Friday, September 21, 2012.
To New York, Brooklyn, And The Queen Mary 2.
Up at four a.m., on the road to the airport by five. A potential problem loomed. Mary Ann's car--the only one of our three with room for all our luggage, and then just barely-- has a headlight out. The Causeway police at unpredictable times will refuse one-eyed cars. We turned on the high beams and crossed our fingers.
The non-stop to New York was perfect, except for a weird incident at the end. One of the Eat Clubbers is a retired pilot with a major airline. He gave me a piece of paper with this message, written in childlike letters:
Dear Pilot,
This is my first ride on an airplane. It is so much fun that I want to be a pilot when I grow up. I thought your takeoff was very smooth. Thank you very much.
Your friend,
Tom.
"A friend of mine who is also a pilot was on the plane I was captaining one day," he said. "He sent that note up to me. But turn it over and read what it says on the back."
P.S.--Don't f--- up the landing.
I put this note on the seat next to me and forgot about it. An hour or so later, one of the cabin attendants asked to see it. I told her the story behind it. She said, "And you were going to give this to our captain?"
"Of course not," I laughed. But she was not laughing. She walked away. I expected the sky marshal to show up next with handcuffs.
That didn't happen. And all else was smooth. The Cunard representative was there when we got our bags, and I was able to get all the Eat Clubbers--including those who'd never cruised before--onto the buses and off to the ship.
Our progress to the vessel would not, I knew, be so easy. Mary Ann saw a three and a half hour gap between La Guardia and the last time for us to check in at the ship. And the airport and the cruise terminal were on the same side of the East River. "I want to look around Williamsburg," she said. "That's supposed to be really cool. We could look around on our way!"
I knew this was coming and I had a strong answer ready. "That would mean wandering around a strange neighborhood in Brooklyn with six large suitcases," I reminded her. I didn't mention the three carry-ons, one of which had an insecure bottom. (Mary Ann always travels with at least one incompetent bag.)
She hadn't thought about any of that. I knew, however, that this would not dilute her determination to go ahead with the plan anyway. I proffered an alternate plan. The Marys could explore Brooklyn while our taxi took me to the cruise terminal. I would deposit the big bags with the team of porters who carry them up to staterooms. MA went along with it, but changed her mind, and told the cab driver just to go straight to the ship. Which he did by crossing the East River into Manhattan, then driving down an expressway along the riverfront down to the Brooklyn Bridge, where we crossed back over into Brooklyn. I was delighted by this, because in all the many times I've been to New York, I'd never been on the historic old span.
Mary Ann was suspicious that the cab driver had gone far out of his way--an opinion not softened when he missed a sign directing us to the dock. As soon as we arrived, she asked the taxi coordinator whether our route were standard, and how much the fare should have been. Yes it was, he said. And the fare was within the range of normal. Whew. That potential monkey was off my back.
The Marys decided that they had plenty of time to head back into Brooklyn and check out Williamsburg. Once there, they decided (not for the first time) that they didn't really like New York that much. That feeling grew when they couldn't seem to find a cab back to the cruise terminal. They were getting worried when Mary Ann's legendary luck sent them around a corner, where they saw Peter Luger's Steak House--perhaps the most popular restaurant in the Big Apple. Plenty of cabs there. Mary Ann has wanted to go there anyway, but not without me.
By this time I was successfully checked in and in the room, where I unpacked all my clothes into closets and drawers. Why not? We'll be here for eleven nights. I went to the buffet--the only restaurant open at the time--and made up a small plate of salad, pate, cheeses, and bread.
Next, a duty that verges exactly between a pleasure and a chore. I write a newsletter for the Eat Clubbers every couple of days, and deliver it to the mailboxes on their stateroom doors. It tells where to meet for drinks, the dining possibilities, how to get in touch, and the like. I walk the length of the ship two or three times as I "throw my paper route," as I think of the job. While doing this, I wondered whether the same job could be done with smart-phone text messages. Is this the last gasp for my paper route?
Shower. Nap. At four, the Marys turned up, not long before the gangway went up. At five, the ship pulled away, and everybody headed up to the highest decks for the thrilling experience of sailing out of the world's most impressive harbor, with almost too many American icons. One of those was Frank Sinatra, whose voice was favoring us with his immortal New York, New York as I stepped out onto the deck.
I bought splits of Champagne for the Marys and me. We toasted the Statue of Liberty, the new Liberty Tower going up where the World Trade Center once was, and the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, whose span is heart-stoppingly close to the top of the Queen Mary 2's funnels as it passes underneath. The weather was perfect and the spirits were high.
At six-thirty, I appeared in the Chart Room on Deck Three, ready to greet our fellow travelers with a round of drinks with my compliments. That bar tab ran into the hundreds, but it gets almost everybody into good spirits. It also eliminates potential crankiness later, and puts us in good favor with the bar's staff. From that moment on, they couldn't do enough for us.
Dinner at eight in the main dining room. It picked up where it left off when we debarked from this same ship two years ago. Which is to say that the food was pretty ordinary, still stuck in the French-Continental era that ended in most other culinary arenas about forty years ago. But a ship like this is itself a throwback to another age, so it's easy to forgive its lack of cooking brilliance. As is my custom on first-night cruise dinners, I had a sirloin strip steak, preceded by a very good consomme (one of the good things that went away with Continental cuisine in 1978).
The Marys--who would make themselves scarce for most of the dinners--were there to show themselves off. Everyone was charmed by them, and the few travelers who remembered ML from cruises five or six years ago made much of how beautiful she has become at twenty. Having beautiful young women around always makes the scene more civilized.
