Rubber Chicken

Traveling with Mr. Golden Underwear.

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Slow day, as we boarded our ship for the next 10 days and left Lisbon for our next stop, Porto. With the average age of the passengers on this cruise being in the low 70s, we’re kind of feeling like we walked into a brochure for a community for active seniors. For some reason, one of the excursions is to be in a Colonial Penn Life Insurance Commercial with Alex Trebec. Instead of gathering around the piano bar, they hover round it in their electric scooters. 1/12th of the passengers have been on the ship, since Australia 92 days ago. We met one of these couples and the guy actually referenced his Fidelity portfolio, so they were basically a mirage in your 401K journey. As pictured, budding author, Scott Twomey, wants to write one of his novels that teem with ass violence on a future 2030 world cruise, but by then his protagonist, Jim Deacon, will be so worried about his prostate that he might not be able to tune up a few drug lords like in his first 2 novels. Our waiter from Croatia told us that this cruise is different, since the guests have manners. Dorothy, we aren’t on Carnival anymore!

 

Traveling with Mr. Golden Underwear.

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After 22 years of marriage and 27 together, Scott almost left me for his dream cone. She melted his heart by simply melting in the Porto sun. Porto is known as the city of bridges having a total of 8, while NYC is not known at all for having many more than 8. Interestingly, the home’s fronts are tiled just like this church. After getting tough port wine stains off of his front door, Mr. Clean became a national hero. We learned that both Cro Magnan and Neanderthal Man both hailed from Portugal, yet Portugal the Man hails from Alaska. Our DNA is only 12% different from those early men, yet with the average age of our fellow cruisers being near 75, some of them got alerted by Ancestry.com that Phil Neanderthal is likely a 2nd or 3rd cousin match to them (not to mention each being part of the sites data breach). Goodbye to Portugal, as we fight rough seas towards England and France. As with both Portugal the Country and Portugal the Man, I Feel It Still.

 

Traveling with Mr. Golden Underwear.

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We are adrift on the North Atlantic with the Day at Sea. While I referred to my flight to Paris, as veal class, our day truly simulated that as we were confined to our small quarters and force fed until we couldn’t move sadly much like a baby calf. While not exactly milk fed, Scott did take a turn under the tap of the soft ice cream machine. When I called my mom, it dawned on me that our day schedule on the ship mirrors that of her independent/assisted living facility. Much like their residents, we have assistance with driving, meals, and housekeeping. We both have bingo-check ☑️. (Simulation pictured). We both have checkers-Bingo! Although we went to the gym, it may as well have been chair yoga, as it’s hard to keep your balance on a rocking ship. It’s like doing crunches with bed spins. While we passed on the line dancing lessons, trivia contests, and art lectures, somewhere in Boca Del Vista, there’s the cruise ship B Team teaching the Macarena and the Electric Slide to some Golden Girls. While we are certainly decades away from the everyday veal experience, aside from bailing on a performance of “Some Enchanted Evening” that my Mom would groove to, it was a pretty good relaxing day. However, I did order the veal weiner schnitzel for dinner to punctuate our lardass day.

 

Traveling with Mr. Golden Underwear.

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Well today, the Captain is under the weather, although the weather is as dreary as I feel. We went to St. Peter’s Port in Guernsey, England; which welcomes you to Sunny Guernsey. Guernsey is to sunny as British teeth are to white. Keeping with the veal theme, Guernsey is known for it’s cows. I’m hoping I’m not suffering from Mad Cow’s disease, although fairly a sane cow should be pissed at my and Scott’s beef consumption. We set out in a tender, which was no “Love me tender,” but more closely tinder not tender, as the lifeboat continually swiped left and right in the current. Just hoping that I’m not patient zero with Norovirus or Legionnaire’s Disease, although as we head to Cherbourg, France, I guess it would be French Foreign Legionnaires Disease. Doubtful, as those of you who cruise know, I was diligent with my “washy, washy, happy, happy”. Heading to sleep before seeing lots of graveyards from WWII. Do we know how to have fun or what?

 

Traveling with Mr. Golden Underwear.

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We spent the day in Cherbourg, France, which was an important battle in WWII. Whatever germs have been having their own WWIII in my belly have begun their retreat down colon hill. Sure, the soldiers in WWII were tremendously brave, but I think I exemplified bravery over adversity sightseeing, while experiencing that rumble down below without knowing whether a loo would present itself at the opportune time. In preparation for the Singapore Summit with Kim Jong Un and the Orange Menace, Scott has found us a suitable bunker to live out our days, when things go south.

Tonight, on the ship, they had the White Party. At first, I thought it was a reference to the demographic of passengers onboard, but it referred only to their attire. On to Normandy…

 

Traveling with Mr. Golden Underwear.

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Today, we went on a 9 1/2 hour tour of the D-Day Beaches. While Scott is in idiot savant about all things about the Normandy and WWll battles to the point that he might as well be one of those green army figures, we were both idiots with respect to what the weather might hold. While our guide and fellow tourists mainly wore sweatshirts and down coats, we braved the beaches in shorts and shirts and I felt colder than when I was in Iceland, but will no longer beach about the cold. Once we arrived, we clearly saw why the WWll soldiers are the Greatest Generation and why we are the Whiny Bitch Generation (Millennials don’t run to your Mommy and complain just yet). These soldiers traveled in the cold on rough seas, jumped clothed into frigid water, had bullets whizzing at them, while trying to ascend hills to attack the Germans. We bitch when our flight is delayed an hour. They navigated through minefields, around tanks, and got hit with bullets and grenades from bunkers and foxholes. We all have ADD, ADHD, gluten intolerance, and peanut allergies. (When I was a kid NO ONE had a peanut allergy. To today’s kids and their Smothers, Mr. Peanut might as well belong to Third Reich). At 18-20 years of age, these young guys were willing to lay down their lives for democracy and freedom. Our 18-20 year olds are willing to lay down and pretend to have a life, while playing Mortal Combat. Their generation participated earning them Purple Hearts, Silver Stars, and Medals of Honor. Our generations participate and earn a participation ribbon with extra praise for sharing our gummy bears.

The stories of these soldiers are meaningful, as they fought for our freedom and that of France. Being here, you can’t help but recognize the gratitude of the French people to our Greatest Generation as they tip their berets to Americans.

We saw a great deal of the beautiful countryside of this region from Chateaus to chapeaus on today’s trip. Scott was so moved by the collaboration among the Allies that at dinner, he mingled with Aussies and even Canadians thanking the Canadians for their service on the Beaches before damning them to hell for sending us the Polar Vortex all winter (and apparently today-Brrrrrr!). Thanks to the Greatest Generation for giving us the freedoms that we have even if allows for Kardashians, fidget spinners, and rap.

 

Traveling with Mr. Golden Underwear.

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If it’s Wednesday, it must be Belgium. We are In Bruges. However, in Belgium, they pronounce it Brew-ha! You may ask “What’s the Brew-ha-ha about Brew-ha?” The 1st answer is the brew Actually, they have 1680 different brands of beer here with many bars having all of them in stock. A teenager can ask la bartender, “What’s on tap?”, and turn the drinking age by the time they get an answer. They are also known for their chocolate, as Bruges is the place where chocolate first came to Europe. It originated as a creation by a pharmacist, who coated drugs to mask their bad taste. With that, I’d become a Crestor addict. Much like Quake with his daily pills wrapped in cheese, I’d find a way to have the chocolate coating and spit out the chewy medicinal center. So much tastier than leeches. They also specialize in waffles. I saw an infertility clinic here called Let Go of My Eggo! They also are known for their pomme frites.

As Bruges is named for having many bridges, we went on a boat ride in the canal. We had a celebrity sighting, when we passed a volleyball floating in the canal. It turns out, Wilson from the Tom Hanks movie, “Castaway” summers in Bruges.

Bruges is an unbelievably beautiful city with Old World Medieval charm in its architecture. The people were very warm and engaging, but the locals tend to cough incessantly. I though this was odd, but then I realized; they’re just Flemish.

Traveling with Mr. Golden Underwear.

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We arrived in Holland and went straight to Anne Frank’s House. (Props to some brave goys for hiding Anne and family). Unfortunately, you have to buy tickets 1-2 months in advance to get in. Amsterdamnit! On the positive side, they offered us free WiFi. So, if Anne were to write her diary today, it would likely be posted on Snapchat and Facebook. Next, we took a canal boat ride buying a 48-hour pass. Since you sit in an enclosed boat, it pretty much rivaled the thrill of a ride in the car, so that was a waste of Euros. Amsterdamnit! Next, we went to Rembrandt Square (Picasso’s Cube was closed) and on to a hip area called the 9 streets. We had a delicious Dutch Pancake. It makes me ponder the International in the name of International House of Pancakes, when they don’t have this delicacy or nary a crepe. They don’t deserve to be called IHOP any more (Oh wait, Karma changed their name to IHOB. Can’t wait for the Yemen Goat Burger). As soon as we finished, the rain hit, Amsterdamnit!, so we returned to the ship.

We headed back to the 9 streets. I will say that I have never been in a livelier city for nightlife or to see Ladies of the Nightlife. It may surpass Vegas. Of course, we ventured into the Red Light District. (“How much is that girlie in the window?”) When it comes to my vice spectrum, I’m certainly less Red Light District and more Blue Plate Special. Speaking of fine dining establishments, we saw an Indian Restaurant in the Red Light District called Kama Sutra. Unless one of the positions is samosa, count me out! Anyway, we returned to the ship where we immersed our full bodies under the hand sanitizer and like Roxanne, we don’t have to put on the Red Light!

Traveling with Mr. Golden Underwear.

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Today was an Amsterdam good day. We started out seeing the only within city limits windmill. While it once was an operating windmill, now it’s been repurposed into a beer garden. In a way, it’s become a Windmilli Vanilli. (Girl, you know it’s true!)

Next, despite my protests on Scott’s choice of sights to see, at our next stop, I got to pet a lemur. No, we didn’t return to the red light district where petting a lemur is 15 Euros more than sticking your finger in the Dyke. No, we went to the zoo and hands down, paws down, and even hooves down; it was the best zoo that I ever visited. We were allowed to actually go inside many of the animals’ cribs, so monkeys, lemurs, and red pandas were even closer to us than little Otto and Klaus being pushed in their strollers. In fact, we were so close that we actually overheard this private conversation between the Kudo and the Ostrich pictured above.

Merline-an ostrich speaking to Madeline, a Kudo: “I just think that destiny brought us together and we were meant to spend our futures together. Sure, I’m from Pakistan and you’re from Africa, but our love is strong enough to overcomes our differences. Let love win!”

Madeline the Kudo: “Society will never accept our love; a love that dare not speak its name. I love you, but Damn it! We aren’t even in the same Phylum! Their bigotry will tear us apart!”

Merline the Ostrich: Love is more than feather or fur deep. We have lots in common. We are both vertebrates. We can make this work from that starting point. We don’t need anyone else, just each other.”

Madeline the Kudo: “Pull your head out of the sand! The World will not accept our love. Our differences are far too great. Sure, maybe if I was an emu, I could bring you home to my parents. Although it breaks my heart, I must let you go. Fly, be free.”

Merline the Ostrich: “Now, that’s just cruel. You know I can’t fly. Goodbye, my love!(End Scene)

After the zoo, we walked around the city and to the flower markets stopping for lunch. Scott took out his credit card to pay for us both, but I suggested that we just go Dutch. It was Gouda him to offer though.

What distinguishes Amsterdam from other cities is the prevalence of bicycles and pot smoking. It really took me back to Middle School. Wait! If I rode my bike to get high back then, was I really in Amsterdam? (Wow, that blew my mind! Deep!). The cyclists are already crazy and add weed to the mix and there’s a lot of CUIs (cycling under the influence). In fact, Scott and I saw a bike crash, because a woman forgot to pass the dutchy on the left hand side.

After a nice boat ride in the canals, we rushed back to the ship before it left for the English Channel as we will end our trip in London. It’s been a Helluva Amsterdam good time!

Traveling with Mr. Golden Underwear.

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As the day sets on our ship, it also sets on our trip. We got off the ship early in Greenwich to stay by Heathrow and beat the Mean Time rush, as we head home tomorrow.

Today, we started to get with our reimmersion back into our life in states. We are certainly tired and poor (tip rant to come), but haven’t been hungry since we left the airport. When they’re not feeding you on the cruise, they have you on continuous IV drip with a giant version of a hamster water bottle near your pillow flowing with frozen daiquiris. Although we kept up with laundry, the ship has a complimentary laundry room due to the length of their cruises. Unbeknownst to me, I entered the World Cup of Competitive Laundry with passengers fighting for the few machines. Of course, the Chinese Laundrists held the highest seed with their dominance in the spin cycle. However, the Australians, Canadians, and Americans fielded strong teams with Canada favored as the only Washerwomen who could possibly upset the Chinese. Sadly, the Russian Team was disqualified for doping. Scott began at 9:30am, but couldn’t secure a birth into a washer. I relieved him at 9:50a getting a machine edging out a polite Brit. However, I stepped out mid-rinse and was unseated by the Chinese, as I found my load removed. Although the British threatened by moving the Aussie’s laundry out and exacting a permanent press on the Chinese, the Chinese won the Cup. As my load took nearly 4 hours 15 minutes, the US failed to medal.

Now for the tipping rant. I believe in tipping. I’m a generous tipper. In my past, I have supported myself on tips. First off, there needs to be a standard monetary unit for tipping. I’m tipping in dollars in a place that takes Euros only to get Euros, but now need pounds. Maybe we should tip in bitcoin. While I have no idea what bitcoin is nor do I care to listen when someone explains it to me, I have no idea about tipping either. Sure, some is straight forward, but does everyone who gently strokes your luggage from hall to hailing a cab to cab to doorman to bellman to Scott moving the luggage away from the doorway deserve a tip. By the time we got to our hotel, I think I should’ve just hired a Sherpa and called it a day. As for on the ship, sure we had no problem overtipping the waiter, the assistant waiter, the maitre D, his nephew, and the cabin stewards, but is it really required to tip the crouton cuber, the Creme brûlée torcher, and the conga line captain. Frankly, I think that because we sailed with an entire passenger manifest of Thurston and Lovey Howells, you don’t want to look cheap. Meanwhile, as we are greasing the palms of every Stanislaus, Dick, and Harry; the rich probably don’t tip. While the service was impeccable, I wonder who do you have to know to get some towel art on that ship? A nice towel elephant would’ve gone a long way towards having me mine some bitcoin for that service. Of course on the way off the ship, as we were separated from most of our foreign currency except some Euros, the only taxi we could get wouldn’t take a credit card. Scott said, “Just give him Euros”. I said, “Sure from the guy who throws a fit, if you get a Canadian dime in his change.” He found an ATM, so we were able to make our Brexit.

As this will likely be the last entry in the log, unless travel brings the need for a Day 17 entry, thanks to all who’ve traveled along with us via these posts. Wishing all the Dads and the Moms, who double as Dads, a Happy Father’s Day. As Scott and I conclude our longest trip together to date, my dear husband turned to me and whispered, “You’ll have to get dinner on your own Monday night. I’ve had enough togetherness.” As Day 19-25 has me in Rochester, NY, Wilmington, DE, and Nashville, he can enjoy his soup for one come Tuesday. As they say in London, Ta ta for now!