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:

Happy Thanksgiving! It was a warm and balmy day here on Sao Vicente Island off the west coast of Africa, 86 degrees and sunny. Cape Verde is an archipelago and island country in the central Atlantic Ocean, consisting of ten volcanic islands. Sao Vicente, where we are moored, is one of the islands. For a point of reference, it’s about 85 square miles and has a population of around 76,000 people. 92% of the island population lives in Mindelo on the Porto Grande Bay, a caldera (a large depression formed when a volcano erupts and collapses) that was filled by the ocean.

According to David, our tour director for today, Portugal originally colonized the Cape Verde Islands in 1462. For many years Cape Verde was a Portuguese colony, then an overseas province, but in 1975 the country gained its independence. The official language and much of the architecture is Portuguese, but they mostly speak Cape Verdean Creole, a combination of African languages with some European languages thrown in.

The largest problem in Sao Vicente is lack of rainfall. In Mindelo they only get about 5 inches of rain in a year, so it is extremely dry. They have to desalinize water from the ocean for drinking and household usage. It’s a beautiful country, yet so isolated. All travel is by ferry or by plane. Only about 15% of the population own cars, so they travel around the island on mini-buses and taxis.

Our tour today was a mini-bus ride to the top of Monte Verde, the highest point on the island, then to the beach and around the other side of the island. Mostly tame stuff except for the the ride up and back down the mountain, which was more than a little hairy. At the top of the mountain, David offered us a shot of Grogue, which is a strong cane juice rum made only in the Cape Verde Archipelago. I guess he was trying to calm our nerves after the mini-bus ride. I looked it up and the word grogue is derived from the English word grog.

Our fellow travelers outdid themselves today by asking David what must have been his top five stupid questions of all time: 1. Do you generate your own electricity on the island? 2. How deep is the water in the bay? 3. Do you have to import things to the island? 4. Is this road only one way? (see the steep cobblestone road in the top middle picture) 5. Is there a toilet here? (at a stop on the way down on the side of the steep mountain with no buildings in sight). And as a topper, when we got back to the ship and everyone was hot and sweaty after being on a un-air conditioned bus with tiny hard seats for 3 hours, a lady stopped David from letting us off by asking what the Cape Verde flag symbolizes. Really, lady, you haven’t met Mr. Google? Who cares? And bless David’s heart, he gave us a cursory lesson on the flag, even though no one else but the one lady was listening.

Since we are on a ship making a Transatlantic crossing, we have several days at sea. Today is one of them. We are headed to Sao Vicente Island, Cape Verde, off the western coast of Africa.

Nothing much happens on days at sea, although they try hard to provide entertainment. For instance, beginning at 8 AM today’s schedule includes the following: a corn hole tournament, a crafter’s corner (I guess people get together and knit?), a lecture titled “History of West Africa,” a Tanzanite Seminar (probably to hawk jewelry), a Ship Building Class (I am assuming a model ship), Future Cruises Presentation (assumably to hawk future cruises), Team Trivia, Social Bridge (not to be confused with antisocial bridge), a Wine Tasting (more than likely to hawk wine), an Origami Workshop (back by popular demand), Viking Jupiter Choir (where you learn a fun song), a Mini Golf Tournament, an Afternoon Tea, another lecture titled “Maiden Voyages,” yet another lecture titled, “Mars–It Does Take a Rocket Scientist,” a film of the Metropolitan Opera’s “The Magic Flute” in the theatre (sounds like a bit of a snoozefest), and finally, “Dancing Under the Stars” with a live band at 8:45, followed by live music in the ship’s night club, Torshavn until midnight. Oh, yeah, and a BBQ on the pool deck at 6:30. Good heavens.

We went to live show in the theatre last night. Tom Lowe, billed as a West End Star (England’s Broadway), was starring in his one man show, “A Song for You.” He was apparently also a runner-up on maybe season six of American Idol. Maybe we didn’t give him a chance, but his songs were a bit lounge-lizard. He probably has to tailor his repertoire for the older crowd, so that might have been part of it. I would have stayed for a few more songs, but after he butchered Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody, Doug was out of there.

In the public restrooms, they have a recording of nature and outdoor sounds, like birds chirping, children playing, toads croaking, etc. One of them sounds almost like a rowing crew on a river, softly talking. It’s a little unnerving at times, particularly the frogs. Some of the sounds make you wonder who is in there with you and what the heck they are doing.

We haven’t made any friends on this ship, so I am reduced to eavesdropping. You can sit at a table for four or six with someone different every night at dinner, but I find that exhausting, so we usually ask for a two-top. Last night there was a six top next to us with three couples who had never met. One of the men pretty much dominated the conversation the entire evening. He talked loudly (probably hard of hearing), and prefaced every few sentences with, “Now that’s another interesting story.” Then he launched into a monologue where he was the main character in the “interesting” story. I guess it was of interest to him. At first his wife laughed hilariously at his stories, but by the end she looked bored and fed up.

I was trying to use a line from Casablanca in my title, and that’s all I could come up with on short notice. And we were just in Paris, so it kind of works. The movie Casablanca wasn’t even filmed in Casablanca. It was filmed in 1942 on the Warner Brothers set in Burbank, California with some scenes shot at the Van Nuys Airport. According to Husain, our tour guide for today, there is a popular restaurant here called Rick’s Casablanca, which was opened by an American on March 1, 2004. The place was designed to exactly replicate the bar made famous by the movie. Well, actually to replicate the bar made famous on the famous movie set, or something like that.

Casablanca is the largest city in Morocco with a population of about 4 million people, so it would take more than the one day we had to spend here to get a real feel for it. It’s definitely a multicultural city, with the children learning Arabic, French, Berber and English. When we lived in South Carolina we had a friend from Morocco, and he spoke Arabic, French and English. Not sure about Berber. We certainly don’t teach languages on that level in the US.

One of things we saw today was the Hassan II Mosque, which is the largest functioning mosque in Africa and is the 14th largest in the world. The minaret is 60 stories high. To give you an idea of the scale of the mosque, the prayer hall can accommodate 25,000 people, with a possibility of 85,000 being outside on the grounds. So, needless to say, it’s quite large.

We also walked through the Medina, or old town, near the port. The Medina is essentially a large bazaar, where you can buy spices, leather goods, shoes, linen, fish, seafood, vegetables, flowers and so forth.

Next up on our whirlwind tour was the Royal Palace of Casablanca, which was built in the 1920’s and is the main residence of the King of Morocco, Mohammed VI. A weird thing happened in front of the palace. There were several guards with different types of uniforms at the entrance and on the grounds, but the one who seemed to be in charge was a large, imposing man in a black uniform with red trim and a red beret. I looked it up, and I think he was a member of the Royal Guard, because a red beret is part of their uniform. (We were instructed to not take pictures of them, and believe me, I would have been scared to try it). So, Husain was rambling on about the architecture, etc. when the guard yelled at him something mean sounding in Arabic. Then he came up to Husain and Alef (Husain’s sidekick) and a loud argument ensued. Eventually, we found out that he simply wanted us to move along so other people could enter the courtyard. For a minute there, I thought someone was going to be thrown into the royal jail.

I know it sounds both strange and ironic, but our tour guide, Husain, was blind. His young assistant, Alif, led him around and told him when there was a step, a hole, etc. So, each time Alif gave Husain instructions, he would repeat them to us as in, watch out for that step, be careful of that hole, there’s a bump right here. It sounds kind of annoying, but it was really rather sweet to see the good care Alif took of Husain.

Several of our female fellow travelers asked Husain some pressing questions about how Muslim women are treated in Morocco and he seemed a little bit defensive about the subject. He mentioned that women are not allowed to sit outside at cafes and when one woman questioned that, he said they did not like to sit outside anyway. Also, he said that although polygamy in Morocco is still legal, it is very uncommon due to restrictions that were introduced by the government in 2004 that mandated financial qualifications a husband must meet in order to marry a second wife. Now a husband must have written permission from his current wife before marrying a second wife and be able to provide proper household and financial support for both wives and the children of both wives. Then Husain declared proudly that he has only one wife and three children, unlike his father. Some things run deep.

Last night when we were going through the Strait of Gibraltar, Doug was out on the deck and said, “Ann, come look! It’s the Rock of Gibraltar!” So, I raced out there to look and cracked my knee on the low wood-like table. But, don’t worry. I didn’t get too upset. I was a like the rock of Gibraltar.