Adventures on the ms Chardonnaydam

[diann744]

A (very long) review of a four-day Pacific Coastal and the two days on either side. Please remember, it’s all tongue in cheek, somewhat exaggerated and intended to make people laugh, and help me remember the highlights. Don’t take anything too seriously and you’ll be fine.

 

 

For those of you who have been following the sporadic adventures of the Boozy Twins on the High Seas, this special episode will prove an exception to the norm. For the first time ever, the Chardonnay Sisters decided to travel separately, with the younger, prettier twin winging her way to Hawaii while the more cruise-dedicated, alcohol-seeking sibling took to the water in an attempt to earn that coveted fourth star.

 

My partner in crime was my buddy Diana, whose name has not been changed as she deserves whatever infamy this review may bring her.

 

Diana and I imbibed our way through high school and the 30 years since and have remained fast friends despite living in different cities for most of that time. We took a car trip last year through the Central Coast (California) Wine Country, pretty much re-creating the movie Sideways, without that awkward “caught in bed with the married waitress” scene. Wine Country, and car trips, are definitely Diana’s turf so I wanted to get her onto mine. My turf happens to be on the water.

 

The logistics were a bit tricky as she needed to fly from Ontario to Seattle and I needed to fly out of the Burbank-Glendale-Bob Hope International Airport (the only airport where the name is longer than the runway). And also because I then needed to make my way to Portland for a weekend business trip after the cruise (and needed to sober up considerably before joining my coworkers). Still, despite the interference of a somewhat bumbling (but loveable) travel agent, we got the arrangements done and looked forward to exercising (or exorcising?) our livers a bit.

 

The plan was to meet at the airport in Seattle and spend two nights at the Hotel Monaco while wandering around the city that introduced the world to the decaf venti soy hazelnut vanilla cinnamon white mocha no whip half foam extra caramel latte. Then we would board the Amsterdam for a four night revel. That was about as much planning as we had put into it.

 

Diana was waiting at the gate when my plane touched down. It was then that she reminded me, quite forcefully, how much she hates to fly and just how rarely she does. “They made me take my shoes off. What the #@!!% is up with that?” “And did you know they don’t take cash for drinks on the plane?!” “And what’s the 3 ounces in a baggie thing?” Ah, Diana. One step away from a TSA security incident.

 

We grabbed a train to the hotel, which is one of my favorites. If you don’t know Kimpton Hotels, check them out. They are wonderfully funky, eclectic and pet friendly. They have a “sleep with the fishes” program which encourages you to request a goldfish companion for your room. The “mini-bar” has the usual fare, plus condoms, massage oil and other things I was too embarrassed to investigate and we didn’t need to purchase. The fish is a nice touch, though.

 

As is the hour of free wine in the lobby and coffee bar in the morning. We meandered around Seattle during the day, got back in time for the wine, cleaned up and headed out again. The first night, we were enjoying our complimentary chard and merlot when we were joined by a lovely couple who repeatedly pointed out that they hailed from New Jersey but had a “second residence” in Florida.

 

The first thing we noticed was that he wore an expensive looking beige shirt that had light brown simulated sweat stains under the arms and on the collar, which we felt was a poor choice, all things considered. Why would a clothing designer intentionally produce a piece that looks, not only dirty, but possibly smelly?

 

She asked what brought us to town and when we told of our plans to join a short cruise, looked down her impossibly sculpted, and almost fully paid for, nose and asked, “Carnival?”

 

They showered us with tales of the local restaurants they’d visited and while they touted the filet mignon and lobster bisque they’d enjoyed, noted for our benefit that the menus included more affordable items like chicken strips and clam chowder.

 

They highly recommended the local exhibition gardens and helpfully informed us that if we could wait until Tuesday, we could shave $4.50 off the admission price. We hastily ran a mental check of our attire and personal hygiene but could come up with no reason why they seemed so convinced we were hopelessly indigent. I’m pretty sure my tip jar wasn’t even showing. (Note to self: don’t try to act superior when sporting something from the Hugo Boss Pit Stain Collection.)

 

Later we went to a wine tasting down the street from our hotel where the resident wine dude regaled us with tales of his upbringing in another Washington town. Ever hear a phrase you just need to put on a t-shirt? He described the town as being “dirt poor and plagued by meth”. For some reason we thought it was hysterical and it became our rallying cry for the trip. Whenever we saw something/someone who seemed to fit the bill, we just looked at each other and mouthed the name of that city. I won’t point fingers since I’ve never been there and wouldn’t want to offend anyone. But suffice it to say, it’s no longer on my list of must-see destinations.

 

We also spent a bit of time at a wine bar/restaurant within crawling distance of our hotel, called Purple. We spotted, through the open door, a two story, spiral staircase draped around a central column of wine bottles. Naturally, we had to check it out. Drinks at the bar were lively and fun and dinner was, for us, a collection of small plates and munchies. We didn’t even need to use a coupon.

 

We spent some time at Pike’s Market, one of the coolest places ever, but the crowds were out in force and we didn’t get a chance to really experience it as it deserves.

 

But enough of that. Finally, it was time to get on the water. We had booked a Verandah and a few days before departure, my travel agent called with a paid upgrade offer. For $300 we could move up to a Deluxe Verandah Suite. Having never before in my life been so lucky, I grabbed it.

 

One of the many perks of suite travel is that instead of being corralled on the crowded and noisy Lido deck while the crew races to sort out and deliver luggage, you can go right to the dining room for lunch. We thought that was a pretty good idea so we headed there to search out our first glass of vino on the ship.

 

What we weren’t prepared for was that they would lead us to a table for six where one couple already waited and another was soon seated. Whoever I’m traveling with, we always opt for a table to ourselves. I love meeting people on the ship but prefer to do it on my terms when either party can get up and move away without going hungry. I adore the dining room experience but have had some bad experiences in the past with shared tables. Luckily, this wasn’t one of them but one of our tablemates made a few comments that were decidedly on the racist side and we resolved to get our dinner reservation changed just to be safe. (Actually, it’s the safety of others I was concerned with. Diana has very few filters and tends to say exactly what’s on her mind. I think if our tablemate made one more inappropriate comment, Diana and I would have been put off the ship long before sailaway.)

 

Then came the announcement that we could proceed to our staterooms. My hand shook slightly as I pressed the button for the Navigation Deck for the first time. As the doors opened, I fully expected to see Mr. & Mrs. Pit Stain holding a clipboard and telling us we belonged on the Dolphin Deck. Didn’t happen. We made it!

 

The room was amazing. And big. And stocked. Diana, who has a strand or two of Zsa Zsa DNA, was perhaps not as impressed as I, but having been in staterooms so small it’s possible to have sex by accident, I thought the place was palatial. I ran around taking pictures and inventory and generally making a fool of myself. (Another reason I’m better off at a table where people already know and love me.)

 

The pictures were for the twin who was by that time comfortably ensconced in a two bedroom condo in Kona. I discovered that trying to take a flash photo of a small, triangular dressing room that is entirely encased in mirrors is a very bad idea. Not to worry, I’ve been assured that my sight will return soon.

 

Our cabin stuarts (don’t you just hate misspelled stuarts?) Wayan and Oki, came by to introduce themselves and change out the bed into two twins, which we tipped for up front. We let them know that we would be nowhere near high maintenance and as long as we had ice, or knew where to find that precious commodity ourselves, we’d be just fine.

 

We then made our first visit to the Neptune Lounge where we found the very helpful concierge. I asked who I needed to speak with to get our late seating table for six changed to a table for two. She asked for my name and cabin number, hit a few buttons on her computer and assured me that the request had been made and that she would notify me once it was verified. (Note to self: get a concierge for home.)

 

I knew we would never take advantage of all the suite perks available to us. Somehow we’re just not the high tea in the room types. Still, there were a few things we decided we might as well try so, after checking out the sailaway and popping into the Crow’s Nest to introduce ourselves to the hardworking bar staff, we set off for the officer meet and greet in the Rembrandt.

 

We nodded and smiled awkwardly at the officers in the receiving line while trying to remember not to offer our hands and were then escorted to a sitting area where we chatted with a lovely family from someplace I can’t remember right now but I’m pretty sure wasn’t dirt poor and plagued by meth.

 

The concierge from the Neptune, who I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t recognize, came up, called me by name and assured me that our request had been taken care of and that we had a nice table to ourselves overlooking the atrium.

 

So we wandered into the dining room where we met our waiter, Barus and wine steward, Digz. Barus clued in on night one and never again needed to ask whether Diana wanted cappuccino or I wanted double espresso. He knew that the answer to the question, “pepper?” was “yes” and that Diana was “well done” while I leaned “medium rare”.

 

Is it a universal truth that the wine stewards seem to have the most fun of all the crew? In 9 or 10 cruises now, I don’t think I’ve ever known one who didn’t laugh easy and often. We put in our standing order – Alice White Chardonnay until the credit card runs out – and Digz made sure the glasses were always full and that we always had something to giggle about.

 

After dinner, we went in search of some fun. I’ve enjoyed two wonderful piano bar guys on HAL and was dearly hoping this trip would add a third. The piano bar is probably my favorite hang, with the right person at the keys, but it was not to be. As I’ve said before, Margaritaville is not supposed to be a dirge. Oh well, our friends Jerry, Jerick and Juri in the Crow’s Nest were happy to see us and I’m even told there was dancing involved but I don’t clearly remember it and as long as it doesn’t show up on YouTube, I’m going with plausible deniability.

 

We fell into our beds thoroughly exhausted.

 

Our first sea day was spent in much the same way as day one, alternating between food and drink, Crow’s and Ocean. But I was definitely starting to get the feeling that Diana was not going to be the HAL convert I hoped she would be. “Why do we have to eat at 8:00? On my last cruise you could eat anytime you wanted to.” “Princess had 27 bars. This one has only a handful.” And my personal favorite, “Tonight let’s go to a bar with younger people.” Uh, okay. I’ll call the helicopter.

 

At some point we compared itineraries and realized that I had not done as good a job as I thought planning this trip. I was booked on a 2:30 train to Portland the day the ship got in while she had a 9:30 pm flight back home. Diana, by herself, in an airport bar for 7 hours? That would most assuredly lead to an airport-closing altercation of some kind.

 

So, we headed to the Explorations to make some changes. The initial plan was to book her on an earlier flight. Somehow (I think there were drinks involved) we decided to have her come to Portland to meet my coworkers and add another day to the vacation.

 

Since Diana is a card-carrying Luddite, I made the arrangements to book her onto the train from Seattle to Portland and change her flight from Seattle to Ontario to Portland to Ontario the following day. I hit “Print” and nothing seemed to happen. We checked all visible printers and resolved to come back another time and do it all again.

 

And then, we closed the Crow’s. Again. I’m sure many amusing things were said and heard, done and seen but we were in no fit state to recall them the next day.

 

Next morning found us filming “Hungover in Astoria”. I think that night might have been a personal best. As those of you who have followed my previous posts (both of you) well know, sis and I have beaten our livers into submission, or at least terrified acquiescence, and are rarely bothered by hangovers for longer than it takes to wolf down some bacon and search out some hair of the dog. (Don’t try this at home; we ARE professionals.)

 

Diana has always been a bit of a hero to me in this area. I’ve spent years trying to gain her level of expertise in the imbibing arts only to discover during this trip that the student may have outpaced the master.

 

We woke up -- reluctantly is too kind a word here -- and stumbled through our morning ablutions. The Neptune did not stock enough coffee to quiet the squabbling, screeching ferrets wreaking havoc inside our heads. Still, it was the first of only two ports and we didn’t want to miss it. The ship wasn’t pulling in till around noon so we had time to employ some tried and true remedies.

 

We had decided the night before to order room service for the morning and in our hungry state, ordered it all. We were awakened by a bright eyed sober man delivering enough food to feed a small country. Unfortunately, food seemed like a very bad idea at the time. While the bacon and sausage were welcome, the eggs nearly put us over the railing and we soon went in search of whatever else might put a damper on the hangover from hell.

 

First stop – the Lido for some of that mildly caffeinated, light brown beverage that would make Juan Valdez weep in shame. We emptied our stores of Tylenol and washed them down with 55 gallon drums of Diet Coke. We even attempted hot dogs from the Terrace Grill – saved our lives until the fourth bite and then everything went pear-shaped.

 

We ran into our wine steward, Digz, and had a nice chat, blaming him (unfairly) for the bulk of our current condition. Still, we were aware enough to note that his nametag said Edwin. Not confident enough to comment on it, but just enough to deduce that it was a grand conspiracy meant to mess with the drunk and hungover people.

 

Still an hour to go before getting off in Astoria so we head to the Crow’s for the last ditch effort. We tried a beer; we tried a Bloody Mary. Clearly this is not your garden variety hangover. This one has staying power. This one deserves a name. Something like, “I’d Rather Give Birth to a Flaming Porcupine Than Go Through This Again”.

 

Still, our time in the Crow’s was entertaining to say the least. We were sitting at the smoking side of the bar (boo hiss, smokers! Me, not her) and there was a large group of Asian line dancers onboard who were having a private party in the disco area. This was, needless to say, amusing in its own right.

 

When a gentleman sitting at the tables behind us lit a cigarette, one of the lady line dancers came over and accused, “Don’t you know you’re giving us all cancer?!” to which the flustered man replied, “God Bless You.” A minute or two later, the Chief Line Dancer came running over to the bartender and loudly exclaimed while pointing animatedly, “That man is smoking! You will tell him to stop!” Juri calmly informed the irate terpsichorean that the offending smoker was indeed sitting in the smoking section and as such, was within his rights. “I will speak to the captain!” Juri calmly handed him the phone and he stormed off in a huff in time to rejoin his group for Achy Breaky Heart.

 

I pride myself, or at least mitigate my shame, by trying to be a very considerate smoker. I will never light up in a crowded area, do not walk and smoke while on the street and generally do my best to hide myself away, preferably out of doors and away from people, when the nicodemon takes me. If these folks had asked politely, I would have been disappointed if the smoker hadn’t acquiesced. But the attitude had me mumbling, “I can only smoke in 2% of public places and when I find one, and you can go elsewhere, ‘bite me’.”

 

As it was, I didn’t light a cigarette anytime soon. All in all, I probably waited more than an hour, hoping that the dance session would end. (For more than one reason. Let’s just say the Riverdance folks had no scouts onboard and didn’t miss out.)

 

Anyway, we chatted with the offending smoker who gave us some bad news, or at least disturbing gossip. There had been a rough sea moment the night before and he claimed to have heard from an authority that we hit a whale. I have no idea if this is true, but there was definitely a disturbance. I certainly hope this was not the case and it was actually a boatload of Somali pirates we took out.

 

Still not feeling any better but being the professionals we are, we made our way to the gangway and stumbled off into Astoria. Before I say more about Astoria, let me note that while it is not in any way related to that Washington town so maligned by the wine guy in Seattle, our perceptions of the place were surely colored by the state of our severely malfunctioning neurological systems.

 

The first thing we registered was that, like most port areas, the overriding aroma was of the marine variety which would not have been our first choice. Still, we regrouped and made our way towards town, only to find ourselves growing less and less able to maintain the simple coordination necessary to remain upright while achieving forward motion.

 

Luckily, about halfway to town, we spied the Cannery Row Hotel, a beautiful building with what had to be a million dollar view. We Forrest Gumped our way up the road in hopes that their bar/restaurant would offer us something to undo the damage done the previous night. (Never again leave the house without the hepatologist on speed dial.)

 

Entering the lobby, we found a lone young lady standing guard, I mean, playing hostess amidst a beautiful spread of complimentary wine and snacks. Now normally, we would have simply declared our intention to relocate to Oregon and grabbed a glass. Today, the thought of anything from the fermented grape family sent heads pounding and stomachs wobbling.

 

So we decided just to have a look around. We said “hello”, she said “hello”. It was a very small lobby and every time either of us found ourselves facing her, she said “hello” again, as if she’d never seen us before in her life. After the fifth decidedly creepy “hello”, we were getting a definite Hotel California vibe (you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave) and after determining that there was no restaurant/lounge, we high-tailed it out and up the road where we found the Bridgewater Bistro.

 

It shared the million dollar view and we informed our waiter, whose name I’m sorry to say we did not catch, of our condition and asked him to please be gentle with us. He recommended the Bloody Mary and while we were doubtful, we agreed to again try this normally tried and true age old remedy.

 

It was the strangest tasting Bloody Mary I’ve ever come across and to this day I cannot (and do not want to) identify the crunchy things that came up through the overly wide straw. I was tempted to ask him to run it through some cheesecloth and bring it back. But he seemed to totally get our somewhat impaired sense of humor and spent a good amount of time hanging out at our table.

 

He talked us into trying some food and as he recited the specials, I stopped him. “No fish. Do not even mention fish right now. This is vitally important.” We dickered back and forth a bit but again, his training came to the fore and he saw fit to recommend the chowder. “It is not a good idea to even allude to seafood in our presence. You have been warned."

 

We settled on the “over the top” fries which was a plate of entirely unnecessary French fries topped with blue cheese and bacon and then baked. The fries could have been replaced with, oh, absolutely anything and this dish would have worked.

 

While we sat, we read the fun facts in the local tourist rag. Astoria’s biggest claim to fame is that it was ONCE the SECOND largest city in Oregon. Not anymore. And not first. But still, they take pride in holding this obscure title. At least it’s not dirt poor and plagued by meth.

 

When reaching into the shared travel wallet to pay the bill, I pulled out a thick wad of spindled and mutilated pieces of paper. Our waiter was curious and we explained that these were our wine receipts from the ship. “How long have you been on?” he asked. “Two days.” His jaw hit the table. I think he was ready to follow us anywhere at this point. He was dangerously close to asking for our autographs.

 

This charming bistro also boasts wine tasting in the front room which you have to pass through on your way out. We stopped to look at the fridge magnets and tchotchkes. The proprietress tried to talk us into a wine tasting but we weren’t sure that was conducive to our continued survival so we held out as long as possible. Eventually, our inner natures took over and, not being quitters, we agreed.

 

Our waiter came running out exclaiming, “I knew it. I knew you’d do it. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” Yeah, well we’re nothing if not devoted to our fans.

 

So we survived the wine tasting and bought a bottle of champagne to take back to the ship. This was where I started to feel better while Diana never did fully regain her equilibrium. As I said, the student outpaces the master.

 

After a good long nap, it was time to rally for dinner. It was then that Diana announced that tonight would be room service and a movie. Well, maybe for you but I’m not missing out on my favorite part of cruising. Eventually, she put in enough effort to clean up and make it to the dining room but that was about as far as she could make it and I spent the rest of the evening in the casino (emphasis on “spent”).

 

We did question Digz about his alter ego Edwin and asked if the crew was in the habit of just grabbing the closest nametag on their way out the door in the morning. He explained that his full name is Edwin Digz but I think he enjoys messing with people’s heads when he meets them sober in the morning.

 

Next day was Victoria and we headed straight for the Empress Hotel. The sidekick was looking for lunch but I explained that while I’d been several times, I’d never found a bar/restaurant I felt comfortable enough entering. Today was no different. Maybe the Pit Stain couple had more of an effect on me than I’d thought.

 

So we headed up the road to the Bard & Banker.

 

Let me back up a second. Generally, on vacation, I take a backseat. Between the two of us, the twin is the natural leader and I’m a natural born follower. When I’ve vacationed with Diana in the past, it’s usually on her turf and so I go with the flow. This time, being the more seasoned cruiser and the more recent visitor to these cities (by 20 years), I tended to take the initiative.

 

I maneuvered us to seats at the bar. She looks up to the wrap around loft area and says (with a heavy sigh) “I wish we could sit up there.” “Well, there’s no one sitting up there which leads me to believe there’s no wait service up there at the moment.” Another heavy sigh, as if I just stomped on her Happy Meal toy.

 

Back on the ship, we cleaned up and headed to the Ocean Bar where the first thing I hear is, “I don’t know why you make a beeline for the bar when there are perfectly good tables available.” Couldn’t she have just said she’d rather sit at a table? Note: Never simply express your preference when you can completely annihilate another's at the same time. (Have I mentioned there’s a reason we’ve lived in different cities all these years?)

 

At this point we realize that we’re getting off tomorrow and have no hard copy proof of Diana’s change of itinerary. Not thrilled about having to recreate our steps at the Internet Café, we go down and actually find a manager. We told him that we’d already tried to print these docs but couldn’t find the printer they’d been sent to. He asked her last name, reached in a drawer and handed us our confirmations. Apparently, he’d called our stateroom several times but we weren’t around. Nice! This saved us a bunch of time and money. (I love HAL!)

 

Anyway, it’s our last night onboard and we set out to make it count. She’s rallied a bit from yesterday’s plague and while we’re starting to think we're both coming down with something, we’re at least feeling well enough to give it a go.

 

Back in the room, I take over the planning of packing for disembarkation.

 

Having done this many times before, I know the difficulties that arise when you need to put your luggage outside before going to sleep and I take my role as an authority seriously. “Why do I need to pack now? Why can’t I do it in the morning?” “Because your suitcase will be gone by then and you’ll have to disembark in your jammies and I won’t be seen with you.”

 

So we go to the front desk to request a couple of tote bags because even my experienced self did not think to pack for this eventuality and the usually available tote bags were not. I walk her through the basics – pack everything except what you need in the morning to get clean, dressed and out to the pier.

We did what I thought was a pretty good preliminary job, left envelopes for Wayan and Oki and set out for dinner and our last night at sea.

 

Once in the dining room, I noticed that the bread basket was not out on the table but rather Barus served us individually. While concerned, I stayed quiet. When the soup was served and the “pepper?” question was posed, Barus placed a handful of paper packets on the table. “Are we Code Red?” I asked in a whisper. “Almost” was the nervous reply. Oh, goody.

 

We finished dinner while watching the dining room crew apply bleach to everything including the upholstery. Thanked (and tipped) Barus and Digz and set off for our last night in the Crow’s Nest.

 

I’m told, once again, that there was dancing involved but I think that’s just Diana’s way of getting back at me for that incident in sophomore year. Did I mention she has a nasty streak?

 

I don’t actually remember getting back to the room but I do know that the morning came way too soon. Racing around collecting up everything that hadn’t been packed, I realize that I did a very bad job of this and have to tote many things I could have put out with the suitcase and am without several things I really need for my morning routine. The Crow’s Nest is a very evil place.

 

But, right on schedule, they kicked us off. We cabbed it to the train station and after digging through luggage and once again performing our morning preparations, this time with all the things we had been without on the ship, boarded the train to Portland.

 

By this time it was apparent that Diana’s 24 hour hangover was really more than that and while I had a few hours between hangover and true illness, we both had the cruiseship crud. This made for a somewhat cranky trip. “Tell me again why we’re on a train instead of renting a car?” “Because when I made these arrangements it was only me and I didn’t want to drive.”

 

“Why not? We’d have been there by now.” This before we’d left the station. “No, we wouldn’t and I thought the train would be fun.” “Well, it’s not.” OK. And on top of this, I have to work tomorrow? My head was pounding and I was wondering if anyone would notice if I opened the window and ejected a 130 pound blonde.

 

We arrive in Portland, cranky and scary people indeed. Have a drink at a restaurant near the station and catch a cab to the Hotel Monaco. “We just checked out of the Hotel Monaco and now we’re checking in again?” “Yes, Diana, but it’s a different city. Don’t worry, it’s the same goldfish.”

 

Now I’m in the same hotel as my coworkers so I need to be at least a little bit careful. Diana is hurting but since I’m about 24 hours behind her on this illness, I admit, I’m a bit less than sympathetic. She, again, announced that tonight was “room service and movie” and I basically flipped her the bird. “I’m on vacation!”

 

Once again, she rallied enough to get us up and out, this time to a wonderful Thai restaurant around the corner. When, after the meal, she put her head down on the table and moaned, “whyyyyy is this haaaappening to mmeeee?,” I pretty much lost it, reminding her that I worked with people with a chronic, debilitating, painful and incurable illness and that none of them had ever needed this much cheese to accompany their whine.

 

I walked her back to the hotel and went out in search of some Portland nightlife, or at least a quiet corner where I could call the twin and blow off some steam. (No worries, we have a 30+ year history and this wasn’t the first nor will it be the last. Just a reminder that absence makes the heart grow fonder!)

 

The next morning, I left her sleeping (and did I mention the snoring?!) and made my way down to the conference room where my coworkers and I would be receiving 100 or so spinal arthritis patients for a patient seminar. I actually managed to speak coherently, and hopefully did nothing to let on, too obviously, just how much overindulgence had been committed the previous week.

 

Diana joined us for lunch, after roaming around the city on her own. She tried, but failed, to visit Voodoo Donuts, made famous by the Food (or Travel) Channel for their maple and bacon donuts. Apparently, the concierge at the hotel told her the line was always at least two hours long.

 

She did, however, wander down to the Saturday Market, which I’d been to before and hoped to fit in on this trip. She described it as “a haven of hemp-wearing, pot smoking, Rastafarian, bearded and beaded, flower-adorned, tie-dyed vegans selling all types of organic, green, recycled, psychedelic hash pipes, toe rings, suspicious “catnip” and incense-infused herbal remedies”. Sounds like fun.

 

After lunch, we said goodbye and she flew home, on a puddle-jumper with only 24 seats – 12 of which she claims were occupied by screaming children. (And no, no part of me took joy in that fact. Really. Tee hee.)

 

Back at work, I was definitely getting sicker by the minute and I felt like I’d gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson. Still, I had a donor appreciation dinner to attend and managed to get through it without incident.

 

The next day was free time and a few coworkers and I hit the market for ourselves and managed to make a (too) quick visit to Powell’s. We passed Voodoo Donuts and I emailed pictures of the line to Diana to show her that the concierge (really gotta get one of those) wasn’t yanking her chain.

 

That afternoon, I made my way to the airport and was surprised to see that about a quarter of the folks coming through security carried boxes from Voodoo Donuts. Never underestimate the power of a good bacon donut.

 

Once back on the ground, I settled down for the 10 minute cab ride from Burbank Airport to my home in North Hollywood. I took in the medical marijuana clinics on every block (StarBudz!), the gang members assembled on the street corners and the homeless men and women tucked into the alcoves in front of many businesses.

 

Home Sweet Home. Yakima is sounding better every day.

[Essiesmom]

Love it! Can I come along next time? EM

[IRL_Joanie]

Just shoot me already! Please???

 

Seriously, another fun review that I loved to read. It definitely sounded like a scripted scene from the old show Just shoot me. :)

 

Loved it!!

 

Joanie

[Assateague Island Princes]

Thank you, thank you, thank you! After receiving some potentially bad news at my doctor's office yesterday, and with some critical tests looming for next Wedneday, I woke up at 4AM in fear and feeling sorry for myself. After a good cry, I logged on to CC for my daily dose of cruising escape. Imagine my surprise and delight to find myself laughing out loud while reading your review! Actually had to dial down the laughter so as not to wake DH and new puppy. Best medicine I could have right now! Chased the blues away and got me to focus on something other than my health woes. Again, thanx so much for brightening my day!

[onthegogirl]

Brilliant! The liver is evil and must be punished! Thanks for the morning laughter.

[diann744]

Thanks for all comments. It was a great ride and one I'd do again in a heartbeat. The suite experience was sweet indeed.

 

Diana actually invited me out to the desert this weekend so I clearly didn't offend her too much with this review.

 

Assateague -- they say laughter is the best medicine so I hope I helped a tiny bit. Best wishes and white light coming your way from me. Best.

 

Diann

[gf]

Great review! Had me literally laughing out loud - what a writer you are! Thanks!

[120 Reasons2Sail]

There had been a rough sea moment the night before and he claimed to have heard from an authority that we hit a whale. I have no idea if this is true, but there was definitely a disturbance. I certainly hope this was not the case and it was actually a boatload of Somali pirates we took out.

 

 

Looks like it may have been a whale or a REALLY big coincidence...See the story from this CNN link http://ireport.cnn.com/docs/DOC-500451?hpt=Sbin

[baggal]

Read your review yesterday and just re-read it again this morning. Still LOL!

 

Thanks.

[madelinerose]

Diann, from one Kimpton lover to another....wonderful review! Thanks! ;)

[Assateague Island Princes]

Still chuckling with this review! :p

 

Thanx - caught that white light Diann, and holding on tight....

[Cruising-along]

Loved it, thanks for the hilarious review! I was on that cruise too, as were a few other CCrs. Wish we had met you!!!

 

Maybe you were the woman I overheard in Astoria saying "why does every port in the NW smell like fish???" LOL :D

 

And I agree about the entertainment in the piano bar, really awful. But she seemed to have a following....couldn't quite understand that. :confused:

[Two@Sea]

Hey, thanks for watching my fishie for me at the Seattle Monaco... I worry about the little guy for the year or so I am away from him between visits! You're good people! ;)

[COLLEYBERRY]

You are a gifted ,gifted writer.:) Seriously .. don't know your profession..but I am thinking comedy writing should be a definite career consideration.

Laugh out loud humour and delightful imagery..I had so much fun reading your review.

Just a few of my favorites.. the birthing of a "flaming porcupine" ..Bloody Mary requiring cheese cloth..hepatologist on speed dial..:D:D:D

Thanks so much taking the time to share.

Regards Colleen

[diann744]

Assateague,

 

I'll be thinking of you tomorrow. More white light and good thoughts coming your way.

 

Diann

[DizzyDallasDi]

I finished reading your review about an hour ago and am still giggling. :D What a fun read! I remembered reading your escapades with the "evil twin" some time back so I knew this review wouldn't disappoint.

 

I trust you've fully recovered from whatever crud it was you caught. :( I'm sure the wondrous medicinal effects of the alcohol helped stave off those germs for awhile. ;)