I know it's the 13th because we get to Sydney on the 14th and we get to Sydney tomorrow. Such is ocean-voyage logic. The day of the week is only important if I want to send some snail-mail and the PO is closed.
Adelaide's time is 30 minutes out of sync with Fremantle and Sydney?!?!?! It looked like a joke when we were told to forward our watches by 30 minutes. There is a pedestrian mall, just like those of bigger and dirtier cities - same shops, but very friendly shop assistants. I found another QUEENSPARK and the assistant could not have been more attentive.
But, I dislike shopping so much that not even the presence of my "little sister" or friendly shop assistants could ease the pain. So, I got some things on my list and came back to the ship.
Fremantle is much more charming and certainly easier to reach from the dock. The bus trip into Adelaide took 40+ minutes but we had a guided tour on the way back, including a drive-by of the submarine factory. That's a first on any of my trips.
The welcome at the dock included a seranade of Australian songs, ending with WALTZING MATILDA which we all sang.
What still amazes me is that the QM2 is an event - people line up to watch us sail in or out and ring the fences to photograph the vessel. Shops open early or open on Sundays for us - probably we are the envy of much of what we survey. Still strange. It reminds me of when I worked for Senator Ted Kennedy - he was an event, ringed by famous people and after a while, I suppose, we got used to it. "Oh, Paul Neuman called, there is a note from Barbara Streisand, the president of PanAm is waiting, Jackie O wants a call-back, the King of ?? will be here at.......". Somehow, I am sure that I will not get used to the interest in and love for the QM2.
Harold King led his last dance class for this leg of the voyage - we all hope (and pray) that he will be back, and soon. As the first class began, I was suddenly back in NYC auditioning for a prestige dance school, to which I was not admitted, but got a job working in the chorus of a club. Harold is incredibly talented - so talented that he insists that we have fun even when chiding us for not knowing which of our left feet we should use first. What amazes me about his class is that my legs still have the muscle memory of 50 years ago. Well, maybe not quite as much memory as then, but more that I thought. And, it's fun. We sweat, laugh, make mistakes, do it right, forget the mistakes, do it right again, sweat and laugh more. He could go on much longer and so could we.
And Peter, one of the dance hosts, who actually likes to dance. We share a love for the West Coast Swing (his name for it) or the Stomp (my name for it) or Hand Dancing. Whatever you call it, we learn from each other and enjoy practicing and perfecting. I taught him the smooth slide and he taught me the hand-behind-the-back turn. I will miss him very much. Oh, he can do all the standard dances, too. And, the Charleston. In his absence, I will practice both, using a door knob as my partner's hand (shades of Dunbar High School) until we meet again.
And Whitney: whom the gods wish to destroy......... She died a long time ago - yesterday she stopped breathing.
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