A few months ago, Mom declared that she’d like to go on a cruise, but it was a struggle to find the right thing, since traveling solo isn’t particularly cheap (double occupancy is a thing), and her mobility ain’t quite what it used to be.
Of course, I said I’d go with her. It’s the son-ly thing to do, right? Support your parent? Besides, I’d not been on a European river cruise before.
That’s where this all started: a river cruise. Low risk of rough waters, the stops were easy, and it was a bunch of cities I’ve never seen before. We toyed with a few routes (one of which was to Vienna, which I’ve actively avoided going to without Alex), until Mom came to the realization that there was a large barrier to Europe cruises: the eight hour flight. She wasn’t too keen on that.
Alaska came into the picture. Which while not on my bucket list of places to visit, seemed reasonable. And since Mom wanted to go, I wasn’t about to say “no”.
(I will state, for the record, that this year has brought out the worst in sheer idiocy, cruelty, ignorance, and malice in the United States. I am literally beside myself on how people can truly act this was in good conscience, especially when they claim to be espousing all the greatest qualities of Christianity. Simply put: by the time this cruise came about, I was sorely regretting having booked it.)
We left Calgary early. I slept okay, considering I barely slept the night previous. Fed the cats, then myself. Emptied the dishwasher. Tried not to make too much noise.
Mom arrived just before 8 in a white Associated Cab, driven by the chattiest, more politely racist driver. (Racist for today; he’d have been perfectly fine in the 80s.) At the airport just after 8:30, bags sucked into the airport’s innards moments later.
Security was having Training Day: new agents learning how to position bags, run scans, and pat down old ladies who refuse to remove metal from their pockets and complain that Calgary is somehow more sensitive than any other airport. (Meanwhile, I coast through as usual…)
I’d not flown out of Gate C for… at least twenty years, before the airport renumbered everything, when C was previously B and dedicated entirely to US-bound departures. There was no way Mom could walk that far from our entry near Gate A, so we took one of the carts the connect the distant parts.
In lieu of a train, Calgary Airport uses buses. These were electric things that could carry quite a few people, stopping at various points from Gate A all the way to International. Apparently the small buses were problematic and have been replaced with electric golf carts. They’re slow, but faster than Mom…
We picked up Tim’s coffee and a late breakfast, ate, then sat at C55 to wait for boarding. Despite the plane already waiting, we didn’t board until the scheduled time.
The flight to Vancouver was, as usual, short. I’m not entirely sure the last time I flew into YVR (normally, if I fly, it’s Abbotsford), though I think it’s when Jen and I went to Japan in 2004. I want to say that YVR hasn’t changed much, but I can’t really remember it, either.
Bags collected (with no small amount of relief; the entire flight was a bit of a sticky point with Mom, who’d wanted to come the night before), we snagged a cab and headed downtown. With all the traffic, it might have taken less time to take SkyTrain from the airport, but then Mom wouldn’t have seen any of the sights of Granville St.
It was warm, too warm for what I wore. Figuring on wet and cool temperatures up north, I skipped shorts, sticking with jeans. Well, in mid-20s weather, in the humidity, it’s a tad uncomfortable. But as it turned out, I didn’t need to exert myself much.
The topic of Allison (for those of you long-time readers: “She Who Shall Not Be Named”) arose, largely as I lived with her while I was in Vancouver, and Mom asked if she’d ever told me that Alison’s parents had sent my parents an apology shortly after I’d pulled a duck-and-run. It surprised me, to be honest. I mean, the whole scenario was awful and my departure was abrupt and callous, so I fully expected to be persona non grata. I allowed myself a bit of a smile as we continued on. Karma might take a few years to show up, sometimes, but it’s always welcome.
The driver zig zagged a bit through downtown Vancouver, a perpetual mess of traffic, before we got to Canada Place, which is the cruise terminal in Vancouver. Expecting to be let out in front, I was a bit perplexed when the taxi dove down into the parking garage and wound to a passenger offloading point.
It was our first sign of the highly regimented and orchestrated system designed to process thousands of cruise ship passengers in a few hours to board up to five ships all at once. This, ladies and gentlemen, is how you corral the herds.
The drop off is Step 1. You take your bags out, someone appears in a puff of surprise and asks the name of your ship, and suddenly they’re gone with your bags and you really hope you did the right thing. You’re then directed down a path and into a room with an elevator that takes you up several floors.
The next three steps are all numbered signs hanging off the walls: 2, 3, and 4. It becomes trivial to follow the path.
Step 2 is check-in for your ship. Mom, having a walker to assist with getting around, was ushered through several shortcuts, and had more personal support. A few minutes, an identity photo, and we were headed to Step 3: Customs.
The lines were long, but again, Mom’s walker got us through to the front in a moment. There, a picture was taken and she was ushered away towards the exit. I got hauled aside to talk to an agent, like in the days of yore. Maybe I bad-mouthed the Day-Glo Douchebag too much? Given all the bruhaha going on down south, that thought did truly cross my mind. But a few moments more, and we were on our way to Step 4: Boarding.
Once you start the process, you’re on a conveyor belt and there is no getting off. You’re technically entering the United States and they are holding you to the line.
We entered on Deck 1 - Dolphin, which is also the deck with our room. (I presume it’s called “Dolphin” as the windows are so close to the water you can see them chasing you… yes, just a touch of sarcasm.)
Our room is small, maybe 4 metres wide and 7 metres long, and I can touch the ceiling without effort. There’s a large window in the outside wall, a metre and a bit square, caked in sea spray and streaks, the metal seal rusting.
We did an initial dump of our personal items, then went up to the Lido Market for lunch. It’s incentive to get on the ship on time. The food is decent, but I won’t be needing to write home about it.
We did our muster check-in, which is really just to know where you need to go if the ship needs to be evacuated: Deck 3 (“Promenade”), starboard side, a bit further forward than our stateroom. If it ever comes to that, Mom might go down with the ship, climbing stairs really isn’t an option for her. Given how often cruise ships have these sorts of problems, though, I’m not too concerned.
Then we watched the mandatory video in our room. My bag, having appeared — Mom’s was MIA — was emptied and put away, and we went up to explore Decks 4 and 5, where all the ship’s amenities appear to lay.
Shops, casino, library, coffee shop, dining room, and the “World Stage”. I sent Mom to investigate Deck 9 while taking a detour to see if her bag had appeared. (She has an Apple Tag in it, and the updates seemed to still have it on-shore. How our two bags got separated so quickly is a bit of a mystery.) I ran into Hengke, our room attendant. No bag yet, but he promised it was coming. I liked the guy immediately, which is a good thing, since he’s taking care of our room’s needs.
I then spent nearly an hour trying to figure out where Mom had gone. I went up and around Decks 4, 5, and 8, cycling back to the room along the way, not seeing any sign of her. (Yes, I sent her to Deck 9, but that was the “Sports Deck” which had a view.) Her bag had appeared by my third check. What I didn’t realize was that Deck 9 was also the home of the Crow’s Nest, the top-level, forward-looking lounge (by this time, I was so exhausted and seen so much that I thought we were Deck 8). So we had drinks as our ship pulled out of the dock.
The Cruise Director (regrettably not named “Julie”) announced that the bow on Deck 4 was open for viewing, and we were encouraged to go out and watch our exit from Vancouver Harbour. I did take the chance to run down and snap a few rare shots passing under the Lion’s Gate Bridge.
We went to the Dining Room for dinner, a large two-deck room with a hundred or so tables. Without reservations, you end up with “open” seating, which means dinner with strangers. Two couples, one Aussie from north of Sydney, one from Utah, both extensively travelled. One soloist from Sacramento who despite being near mom’s age is absolutely fearless at her own adventures. Steak and lobster tail. Not the best I’ve hard but far from the worst.
We headed north up the Georgia Strait as the sun fell behind the clouds. The wind battered the ship, but it was otherwise steady. I managed to get a few pictures in the waning light. The forecast for the next week is rain, so this is likely the best weather we’re going to get.
