Westward - er - Southward Ho!

The ropes were slipped by two rope men who weren’t particularly ‘heave ho’ but rather ‘whatever’. The last two ropes took rather a lot of time to be released, but finally we slowly slid away from the Pan Pacific and its sails, and set sail (figuratively) placidly forward, westward and then southward. Ho.

Thank goodness for texting for we had been able to find our beloved family who were stationed on the upper level of the P.P. by the furthest sail, just as the cruise police moved us on to the mandatory safety drill. We had ducked out of the flow of dutiful passengers by going up to the top deck where we waved, shouted, texted and speaker-phoned the five bodies of genetic- and nuptial-shared material on the landward side. Ushered firmly onward by three uniformed men, who had seen it all before, to our muster station, we survived the drill to drift to our cabin and its balcony, where we waved and spoke to small dots of family members who told us what lucky numbers to bet on in the casino.

Our cabin is on the port side (so we are at least living the first part of POSH living; aka “port out”). Two single beds are divided by a small table, with a desk on the far side looking through a window out to sea. There is a sofa and two arm chairs, and a small oval table just large enough for the bouquet of flowers and the 2 enormous bottles of gin my father had ordered for us. He knows which side of the fence his girls play on!

The deck is large enough for a wee round table and two chairs as well as two larger armchairs with footstools, all in a fetching beige plastic. My husband had worked out that our gifted gin allotment allows us each about 23 ml each per day. We splashed twice that amount into a glass and ordered ice while we sat outside and watched the city of Vancouver slide past with soft sparkles of sun shimmering on the water between us and Stanley Park. Sunday night traffic was stopped on Lions Gate Bridge, and cyclists free wheeling along the seawall whooped at us and we waved back. Never ignore a hearty whoop, I’ve learned.

Fed up with waiting we added tonic, toasted our 42 days ahead and tucked in. Halfway through the ice finally arrived – enough for an ice bath in a medium-sized swimming pool. Life is good.