Since my last post was on Thursday I have a lot of time and territory to cover. If you have missed any of the earlier postings you can go back to them by clicking on the dates to the right.
Thursday Evening
Dinner began with escargot in a sauce of port, tomato, mushroom, and parmesan cheese—just right for soaking up the excess with some of the fine fresh bread. This was the third dinner I began with escargot and the third variety of preparation.
Friday Morning
It seems the closer the ship travels along the coastline, the bumpier the trip gets. Perhaps going north (rather than east-west with the tides) adds to the buck and sway. Anyway, Friday morning’s sail was a little rough—but not rough enough to interrupt my day. I feel lucky that I haven’t had to use any of the Rx patches for seasickness. I had a light breakfast because I planned to attend the Mariner’s Brunch at 11:30 am (frequent sailor’s club for Holland America), but I took a nap and slept right through the time for the festivities.
After an impromptu lunch in the Lido, I finished reading Kate Christensen’s The Great Man. The novel’s insights on ageing are more interesting than her actual subject matter, the conflict between realistic and abstract art. Christensen unfortunately succumbs to tired clichés about the female form as divine beauty, without even a nod to the long tradition of male beauty from the Greeks forward. Aren’t we long past the time when female writers need to denigrate the “male gaze” that controlled so much of art (and literary criticism) through the 1970s? And while her lesbian characters are complex and worthy artists, all her gay male characters are mere decoration.
Friday Afternoon and Evening
The skies cleared and the sun warmed as the day passed. By 6 pm it was pleasant enough to walk around the decks and some people were actually sun-bathing in the 51º warmth. Ship traffic is heavy in this area of the Bay of Biscay as we approach the English Channel; lots of fishing boats swim in the haze on the horizon. All ships are required to keep to specific traffic lanes, just like cars on the Freeway.
Saturday Morning
We docked early morning in Le Havre, France, and the coach for Honfleur left at 9:00 am for the 45-minute drive over the over the new Normandie suspension bridge, which hangs one kilometer between towers.
Saturday is market day in Honfleur and the town is bustling with locals doing their shopping, Parisians down for the long holiday weekend, and tourists. In my many visits to France during the ‘80’s and ‘90’s, I had never been here (primarily because there is no rail service). Shops and cafes surround the old port, which no longer serves fishing fleets, but is filled with pleasure-craft of all sizes. The town itself is picture-perfect for walking and the produce, fish, and clothing markets that spread through all the side streets add that extra touch of joie. After examining the wonderful foodstuffs on offer, I sit at a waterfront café and have a second breakfast of cappuccino and baguette with butter and jam. Although the fresh-baked breads and rolls on the ship are wonderful, and although we get perfectly fine French bread in Tucson, I am amazed at how much better the authentic local bread tastes. I luxuriate in people-watching for about an hour (although I had forgotten about the smokers), and then join the coach for the return run to the ship in Le Havre.
Thursday Evening
Dinner began with escargot in a sauce of port, tomato, mushroom, and parmesan cheese—just right for soaking up the excess with some of the fine fresh bread. This was the third dinner I began with escargot and the third variety of preparation.
Friday Morning
It seems the closer the ship travels along the coastline, the bumpier the trip gets. Perhaps going north (rather than east-west with the tides) adds to the buck and sway. Anyway, Friday morning’s sail was a little rough—but not rough enough to interrupt my day. I feel lucky that I haven’t had to use any of the Rx patches for seasickness. I had a light breakfast because I planned to attend the Mariner’s Brunch at 11:30 am (frequent sailor’s club for Holland America), but I took a nap and slept right through the time for the festivities.
After an impromptu lunch in the Lido, I finished reading Kate Christensen’s The Great Man. The novel’s insights on ageing are more interesting than her actual subject matter, the conflict between realistic and abstract art. Christensen unfortunately succumbs to tired clichés about the female form as divine beauty, without even a nod to the long tradition of male beauty from the Greeks forward. Aren’t we long past the time when female writers need to denigrate the “male gaze” that controlled so much of art (and literary criticism) through the 1970s? And while her lesbian characters are complex and worthy artists, all her gay male characters are mere decoration.
Friday Afternoon and Evening
The skies cleared and the sun warmed as the day passed. By 6 pm it was pleasant enough to walk around the decks and some people were actually sun-bathing in the 51º warmth. Ship traffic is heavy in this area of the Bay of Biscay as we approach the English Channel; lots of fishing boats swim in the haze on the horizon. All ships are required to keep to specific traffic lanes, just like cars on the Freeway.
Saturday Morning
We docked early morning in Le Havre, France, and the coach for Honfleur left at 9:00 am for the 45-minute drive over the over the new Normandie suspension bridge, which hangs one kilometer between towers.
Saturday is market day in Honfleur and the town is bustling with locals doing their shopping, Parisians down for the long holiday weekend, and tourists. In my many visits to France during the ‘80’s and ‘90’s, I had never been here (primarily because there is no rail service). Shops and cafes surround the old port, which no longer serves fishing fleets, but is filled with pleasure-craft of all sizes. The town itself is picture-perfect for walking and the produce, fish, and clothing markets that spread through all the side streets add that extra touch of joie. After examining the wonderful foodstuffs on offer, I sit at a waterfront café and have a second breakfast of cappuccino and baguette with butter and jam. Although the fresh-baked breads and rolls on the ship are wonderful, and although we get perfectly fine French bread in Tucson, I am amazed at how much better the authentic local bread tastes. I luxuriate in people-watching for about an hour (although I had forgotten about the smokers), and then join the coach for the return run to the ship in Le Havre.
Saturday Afternoon
Instead of being sensible and calling it quits for the day, I immediately hop on the free shuttle that runs from the dock to the center of Le Havre. If you haven’t been, don’t make any special plans to go. All but two buildings (literally) were destroyed by Allied bombing following the D-Day invasions. The new architecture designed to rebuild the city after the War is either forgettable (August Perret’s Town Hall) or grotesque and deteriorating (the cultural center, “The Volcano,” designed by Oscar Niemeyer).
A visit to the Central Market for lunch and some wonderful pistachio-marzipan-filled chocolate logs almost recompenses. I am finally rewarded by a visit to the Musée Andre Malraux, a small museum in a fine modern building with a glass wall facing the seafront—and a marvelous collection of late 19th-century works by Boudin, Renoir, and Dufy (along with other well-knowns). The brochures call it the second-best Impressionist collection in France, and I have no doubt it is. The museum is a small gem and the paintings are displayed perfectly, especially a long un-interrupted white wall of landscapes by Boudin. Having been rejuvenated by the spirit of the Impressionists, I decide to walk back to the ship, or at least walk until I come upon an available taxi. Unfortunately I never see a taxi, and the ship, which looks like it’s docked directly across from the museum, is really a 90-minute hike.
Saturday Evening
Thank goodness for pain pills! Those and the bottle of Cabernet I finished off with dinner (veal shanks on mushroom risotto) got me ready for a good night’s sleep. No rest tomorrow; we dock in Harwich by 8 am and at 9 the coach leaves for London.
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