Slight Seas, Sixty-eight Degrees

The journey, not the arrival matters. ~ T.S. Eliot

July 31, 2019

It’s our fourth day on board the Queen Mary, and I’m still a bit befuddled at times. Usually, I have an excellent sense of direction, but each time I come out of an elevator, I inevitably turn the wrong way. I think it may be because our stateroom is on the port side, and we were on the starboard for those 96 days on the Pacific Princess last year. Anyway, the DH or one of the sharp-eyed crew usually notices my bewilderment and points me in the right direction presently.

All my watercolor creations are a product of by-guess and by-golly, but it's sure fun to play with!

Yesterday we started with a customs inspection. All passengers were required to present their room card and passport to British immigration agents so they can check our backgrounds before we land on English soil on Sunday. We were subjected to the same routine questions we always get when we cross a border. (What’s your business in the UK? How long will you stay?) All perfectly normal and reasonable. Only the US seems conflicted about keeping track of who enters our country.

Our patient painting teacher

 Then we went for the 2^nd watercolor class. Even though neither of us is a budding undiscovered artist, the process is surprisingly relaxing. Just like Robert Lewis Stephenson said about travel—“The destination is unimportant. The great affair is to move!”

And speaking of moving…we went to the waltz class yesterday morning and discovered that I can dance with my DH to a slow ¾ time without becoming horribly winded. It was such a joy. We remembered a number of steps from our previous classes, including a clever little chausee. I was thrilled!

Dance instructors demo a steamy tango while the excellent band plays on!

In the afternoon, we attended a piano concert. The artist was Ray Leonard from Australia. He was wonderful. Cunard is living up to the standards of my musical snobbery quite well.

Then we went to the planetarium show called “Dark Matter.” It was fascinating. Such a novelty to have a planetarium on a cruise ship.

At supper, all our table mates must have been homesick for their dogs, because we all swapped pictures of our pets on our phones. One lady had even gone to the kennel area of the ship to see other people’s pets to get her “puppy fix.”

from left to right--Debbie, her son Jack, Arthur & Jean, Debbie's daughter Imogen, her Aunt Gillian, me & the DH

The evening entertainment was comedian Mark Palmer. Born in South Africa and now a Londoner, he was witty and quick and had us all roaring with laughter. I’ll be glad to see him again before we reach Southampton.

  

Tonight is another formal night, which poses a bit of a problem for us. At four, the Green Spring ensemble is giving another concert. Then at five, there’s a rhumba class in the Queen’s Room. By six, we have to be dressed to the nines or hide in our cabin all evening. I don’t mind formal evenings, but I'm not used to having more than one a week. 

Especially when there are so many things to do besides fuss with my hair and make-up. (Okay, Mom, I can see you rolling your eyes from here! I'll try to adjust my attitude about glamming up.) 

More soon…

PS. I'm having trouble uploading pictures. I'll try again later.

PPS. Last night we received a nasty little note saying the DH had presented himself to the customs officials. So he's off this morning to see the Purser and convince them that he has no evil intent towards the UK. His ship card must not have scanned properly in the machine because he was right behind me and I'm golden with Her Majesty's boys in blue.