London Town

Now on our way to Portugal to meet e and c, with prodigal arriving next week. We have been on the road since the end of May, and are holding up alright- though Thomas had a small, middle of the night breakdown over not sleeping in the same bed much lately. It happens. The Wehlen clan can stand a lot of this hotel stuff. Lesser men would be running with no pants on in Hyde Park screaming about duty free after this much travel. We take much longer to become unglued, but it can happen.

The London visit was really nice. I insisted we see a play for once (loyal bloggies will know that Thomas will not, no way no how see a musical). He chose well: a Tennessee Williams play in a former chocolate factory that was quite good. We saw a Van Gough exhibit that had all the greatest hits: Starry night, Sunflowers and self portraits galore. The best part was how little security was in place. I kid you not- there was a tiny little rope in from of Starry Night that people actually ignored- so they walked between the rope and the painting with their back packs swinging within millimeters of the thing. It was crazy- but I sort of loved it. The British view toward security is one of my favorite things about them. It is also the main reason to keep the royal family, because no matter what you say, they are not whiners. They have such light security (don’t forget a man climbed into the Queen’s bedroom 30 years ago to have a chat. She called for tea) Thomas and I were saying how much we respect the whole stiff upper lip thing and wish it would catch on.

Thomas of course dragged me to the Tate modern where we saw videos of a German apartment in the 70’s. In it, the artist performed various oddities- made strange noises at her parrot; flapped feathers on her shoulder, walked with magnets on her leg, attached to a man with magnets on his. You know- the usual. 

I took it for about an hour before I announced that I had been illuminated enough and would now proceed to pour an espresso directly into my eardrum. I will say though, when one looks back on days like that, it is with nostalgia. I mean it…what a luxury to be that bored.

Most amusing of all were the two evenings at P and K’s new apartment, which is just beyond. They have a three acre garden off of their bedroom that is privately used by the few lucky souls whose houses surround it. It reminded us of a Zurich apartment- such was the quality. Get over there people- they have a guest room and an excellent housekeeper. Anyway they had two dinners, each better than any I go to at home- kind hearted but high achieving guests and fabulous food. It was really fun- and little Charlie (le chien) seems so happy there- he plays with the doorman all day, that is when he is not in his garden playing with his well breed friends. 

The Berkeley hotel is almost silly this time of year. The breakfast room is filled with all sorts- none of whom would be welcome at the Maine country club: veiled women, and Mark Benioff and a lot of faked boobed faked blondes. I don't mean to brag, but I think we might be a favorite of the poor staff who have to play nice with some doozies. They gave us a very nice silver plated frame when we left. 

We had a work meeting with a man who would fit well in a James Bond movie: billionaire German aristocrat raised in Switzerland - thin and well dressed and best of all very decisive. He said he would give us more to manage but first he had to go meet with Norman Foster about a little renovation. All three of the men were in suits and ties- which are literally unseen in California these days, I couldn’t believe how many men were in suits and ties in London; also how many people smoke. 

Ok next update will include Chico, who I am hoping will let me share some of the stories from his trip in Spain. (!!)

Loose ends

"I am a citizen of the most beautiful nation on earth. A nation whose laws are harsh yet simple, a nation that never cheats, which is immense and without borders, where life is lived in the present. In this limitless nation, this nation of wind, light, and peace, there is no other ruler besides the sea."

Bernard Moitessier after his 1968 solo race around the world when, instead of heading for the finish line in first place, he turned, headed east and went around again. 

Forget everything I wrote in the last blog. The wind went up dramatically (we tried to take a picture of how wild it was, but it looks like nothing) By 4 a.m. it was rocking so much, we both woke up and could not go back to sleep. There is rocking and there is rocking.

It is calm and overcast now on our last day.

F will be flying over this very ocean tomorrow on his way to Spain.

It looks like we will take the plunge and take this baby to Europe in December. This is very exciting, mostly because the blog may finally have some big wave pictures in it. I heard from the Thai masseur today that the Queens Mary and Elizabeth are not only smaller ships without the ultra huge keel of this one, but they don’t have the stabilizers. Consequently they never take the northern route that we do, sticking to the southern one which is much quieter but longer across the Atlantic.

I heard people in the dining room speaking in hushed tones about caviar and how they heard it is possible to score some even though it is not on the menu. HA!

We are semi famous for walking around the deck all the day long. One tiny, elderly English woman with a very posh accent and a diamond star of David, said she used to have the same hat as I do, so she noticed it. Then while she and her husband are eating, she says she points out each of our rounds: “there goes the hat!!”

It is not so sad to leave this year, not because we didn’t like it, but because we sort of feel there is more to come. We find life very simple and funny on this ship. Reality does not reach you here.

Osman is like our little guru- he dashes by our table at lunch and asks, pray tell, what we would like for dinner. Thomas finally said “Can you make spaghetti carbonara at the table?” and presto he will . The neighbors heard this and want some too. They also followed us for our walk, saying it is nice how if they ever want to find us, they know where to look. Anyway Osman tells us it is so good to exercise out here because the air is the cleanest in the world. Also he says caviar is a health food. I haven't asked him about vodka.

Tonight: manicure pedicure, then a little more packing (blech) then pasta carbonara made by our side as I toast the sea with my little spoon of caviar.

Me holding firmly to the vodka tonic. It was huge wind, but it doesn't show

Us wth Midhun 

view from our table every night

Even the greats need a break after 25 times around the ship 

Sleeping Tight

In order to slow the intake of calories on the ship, I have created a new dinner order: a triple order of caviar in a baked potato. It has caused quite a stir in the neighborhood. Our neighbors are this wonderful couple from New York - he, a lawyer for hedge funders, she I believe was a speech therapist/actor. This is their first time on the ship, and they are not leaving a stone unturned. The wife has the same favorite spots as I do to sit and watch the sea; the husband, like Thomas, dreams of seeing the engine room. They swill wine and pre dinner drinks at Churchillian levels, but they don’t show any signs of being affected. They are also champion food orderers while we have been shown to be the absolute weanies that we are; Osman tries daily to get us to order Lobster or Beef Wellington (not going to happen) and our sommelier cries quietly in his sleeve.

But the big news was they had a “chocolate festival” in the main open dining area. This is where anyone on the ship can eat. They started setting it up at 10:30 am and you could feel the tension rising. By the time they had finished, there were tables and tables of truffles, brownies, cupcakes, cakes, mousse. There was also a chocolate fountain in which you could dip anything be it a pineapple or a donut or your spouse. 

Back in the rarefied world of the Queens Grill, all was quiet a rather chocolate-less. I put in my lunch order and then ran back to the belly of the beast to score some chocolate for my after lunch coffee. What I saw, I really cannot describe. The tension, always high at a large buffet, had reached dangerous levels. Few people were bothering to use the utensils, some thuggish kids were blocking people from the fountain, and there were hoarders of all kinds. When Thomas went, he said someone had had a spill, and the crew had erected a little rope to keep people from stepping in it, and presumably from interfering with their work. But the mini cake table was within easy sight, so otherwise handicapped people were leaping over the barricade (he swears this is no exaggeration). 

Anyway I have about 8 truffles left; Midhun is guarding them until dinner. (he doesn’t like chocolate, otherwise I wouldn’t have given them to him.)

Tonight I am in heaven. I am tucked into my bed and the wind is picking up; we can hear the howls through our window, through our fancy, penthouse curtains. The Queen Mary is the only place on earth where Thomas gets up before me. No where else does he sleep like this….and nor do I. I inevitably wake up at first light which is too early to get up, but i can’t resist peeking out the window to look at the sun rise. Then I sleep on, and wake to an empty bed.

It is clearly a return to infant hood- this constant rocking, this sense of surrender. The Atlantic Ocean is so massive and so powerful and so mysterious and so scary and so beautiful that one has no choice but to wave the white flag. I am an ugly flea compared to its grandeur. I have nothing to offer it, no gift to give, no wisdom to impart. It does not ask for my company.

So I roll over and go back to sleep, and it is bliss. 

Walking on Water

Our step counting is getting out of control….we try to get 20,000 a day which is equal to 10 miles, and we are skipping things to accomplish this. I asked Thomas at what point could we say we had walked across the Atlantic.

Osman, the man in charge of both of the Princess and Queen Grills, and an all around big shot (his cabin is above the water line with a window, and his wife and kids get to travel with him sometimes.) knows that we like to hear the ship gossip, so he comes by our table and obliges. He still won’t budge on why they had to take the emergency detour to Nova Scotia. Apparently if a member of the crew blabs a secret to the guests, they will be fired at the next port. So he give us what he can: he says a person dies every trip, sometimes two. This is due to the average age on board of course; there are 99 year olds who come on alone. He saw one rather fat man choke to death in the Queen’s grill), and he said that as the guy was putting the piece in his mouth he thought “that piece is too big” then he heard the waiters rushing around and even though they did the Heimlich, he died of a heart attack. I am sure they carted him off and the crepe suzettes continued. He said the English are in the best shape of anyone when they are old. Says it’s because they were half starved during the war and their stomachs are now so little, they don’t eat much.
So you heard it hear people: less meat, more tea and gin.

Last night was another formal night and I just live for them. I asked Thomas if he could feel the “buzz in the air” which made him laugh. “There is no buzz!!.” But there is! You see these little elderly rushing out of the elevator to get to the 6 pm seating at the Britannia so they can go to the magician show at 8 and bed by 9. My heart just bursts with love at the sight of them. Many are attired in a black dress of the sort a Sicilian widow would don- these are the ones who chicken out. But the others seem to have a good friend at home that says they absolutely can and should work that one shoulder bronze sequined number. These are my babies. You can just hear the encouragement from Gertrude ringing in their ears: “But darling you are so BEAUTIFUL in that! Just staggering!” and even though they doubt themselves, they go for it.  (They do keep the granny shoes and the granny glasses on however, just in case.)
I have taken to oohing and ahhing at them in encouragement and have instructed Thomas to do the same.

Our waiter is a man from India, a Hindu and a person of otherworldly kindness and zen. As I said last year, we fell in love with him when he would put our dishes down and say our part for us. “Excellent!” or “Thank you!” , all with a huge smile. He calls us Sir and Madam and I said Ellie and Thomas so we have now settled on Mrs. Ellie, Mr. Thomas. Anyway we were chatting last year and he was saying how happy he was with his little wife whom he became engaged to after an arranged meeting; and married at the third encounter. He was saying how much he adored her; how happy he was to know he had this woman at his side for life. “it is just the greatest feeling!!” They speak many times a day and she is taken care of by his parents in what looks to be quite a nice house. But then his father had a stroke and is in bad shape and the rains came and his house flooded and the kitchen was ruined. But he was happy. He said he had wanted to buy his wife a moped (her dream), but now he would fix the kitchen for her instead and wasn’t he the luckiest man on earth? He kept saying that…and then I saw the pictures of the house…mud everywhere total and absolute destruction. So I asked him casually: “How much does a moped even cost in India?”  and he said “Oh Madam a lot..:$1500” and so we sort of secretly sent him $1500 from western union last year. He didn’t  really needed it, in his town he is kind of a big shot. I just wanted him to know that he had touched us; that his joy made us smile every time we saw him. Also he got the Indian chef to make us a special curry last year and it was insane. Anyway, now we are friends- we write on what’s app all year and I got a special recorded message from his wife.

Yesterday he asked Thomas if he was ok, because he seemed thin. “Is everything ok Sir? you look thinner than last year?!” I just loved that…love supersedes discretion. He basically asked Thomas in his little black tie DO YOU HAVE CANCER SIR???
Of course I laughed. “No Midhun, it’s the stupid 20,000 steps”.

Yesterday he told me that his family has seen the ship because it occasionally comes to his home town and they are allowed to tour around for the day. He said they even saw the Kings Court (the enormous multi room food buffet) but didn’t eat anything. I asked why. He said “Oh Madam the food is so unusual to them, and they have never used utensils. We don’t use them at home.” They just mix the curry up with the rice and naan and pick it up that way.

I was listening to him with three forks and two knives in front of me; and a caviar spoon in my hand.  But it was clear to me who is the better man.

Oh Crap Thomas has found me and is waving his phone/ step counter/ lord and master and now I will walk again.

High Crimes at Sea

They say people can lift 50 times their body weight when running for the Queen's grill on the QM2

Queen Mary via Exeter and Bermuda

Since almost the entirety of the blog nation was at the graduation, I will spare writing about it here. It was both surreal and perfectly normal wasn’t it? Charlie winning the crew award and Christina’s mother dancing alone to the band were my favorite moments; that and watching Chico get his diploma. Thank god we didn’t fly home directly; that would have been just too sad. It was sad enough separating after four days by that turquoise water. 

To go to a Bermudan hotel is not to surround oneself in princely luxury. The food was laughably bad and the bathroom looked like a that of a snazzy motel 6. But we would go back. I think it was in some ways nicer than the Caribbean fancies we have stayed in, once we figured out lunch and how to ask for a down pillow. 

The last night was rather sad- the kids were worried about leaving each other. Some of them (Frederick excluded) have pretty challenging summers- jobs with serious hours and brutal crew work outs for example. Andrew was the MC and was keeping us all laughing about family veering into the absolutely absurd with stories of mothers shooting children with their air guns repeatedly. You’ll have to ask Margaret.

We made it easily to New York with a vague plan to sit at a cafe in Brooklyn with three suitcases to wait for boarding. Then we hear the boat has been delayed due to a medical emergency and had to make an emergency stop in Halifax. They ask that instead of boarding at 12 30, we board at 1:30. We looked fairly ridiculous sitting on a pile of luggage in this hipster place and then hauling the bags down the street. I was practically running at this point…such is the ship’s draw. We had to wait in a long line at check in (never happened before) due to some computer glitch but our moods were high- Thomas was flirting with the English people in line, getting chairs for old ladies and water for me. Whenever he speaks with English people he starts to imitate their accent and I feel like I am at a Royal Astronomical Society meeting. Point is, when he gets really happy, he starts verbally hugging the citizens of Great Britain.

We know what we are doing by this time. First we make all the spa appointments- massages and hair and nails and a chiropractor appointment for Thomas. We know where to get the best coffee and where sit with the best view. We know what to ask for them to put in our room They put in whatever booze you want (and I believe in our room level it is free) and we asked for vodka (for the hot tub) and milk (for early morning coffees). We could have unlimited bottles of wine or whiskey and maybe make a friend in economy class to share with…but we know ourselves. There is no time for red wine in the afternoon-such is the urgency of our Queen Mary schedule.

Handsome Turk is at his post and just as handsome and welcoming as can be. We have a really good table and the waiter we want. He tells us we have never looked better and then tells us what we will be eating (caviar and dover sole. ?)  Apparently he thinks that is what we eat, and it sort of is. But Thomas is suspicious they are trying to offload something. We have had the crepe suzette already, and two soft serve ice creams. We have seen a ballerina in full tutu do a photo shoot on the deck. There are dogs now occasionally on the 7 deck and I think this is both wonderful and will mean a crack down soon. That is the basic update.

Tonight we have ordered a special, extra spicy curry made by the Indian cook and then we will go to see an Irish comedian. 

Bit of a scandal today; Thomas may have to go into witness protection. We had on the agenda a planetarium show about wild weather in the solar system. Delicious. The drill is one has to get tickets ahead of time. I suggest we do this. Thomas says he thinks that was the old system and says I should live on the wild side. I go along, even though, much like the Vichy- I know it is wrong and doomed. Thomas and I leave the sun deck to go to the show, but first Thomas wants shaving cream. It takes a long time to buy…then he attempts his first crime of the day: entering the show through the exit, while people are leaving the last show. He is caught and directed to the entrance where there is an enormous line for people without tickets. The reliable rule followers, the ticketed ones, are let in right away. Thomas decides to leave my side in the unticked group, zip to the loo, and then in perhaps the weirdest thing he has done in public to date, rushes out of the bathroom and zips directly into the show, ahead of people with tickets AND ahead of people who don’t have tickets, but are in front of him. He cuts them all. Rushes in as if he has already been in, and just left for the loo. 

We, the great unwashed, un-ticketed are speechless. Picture several little English faces (one even had a straw hat on) with mouths in the shape of Os. Picture the faces nice people make when they meet a bully. The same faces that were made in the movie theater in Marin county during the documentary about Karl Rove (remember when we thought Rove was the most evil person ever?!?  #halcyondays) I mumble something about finding a divorce lawyer and wander off. I am of course furious because after making me miss the show, with his rule thwarting and shaving cream obsession, Thomas is happily bathing in knowledge about thunder and lightening on Pluto, while I am left holding his shaving cream. 

This blog is not long enough to explain what happened, and historians will debate it for years to come.  An important piece of evidence was the accused rushing to the front of the theater before the show started, and making strange jerky motions waving into the pitch black crowd hoping his wife would identify him and they would be re united. It never occurred to him that I was not in the theater. So now the outside the theater English people think he is a line cutting thug, and the inside the theater English think he has gone off his Parkinsons meds. 

On our walk today he talked seriously about throwing his shirt overboard so people wouldn’t know him. He was last seen (not making this up) in dark glasses and a baseball hat in the first class hot tub. 

More soon. 

Water Water Everywhere (but not a drop to drink)

The gang on the last day. Professor K front left in red. Guides far right. 

Post Swim

We were told to put life jackets on our bums to protect it from rocks as we swam in mini river with mini rapids. 

I feel I must quickly wrap up the Colorado River story before I discuss the Atlantic: the water on which I am presently bobbing.

Let’s see…on the second day in the Grand Canyon we were going through a rapid that was supposed to be tricky for the boatmen but not really anything noticeable for the passengers. I heard a large crunch and then noticed the ominous sound of no engine. The rapids are not terribly scary with an engine and a huge raft- at least not in these levels of water. Read the Emerald Mile if you want a dramatic story about a famous year when the water in the Grand Canyon was ten times what it is now (unprecedented rain fall) and rafts our size, from our company, were torn in half. But now things seems calmer….until you lose the engine. 

Most of the group didn’t notice, but I told Thomas and then we looked at the captain who was throwing tools around as we drifted toward shore. The first boat saw we weren’t coming and came to rescue us. Then they put a new engine in (each boat travels with two) and onward we went. But I sort of wondered about the whole safety thing after that. 

We heard a lot about geology, most of which was over my head. Professor K has spent his entire adult life- starting at Caltech, studying cherts. (He is known as Dr. Chert) Cherts are quartz growths in sedimentary rock; they look sort of like a glass bump when the rock erodes. Professor K questions the conventional wisdom that more complex animals popped into being all at once during the Cambrian explosion 540 million years ago. He has some very old cherts that he found in a cave in South Africa; they are now sitting in his basement in Arizona. He says if he had the money, he could slice them into very thin slices and see if he could find a pair of skinny fossilized legs. This would prove that there were a few beings hanging around before 500 million years ago, and we could all go to Sweden and drink champagne. 

I can’t really even begin to cover the depressing funding conversations I had with these scientists. Each one of them said the same thing: the United State does not fund basic research anymore, and other countries do. We pay the head football coach at Michigan 6 million dollars a year, and I am sure he can’t identify a chert. I guess this is what decline looks like up close. 

But go Chico go! Maybe he will be the first astrophysicist in history to have his research funded by his grandparents. 

I never had to use the little poo bag for a day time “event”, thank god. Paul’s daughter told me that people clap when you come back to the boat and I would rather die of constipation. 

Oh speaking of which, my friend Anne Marie told me that her sister went on a four day excursion like this and one man was so constipated he had to be airlifted out. 

We were very good at one thing: leaping off the boat to pick a camp site. Thomas is rather spry and I am apparently a whiz at picking the right view. The little astrophysicists never had a chance. And the views really were sublime, just indescribably beautiful with the canyon towering above you and the water at your feet. 

I never had the moment that one friend swore I would have, i.e.”having a blast”. I had some nice moments, but was in a near constant state of dread that something would really go awry. 

Food was ok….we had lots of wine, so what the hell. Lunch was always a sandwich bar with “sides” of the most preposterous junk food I have seen since I was a child in the 70s: potato chips, m&ms, terrible packaged cookies, red vines. Thomas held on to his little trail mix for dear life.

The last night was one for the ages. I was sitting with the guy who admitted he had skin head friends in his youth…but this only came out later when I gave a sort of jaunty nazi salute in response to something (Don’t judge! I was killing it on that trip.) Anyway he almost fell out of his chair he was laughing so hard…and then, only then did he drop that bomb. I high tailed it back to my little nerd tribe to hear more about the sex life of cherts (non existent). 

We heard someone say as they got into their tent that night “I am not used to being this happy” lol!! We had had a tough day- really cold rain and wind. But, and this is true: Paul lifted up some sort of oar, and in full Poseidon mode ranted what I believe was Shakespeare into the wind. I am not making this up: he screamed that the rain must stop. And it did. 

But we were already frozen. 

We all took turns after dinner speaking about the trip- it’s a last night ritual..then we gave the staff a big tip and went to bed. But then the thunder and lightening started and continued throughout the night. I didn’t care, because I was going home (HOME!!) but I worried the helicopter wold be affected. My little feet were sticking out of the tent: drip drip, but I didn’t care…because a small plane would come to me the next day. So I lied there (I think lay is incorrect grammar in this?) happily listening to the cacophony of thunder against ancient rocks, waiting for the sun and coffee and a return to civilization. When I woke from a very short sleep, I learned that my darling professor K had skipped erecting a tent (he is low maintenance that one), and fearing a rock fall on his head due to the heavy rains, moved to the camp "kitchen", where he slept under the food table. It just goes to show you the limits to a U of Chicago and Caltech education….I can only imagine the hell he endured. 

Luckily the morning sky cleared enough for us to get in a small helicopter for the short ride to a dirt runway. (It felt like the last moments in Saigon)…They asked our weight, and we just yelled it out, with perhaps a few qualifiers about how we were presently in the Wehlen family foul sailing weather gear- heavy gear we had finally pulled on because we were tired of being wet and we had lost all sense of vanity or pride. Then we were flown to this weird ranch where where everyone was to get on planes that would fly them back toto Vegas or to the starting point. When Thomas told the “air traffic controller” - a rather dim man with a walkie talkie- that we would be flying out in our own little plane direct to Oakland, he said that was not possible. Thomas kept assuring him it was under control and to please duck because there it was in the sky. I am paraphrasing…but this is no time for boring details about us arguing about the difference between Oakland and Auckland with this simpleton. (which we basically did) 

So the sky is darkening, and I am slightly freaking out, and then this little plane lands and the stairs drop down and I see not one but two blond women pilots who greet us like old pals. Then they basically say we are skipping the formalities including the security briefing. They tell me where the vodka and snacks are, and the we take the hell off. The plane is so cool…it can land in these little places- not a jet obviously because that would require a long runway. It takes off almost like a helicopter. I was in love (apparently Stephen M owns one and takes it to Tahoe) 

Then I sit back and toast myself with the tiny vodka i had been using to clean my face in the Colorado River (long story ask my facialist). In less than two hours are are at Oakland in the car…calling all of you.

yay

I wound’t do it again- it is so hard on the body: my skin and hair are ruined and it was seven nights of very bad sleep. I almost collapsed in bed at noon when I got back. I mean it… we were just so tired.

The only thing I do know is most of the misery was of my own making. The actual experience is not exactly comfy, but the hell was, as it always is, created in my own head. Also we had lots of wonderful residual effects Thomas and I. I mean it: nothing bothers you anymore in the days after sleeping in a rainy tent. because you realize that your bed and fridge and fresh avocados are really all a person needs to be happy. 

Give money to science people! Elect smart people! Cherts matter. Rocks matter. Stars matter. 

Tomorrow Queen Mary updates only I promise. xx