Does Tom cruise? Who knows. But we do. And just did.
It was an eight-night cruise. Sydney to Melbourne to Tasmania. It was beautiful. I saw a lot of fat people. I became a fat people. I had no choice. Sydney then sea then Melbourne then more sea then two days in Hobart then a whole lot of sea back. I ate the entire time. Never because I was hungry; mostly because it was there and free; once because I had to see what kanga tasted like.
Gamey.
The point is, there were freestanding automated hand sanitizers everywhere. Purell
® is no dummy. If you entered a dining room, one of the many bars, the casino, or stood in line at the buffet at Windjammer's, you had to sanitize. If you stopped by the gym, the spa, or contemplated climbing the rock wall and then kept walking, you had to sanitize. If you had to go to the bathroom, thought about going to the bathroom, or actually went to the bathroom, you
had to sanitize. This coupled with the army of railing and button wipers that Princess employed meant that if you were hoping a gastrointestinal illness might do you some swimsuit favors, you were on the wrong cruise.
Still. It was super fun. Even if I didn't climb that rock wall. The boys gave us a preview of the teenage years and spent all of their non-eating hours at kids' club. I got to have peace and quiet and read Joan Didion's lovely little sad perfect memoir about her year of magical thinking, and eat bacon. American bacon. My husband played basketball and didn't comment on me eating American bacon. And my in-laws, who were in the cabin right next to ours, were just there. After a couple of years of no relatives anywhere, it was really nice to have the opposite.
And American bacon.
Nine days and an unmentionable amount of extra pounds later, I was back home. With 99.9% germ-free hands, some nice mid-summer abominable squish, zero Tasmanian Devil sightings, and my new found museum crush: MONA!
To be continued whether any of us likes it or not.
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| Passengers. |
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| My boys, some ferries, and that Opera House I can't stop taking pictures of. |
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Friends who happened to be loitering nearby the day we left.
From tiny left to tiny right: Sheila, Claire, Bob, Coops, Dave, Nikki, Sally, Tyler, Fin, Toby.
Possibly not in that order at all.
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| The other angle: Me, at the top, between the golf balls, arms up, pre-bacon. |
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| Goodbye, you. |
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| Unsolicited cop face. |
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Boys who love lanyards.
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Port Melbourne.
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Puffing Billy aka a really old steam train in Melbourne.
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Our VW camper van/cabin #3558.
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| Our bed's POV. |
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This is not a time out even though it looks like one.
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| Tassie. |
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| Royal Tasmanian Botanical Garden is a place. |
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| Our ride back to Sydney. |
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| The reason why I do anything ever. |
