Tuesday, January 31, 2012

I'll say this much: Buffalo has some very nice clouds. Perhaps the nicest clouds I've ever seen--ever.

Yet, as I stare out the window of this Panera, I'm distracted from my cloud-musings. How the hell did I end up here?

I left this blog off a long while ago. I left you all in New York City, preparing a journey. Was it as epic as hoped? No. Was it epic nonetheless, and in some very interesting an unexpected ways? Abso-freaking-lutely.

I remember that I took this laptop out several times while aboard the Queen Mary 2, intending to write, but the volume and intensity of my experiences was somewhat intimidating and overwhelming. So now, with my memories distilled by time and distance, what can I tell you of that great oceanliner?

First, that it is, indeed, and oceanliner, not a cruise ship. This was more or less drilled into us by the onboard historian, who, from the moment we cast off from the dock in Brooklyn, began speaking over the loudspeakers about the grand and elegant history of Cunard ships, and the immensity and importance of the QM2.

At first, the grandeur of the ship itself was eclipsed by my experience of drifting away from the coast itself. I remember staring in awe at the Statue of Liberty, at the imposing Manhattan skyline, at the extraordinarily urbanized shoreline. This was the viewpoint of pilgrims, invaders, and immigrants. This was the experience of the old, of the past. In days long past the only way to "jump the pond" was to watch one continent slowly slip below the horizon as you were fed into the daunting expanse of ocean towards the lands beyond.

But, I've gotten ahead of myself! The gangway and the first steps aboard may be the most impressive of all. Long, winding bridges guide you to the "front-door" of the ship where bright carpets and immaculate bellhops welcome you aboard. Sitting here now I can almost feel the sensation of the ship rocking beneath and with me. White gloves gesture for you to join them and you pass into the main hall, two stories, all glass and shops. As the sound of waves splashing against the dock recedes behind you, the music of a piano, a cello, a harp fill the atrium. Below, on the first floor, which is fed traffic by two sweeping staircases and a glass elevator from the second floor balcony live music will be played almost continuously during the seven day journey. This is no Carnival.

Where there are not shops, advertisements, or art hanging from the wall, there is history, plastered across on informative boards like a floating museum. Even the lowliest stateroom, in which Catherine and I stayed, was akin to the nicest hotel rooms (sans windows) I've been to.

Meals are served just beyond the great hall with the main elevators, past the lounge and a bar, in a restaurant that recalls the Titanic, but greater--and this is third class seating. Two levels of the restaurant are accompanied by spacious arrangement of meticulously attended to tables. In the center of the room and two story mural rises above the hungry to a ceiling spread overhead in wood tones reminiscent of early 20th century grandeur. The food itself is, unsurprisingly, incredible.

Amusement is provided almost around the clock, where alternative restaurants are available, shops are in abundance, movies are playing, games are conducted, bars are settled into innumerable nooks, clubs are popping, the library is stocked, and even the planetarium is sold out.

At midnight, Catherine and I play tennis and shuffleboard on the top deck by moonlight. In the early morning I find a deserted and somewhat hidden outdoor deck and witness the most incredible rainbow I've ever seen. It's a transcendent experience--the rainbow glides along with the Queen Mary, so close that I believe I could touch it if only I leap. It's perfect, with distinguished bands of color curves like you see in children's books. How could some not see this a God's own promise? I rush to wake Catherine, who is most unamused in her sleepiness.

But every voyage ends, eventually, and soon we landed in Southampton, England, ready for the next great event of our lives.

But, how did I get here? I feel like the dad in "How I Met Your Mother." I'll continue next time.