RE: ciggies. Darlings, let's face it-;Britain is a major trigger ... and QE2 is British territory. And come on! I've wanted to cross the Atlantic for evah, and smoking is entirely linked to that life in my head. So yes, although I did quit smoking ( cold turkey ) on Oct. 28, I smoked up a storm at sea. But I no longer smoke in North America believe it or not, and have not had one, or even an urge since we stepped ashore and walked home up 50th street ... did we not mention that? O yes, the ship docks a mere one and half blocks from home ... I can't tell you how much more convenient this is than Newark or Laguardia.
As stated in Episode I, the weather was rough. At times the force ten gale we were in generated wind speeds of hurricane velocity and we were asked not to go out on deck. Many passengers were sick and stayed in their cabins during the storm; indeed, Simone informed us that we were really the only two people out of her 12 staterooms that weren't ill. Matthew and I ate like piggywiggies, I drank like a fishywishy, and we laughed and made merry with the crew ( who love it rough ) and our other dear friend —that madcap millionairess: Renée.
Giving the unsinkable Molly Brown a run for her money, Renée filled our days with laughter and our nights with glamour. She is undoubtedly one of the best dressed women I have ever met ( on no less than two occasions featuring full-on Christian Dior, including a vintage number that had all the quiet elegance of something one might see on Jacqueline Viscomtesse de Ribes ) . She's utterly mad, and terribly sweet. She crosses the whole time and frankly refers to the small indoor pool down on seven deck as 'my pool,' since if it is empty ( in rough weather the pools are emptied ) she pesters the captain until he fills it again. She only drinks champagne ( French of course ) and is fond of making pronouncements followed by a wide mouth silent laugh, head thrown right back. A large part of her charm is her intense interest in life around her, and her keen sense of fun. As I told her at one moment: she is exactly the sort of person one had hoped to meet on board. Another pure Mame Dennis moment occurred when she was telling us that she was desperate to get some air ( this was actually before the full force of the storm hit us, but it was already very blustery ) and so went out on deck. "But the wind was so strong," she said in her glorious Long Island accent, "that my sunglasses flew off one way, and I lost a diamond earring!" This of course was followed by her laughing hysterically. As she quieted down, I said quite firmly: "I do hope you've contacted Lloyds of London." More laughter ... .
It was really thanks to Renée that Matthew and I were able to enjoy the illicit privilege of The Pig. This is one of the crew bars. They are, in order, the Officer's Wardroom, the Fo'c'sle ( for middle management ) , and The Pig for the waiters and bartenders and others. An interesting note for those bothered by the class system of the upper decks, even in The Pig, a harsh and clear hierarchy is maintained—waiters and bar staff do NOT speak since the latter are paid more than the former. And on and on it goes. The Pig is basically a metal room in the bowels of the ship, right at the prow. Consequently as the waves slammed against the hull, and the ship plunged up and down in the 10 to 20 foot waves, we were thrown about like rag dolls. Combine the random and extraordinary movement with the sound of waves crashing against the steel ( it is a weird roar that sounds oddly mechanical ) , and it was a party the likes of which I'd never been to. On a sartorial note, please know that though Matthew and I usually changed three to four times a day, for slumming in The Pig we were appropriately attired in tee shirts and jeans or khakis. Even our dashing Renée was toned down in all SuperSpy black. Unlike some of the passengers who foolishly featured black tie in The Pig. Totally inappropriate—Quel!
Okay, so in the next and last installment, I'll tell you all about our nautical drag.
