Diary 9|30, 10|1|2016: The Voices And Mine. Climbing Around Quebec City.

Friday, September 30, 2016. At Sea On The St. Lawrence River.

This Eat Club cruises through New England and Canada glides up the St. Lawrence Seaway. At last, we are seeing some fall colors in along the banks, although they are far away. The St. Lawrence through most of its 1900 miles is much wider than, say, the Mississippi. Today is our only day at sea during our eleven nights aboard the Princess Caribbean. I like sea days. They're the only days on which I get to relax. But there will be little relaxing for me today. I spend yet another hour in line at the purser's desk, trying to improve the going-home flight schedules for the peeps. There is a rumor that all the flights will be rescheduled, but I have no hard evidence of this yet. On the other hand, this is a grand day for me. The finalists in The Voice Of The Ocean talent show have a dress rehearsal in the afternoon on the big stage in the big theater with the big band playing behind us. It's already a thrill. This is also the first time the judging methodology is explained. It has something to do with three judges/coaches, each of whom will choose a team from the best performers. I think that's how it goes, anyway. I never quite understand what's going on. The whole thing is based on a television show called "The Voice," which I have never seen nor heard of. The show goes on at eight o'clock--the Eat Club's regular dinner time. But most of the group is faithfully in the theater to cheer me on. Even though there's some kind of voting system for the audience to have a hand in the rankings, I don't have that figured, either. So I tell everybody I encounter--complete strangers, most of them--to vote for me. This results in a very long-running table of people in the buffet during the breakfast hours. "The Voice" brand must be pretty strong. I am the second person to sing. I have some concern that I will go up on the lyrics of "Come Fly With Me," as well as I know the song. Indeed, I find myself singing a few non-words and making up notes until, a few seconds later, I find my way back into the real song. It feels good from that moment on. My coach says that the song makes him feel that he has come to know me. (I had never heard of the guy.) He especially liked my improvisations--my mistakes, in other words--and found them highly creative. The hundreds of people in the theater boom with applause. Yes! This is the reason I am here. I hear all the other singers do their things, and then the judges give the results. Electronic pyrotechnics explode in the theater. Everyone is cheering. I didn't win first, and I don't think there was a second. I still don't understand the rules. [divider type=""]

Saturday, October 1, 2016. Climbing Around Quebec City.

I awaken to good if not terrific news. The ship has issued a new schedule for disembarking tomorrow morning, and it seems that at least some of our people will have their inconvenient flights rejiggered. But there are still unresolved questions, and the Eat Clubbers continue to ask me what will happen. I wish I knew. This cruise has a unique wrinkle. The ship's itinerary with us is now over, but the passengers don't have to leave until tomorrow morning. The ship becomes our hotel, so we can wander around the beautiful French city of Quebec. Walking around the cobblestoned streets--Quebec is more than a century older than New Orleans--makes one feel as though one were in Europe. That is no illusion. Most stores, restaurants, and attractions have French names, and the people inside them speak French as their default, although most of them handle English without much of an accent. Lynn (my little sister, who travels with me on this cruise) and I spend hours walking around, looking for a place to have lunch later. But we to stay inside a part of town with more shops than eateries. She has some shopping to do: buying bottles of maple syrup and other gifts for friends at home. I see a unique sign in front of one of the clothing stores. It says, "F— la Mode." The final word doesn't refer to ice cream on top of a suit, but to the style of the time. (I don't think I need to interpret the first word.) We are intrigued, and climb a flight of steps to the center of the shop, where within seconds a welcoming salesman has a warm, striped sweater on my body. I have never owned a garment as good-looking as this. It feels great, too, given that the temperature outside is in the fifties today. Lynn tries to swing in between me and the salesman. She wants me to know that the sweater costs six hundred dollars Canadian. I was thinking something like four hundred, but even that would be my all-time most expensive single article of apparel. Still I considering it. That's how great this thing looked on me. [Contemporary Interlude, from the perspective of October 12: I told Mary Ann about the sweater last night while we had dinner at Josephine Estelle. She was shocked that I would consider buying the sweater, but for the opposite reason from Lynn's. MA thinks I don't treat myself to such luxuries often enough, and that I have a poor-boy mentality. I say that I do indeed live lavishly once in awhile, but the expenditures usually take place in restaurants. Anyway, if I buy this sweater, it will give MA impetus for getting that Range Rover she's been talking about. I do not get the sweater.] We will pick up our Quebec adventures in tomorrow's diary.