We were at sea without Internet access or satellite TV for nearly two days of our five-day passage from Vancouver to Hawaii aboard the Carnival Spirit.
When I heard Monday that Internet service was back, I headed to the Internet cafe on board with my laptop. Another passenger told me in the elevator: “You don’t want to look. It’s not pretty.” That’s when I found out the stock market had dropped 777 points.
I’m sorry, folks, but if you can’t manage things better on land, we are just going to turn right back around and head to sea until you figure it out.
I took this photo in April 2007, from the rooftop deck of the Santa Isabel Hotel in Toledo, Spain. It shows the roof of the Convento de Santa Isabel.
When the husband and I stay at a swanky hotel, a pair of middle-income imposters sneaking past the doormen with our cut-rate Priceline deal, we marvel like Jed Clampett on Rodeo Drive.
Mostly, we marvel at the prices for every extra, at the art of nickel-and-diming elevated to tenning-and-twentying. And we have learned. We have learned how to keep our wits and our wallets about us. We have learned to resist the dazzling illusion that we have become wealthy and that we must spend to blend in.
I ran across this account, a few days ago in The Aviation Herald, of a Turkish Airlines flight that nearly went down on the African coast last month. It’s a very matter-of-fact and yet very dramatic tale.
When the husband and I go on a complicated trip, the kind where we’re in one hotel after another, we sometimes end up one room number behind. So there we stand, in the hotel lobby, confused.
“What’s our room number?”
“I think that was last night”