October 8, 2005
>From my Journal
It was a five star (maybe more) hotel, floating, bobbing ever so slightly on water. The lobby, huge, warm and comfortable with a grand piano, a grand staircase and grand glass elevators, was a little more than I had imagined.
I pictured someone showing me to my room, but as in most landlocked hotels, an escort is not necessarily necessary. I checked my ticket again. Room 6201. The sixth floor maybe? But what floor was I on? The first floor was probably underwater somewhere. Hmmm..
Once I got on the elevator, the sixth floor was as obvious as pushing button #6. That part was just like a hotel on land.
Near my room, I soon found Agnes, the 6th floor maid in charge of my section of the hallway. And after overhearing her talking with another maid who was identically dressed in a black and white skirt and shirt with a black and white apron, I asked her, "Magyar vagy?" which means, are you Hungarian? - in Hungarian.
She was surprised I understood her native tongue, and it was a good thing she was talking to the other maid about the luggage that belonged down the hall rather than about how I looked like a wet rat.
My room was 2 feet wider than the queen size bed. There was a small desk and a mirror, a TV, a chair, a small round table and a second chair. Under the desk was an efficiency-sized refrigerator with ginger ale, my favorite, among other beverages. In a bucket on the table I promptly noticed a half-size bottle of champagne -- just for me. Mmm. There was plenty of closet space near the door across from the small bathroom that had a little tiny shower. Perfect! I could live without windows - for a few days.
After exploring the nooks and crannies of my accommodations, I surfed all of the cable channels on the TV, including the in-ship station, like what you find at ski resorts where they report the day's activities, the weather and that night's entertainment. One channel was a live view taken by a camera positioned outside on the front of the ship somewhere. This was as close as my room would get to a window. I could see it was still cloudy, foggy and raining out there in New York City. The unmoving skyline meant we were still docked at the pier.
By now it was only 4pm, time for a "what-to-do-in-case-of-an-emergency" drill. Seven loud blasts meant we were to locate and wear the life preserver, conveniently stashed in the closet, and head up one deck to a specified area listed on the plaque on the back of the door. It was a bit unsettling to see hundreds of passengers crowding in the stairways and hallways wearing orange life jackets. Before I left home a friend had said, "Don't worry, the ship's so big, if it sinks, they'll have plenty of time to rescue you."
Still I couldn't help imagining the movie "Titanic" and the sense of panic such a moment might instill. But the crowds on this day were very relaxed, as if they had done this drill a hundred times. My section of the hallway gathered in the correct zone where we would wait for further instructions or get into a lifeboat if need be. For me, this was a time not to think about sinking but instead to think about eating. Wow. My gathering zone was in the middle of a big cafeteria that had the look of a soon-to-be feast.
I was eager to explore all the floors but wanted to return the life jacket to the closet and get my camera and my trusty umbrella, too so I could watch the sendoff from on deck - with champagne in hand - of course! With twelve floors to explore, each the size of two large city blocks, I had better get busy.
I came up on the elevator to my room and then went for the drill on the stairs and within minutes I was all turned around. This was the first time I wondered: where did the room go? It seemed to have disappeared, no, then it reappeared again on the other side of the main stairs. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention. On my second trip out, I took special note of the artwork in the stairwell landing nearest my room. It was a large painting of the QM2. Little did I know there were many paintings of the QM2 in several stairway landings.
I managed to open the champagne bottle all by myself without poking my eye out - a task I had never accomplished before. Just what the doctor ordered after a long Greyhound bus ride. Yum.
While vying for the perfect place among a few other travelers on the rainy upper decks, I had a terrible problem with my umbrella. I was on the top floor where the wind was blowing fiercely and the rain was coming down in sheets. Most passengers were inside a glass enclosed room of windows where there was a pool and four hot tubs and a band playing. This was the sendoff party which included everyone who didn't want to stand in the rain.
I, however, was standing in the windy rain trying to get the most out of the experience. That was when my umbrella problem happened, and I was hoping no one was watching.
Suddenly, whoosh, and there went my umbrella. That thing caught the wind and flew nearly out of my hand. Before I poked someone's eye out, it was inside out, looking silly. I battled with it almost like I was fencing but rather than cutting through the air like a sword, my umbrella caught every gale. I fought to get the point into the oncoming wind in hopes of it correcting itself back into its normal anatomical shape. However, it seemed the metal was permanently bent and deformed, half up and half down. Oh well. In spite of its new form, it still offered a certain amount of shelter.
The next thing I knew, the wind came from all directions again. My umbrella was completely inverted now, blowing up like a kamikaze parachute. And my hair! was caught somewhere in the metal spokes. I nearly shrieked as I could not release it, nor could I get the umbrella to where the wind would unbend whatever was pinching. Finally after pulling hard and sacrificing a few strands, I was free.
Needless to say, I started the journey looking like a complete fool. I prayed none of the other 3,000 passengers milling around the top decks were paying any attention. Surely they were watching the New York City skyline and the sky scrapers with their top floors hidden in the low rain clouds and the love-boat ship next door that was on its way out to sea before us.
Then the ship's horn sounded and blasted everyone on deck and anyone on 12th Ave. It was so loud; had my umbrella not already been inside out, that toot might have done it.
Soon my attention was 100% diverted away from the umbrella fiasco and onto the tug boats - just two of them. They were so small compared to the monster we were on, yet as another passenger explained, they were powerful. Wow. The Queen Mary was backing out of its 131 foot-wide parking space into the Hudson River - ever so slowly. I wasn't even sure we were moving.
The two tiny toy-like boats had a really big job. Basically they had to hold one end of the 150,000 ton ship in place while the current of the Hudson pushed the front of the ship so it was heading out to sea and in the direction of the Atlantic. At least this was the explanation I got from a very interested passenger with whom I watched and watched and watched. Wow. Success. We were pointed in the right direction in no time. This ship cannot do a three point turn by itself.
Perched on the 12th floor observation deck I had a good view of the Sea, Air and Space Museum which is located on the USS Intrepid, an aircraft carrier that fought in World War 2 that is now permanently docked at pier 86. I was glad not to be traveling on board such a rig after hearing the stories my ex-Marine friend told me of military life at sea. I would soon know a very different sea life.
The next attraction put all passengers on the starboard side as we passed. It was Lady Liberty in person, standing faithfully in full regalia in the darkness of the early evening. Her torch held high and her crown were both lit with confidence, assuring immigrants - my ancestors - and me of a future in America.
Later we passed over - just kidding - under the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, the once largest and now seventh largest suspension bridge in the world. The Queen Mary 2 was actually built so that it would fit under this bridge. Only 12 feet! of clearance had me holding my breath. I stood on the uppermost deck for the best view of an awesome metallic underbelly that is held together with three million rivets and one million bolts. I have crossed this bridge four times now on foot walking the New York City Marathon in the past years. This new perspective was neat!
It didn't take me long to discover the food options on this ship. Oh my goodness! Unlimited cookies, ice cream, sandwiches, french fries, all buffet style and open 24 hours! This could be dangerous. The cafeteria had a 'help yourself anytime' sort of theme. Oh my. Six days...? I could go overboard with this.
Soon after ducking under the bridge in the narrows, the ship was in total darkness skimming the thin surface of the Atlantic in route to England. There was no going back. I was happy to be where I was. If only Mr. Verrazano, the first explorer from Europe to sail into New York Harbor (circa 1524) could see us now.
Sincerely,
Heather O'Neal
Of Global Interest LLC Adventure Travel
Ann Arbor, Michigan
(734) 369-3107
www.ofglobalinterest.net
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