Carinval Glory - NYC to New England... A Memoir

I could’ve been hit by a car or something, eh?”

 

 

Good job of blending with the natives by speaking their language, EH?

 

 

And before someone growls at me for poking fun at Canadians, let me just say.....I'm from Nova Scotia, eh?

You noticed that, eh? I thought it was very subtle. Yah, he blends alright - with that big-honkin' camera stuck to his face pointed at everything from crosswalks to convenience stores, he gets mistaken for a local wherever we go.:rolleyes::p

[quote name=pyropoodle;29991457

I promise' date=' I will give Canada another try, when it's not sooooo cold. *shiver*[/quote]

Just come to Vancouver :D

During our winter Olympics we had to import snow via trucks and helicopters :p

Hey pyropoodle,

This is totally OT here, but while we wait for DH to get enough written for me to proof-read...

I noticed your 2008 cruise in your signature was your honeymoon after 6 years of marriage. We did the same thing - our 2008 Alaska cruise was our honeymoon after 7 years of marriage. We just couldn't afford it when we got married. Then I couldn't leave my babies for the next few years. But it was worth the wait. What a cruise!:) I hope yours was just as wonderful and worth waiting for.

Incidentally, we met a couple last year on the Pride that was doing the same thing - on a "honeymoon" cruise, after several years of marriage, having left their 2 kids at home with the grandparents (just as we did).:p

But it was worth the wait. What a cruise!:)

Yeah... what a cruise! The ship and Alaska were really cool, too!

We continue walking along Water Street (the closest street to the port) looking for a place to turn. While we walk, I glance back over my left shoulder and see the ship. It’s a beautiful day in the low 70s, a very slight breeze, and with clear, blue skies with just enough cloud cover to help you appreciate how blue the sky is. It’s a little on the cool side for my tastes, but it’s still very comfortable.

I’m wearing a long-sleeve shirt with a white under shirt, thick khaki-colored slacks, and thick brown socks. I probably could’ve added a light sweater, sweatshirt, or jacket and I’d be perfectly comfortable, but that’s just more stuff to carry around with me if it gets too warm.

We come up to the intersection of Princess Street and Water Street, and decide to keep going. With a quick glance up Princess Street, we decide that it doesn’t look like an interesting enough street to turn onto. Since this was “Mom’s Cruise” and we were just tagging along, and we also had the kids with us, we didn’t want to over-book ourselves with excursions, planning, or any kind of real itinerary for either port. We want to just float freely around the ports and see what we feel like seeing, and go wherever we feel like going.

It’s a really enjoyable, care-free kind of feeling. We’ve had other cruises in the past with a schedule and certain places to be at certain times; I personally enjoy this non-scripted system more, but I have also enjoyed our various planned excursions very much. I’m sure that we’ll continue to do a little bit of both styles in the future.

Once we cross over Princess Street, I stop to enjoy one of the old buildings on the street corner.

All along Water Street are small store-front shops that I see people ducking into here and there. Some are local clothing shops, some appear to be souvenirs shops, and a few of them look like the “vendors” had just broken into an abandoned store-front a few hours before the ship arrived and set up a few collapsible tables to display their wares. We didn’t go into any of these shops, and by “these shops”, I mean any of them – the good or bad looking ones. We’ve got enough ticky-tacky crap in our house already.

Shortly past Princess Street, we come up to an alley on our right side. It’s narrow and clean, and clearly takes us up to the next street. Over the top of the alley way, there’s a sign with the alley’s name on it. According to the sign, its name is “JARDINE’S ALLEY TO SHOPS OF TRINITY ROYAL”. I’m not entirely sure why, but the simple fact of the alley having a name and a sign makes me feel better about taking my family through it.

I could see how this may seem like an odd feeling, especially to anyone who hasn’t grown up in a place where “alleys” have a negative connotation. Even if it’s a clean and well-lit alley, it’s still an alley. Something about an alley being narrow, long, with high walls creates some kind of basic instinctual reaction of feeling trapped. Also, growing up in the Washington DC area, and living in various crime-ridden areas has trained me to view alleys and dark passage ways inside or between buildings as things-to-be-avoided if possible.

Casting all of these feelings aside, we turn right and walk up the hill. As far as alleys go, this is a really nice one, I must admit. Definitely in the “Top 10 Alleys” that I’ve been in… I can’t remember for sure, but since it didn’t have window air conditioners or pipes dripping water on our heads, or the distinct smell of stale urine, it may even be in the top five.

The walk through one of Saint John’s extremely dangerous alleys went well… nothing happened. It was quick and we weren’t assaulted by a cat or even a hybrid vehicle. There wasn’t even an empty soda bottle on the ground… but I did notice that some of the mortar between the sidewalk bricks was starting to crack and collect debris, which is border-line “unacceptable”.

When we reach the top of the alley with our lives still intact, I breathe a sigh of relief. We pause to make sure we weren’t mugged or stabbed, and then look around to decide which way we want to go now.

Across the street from the alley and down a few buildings to the left, is a store with large, red Chinese writing on the window. Wifey points out the building with the red writing and says, “Is that an Asian market?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I can’t see it clearly.” We walk down the sidewalk a little bit until we can get a better look at the store front. Above the Chinese writing, it says “MING’S MARKET”.

Wifey gives a little cheer, “YES!”

<Begin quick background story>

On every cruise that Wifey and I have taken, we’ve found and purchased dried mangos in one of the port towns. Sometimes, it’s more difficult to find them than others, but it’s one of our cruise traditions now.

In Seattle, we found an oriental market with a large glass jar of dried mangos. We bought a large bag of these mangos (one or two pounds) and ate them every day on our Alaska cruise. Wifey put them in her frozen drinks. I would carry one or two pieces around with me in a napkin and take bites throughout the day, or sometimes just pull out the napkin, unfold the napkin, and sniff the mangos a little and then put it back in my pocket.

On our last few Bahamas cruises, we got off the ship in Port Canaveral and took the bus to the Merritt Square Mall. On the outside of the mall, there’s a small international grocery store near the bus stop. Now we make this trip to the mall just to get our dried mangos. Our first trip to the mall years ago was a mission to find a small step-stool for Daughter #2. Back then, she was able to go potty by herself, but the toilet in the cabin was too high for her. To make our cabin-life a little easier, we needed to find a little step-stool for her to use (like at home).

These are the mangos that we picked up from the Merritt Island mall while docked in Port Canaveral during our first Bahamas cruise.

This next picture is of the dried mangos that we got on our second Bahamas cruise (same itinerary) from the same store, same mall. These were the same brand from the same store, but these were ten cents more expensive.

So, we have a dried mango tradition that we try to keep up… partially for the sake of tradition, but mostly because dried mangos are so yumi-licious.

<End quick background story>

Onward to Ming’s Market! We wait for a car or two to pass, then we cross the street with the girls. The entrance to the building has some stone or marble stairs, and I’m not sure how easy or difficult it’ll be to navigate the store with the stroller, so I go in first while Wifey waits outside for me to “scout out” the store.

I go up the stone stairs to the small landing, pull open the glass door and see that there’s a small vestibule with two doors. The vestibule is about 5 feet by 5 feet, with a grey marble floor and plain walls. As I enter the little room from the outside, the two doors are to my left, and directly in front of me. Both doors are glass with metal frames and handles. The door to the left goes into Ming’s Market and the door in front of me goes up a flight of stairs.

I glance into Ming’s Market and see that the store is fairly wide open with plenty of room to maneuver a stroller, so I pop my head back out and wave Wifey to come inside… then realize that she’ll need help with the stroller. I step outside and lean down from the top of the stairs while still holding the door open with one hand, preparing to carry the front of the stroller up the stairs while Wifey holds the back half. Instead, Wifey tells Daughter #2 to get out and walk up the stairs.

Wifey places the stroller in the vestibule and the four of us walk into Ming’s Market. The market is mostly one large room, with a distinctly “oriental market” smell. The smell of an oriental market is distinct, but the smell can’t really be identified. It’s a smell that’s made up of dozens or hundreds of other smells, mostly edible items, and a few that aren’t… and there are a few things that are supposed to be edible, but really shouldn’t be consumed.

The girls start walking around the store, but staying within the “Get back here!” boundaries set by Wifey.

“Get back here!” boundary [noun], the maximum distance permitted by a responsible and authorized adult that a subordinate child may be allowed to separate from the adult based on surroundings, circumstances, and guidelines set by said adult.

An example of this system would be a child walking alongside their mother in a store. In a normal department store, a mother may let her child wander anywhere from 5-15 feet away from her and feel comfortable that the child’s not breaking something or doing something that she’ll be responsible for paying for, or have to apologize to a store employee for. If the same store were very busy, then the distance may decrease. If the store is extremely empty, this distance may increase. In the park or a wide open area, this distance may increase to hundreds of feet… but in the same park, the distance may decrease greatly if the park is crowded or surrounded by suspicious looking men with dog leashes… but there are no dogs around.

See what I mean? This is the “Get back here!” boundary system.

The girls have learned that their mother has a “Get back here!” boundary which is [in almost every case] shorter than their father’s boundary. When Wifey and I are together, the girls automatically default to her boundary distance instead of mine to prevent getting in trouble.

As we all enter Ming’s Market, we see and smile at the girl behind the small counter by the window. She appears to be somewhere between the age of 17 and 24, and looks to be at least half Chinese. Wifey suggests that we make this a family game to see who can find the dried mangos first. We all start looking for the dried mangos and within seconds, Wifey finds them directly in front of us.

Once we had our requisite dehydrated fruit in hand, we continue to peruse the store for a few minutes looking for any other random grocery store items that we might want. I walk over to the refrigerators and see rows and rows of cans. I go into eagle-eye mode and scan down the cans for something I like or recognize. I spot a few different beverage cans in the fridge and I pick the most appealing one – lychee drink.

I open the door to the fridge, grab the can and quickly close the door. No looking back now… no second guessing my decision. I don’t get lychee drink very often so I don’t want to give myself the opportunity to find some other juice or beverage which may cause me to waiver. I walk to the front of the store where Wifey and the kids are waiting.

If you’ve never had lychee fruit or the juice, I’d highly recommend it to anyone – not just the adventurous eater. Lychee fruits are larger than grapes and cherries, but smaller than plums and apricots. They have a thin but durable outer skin (red or brown), and a very soft and tender, meaty inside.

I didn’t really have an appreciation for how rare this fruit is in the States until I became a teenager and realized that I never saw it anywhere… yet I thought of it as a regular fruit when I was a child. I found out later that when lychees were in season, my grandmother would call the large oriental grocery stores in northern Virginia (about 3 hours away) and find out when they were receiving a fresh batch from California so she could have one of my uncles go pick them up.

If you like fruit (and who doesn’t?!) and you get a chance to try some fresh lychees, I would highly recommend them. If you can’t get them fresh, the canned ones in heavy syrup aren’t bad, either… and the juice cans are really just for reminding you of the real fruit.

So, Wifey goes to pay for the drink and the dried mangos. We didn’t get anything else because, well… we’re on a cruise and don’t exactly have a need for grocery items right now. Also, I didn’t see anything in this store that we couldn’t easily get from our local market anyway.

As Wifey pays for the items, I read a piece of paper posted just behind the cash register.

I’m so amused by the polite wording of this public notice that I had to take a picture of it. I find it slightly ironic that even a little bit of effort is being put into preserving the delicate feelings of minors who are attempting to break the law. This seems a little like putting rubber pads on the insides of handcuffs so that the metal doesn’t chafe the criminal’s wrists.

I realize that this sign is addressed to young adults who are legally allowed to purchase tobacco products, but it still gives me the same basic feeling.

We finish paying the nice young store clerk, and then leave the building, picking up our stroller from the vestibule on the way out. Immediately outside of the store, I crack open my drink can and take a few sips. Both daughters are intrigued and when I offer it to them, they look interested but hesitant. I say to them, “You may have some if you’d like, but I’m not going to force you. I really like this stuff and if you don’t want any then that just means that I get all of it.”

Wifey says, “Uh, no you don’t.” She takes the can from me and takes a few sips and then hands the can back. The girls both see that their mother has willfully taken a drink of this stuff, so it’s probably good. Seeing their father take a drink of it means absolutely nothing, because for all they know, it’s hot sauce in a soda can.

Both girls are familiar with lychees, but for some reason they’ve both forgotten that they like them. At home, we always have at least one large can of whole lychee fruit in the “can cabinet”. It’s a little family joke that the can says “WHOLE LYCHEES” on it. Daughter #1 likes to run them together and call it, “Holey Cheese”, which also happens to be what she calls Swiss cheese. After reminding them that they like it, they both take a drink and instantly like it again for the first time. If they didn’t like it, I may have considered just leaving them on the street in Canada. It’s good stuff.

Outside the store, I make wife pose in front of the store with the bag of dried mangos so that I can take a picture (big surprise) for historical documentation purposes. After I get my pictures, Wifey tears open the bag of mangos and we all get a piece, then the bag gets put away in her bag for later. If we kept it out, I’m sure we’d eat the whole bag in just a few minutes.

Yeah... what a cruise! The ship and Alaska were really cool, too!

Hey! Simmer down, now!:eek::o

In Seattle, we found an oriental market with a large glass jar of dried mangos. We bought a large bag of these mangos (one or two pounds) and ate them every day on our Alaska cruise. Wifey put them in her frozen drinks. I would carry one or two pieces around with me in a napkin and take bites throughout the day, or sometimes just pull out the napkin, unfold the napkin, and sniff the mangos a little and then put it back in my pocket.

I have been on a fresh mango kick all summer...never thought of dried ones. MUST FIND DRIED MANGOS now. In a pina colada.....mmmmm. I often ask bartenders who have mango puree to make me a mango coloda.

In addition, my brother shares your love of lychee, I brought him some when we visited San Francisco and then drove down the coast to him in LA, and it made his day.

Carry on....

Wow, quite the review. Thank you so much for sharing.

I'm sailing on the Glory in less than two weeks with my family. I've been enjoying reading the reviews and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I don't have child abuser neighbors.

Hey pyropoodle,

 

This is totally OT here, but while we wait for DH to get enough written for me to proof-read...

 

I noticed your 2008 cruise in your signature was your honeymoon after 6 years of marriage. We did the same thing - our 2008 Alaska cruise was our honeymoon after 7 years of marriage. We just couldn't afford it when we got married. Then I couldn't leave my babies for the next few years. But it was worth the wait. What a cruise!:) I hope yours was just as wonderful and worth waiting for.

 

Well I had a great time on the cruise....my DH? welll.......probably not so much.

I totally blame my DH for making us wait so long to go on a honeymoon. He was born and raised in another country and his family literally never took him on any vacations. My family took me somewhere every year. It might have been to the same place for several years in a row, but we went somewhere. it took me that long to convince him that just flying home to visit my family was NOT something that I consider to be a vacation. He just isn't used to spending money on sightseeing, or staying in hotels, or standing on things that float out in the ocean.

I literally had to drag him on the boat with promises of exciting ports and fun stuff to do....then of course there was a tropical storm of some sort that made us miss a port, and not only that, but it made the water in Cozumel so bad that, um..., we had to be rescued by the mexican coast guard people because we were literally almost dragged out to sea. Needless to say, it has been difficult to talk him into getting on another boat. But I LOVE cruising, and I need a vacation, so he has no choice if he wants to stay married to me;).

I am a really evil person for forcing my husband to relax and enjoy a vacation aren't I?

(so sorry for dragging us off topic..now back to your regularly scheduled thread.....)

on the topic of lychees....they are amazingly delicious.

We always keep a can or two of the syrup kind around until we can get the fresh ones from China Town.

in the summer, i like to mix the syrup with ice in a blender, pour it into a chilled glass and mix the lychees in. Best. Summer. Drink. Ever.

on the topic of lychees....they are amazingly delicious.

 

We always keep a can or two of the syrup kind around until we can get the fresh ones from China Town.

 

in the summer, i like to mix the syrup with ice in a blender, pour it into a chilled glass and mix the lychees in. Best. Summer. Drink. Ever.

I can't resist mentioning one of my favourites (even though this is the Carnival board)... the lychee saketini availablle on NCL ships. I can't seem to get one made on land that is anywhere near as good as the (several) I had on the Norwegian Pearl. But maybe it's the whole being-on-a-ship thing that made it taste so good. Then again, maybe it was the lychhee and liquor.:rolleyes::p

Great review!

I have a question...can our minivan have a rooftop luggage carrier thing on it...will it make it into port parking lot? Thanks!

I would carry one or two pieces around with me in a napkin and take bites throughout the day, or sometimes just pull out the napkin, unfold the napkin, and sniff the mangos a little and then put it back in my pocket.

OMG - this is too funny!:D

 

I however, don’t care so much about the performers, or the “liveness” of it. I really enjoy hearing live music for the sake of the music. I like to hear a singer’s voice without a microphone. I like to hear a guitar without an amplifier. I like to hear percussion instruments without them being reproduced by an amplifier or speakers....

 

....A constantly recurring example of this would be the fact that I know many, many songs, but I couldn’t tell you the artist, the song name, or what the song is about. I may even know some or all of the lyrics, but have never listened to the “story” within the song.

My friends and family constantly mock me for not having a clue what a song is about, who the singer is or what the lyrics are. I share your "oddity." I also enjoy listening to orchestral music and constantly playing and rewinding the same song to hear the intracacies of not only the melodies, but also the harmonies.

By the way, I share the sentiments of all the others here in their praise of your memoir.

Then again, maybe it was the lychhee and liquor.:rolleyes::p

I think you might be on to something there. :D

Great review!

 

I have a question...can our minivan have a rooftop luggage carrier thing on it...will it make it into port parking lot? Thanks!

Yes, it'll be fine. We have an SUV with a roof bag. We fit four full suitcases in the roof bag and had no trouble at all. We parked on the 3rd level (which is the top) and there wasn't any clearance problem.

DH

Yes, it'll be fine. We have an SUV with a roof bag. We fit four full suitcases in the roof bag and had no trouble at all. We parked on the 3rd level (which is the top) and there wasn't any clearance problem.

 

DH

Thanks!!!

Onward and upward! We look around outside of Ming’s Market, and decide to walk up the hill a bit more. We already know what’s at the bottom of the hill (the ship) so we decide go see what’s at the top. Daughter #1 asks to push the stroller, so we let her. It’s not terribly easy for her, but it helps burn off some of that kid energy that seems to come from nowhere.

These kids can run and play until they’re barely able to move their legs and arms. They’ll be red in the face and panting like dogs in a hot car. They’ll rest for a few minutes, then get up and do it all over again. I kind of remember being able to do that when I was a kid, but I’m not sure when it changed. Now, just getting ready for work in the morning makes me tired, and by the time I’ve driven to the office, I’m ready for a nap.

If you look closely at the photo of Daughter #1 pushing the stroller, you can see the blue Cruise Critic bag on the back of the stroller. This is the same bag that Daughter #1’s digital camera is stored in, as well as the dried mangoes. This is the bag that’s holding Wifey’s maple syrup candy and my second bag of nuts from the white tent. That’s it… just wanted to help complete that picture in your head, that’s all.

<Flash back 235 years>

You may have noticed that my girls (including Wifey) are all wearing the same type of hat. We got these hats in Colonial Williamsburg a few years ago. We go to Williamsburg at least once every year and the girls love it. Both girls dress up in their colonial dresses and hats and play as they learn about history. They’ve really grown to love their Williamsburg hats, so they wear them other places, too. By the way, Wifey does not dress up in a Colonial costume… she just wears the hat to keep the sun off of her face. She wanted me to mention that.

Here are pictures of both daughters in their Colonial Williamsburg dresses and hats. The first one is the 5-year-old in her dress and hat, standing in the Williamsburg post office. The dress is home-made (by me) because Colonial Williamsburg doesn’t sell a dress this small. The second picture is the 8-year-old in her Williamsburg-made dress and hat playing with her wooden hoop and stick in front of the Magazine.

<Flash forward 235 years>

Wifey is very conscious of skin damage caused by sun exposure and it’s so hard to find a decent wide-brimmed sun hat for children.

Her side of the family burns easily and has had a history of sun-related skin issues. My side of the family tans easily and rarely burns. I’m no expert, but I think it might have something to do with that voodoo “genetics” stuff I keep hearing about… if you believe in that stuff. We don’t know which way our daughters’ skin will go, but better safe than sorry, and it’s not like there’s anything good about a tanned 5- or 8-year-old.

Daughter #1 continues to push the stroller up the streets. Wifey and I both see a bright red Corvette parked along the street up ahead. Wifey really likes Corvettes, and I like cars in general. We get up to the car and stop to admire it. I see the church behind the car and try to get a decent photo of both. I’ve always loved the architecture and wide range of styles of churches, especially the old, stone churches.

I thought that it would be mildly interesting to have a picture with two very different types of “old” in it. The car, which is a “classic” by modern car standards, is “space age” compared to the church behind it. This is just one of those little thoughts that occurred to me when I saw them together.

As I’m taking pictures of the car and church, Wifey notices that there are three other guys taking pictures of the same car at the same time. All three of the other guys were crew members from the ship in their designer, fitted, street clothes with their gel-encrusted spiky hair and large sunglasses.

We continue to walk along the sidewalk toward the top of the hill. When we reach the end of the block where the church is, we realize that there’s not much more “hill” to go up, and what we can see is all residential housing. We decide to cross the street and head back down the other side of the street for a change of scenery.

About 100 feet past the church (on the same side of the street heading downhill) is a bookstore named “Loyalist City – Coins and Books”. Wifey has a hard time resisting bookstores, and on this day, I lack a good argument to prevent us from going in. I don’t really care for used book stores, and Wifey could spend hours and hours in one. We compromise and only spend about half an hour to an hour in the bookstore.

Today, the bookstore has a table set up outside with a plastic bin of coins, boards covered in pins, collector spoons, and used books for sale which was what first attracted us to the store. We didn’t’ even know it was a bookstore until we looked up from the table and saw all of the books inside. Wifey and the girls begin to thumb through the coins while I wait patiently and take pictures. I also glance through the pins and coins, but don’t really look at the books. I notice that there are books, and then look all around them. All of the coins in the plastic bin were ten cents each, and Wifey told each girl that they could pick out one and we’d buy it for them.

They take five or more minutes finding their coins. Each girl wanted to make sure that they were getting the absolute best coin as their one-and-only coin. In this case, since all of the coins were foreign and mostly old, “the absolute best coin” was determined by what was on the coin and most likely how shiny it was. Both girls pick their coins, and then Wifey takes them inside to pay for them.

As a mild form of protest, I don’t go inside. I can see that this bookstore is very similar to other bookstores in that there’s not much space inside. Wifey also had to park the stroller outside the door because of how tight the store is, so I’ll just stand outside with the stroller.

I spend a few minutes looking at the pins, spoons, and stuff on the table and then get bored. I look into the store again, and see that there’s a glass case just inside the door on the left. I can see most of the items in the case without actually stepping into the store, so I go shelf by shelf from the top to the bottom looking for something interesting. Somewhere near eye level, I see some military relics that appear to be from WWI or WWII, but I can’t tell from the outside… so I step into the store.

Now they’ve got me. As soon as I set foot in the store, I realize that I’ve lost this little game. The “game” is the one played by any merchant and their unsuspecting victims. One of the more well known games played by merchants is played out on the lot of a car dealership. See? You know the game I’m talking about. The game I just lost is less apparent, and more difficult to put your finger on.

The table outside of the store is obviously meant to draw your attention. The table and its contents don’t stay outside all of the time, of course. But why not? It goes inside at the end of the day, and comes back out, right? It doesn’t stay outside because the store can’t watch it, and anyone walking by may steal items from the table, and theft (in one form or another) is a store/merchant’s single largest enemy. So the store makes a calculated risk assessment, and chooses to put the table outside, risking their goods, hoping that it will attract more honest people than dishonest people. These items also have to be carefully selected. If the table is covered in worthless junk, it won’t attract anyone, but more valuable/interesting items are a higher risk for the store.

The coins, books, and spoons are selected for their appearance/interest to value ratio, then put outside. Wifey and the girls saw the table, took interest, and went inside the bookstore. They lost before they even knew the game was happening. I however, am aware of the game, and choose not to go inside! Or, at least this was the case until I saw the display just inside the door. Again, the glass display case inside the door has also been carefully placed, and that’s what got me. I lost the game, but at least I didn’t lose a lot of money in the process.

Congratulations to you, Mr. Loyalist City bookstore… you have won this round, but perhaps we’ll meet again. And when that day comes, I’m confident that I shall stand outside the whole time, and only my wife will give you our money.

I’ve entered the store. There are tables and poorly constructed shelves all throughout the store. The tables are completely covered with stuff, and there are stacks of boxes under the tables which just barely break the plane of the table, thereby making the walkway a little bit smaller than the table by itself.

The shelves that line all of the walls are too long, made of long, painted, pine boards and are packed with books. The shelves bow in the middle under the weight of the books, and would most likely break and fall if it didn’t have the row of books below it to hold it up… which just compounds the problem. This whole shelf system would collapse if it weren’t for the very bottom shelf having the floor to rest on. It may also collapse if one were to pull all of the books out of a middle shelf. Adding a vertical brace or just a simple board/beam to support the middle of these shelves would greatly reduce the stress in the system – but that would take away space… space where a fifty-cent paperback could go. Instead, the tallest books on any shelf serve as the vertical brace while crushing the spine of said book at the same time.

The back half of this bookstore also sells records and music. There are tables along the back half which have boxes and boxes of records. Around the store, I also see glass cases with curios, random collectibles, and a substantial collection of militaria from Canada and Europe including military service ribbons, medals, knives, photographs, binoculars, and even a World War I gas mask with the filters. There are also many plastic and die-cast models in the store. Some have already been assembled, but most of them are new in boxes for you to buy and build.

The store has the smell of old books and wood. The whole store has the obvious appearance of being cluttered, but organized at the same time. Once I realize that there’s nothing in the glass case by the door that really interests me, I decide to move further into the store. Part of my goal is to hurry Wifey along. When it comes down to whether Wifey can spend more time inside the bookstore or whether I can spend more time outside the bookstore waiting for her… she seems to win every time. Inside of the store, she has stuff to look at and read allowing her to partially forget that I’m outside waiting for her. While I’m outside, most of my mental energy is spent wondering how much longer she’ll be in there… and that really starts to get to you after a short while.

We’re probably in the store for about half an hour or so, maybe longer. Daughter #1 finds a Nancy Drew book that she wants (The Whispering Statue), and Wifey exercises an extreme amount of self control by not buying anything for herself… not a single useless, dust-collecting thing. Wifey pays for the Nancy Drew book and the two coins from outside, and we leave the store.

The coins below are the two coins that the girls picked out. The silver half-Franc belongs to Daughter #1 and the gold ten-cent piece belongs to Daughter #2. Daughter #1 picked this silver coin over another coin with a seahorse on it.

After leaving the bookstore, we stay on the same side of the street and head north down the hill. The bookstore and church are on Germain Street, and we walk toward King Street. When we arrive at the King Street intersection, we stop on the corner and wonder where to go. This is mostly a “whatever we feel like” process. Wifey and I are fond of navigating without any goal, destination, or requirements.

Back when Wifey and I were just dating, we decided one Friday night that we’d just jump in the car and start driving with no destination. We didn’t want any of our subconscious memories or feelings to interfere with the spontaneity of our road trip. We went into the game cabinet at the house and pulled out the spinner from a board game and took it in the car with us. The rules were simple. We would get in the car, spin the spinner, and whichever way it pointed, we would drive that direction. When we reached an intersection or we were forced to make a choice, we would spin to decide the direction.

This road trip took us down some really long roads through nowhere, and we had no idea where we were at several points. We stopped for dinner at a small town billiard hall. I had spaghetti and not-so-hot hot wings for dinner. The billiard hall was also a small restaurant and bar, but more than half of the space was filled with billiard tables, so I think of it as a billiard hall with a bar, as opposed to a bar with billiard tables.

We drove all night, hours and hours, and ended up getting a hotel room in the wee hours of the morning. When we woke up in the morning, we asked the hotel clerk what town we were in. The town was called Westminster. We had both heard of Westminster, but had no idea where it was or how far away it was. Wifey called her mother to check in. It was a long time ago, so this isn’t perfect, but the conversation went something like this…

“Hey Mom, just calling to check in.”

“Where are you guys?”

“We drove all night, and let a spinner tell us which way to go when we got to an intersection, then we got a hotel this morning.”

“So, where are you?”

“Uh, we’re in Westminster.”

[Laughing] “You drove all night to get there? There are teachers at my school that live there and commute every day. You’re about an hour away from home.”

So, anyway, we’re fond of wandering aimlessly on occasion. It’s most enjoyable when you’ve got nowhere to go, and all day long to get there.

We probably stood at the intersection of Germain and King Street for a solid 2 minutes trying to decide where to go. In the end, we decided to turn left and head back toward the water at the bottom of the hill.

[color=black

By the way, Wifey does not dress up in a Colonial costume… [/color]

 

Gotta get my mind outs the gutter!:cool:;):D Still keeping my eye on your blue bag - don't have a good feeling about this!

By the way, Wifey does not dress up in a Colonial costume… [/color]

Gotta get my mind outs the gutter!:cool:;):D Still keeping my eye on your blue bag - don't have a good feeling about this!

 

:eek:

No, no costumes! Rest assured. We may be weird but we're not that weird. Colonial dress only for the kids and only at approved, official colonial venues. Hats just being used as plain ole' sunhats. I'm sorry if it's a disappointment, but there will be no surprises coming out of the blue CruiseCritic bag.

 

Nothing to see here folks. Move along.

Looking forward to the next installment :)

We walk a short distance down King Street when the girls are struck (not literally) by a small clothing rack outside of a store with brightly colored clothing accessories. Here we go again… The store is called “The Butterfly Shoppe” and has a bright green, butterfly-shaped sign above their door. We all walk up to the rack and the girls start flipping through the scarves and other items on the rack. On the end of the rack is a pink and white scarf that Wifey really likes.

Wifey looks at the prices on the rack and decides that each girl can get a scarf as a semi-practical Saint John souvenir. She picks up the pink and white scarf (shown in the picture above) and decides that she’s getting it for Daughter #1. She then lets Daughter #2 pick her scarf from the rack, which ends up being a purple scarf with tiny, shiny dots all over it. Wifey takes them inside to pay, and again, I wait outside for them to come out.

A few minutes later, when it feels like it’s been too long to go inside and pay for two scarves and I’m tired of watching traffic go by, I walk into the store to see what’s taking so long. By now, Wifey and the girls have just reached the counter to pay, and begin to hand the lady behind the counter the money for the scarves.

The lady behind the counter starts to make change and says, “Oh, I guess I should make your change in American.”

“Oh, you can mix the change. My daughters like to have the Canadian coins.” Wifey says to the clerk.

We thank the lady in the store and then walk outside. Just outside of the store, Daughter #1 wraps her new scarf around her shoulders to help with the cool breeze. Daughter #2 covers herself with her new scarf while sitting in the stroller. Once we’re all “settled in” with our new scarves, we begin moving down the street again toward the water.

Close to the intersection of King and Water Street near the bottom of the large hill, Daughter #1 sees something shiny in the dirt of the sidewalk. She runs over to it, digs it out of the dirt, and cleans it off with her fingers. She’s found a stainless steel washer. It’s about a half-inch in diameter with an eighth-inch hole in the middle, and appears to have been stepped on many times. She’s so happy that she’s found a washer that she turns around, holds it out and begins bouncing up and down in place with excitement.

“Good Job. You’ve found a washer.” I tell her.

[bouncing slightly less in order to talk, but still bouncing] “Yes, and it’s my washer now. May I keep it?”

“Uh… yeah, sure.”

[still bouncing] “Thank you Daddy!”

While she’s putting her new treasure in her pocket, I notice that there’s a constable standing close by. I snap a quick picture of the officer over Daughter #1’s shoulder.

When Daughter #1 looks up and sees the officer, she gets a little excited at seeing his uniform, so I ask her if she wants to go stand next to him for a picture. She declines with her “I’m too shy” face. I look at Daughter #2 with a “what about you?” face and she also declines, but with a dismissive face as if saying, “No, that would require that I get out of my stroller.”

Just a little further down the street on the left, there’s a small park-like area with benches and statues of blocky cartoon people standing around. It’s interesting to look at for a few seconds, and perhaps take a picture or two, but these statues quickly lose my interest. I’d love to make Wifey pose with the statues as I take funny pictures, but there are way too many people around… and we have the kids with us. You know, that whole “setting a good example” thing.

Just as we’re standing there looking at the statues and trying to decide what happens next, Mom and Dad cross the street and find us again. They’ve been walking around the shops along the water and Dad tells us that he wants us to follow them back to an outdoor market where they found something that he wants to get for Mom, but Mom wants our opinion. Mom says that she wants “our opinion”, but she really means Wifey’s opinion. Mom only asks for my opinion if she’s feeling too happy, and needs to be brought down a notch or two.

We follow them across Water Street. We’re now on the same side of the street as the ship, but we’re about a quarter-mile in front of the ship. There’s a large open area paved with bricks and stone, circled by large planters and decorative landscaping. This large, paved circle is sunken into the ground a few steps to create something that looks like a large shallow water fountain or monument… but without the water, and without the fountain or monument in the middle.

This open area is filled with tents and vendors selling mostly crafts, hand-made jewelry, clothing, paintings, sunglasses, hats, purses, and stuff like that.

Mom and Dad lead us over to a tent with lots of heavy garments hanging around the edges of the square tent. These all appear to be wool cloaks at first, but upon closer inspection – they’re not regular cloaks. They’re not coats, they’re not capes, they’re not ponchos, or anything that fits a name that I’ve already got in my head. These are a hybrid of several common types of outerwear. For my purposes, I’m going to call this thing a “ponchoak”.

The ponchoaks are made of wool, come to the mid-thigh, and have large sleeves. The sleeves are attached to the body of the cloak so that if someone wearing it were to lift their arms outward (like being patted down by airport security), there would be a continuous line of fabric from one wrist to the other. Kind of like a giant, wool coffee-filter folded in half, a hole cut out of the middle for the head, then a slit up the front so a person could get in and out of it. To snazzy up the ponchoak, it has a lapel that runs around the neck, and wooden buttons that feed through wool loops to hold the front closed.

When we get to the tent, Dad immediately points out a tan and brown ponchoak with a hound’s-tooth pattern. The price marked on the hand-written tag is $75. Mom looks at the brown ponchoak and says, “Dad likes the brown one, but I’d like to have the blue one.” She reaches up beside her and gently grabs the sleeve of a denim blue ponchoak.

Dad walks over and says, “Yeah, but the blue one is $100. And I think the brown one looks better on you anyway.”

Mom looks at Dad and says, “Well, you want me to get a coat because you say I need one, but I don’t wear the coats I have because I don’t like them. If I’m going to wear a coat, I’d like to have the blue one. I look better in blue, I think.”

Standing by, I hear this exchange and can already predict what’s going to happen. Dad’s going to bring up the cost difference as a reason to get the brown one, but the real reason he wants her to get the brown one is that he doesn’t like the blue one. So, now it doesn’t matter what they do – they both lose. If they get the brown one that Dad likes, Mom won’t wear it, and they’ve wasted $75, which Dad will resent. If they get the blue one that Mom wants, Mom still won’t wear it, and they’ve wasted $100, which Dad will resent. If they don’t get either ponchoak, Mom will randomly remind Dad that she’s cold and of the ponchoak that they almost got for her, and she’ll most likely do this when they’re out somewhere in the cold, and too far from the house for Dad to say, “Then why don’t you just go back to the house and get a coat!”

Another perfectly refined system. There is perfection in this world, you just have to recognize it when you see it. You’ll most likely find these moments of perfection at the exact same moment that you want to pop a handful of Xanax in your mouth and wash them down with a shot of whiskey.

The small eastern European woman that runs the ponchoak tent hears this exchange, and attempts to talk Mom into getting the blue one. Dad protests on the basis of price, and the small woman agrees to lower the price a little to get it closer to the brown ponchoak, using her low-volume broken English. Mom and Dad buy the blue ponchoak.

I don’t like the ponchoak at all (brown or blue). But no one asked me.

We begin to walk around the other vendor tables and tents in the area. There are quite a few tables selling hand-made silver wire jewelry. Some of the twirls and patterns were interesting, but they don’t look very sturdy, like just the act of putting the jewelry on will mis-shape it. I like jewelry that can take a beating… something that will withstand some impact. Although Wifey likes jewelry, she doesn’t linger at any of these tables. I think that maybe they’re just not her style, but I don’t ask her why she’s not looking just in case she really didn’t notice. In which case, my pointing it out may actually cause her to stop and buy something.

There’s a table selling loose-knit caps for women. I stop and look at the example photos that the table has, and think, “Hey, these hats are kind of neat looking. Maybe one of these would look good on Wifey.” I stand there and wait for Wifey to notice me. She looks over and I give her the “hey come over here because I found something interesting” head nod. She comes over and looks at the caps. She’s open to the idea of the hat, but she’s skeptical about how it’ll look.

“Hey sweetie, check out these hats. Whatcha think?” I say.

“They’re… kind of cute. You thinkin’ for me?”

“Yeah, I think it would look good on you.”

“I don’t think so… but if you like it, I’ll try it.”

Wifey picks up a hat and quickly inspects the inside for any small moving things, braces herself, sweeps her hair around to her back and then pulls the hat over her head. She looks up at me and smiles with that “so, what do you think?” look. I hesitate and don’t say anything. I know this is a less-then-desirable reaction, but I just don’t say anything.

I glance over at the pictures on the table to analyze what’s different between the beautiful women in the pictures, and my beautiful wife standing before me. My glance at the photos tips Wifey off.

“It looks bad, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not what I thought it would be. I think it’s because your hair is pulled back. In all of these pictures, their hair is…” and my voice trails off as Wifey takes the hat off and puts it back in the bin on the table. OK, so that didn’t go as planned, but it could’ve gone worse. We both walk away from the table and back toward Water Street where we came in from.

We take a few steps up from the sunken patio and we’re back at street level, but we’re still in the vendor area. Mom and Dad have struck up a conversation with one of the vendors sitting on a cooler. They’re talking about maple syrup, other food favorites, and Dad’s asking the woman if there’s anywhere local that he can get poutine or moose. She tells him that she’s not sure, because she just moved to Saint John from Vancouver, so she’s not really familiar with the area yet.

After a few minutes of talking, we all begin walking back toward the ship. Behind us now is a row of shops and restaurants (beyond the sunken patio) that Wifey and I never reached. Mom and Dad ask if we’re interested in seeing those stores, and tell us that they’ve already been down there. We decide that we don’t, and keep walking down Water Street toward the ship.

Just before we reach the port building, there’s a small crowd of people standing on the sidewalk. When we reach the crowd, we see that the people are all watching a “living statue”. At his feet, there’s a gold name-plate which reads, “Granite Man – Worlds Best Living Statue”. We stop and watch with everyone for a few seconds, and then Wifey reaches in her purse, pulls out a dollar for Daughter #2 to go up and place in the tip jar.

Daughter #2 walks up to the tip jar and places the dollar in the glass bowl. As she’s standing up from the jar, the statue bends down and extends his hand to shake hers. She reaches up and shakes his hand, and then walks back to us. When she gets back to us, she looks up at us and says, “His hand sort of feels like a real hand.”

“Granite Man” sees my camera pointed at him and strikes a pose for me.

As a bonus, it’s never occurred to Daughter #2 that this was a person. She still believes that she shook the hand of a statue that moved just for her.

After a short and refreshing walk on level ground, we arrive back at the port building fence. There’s an attendant at the street gate to check for Sail and Sign cards. Once we all show our cards, we’re now back inside the courtyard with the port building to our left, the ship directly in front, and the white tent to our right. Mom insists that we bring the girls into the tent again; there’s something that she wants to buy them.

We enter the tent for the second time today, and I’m sure that there’s nothing in here that I want to see… again. And I was surprised…again.

And.... Please continue. Loving your review.