jducoeur

Tuesday Evening

As part of the Pirate Night Bash, Captain Hook forces everyone to do the Safety Dance, until Mickey swings in across the crowd to the tune of "I Need a Hero", leading into the shipboard fireworks. All in all, the most entertainingly *wrong* thing I've seen in some time.

Wednesday: At Sea

Death By Breakfast. Champagne brunch at Palo is every bit as good as dinner was, maybe better. Probably the best brunch I've ever had, head and shoulders better than The Blue Room. Gravlax with caviar to go with the seafood salad; pork and beef prosciutto to go with the melon; I can't decide between the Eggs Benedict and the orichetto pasta, so the waitress insists on sending over both; teeny and elegant servings of tiramisu and sherry trifle; and a heavenly sticky bun, just because. (And that's only about half the things I nibbled at.) A possibly lethal amount of food, but it's a great way to go.

Walking down the stairs, I see that the hallway art is design art from the cartoon "Donald's Vacation". I do a double-take, suddenly realizing the Kenneth Branagh's infamous folding-chair scene from Much Ado About Nothing is stolen directly from it.

Touring the ship's galley (of course):
Reaction #1: "120 cooks? What the heck do you do with 120 cooks?"
Reaction #2: "They start cooking a 5:30 meal for 1200 people at 4pm? How the heck do they do that with only 120 cooks?"

Hot tubs are wonderful things -- but boy, they tell you where you missed with the sunscreen yesterday. Ow, ow, ow...

A monkey hanging in our room. One of the hallmarks here is The Lost Art of Towel Origami. Tonight's is a towel monkey, hanging from a hanger in the middle of the room -- serious cuteness, and well made.

Br'er Fox on the wall at Animator's Palate. I'm glad to see the nod to one of Disney's more obscure films, but Dana (who is just graduating from college) has never heard of him, so a few of us launch into an explanation of Song of the South, the cartoon she's never seen because it was suppressed before she was born. I can understand why, but I still get a bit annoyed by the subtle unwriting of history.

Whitecaps in the Mickey Pool: as we take our final wander around Deck 9, msmemory notes the eight-inch waves in the foot-deep pool. The steady 20-30 knot winds we've had all cruise have had their effect, and the seas are now up to eight feet. It's a good thing we've all gotten our sea legs (and that our dinner companion has gotten past her initial motion sickness).

Thursday: Over to the Park

The Sea of Baggage: debarkation is beyond mere human efficiency. Finding our luggage (fetched and carried out last night) is surprisingly easy: we are in zone Donald/Blue, with all the bags lined up in stateroom order.

Only in Florida: on the bus out, msmemory points out an entire freight train passing beneath us, stretching as far as the eye can see, carrying nothing but white sand.

The Bathroom -- of Mystery!: Both of us would swear that the bathroom at the resort is still on board the ship -- it feels like we're still rocking back and forth when in it. We're fine everywhere else, but the bathroom has this slight, gentle motion to it.

Old friends: in a fast swing through MGM, we hit MuppetVision 3D, the Tower of Terror, the Rock-n-Rollercoaster, and most importantly the oldest and still favoritest, Star Tours. msmemory compares it to meeting up with an old friend who you haven't seen in years. (And lunch at the Sci-Fi Drive-In permits an in-depth discussion of the relative virtues of the trailers for Robot Monster vs. Plan 9.)

"Where's Jack?": that's the more appropriate name for the newly-tweaked Pirates of the Caribbean ride. The ride hasn't changed that much, but it's gained a high concept of The Hunt for Jack Sparrow, who pops out of barrels, behind corners, and so on. Trite, but amusing. It disturbs me oddly that the animatronic Jack looks so much more like Johnny Depp (and indeed, more lifelike) than the "character appearance" on-ship did.

The extra-evening-hours priority at Epcot is trying out the two new rides, both of which are basically new takes on old ideas. Soarin' is basically O Canada! updated: surrounded by a giant screen, swinging gently around as you swoop and soar through the aerial shot. OTOH, Mission: Space is basically Star Tours on steroids -- slammed back in your seat by an apparent 3 Gs, it's pretty high-adrenaline. We were conspicuously the oldest people on the ride.

Having enjoyed writing up my last trip in terms of impressions rather than narratively, I think I'll do it again. So here are some assorted impressions of the first few days...

Saturday

23 people on a Southwest plane that seats 120. We took the emergency exit row halfway back (with its gobs of legroom), and were the furthest-back people in the crowd. Between that and getting to fly out of ever-friendly Manchester, this may qualify as the most pleasant flight I've ever had.

Sunday: Setting Sail

"We're walking..." The Disney staff escort a substantial mob of families all the way across Orlando Airport, from the Hyatt to the buses, an exceptional bit of traffic management. Contrary our original guesses (that there would be very few children since school isn't out yet), it's still 2/3 families with children. But it's mostly small children -- lots of pre-schoolers.

The ship sets off, to the tune of "When You Wish Upon a Star", played on what amounts to the world's biggest pipe organ. We (a tad chilled by the steady 30 MPH wind up on Deck 10) make a beeline for Quiet Cove, the adults-only pool. Our first indication that the ship is beginning to rock as we head out into open sea is as we find ourselves gently battered by waves in the small pool, tossing me back and forth.

The Cappucino Cheesecake at Palo, after dinner the first night. It is a perfection of cuteness: a coffee-cup-shaped cheesecake, with whipped cream froth on top, solid chocolate steam coming out the top, and swirled white and dark chocolate making the cup's handle and straw. In terms of taste it is merely good, making it by far the least impressive bit of an otherwise spectacular meal (not quite as good as Campania, but that's praising with faint damnation).

Looking out on the ship's wake after dinner, I begin to get the smallest sense of how *frightening* sea travel must have been in period. The whitecaps we are kicking up are very impressive for about 40 feet -- and beyond that, it is utterly, totally black. And that's with a mildly moonlit night, without many clouds. I can scarcely imagine what it must have been like on an old-fashioned ship, alone in that endless expanse...

Monday: Nassau

The Wall of Straw Hats begins to take shape, on the back of the stateroom sofa. msmemory and I each brought one (she having forbidden me to bring my usual black felt fedora, on the grounds that it would be terminally stupid down here). But my last straw hat is one I've really never liked: it was from a brand I liked, but it never fit properly. My shopping project in the Tourist District of Nassau was a straw hat that I actually like. There, I found a thoroughly cheap western-style one, and later a really nice Panama. So I am now well behatted for the rest of the trip.

At the Dolphin Encounter, msmemory accidentally places her hand a little too close to the dolphin's head. I hadn't known that dolphins could blow a raspberry -- much less stick out their tongue at you. But it's a delight nonetheless, as we are put through paces of petting, hugging and dancing (well, kind of) with the dolphin.

Sitting in "Hercules, the Muse-ical", I find myself playing the game of trying to decide which character matches which Commedia archetype. But really, the better analogy is Spamalot -- it's related to the movie (AFAIK, having not seen the movie all the way through yet), but pretty different, using the stage to fine meta-story effect. Lots of fun, although almost too many high notes without any quiet bits inside this one-hour compression of the story.

Sunset over the water is obscured, but lovely nonetheless. The horizon is thick with low clouds that block the sun, but they break a bit higher, allowing the higher clouds to reflect the colors down. The very high cirrus, and a few small puffs scuddering across at high speed complete a sunset of real complexity.

Walking back to the room with our Happy Anniversary chocolate. Having admitted that this is kinda-sorta our 20th anniversary cruise, the waitstaff sung "Happy Anniversary to You" to us, and presented us with an extra dessert adorned with a slab of white chocolate with a picture of the ship and "Happy Anniversary" on it. The dessert was forgettable (the flavor was best described as "pink"), but the chocolate will be nibbled later.

Tuesday: Castaway Cay

msmemory sitting in the shallow water, in the midst of a great pod of a dozen or so stingrays. After half an hour of trying to come close to them (and not getting within five feet), she applied her great Animal Fu, sat placidly, and let them come to her, close enough to pet them.

A beachside wedding: just the bride and groom (with full satin dress and tuxedo), the minister, photographer and organist, off on a little spit of land. Nearby is a golf cart, covered with flowers and a sign saying "Just Married".

Chasing the Wily Inner Tube: one of the day's activities was gentle tubing in Serenity Bay. But the wind was intense enough to make it a bit of a ride: start at one end, get in the tube, get blown to the other end of the beach, walk back and start over. Which was fine until msmemory's tube got away from her and began accelerating into the Crew Beach. Chasing it down (running full-tilt in three feet of water) was the best exercise this week.

Breakfast on Monday is quite typical of the Cheyenne Canon Inn, but worth mentioning. Waffles with Creme Anglaise; Pear Apple Crisp; Portobello Frittata; and the best bacon I'd ever had. We chat with Keith, the owner (a professional chef), who describes life in the B&B world and how one has to be distinctive -- he has chosen breakfast to be his weapon against the competition. I approve.

Then off to Manitou Springs, perhaps the earthiest-crunchiest place on Earth. First the annual Commonwheel Arts Festival, held on the green: dozens of artists vying to separate us from our money. A triptych of magnificent photographs tempts me, but my more rational better half points out that we really can't afford two grand for them. We do wind up buying an iron pelican, though.

The town is made up of a strict alternation of kitschy tourist shops and little craft stores, the tacky side-by-side with the beautiful.

The dead center of Manitou is The Arcade, certainly one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World. It stretches on for half-a-dozen shopfronts, the most remarkable collection of entertainment devices ever assembled. From four different baseball games (the pinball-shaped 1920s ones that roll a ball and let you swing a flipper to knock one out of the park), through dozens of pinball machines, every classic videogame console ever made (Centipede, Joust, Tron, Space Invaders -- you name it), to the most current devices (one DDR Extreme set dominated by teenage girls) and even a couple of air hockey tables, I realize that I have found Geek Paradise. I don't even start, being unsure that I am capable of stopping once I do.

A few silly purchases made, we retire back to the inn, and its hot tub. There are few better ways to relax than just the two of us in the tub, looking out and up at the Rocky Mountains looming right outside the window.

Sunday afternoon, we get to the reason we've all been called to Colorado Springs: the wedding of my stepbrother Mike and his longtime lady Crystal.

The gazebo sits in the middle of a small pond. For a larger wedding, the guests would sit on the mammoth stones of the amphitheater along one side of the pond, and watch the entertainment from there. But we are only twenty people (plus two children, one dog, and approximately 35 cameras), so we fit nicely into the gazebo. It is hibernating, and does not eat us.

Joshua and Riley (my sister's children, 5 and 2) steal the day comprehensively. Joshua proudly bears his first suit through the ceremony, before proudly losing his first tie.

The ceremony flows elegantly, as the bride and groom have designed it. While being mostly devoid of religion, it nonetheless has good ritual -- the bride gives stones to each attendee, asking them to seal a wish in the stone and then return it to the bowl designed to hold those wishes permanently.

The ringbearer is Ciana -- the dog. The rings are extricated from the pouch hung from her collar; everyone oohs appropriately.

Staring into The Wall of Cameras, one cannot quite tell whether there are actually people back there: they are too hidden by all the lenses. It doesn't seem possible that so few people can take so many photographs at once.

Dinner at The Blue Star. (Gratuitous Galaxina references go through msmemory's and my minds, but we don't bring them up to the family, because it would require describing that wretched movie.) One long table: the Tegers (the groom's side) settle at one end, and the Shaws (the bride's) at the other. All are friendly, but the difference in taste is evident from the choice of salad on.

The cake is unique: a literal mountain of chocolate icing, with the bride and groom scaling it. Joshua eats the bride's (marzipan) head, and informs the crowd that it is hard.

Continuing the pointillist view of our vacation, on to Sunday:

Morning in the Garden of the Gods. In with the other tourists, wandering amidst sandstone. These are not hills, they are still rocks, 300 feet high, river-tossed haphazardly around the landscape. Red dominates the view, everywhere you look.

Among rocks carefully labeled with "No Climbing (except as authorized)" signs, are of course the authorized technical climbers, making their way ant-like up and over every stone big and steep enough to be interesting. A young woman is being tutored in the art of the climb, braced by the rope that her instructor has fastened to the rock face above.

We clamber up one rock, amateurs getting as high as we can before the signs tell us to stop, only to find a guide sitting placidly up there, a guru of rock-lore, stationed there to tell us about the weird erosions of the stone, and how they all got there.

As we wend our way out of the park (a single-file line of cars, conga dancing around the perimeter), I spot an improbably sheer rock, flat enough that it would be perfect for a giant's skipping-stone, stuck end-on into the ground in the distance. Atop a summit that can't be more than a yard across, and 200 feet up, is a lone man standing proudly.

To begin with, you have to understand that Sanibel is flat. No, flatter than that. msmemory and I have a default eight-mile route that we tend to bike each day; the hilly part of that is going over a bridge with an elevation of, oh, about three feet. And the traffic on the roads can be miserable, especially in the late afternoon. So it should not be surprising that those in the know get around by bicycle. There are two main rental companies, Finnimore's and Billy's.

Now Billy is a clever and observant guy, and I gather that, a year or two ago, he noticed his demographic. Broadly speaking, the renters are fairly well-off, and while there are some kids, they're not the rule. So he went and spent a fair bundle of money, bought a small fleet of HTs, and created Segway of Sanibel. Four tours of the island daily, up to ten people per tour, conducted entirely on Segways.

The toy lives up to its billing. We started out with about a five-minute lesson on how to mount and dismount, move forward and back, and turn. And then we were off, zipping (rather slowly) around the bike paths. Within half an hour, the thing became completely second-nature -- rather like riding a bike, it works best if you don't really think about it much.

The Segway turns out to have three "gears". We started out with the black "beginner" key, which limits your speed to about 6 MPH -- a sort of moderate jogging speed. Once the tour guide was confident that we had a clue, he advanced us to the yellow "intermediate" key, which boosts the speed to a more respectable 8 MPH and improves the turning response. We never got to use the red "advanced" key ourselves (island policy apparently doesn't permit the full 12 MPH speed on the bike paths), but at the end of the tour he let us try out his machine at full speed in the parking lot. That is a *lot* of fun. In the lower keys, the machine sort of fights back when you try to go fast: you lean forward, and it leans you back to slow down. With the red key, it just keeps accelerating to what feels like the natural speed of the device.

The tour itself was a pleasant wander around the central district of the island. The highlight was a stop by the informal Aviary. Apparently, the island is prone to twits who buy parrots and other exotic birds, utterly failing to understand that (a) they require a fair amount of work to treat properly and (b) they live for a *long* time. So stray parrots turn up from time to time, and this family takes them in and cares for them. They also had a few other exotic animals -- a couple of ring-tailed lemurs and the like.
( Pictures below the cut )