Queen Mary 2 at Sea
This week has sure sailed by quickly (I almost said, “flew by”). It’s hard to believe this is the final sea day and tomorrow the QM2 will be docking in Southampton. The weather has improved again and this is a good day for a walk on the Promenade Deck and a visit to other outdoor areas that have been off-limits. Lots of folks are in the swimming pools and hot tubs, or sunning themselves on the deck chairs lined up in rows. It’s also time for me to make some decisions in the gift shop, which has quite a variety of Cunardiana.
Lunch is a burger and chips with another mixed salad in the Britannia Restaurant. And then two lectures this afternoon; one on current shows on offer in London, and the other on the career of Bette Davis. Luggage has to be outside stateroom doors before midnight tonight, so I have to spend the rest of the afternoon packing. I’ve already arranged (and paid) for a second suitcase on British Airways, but my carry-on probably weighs more than either suitcase (it contains my laptop as well as my iPad and a few other heavy items)—at least they allow one free bag. British Airways, however, charges to reserve a seat earlier than at check-in 24 hours before the flight, which I did when I first made my reservation. I have requested wheelchair assistance to help with the long distances at the airports; I will let you know how that goes.
Tonight’s final dinner goes pretty much as all the other dinners have: very nice appetizer and large salad, but disappointing main course (tough veal scallopine over polenta). Dessert is mint chocolate chip ice cream, a safe bet since it is pretty hard to ruin. Service has been efficient and polite; wine steward Pablo, from Colombia, has been especially helpful (as I have already said, I have been leaving him extra tips each night and there is no need to give him anything special at the end of the crossing).
I succeed in getting my bags into the corridor at 10pm and they are immediately whisked away into the waiting bowels of the ship. I leave an order for room service breakfast hanging on my doorknob, so I won’t have to worry about making it out to breakfast tomorrow.
Royal Court Theatre
Ringing of ship's bell to mark noon
A beautiful day at sea
Saturday 3 August
2013
Southampton,
UK, to Amsterdam, Netherlands
It’s early rising today to beautiful sunshine. The ship is so well-insulated from noise and the sailing so smooth, it is a surprise to find that we are already tied up at the dock in Southampton and luggage is being loaded off—and it’s only 7am. When my breakfast is not delivered promptly at the requested time I make some inquiries and find out that room service is not offered on disembarkation days. It would have been nice if someone had told me, perhaps by slipping my order request sheet back under my door (it had been removed during the night). This is a major slip in service, but I still have enough time for a light breakfast in the King’s Road Buffet.
The Southampton port area is huge and two other large cruise ships, including another Cunard, are docked at a short distance. Disembarkation is smooth and efficient; I quickly find a porter in the terminal to take my bags to the waiting coach (he almost disappears before I have a chance to tip him). The coach leaves promptly and all is fine as we head for Heathrow Airport.
DISCLAIMER
NOTICE: what follows has a happy ending: All is well, that is, until I realize about
15 minutes later that I am no longer holding my passport in my hand as I had
been during the whole disembarkation process.
I at first calmly and then frantically go through all my pockets and
every nook and cranny of my tightly-packed carry on—several times—as well as
the seat and floor around me until I conclude that it is indeed GONE. I don’t panic and I don’t ask the driver to
go back to Southampton. I doubt that he
would go back given that everyone on the coach is making plane connections at
Heathrow. Having lived through the
experience of Will’s stolen passport in Barcelona in 2010, I figure that the
six hours I have until my flight leaves should be more than enough time to get
a new temporary passport. I even imagine
that all major airports have an office to issue new passports, given that
people lose them all the time (our minds sure do work in funny ways).
It takes about 90 minutes to reach the airport. There is little traffic on Saturday morning as we drive through lushly green countryside. I even manage to nod off for a few minutes. We arrive at Heathrow where there are free luggage carts available. I immediately head for someone who looks like an administrative type and tell him my story, still thinking that this all can be resolved quickly. But reality finally begins to sink in when he tells me that there are no such offices at the airport and I would have to go the American embassy in central London. I’m still thinking Loony-Tunes that six hours will be more than enough time to drop my suitcases at Left-Luggage, take the tube to London, get the paperwork (I even have extra passport photos with me, as well as a Xerox copy of the front pages), tube back to Heathrow and make my flight. Until the gentleman also tells me that all of Britain is on High Security Alert and that it will probably take the embassy SEVERAL DAYS to issue a new passport. Okay, time for a reality check. My cruise leaves from Amsterdam in two days.
HAPPY ENDING: Just then I hear my name being called—it’s the driver of the coach who has been himself frantically running through the airport lobby looking for me, with my passport in hand. Now that all is resolved I finally realize just what a predicament I was almost in. I had managed to keep my cool and calm up to then, but now everything just tumbled out.
MORAL: Even the most experienced traveler can get himself into trouble that can be resolved only by a deus ex machina in the guise of a bus driver.
After this the rest of the time at the airport—waiting for time set to check in, going through security and immigration, waiting for the gate announcement and boarding—all seem a little anti-climactic. So I have lunch at Gordon Ramsay’s “Plane Food” restaurant (hate the man, like the food): hot red pepper soup with grilled tomatoes and penne with mozzarella, Parmesan, and aubergine.
Amsterdam
The British Airways flight from London leaves and arrives on time, handicapped assistance works well at Schipol Airport, all my luggage has arrived, and I am off by taxi to the Mowenpick Hotel City Centre.
The driver is a conversational Egyptian, the taxi is a brand-new black Mercedes, and the ride to the hotel goes through some very green and modern suburbs. The driver tells me that this unusually sunny and pleasant warm weather is a surprise for Amsterdamers, who have been experiencing a hot and wet previous few weeks (I do seem to bring good weather wherever I go). He also tells me that today is Gay Pride Day, the culmination of a week-long celebration. Amsterdam has always been an especially Gay-friendly city, and tonight will probably be wild with parties. Thank goodness I’m too old and tired to get involved (although there is a pang or two for the Amsterdam of my many visits in the 1980s and early 90s).
I’m rewarded for my long day of travel with an upgrade to the Executive Floor at the top of this 19-floor Swiss-run hotel, which is literally right next door to the cruiseport from where I leave on Monday. I stayed here last August before my HAL Eurodam transatlantic cruise to New York City. The room-width window overlooks the River Ij, Central Station, and all the new building development along the waterfront. There is a tram stop across the street, which is handy for getting back to the Station (one-stop) and all the transportation connections available to every part of the city (tram, bus, metro).
It’s too beautiful an evening to stay in the room and since it doesn’t get dark until well after 10pm and it’s warm enough for just a light sweater, I hang a few things in the closet and then take the tram and enjoy a thin-crust pizza (with lots of oregano), salad, and Heineken, at the Marco Polo Restaurant on Damrak, the main street that connects Central Station with the rest of the city. I have a table on the pavement and enjoy watching the endless parade of locals and tourists in the midst of their evening revelry. It’s then a short walk to the “red-light” and gay entertainment centers of the city—just to walk off the effects of the beer—to join the parade of sightseers of all kind and ilk. This is a perfectly safe place to walk (unless you don’t like crowds), but it’s best for your own peace of mind not to have anything on you that you are unwilling to lose (like extra money, credit cards, wallets, etc).
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