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

[pe4all]

(sung in a Barbra Streisand kind of voice) Memories, misty water-colored memories.... wow - that was great!

[Feelin' Nauti']

I was mostly raised by my grandmother. If you think that this memoir about a cruise is an interesting read, the story of my grandmother will make you quit work, sit at home with a 5 gallon bucket for a latrine, and start thinking things like “eh, I don’t think a shower every week is really necessary” and “I don’t know what they’re crying about, those kids really didn’t need me after all – see? They’re not dead yet”. Here’s a really short version of my grandmother’s story – all true.

 

My grandmother now lives in southern Maryland, but she came from south Vietnam. She had 8 children, was a midwife in the village, and when the war rolled into town, she turned her large home into a brothel and became a Madame.

 

When we were kids and got dirty, she’d take us out back and wash us with gasoline. Hey, you’d be amazed what you can get off of a kid with gasoline and a Scotch Brite scouring pad (not the green and yellow, just the green ones).

 

She’s been bitten by so many Vietnamese mosquitoes that now, the American mosquitoes don’t even attempt to bite her. That sounds silly, I know. But I’ve seen it – we’re outside and everyone’s getting eaten up, but she doesn’t have a single one land on her. It’s a little thing our family does for fun now.

 

When the communists came into her town and took her home, they “evicted” her from her house, and told the family to leave the property with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Now, in the States, she never leaves the house with any less than $10K in gold and diamonds on her body, just in case she comes home one day and the government has taken her home again.

 

She’s about 70 years old, and still works everyday as a laundry woman for a local hotel. She never gets sick, and chops down small trees with a cleaver. I’ve seen it, it was impressive when I was a child, and it’s still impressive today. I really think that she’s going to out-live her grandchildren (that would be me).

 

 

 

It wasn’t until later in life that I found out that she had multiples of these cleavers, and didn’t use the same one for cutting trees as she did for cooking or as her dinner utensil. They all looked alike to me.

 

Along with her day job, she has a successful side business of buying highly collectible art from Vietnam through old friends that are still in-country, and re-selling them in the States to collectors.

 

There’s a lot more to her story, but like I said, that’s the short version. The point of this whole grandmother thing was actually very small – she taught me to eat anything, and be happy with it. She never used the line “… because there are starving children in China”. She said things more along the lines of, “You’d better eat fast, because there’s not enough for everyone, and two of you are going to be hungry.”

 

Back to my modern-day gluttony! Nenand brings out my Greek Salad and places it in front of me. As he lays it down, he says, [Macedonian accent] “Back home, we eat this salad every day… this Greek salad.” If you don’t have a Macedonian accent in your head, for the purposes of this memoir, a Romanian or even soft Russian accent will do. He said this with such enthusiastic nostalgia, that I felt compelled to say something back… but I was caught off guard and just blurted out, “do you call it Greek salad in Macedonia?”

 

He laughed a little and said, “No, we don’t call it Greek salad. We call it [some word I don’t know in a language I don’t speak and can’t remember]. It is like how you call ‘farmers salad’.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tonight, I requested a bottle of wine from Sentil, and received it. My wife was pleased at this. I zipped through my salad, and one of the waiters swooped in like a hawk to take it away. Within a minute, my lobster and shrimp dinner had arrived. I picked up my fork and knife to begin separating my lobster from its no-longer-necessary exoskeleton.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I begin cutting, I notice that Sentil is coming up behind me with more plates. I look up and see that he has my Indian food! Woo HOO!

No sure what the first part has to do with the cruise. :rolleyes:

Nevertheless, the lobster picture sold me.

I might book a Carnival cruise now. :D

[Irishvisions]

Love the reminiscing. Makes me think of all the times I have returned to childhood places and realized all that had changed...yet had stayed the same at the same time. Thank you. Can't wait for your next installment.

[ShakyBeef]

No sure what the first part has to do with the cruise. :rolleyes:

 

 

Let's see if I can try to explain...

 

This bit:

 

"The point of this whole grandmother thing was actually very small – she taught me to eat anything' date=' and be happy with it. She never used the line “… because there are starving children in [/font']China”. She said things more along the lines of, “You’d better eat fast, because there’s not enough for everyone, and two of you are going to be hungry.”

 

Back to my modern-day gluttony!"

 

 

 

In combination with this bit:

 

 

"On top of my tolerance for spicy foods, I have a terribly bad sense of taste. I mean, I can’t really tell the difference between adjacent levels of food quality. I’ll illustrate. Here’s a simple food taste/quality chart:

 

+4 Amazing food

+3 Great food

+2 Good food

+1 OK food

+0 Edible food

-1 Edible, but wouldn’t choose to eat again food

-2 Barely edible food

-3 “Can’t swallow it, please-get-me-a-napkin” food

-4 “I’m not even going to touch the fork that’s holding that” food

 

Now that we’ve established a simplified scale of taste – here’s what I mean. Here is MY food scale:

 

+2 “Yeah, I’ve had that before, and I think I liked it” food

+1 “Can’t remember if I’ve had that before, but I’ll try anything once” food

0 “I’ve had that and it kept me from going hungry” food

-1 “Oh, I think I had that once and almost died. Sure, I’ll try it again, but only a little bite” food

 

See the slight difference? It’s subtle, but if you read it again, I’m sure you’ll catch it this time.

 

As for types of food, I have very few limits on animal type, animal’s living habits prior to death, or animal’s diet prior to death."

 

 

 

 

Eventually is connected back to this bit:

 

 

 

"At some point, Sentil comes by and reminds me that I have my Indian entrée waiting, as well. He tells me that he’ll wait for me to finish my salad, and bring it over with my lobster. I am so excited by the idea of having something that’s off-menu. I have no idea what it’s going to be. All I know is that it’s supposed to be an authentic Indian dish, and it’s supposed to be non-vegetarian. Imagine going to the MDR for dinner, having no idea what’s on the menu that night, and they just bring you some random dish. Ok, I could see how many people wouldn’t like that – but it’s a fun feeling for me.

 

It works for me, because I’ll eat just about anything… once."

 

 

 

 

It's all just his round-about, rambling way of explaining why he's an adventurous eater -- letting you into his twisted mind and giving you some insight into some of the ways his "interesting" (to put it mildly) childhood shaped the way he felt about the food on the cruise.

 

He knows he's giving y'all a lot of non-cruise related "brain vomit" in this glorious magnum opus of his; but (surprisingly, to us:o) some of you seem to enjoy reading this extra stuff. The kind and enthusiastically positive responses of so many so far appear to be proof of that. To all of you, thank you!

 

To all those who do not enjoy being taken along on his kooky mental detours, I apologize on behalf of us both. As his "Editor" I suppose I might be able to convince him to keep them to a minimum. But I have to admit, I love his twisted, sarcastic, wacky brain and the crazy stuff it has been spewing out here. And I'm loath to stifle it.

[San_Antonio_Ex]

He knows he's giving y'all a lot of non-cruise related "brain vomit" in this glorious magnum opus of his; but (surprisingly, to us:o) some of you seem to enjoy reading this extra stuff. The kind and enthusiastically positive responses of so many so far appear to be proof of that. To all of you, thank you!

 

To all those who do not enjoy being taken along on his kooky mental detours, I apologize on behalf of us both. As his "Editor" I suppose I might be able to convince him to keep them to a minimum. But I have to admit, I love his twisted, sarcastic, wacky brain and the crazy stuff it has been spewing out here. And I'm loath to stifle it.

 

 

Please don't stifle it!!!! I'm loving it as well. What a lucky woman you are to have a man who not only can but does express himself - and bonus - he does it well!!! :D

[leaski]

It's ALL wonderful!! I look forward to the next installment each evening. Please don't change a thing!!:D

[GamerMom64]

especially all the side/back stories and beautiful/arty pics :D I was not even considering a cruise to Canada until I found this thread!

 

Thanks so much for sharing your memories, looking forward to the next installment!

[Feelin' Nauti']

Let's see if I can try to explain...

 

This bit:

 

"The point of this whole grandmother thing was actually very small – she taught me to eat anything, and be happy with it. She never used the line “… because there are starving children in China”. She said things more along the lines of, “You’d better eat fast, because there’s not enough for everyone, and two of you are going to be hungry.”

 

Back to my modern-day gluttony!"

 

 

 

In combination with this bit:

 

 

"On top of my tolerance for spicy foods, I have a terribly bad sense of taste. I mean, I can’t really tell the difference between adjacent levels of food quality. I’ll illustrate. Here’s a simple food taste/quality chart:

 

+4 Amazing food

+3 Great food

+2 Good food

+1 OK food

+0 Edible food

-1 Edible, but wouldn’t choose to eat again food

-2 Barely edible food

-3 “Can’t swallow it, please-get-me-a-napkin” food

-4 “I’m not even going to touch the fork that’s holding that” food

 

Now that we’ve established a simplified scale of taste – here’s what I mean. Here is MY food scale:

 

+2 “Yeah, I’ve had that before, and I think I liked it” food

+1 “Can’t remember if I’ve had that before, but I’ll try anything once” food

0 “I’ve had that and it kept me from going hungry” food

-1 “Oh, I think I had that once and almost died. Sure, I’ll try it again, but only a little bite” food

 

See the slight difference? It’s subtle, but if you read it again, I’m sure you’ll catch it this time.

 

As for types of food, I have very few limits on animal type, animal’s living habits prior to death, or animal’s diet prior to death."

 

 

 

 

Eventually is connected back to this bit:

 

 

 

"At some point, Sentil comes by and reminds me that I have my Indian entrée waiting, as well. He tells me that he’ll wait for me to finish my salad, and bring it over with my lobster. I am so excited by the idea of having something that’s off-menu. I have no idea what it’s going to be. All I know is that it’s supposed to be an authentic Indian dish, and it’s supposed to be non-vegetarian. Imagine going to the MDR for dinner, having no idea what’s on the menu that night, and they just bring you some random dish. Ok, I could see how many people wouldn’t like that – but it’s a fun feeling for me.

 

It works for me, because I’ll eat just about anything… once."

 

 

 

 

It's all just his round-about, rambling way of explaining why he's an adventurous eater -- letting you into his twisted mind and giving you some insight into some of the ways his "interesting" (to put it mildly) childhood shaped the way he felt about the food on the cruise.

 

He knows he's giving y'all a lot of non-cruise related "brain vomit" in this glorious magnum opus of his; but (surprisingly, to us:o) some of you seem to enjoy reading this extra stuff. The kind and enthusiastically positive responses of so many so far appear to be proof of that. To all of you, thank you!

 

To all those who do not enjoy being taken along on his kooky mental detours, I apologize on behalf of us both. As his "Editor" I suppose I might be able to convince him to keep them to a minimum. But I have to admit, I love his twisted, sarcastic, wacky brain and the crazy stuff it has been spewing out here. And I'm loath to stifle it.

Oh my what a lengthy explanation. :eek:..:D What detail.

 

On my recent Celebrity Summit cruise I pre-requested a "no salt" diet.

I was apprehensive at first, since I wasn't sure exactly what the meals would taste like.

Each night after my meal the Maitre 'D would sit with me, go through each item for the next evenings meal.

To my delight :D everything, I mean everything was made to my specifications.

I hope I have the same if not better experience on Carnival. I just have to book my first cruise with them to find out. :p

[ShakyBeef]

Oh my what a lengthy explanation. :eek:..:D What detail.

 

On my recent Celebrity Summit cruise I pre-requested a "no salt" diet.

I was apprehensive at first' date=' since I wasn't sure exactly what the meals would taste like.

Each night after my meal the Maitre 'D would sit with me, go through each item for the next evenings meal.

To my delight :D everything, I mean everything was made to my specifications.

I hope I have the same if not better experience on Carnival. I just have to book my first cruise with them to find out. :p[/quote']

 

Yes, I guess it proves that DH is not the only one in this family that can "run on" a bit.:o

 

I, too, hope that your Carnival dining experience is as good as or better than that which you had on Celebrity.

 

According to Carnival's website:

 

"Special diet meals may be requested by your travel agent at least

two weeks prior to sailing.You should discuss the method of

preparation of menu items with your waiter or headwaiter.

There may be limitations in our ability to accommodate some

special orders."

I suppose if you book your cruise with a Carnival PVP, you could make the request through him or her.

I'm glad you're giving Carnival a try. We loved X, but love Carnival, too (for different reasons). Happy Sailing!:)

[ShakyBeef]

Please don't stifle it!!!! I'm loving it as well. What a lucky woman you are to have a man who not only can but does express himself - and bonus - he does it well!!! :D

 

It's ALL wonderful!! I look forward to the next installment each evening. Please don't change a thing!!:D

 

especially all the side/back stories and beautiful/arty pics :D I was not even considering a cruise to Canada until I found this thread!

 

Thanks so much for sharing your memories, looking forward to the next installment!

 

 

There y'all go with the kind and enthusiastically positive responses again!:o:)

[Delta Hotel]

What a lucky woman you are to have a man who not only can but does express himself - and bonus - he does it well!!! :D

 

Mrs. Beef, I don't think it's necessary to draw attention to the comment above which clearly shows that even random strangers can see how lucky you are. Since it's not necessary to draw attention to it - I won't.

 

See how I didn't point it out? Wasn't that considerate and gentlemanly of me? Did you also notice how this was a perfect opportunity to say something like, "Yeah, that's right! EAT IT BEEF!" But I didn't? I'm just as considerate as you, you know.

 

Love,

DH

[australian_girl]

Thanks for the latest chapter. :)

[ShakyBeef]

*loud sigh* In case you hadn't noticed, my Darling Husband is home. And back at it.:rolleyes:

 

 

DH,

 

Please stop calling me "Mrs. Beef" and worse yet, "BEEF".

 

Signed,

Your loving (and long-suffering) wife

Edited July 27, 2011 by ShakyBeef
maybe I shouldn't be editor - left out a word

[Delta Hotel]

As we’re eating breakfast, Mom and Dad come by and find us. For such a large ship, they sure do seem to “find us” a lot. We finish breakfast, clean up a little, and head back to our cabin to prepare for debarkation into Saint John. It’s shortly after 9AM, and for some reason, we’re eager to get off of the ship even though we have nothing planned, nowhere to go, and no time-sensitive itinerary for the day.

Since Mom and Dad had been ready to go ashore since before dawn, they follow us back to our cabin on Deck 1 and wait for us to get ready. As we’re approaching the cabin, Wifey tells Mom and Dad about the wonderful view from our window. This morning while we were docking, Wifey and I both watched as the large rock and concrete wall of the dock came closer and closer to our window. The ship pulled up alongside the wall, and then with the Super-Dooper Thruster Boosters, slowly inched toward the wall in a “parallel parking” kind of manner.

We watched the wall come closer and closer to our window, occasionally looking down to see huge currents of water roiling between the ship and the wall. I was surprised to see so much water being thrust toward the wall when we were trying to get closer to the wall. This confused my little mind so much that I watched it carefully, and sure enough, there were active isopods pushing water toward the wall – which is in direct conflict with our overall goal of getting closer to the wall. I suppose the captain uses them to control our movement, or something like that. When we finally stopped moving, our window was completely blocked by the wall.

Our window was about two feet from the wall, and some sunlight was coming from up above, but not much… although it wasn’t exactly sunny outside anyway. From our window, if you looked straight up as far as you could, only the top of the wall and the reddish-orange rail at the top of the wall was visible; the wall probably continued for another 8-10 feet upward.

In this picture, you can see our three towel animals in front of the rock and concrete wall. The white stuff that looks like snow is white concrete, and the dark area is all rock. Oh yeah, we keep all of our towel animals on every Carnival cruise. We carefully move them to the window sill if we have one, or a nearby shelf or counter top.

Wifey always places a note in front of the towel animal after the first night to ensure that the room steward knows to leave the animal in our cabin. On one of our family cruises a few years ago, the steward “killed” one of our animals. Ever since then Wifey writes a note and sticks it to the front of the towel animal. Something like, “Please don’t kill me. – The Towel Animal”.

We get our passports and going-ashore stuff, pop the stroller open, pop a kid into the stroller, and then head out of the cabin. It’s always a little annoying to get an expanded stroller out of the cabin. The hallway is just wide enough to swing the door open and walk through. With the stroller, you either have to have someone open the door and then try to hold it open as they stay out of the way – and you push the stroller through, or you have to try to open the door, shove the stroller wheel in front of it, and then do an awkward “shimmy” through the door with the stroller scraping the door the whole way. It’s not a big deal, but still annoying.

We head up a few decks to wherever the cruise director told us to go, and prepare to “bing” off the ship. The first thing we notice from the upper deck windows is that there’s a large white tent right next to the port building. It’s the kind of tent that you see for weddings or large events… but this one looks permanent (as much as tent can).

From the ship, the tent is in the parking lot to the left of the port building. The tent appears to be almost as large as the port building itself… but only one level, whereas the port building was two or three stories. Wow, imagine that – a multi-story tent. That’d be really cool… but I’m not sure if I’d rather be on the first floor or the second… there are clearly “pros” and “cons” to both scenarios. Better yet, I’d probably just stand outside of the tent with a video camera waiting to see who “wins” – the people on the first or second floor.

As we’re standing in the atrium lobby, Daughter #1 attempts to take a picture with her camera, and notices that it’s not working. She shows me, and I diagnose the problem as being voltage deficiency. I need new batteries… more specifically, four AA batteries. I look up and begin to think, “Where can I get some batteries for her camera?” Before I can complete the thought, I see that we’re standing right next to the ship’s make-shift camera accessory booth in the lobby.

The ship’s photo department brought down a couple of tables and a display board with batteries, disposable cameras, film, memory cards, some “ready to shoot” digital cameras, bottled water, camera lanyards, and floaty things for when you drop your camera in the water. I picked up a pack of four AA batteries with a small sense of triumph, holding it slightly over my head with a sense of achievement. I may have even muttered something like a quiet, “Yes!” I hand the booth attendant my magic ship-money card, and she writes down my information. In just a few seconds, I have secured new batteries for my Daughter’s camera. Again, I have achieved a small, yet notable moment of superhero Dad status. In case you’re wondering, it’s only a notable moment because I noted it… here… just now. That makes it notable.

Now, I have a new set of batteries, and a smiling, wide-eyed daughter standing in front of me anxiously waiting for her working camera. Without even trying, I had almost overcome a major technical obstacle. Then I realized the hard part – replacing the batteries. If you’re a parent, you may have noticed that everything sold in the United States which is intended to be handled, looked at, or even desired by a child under the age of 18 must have screws holding the batteries in place. A plastic panel with a simple thumb release will not suffice. It must have screws and usually one more than is really necessary to keep the battery panel in place.

I get a sinking feeling in my stomach, and my superhero status floats away like the smoke of a birthday candle that’s now telling you that you’re a year older, the cake it’s stuck in is just going to make you fatter, and all of the people that are surrounding your birthday cake just want you to cut it so they can have some. They don’t really care about you or your birthday… you old, fat person.

Screwdriver. I need a screwdriver. I immediately turn to the photo-booth attendant and say, “Do you happen to have a screwdriver, too?” She shakes her head and gives a long, sad, drawn out, “Nooooooo”. She recommends that we check with Guest Services to see if they might have one. The quickest path to Guest Services desk is back around the elevator lobby, between the glass atrium elevators and the main elevator lobby.

In this walkway, there’s a man from the ship’s maintenance crew working on the marble façade of the last glass elevator. It appears that someone/something has broken the marble, and the maintenance guy had to cut the marble out, and replace it with a new piece. He is using a grinding wheel which is plugged into an outlet on the other side of the walkway – which means that passing through this area requires that you step over the electrical cord. He had used some masking tape to secure the cord to the floor, but the cord is curly, and didn’t lay flat on the marble floor.

A man and a woman in front of us see the cord, and begin to walk over it. The man steps clear over the cord, but the woman (while looking at the cord) sticks her foot right into one of the loops and trips a little. She doesn’t fall; she just stutter-steps a little and catches herself. She gives a disgusted sigh and the man says, “Why can’t they do this kind of thing when there aren’t passengers on the ship?”

Wifey and I wait for them to pass over the area and then Wifey carefully steps over the cord. I pause in front of the cord, look at it wondering if the grinding tool really needs that large of a cord, which appeared to be about a 16 gauge, 3 conductor power cord. I also notice that the grinding wheel has a very coarse wheel on it; I would have used a finer wheel for a smoother finish, but perhaps he’ll switch wheels later for the finishing touches.

I then step over the cord, stop on the other side, and turn around. I bend down (almost kneeling) and stretch the cord back out straight and place the masking tape back on the floor to help keep the cord still. While I’m down near his tool bag, I glance inside to see if he’s got a screwdriver that will fit my camera, but he doesn’t. If he did, I would’ve asked him if I could borrow it, but he didn’t, so I don’t.

We reach Guest Services and surprisingly, there’s no line. I ask them about a screwdriver, and they pretend to look around behind the counter, and give a quick, “No, I’m sorry but we don’t have one.” Oh well.

At least the screws are Phillips heads, which means that I can open it with a knife or some other flat and somewhat pointy object. Unfortunately, I left my 114 piece toolset in the cabin… I’ll have to figure something else out. Perhaps I’ll run over to the atrium bar and ask for a spoon, then take it outside to the parking lot and grind the handle down to a point using the concrete sidewalk. I decide not to – they might ask questions when I return the now shank-like spoon.

We proceed through the line and “bing” off the ship. We walk through the enclosed gangway to the second floor of the port building. There doesn’t seem to be anything on the second floor except an escalator and an elevator which takes you to the first floor. Is it still an “escalator” if it takes you down? It seems that there should be a direct opposite for “escalate”… if there’s not already a direct opposite, someone should do something about that.

[SnowWhiteNYC]

Love it!

[meatloafsfan]

It's all just his round-about, rambling way of explaining why he's an adventurous eater -- letting you into his twisted mind and giving you some insight into some of the ways his "interesting" (to put it mildly) childhood shaped the way he felt about the food on the cruise.

 

He knows he's giving y'all a lot of non-cruise related "brain vomit" in this glorious magnum opus of his; but (surprisingly, to us:o) some of you seem to enjoy reading this extra stuff. The kind and enthusiastically positive responses of so many so far appear to be proof of that. To all of you, thank you!

 

To all those who do not enjoy being taken along on his kooky mental detours, I apologize on behalf of us both. As his "Editor" I suppose I might be able to convince him to keep them to a minimum. But I have to admit, I love his twisted, sarcastic, wacky brain and the crazy stuff it has been spewing out here. And I'm loath to stifle it.

 

Anyone who read the opening part to this masterpiece should be well aware that it will be full of "kooky mental detours" and is not a short, to the point, we did a, b, c kind of review (for which I am eternally grateful - I love "brain spew").

 

Never apologize - never surrender! :D

[bragstarr]

I like the kooky detours. Quite amusing. Carry on...we're wondering what you did in St. John. I need ideas.

[Delta Hotel]

I like the kooky detours. Quite amusing. Carry on...we're wondering what you did in St. John. I need ideas.

 

Hmm, ideas... I don't think you'll get much from our travels. I hate to ruin the surprise later, but we didn't exactly do anything in Saint John. We pretty much just walked around the city for a few hours... terribly uneventful, really.

 

At least this way, you're not as disappointed when you read the rest of the Saint John day. See? I'm being thoughtful again!

 

DH

[Delta Hotel]

Since we have a stroller, a port staff member directs us to the elevator around the corner. I know that he’s staff because of the bright-yellow vest that says “STAFF”. I don’t like to assume. We take the elevator down to the first floor, come out and re-join everyone that had come down the escalator. There’s a small area with 8-foot glass walls that everyone is funneled into. The glass walls have two door-sized openings with Customs agents posted there to control traffic. Since this is a controlled area, they’re not checking people coming off of the ship – they’re only there to check people coming onto the ship – which occurs through the same glass door openings.

 

I nervously pass through the openings in the glass wall, trying not to make eye contact with any of the Customs agents. They’re not even looking at me, and they don’t seem to care about people leaving the “secure area”, but there’s a story behind this, too.

 

<Begin foggy flashback>

 

Since September 11th of 2001, flying has become more difficult. I realize that this is an understatement, but let’s move on. Each time I fly anywhere, I always purchase my tickets online ahead of time, like many people do. The first time I flew after 9-11, I went to the airport to pick up my “Self Check-in” tickets from the little machine. I had purchased two tickets, one for me, and one for Wifey. I scanned my passport and punched in my information to the little ticket machine. A few seconds later, Wifey’s boarding pass pops out of the machine, but not mine.

 

The point of having this self check-in system (I thought) is to help expedite things. Instead, I had to go over to the line with all of the people and wait… and wait… and wait. Eventually, I get to the front of the line and tell the woman behind the counter that only one of my two boarding passes printed out. She took my passport and boarding pass, typed something into her computer, and then asked me to wait while she went in the back room. A few seconds later, a man came out and looked at me, looked at my passport, and typed something into the computer. My boarding pass prints out behind the counter and he hands it to me – saying nothing more than, “Here you go, sorry about the wait.”

 

This one incident by itself didn’t seem odd, but after a few more times it became clear that it wasn’t a fluke. Each time I flew anywhere, I had to wait for a boarding pass from behind the counter, but didn’t receive an explanation until the third time it happened. One of the airline ticket sales people told me that my name was on the No Fly List.

 

When Wifey and I would return from a foreign country (usually the Bahamas), I would get held at the U.S. Customs desk. Normally, we would come up to the little booth with the agent, hand over our passports and declaration form. The agent would glance at your face in an obligatory fashion, and say something in a monotonous voice such as, “Welcome home.”

 

This doesn’t happen to me anymore. Nowadays, I get to the desk, hand them our passports and declaration form, and try to maintain a smile without looking guilty… even though I’m not.

 

The first several times that the Customs agent held me back, I didn’t see what was on his computer screen, but his or her face would go from the mundane, bored look to a more alert “whoa – that’s a new screen” kind of face. Most likely, it was a flashing red box with black text with some generic, yet alarming message. Each time that I would see their reaction to their screen, I would try to get a glimpse of the screen to see what it said. This action of mine was apparently not the correct one. The agent normally would try to get in the way of the screen, raise an eyebrow and stare at me as if to say, “… and why exactly are you SO interested in MY computer screen? This flashing red message about your passport is for ME! Not YOU… and your interest in MY message makes me think that YOU might be trying to hide something!”

 

This went on for a few years. Never resulting in much of anything more than a closer inspection of my passport, followed by a long stare at my face, then followed by another look at my passport. It would end with them hesitantly saying, “NEXT!” to the people behind us.

 

A couple of years ago, I had this same encounter with a U.S. Customs agent in Florida while coming back from a work trip in the Bahamas. The agent seemed much friendlier than normal and greeted us with a smile. When he scanned my passport and “that message” showed up on his screen, he looked closer at me and my passport, and I felt that it was about time that I find out what that message was.

 

The Customs agent says, “Where are you coming home from?”

“The Bahamas.”

“Did you visit Canada at all on your trip?”

“No, just the Bahamas. You obviously don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but could you tell me why this happens to me every time I come home from another country?”

“I’m not allowed to tell you, but I would strongly suggest that you don’t go to Canada… especially Ontario.”

“Oh… hmm. OK.”

[Agent looks around quickly and combines a laugh and a sigh] “There’s an international drug dealer that has your same name, and he lives in Ontario. There’s a good chance that if you go to Ontario or anywhere in Canada, it could complicate things for you.”

“Got it. No Canada. Thank you for telling me.”

“Sure. Welcome home.” [stamps declaration form]

 

<End foggy flashback>

 

So, where do we go for our cruise? CANADA!!! This little detail about not going to Canada had occurred to me before the cruise, but I remembered that on every other cruise we’ve taken, the U.S. and foreign Customs agents never check our passports using a computer. They take it, look at it, smile and hand it back. I figured that the same thing would happen in Canada, so I wasn’t too worried.

 

As I pass through the door-like openings in Saint John’s port terminal, I try to look innocent and try really hard to not look like an international drug dealer from Ontario. I’m safe… the agents didn’t notice me, and my family provided the perfect cover. Once we’re through the “checkpoints” in the glass wall, we’re now in the main part of the Saint John terminal.

 

Just outside of the glass walls, there’s a row of chairs and benches along the left side with about 6 people sitting. All of them have laptops, and appear to be surfing the internet, writing emails, or something like that. I notice that a few of them are crew members, so I make an educated guess that the port’s terminal has free wireless internet available. I make note of this in my little brain, most likely pushing out something useless like the purpose of that small, square, gold key on my keychain.

 

I would share my pictures of the Saint John’s port terminal, but I don’t have any. I don’t have any because they don’t “like” pictures to be taken inside of the terminal. I found this out for the first time in Baltimore when a stern and sturdy looking woman in a black uniform was quite upset to see me taking lots of pictures of the terminal. I think my last picture was a blurry and crooked picture of her approaching me with her hand out. I stopped taking pictures of terminals after that.

[Pistol Packin Mama]

Just another fan DH enjoying your review. We are taking the same trip in Sept. Looking forward to your next chapter.................bet you run outside to use the computers and lo and behold you are asked for your passport. And who pops up, the drug dealer from Ontario and you have some "splaining" to do. Just a guess.:D

[hockeyluver]

[Agent looks around quickly and combines a laugh and a sigh] “There’s an international drug dealer that has your same name, and he lives in Ontario. There’s a good chance that if you go to Ontario or anywhere in Canada, it could complicate things for you.”

“Got it. No Canada. Thank you for telling me.”

“Sure. Welcome home.” [stamps declaration form]

 

<End foggy flashback>

 

So, where do we go for our cruise? CANADA!!! This little detail about not going to Canada had occurred to me before the cruise, but I remembered that on every other cruise we’ve taken, the U.S. and foreign Customs agents never check our passports using a computer. They take it, look at it, smile and hand it back. I figured that the same thing would happen in Canada, so I wasn’t too worried.

 

As I pass through the door-like openings in Saint John’s port terminal, I try to look innocent and try really hard to not look like an international drug dealer from Ontario. I’m safe… the agents didn’t notice me, and my family provided the perfect cover. Once we’re through the “checkpoints” in the glass wall, we’re now in the main part of the Saint John terminal.

 

HMMMM your name isnt Bin is it lol, there was a major drug bust not to far from my place and one of the arrested's name was Bin he is Vietnamese....

 

living on the border between Windsor and Detroit we are always going over to the states, whether it is for shopping a Red Wings game, Lions or Tigers a concert doesnt matter, it is a crap shoot whether you get pulled in by customs or not. :rolleyes: something we constantly deal with here.

 

ok sorry for interrupting please continue.....

[pe4all]

Still loving this! DH always gets held up and a second "stare" as he passes thru customs also. He just looks at the agent and says "I'm much more handsome in real life than in the picture - it just doesn't do me justice!" They just laugh and wave him thru. (picture balding 50-some year old man with glasses!)

[cv322]

Thank you so much for each installment DH (& for masterful editing Shaky)....am hoping that you guys can drag this review out til December & then start a new one with a **MEMOIR** of the Pride in January.

[tandemcruzr]

Thank you so much for the memoir Mr Delta and Miss Shakey. (That's a Southern form of addressing adults where we live. Adult men are addressed Mr First Name and adult women are addressed Miss First Name -- Miss, not Mrs or Ms.)

 

We have something in common. I hate slippy-slippy. We have hard water in our area and have had to install a water softener since the hard water leaves spots on everything. I suppose it would leave spots on me if I didn't dry off with a towel.

 

I don't use body washes or fancy shampoos. Don't have enough hair to justify that expense. I use plain old soap -- the "99.9% pure" kind. With the soft water, I feel like I need to rinse and rinse to get rid of the slippy-slippy, but it never completely goes away. I don't notice any ill effects after drying off.

 

When we travel and I get to take a shower in a hotel, motel or cruise ship that doesn't have soft water, I revel in the squeaky-squeaky feel I get.

 

OK, returning you to your regularly scheduled programming. :D

[ShakyBeef]

Thank you so much for the memoir Mr Delta and Miss Shakey. (That's a Southern form of addressing adults where we live. Adult men are addressed Mr First Name and adult women are addressed Miss First Name -- Miss, not Mrs or Ms.)

 

 

We do that with names here on the Shore, too. Especially with our elders.:)

 

Thank you, and everyone else here who has been so complimentary of this beast of a "review". I'm sorry y'all - I know I'm being lazy here by not responding to each poster. But we really do want to thank all of you. It's still surprising and flattering how much so many seem to be enjoying this.:o

Delta is typing the next installment at this moment. But I have to warn you: there may not be much produced tonight. His right hand is heavily blistered from burns he got at work today, touching wireless equipment on which eggs could have been cooked (no joke).:(