At least it's not solitary confinement

So bored I even went to an art auction

Day four of our long international nightmare. We have been at sea so long that the hardtack is moldy and tastes of rat hair and bilge water. The crew is at one another’s throats and the bosun has had to be restrained in the brig. The captain seems to desire that we sail close enough to land to make mutiny a strong possibility, and on he sails. Day after day, the same routine. Arise with the sun and wash the lice from from your hair and stow your hammock for the day. See what Cookey has found to slop together and look at the gruel as if it was actual food. Climb to the topsail and set to work mending and wrapping the cloth securely ….. another day at sea.

I say international but so far the closest to international we have had this cruise was taco truck in Los Angeles. Cabo San Lucas canceled because of a hurricane (does the eastern Pacific Ocean have hurricanes? Tropical storm? Cyclones? Big winds?), which does sound like a good reason, but still disappointing. The next chance to have dirt or asphalt under my sandals was Acapulco. We were within sight of the hotels and then turned away. The weather report said 10 mph winds with gusts to 25 mph. The port was closed because of that. What a bunch of wimps. That makes today day four of being ship bound and then one additional day at sea, before (hopefully) Guatemala. It would be really great to actually stop at a foreign country this trip.

On the good side, I have done two years of cross stitch during the cruise. This cruise has nothing on a full season of the Seattle Seahawks. I’m not sure if I told this before (In probably have) but I only cross stitch during football season. My best friend “L’ loves the Seahawks and never misses a chance to catch their game. I’m pretty sure if something happened to her on a Sunday and the ambulance was taking her to the hospital, she’s ask the attendant to ‘Put on the ‘Hawks’ for the ride to the hospital. There is a group of us who meet at 10am ‘ship time’ each day at “Knitters and stitchers social”. It is more social than knitting. They should rename it to “More words than stitches”. One woman who knows how to everything, she hasn’t gotten to do anything, she has been so busy showing the other women how to cast on, crochet, some things I have never heard of. I know if she got hired on a season of the ‘Deadliest Catch’ she’s mend the nets. And they would catch more.

The other night I was in ‘Taste’ one of the complimentary restaurants. Not the one that serves everything with French Fries, including breakfast and dessert. ‘Taste’ has cloth napkins and table cloths. The servers all wear neckties, even the men. The first time I went there the woman walked around the podium and looked me up and down before escorting me to my seat. I asked her why, and she told me that ‘Jeans with holes were not allowed in their dining room’. I was confused I was wearing shorts, pasty white legs were better than a $200 pair of Calvin Klein’s with artistically created holes? Anyway. The couple seated after me looked like they were ready for ‘formal night’, classy right? They order, I swear, Diet Coke and Grey Goose. What the heck ? If you are going to add vodka to Diet Coca Cola and you are pretentious enough to order Grey Goose to it, you are a douche. Everyone knows you order Stoli with Diet Coke.

The table to my left sat eight, toward the end of service, officers of the ship came and took that table. Eight men in black with gold on their shoulders and sewn on the wrists of their jackets. I wasn’t quite sure if they were officers of the crew or a jewelers funeral. Their table was fitted with black cloth napkins. When they put the napkins on their laps they visually blended with their coal black trousers. They were so classy that they wore trousers, not pants. Why black napkins? I have no idea. Was the ship trying to disguise that these men were so classy that there wasn’t and chance that they might drop something in their lap and so no need for a napkin. Maybe they were afraid the white napkin would clash with their black. I asked if I could get a black napkin, and was told no. I wasn’t wearing black. (actually they did bring me one, it didn’t make me any neater)

The air is so humid. So humid that when you open your slider to the balcony that the humidity hits and glass in the room and instant fog. The mirror makes you look great, better than great. Like you are shot in professional photographer’s studio in soft focus. Not a single wrinkle or line to be seen. True when I went to sit on the toilet seat, I nearly skidded off.

I went up to the pool area, the ‘Garden of Melinoma’. All these people laying on Seattle mariners towels, with bags plastered with the Space Needle on it, trying to get a year’s worth of sun tan in one day. I saw them the next day walking around like the Hulk. You know, stiff legged and arms out to the side, like one of those diving birds drying off their feathers. Don’t let any body part touch any other body part. They were so red, you could take a picture of them and tell people it was a picture of a sunset.

After dinner I went to the bar for a nightcap and was talking with Malcolm. He pointed the the man next to him and told me that the guy was from Los Angeles and smelled like he hadn’t showered since two days before the cruise. He was wearing a XXXL wife beater top (they must have an actual name, it just came to me — tank top — doh!) and it was tight on him. He had bigger boobs than I have, heck he probably would give Carol Doda a run for her money. He had, he thought women rapt on his witty banter. I’m thinking the women are hoping for the rapture instead. He has been everywhere because he used to be a model - I shit you not, he said he was an underwear model for Haines. I didn’t know they had a series for big belly’s and small cocks.

Well that brings things up to date. Took me four sea days to come up with that, I hope Guatemala offers more insights.

Dinner done, Frangelico and carrot cake, but I think I’m out of words for the night.

Leaving LA - Sea Jail

 

That title is supposed to read ‘Cabo San Lucas’. A former tiny fishing village at the tip of Baja California. It used to be that the end of the road was La Paz. When I say road, I mean a dirt track through the desert. Now the end of the road is an international airport. The fishing shack has been replaced by a beach front of miles of all inclusive resorts and the desert, golf courses, at least that is what I’ve read.

I say supposed, because we avoiding bumpy water. Only about half of the passengers are stable enough to be able to board a moving tender to go ashore, and that is excluding the Rascal electric scooters and wheelchairs. So an additional day of being locked on a floating prison ship. A nice prison ship, but my movement is certainly restricted and that sounds like jail to me.

I last wrote when we were ‘Straight Outta LA.’ and dinner was approaching. I decided to try one of the other ‘Specialty’ restaurants, Ocean blue. After the previous day’s Paella I was curious if the restaurant the was exclusively Fruit De Mer was any better than the one dish tastes the same as all the rest, dining room.

Dinner was one of the better ones so far. A nice pile of chopped up Ahi Tuna Tartar with the right amount of soy and sesame oil. I don’t think the staff knew how to work around my table. The iPad takes over the table setting and the food works around it. I know this flummoxed their well oiled service machine, but I insist. The main was a bowl of Cioppino and some very very garlic, bread. As if it was possible to have more garlic than bread, they were very close to accomplishing it. The serving was smaller than I had anticipated, but at least there were no broken shells and I didn’t end up with an angry Italian man screaming at me like the last time I ate it in Italy.

Frangelico for dessert and then off to the bar that I have been calling home since Seattle. A great Latin trio had the dance floor packed I was nervous that someone had snagged my stool on the end of the bar. My concern was warranted, I had to take a seat, in the absolute center. Not the place for an antisocial introvert. M.J. Behind the bar was shaking Mojitos, pouring wine and concocting tasty looking beverages. In between I caught out the side of my eye M.J. He was worrying a paper napkin into a ball. He didn’t strike me as the nervous sort, and I went back to watching the dancers and listening to that Latin beat. A small Cordial glass appeared on the bar next to me and in it is a perfect white paper napkin Rose. It was a darned piece of art. Thank you so much M.J.

Had a drink, said good might to the bar and to Malcolm (Mr. Malbec) and hit the room.

Morning arrived and all the usual things happened. In room Starbucks, shower, attire decisions, refueling and then the slaves to the needle group. Cross stitch, embroidery, knitting and crochet all are welcome. I pushed and pulled until I couldn’t determine where the next hole was supposed to be placed. The bulk of the image I am attempting to create is a cute, 60’s pop-art blonde. She now has one or two unplanned zits. Unplanned yes, but I guess no one says “It’s Thursday. Think I’ll have a zit on Saturday. Oh, and please make it right on the tip of my nose.”

The afternoon was wasted on a deck outside watching the never changing sea pass.

On boarding I had made several reservations for various activities. One of those was admission to the main musical production on the big stage. It was unexpectedly great. Great enough that I went back to see the show for the 930 performance as well. Four boys, four girls, dancing, three vocalists and while the stage did not change, the background was all digital and did change. Each of the dancers had a few minutes to solo their steps besides their group sets. I think I enjoyed it more the second time than the first.

I went back to my bar for a nightcap and Malcolm beckoned. I made the usual small talk. That did you do today? What did you eat? Then he started talking. His wife had died in 2023 and he was still recovering from it. Aortic aneurysm. She wasn’t feeling well and they were cuddling on the couch, she grasped his arm said “I love you” and passed away. I am pretty good at interrupting people when they are talking, this was one of the few times that my brain told my mouth, ‘Just shut the Hell up and listen.’ Glistening eyes he finished and moved on to the good times. The good times sounded pretty good.

The house lights rose signifying it was time to find a different bar. I bid Malcolm Adieu and made the long walk back to my room.

This morning, was wash, rinse, repeat of yesterday and all other sea days.

Breakfast the same as yesterday. I noticed three couples a the tables near to me having their breakfast. Other than ‘What are you having?’ Honestly not a single other word was muttered by any of the three couples. I found that sad that on vacation the only conversation you have with your spouse is their culinary choices in the morning.

As I left the man at the next table glanced my way. I said ‘See ya’ (I thought I had a smile in my voice) he acted as if I had handed him a Watchtower pamphlet and asked him if he had accepted Jesus Christ as his personal savior. I think some people are just too perfect in their own eyes.

Needle group at 10 and when my eyes crossed I moved location and knocked this bit of self promotion.

Maybe I’ll be back later.

The City of Angels or Devils ?

 

Los Angeles (San Pedro) - October 5 2025

We arrived on time 7 am and I was overjoyed with the prospect of visiting the underbelly of the Los Angeles shoreline. Not! In my 20’s I lived in Southern California, I’d tell you how far from San Pedro in miles, but I have no idea. Now ask me how far something is from where I lived and I can tell you how long it takes to get there, but miles are a mystery. There used to be a tourist wharf area painted to reflect a New England fishing village, named Ports ‘O Call. It was the only reason I think I have ever been to San Pedro. Tasty overpriced sea food and gewgaws.

Since Ports ‘O Call was leveled to make a better tourist area in 2000, not even nostalgia was a draw to me. There wasn’t enough time to rent a car and drive to my old high school, visit a friend and make it back before the ship’s 2 pm departure. In days of yore, when I knew the freeways and was used to the traffic I might have chanced it, but the threat of wearing the same clothes for 2 days and flying to Cabo San Lucas to re-board the ship was not worth the risk.

To add to my self inflicted misery, today we pick up passengers for the rest of the cruise. Up until not the ship has been comfortable. Built to hold four thousand, but only 1700 boarded in Seattle and 700 in San Francisco. No lines, elevator banks clear. Seeing familiar faces. Well, today, we add 1700 more. Here come the lines and the big city attitudes.

A slow start of the day, sipped coffee on the veranda with a nice view of a gray battleship to my left and mountains of sheer walls of shipping containers to my right. Oh and right in front? An immense parking lot. Starbucks's instant exhausted for the day, a shower and some attire and off to breakfast.

I was hoping to find a decent croissant to wash the memory of that awful excuse for a classic one a day or two. Seems there are a myriad of Mexican bakery’s (bakeries?) near enough to walk to, but the closest one that sounds like what I am looking for is miles afar from here. I suppose the ship’s breakfast will add enough fuel for the 16 to 20 mile bike ride I hope to get in today. Mr. Google says there is a bike rental that opens at 9 am less that a mile away. Probably a mile and a half if you add in the convoluted routes these cruise ships love. As I said before I feel like a rat in a maze and expect cheese at the end of the maze.

The first step once out of the roped corridors was orientation. The ship always appears to be facing a different direction than I expect. Once that is settled, then how do I get away from the ship to actual pavement. Pavement under my soles and north and south figured out (even though it feels backwards) I’ll should get to the bike rental location by 9:40.

The walk was pleasant. Past fisherman’s memorial to those lost hunting tuna. The memorial to Merchant Marine losses. Each ship lost and the names of the lost crew members chiseled into black marble. I noticed many of the ships were named “The ALCOA - something”. Quite a number of ALCOA’s in a short span of time. No dates, so I have to assume they were lost in the Forty’s and they were Liberty ships taking material to England and Europe to sustain the war effort. So many ships and so many men’s names in the black mirror.

Arriving at the bike rental location and I find it closed tighter than a vegan’s jaws at an all you can eat Texas BBQ. I thought they opened at 9am ? I fidgeted and paced for a few minutes, Their phone number was written on the sign so I called. The nice lady’s recorded voice told me to check their website for hours of operation. Okay Google Maps can be out of date. The website told me that from late September until December the hours were 10 am on. Closing time was of no consequence to me, since I needed to be back aboard the ‘Joy’ by 1:30 anyway. Wait, pace, wait, tap toes. 10 am comes and goes. 1015 and either a bum or the proprietor come by, it’s difficult to decode sometimes. The bum pulls out a ring of keys and unlocks the door to the bike shack. Probably has his meth locked inside. Maybe not. He leaves the door open and begins spraying and cleaning to a high luster bike helmets. I am just a piece of spin drift as far as he is concerned. 1030 comes. I’ve had enough being invisible. So I slowly approach so as to now ruin his helmet polishing revelry. Timidly “Uh, what time do you intend on opening?”. ‘Eleven’. I had an unsaid - ‘you have got to be shitting me and walked away.’

I walked the appropriate time away from the metal box and then came back at 10:58. Still more indifference and helmet polishing. I’m beginning to think he is getting some perverse sexual gratification rubbing those hard round head covers. The proper thing to do is avert my eyes and let him finish, but I have a time limit and miles to cover.

He looks up and recognizes me as a sentient being and puts the helmet down and looks a question at me. I interpret it to mean, “Yes?”

‘I’d like to rent a bike’

“Regular or e-bike”

‘Probably and e-bike, for a couple hours’

“You need to leave me a piece of identification. We’ll charge you the rate when you return.”

I was going biking today not driving and left my driver’s license back in the ship’s safe. I have to nearly force my hand to unzip the correct pocket and carefully remove my Passport. I can’t believe I’m about to leave my passport with this helmet polishing pervert. But I do place it on the counter along with my credit card. He is now a frozen statue, he doesn’t make a move to pick up and of the proffered bank and government information.

“I’ll need some I.D.”

‘There is my passport’

“No I mean some good I.D.”

‘Huh?’

“You know. Like a driver’s license”

‘The passport is kind of the ultimate I.D.’

“It has to be something from a state”

Shit, and I left my library card on the ship too. I guess I can get back to the ship get the approved document and return and still have time to get a ride in, if I don’t dawdle.

‘OK, what’s the best route to get to Pacific Palisades? (8 miles away. Round trip I can do in 90 minutes)’

“Oh. Our bikes are only for use in the area. That is too far away”.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What’s with him and this company? I surrendered. Waved my pink panties and gave up.

Turning around I see the Free Town Bus pull up across the street. Nimble as a cat I pounce on it and find 1/3 of a seat still vacant. The other 2/3 of the seat are occupied by a Mexican Sumo wrestler. Perhaps he wasn’t a sumo wrestler, but if he went to Japan, he would be World Champion in no time. I glanced at the seat behind me to see if an actual human was there. No such luck, his twin was ensconced there.

The bus took us through a downtown area, that was Sunday morning dead. Made a couple turns and stopped in front of a large shipping warehouse that has been converted to an artisan’s mall. It was full of quite a few great items that would look great on my bookshelf collecting dust for me. I reluctantly left them behind

Back outside to meet the bus for the next stop, the Aquarium. I was more in the mood for fish on my plate than swimming in a tank.

Next stop, Waterfront. Now I’ll see what replaced Ports ‘O Call. We drove for a few minutes and were back at my starting location, blue metal bike shed and all. I stand up and my fucking plastic belt buckle explodes. (NO COMMENTS!)

It’s barely 12:30!

Back on the ship I find that the Excursions desk is open at the same time as I am there. I want to get a bus ride up to a city in Guatemala and the one I want is sold out. A woman said to get to the desk and ask to be put on the waiting list. New people onboard, the line snakes around almost eats itself. After a longer wait than I would have preferred, I did pass the time visiting with the couple behind me, and promptly forgot their story. An unattractive but memorable woman is standing by a pillar slowly inching her way towards the line and like a slug approaching a freshly planted Basil plant she slips between myself and the couple behind me.

They are nice. I am not. “Excuse me! You need to be at the end of the line and not between this couple and me.”

‘ I was at the end of the line, but stepped out to talk to my son’

“You certainly weren’t here”

She wormed her way in after the couple behind me.

I know when she came in, because she was unattractive enough for me to notice when she her hubby and progeny walked in from the elevator bank. I hate cheaters. Unless it’s me. That is a totally different matter.

Back at the room, some messing around and texting home, while there is cell service. The ship pulled away from the pier and dinner is now in my tummy. (Remember no comments!)

 

Someplace between SF and LA

 

 

 I’m not sure if ‘bored out of my skull’ is exactly correct, though I am pretty bored.

Maybe I’ll jump ship in Columbia and either spend a day or two or see if Alaska Airlines will allow a change. Two full days at sea only to pass through Miami on the way home sounds akin to torture to me today.

I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it.

Today as I stated vigorously is a sea day. Which equates to a sleep in day. I didn’t sleep in, but I did take my own sweet ass’ed time getting showered and into today’s duds. The casual restaurant seemed to call to me for a simple plate of eggs and toast. I stayed away for even thinking of croissants. Gimme a basic piece of wheat bread and no butter.

Well that killed 40 minutes. Now what? If I continue to read at the rate I am going on this trip I’ll be out of books before Costa Rica. I am reading “The Thursday Murder Club” it is a fun read and funny too. I think there is a television series (maybe movie) that was just released on Netflix. So I have to ration my literary consumption.

Last night’s diary said everything I wanted to say. So no iPad.

Watching downloaded videos seems inappropriate for the daytime on a cruise.

There is that black bag that holds my cross stitch. I brought it along as a last resort. This might just be that resort.

The temperature on deck might be fine, but with a 20 mph moving wind and the sea sucking any heat out of the air, I’ll have to find that glass atrium I’ve seen advertised. A floor to ceiling wall of curved glass facing the bow sounds much better than an darkened empty bar.

Up five flights of stairs from my room rests this piece of Eden. I wimped out and pressed the UP arrow on the bank of eight elevators and waited along with a small crowd including a man with a white stick and an obese woman on a ‘Rascal’ scooter. The elevator arrived and was full of the same, but different, people, including another ‘Rascal’ scooter. The five flights of stairs didn’t seem so dissuading once I saw that.

At the top of the stairs the sign has arrows pointing both left and right to get to the Observation area. I took the left one and followed a long thin hall lined with passenger cabins. What a poor design choice. Imagine having one of those rooms, and having people traipsing by at all hours of the day and night. I did find the door and was lucky enough to see a lounge chair right in the front overlooking the sea ahead. Some old coot was in the lounge next to it, so instead of plunking right down on it, I asked him if it was available. I think he heard me ask if I could shit in his hat, based on the look and the ‘No!’ I received.

Placing my bag on the chaise I turn around and see Starbucks and a bar. I blew off the hometown coffee and went to the bar to get a cuppa Joe, and was informed that it was down the other side from the one I had entered. half a ship later I found the coffee and a small snack bar. If I would have taken the right door instead of the left I would have not passed a single stateroom getting to the glassed wall.

With coffee in hand I went back to my cross stitch bag, hoping it was there, or the old coot hadn’t taken his own shit in it. In about 30 seconds it was clear to me that I didn’t want to sit here after all. It was facing directly into the sun and I felt as if I was sitting under a magnifying glass and I was an ant. See ya later, Mr. Happy.

I made my way back to some seats by the door I came in and alit on a nice love seat.

In the bag. Unfinished piece of work, needles, thread and pattern. Looks like everything. Except, what the fuck am I making? Where did I leave off? After turning the fabric to each of the cardinal compass points I got it to line up with the pattern, so at least that part was done. I am able to find the right dot on the paper that matches the last stitch, so I can at least begin. I still don’t remember what I am making.

My best friend loves watching the local football team on Sunday’s. Her fan of a husband passed away a decade ago, so she now has no one to watch with her. I am not a big football fan, but I like to think I am can help a friend out, so on Sunday I’ll turn on the game and cross stitch as it plays in the background half paying attention to the game. Then text back and forth as the game progresses. The last game was near the end of January. That was the last time I had needle in hand. Still I should know what I am making.

I start to thread my needle and another woman walks up and sits next to me and takes out some needlework. Hum? Okay I can sit with a semi kindred spirit. She introduces herself and asks if I am part of the needlework group. Uhh…no…. . I guess I should read the daily events sheet. The ‘Freestyle Daily’ has an entry everyday 10 am, Needle work group (self hosted) port side Observation lounge, exactly where I was sitting. Guess I am the unexpected ‘self host’. Because three other women are soon in a circle near me.

One of the ladies is a total newcomer to this. She bought a kit for the cruise. The other three have been doing fabric arts since their first allowance and a trip to the Five and Dime with their grandmother.

One woman ‘knows everything’, and has been everywhere and an opinion on it. One woman does have a lot of knowledge and has actually been everywhere. I feel the second woman and I could become ship mates. Nice to meet you ‘H’. The other two women are unknown as of yet. It seems like a good group, one I certainly didn’t start thinking I would become part of one at the beginning of the day. We now are official, same place 10 am every sea day.

After that it was wander the ship and try to find something to do. Eat, drink and move to the next location to eat and drink.

Evening time came as it does, so dinner was in order. The main dining room looked to be a good option. The dining room has a fixed menu with about 5 different items each day besides the normal fixed 5 entree’s. Tonight Paella was one of the day’s specials. I love Paella. The shellfish on top on rice cooked in a tomato and wine broth until the bottom of the rice has turned dark and crispy. That’s the bee’s knees.

I’m not sure if my sense of taste has changed, or the food on this cruise has deteriorated, but it really has been without and flavor, unless it’s salt. The rice was scooped out of a pot and the shellfish was steamed over water. The clams and mussels could have used a side of butter or clam juice or something. They were as plain as could be. Calamari should either be cooked until tender or left completely raw, not put in the same hot steam bath for 5 minutes the same as the clams. I almost miss having COVID on the ship, at least then there is an expectation of flavorless food.

Stopped by the bar that Malcolm and I always find ourselves at. I know nothing about him, except we are always at the same bar each night. I feel like we own it, or are at least ‘Cheers’ patrons. The band tonight was rocking it, and doing it well. Lots of hands flying in the air and butts wiggling on the dance floor. Malcolm is Mr. Malbec to one of the bartenders.

Tossed some dice on the way back to the room and was reminded about math, randomness and odds. I settled in for the night after that.

I think they moved things around

 

On the sea again. We departed a short while after 330pm. Since we were going to sail under the Golden Gate Bridge it seemed a good time to get up to the top deck and watch the scenery come to me. I have gotten ahead of myself so I’ll get back to this is a bit.

The day started as it has for the past few days, except for the rocking. Starbucks best instant in my room, some running water and soap and the big decision of the day - Which black t-shirt?

Tablecloths and napkins for breakfast. It must have been awesome, except I honestly can’t remember what the meal was. I’ll take a look next time I am by there and refresh my memory, since I know you are of tenterhooks wondering which style of eggs I had. Now I remember. Two doughy croissants. They are supposed to be layers and layers of flaky goodness, not a triangle of Bisquick basic dough, rolled to be fat in the middle and pointy on the ends. I didn’t linger.

The curmudgeon parrot hating women yesterday said the parrots may be in the park across from the Embarcadero. I asked a passing cop where the Embarcadero was and he told me it was the street that I was standing on, the entire waterfront. Well that narrowed it down. Not. Guess I’ll just have to listen for Pirate talk coming from the trees during today’s stroll along the shore.

As with most of my plans for San Francisco this trip they are etched deeply into sand. I’ll walk from there to fort at the base of the Golden Gate Bridge and back. I have previously done that walk with a detour to center span of the bridge. I’m going to avoid that’s detour, because the last time I was there. Looking at the water below, I could hear the Lorelei call “Jump. Jump, Jump”. I was not and am not suicidal but I can still hear that Siren’s call.

The option was shoes or pedals. the walk isn’t that long and it follows the shore so is flat. I’ll leave the bike for a different trip. Past T-shirt, stuffed animals, chowder, lobster and fish. Big brick building on my left selling mediocre chocolate, I come to a hill. I know it’s been at least 35 years, but this hill wasn’t here before. I swear. And for sure if it was here before it wasn’t this steep. I’m climbing this miniature Everest and e-bikes ridden by people who haven’t sat on a bike since before puberty are screaming by using throttle only. Come on people it’s in it’s name ‘Bike’ pedal your ass that overhangs the seat and maybe not threaten the pedestrians and tighten your glutes.

After the crest of the hill, then it is time to roll down at speeds that are illegal in most neighborhoods on a machine you don’t know, among throngs of Golden Years walkers. Fortunatly no hips were broken as far as I could see.

I turn my gaze to the bridge and those fuckers have moved it since last visit. I am only half way. Down below is a building that used to be a Safeway that I remember seeing in the background of the chase scene in ‘Bullit’. Now it’s probably a Marijuana store or a t-shirt shop. Regardless my plan to walk to the bridge, just sifted through my fingers. I’ve been there before, it was cold and windy.

A U-turn and back over the hill and down to the brick edifice of chocolate. I thought about getting a few nibbles of chocolate, but at $36 a pound, I’ll stick to M&M’s. Nature is telling me that 3 cups of coffee was not the thing to do before a trek along the concrete coast. ‘In and Out Burgers’ must have restrooms. It does, for customers only. Okay there must be some bushes nearby. Then I espy a ‘Restroom’ arrow. I follow the arrow to the stick figure of men and women and reach for the door and see a lock suitable to safely contain the nuclear codes. Not a bush in sight. Some saint has scrawled on the wall “Code 60232”. This must be a practical joke, but at this point I’ll try anything. Worth shaking fingers and knock knee’d I press the buttons in the correct order and the light changes from Red to Green. That was all the greenery I needed, no bushes required.

Back on my now lightened soles I continued back on my path. Into the “Largest candy store in the world” - maybe. Their candy in bulk is only $16 a pound a bargain after the last purveyors cost of empty calories. Nothing begged to leave with me until the Jelly Belly aisle. There screaming was Buttered Popcorn flavored Jelly Belly jelly beans. Not so much for me, but a good friend back home. I had purchased a larger bag of assorted Jelly Belly’s as a snack on bard game Saturday. My friend was picking through the beans eating the Butter Popcorn ones one by one. I smacked his hand and told him that was not allowed, you can’t just pick out the good stuff and leave the Candy Corn flavored ones for the rest of us. So as my gift from afar I picked up a small bag that was 100% Buttered Popcorn flavored ones for them. Then I’m going to gobble them down right before the amazed eyes. Hahahahaha !! Actually I’ll not, but evil me says it would be funny, so maybe I will.

Back to the ship via Pier ??, past the juggling busker who was worth a stop of half an hour. Buskers are certainly now part of the new economy. Next to his over sized hat for tips was a QR code to his Venmo account. I tossed a couple virtual bills into his virtual hat. You, know later, I got a thank you note via Venmo from him.

Almost to the ship a nice young man was handing out fee CD’s of his bands music. He was slick, I walked away with a $10 free CD of music I’ll never listen to. Oh well, he is a ‘06 grad of Everett high school so I guess it went to a worthy cause.

Finally the weather is good enough to have the top decks beckon, especially since we will soon be underway. By underway I mostly mean under the Golden Gate Bridge. Not a deck chair to be found, every chaise covered in paperback books or towels. Loud Country music on the speakers, sung in an Asian accent. The railings shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip to get ‘That shot’ as we passed under the bridge. My shoulders and hips included.

Under the bridge.

Then poof ! There is no one around.

Back to the room and now dinner, I believe that concludes my final day in The City By The Bay.

 

Bird hunting in the City by the Bay

 

 Arrived in San Francisco about 10 minutes ago (officially), now the wait. Two thousand people need to pass through the passport stuff. I mean we did spent a whopping 6 hours in a high risk country. Victoria, Canada.

Last evening around 6pm I decided it was time for dinner, and the ship decided it was time to leave the safety of Puget Sound, and the Strait of Juan De Fuca. As soon as land was behind us the ship started bouncing and rocking. Then it go worse. I am pretty good with motion sickness, but this was on the edge. All night we crashed and banged south. The morning wasn’t much better. You know when the weather is bumpy when the little white bags at at the head of the stairs. Around mid day things started to settle down and the green alien looking people began to morph into humans again.

I had a purse of US. currency, but only 20’s and Benjamin's, not exactly tip money. I passed a Black Jack table and asked the dealer if he could change cash into chips, and walked away with seven $5 chips for my $40 (I would have had eight but I left one for him). Much later I passed the Craps table, it was dead. No one playing. That’s is no fun. The fun of Craps is the people yelling and the chips flying. But I was bored. I tossed $27 in various wagers ($22 inside and $5 Pass) and figured I’ll toss the dice and see if I could break even, just to kill 10 or so minutes. Something went wrong with that plan. The red fives changed into a Green $25 and a shiny Black $100 and my initial bet. The men got $10 and now have enough for tips for the most of the rest of the voyage.

I have had steak two times on NCL vessels. Both times it was at Cagney’s the ship’s specialty (read additional cost) restaurant. The ribeye was huge and stringy and tough and honestly the worst steak I have ever experienced. The butcher should have been forced to write a letter to the steers mother and apologize for what he did with her son. The reason I had it twice is because I knew it couldn’t be as bad as it was the first time. It was.

Last night I thought I’d try them again. Gawd it was noisy. There was one guy across the room who was so loud I had to turn on the noise filter on my hearing aids just so I could think enough to read my e-book. The wine steward was on quite an up sell. I just wanted a basic Burgundy, BUT ! for just a few dollars more I could get a much better wine. I tried to convince him that ‘Two Buck Chuck’ from Trader Joe’s was good enough for me, especially since I wasn’t expecting 45 day dry aged Angus beef from this joint. I had to get snippy with him and tell him to quit trying to up sell me. I think I became a magician at that point, because after he brought the glass I never saw him again.

The steak this time a fillet. The review: Better than the ribeye …… somewhat. The post dinner Frangelico was great.

A bit of music at one of the bars and a drink and lights out.

Henri, M.J. and August names I need to remember of some of the staff.

———

The ship not flopping in the night was Wonderful.

After the Customs stuff. I was on the street with no plans. Then I looked up at Coit Tower high atop Telegraph Hill. Telegraph Hill? Hmm… I read a book and saw a film based on “The parrots of Telegraph Hill” a couple decades ago. Mr. Google said the parrots were frequently seen at Pioneer Park a 12 minute walk. Fair enough. The zig-zag line on Google Maps kind of confused me, but off we go! You know what the zig-zag line turned out to be? Stairs ! My Nemesis. I found that every time my heart rate was reaching higher than my house number and breath was coming in huge gulps that there suddenly was the most interesting thing to stop to look and really absorb the view. I promise you it wasn’t to rest and catch up.

You’ll never guess where Pioneer Park is located. At the top of that darned hill. My house sits at 325 feet above sea level. According to Google Telegraph is 300 feet tall. Somebody’s lying (Fellow cruiser from the Bay Area, said it was closer to 425 feet). I have walked from sea level to my house numerous times and never sweated as much at today’s parrot trek.

At the top there is a tall cement phallus pointing to the sky. It’s supposed to look like a fire nozzle to thank the fire fighters for their efforts after the 1910 earthquake and fires. I’m not sure what I would have presented the city in thanks, but a cement dick probably wouldn’t have been it.

Looking around there was not a Psittacidae (parrot to you non big word users) in sight or hearing. A great grand mother was guarding the door to the tower so I asked her if the parrots were usually here. She almost gleefully told me that some guy wrote a book about them. He used to feed them so they hung around the area. Now it was illegal to feed the parrots, though you could still have a bird feeder for I assume approved birds. She was probably the one standing outside grocery stores with the no parrot feeding petition.

Well I guess just because I didn’t accomplish the task I started out for, but it was alright. I did have one task to accomplish while I was there. I needed to pee. There was an oddly shaped building that was the unisex toilet. It was occupied and I was fearing that a junkie was shooting up in it since it was lit ‘occupied’. A short wait and a tourist looking man emerged. I pushed the button to enter and was informed “Please wait. Cleaning in progress”. Huh? I could hear machines clanking, water running, water flushing and fans blowing. Then the light changed to green and the door opened to a very clean but wet toilet. I had seen several Waymo driverless taxis today, but a driverless toilet was completely unexpected.

I overheard a couple say that North Beach was just ‘down there’. That seemed like a reasonable place to go, especially when the word ‘down’ was included in the sentence.

More steps, some even requiring a handrail down to North Beach. Now a t-shirt, Italian restaurant and Gelato haven. In the 1960’s, before the hippies, Jack Kerouac, Alan Ginsberg and others of the beat generation called North Beach home, along with Dorothea Lang, the depression area photographer. Then came the Hungry-i home to the likes of the Kingston Trio and Lenny Bruce. They either went out of fashion or O.D.’ed and the next incarnation came Carol Doda, she was a B cup at a topless place called the Condor. Then became a C cup and then kept on growing eventually ending a 44DD’s, known in advertising as packing “Twin 44’s”. So lots of history. I did my best to locate these places, and failed for the most part, though the Condor still has it’s huge sign on the corner. But I think along with the Hungry-i that Carol Dora’s twin 44 have become dust. But maybe silicone doesn’t degrade.

An Italian delicatessen caught my eye and I ordered the house special. It was perfection wrapped in carbs. It was so big I honestly could only stuff half of it into my maw. I did manage to find it a good home with the man at the next table.

A mandatory stop at the Apple Store, just because, where I caught sight of a selfie of myself on the iPhone 17 Pro Max. “Theresa you really should have gotten your tresses trimmed before leaving home.” I had tried, but the salon didn’t have an opening until after this trip started. I found a very nice salon on the way back to the ship and got my hair cut. It looks so much better and eally feels so much lighter.

Back towards the ship down to the wharf where all the over priced fish that you could desire is located. They had broiled, boiled, baked, fried, chowder, soup and Chopino, I’m starting to sound like Bubba Gump talking about shrimp. Past the buskers of violins and steel drums. The gauntlet of Pedicabs and finally back to the ship, for an relaxing hour with my feet up.

This did bring back a memory from decades ago. I was in town with my lover and we needed to return to a block on the other side of a huge hill and asked a taxi what the fare could be. We were quoted around $20. This was when $20 could buy at least ten coffees, instead of the current three. A Pedicab driver asked us where we were going and we explained the $20 taxi dilemma to him. He said “I can get you there for less than that !”. I pointed out the hill and he said he could do it. We hopped on. He began peddling and was really working hard. He came to a stop in the financial district, miles from where we wanted. He said “Go down those stairs and catch the BART to the third stop. The BART costs $1.50 each. That will be $15”. We paid with a smile, he had gotten us to out destination for less that $20. I had to admire his voracity. He did exactly what he said he would, not what we were expecting, but a man true to his word.

Good night