The view out of my window in Ft. Lauderdale
Cunard sure doesn’t do things by halves. They booked my flight, the red-eye from SeaTac to Fort Lauderdale. First class. They booked me a hotel. Marriott on the beach. A modest limo took me from the airport to a comfortable bed. Tomorrow they will transport me to the Queen Victoria. All I have to do is stand there and it all happens. I could get used to this.
Thanks to not being able to get past dozing last night, if brains were gold, I couldn’t buy a pencil right now.
First up was breakfast. Did I want to sit inside or outside on the restaurant’s patio? It is 70 degrees. Guess. They seated me beside one of four or five swimming pools. I sat drinking my coffee and digesting eggs benedict and simply watching. Some random observations from a brain of mush:
A fellow and his girl settled into a corner and decided to unfurl one of those big umbrellas. He tried to crawl into it from below. He tried hugging it. He tried—whatever he tried, it tipped heavily on its side. He wrestled it back to standing, still furled. The umbrella had won.
Bird watching mostly consists of listening to English sparrows chirp in the shrubbery. Not English sparrows; that’s the name I grew up with. Now it’s house sparrow. I heard what I think is a Eurasian collared dove, but I haven’t seen it yet. And an occasional seagull. That’s about it.
People here treat lanes painted on the roads like suggestions, not mandates requiring turn signals. I’m glad I don’t drive here.
I checked two pieces of luggage and carried on a smaller piece and the backpack. Turns out that because I was first class, the checked baggage is free. Alaska Airlines could put a kid through law school on the fees they charge for bags. I complained about the amount of luggage I’m hauling around and the limo driver said, “You’re traveling really light. The average is six big ones.” Now I feel smug. We’ll see if I feel as smug at the end of this when I realize what I should have brought.
Parasailors
Too many older guys in baggy tropical shorts should never appear in public in shorts of any kind. Tourists, obviously. And cargo shorts. Lots of paleontologists wear cargo shorts, but they’re buff and tanned from fieldwork. Bill was convinced that all those cargo shorts were stuffed with newspaper so the wearers would look like they were working.
A complimentary breakfast and a complimentary cocktail were included. I availed myself with pleasure.
I flew to Florida Sunday night/Monday morning, but, I’ve learned, we don’t embark until Tuesday. I don’t care. Last week we had six inches of snow in western Washington; this didn’t do the airport a bit of good. Had it been this week, I may not have made it in time. Therefore, that 24-hour cushion is welcome.
So is the bed.