From the bus station in Victoria I waited for the shuttle that was to pick me up at 3:30. I had arranged this the day before, as required by the shuttle company. 3:30 arrived and no shuttle. At 3:45 I gave up. It doesn't pay to plan things too much, or at least to count on plans working out. I grabbed a cab to get me to the airport, which took about half an hour and cost $45 with tip. The shuttle would have cost $14.
I intentionally arrived early at the airport to allow time to fill out Y-38 forms to register items like cameras and recorders with customs so I wouldn't have to pay duty on my return into Canada. I located the customs office at 4:30. The sign on the closed door said, Hours: 8:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. I pounded on the door until somebody opened it. I think they knew they wouldn't be able to get rid of me until I had my Y-38s, so we filled them out and signed them. I was lucky this time. Had I been just a few minutes later...
The first flight, to Seattle, departed at 7:30. The short hop used a twin turboprop Bombardier aircraft I had never flown on before. We left on time, and I was in Seattle with plenty of time to board my next flight; a 10:30 red-eye to Detroit. That flight arrived in Detroit at 5:30 local time (2:30 Pacific time) and by then I was starting to feel tired. I hadn't slept on the flight to Detroit. My next flight was due to leave at 6:40, so I had little time to relax, but plenty of time to make the connection.
It was dark in Detroit, but I could see it was wet, and raining steadily. For some reason, CNN weather was reporting that it was clear and dry in Detroit. So much for CNN weather. We boarded the plane at about 6:15. The plane was an old, refurbished DC-9. It was plenty scratched up inside, as if it had seen some action, perhaps in a Central American country. The crew appeared to be tired, certainly not brimming with glee. A dreary plane and a dreary crew.
Time to fire up those engines! Ahh, there goes one. Now, what's that clanky sound? Kind of sounds as if maybe the other engine won't start. But the captain keeps trying - clank whirrr, clank whirr...
"Good morning, good morning! My name is Davis and I'll be your captain today! Welcome aboard flight 7278 to Miami. It appears one of our engines is not being cooperative this morning, but not to worry, we have our expert maintainance crew working on it right now."
I looked out the window and watched an old guy in a tweed jacket and cap and handlebar mustache approach the engine with a hand crank.
"This shouldn't take too long so if you will just be patient for a few minutes we'll be underway soon."
Seconds drifted into minutes, and minutes into hours. At about the two hour point the captain returned to the PA:
"Thank you for your patience. I am informed that the part we need has arrived from Boston and will be installed post haste. We should be underway in a few minutes."
There were many upset passengers, mostly those who had connections to make. The couple ahead of me was enroute to Argentina, and they would have to wait until tomorrow for another flight, if one with extra seating was available tomorrow. I don't understand Spanish all that well, but their Spanish was clear as spring water to me.
We finally got underway after a delay of about two and a half hours. It was very cramped in the plane, worse than the others. Altogether a shabby experience in a shabby plane.
We finally arrived in Miami at about 11:45. But that was OK. I was in no hurry. I was just fine. Just a little tired is all.
The Radisson Hotel provides a free shuttle service for guests like me, so I flagged it down in the pick-up area. The driver's English was thick with his native Spanish, but I understood the part about how even though the ride was free, a tip was in order. Yeah, OK.
It wasn't a long drive to the Radisson, but that wasn't where we ended up. Apparently the Radisson was full (it was a Saturday night) and I was now booked into the Homestead. That's where I stayed last time, and it was OK. But I had to walk about a mile to the Radisson to take advantage of the meal tickets I was given.
It was so crowded at the Radisson dining room that I almost turned around and walked back. But I was too hungry - I hadn't eaten since breakfast the day I left Victoria (yesterday) and that breakfast wasn't much. In fact, I can't remember what I had, if anything.
How interesting! The food at the Radisson was exactly like the food in the staff cafeteria on the ship as I remembered it.
Let's see. How many hours has it been since I last slept? My count was about 33. I must be tired. Maybe that's the funny feeling I'm having. Back at the Homestead I decided to take a wee nap. 3:00 pm, a good time for a nap. Unfortunately it was about 11:00 pm when I woke up, and I couldn't get back to sleep. This was going to screw me up good!
Now I had about five and a half hours to wait until the bus to Port Canaveral was to pick up the crewmembers waiting at the Homestead. Sleeping didn't work. Television at that hour was dismal. I took a walk. The night was balmy, but I was nervous walking alone at night on the outskirts of Miami. Finally the bus arived at 5:15, as scheduled, and I was ready. Maybe I could get some sleep on the bus; it's a four and a half hour drive to Port Canaveral.
The seating in the bus to Port Canaveral made the plane from Detroit seem like first-class carriage. I was crushed into a small seat next to a big fat ass. It was a horrible ride, with one stop to eat a sausage and egg biscuit sandwich at Burger King. The less said about it, the better.
We finally pulled in to Port Canaveral at about 9:45 Sunday morning. Ah, there she was, just as I remember her. Mariner of the Seas.
"OK. Everybody out! This way into the holding pen. We've only got a 5 minute window to get you all onboard!"
It was familiar, too familiar. Suddenly I felt as if I had never even been gone, yet I had been off the ship for 6 months.
Onboard now, waiting to be processed. Well, I'll be. There's old Vern, the musical director! Vern showed up to help me reorient myself. A nice thing to do. Soon I'd see other familiar faces. Ron, the drummer. The other Vern, the purser. Dil, the security agent. And others. I really started to feel as if I hadn't been gone at all. It all came back, like a recurring nightma... er, dream.
But I was onboard, finally, and glad to be there. Where's my cabin, anyway? I'm to room with Octavian the Sports Director for awhile. But more about Octavian, Juicy Lucy, Naughty Nikki and Karl the Rock will have to wait for a later post. This one's gone on too long already. Bye for now.
A lovely, but wet, kiss in the Caribbean
