Christmas Cruise - Part 1

And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Mother Farrell that all the family should take a cruise. And it every one went to his own city to prepare. And then we flew to Miami. 

Day 1: Boarding

Miami appears to be terrible. All of the billboards advertise Liquor, Hospitals, or Lawyers, which seems to tell a pretty complete story. Add to the mix a plurality of the drivers actively texting and our taxi driver who paid so little attention he had to lock the brakes on the 15-passenger van (with trailer!) to avoid stopped traffic on the highway, and I rate the entire city a pass. The only good part was some parkour at the hotel - but technically that was in Ft. Lauderdale - and that only lasted until our mother spotted us. (I'd have a video here, but Ethan managed not to fall into the cactus, so what's the point?)

The Port was huge, the cruise terminal for embarkation was massive, and the ship itself more comparable to a large building than any sort of vehicle - they're sort of sticking with a theme.  Not much interesting really happened until we got on the boat. The most excitement was Ethan getting searched by security... And I'm not saying that I had a pocket knife in my bag that was xray'ed right before his, but I will say I didn't stick around to see what happened.  After DEFINITELY NOT lying to the border agent ("Have you coughed in the last 36 hours?") we got to the boat it, squirted past the bevy of waiters offering drink / spa / excursion packages, and made our way to the pool deck where we rendezvoused with my uncle and his family. The rest of the afternoon was spent catching up, eating, attending mandatory safety training, and watching the boat set off down the channel. And, if you were my little brother, sprinting stern-ward down the deck in order to remain stationary relative an arbitrary point on shore.

About our boat: We were aboard Royal Caribbean's Majesty of the Seas.  If you will allow me to nerd out: It is 900 feet long, 100 feet wide, 13 decks  tall, and only 25 feet deep. It hosts 2800 passengers and 800 crew, and it is a diesel-electric capable of 22 knots courtesy of 22megawatts of power from 4 turbocharged 9-cylinder engines, each of which has a piston 16 inches across. If anyone ever has a line on one give me a ring, I would love one for an end-table.  

Dinner was Prime Rib (and probably other choices I didn't read), complete with all the appetizers and deserts you could eat, and a bottle of overpriced Malbec. We went to the welcome-to-the-boat presentation, which was an enjoyable preview of all the shows available on board, a general orientation, and an astonishing example of linguistic ability by our polyglot of a host. Rounding out the night were a few hands of Liars Poker, a tutorial on Craps at the onboard casino, and some time spent in the piano-bar (one of several drinking establishments on board).

Day 2: Christmas Eve in Nassau

The next morning we woke in the Bahamas, moored overlooking Nassau on the island of New Providence.  After a leisurely breakfast we disembarked, cross through a Customs station that was essentially a gauntlet of tourist traps, and set off into the city. Well, actually, we set off into another tourist trap called the straw market. After browsing the stalls Ethan tried his hand at haggling while I perused the counterfeit sunglasses on offer. Once Ethan had struck a deal and I'd decided against some kicking new shades, we set off to see the historical side of Nassau.  Following my mom's instructions we first found the Balcony House, the oldest wooden structure on the Island and built by shipwrights (and out of crashed ships when possible). It was a beautiful house, and the tour guides obligingly offered us the quarter-hour tour, where Ian Fleming (and Sean Connery?) had both stayed.

After Balcony House we moved on to Christ Church Cathedral. Also built by shipwrights (the ceiling looked like an inverted hull), the church was (re)built in 1754 in stone, and the practicing organist filled the nave with sound as we admired the architecture and stained glass. Outside the church, I finagled my camera past a fence to grab a shot of the gardens.

"Hold on guys, let me get this sunspot in the center. Just another hour or two."

At this point we started towards the Queen's Staircase and found ourselves a bit turned around... Luckily, while leaving a (slight) ghetto we stumbled into we stumbled into a tour guide! In as much as most of the locals know all the history and will gladly show you around for tips. Accepting his advice but declining his services we found ourselves at the Queen's Staircase.  The trench was cut as a quarry over the course of 18 years by slaves. My father pointed out, when you have that many slaves, you've got to keep them busy.  In 1793 after Queen Victoria abolished slavery in the Bahamas the slaves built the staircase and dedicated it in her honor, with 65 steps - one for each year of her reign. It's a great spot to visit, with shade, cool breezes, interesting rocks and vegetation, and a fountain series of pools next to the stairs.

At the top of the stairs lies Fort Fincastle. An entirely standard fort, we duly paid our 1 dollar entrance fee and got a short tour from a park ranger. After taking in the view from the roof and checking out the magazine the womenfolk headed out. The menfolk spent another 15 minutes aiming the enormous (a couple of tons, plus carriage) cannons on their rail system, sighting in on various cruise ships and guessing at ranges. Discussing afterwards, half the audience thought the fort was a little lackluster, while the other half declared it the best dollar they'd ever spent. I'll leave determining which half was which as an exercise for the reader.

My mom snapped this. I'm actually kind of proud.

We returned to the ship (via the sweet stairs, obvs) for lunch and to discuss afternoon plans.  Which can be found in another post.

Christmas Eve  on the cruise ship was the formal dinner. Suited and booted we gathered in the centrum (basically an atrium, only at the center) on a balcony a floor above the official photographer to get our Christmas pictures, not only cheaper but with a better shot as well. Dinner was great - as always.  The after-dinner entertainment was scheduled to be a comedian, but as he couldn't make it to the boat on time they replaced him with a few of the ships singers doing their favorites. They were quite good, but also quite different from what we had expected, and no-one was particularly upset when the show ended and we went back to the centrum to sing Christmas carols, and then back to the lounges to spend the rest of the evening chatting.

As the clock struck midnight we cast off from the pier and set off back into the Caribbean sea. We stayed on deck to watch the tugboats leave us and the lighthouse glide by in front of the moon, and then made our way below decks to our room, stopping briefly to admire the midnight buffet I was still too full to take advantage of.

Baltimore Grand Prix

Baltimore Grand Prix was fun this year, but I don't have too much to say about it. So, at the risk of turning this entire blog into a photojournal, have some pictures!

Indycars! They're almost like bloated f1 cars, only uglier!

They used a parking-garage for the pits.

License plate banter. I'm partial to OMG MOOV myself.

Postprocessing!

Buttons! Like a racecar!

I have a thing for big calipers.

My first McLaren spotting.

More caliper erotica.

Accidental self portrait while trying to shoot this redundant plate.

I love how you can see mechanical bits behind the mesh. It's like lace undergarments for engineers.

This was my favorite car of the day, it stealthed up to the corner almost silent before exiting hard with the sound of God gargling a handful of metal wasps.

And some more shameless self-promotion. What can I say? I needed an new backdrop for my work computer.

There were a few classics mixed in with the exotics.

May have had to chase this guy down, but I feel like it was worth it.

They put in the chicane so that cars would stop flying through the air when they hit the railroad tracks. Now they fly through the air when they hit the chicane.

I pretended to be rich and watched the support race from an air-conditioned hotel.

The flyover by choppers was an interesting touch.

First corner! You might note the caution flag is already out.

This was why.

Marc Dennis was the photographer at our corner, and he offered...

...to snap a few pictures with my camera. Thanks!

Why is this car pointed at me? Because it's a Porsche.

This Porsche has broken away from the herd and chosen to travel nose-first.

  

Rubbing is Racing.

Not pictured: The police officer getting ready to throw me off the bridge for sticking my camera through the one tiny slot between the banners.

And a final shot of the viper booking it down the straight.

And finally, I have two animated pictures I didn't include here because it's no longer 1998, but you can see them here and here.

Montreal 2013 - Funny

And now for a few shots that weren't photogenic enough to make the cut for the more artistic post, but were cool enough to post anyways. As always, you can click through to larger pictures. We'll start with a shot from just after one of the support races.  Lis: "I want to make sure we see the Porsche race, because they crash" - from the mouths of babes...

Between races various support vehicles come around... most of them booking it. Here we have a tow truck going for a pass at the hairpin.

SLS we hunted down in a parking lot on the way home. 

"There a red car that's like flat, is that cool?"

Some shameless self-promotion.

And we'll end with him. What can I say? Stupid little bikes make people happy.

Montreal 2013 - Pretty

Only moments remain before the Grand Prix. The cars have roared past wetting appetites and wait poised on the grid for the flag to drop. Drinks are flowing, earplugs passed out like candy, and the charge of a coming storm fills the air. A cheer ignites from the top of the stands, catching in excited empathy across thousands as two fighters come in low and fast, jet engines drowning out the nonsense screamed back to them.

PR3b: Puerto Rico by Ricans

...and I used that Mustang to drive off into the other side of PR, where the locals live, work, and play.  We didn't schedule anything, so most of our days were spent just chatting, so I'm going to summarize while launching off on massive tangents.

We had to drive back from San Juan to Ponce, which is an excellent jumping off point for most of my tangents.

1) Mustangs: The 200hp flavor of mustang (now replaced) looks sexy, but is slightly lacking in power. And, as I've always believed, automatic mustangs are an abomination that should only be sold to paraplegics.  Not only did I reach for non-existent pedals and levers, but I found myself dropping the hammer to squirt through a yellow light only to downshift seconds later.  However, given proper advance notice, the Mustang (pronounced "El Mūs-tæng") is a capable beast.  On a dry highway, it will pull strongly from 75 to 120, and the brakes will calmly bring it back once you notice there is a curve ahead. In the wet, clicking off traction control will let it powerslide enough to scare passengers and tick that checkbox off the bucket list.

Which brings us to the next point: A muscle car is not a sports car. There's more body-roll, a sensation of riding above the road more than on the road, and there's a reason they are always parked like jerks: It's huge. Front seats are huge (I had to reach well back to grab the seatbelt).  The hood is huge. It does have nice black-plastic lower trim, which is good for finding curbs while parking.


2) PRican roads: The pavement alternates between sweet and terrible. You can be cruising the highway at 90 and then suddenly find yourself confronted by a bridge that thinks it's a jump. That, my friends, is a mistake you only make once. The next time it's on purpose!  Joking, joking... I didn't spring for the additional insurance.

Lane discipline, turn signals, and signage are basically non-existent. I was rudely surprised by one-way-streets that suddenly weren't and lanes that shifted into the shoulder for construction, only to have the shoulder disappear without warning.  When renting my car I thought the automatically enabled fee for using highspeed-toll-lanes was a scam. An hour later I learned that it is a blessing, and that the scam is highspeed-toll-lanes which split from the "throw your coins at this bucket" lanes well before any signs indicate which are which.

These would destroy drivers here in DC, but PRican drivers have learned to actually pay attention. Which is nice when every turn involves sticking a massive hood well into the intersection so you can see around buildings.

3)Directions (basically, me ranting): Giving wrong directions is worlds better than giving directions wrong.  Please warn me before the exit ramp you want me to take, "that tree" is not an appropriate landmark while in a forest, and for the love of God when I ask "left or right" at a high speed fork the answer is not - and never will be - "ummmm....."



We arrived at Delly's (a friend of my 'Rican cousin, and our host for the weekend) to find her working. She was back in her tattoo room, singing along to dubstep while emblazoning her friend's arm with the symbol for the Jedi Order. This makes her, officially, one of the coolest people I know.  In the year since I'd last seen her she'd found a new super-chill boyfriend, picked up two jobs, and moved from devouring books on the subject to putting together a professional grade studio and doing professional-grade tattoos. I even spent several hours myself upon the tattooing table.... because it was a comfortable place to sit. Aminta got inked though, while our friend Keke introduced me to the magic of using a zoom lens indoors:

We had a hurricane... which was 12 hours of heavy rain. We did go to the grocery store to prepare though - which offered us plenty of empty parkinglots (see "El Mustang," above).  There was no bread left on the shelves. Luckily, this was not a problem as we were buying steak, potatoes, and beer. It was a good hurricane.

I spoke before about the "other" Puerto Rico.  Trying to track down a birth certificate threw this disparity into sharp relief. We had to visit three buildings on different sides of the town, each of which had directions to where the necessary offices - which didn't answer phone calls - had moved. We eventually found it behind another building in a government complex, in a bland, non-air-conditioned room complete with a fenced-in-patio. And by fenced in, I don't mean the way a yard is fenced in, I mean the way a prison is fenced in.

I lived in a house with no AC, no hot water, and no glass in any of the windows. Which is entirely normal, enjoyable, and completely different from the tourist's Puerto Rico.

To switch topics entirely, Pets. Delly has two cute dogs who loved me (I almost titled this post "PR3: I slept with b*tches!" but figured that'd be tasteless) and a parrot. I fed the parrot a few times.... It would be all cute and coo (instead of screaming "MA! MAMI! MAAAAA!") and even asked for "lo mismo" - absolutely blowing my mind.  The parrot, in it's turn, would feed the pigeons, tossing some of his seeds on the ground so that guests would fly into the garage and keep him company. Again, blowing my mind. On a somewhat related note, we did a photoshoot (that's what girls do). I say somewhat related because, well, see below for my favorite shot.


All in all... It was fun, but I don't think my Spanish improved any. I can understand Americans y los viejos, but still have to ask "Como?" when talking to anyone under the age of 50, usually multiple times. For most conversations I would tune out until someone mentioned "gringo." To be fair, Ponce is known for fast, slurred speech... which was probably a contributing factor when I unintentionally picked up the accent... after a few drinks.

PR3a: Puerto Rico by Hilton

My most recent trip to Puerto Rico highlighted the two different sides of the Island. I began the trip traveling with relatives of mine from the States who were visiting the island seen by tourists.  We started in the San Juan Hilton. It's magnificent, with restaurants, bars, and a private beach (with water warmer than most of the pools I've been in). Speaking of pools, it has plenty of them too. It was beautiful. We stayed in a suite that had this for a view:

From the lobby, you walked past the parrot that would swear at you, past the ballroom, and through the private garden, and over the koi pond across the bridge guarded by peacocks. It's ridiculous and wonderful.  We spent the day enjoying the facilities while some family from the island visited us.

We then crossed the island to Ponce to visit other family members, again staying in a Hilton. Still ridiculous with a private beach, fountains, and even a speedboat hung over one of the bars. Business contacts got us bumped up to the "executive tower," and our view was somewhat less decadent than previously:

I know, right? How disappointing. And only egrets instead of peacocks? Psh. Still, being an executive had it's perks. A private lounge that had breakfast every morning and happy hour every evening. They only had rum, but I still mixed myself a drink on the general principle that is free alcohol. For free.

We caught up with people, learning just how tall my cousin has got and how much she looks like her father. We went for an afternoon stroll, where a roaming pooch followed us and chased part of the tennis court I tossed off to the edge of the pavement.  The girls thought this was adorable. I thought it was less so, calling it "fetch with stray dogs and asphalt."

That night we had a late dinner down by the bar, where they were using bags of salt as impromptu sand bags in anticipation of the incoming tropical storm.   After the mosquito spayers drove by us kids decided it was time for a swim in the pool, away from the - and I quote - "SlutWater" of the hot tub.

Concerned by the incoming weather, my gringo relatives flew home, and I went to pick up my rental car... which wasn't ready yet. But then the rental agent said the magic words every man wants to hear. Even sweeter than "My hot Swedish supermodel twin and I think you're cute" is the phrase "...but we could offer you a free upgrade to a Mustang."

Montreal Round 3: Everything goes wrong, then make the hairpin.

The night before we left, the friend I was planning on taking realized that while she might be able to get into Canada, she wouldn't be able to get back to the states.  A few last minute emails found my one friend with a passport and no weekend plans.  Lis, my sometimes-girlfriend was talked into going, but only after I promised that there was no chance my car would break down and strand her away from work Monday morning (For those of you paying attention: Foreshadowing).

So I picked her up from work, driving her by her house so she could get some clothes... and adding a couple of hours of rush-hour traffic to an already long drive. But positively, said traffic gave me a chance to learn that my horn wasn't working, so while Lis packed a bag I cannibalized my already-dead alarm system to McGuiver my horn into working.  Then, on the way through Maryland the alternator belt started squealing worse than my little brother. Luckily, that's a thing my car does, so I knew how to fix it! We stopped for dinner - during which I bought a pair of pliers, tightened the bolt, and called it a day.  A few hours later it happened again, only differently.  The AC gave up, quickly followed by the power steering. I got off the turnpike, popped the hood, and found that the bolt I had tightened decided it didn't want to live in my car, and would rather retire to PA.  I called AAA, but apparently the turnpike people won't let tow-trucks in, not even on the ramps outside the toll booths. Hearing this, I decided to take my chances and try to move it.  It started! WOOO! I thought about just getting off the ramp and calling back, but we were rolling so we figured we might as well try for a car shop. It's 10 o'clock, everything's closed. We set off for Lowes: Closed. Home depot: Closed.... but there were people out. I threw myself on their mercy and they took pity on me - I bought a bolt/nut, a mini adjustable wrench, and some gloves so I could avoid touching the exhaust headers (I grabbed them once, years ago, and my plasticized skin made me rue said decision for months).

After I got everything bolted in place I went to hook the belt... and found its tattered remains instead. The home depot guys helped me check the tractor belts and directed me to the nearest car parts shop, but it was not to be. We got the gps to send us to the nearest hotel and, lights dimming, pulled in.  We got a room for the night (WITH A TRIPLE A DISCOUNT MOM AREN'T YOU PROUD!).

In the morning a local repair shop rethreaded the alternator, replaced the belt, and we were back on our way.  Breaking our drive into two hunks really wasn't that bad, and thankfully Lis was super-patient with me. By the time we got to Montreal we'd missed qualifying, but there's worse things. Such as not having hotel reservations: the hotel couldn't find ours. We drove around the block a few times, decided it must be the right hotel, and used their lobby computer to pull up our reservation number.  They still couldn't find our room, but they found our payment, which got us a room on the ground floor (woo cane!). We ditched our stuff, changed into nicer clothes,  and set off to find an ATM before dinner.  The closest bank was not there, the next closest was inside a closed campus center, the third inside a closed mall.  We finally got directions to an ATM, but it refused my cards. Worn out, we decided to grab a bite somewhere close and crash for the night. We selected a nearby pub on the GPS, and then marveled that it was taking us so far to dive to a pub that was so close.

It turns out, the tide that is my luck had changed. We were directed across the river to old-town Montreal. We found close parking that was, when we checked the meter, free on weekends. We walked down the closed cobble-stone street and a table opened up streetside. We ate (I tried escargot and vastly preferred my steak), we split a bottle of wine, and we watched the myriad of people walking past. It was awesome.  After dinner (luckily they took credit cards) we wandered the gift shops, f1 store, bars, asked waiters for news on qualifying, found ATMs that worked... it was awesome.

The next day our luck held! It's only fair, we had a lot to make up for. We drove the quarter mile to the metro out of deference to my bum leg, parked, and trained over a stop to the island where we grabbed our tickets. Not too long after we set up our chairs in the shade just past the hairpin and turn 11 and began the day's task: The ever-important job of cheating the chairs in front of you up slightly every time they leave so that you have an awesome view come race-time. We got to our seats just in time to watch (on the screen) a mini flip (the driver walked away shaking his head dejectedly) during a warm-up race - ironically after I'd convinced Lis to buy a mini on the trip up... she says that as a girl, she didn't recognize it as a mini until weeks later.  We cheered for our drivers (and Kobayashi was less confused and actually smiled when we saw our flag this year).  After the Ferraris (which sound soooo good) and Porsches went around, it was finally time for the F1 race.... right after twin flyovers. Flyovers are awesome. I can't hear a flyover and not smile.  Then the race cars went past. I can't hear a f1 engine without smiling either. It was a good day.

None-the-less, earplugs went in.  Some of our neighbors who had turned down earplugs before the formation lap reconsidered and I passed out a dozen of 'em.  The race was brilliant. Kobayashi put in a solid drive, but we were distracted by the front of the field, where 6 different drivers fought to be the first to win two races this season.  Around us, South Americans, Europeans, and Canadians spoke at least 4 different languages while being a huge family. Within this family of Formula 1 they shared food and drink with one another, offering cheap beer, fine cheese, even salami and crackers regardless of who you were cheering for. Out on the track Lewis Hamilton (the good guy) gave up the lead to pit an extra time for new tires. With 17 laps left, Lewis needed clean laps and his opponents' grip to deteriorate.  As I listened to the radio commentators announcing his successively fastest laps he began closing the gap with brutal efficiency. He pulled out the win, sailing past the lead cars - moves he kindly began right in front of us. I'm sure my screaming helped.

After the race we walked down to the track, squeezed some of the tire-rubber which is almost gum-like in texture, and got blocked in by a closed gate that turned a short-cut into a long cut. A mile and a very welcome free Dr Pepper later we ended up in line for the metro, which was slow, hot, and possibly just as bad as it was last year in the rain. At least McLaren had won though, if I had to stand next to all those Ferrari fans after a loss...

The trip home was pretty uneventful. We finally made it home around 1am, my car didn't break down, and Lis even made it to work on time. All in all, a successful weekend.