts for her seeming shyness. I’ve been in that position of being the only person at a table who can barely understand the language being spoken and it does throw you off your game. Conversation flowed more freely after their arrival. I used a bit of my German, sometimes helping him to translate for his wife, but mostly we spoke in English.

         As they spoke more, the sisters’ accents reminded me of old Monty Python skits. Smile even looked like Terry Jones when he played middle-aged, rather frumpy British women, including the stereotypical bad teeth. The sister only spoke reluctantly, and it seemed like a strain for her to try sound pleasant. Interesting characters.

         The whole dinner I kept thinking it was awkward that none of us had learned each other’s names, so I finally said, “I think we should do introductions. I’m Debra.” Then I looked at Smile who was sitting next to me. Somehow it made her giggle to be asked. “I’m Karen,” she said, then gesturing with her right hand, “and this is my sister Linda.” Maybe she is the boss. The German couple were Michael and Sabine. I told Sabine I thought it was a lovely name, and she smiled shyly.

         The dinner itself was good, but I would not say it was exceptional. I enjoyed a pate appetizer, Caesar salad, a cod dish, and chose the rum raisin ice cream for dessert, remembering my dessert at the Shelbourne in Dublin. It did not live up to that exquisiteness.

         After our little group broke up, Santo and I went outside on the deck and sat in some deck chairs. We were still in the channel between Hamburg and the North Sea, with lots of industrial buildings lining the shore. Despite the backdrop, the sunset was already promising to be spectacular as slashes of peach and orange started to spread out along the horizon line. For a time we stood at the rail watching the sun slowly sink and the colors darken. Then we walked to the front of ship and took a position portside behind a plexiglass window which protected us from the wind as the sun made its final descent. Several people lined the rail in front of us, the wind whipping their hair and clothes. One woman wore a simple white dress with a leather belt. Even though I only saw her from behind, she had a certain elegance about her, exuding a romantic air. I later ran into her on the elevator and told her we had seen her on deck and that she looked like Deborah Kerr in An Affair to Remember. She smiled, thanked me, and told me I had made her day.

After the sunset, we went inside to try to catch some of the show in the theater. I was supposed to be pianist performing the works of artists such as Elton John, Billy Joel, and Stevie Wonder. We knew from last time that the theater could be hard to find, and indeed we got ourselves rather lost. Finally, we saw someone on a server’s uniform. “Excuse me, we’re looking for the theater.” He raised one finger in the air and smiled. “Ah,” he answered, “come with me.” He then led us to a nearby door hidden in the wall–a back entrance to the theater, and snuck us in. We sat in the back to listen. The performer was dressed in a bright orange-red suit and had a flamboyant style. He was more showman than musician, trying to be funny but missing the mark. Too cheesy for us so we ducked back out the way we came in.

We than headed to the Carinthia, my favorite lounge. It spans the width of the ship on Deck 7, the promenade deck. The colors are all gentle and genteel hues of blue and beige. The chairs and loveseats are all low, giving the space a very open and comfortable feel. The performers were a female singer and  a male singer/guitarist. The show was a tribute to Carole King and James Taylor. They were quite good and we loved the music. I discovered a new favorite drink: elderflower tonic. The menu included a list of tonic mixers in four flavors: elderflower, Indian, light, and Mediterranean. Perhaps I’ll have to try the others, but I can’t image they could beat the elderflower. Remembering Carinthia from our last voyage, I felt like I was home, yet more relaxed than I ever am when I’m actually home. A wonderful first day on the QM2.

         Back in our cabin, we had settled ourselves in bed, ready for a good night’s sleep, when Santo got up to go look at the stars. What he saw instead was an incredible lightning show. He called me to come look. The sky was pitch black, and the lighting was not bolts coming down from the sky, but an intense light along the horizon line that spread out in both directions. I watched for a while then went back to bed. But Santo stayed to continue to watch the show and told me the strikes became even more frequent later in the night, only seconds apart.

         So night fell on Day Three.

Posted on by Debra Rose

Fjords and Friends: Day Two

         A lovely start to Day Two in our little dining room. This morning I chose Greek yogurt with fresh fruit and granola accompanied by some toast and marmalade. Perfect. I love that the Greek yogurt here is not sugared as it usually is in the U.S. They let the fruit do the sweetening and its delightfully refreshing—and healthy.

         It was another drizzly (that is, typical) Dublin day. To save some walking, and see the city another way, we decided to take the tram to the General Post Office (GPO). On my itinerary for the day I had only left a half hour for the GPO but when I reviewed the itinerary with Emmy (aka ChatGPT) she suggested giving longer at the GPO since there is a wonderful interactive museum about the 1916 Easter Uprising. So glad we revised the itinerary! She was right, the museum was well worth devoting more time to.

         The GPO itself is a magnificent building, impressively large and majestic with stone columns out front. Inside is just as grand. We followed signs to the museum and purchased tickets. The senior price was 23 Euro but there was a price for handicapped people of 8 Euros. I was wearing my brace and asked if I qualified as disabled. The young girl smiled and said, “Well, just looking at you I’d say yet.” Santo qualified as my “companion” so we both got in for 8 Euros. Who knew my bad neck could be a benefit?

         The museum presented the history sequentially, giving the background for the Uprising, both social conditions in Ireland and the evolving political landscape. There were several very well-done mini-documentaries on various aspects of this important chapter in Irish history. Also interactive touch-screens where you could zero in on topics of interest. I must admit to somewhat succumbing to the lure of the romanticism of the heroic young rebels, particularly the important role women played in the leadership. But the issue is too complex for romanticism, and armed revolt always ends in tragedy—in this case 485 dead in Dublin including women and children.

         We spent about 90 minutes in the museum and could have spent more but there were still items on our itinerary we wanted to hit, namely, lunch at Bewley’s and a visit to the National Library of Ireland where there is an exhibit on William Butler Yeats. Once outside the GPO, we turned back down O’Connell Street to the wide, graceful O’Connell Bridge over the Liffey. The rain had picked up and since Santo had not brought his rain jacket, we ducked into a Burger King and sat down for a few minute to see if the rain would subside. When we thought it was safe, we ventured back out and headed to Bewley’s.

         Bewley’s was little changed from what I remembered and brought back wonderful memories of the many chats and pastries my younger self had enjoyed here. Even with the hustle and bustle of the steady stream of customers and busy servers, the atmosphere is somehow calming. Perhaps it is the warmth of the gleaming wood or the gentle yet vibrant beauty of the stained glass, or a combination of the two. It was and is, and hopefully will remain, a very special place.

         After Bewley’s we knew we did not have time for the National Library so had to pass it up and head back to the hotel to collect our bags. Vio called us a cab and we were soon on our way to the airport for our flight to Hamburg and the awaiting Queen Mary 2.

         We were scheduled on a 5:20 fight from Dublin to Amsterdam on KLM, where we would get a flight to Hamburg after a 55-minute layover. I always worry about a layover that is less than an hour, but because KLM had cancelled one of our original flights, this was the best schedule we could get that would get us to Hamburg in time for the cruise. As it turned out, our flight was delayed 30 minutes and would now leave us even less time in Amsterdam to catch our next flight. We knew there was a good chance we wouldn’t make it.

         On the flight, we notified the flight attendants of our tight connection. They seemed less that interested in our plight. We were just told that there would be updates about connecting flights after we were airborne. When the connecting flight were announced, they gave us the gate number for the new flight but did not tell us which gate we were arriving at! When we inquired with the flight attendant again she said that we would be getting on a bus and everyone would be dropped at off at a central location at the terminal. “It will be easy,” she said. “No problem.” We were not convinced. Later the pilot made an announcement admitting that there were a few very tight connections but he said that everyone should be fine making our connections if we went directly to the gate. Still not convinced.

         Since I was supposed to have wheelchair assistance, we thought that this might help us get to the gate in time. But the flight attendant came over to tell us that we would have to wait until after everyone was off the plane to get the wheelchair. We would never make it if we were the last ones off the plane.  So I decided to walk.

         As it turned out, I did not walk. I ran. For what we would later find was one mile. Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam (pronounced something like “skip hole”) must be one of the largest airports in the world. Seemed even bigger than Heathrow, which we had found overwhelming. Santo took the lead, carrying my bag and his, trying to read all the confusing signs to direct us to Gate B22. I told him to go ahead and get to the gate, then tell them I was right behind him, but he kept checking back to see if I was OK. We thought we were getting close when all of a sudden we had to go through a passport control. There was only one officer and we had to wait in line. We saw our chances dimming, but tried to stay calm—not easy under the circumstances. We knew there would probably not be another flight to Hamburg that night, and we didn’t know if there was a morning flight that would get us to the Queen Mary in time. If we missed the boat, WE MISSED THE BOAT!

         After passport control, we kept running. I’m honestly not sure how I did it. Since I couldn’t hold my head up enough, I just tried to keep my eyes on Santo’s feet. Every time we thought we were getting close, there would be another arrow for B terminal pointing down yet another long corridor. Finally, we saw the sign for B22 and picked up our pace, racing against time. The desk at B22 was empty and the gate door was closed. We looked desperately at some people sitting at the gate and stupidly asked, “Did the date close? Is it closed?” almost in disbelief that we had come so close to making it. We could even see the plane outside the window sitting on the tarmac.

         Santo decided to run to the next gate where there was a KLM attendant at the desk and plead with her to open the gate for us. Of course, this was impossible, but I think all reason had left us on our mile run through Schiphol. The attendant directed us to a woman standing behind her and said, “My colleague will help you.” The woman was an elegant blond woman who gave us a very warm and understanding smile. “Come with me,” she said, leading the way to another KLM desk. There, she and another attendant both worked to get us rebooked to Hamburg in time for our ship’s departure. They were both so kind and reassuring, completely sympathetic to our situation. It made a difference. I felt better just interacting with them, but Santo could not let go of his frustration. He was exhausted and upset, and began to feel it physically. He went to sit down while I handled the rebooking.

         “Is he OK,” the blond woman asked, concerned. “He’s tired and frustrated,” I said. Then I added, “He’s 83 years old.” I could tell she was surprised. She knew I already had an order for assistance but she put one in for him as well. Before long, one of the motorized airport carts came along to pick us up. We had a voucher for a hotel, dinner at the hotel, and $15 each to spend on breakfast at the airport in the morning. We were booked for a 10:10 am flight that would get us to Hamburg at 11:15 am. If we were on time, there should be no trouble getting to the cruise terminal in time.

         The woman who drove us in the cart was so warm and helpful. She saw that Santo had assistance ordered, but there was no order for me. So she was able to add me. As we drove back along the route we had run just minutes ago, we were amazed at the distance we had run. When the cart parked, there was a wheelchair waiting for me and the same woman pushed me even further, and eventually outside to a shuttle stop for our hotel. Santo tried to offer her 10 Euros but she would not take it. Finally she said, “Give it to someone you see who is in need. Then I will feel I did something good.”

         After about a 10-minute bus ride, we made it to the hotel. Santo sat down while I took care of checking us. The hotel, the Steinberger Amsterdam, was beautiful, with a large marble lobby, flowers, comfortable seating, and a bar and restaurant just beyond the lobby. Luckily the restaurant served food until 11:30 pm. It was already almost 10 pm. We checked into our room, also large and lovely, and headed down to get something to eat. We enjoyed a salmon dinner with some zero beer and started to settle down from our misadventure. Our server was a lovely young woman with a beautiful smile. Another angel put in our path. More balm for our weary souls!

Posted on by Debra Rose

Fjords and Friends: Day One

         We arrived in Dublin at about 7:30 am local time, about an hour ahead of our scheduled arrival. A wheelchair was waiting for me on the ramp to the terminal. Our lovely young special assistant with a lilting Dublin accent guided my chair through airport, waiting while we collected our luggage, then got us to the head of the taxi line for a cab to our small hotel in the heart of one of Dubin’s most beautiful neighborhoods.

         Kilronan House was set among a row of elegant homes on Adelaide Street, a stone’s throw from St. Stephens Green. Two columns and a black-and-white tile floor graced the entrance where welcoming light drew us in to the cozy interior. Just ahead, the manger sat a desk in the parlor-like lobby. He was a small, handsome man in a starched white shirt. He stood as we entered and greeted us warmly. It felt like being welcomed by family into their home.

         Vio, whom I had corresponded with by email, had the accent and features of a Middle Eastern, and his hospitality reminded me of the people I had met in Palestine. No more gracious hosts anywhere. We would find that all of the staff seemed to be of the same nationality and all were blessed with the gift of hospitality.

         We arrived at Kilronan House at about 9:30 am after driving straight through Dublin’s inner city traffic for nearly an hour. We had booked our room for the previous night (thanks to Jane Grady for that tip) so we could have a good rest before setting out to sese Dublin. Vio gestured towards the dining room, just through a door off the lobby, and invited us to get settled and then come down for breakfast. He would not let us touch our bags, and carried them himself up the one flight to our room. The room was very bright with a skylight over the bed and in the bathroom. We had a king-sized bed (two beds pushed together in European fashion), window seat, desk and chair (lucky for Santo who loves to sit and write at a desk as he makes notes and records our travels).

         The breakfast room was like a dining room in an elegant home: white table cloths, tall ceilings, large mirrors on the walls, stunning wallpaper. The menu offered a two-course breakfast, which came with our room. You could order yogurt, porridge, fruit, etc. as your first course, then follow that with pancakes or various egg dishes, including Santo’s favorite eggs benedict. The coffee was strong and hot, the food delicious and beautifully served. We felt so pampered as we enjoyed our breakfast knowing a much-needed rest awaited us upstairs.

         We were able to darken the room with heavy shades on skylights and windows and managed to sleep until about 2 pm. We were ready for Dublin!

         We mapped out our first day walk, with Vio’s help, which would take us through St. Stephen’s Green, down Grafton Street, and on to Trinity College, where I had done my junior year abroad and first met Alison.

         St. Stephen’s Green is a large city park, noted for the Georgian homes (of the famous door of Dublin) as much as the park itself. We enjoyed the meandering paths leading to a central circle and floral displays that were less manicured, but also less vibrant, than the parks we so love in Paris. We crossed the park diagonally, bringing us to the top of Grafton Street.

         During my time in Dublin in 1978-79, Grafton Street was a busy commercial street and the bus we took from our dorm in the suburbs of Dublin drove down the street and dropped us nearly in front of Trinity. Now, Grafton is closed to traffic and the street has been cobbled over to become a lovely pedestrian way. Sadly, though, the small, local Irish stores and restaurants that were there in the 70s had been replaced by large, international, high-end brands like Tommy Hilfiger, Victoria’s Secret, Lego, and Disney. All that remained that was familiar was the posh department store, Marks & Spencer, and my beloved Bewley’s Oriental Cafes Ltd., affectionally known simply as Bewley’s.

         As a twenty-year-old at Trinity I had so often gone with my friends to Bewley’s for a cup of tea or coffee and some pastries. The storefronts on either side of the main entrance were framed in gleaming dark wood with beautiful displays of the oriental teas served there. Inside was more gleaming wood, and decorating many of the walls were elaborate art nouveau stained glass windows. Small wooden tables with café chairs dotted the room. We would just go in, seat ourselves at an open table, sometimes moving several together if there was a group of us. When the server came over to take our drink order, she would bring a three-tiered tray filled with gorgeous array of tempting pastries. We just chose what we wanted, and when we were ready to leave, just told the server what we had eaten.

         When we reached Bewley’s I wanted to take a closer look, so we stepped inside. It was little changed, except for the addition of a glass counter displaying the pastries and a hostess stand displaying a sign that said, “Please wait to be seated.” We would have sat down for a cup of coffee, but they were just closing. We would find a time in our schedule to come back tomorrow.

         We walked through the drizzle that had accompanied us all day on to Trinity. The massive gray stone entrance gate loomed before us. So familiar. And yet not. It’s not that I don’t remember the time I was very young student here, but if feels like that was someone else. It was, really. It was a girl from Dunmore, Pennsylvania, whose only experience outside of Dunmore was two years at Bard College, a very rural college less than an hour from home. There was one visit to NYC on a bus excursion from Scranton with my family. I was about twelve years old and spent the whole time bumping into things because I kept looking up at the tall buildings.

Here I was in a large city, in another country over 3000 miles away, committed to spending one full school year at Trinity College. I was housed in a Trinity College dorm about a 20-minute bus ride from campus. I was amazed at how quickly I made friends in the dorm. The boys were on the first floor, girls on the second in the old mansion that had been converted to a dorm. Ten girls each shared a small kitchen. We would make tea, fix breakfast, and some meals in that kitchen. I remember a red-haired girl names Hazel teaching me how to make croissants from scratch in that kitchen. And fixing a Thanksgiving dinner for friends held in the formal dining room of the mansion. The turkey had to be ordered from some farm and we needed to go to Marks & Spenser’s gourmet department to get canned pumpkin!

My closest friends were roommates Alison, who was a Protestant from a suburb of Belfast, and Josephine, a Catholic from central Belfast. They had asked to room together after meeting at a camp to bring Protestant and Catholic young people together in the midst of “the troubles.” I remember one time when we were on O’Connell Street just over the bridge from Trinity. There was a loud bang that made me jump. “That sounded like a gunshot,” I said. “Oh, no,” came back Josephine, “gunshots are much higher pitched.” Another time on a train ride north to Belfast for a Bank Holiday, Josephine suddenly looked agitated and calmly said to us, “Let’s move to the next car. NOW.” She had seen someone put a backpack on the ground in the space between two cars and feared the worst. Nothing happened, but I was shaken.

I might not have known it at the time, but I think I grew up a lot during that year. I certainly became more independent, though I did have some very good and their families to lean on. On weekends, I travelled alone by train to other parts of Ireland, with no reservations nor any idea of where I would stay once I got there. Walking around these new cities, sometimes villages, with my overnight bag, each time I managed to find a Bed & Breakfast (I think the concept originated in Ireland). Once I met a girl on the train who was going to visit her boyfriend in Cork. When she heard I didn’t have a place to stay, she insisted I stay with them. When her boyfriend picked her up at the train station, she asked if I could stay. He smiled warmly. “Indeed she can.” The girl and I slept at her boyfriend’s sister’s house, and he would bring us back there after each night of laughs and good cheer at one of his favorite pubs. I met some of his friends, and some of them would come to visit my in Dublin later that semester.

         One of my weekend excursions was to the remote Aran Islands off the coast of Galway. It was in March and the ferries were not running, but I was determined to get there. I took the train the Galway, then asked someone at the train station how I could get to the Aran Islands. He told me I could take the bus to Rossaveal Pier, and try to hitch a ride on a fishing boat. I made it to the pier, a small strip of cement in the middle of nowhere, and stood there in the cold drizzle alone under the single lamppost and waited. After about 90 minutes, I saw a group of men carrying packages walking towards the pier. They were surprised to find me there and asked, first in Irish then in English when I looked confused, what I wanted. “I want to get to one of the islands. Can you take me?” “Well, we’re going to Inishmore. You’re welcome to come along.” The youngest of the men, Coley Donahue, led me to the small galley on the boat and offered me a cup of tea. As he heated the water on a small cooktop, we chatted. I wish now  had a recording of that conversation. I can’t remember and have trouble imagining what was said.

         When we got to Inishmore, Coley asked me where I was staying. There were no bed & breakfasts or other accommodations on the island. What had I been thinking? He knew of a woman who sometimes let rooms, and walked me to her thatched cottage not far from the pier. I remember that first night in the small cold room, huddled in the narrow bed with all my clothes, including my coat, and the covers up over my head. The next morning, the old woman made wonderful homemade scones with jam and a very welcome cup of hot tea. It turned out that there was a young German man also staying there.  We met over breakfast. He did not speak English, and did not yet know German. Somehow we communicated. He was planning to tour the island by bike and invited me to come with him. So we went to another cottage where a man rented us two bicycles. That evening I visited the only pub on the island ironically called The American Bar. Everyone spoke Irish. Of course Coley was there and sat next to me at the bar. I gradually became better able to understand his halting English. I was smitten, imaging myself in a thatched cottage mending his fishing nets. I drank Guiness because I had had no food since breakfast and had heart that Guiness had some nutritional value. When Coley found out I had not eaten, he insisted on taking me to his house—at 2 am in the morning. By Irish law the pub should have closed at midnight, but as it go later I asked Coley why they were still open. “You see that man over there,” he said, pointing to a man at the end of the bar.. “That the constable.” His own thatched cottage was dark when we got there, so we quietly entered. He told me wait in the small living room. I could hear him in the next room speaking to his sister. The only words I could make out was her saying, “Well who is she anyway?” But she got up and proceeded to cook me dinner—a fried pork chop and boiled potatoes, in the tiny kitchen. At one point, she was asking me something but I couldn’t understand. After asking her to repeat a few times, I finally just said, “Yes.” She proceed to pull a bottle out from under the sink and pour me a glass. Wild Turkey!

         The next day, Coley was supposed to pick me up to take me around the island. I waited at the house where I was staying, watching TV on an old black-and-white tv. For hours I waited, occasionally looking out the window. I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t come. He has seemed so eager and sincere. I’m not sure how long I waited before I gave up, but I finally did. After a long walk, I waited for the pub to open so I could get my Guiness dinner. Coley was there. He approached me awkwardly. I don’t know who spoke first, but eventually we discovered that he HAD come by for me at the appointed time and had a waited for a bit. But didn’t think it was proper to come to the door, so he thought I was standing him up! I was leaving the next day, and as he walk me home that night in the pitch black, he begged me to stay another day. I told him I didn’t have the money and he offered to pay for me. Some old adage came to my mind that I shouldn’t take money from a man. So I said no. A decision I regretted for a long time.

Five years later I was able to visit Ireland. This time there was a ferry to Inishmore. I looked for Coley in the pub, but he wasn’t there. At the time, I was brave enough to ask about him. I was told he was in Galway having his boat repaired. So my trip to the island had been a waste. I wanted to just return to the mainland, but the weather had turned since I arrived and no ferries, or fishermen, we running. Eventually I managed to get a small biplane to get me off the island. In Galway, it was pouring rain and both me and my bag were soaked to the bone. I hitched a ride to the boatyard to look for Coley and waked along the boatyard pier asking each fisherman if they knew where Coley Donahue was. I finally found him. We recognized me right away and was truly shocked. He was more difficult to recognize. He looked much older, more ragged, but the worst was that one side of his face had been badly burned and was quite scarred. “You probably wouldn’t know me, would you” he asked sheepishly. His motor had blown up in his face when he was trying to repair it several years ago. Even worse, his sister, who make me pork chops and Wild Turkey, had died of leukemia. I felt unspeakably sad. I met Coley that night at a pub in Galway. We drank. We talked. We even danced. But I could no longer imagine myself mending anyone’s fishing nets. Perhaps I had been cruel to look him up, because it got his hopes up. I still feel guilty about that.

Back at Trinity, Santo and I walked through the gate into the quad. Of course, it was unchanged. The school had been founded in 1592 but most of the current building dates from the 18th century. Outside the quad was a different sorry. There were several modern buiding housing various schools and departments of the college. Santo took my picture. I tried to remember actually walking these cobble stones, running to classes, crossing over to the cafeteria. But I couldn’t. I knew they had happened, but they had happened to that young girl brave enough to hitch a ride on a fishing boat at Rossaveal Pier. Now I panic if I don’t have a confirmed reservation wherever I go.

After Trinity, we were ready for supper and found a nearby pub that had been recommended by ChatGPT, called Donaghues. It was small and dark but lovely and a great escape from the steady drizzle. We had Guiness stew and Guiness. Met a young couple with a baby from St. Louis. The bartender and waitress could not have been friendlier or more accommodating. It was a great find.

I had one more stop I wanted to make on the way back to Kilronan house. I wanted to stop for a drink at the lounge at the Shelbourne Hote, an elegant old hotel right on St. Stephen’s green. That 20-year-old girl had sat with college friends in that lounge feeling very posh and grown-up. After taking a few wrong twists and turns, we found the hotel. The lounge was as sumptuous as I remembered it, in shades of pale yellow and green, with magnificent mirrors and some heavy lacquered Chinese furniture. It was empty so we took the two comfy chairs right in front of the fireplace. I had cappuccino, Santo had a mocha, and I ordered a bread pudding with rum raisin ice cream that was about the best dessert I had ever tasted. What a splurge.

Our day compete, we returned to the comfort of our room, ready for a true night’s sleep.

Posted on by Debra Rose

Fjords and Friends: Day Zero

Our journey began, not with a trip to the airport, but a trip to Boston. We had booked the transatlantic portion of our trip on Aer Lingus from Boston to Dublin. There were good fares on roundtrips between Boston and Dublin, and since our journey would be ending up in Belfast, it seemed to make sense. We are lucky to have old friends Steve and Chris in Massachusetts where we could leave our car and they would drive us to and from the airport.

With our large bags packed and weighed (mine coming it just a little shy of the 50 pound limit), and filling the trunk of the car, it felt like we should be driving to the airport, not to Boston. It would be six hours before we got to Steve and Chris’s, a bit more before we got to the airport approximately 3 hours before our 9:15 pm flight.

The drive was smooth and easy, the day sunny and clear.

At the airport, special services came through for us with a wheelchair at the ready. In addition to saving me from long walk with my neck, one of the best things about getting wheelchair assistance is that it gets you right to the front of every line and the privilege of boarding first. After some glitches with Aer Lingus seat selection process, we managed to get two seats together on the side of the plane, rather than the dreaded middle.

Usually on long flights like this, I would read for a while and hope it got me sleepy enough to try to nod off after a while. Somehow my brain was just too full to leave space the new book I was reading: The Midnight Bookshop. My Kindle never left its baby roo pouch on the seat in front of me. Amazingly, I seemed able to do what I can never do at home: relax. What kept me “grounded,” so to speak, was the gratitude I felt for the trip ahead. Gratitude had always worked for me as a morning and evening prayer, and it served me well on the long flight. I was eventually able to rest my eyes, and I think I nodded off a few times, at least enough to not feel exhausted when we got to Dublin.

         Being able to travel like this, to have time alone with Santo, to spend quality time with friends across the ocean, to sail on the magnificent Queen Mary in a style that my immigrant ancestors could never have dreamt of; these blessings flowed like a soothing balm on my usually anxious mind. Isn’t this what vacations are for?