We left Tucumcari, New Mexico yesterday morning and drove 160 miles northwest to the Agua Piedra State Park near Vadito, New Mexico, where we spent the night camping. It was only about 25 miles south of Taos, but it felt like it was pretty much in the middle of nowhere. We were “boon-docking,” which is what seasoned RV aficionados call it when they are camping off the grid without water or electricity hookups. Actually, it sounds a lot more adventurous than it really is, because you still have a water tank, heat and air conditioning, and a generator for electric. I think RV people might be just a bit spoiled. The only thing that really bugged me was there was no Wi-Fi or cell service. Now that’s boon-docking.

When you camp in a state or national park, there is always a “Campground Host” near the entrance of every campground. (Just to be clear, they aren’t just standing there at the entrance, they are camped in a spot right by the entrance.). These are people who volunteer to camp in their own RV for the entire season in a designated campground and make sure the campers are paying for their campsites, and are not having wild parties or burning down the woods, etc. They also clean the bathrooms and campsites after use and so forth. In exchange for their volunteer work, they receive a free campsite, Wi-Fi, and water and electricity for the season. Most of them are retired people who like to travel and don’t mind a nomadic lifestyle. For instance, at Agua Piedra, the host, Carol, came by to check on us. Carol and her husband are originally from Atlanta. They sold their home and all of the contents and now live strictly in their RV. Yikes!

Since I was desperate to talk to someone, I quizzed Carol about where they have traveled and what kind of stuff they do on the road. She said that they spend summers out here in the mountains in the west where it’s cool, then go back south in the winters to visit family. When they drive back and forth, they stay at Love’s Travel Centers because, according to Carol, the truckers all stay there and it’s a safe environment. The showers are good too. I looked it up, and Love’s is quite a thing. For instance, the Cordele, Georgia Love’s has more than 40 RV sites, a splash pad, pavilions, a pickle ball court, fire pits, and more. Love’s has 65 locations across the US that cater to RV’s. Who knew? I would have liked to chat with Carol more, but she had important camp host duties to tend to.

Today we headed northwest once again to make the 160 mile trek to Durango, Colorado. On the way here we stopped at the Rio Grande Gorge State Park near Taos. I’m not sure we even knew it was along our route, but it looked cool so we stopped for bit.

So far, we have been eating at local restaurants rather than chain restaurants and it has been kind of fun. Some of the places look a bit sketchy from the outside, but if you are driving through a small town and see several cars at a place, those places tend to be one of the local hangouts. So far, we have eaten at The Arcade in Memphis (reportedly where Elvis ate), Del’s Restaurant and Kix on 66 in Tucumcari, and both last and least, the Elk Horn Cafe in Chama, New Mexico. The Elk Horn could use some paint, but the food was excellent. In full disclosure, I obviously did not take all of the following pictures, particularly the one with sepia color and deckled edges.

Tonight we are in a Vanna down by the river in Durango.

Once again, it is time for me to write my almost close to semi-famous travel blog about our latest travel adventures. Ever since we bought a Leisure Travel Van last fall, Doug has been busy planning a two part trip out west for this summer and fall. We left Georgia two days ago and will eventually end up in Missoula, Montana on July 11th, where we will store the van and fly back to Atlanta. In mid September we will fly back to Missoula, pick up the van, see more sights and then drive back to Georgia.

By the way, our travel van is white, so we recently christened it (her) “Vanna White.” We are calling her Vanna for short.

At first I thought it would be too difficult to write a blog about a road trip across America. I mean road trips can be a bit dull, right? I was having trouble feeling inspired. But then I thought of Bill Bryson’s “The Lost Continent: Travels Across Small-Town America,” Peter Jenkins’s “Walk Across America,” and William Least Heat Moon’s “Blue Highways.” They all wrote in an interesting and entertaining manner about traveling across America. So why not me? (Not that I’m putting myself in their illustrious company even for one minute.). So, here we go.

The last few days we have made the long, hot trip across Georgia, Alabama, the upper corner of Mississippi, the extreme southwest corner of Tennessee, then across Arkansas and Texas and just a bit into New Mexico.

On day one we had barely made it out of Georgia when we made our first stop: Buc-ee’s Travel Center in Leeds, Alabama. If you aren’t familiar with Buc-ee’s, you have missed out. Buc-ee’s holds the record for the world’s largest travel store (Sevierville, TN), the world’s longest car wash, the world’s cleanest restrooms, and the world’s most gas pumps at one location. Like 120 gas pumps. They also have at least 20 varieties of beef jerky. I’m not sure what the draw is, but the place was packed.

We spent our first night in Memphis in a hotel right across the street from the Lorraine Motel, where Martin Luther King, Jr was assassinated on April 4th, 1968, just a day after delivering his famous “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop” speech at the Mason Temple Church of Christ. In 1991 the Lorraine was converted into the National Civil Rights Museum. We arrived after hours, so missed the museum tour.

Last night we stayed in Yukon, Oklahoma in a hotel on Garth Brooks Blvd. Garth was born in Tulsa, but was raised in Yukon. I’m not much of a Garth Brooks fan, but driving across the south and southwest does evoke a lot of country music titles that keep running through my head as we pass through: “Sweet Home Alabama,” “Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man,” “Walking in Memphis,” “Little Rock,” “Amarillo by Morning,” and on and on. All one giant ear worm.

Tonight we are in Tucumcari (pronounced “to come carry”), New Mexico, a tiny little town about 100 miles due west of Amarillo, Texas. Old U.S. Route 66 runs through the heart of Tucumcari via Route 66 Boulevard, and it still has elements of the old west and Route 66 vibes. It is flat, dry and was a scorching 98 degrees when we pulled in.

Last night at 9 PM we flew out of Buenos Aires. Our flight just now landed in Atlanta at 4:39 AM this morning and now we are sitting on the tarmac waiting for customs to open at 5:15. A month is a long time to be gone, so it will be nice to get home. This will be my last installment for this trip, so I hope you have enjoyed my slog, I mean blog. And it’s not really a slog, but it is hard to write some days.

We had to leave the ship first thing yesterday morning, so out of desperation we took another bus tour just to kill some time. I’m not sure we were really up for it, but it beat the alternative of sitting in a holding room at the Michelangelo Restaurant for hours on end. I talked to some people last night at the airport who did that and they said it was crowded and miserable. It was raining off and on all day, so I feel a bit bedraggled. Not a good feeling when you are on a 10 hour flight.

Our tour was called something about barrios, but I really didn’t get why. Barrios means neighborhoods, so I guess it was just a fancy name for driving aimlessly around the city. Actually, we stopped at a cafe, a market, a restaurant and a book store. I wasn’t sure why we stopped at both a cafe and a restaurant. The cafe served rolls and coffee and the restaurant was another huge buffet with a lot of meat (again). I am over buffets, so I just had some desert. In the La Boca Barrio we saw some more tango dancers in front of a restaurant, so I guess that’s a big thing here.

It also seemed odd to stop at a book store, but it wasn’t just any old book store. It was actually an old theater converted into a bookstore called El Ateneo Grand Splendid, and is quite famous. National Geographic named it the most beautiful bookstore in the world in 2019, and I must say I have never been in such an elegant bookstore. It was built in 1919 with three ornately decorated balconies hugging the back wall of a 1,050-seat auditorium. It’s decked out with gilded statues, marble columns and a ceiling mural celebrating the end of World War I.

We met a nice 84 year old woman today named Marge who came on this cruise by herself. I thought it was pretty amazing that she undertook this type of a trip alone. We talked at lunch and she said she wanted to see the world while she is still able. You have to admire her for that.

The subjects we heard the most about in Buenos Aires on our tours were regarding soccer, inflation, the new president and Eva Peron. They are fanatics about soccer, not happy with inflation, and cautiously optimistic about the new president doing something about the inflation.

I thought the most interesting part of their spiels was about Eva Peron. I am oversimplifying the story, but Eva was quite popular with the people because she helped the poor. So when she died at the age of 33 on July 26, 1952 of cervical cancer, there was major mourning for her loss across Argentina. Juan Peron had Eva’s body embalmed and her blood replaced with glycerine so it could be displayed in public. It was displayed publicly for two years and then Juan Peron was overthrown in a military coup. He fled the country and was unable to secure the body. The new authorities removed Evita’s body from display, and its whereabouts was a mystery for 16 years. The military regime didn’t like it that Eva was so popular, so they banned Peronism and no one was allowed to even speak her name. In 1971, a new government discovered that Evita’s body was buried in a crypt in Milan, Italy, under the name “María Maggi.” It’s a complicated story, but her body was finally returned to Argentina in 1973. She was at last buried in her family’s crypt in 1976, 24 years after she died. There’s more to the story, but as our guide Pablo said a couple of days ago, it’s pretty creepy.

Today we went on a tour called “Pampas and Gauchos.” These tours are always a surprise—sometimes good and sometimes a bit dull. Today’s tour was both interesting and a lot of fun. We took a bus (what else?) out to the country to a family estancia, or ranch. Pablo, our tour guide for today, told us that pampas means flat South American grasslands, so the trip to the estancia wasn’t too exciting. Imagine driving across Kansas for a couple of hours. However, Pablo was able to make even this part of the trip interesting with his tales of futbol, Evita, the new Argentinian president, etc.

When we reached the estancia, we were greeted by four gauchos on horses at the entrance. They were holding flags representing the countries of the people on our bus, plus the flag of Argentina.

As we got off the bus, we were greeted by the owners, Francisco and Florenzia, an extremely friendly and gracious couple. Then, we had hot empanadas and Argentinian wine before going to watch the gauchos perform. It was kind of like a miniature rodeo with stands and all. There was a contest to choose the most elegant gaucho, whatever that might mean. Ricardo won.

After that we ate lunch in a beautiful building that seemed to serve as be a family dining and living room with a giant stone fireplace and large glass doors that opened on all sides. We were served a fabulous Argentinian barbecue, which was much the same as the meal we had in Rio at the Brazilian grilled meat restaurant. They just keep serving meat after meat at these types of meals, but I did notice that they serve it in the order of least expensive to most expensive: first sausage, then chicken, then ribeye, then filet. So, you will probably be full by the time you get to the good meat. It’s really far too much food, but their main meal is lunch and then they take a siesta.

We thought that had to be the end of the entertainment, but then some folk dancers performed for us after lunch. Good grief! Both Doug and I were pulled up to participate (me twice), but sorry, no pictures of that. Well, maybe just one.

And now, I must choose the most annoying fellow traveler of day award. Actually, it was a couple who were from Canada. Both of them were always in the forefront, always asking a million questions. The man, let’s call him Dexter, was constantly shooting off his mouth with what he considered hilarious comments. Gauchos carry knives in their waistband. I would have liked for one of them to at least knick him with their knife. Just a small cut, possibly on his shoulder.

Today we were in Montevideo, Uruguay. Uruguay is a tiny country, about the size of the state of Washington, sandwiched between the larger countries of Brazil and Argentina. The city was established in 1724 by a Spanish soldier, Bruno Mauricio de Zabala, as a strategic move amidst the Spanish-Portuguese dispute over the Rio de la Plata Basin. Basically, it was a fight between the Spanish and the Portuguese for the port and in this case, the Spanish won.

Our tour guide for today, Alicia, was great and tried hard to make the country sound exciting, but I suppose I have had one too many history lessons lately to have absorbed much. I did learn that the country is the world’s sixth largest beef exporter. In fact, there are about 3 million people and about 14 million cows in the country, so that says a lot.

Montevideo is in a middle latitude, so the city has four seasons. Right now it is spring here, and the cool temperatures were proof of that with the high today being about 65 degrees and breezy. After Recife and Rio, the cooler temperature was a major relief.

One of our stops was the Torres Garcia Museum, who Alicia said was one of Uruguay’s most influential artists. He was the creator of the style “constructive universalism,” which looked like something from a middle school art class. Maybe I didn’t understand it. Before we came back to the ship we had lunch at Bar Facal where they serve their famous sandwich called a Chivito, which was thinly sliced steak with mozzarella, tomatoes, lettuce and mayonnaise. The restaurant had outdoor seating, and after we ate there was tango dancing on the sidewalk, so that was cool.

All of the locks are in front of Bar Facal are around a fountain called the Fuente de los Candados, or “Fountain of Locks.” The padlocks are put there by sweethearts who are committing to each other and “locking” their love in place. Too bad it doesn’t work that way, but I guess the sentiment is nice. My fellow travelers were fairly tame today. Everyone seems kind of listless and worn out at this point. There are still the same people who crowd around the tour guide and ask a ton of dumb questions, but I just turn my Quietvox’s volume down so I can’t hear.

We left port tonight about 7:30 PM. From our room, we can see all of the preparations for leaving. I had never really thought about how they get all of the supplies on board. It is a major operation with two forklifts loading stuff on pallets onto a retractable plank (?). They pull the plank in, unload it and voila, they do it again.

Remember the ancient couple I have mentioned who are on the ship? Yesterday, I saw them trying to take the stairs down from the seventh floor to the sixth floor. She was laboriously heading down, so he followed her and left his walker on the landing. A nice British couple were trying to help them. They offered to carry the walker down the stairs. The ancient man said he could carry it down. Yet, he was holding on for dear life, just trying to navigate the stairs. What a train wreck. Apparently, the ancient couple was headed to the second floor. I deserted the operation, but I can only hope they got in the elevator for the remainder of their descent.

Yesterday we were in Rio de Janeiro, or the “Marvelous City,” as it is known. I have to say the label fits—Rio is quite spectacular. The name Rio de Janeiro was given to the original site by Portuguese navigators who arrived at Guanabara Bay on January 1, 1502 (“rio” is the Portuguese word for river and “janeiro” is the word for January). The best explanation for the misnomer Rio is that the Portuguese mistook the entrance of the bay for the mouth of a river and the name stuck.

Yesterday was yet another long tour day on buses, trains and cable cars. Anderson was our tour guide, and although he started out a bit monotone he ended being a good guide. After a bus ride through the city, we took the Corcovado train up to see the iconic “Christ the Redeemer” statue, which is located at the top of the Corcovado Mountain, in the Tijuca National Park. It was built between 1922 and 1931, stands 98 feet tall, and is visible everywhere in Rio. There were so, so many people up there!

Next we road the bus to Sugarloaf Mountain and took two separate cable cars up to the top. Sugarloaf is a peak situated at the mouth of Guanabara Bay on a peninsula that juts out into the Atlantic. Rising 1,299 feet above the harbor, the peak is named for its resemblance to the traditional shape of the concentrated refined loaf sugar that was shipped from Brazil to Europe in the 16th century. The cable car runs along a 4,600 ft route between the peaks of Sugarloaf and Morro da Urca. The first car stops in Morro da Urca, and then a second one continues on up to Sugarloaf. If you don’t like heights the cable cars are a bit intimidating. I’m okay as long as I don’t look down. The stunning views up there were well worth the trip.

Finally, we boarded the bus again and went to lunch at Assador Rio’s, billed as “an upscale Brazilian all-you-can-eat grilled meat buffet, plus a salad bar and dramatic bay views.” And this was not just hype. It was huge place packed full of people on a Friday afternoon at 2 PM, with amazing food and stunning panoramic views of the bay. Our room held about 60 people or so. The rest of the restaurant held at least 200 more people. The only drawback is that we were sat by some people I would have preferred to avoid. More on that in a bit.

The most annoying fellow traveler award today goes to a lady with a bright pink outfit who had a propensity to wander off and get lost. She was 20 minutes late getting on the bus to begin with, thus causing us to stand around in the heat and wait for her. Then on our first stop, she was 20 minutes late getting to the train, which meant we had to wait for a second train in a hot, hellish line. At our third stop, Anderson told her in no uncertain terms that she had to stick right by him for the duration, because she was unable to avoid getting lost and we didn’t have time for that. I liked Anderson a lot after that.

Second place for the most annoying fellow traveler of the day award goes to a lady with long blond hair who unfortunately sat by us at lunch. She somehow hurt her knee getting off the bus and then created major drama for the rest of the day by pestering Anderson for ice packs, talking ad nauseam about her injury, filling out a form that looked to be some kind of accident report, etc. At lunch Anderson brought her yet another icepack, and she made a big deal about having him pull up an extra chair (in an extremely crowded restaurant) so she could put her leg up on it. I refused to either ask her about it or give her any eye contact. No bruises, scrapes or bleeding. When she got off the bus at the end of the tour, she wasn’t even limping and seemed to be in excellent condition. What a drama queen.

Today we are sea, but tomorrow morning we will come into port at Rio de Janeiro and stay for the day. I am actually not sure that we will even see the Copacabana, but we might. I will keep you posted. Probably because of the Barry Manilow song, I have always thought the Copacabana was a nightclub in Rio with a showgirl named Lola. Nope, the actual Copacabana is a beach in Rio. I think Barry Manilow was referring to a nightclub in New York City named the Copacabana. I guess I should have paid more attention to the lyrics, because “the hottest place north of Havana” can’t be Rio. Rio is about 4,000 miles south of Havana. In my defense, I usually fall into a deep stupor when I hear any Barry Manilow song.

I forgot to mention in my last blog that Recife is listed as one of the top ten shark-infested beaches in the world. Between 1992 and 2021, there were 62 shark attacks with 25 fatalities in Jaboatao dos Guararapes, which is a part of the Recife metro area. Most of the attacks are bull sharks and tiger sharks. Swimming or surfing is not permitted at the beaches because of this. The beach we drove by, Boa Viagem Beach, has danger signs posted everywhere, but apparently some people don’t heed the warning. In March 2023, two teens were involved in separate shark attacks a day apart in which one lost a leg and the other lost an arm. Both of them were wading in fairly shallow water.

Every day at mealtimes we see an ancient couple on the ship who seem to be well into their nineties. He uses a walker and she seems like she desperately needs one. She walks with painfully small, lurching steps, and I can barely stand to watch because I am totally petrified that she will fall. The other night after dinner, he took off on his walker and was out of sight before she even got up from the table. She didn’t seem to know which way to get out of the dining room, so she headed towards the kitchen, which was the closest door to her. I told Doug that if I get into that shape, there is no way I would get on a cruise ship. I will be staying at home. He said, “Well, you will be in a home, but it might not be your own home.” Very funny.

In other shipboard news, there is a man on the seventh floor who seems to have had at least two psychotic episodes so far. Well, I am probably just being dramatic, but this morning we were sitting in the atrium and all of the sudden we heard a man screaming bloody murder. He seemed to yelling, “Help me, help me, (insert swear words)” over and over in a panicked voice. The people next to us jumped up and ran out to help, but they came back immediately and said that they already had security out there. Apparently, he had had another episode the day before. They were there so fast it made me wonder if they had posted security close to his room. I looked up the contract with Viking on line, and you can be kicked off the ship if your “behavior is disruptive, upsetting, or dangerous to yourself or anyone else.” And when they kick you off, Viking doesn’t pay for you or your party to get home. I’m thinking this guy might want to go on line and start looking for a flight out of the next port.

France was chilly, Barcelona was pleasant and today in Recife (ruh-see-fee) was hot! First we rode a small bus to the passenger terminal, then a big bus to the city of Recife, then a minivan up a hill to a church and and street market in Olinda, the neighboring city, then a minivan back to the big bus, then a big bus back to the passenger terminal, then a small bus back to the ship.

My patience might be wearing a little thin with the bus thing. It takes so much time for everyone to get on and off. And then we have to walk slowly on rough cobblestone sidewalks, through churches, etc. as a group. Of course, a lot this slowness is due to it being an older crowd on these ships, so I keep telling myself that some day I will have a cane and try my darnedest to stay out in front of everyone even though I know it would be polite to let others go ahead because I am walking so, so slowly. And if they try to get ahead of me, I will give them a stern, icy look that says, “Are you trying to run me over?”

So, where was I? According to Leo, our tour director for the day, Recife is named for the long reef recife running parallel to the shoreline which encloses its harbour. The reef is not a coral reef, but an ancient stone beach. Our first stop on today’s tour was The Golden Chapel in Recife, where a choral group of teenagers were singing. Leo seemed completely surprised that they were there, but the letters they were holding up in front of them spelled Jupiter Viking, the name of our ship, but backwards from Viking Jupiter.

Strangely, the official language in Brazil is Portuguese, not Spanish. The Portuguese first colonized Recife and Olinda in about 1535 and it remained a colony until 1822. However, the Portuguese had a few problems over the years. Recife was raided by French pirates in 1561 and by the English in 1595. In 1630 or so it was captured by the Dutch, who held it for 24 years. Olinda sits on a hill, and the Dutch liked that spot, so they burned most of the city to the ground and started over. Leo gave us a lot more history, but I had reached overload at that point, probably due to the heat and the slow walkers.

Most stupid comment of the day: Almost all of the buildings in both Recife and Olinda had a black mold on them because Recife has a tropical monsoon climate. Anyway, Leo told us that the last church we saw today in Olinda, Holy Savior of the World, was burned by the Dutch in 1635, and completely rebuilt. So someone on one of the tours asked, “Is the black stuff on the church due to the fire?” Seriously?

Our final stop was a street market where we had fresh, cold coconut water or milk. It was muito bom.

Well, really it was just another day at sea. The Land Ahoy! part will come bright and early tomorrow at 5 AM when we approach Recife, Brazil and I probably won’t be up by then. So I’m calling it now.

We had an albatross follow us all day a couple of days ago when we were farther out. I kept wondering if it was getting tired, but I looked it up and an albatross can travel about 10,000 miles over the sea before returning to land. They actually sleep while they are flying. Pretty amazing birds. Albatrosses are supposed to bring good luck, but the expression, having an albatross around your neck, has negative connotations. The phrase alludes to Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” in which a sailor who shoots a friendly albatross is forced to wear its carcass around his neck as punishment. I guess you knew I was going to cite that poem at least once more.

Yesterday on the ship they had a ceremony called “Order of the Shellback.” A shellback is a sailor who has crossed the equator, and a pollywog is a sailor who has not crossed the equator. In general, a shellback is an experienced sailor and a pollywog is a newbie. When I was a kid, we called tadpoles pollywogs, so that kind of makes sense.

A ritual of the Shellback ceremony is baptism on the line, also called an equatorial baptism. The ceremony is supposed to be an initiation into the court of King Neptune. What this meant for our ship was a bunch of people lined up and jumped in the pool. Then they got out on the other side and kissed a huge (real) swordfish on ice with a tomato on its bill. The jump in the pool was the “baptism” and the swordfish apparently represented King Neptune. I think the tomato was there for safety reasons. There was also an ice sculpture that must have been a representation of Neptune, but by the time I saw it, it had melted and lost some of its shape. While this ceremony was going on, there was kitschy live music, like “Brandy, You’re a Fine Girl,” “The Girl From Ipanema,” “Copa Cabana,” etc. So, all in good fun. And just in case you are wondering, we did not participate in the baptism.

According to the captain, we crossed the equator last night at 9 PM. I actually thought we crossed it a couple of days ago, but guess I was confused. The captain said that when we crossed they would blow the ship’s horn, but I didn’t hear it. Doug said he thought he would go outside at 9 PM and see if there is really dotted line out there. Haha.

We keep seeing a guy who never says a word, but is always whistling in a weird, tuneless way. I don’t think he knows that it’s considered bad luck to whistle on a ship. Other things that are bad luck are bananas on board, redheads, wishing someone good luck, flat-footed people and setting sail on a Friday. There are several theories as to why bananas are bad luck, but the one that makes the most sense to me is that when bananas were in the cargo hold of ancient ships, other fruits spoiled more quickly because of the ethylene gas they released. So, bananas taint stuff.

We are at sea again headed across the Atlantic Ocean to Recife, Brazil. The captain said we are almost to the Doldrums and will pass the equator about 10 PM tonight. I looked it up (of course), and the “Doldrums” is a low pressure area from 5°N to 5°S of the equator. Winds are famously calm there, with prevailing breeze disappearing altogether at times, making it extremely difficult to navigate through. Back when there were only sailboats, this band of windless, hot and humid weather near the equator could stall sailing ships for weeks, driving the crew to distraction, and resulting in them running out of food and water. So that’s what the Ancient Mariner was talking about! His ship was stuck in the Doldrums.

All in a hot and copper sky,

The bloody Sun, at noon,

Right up above the mast did stand,

No bigger than the Moon.

Day after day, day after day,

We stuck, nor breath nor motion;

As idle as a painted ship

Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, every where,

And all the boards did shrink;

Water, water, every where,

Nor any drop to drink.

Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Lines 111-122, Samuel Taylor Coleridge

I love the painted ship metaphor. Exciting, right? Well, these sea days are long and I have plenty of time to ponder.

Not much good eavesdropping going on lately. A lady fell flat in the dining room yesterday, and that was scary. Poor thing. She was carrying a plate of food and it made the most horrendous crash when she fell. They called a code “Alpha” and the paramedics came and checked her out. She seemed to be all in one piece, but will more than likely be pretty bruised. I thought I should Google codes on cruises just to make sure I know when something goes totally south. An “Alpha” is a medical emergency, a “Bravo” is a fire a “Kilo” is a request for all personnel to report to their emergency posts which happens in the event of, say, a necessary evacuation. “Echo,” is called if the ship is starting to drift and “Oscar,” when someone’s gone overboard. A PVI is a public vomiting incident. I pretty much could have done without this knowledge, because most of is a bit disturbing.

We actually had a fairly decent Thanksgiving dinner on the ship on Thursday, which surprised me. It seems like they use a lot of weird spices in their food, but this was just your usual Thanksgiving dinner. That is, except for the Anise Butternut Squash soup. Anise tastes like licorice, right? So, why would I want that anywhere near my soup?

A photo from last night on the ship: