Written from London after disembarking, but still, I hope, vivid in the right ways.
1) Returning to Maman for breakfast, I enjoyed the most wonderful breakfast bowl, with avocado and potatoes and bacon and an egg. Very satisfying.
Om nom nom.
2) The embarkation instructions said not to arrive before 3:00 PM, but I just could not sit around at the Jane until then, even after getting my checkout time extended to 1:00 PM. So I wrestled all my luggage down in the elevator (it was working again . . . ), called a Lyft, and was en route to Pier 12 in the Brooklyn Navy Yard.
2a) I didn’t mention that I actually got locked out of my little room when my fob deactivated at noon. At least I was fully dressed when I went down to the lobby . . .
2b) My driver knew some of the hidden streets of Brooklyn to beat the traffic and get to the pier.
3) When I got there, I understood why they said not to come until 3:00 PM. The line was so long; everyone was probably just as excited/anxious to get on board as I was! Forty minutes of stop and go, and then through the metal detectors (at least we didn’t have to take off our shoes), and then another long line for the Cunard agents. I was definitely one of the youngest people in line. And it was interesting to watch People Older Than I try to maneuver themselves not to have to wait in the line to get checked in.
3a) The closer I got to the end of the line, the more anxious and fretful I became about having all the documents I would need. They do put the fear of God into you when they write “otherwise we not be able to permit you to sail.” With two or three bends left in the line, I heard a staffer call out “Be sure to have your UK ETA visa out.” The email from the UK specifically said you didn’t have to print it, but I had anyway. Would it really be necessary? What else might I be missing?!
3b) Finalmente, I approach the desk, provide my passport, and everything but my heart, which I kept in my mouth. “And you have your UK ETA?” “Right here.” “Great, you’re cleared to board!” “Wonderful! But you know, they said you didn’t have to print this.” “That’s OK, we’d’ve asked to see it on your phone.” “But I don’t have email on my phone . . .” Catastrophe: averted.
4) More lines, this time involving ramps, crossing the final gangway and checkpoint, and hey presto, one is on board! I finally made it to my little cabin with a beautiful balcony view of the lifeboats and started unpacking my trunks.
I gambled that they would upgrade me, and lost.
5) On my first crossing in 2019, I waited until mid-voyage to go to the LGBTQ cocktail hour at 5. Then my high school friend Hilary (also on board by happy coincidence), practically had to push me into the Commodore Club. And when I finally did, at least two men said “Finally! What kept you?” So I made a point of appearing right at 5, and . . . and about 18 men had clearly been there at least 15 minutes already. This gathering became the punctuation mark of my day, even more than afternoon tea or dinner.
5a) The weather was gray and bleak as we sailed out of New York, and through the windows of the Commodore Club I noticed the approach of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge — an event! An event that went nearly unremarked with all the vigorous conversation going on.
6) Then dinner at 8:30. I thought the second seating was at 8, but nevertheless . . . I hope I’m never too old for the second seating. I had requested a table of eight, thinking . . . thinking a) more conversation, and b) more gentlemen. On this first night I was eventually joined by one kindly elderly couple and, later, a lady traveling alone on her first cruise of any kind. We had a table that allowed an expansive view of the dining room, and the dinner and service were on point.
7) The events of the day meant that it was best for me to have an early night, and I was glad to snuggle into my soft, expansive bed and feel the motion of the ship carrying me toward . . . what?