Photo credit Stuart DeSpain
As I post this we’re at underway at 22 knots and the ship’s heading is 69.8˚. If you’re handy with longitude and latitude, at present we’re 46˚ 23.93N by 37˚ 50.75W. For those less nautically inclined, we’re about two hundred miles south of Greenland, with over fifteen hundred nautical miles to go before landing in Southampton.
Today has been a bit quieter. We skipping on the breakfast room service as the eggs are, well, awful. I’m not sure how they scramble them, but the result has the consistency of rotten cottage cheese. Thanks, but no. So it’s breakfast bars, of which we have plenty. Lunch at the simulated pub on deck three -- the Golden Lion -- has been a nice treat. The fish and chips are done reasonably well, so no complaints on that front!
Despite spending a good part of the day catching up on my writing (yes, I just blogged about my blogging) we fit a few activities in. Some, like laundry, less glamorous. Others, like Scotch tasting, quite enjoyable. The latter was held in the ship’s Commodore Club lounge, toward the top of the bridge tower.Â
The room was beautiful, and the steward knowledgeable. Tina and I learned quite a bit about my favorite drink, not the least of which is that Macallan is from a connoisseur's region of the Highlands known as Speyside. Suddenly I’ve a strong desire to tour northern Scotland!Â
We tried five Scotches: Glenlivet, Caol Ila, Dura, Dalwhinnie, and a fifth I don’t recall. Each had their own distinct flavor; some smoky, some sweet, others peaty. Most surprising was that Scotch whiskey was responsible for a quarter of the UK’s export revenue. Who knew? And, the biggest Scotch drinkers? Yanks. God bless America.
After liquoring up we visited our tablemate, Natalie, and her dog Sabrina at the kennel. Sabrina is a rescue made famous by Animal Cops San Francisco (rescued on the Bay Bridge; can’t seem to find a clip, sorry). She’s on her way to live in Europe with mom and dad. She seemed a little uneasy, but very friendly. The rocking of the ship must be quite a puzzle to the canine brain.
Dinner, as always, was quite fun. Tonight I sat next to Gene. He taught for thirty-three years before retiring. Since then, aside from he and wife Loretta’s world travels, he volunteers in his staten Island community, even serving on the school board. He once sought a seat in the House but, in a conservative district, lost narrowly to a GOP opponent. We talked film, politics, and education.Â
Our meal, also to form, was good if not spectacular. Service continues to improve, although the kitchen stumbled on Tina’s selection -- they only brought out half the order, then did nothing about it. Cunard is strange, that way. Top shelf service until, well, it’s not.
Now it’s off to bed. Each day we’re bumping the clocks up an hour. It’s like going through daylight savings time every day. Better than the hard switch you get in a plane, but it makes it a challenge to get to sleep at a decent time. But I’ll do my best by calling it a night, for now. I’ll leave you with pictures from the last two days: