The Feisty Traveler - A Quirky Memoir

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by Lil Cromer


  This UA was my cruise partner on the Love Boat to the Mexican Riviera. If I had known this was her first cruise, I would never have agreed to go. She stuck to me like crazy glue. I explained to her that the cabins were so small, only one butt should be in there packing and unpacking at a time. I let her go first. Yep, when it was my turn, she came back in asking dumb questions and in my way. The only place I found that I could get some space was walking on the outside deck; she couldn’t go outside in the wind because of her hairdo. There’s a photo of this woman in Chapter 11 on cruising.

  Another traveling companion was an UA from south Florida. Before we left for Alaska, I offered her advice I’d garnered at travelogues. One was dress in layers! What does she do but bring a huge floor-length fur coat complete with hood. The day we were in Denali Park all she did was bitch about the cold weather and kept asking when we would get back to the hotel. When we’d get to a different hotel, as well on the ship, I asked her if she wanted the right or left side of the room and the bathroom. This would last for a couple hours then her stuff was everywhere. I finally realized this woman was an alcoholic; the glass on her nightstand was full of scotch. She yelled at a bus driver in Seattle because he wasn’t going fast enough and when we got to the hotel she yelled at the desk clerk. She turned the TV and lights on in the middle of the night, she took forever to put on makeup and then forever to take it off at night. Not only was this woman an UA she was a high maintenance one.

  The longer the flight, the greater chance of an obnoxious seat mate. This UA was of Indian ethnicity, complete with sari and bindi. On a return trip from Europe, this woman sat by the window and I had the aisle. First thing she did, after stowing two bags under the seat in front of her, was raise the arm rest between us then proceed to sit cross-legged encroaching on my space. Politely I lowered the arm rest and gave her the eye. When the meals were served this woman stuffed most of it in the bags under the seat. Next she took a jar out of her purse containing black paste. This she smeared all around her mouth and teeth. She claimed to not speak English, but seemed to understand what the flight attendant said. I mentioned the food in her bags, the attendant told the woman it would not get through customs. Did she take it out, nope. Glad I wasn’t behind her in line. When the immigration forms were passed out, she handed me her US passport and the form and prodded me to fill it out. I refused!

  These Ugly Americans seemed to be longing for things to be just the way they were at home, so I ask what is the point of traveling? Wonder if they return home saying they didn’t like Rome without ever troubling themselves to know the place or the people.

  Chapter 5

  Getting Lost

  *

  No matter where you go there you are.

  I’m seldom afraid of getting lost. This is one of the joys of traveling, getting off the beaten path and making discoveries. Getting lost is an excellent excuse to ask strangers for help. If you don’t know where you’re going, you might end up some place else. Sometimes that’s a good thing and sometimes it’s a bad thing. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m on my way. A friend’s elderly mother used a saying that cracked me up each time I heard it, “When you come to a fork in the road, keep going.”

  One morning, when on my 2011 road trip, I left Hayesville, NC before daybreak. I was headed up to Lexington, KY. I checked the route at the motel, 64 bypass over to N. I-75 N, how hard could that be? Well I turned on Rte. 64, not the bypass and ended up going through the town and onto a logging road. Amazing how different things look in the dark. This two lane road was littered with big branches which I artfully dodged. When the sun came up, I realized I was on the wrong road but knew I was going in the right direction. About an hour later I was in a watershed district, so figured civilization was not far away. To make matters worse, my bladder was full of iced tea. Coming off the mountain I finally spotted a gas station. Hurrying out of the car I met two retired men sitting on the porch; told them I was lost and in need of a bathroom. One guy remarked, “GPS get you lost little lady, they don’t work too good up here.” Explained that I couldn’t blame it on a GPS, I did it myself. After a bathroom stop, a fill up of gas and a nice chat, I was armed with directions to the Interstate and on my way.

  Since my first nasty encounter over map reading with Hal, I have become pretty proficient in reading them, so felt no need for a GPS. However one scary incident made me rethink my decision. It was also before daybreak, this time in Omaha, NE. I had an early morning flight, so left in plenty of time to make the twenty-five minute drive to the airport. But as I mentioned before things look different in the dark. I’d made this trip at least twelve times previously, but for some reason missed a crucial turn and ended up in North Omaha which is a rather dangerous neighborhood. Due to the early hour nothing was open to stop for directions. I finally stumbled upon a small one pump gas station with the attendant behind glass covered with bars. He laughed when I told him I was lost, but directed me to the best route to get to the airport. Made the flight with time to spare.

  While driving around Oahu in our beat up Chevy, my husband became hopelessly lost. When I asked him about it, he said, “Don’t worry, Lil, all roads lead to town.” Sort of like if you know where you’re going any road will get you there. Also, if you’re on an island you really can’t get too lost.

  I once read that not all who wander are lost. But that didn’t apply to me during a recent trip to Amsterdam. After the walking tour was over, most of my fellow travelers headed back to the ship for lunch. Since I was excited to be in the city for the first time, I headed out on my own to experience the local culture. When it was time to head back to the ship, I was positive I knew the right direction. However, like a lot of cities, Amsterdam’s circular streets with canals and bridges proved challenging. After numerous stops for directions I found myself at the train station, supposedly the docks were behind the station. Not knowing if I could walk straight through the station, I did some more inquiries. Finally I burst through the station and voila! There was the boat dock and my ship beckoning.

  The most fun I’ve had being lost had to be in New York City right after 9-11. My friend and I, armed with a rather crude map of Manhattan, would set out a different direction each day and proceed to get lost. Many of the people we asked for directions could barely speak English, yet they gestured, pointed at our map and tried to help us. It was inspiring.

  Nephew Brandon can’t understand why I don’t use a GPS!

  Maybe one would have helped the year Hal and I were in Elizabeth, KY looking for a golf course which turned out to be in Elizabethtown, NC — some ten hours away.

  A survey found 1.5 million people swerve in traffic while following GPS instructions. About 300,000 of those drivers actually crash or cause accidents involving other motorists. Researchers claim technology dulls brain functions because electronics now perform tasks that mind cells once did. Using a paper map and asking others for directions keeps us alert behind the wheel.

  That commanding voice, which I find annoying, emanating from a GPS may be soothing and surreal, but it lulls us into a false sense of security that can be fatal. She may sound authoritative like she knows the road, but that doesn’t mean you can always trust the lady in your GPS system.

  Three women found this out to their peril after driving into a lake, near Mercer Slough Park, Washington. In their defense the ladies were not from the area and it was pitch black at the time of the incident. The driver of the SUV thought she was on a road while following her GPS directions shortly after midnight. In fact she was driving down a boat launch headed straight for the lake. As the car started to fill with water the three quickly got themselves out and scrambled to the side only to watch helplessly as their vehicle sunk out of view. They had been in the town for a conference officials said, and were trying to make it back to their hotel in Bellevue when they got lost.

  Chapter 6

  Alaska

  *

  Travel expectantly. Everyplace you
visit is like a surprise package to be opened. Untie the strings with an expectation of high adventure.

  In spite of a rather dubious beginning, my Alaskan Tour with Holland America, September 2003, will go down as one interesting experience. After traveling most of the day, from Tampa to Fairbanks, my traveling companion and I were eagerly looking forward to an effortless transport to our hotel. When we deplaned, I noticed a large “Princess” sign held by a young woman sporting a beaming smile, in spite of the late hour. With no welcome sign, nor greeter, from “Holland America,” I phoned the Regency Hotel — the desk clerk instructed us to take a cab, promising reimbursement.

  We rounded up our bags, headed out into the crisp night air in search of a cab and flagged down a dirty mini van. When the driver exited the van, more apprehension set in. Not only was his unkempt appearance disturbing, but his rude behavior added to our discomfort. He actually laughed out loud when my companion hit her head as she climbed into the van, unassisted, saying, “Some lady did the same thing last week and fell right on her ass.” Trying to avert headlines that might have read, “Two female tourists found frozen on the tundra,” we decided to remain quiet while he drove to the hotel. A small sign over his rear view mirror read, “This cab carries less than twenty rounds of ammo,” was another reason for our silence. Before arriving in Alaska, I’d heard that there are six men to every woman, but the saying goes, “The odds are good, but the goods are odd.” So far, I was a believer.

  When we finally arrived at the Regency and checked in, we asked the clerk what time we needed to be in the lobby in the morning to catch the tour of Fairbanks. After consulting our vouchers, she said, “The bus leaves at 9:00, so be in the lobby around 8:45.”

  Next morning, we arrived in the lobby at 8:40 and were told by a tour rep that the bus had left at 8:00. By this time, we were exasperated and not too pleased with Alaska. The rep explained to us that later in the season the tour is reversed, with the Discovery Stern Wheel tour in the morning and the Gold Dredge in the afternoon. Seems like it would have been prudent for the staff to put a note in our checkin package or under our door informing us of this change? We were then hustled out to a waiting van and driven to the dock by a congenial young man. The paddle wheel had already sailed, we were directed around the corner to a waiting aluminum Jon boat and helped into it. The driver raced after the Discovery, pulled alongside of the riverboat, which fortuitously slowed down a bit — with several hands we were hoisted up onto the ship. And, a good job we didn’t miss this exciting tour along the rivers Tanana and Chena into the heart of Alaska. Our professional narrator, Captain Jim Binkley, pointed out dog team kennels owned by past winners of the Iditarod race, modern log cabins, a Chena Indian village, a fish camp and Governor Murkowski’s homestead. Dixie Alexander, a renowned Athabascan beadwork artist, displayed an elaborately beaded jacket similar to one she designed for the Smithsonian Institution.

  After disembarking the riverboat we wandered around the parking lot looking for the bus we were instructed to catch for a tour of the Gold Dredge No. 8 as well as the city of Fairbanks. Just as we located the proper numbered bus, it started pulling away. Waving it down, we boarded and joined the rest of the group. Tour guide, Ronnie, a retired school teacher, couldn’t have been more boring, providing us much too much information about the Gold Dredge, as well as the rest of the tour of the city. I witnessed several people nodding off during his monotone monologue.

  We did enjoy a stop at the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, which was built at a cost of $8 billion running from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez. The portion we viewed was above ground due to permafrost, which is any rock or soil material that has remained below 32 degrees F continuously for two or more years between 1200 to 2000 feet deep. The elevation is kept at a 5 ft. minimum allowing for uninhibited caribou migration. Riding around Fairbanks you couldn’t help but notice electrical cords seemingly growing out from under car hoods. We discovered that with the brutal low temperatures, sometimes reaching minus 100 Fahrenheit during the winter, engines would freeze up in a matter of minutes; thus each parking lot is equipped with electric heaters which cars plugged into while folks shopped or dined.

  Once we left Fairbanks, things began to brighten — until we experienced a two hour delay sitting on the McKinley Explorer, a magnificent domed train. Our saving grace was a personable bartender named Amber.

  Naturally, this unavoidable incident caused a two hour delay beginning the tour, on the old rickety school bus, through the six million acre Denali Park. The ninety-one mile park road was constructed between McKinley Park Station and a mining camp from 1923 to 1938. The road made the park more accessible to visitors whose numbers have increased over the years; now more than 350,000 people visit Denali each summer. The tour bus program, which emerged in 1972 as an alternative to private car traffic into the park, minimizes visitor impacts allowing many to experience a park that belongs to everyone without destroying it and protecting Denali’s wilderness ecosystem. On the tundra, due to permafrost, trees grow only to a diameter of nine inches. The harsh beauty of Alaska is awesome.

  At one comfort stop during our six hour odyssey, an annoying woman, Ruth, returned to the bus and asked a question so insipid we were rolling in the aisles. “Why would they put shoe scrapers in outhouses?” One of the younger passengers politely told her those foot levers happened to be the toilet flushers. My peals of laughter prevented me from responding.

  It was puzzling when the driver passed around a large basket containing packets of coffee, tea, hot cocoa, sugar, and powdered cream, until we stopped, three hours into our trip through the park, walked to the back of the old bus, fighting a stiff, cold wind, to fill our Styrofoam cups with hot water from a tank on board. This was tantamount to nectar of the gods. By the time our six hour ordeal was finished, the entire bus load was cold and weary. A few Dall sheep on an upper elevation, at least that’s what the tour guide said they were, and one moose were the extent of our wildlife sightings.

  Our accommodations at the McKinley Chalet Resort were outstanding — spacious suites in a rustic setting surrounded by majestic mountains. The quality of the Chalets in Denali, especially the gourmet food served in the restaurant, were one of the highlights of our trip. When we discovered the heater in our bathroom was not working we phoned housekeeping. Less than five minutes later, Charlene arrived, decked out in her beige maintenance uniform with a tool belt strapped around her ample waist. She reminded me of Barbara Semanski from Northern Exposure. Nobody would dare challenge Charlene! A bear would get the short end of the stick wrestling with her. As she repaired our heater, I asked how she tolerated winters with twenty hours of darkness and brutal temperatures. She said she keeps plenty busy all winter long even after the place shuts down by repairing things the builder overlooked and doing routine maintenance. “We appreciate snow cover because the darkness is not so noticeable,” she added. A hearty lot, those Alaskans.

  While warming ourselves at the bar, two thirty something natives, just up from Anchorage, sat down next to us and ordered Long Island Iced Teas. These guys were over the moon. They’d won the once-a-year lottery allowing them to travel into the park with their private vehicles the next day. They’d rented a van, stocked it with provisions and were eagerly waiting daybreak to enter the park. My traveling companion and I had a difficult time relating to their exuberance after having just returned from an exhausting six hour trip into the park on the old bus. Sadly for the guys the next day the first snowfall of the season blocked entrance to much of the park.

  A bonus in Denali turned out to be Cabin Night featuring talented performers from around the country who staged two spirited shows nightly in an authentic, log-paneled roadhouse. Performers served up family-style platters of salmon, chicken and marinated ribs with all the trimmings before they presented a historical musical based on the life of Fannie Quigley, an adventuresome woman who left Wahoo, Nebraska to find fame and fortune in Alaska. The humor is charming, the musical selections refin
ed and stirring with songs like Alaska is an Eagle and I’m Staying in Denali.

  The train ride down from Denali to Anchorage was spectacular; fortunately the weather was gorgeous and we were able to view Mt. McKinley in all its glory. Halfway through the eight hour journey we passed another train heading back toward Denali and with instructions from our tour guide, we gave them the “moose wave.” (Thumbs on each temple, fingers spread apart, wild flapping) The McKinley Explorer service proved excellent, although the quality of the food in the dining car left a lot to be desired.

  Our accommodations in Anchorage at the Westmark were also first rate. Attached to the regular bar stood a sushi bar, just what we needed after the trip down. The next morning we had ample time to walk around downtown Anchorage, buy a few souvenirs and enjoy a leisurely breakfast. As we made our way down to Seward, the three hour bus ride afforded an opportunity to relax and enjoy the scenery. While rubbernecking I observed a man across the aisle engrossed in a novel, ignoring the once in a lifetime sights, causing me to wonder why he didn’t just stay home. An interesting little town, that’s a bedroom community to Anchorage, is Wasilla, which spells “All I Saw,” backwards and made famous by Sarah Palin.

  Once we began the cruise portion of our tour on the msVeendam, we were back in the lap of luxury Holland America is noted for providing. We experienced exemplary service throughout our cruise with the exception of a wine steward named, Fernando. His arrogant attitude, coupled with his lack of knowledge of the wine list, left a bad taste with everyone at our table.

  Always a highlight of my cruises is meeting interesting table mates, and this cruise was no exception. My travel agent honored my request for a large round table. A septuagenarian, Pat from Colorado, was traveling with her son, daughter and son-in-law. Her husband was meant to make the trip, but passed away a few months prior. A mother/daughter team from South Dakota provided our table with interesting anecdotes as well as hearty laughter. The daughter, an ob/gyn and a world traveler, is married to a Mr. Mom. Her mission was to snap photos of orcas for her five year old. A rather unique couple joined us a bit late the first night and appeared to be rather aloof. However, as the cruise progressed we felt drawn to this odd couple from San Francisco. He, a rather short Irishman, a nerdish type with several degrees and she a tall exotic Greek beauty salon manager looking like she stepped right out of the movie Chicago. The last night of the cruise the Irishman asked the table if we would mind accompanying him to the casino and cheer him on while he tried his luck at the craps table. What a scene, our entire table stood around the table, not understanding a thing about the game, yet boisterously cheering on our new friend. Several times the croupier advised us we should be booing instead of cheering, which we dutifully did.

 

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