The View from the Back of the Boat

Well, there we were, the four of us, drinking margaritas at the world’s busiest airport. Ted and Shelley, my brother and sister-in-law, husband Tim and I were on our way to Barcelona and a Mediterranean cruise. Life was good!

The idea for the trip was part celebration of Shelley’s 50th birthday and part consolation prize for not letting her go on the Disney cruise when Tim and I took our little boys. She adjusted amazingly well.

I bought a pink “Birthday Girl” button at Target that found its way out of her purse at every stop. She partied with some guys at a bar in Barcelona and policemen in Rome. The waitress at Egipte in Barcelona took her picture, but the street mimes ignored her. The staff at Le Bistro on the cruise ship wanted to get in the act with cake and a strange rendition of “Happy Birthday.” It was really more like Ralphie’s family at the Chinese restaurant in The Christmas Story—Fra-Ra-Ra-Ra-Ra. We toasted her in Capri, Sorrento, and over a pizza in Lucca, at the ruins of Pompeii, and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Between birthday parties, we experienced life around the Mediterranean.

In Barcelona bachelor and bachelorette parties gave the birthday girl a run for her money in the celebration department. The women paraded through La Rambla in white and, when it was their turn, the men wore black—of course. Some stereotypes transcend oceans. They blew whistles, sang, and generally carried on—loudly. We loved it.

The market was a maze of meat, fish, and vegetable vendors. Fishy eyeballs starred into the void, and sides of pork hung from the rafters by their hooves. Creepy!

In Malta Tim was excited to see boats actually floating in water. Ours had been stuck in the mud for two years in Lake (using the term loosely) Lanier. We strolled around the marina and eventually found ourselves at the entrance of an old church. The door was open, so Tim elbowed a few gawkers out of the way of his camera. Unfortunately, we didn’t notice the hearse until the girl started singing “Amazing Grace.”

The guide at Pompeii left the brothels off the itinerary, much to Tim’s chagrin, but he felt redeemed when Ted—ever alert—spied some working girls outside the US Army Base near Pisa. One girl was advertising from the front seat of her camper. Friday afternoon outside an army base—go figure.

Rome’s traffic got Ted’s attention almost as quickly as the ladies of the afternoon. There are no traffic rules—just suggestions. All the cars are big enough for one or two really skinny people. Motor scooters drive betwixt, between, and on the sidewalk. And parallel parking—well, we have no idea how they got in or if they ever got out. Ted was amazed that he had not seen a wreck until the unfortunate and thunderous crash in a tunnel.

Shelley was our interpreter. She had lived in Spain over 20 years ago and was convinced that this enabled her to understand other languages. She had used this same rationale back in our “store days” to explain her ability to understand exactly what some of our articulation-challenged customers were muttering about.

Ted’s last trip to Europe had been with GE to Monte Carlo some time in the ‘80’s. He didn’t have enough money to gamble back then, and, after a long night at the ship’s casino, he didn’t have enough to gamble now either. Like Yogi Berra says, “That’s déjà vu all over again.”

In the late afternoon, after trudging back to the ship from a day of whirlwind sightseeing, we would find Melvin, the wine guy, at the back of the boat. We would sit around a table laughing and talking and sharing the day, watching the ship pull out of the harbor with the same amazement that we felt as it entered. Tim and Shelley jumped around like jack rabbits taking pictures while Ted and I ate appetizers and smiled on request.

And why the back of the boat? Most people prefer the front, because then they can at least see where they are going. But for us, we wanted to remember where we had been.

This was our first “adults-only” trip together. We had become friends, and we were celebrating this every bit at much as we were celebrating Shelley’s birthday.

We learned a few things about ourselves on that trip. It was obvious to all that I will never be competent at YMCA hand gestures; Tim is terrible at Bingo; and Shelley, bless her heart, can’t get to breakfast on time to save her life. But it was Ted who learned the most valuable lesson of all—when the maid is ready to mop the men’s restroom, she doesn’t care who is standing at the urinal.