Zest Fest 2011

In our eternal efforts to try something new, we decided to take in a rather unique event at the brand new 100,000 square foot modernistic  Irving Convention Center in an area of the Metroplex known as Las Colinas in Irving, Texas. The quadrangle shaped structure is rather interesting. The steel and concrete interior is sheathed in a box of sheet copper. The copper is punched with small squares which reinforces and continues the overall square theme. I think it’s great but it begs the question, in a region known for it’s extreme weather events, doesn't this mean the Irving Convention Center is a giant lightning rod? Inquiring minds need to know.

Las Colinas is a very beautiful mid-point between Dallas and Fort Worth. The area is considered kind of the “Silicon Valley” of North Texas containing several big name high tech companies and financial institutions. It is also the home of Valley Ranch, the headquarters of the Dallas Cowboy operation and where they hold their training camp before the new season starts.

Zest Fest 2011 was the Grand Opening event for the Convention Center. It is a gathering of all makers of hot and spicy sauces, spices, rubs and snacks. Hosted by Chile Pepper Magazine (of course), the convention floor was littered with vendors providing samples and products to buy which would leave the average pallet quivering in their mouths. As I may have mentioned before, Texans fanatically embrace spicy hot foods and bravely slather them onto everything they barbeque, fry and dip. We even came across a vendor that produced dried Habanero chips coated with Ranch and Cheddar cheese powders. Zest Fest is their altar to all things spicy and, as you can imagine, the place was packed.

See, if you firmly believe that that little cup of “hot sauce” you get at Taco Bell causes you to wince and exclaim, “Wow, that’s hot!”, brother, you are in the wrong place. There are the little mom and pop producers using hand grown or organic ingredients with cute names like “Get Lei’d” and “Hey Mon’ Carribean Sauce”, there were more ominous brands called “Crazy Uncle Jester’s” and “Defcon Sauces” .

As I went by the Defcon display, a wild-eyed young man with lots of piercings and tattoos approached and asked me if I wanted a sample. Ok, I'm a pussy when it comes to spicy. I like a mellow hot sauce that gives a gentle and trickling burn as it wends it’s way down my throat. Something quickly extinguished with a sip of rum and coke. I asked the lad if he had a full-bodied “mild” (I distinctly recall saying “mild”). He smiled and produced a little plastic cup just like the ones you get your meds in at the home.

The base was a viscous mix tinted yellow as it rolled about. I gave it a swirl and noted it tended to coat the sides of the cup like a fine wine does (then I remembered, napalm has the same characteristic). This  stuff had “legs” like a fine Bordeaux. Perhaps it was the neon lighting of the convention floor or maybe the reflection of the strobe and blaze of the deep blue and purple “black lights” of  the display that mesmerized me into throwing caution to the wind and downing the concoction in one fell swoop. Bad idea.

Ever open an oven and can see the shimering heat waves rise up to meet you and suddenly feel the heat strike your face? That was Defcon’s “mild sauce”. A mixture of horseradish-laden ingredients some of which you probably need a special license to possess by the U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission. It’s part of something they refer to as the “Death Match Series” of sauces. They even provide Nutritional Information for their products. This stuff hit my lips and tongue from about six inches away and then quickly flushed down and around my tonsils, collecting briefly at the entrance of my esophagus, before dropping down into my stomach. I had a Discovery Channel visual of the molten steel pouring from that big bucket sending red-hot sparks flying. 

The human body is an amazing thing and can give you signals when it knows something bad is about to happen. The first was the nasal hairs burning away as the cup passed under it which shut off my airway so I wouldn’t inhale the viral fumes. It didn’t matter because I failed to heed the warning and instantly burned a path along my lips, tongue and inner mouth. I now know what it feels like to consume drain cleaner, the really bad stuff containing lye. Thank goodness we had the foresight to have aquired a Bloody Mary from an earlier booth. I didn’t even taste the custom Tabasco-like additive of that vendors making. My eyes teared up worse than when ‘Ole Yellar died. My distress was noted by several passers-by who just giggled and passed me up like a robbery victim in New York.

Their website says it all:

“ You are about to embark on a journey that will introduce you to a new outlook for the human condition. You will experience the euphoria knowing that you have found the path to your taste buds Nirvana.

We offer different volumes of heat, depending on your physical need (you know you don't want it, you NEED it). So show the world you have achieved the highest level of consciousness possibly attainable through ingestion.”

What more is there to say.

Everybody there is vying for something called the Scovie Award which is dedicated to rewarding those who can produce the finest fiery foods and barbeque. Congratulations to the winners and even the losers. “That was some-a spicy meatballs.”

Of course, we were disappointed in the that there were no other foods to eat. We went under the misguided conception that there would be stands of barbeque or something fried to eat while we were there. With our stomachs now grumbling, we set back out to the toll way to seek out sustenance.

Luckily we came upon what turns out to be a chain Mexican restaurant in Plano, Texas called  Los Cucos. After taking in the extensive menu, Dianna decided on a chicken stuffed avocado dish and I got the  El Mono mixed platter. Dianna had the most interesting, the kitchen stuffs chicken and cheese into the center of a large avocado, rolls it in batter and deep fries it. They place it on a plate with some rice and black beans. I had a plate of mixed steak and chicken chunks in some caramelized onions with rice and beans. Plenty of hand made soft taco quesadillas rounded out the meal. Both prices hovered around $5.99 and arrived with more food than we could eat. We took two boxes home. A great place to eat along with exceptional service. A big thumbs up.

Polar Bear Plunge

Great news. I am trying my hand at digital video. I got a cool Kodak Playtouch video camera for Christmas and on January 1st I got to try it out. There was a charity event our Home Owners Association was sponsoring for New Year's Day. It was the 2nd annual S.S. Polar Bear Club New Year’s Day Plunge held at our Meadow Hill community pool. Its the pool maintained by our HOA within our development.


The Plunge benefits the Scott Sullivan Scholarship Fund for amateur sports. The scholarship fund was founded in memory of Scott Sullivan, a former resident. Dianna had voiced a desire to participate in a Polar Bear Plunge and I decided to preserve the event for posterity. Dianna got a cool hoody "I survived the Polar Bear Plunge 2011" sweatshirt for her bravery.

So here is my first video production/editing effort. Sorry, I am still trying to figure out the ins and outs of the Windows Movie Maker program. The program crashed twice and I'm still trying to figure out how to apply the different transitions and effects. Oh yeah, the audio kind of sucks...it was windy and the microphone is only good at short ranges. I hope you enjoy the show.

Bad News for Waxahachie

A terrible thing happened this morning with the demise of the 1879 Chisolm Grill from fire. As you may recall from an earlier posting the Chisolm Grill was located in the  Waxahachie, Texas town square. The early morning fire had the Waxahachie FD scrambling to put out the blaze but the 19th Century all wood construction thwarted their efforts and the restaurant, and much of the adjoining businesses, were consumed. The restaurant had just changed hands to new owners a short three weeks ago and early reports state they plan on rebuilding. We can only hope their right. They had the best biscuits and gravy and the sweetest tea in the Crape Myrtle capitol of Texas.

The Grill in better times

Emory, Texas

It’s winter in Texas and we now have to look cautiously at the skies prior to our weekend hops. Saturday turned into a beautiful, crisp North Texas day with the coming of freezing temperatures threatening to bring snow that night and the following day. Christmas had just passed and Santa had presented me with a Tom Tom GPS car navigator. Interestingly, in the note Santa left behind, he told me I was to use it on all future road trips or I would end up on his “naughty” list for the foreseeable future.  Something about driving at high speeds down dark forbidding roads with my head buried in my iPhone. He apparently gets around.

With the device, now named “Patty” in honor of our good friend in Vancouver, Washington, ensconced on the windscreen of the mighty Nissan Rogue looking like the bridge of the Enterprise, we headed out on another adventure. The naming is a reflection of our dear friend Patty’s distinctive personality. Patty is a rather fastidious person with a very keen and focused way of conducting herself. When I first met Patty, she had a housekeeper. She matter-of-factly told me, to ensure the housekeeper replaced all her knick-knacks back to their original location after dusting, she pointed out that she had strategically stuck little numbered stickers to the shelves and had placed corresponding stickers to the bases of her bric-a-brac. With Patty’s spirit in mind, we noted that the Tom Tom performs in a similar manner.

Let’s just say “Patty” is, how do I put this, full of zeal and very persistent in her directions. To test out the system, we purposefully made turns against her wishes. Each time, like a mother rebuking her child, Patty would recalculate our errant path and redirect us with a verbal tap on the shoulder to change course and get back on track. All that was missing was the ruler. It is a pretty cool piece of technology for the car.

On the advice of co-worker Greg, our travels took us to beautiful, bucolic, Emory, Texas. Greg’s grandfather and father were born and raised nearby and Greg had some pretty fond childhood memories of the place. Emory resides in East Texas smack dab between Lake Tawakoni and Lake Fork Reservoir. Originally known as Springville, it was named in honor of Emory Rains, a Texas patriot hearkening all the way back to the Mexican “occupation”, through the Revolution, to the early Texas Republic.

As a Senator in the Republic of Texas Congress, he helped pass the Homestead Act which, even today, has helped many first time and repeat homeowners in Texas. He was also deeply involved in the formation of  Rains County in 1870 of which Emory is the County Seat. So, of course, Emory has a modest Courthouse which still serves as a courtroom and houses some County offices.

Conveniently, when we got there, it was close to noon and we (well..I) was hungry and we had to find something to eat. Luckily, right across the street from the Courthouse, was Big Mouth Burger. Dianna had the Cheeseburger and I had the Philly Chicken sandwich. We shared the Sweet Potato fries. All were scrumptious and, I have to say, one of the best darn burgers and sandwiches we’ve ever had. And, like so many examples of “Mom and Pop” style eating establishments we’ve come across, lots of food and really inexpensive. Each sizable portion was only five bucks and we ended up taking some home with us. The ubiquitous sweet tea was richly flavored (a point of pride in any restaurant in Texas) and constantly flowing.

Now satiated with East Texas vittles, we moved onto the square to take in Emory. It is a small town and square mimicking the size of the County it represents. The  259 square mile Rains County was carved out from four other adjacent Counties (Van Zant, Wood, Hopkins and Hunt). The County holds about 11,000 people of which Emory holds about 1,500. Compared to Texas’ smallest County,  Rockwall , at 149 sq miles but with a population of about 43,000. Emory has its roots in the East Texas lumber industry in the early days of the Republic. Now the clear-cut lands are occupied by farms and vast ranch land.

When Emory became the county seat, the first courthouse was a log building. A second courthouse was built in 1872 but soon burned in 1879 (really common in those days). A third courthouse made of “ginger” brick (named for its color and place of manufacture, Ginger, Texas ), constructed in 1884, burned in 1890.  Rebuilt and completed in 1908 it burned again (can you believe it?). Thankfully, the steel vault, containing all the County records, survived all the fires and was the basis of the new 1908 Courthouse. It was ultimately torn down in 1928 and rebuilt to its current cruciform design (referred by some as a “Maltese Cross” design) in Classical Revival style. Yep, that’s seven Courthouses in 75 years.

Funny story, in 1964, the Courthouse was a cold and damp place to preside in and District Judge Bowman, on a particularly cold December day,  refused to conduct his Court until the County heated and air-conditioned the place. Ironically, his Honor would never appreciate the changes in that he took ill and died a short time later.

Curiously, because they built the Courthouse around the resilient vault, it precluded the architect from having a north entrance to the Courthouse. This lack of a north entrance is credited by locals, with the failure of the downtown square development.  The Texas Historical Commission awarded money to the County in 2001, which eventually led to the building’s full restoration. All the changes made since 1929 were torn out and the original architecture was restored.

On the other side of the square, I caught sight of some gaily attired young people on each corner of North Texas Street and Quitman Street (County Road 2795) waving at passing cars and holding out boots to passersby. All were wearing  Emory Rains High School (Go Wildcats!)  Letterman Jackets and some were wearing bright Sombreros. I approached one of the supervising parents and asked what was happening. She told me the Rains High School Spanish Club (cool, a Letterman Jacket for being in a club) was raising money to take a trip to Mexico City to try out their linguistic skills on the natives. To cheer them on, I opened my wallet and, once the moths cleared, handed over some cash. I had to snap a shot of club member Montaigne and his hat. Good Luck to them.

With little else going on in Emory, we took the opportunity to make a small deviation on the way home (with Patty’s approval of course) to check out a chocolatier on the way through Greenville, Texas, I had been told about by a co-worker, Glynda. Mary's at Puddin’ Hill is a little shop and factory barely visible within yards of the eastbound I-30 on the frontage road. The assortment and way too happy employees were a great respite from the freeway noise outside. A huge assortment of chocolate concoctions from individually wrapped candies to big ‘ol boxes of all kinds of brittles, cakes and pies. We plied our way around the store which has been there in it's current location since 1975.

Originally a land grant of 625 acres in exchange for service in the Texas Revolution for Mary Horton’s husband James in 1840. Although not on the Texas State Historical site map, it had this plaque at the entrance:

The story goes that while climbing a hill to inspect their holdings, it was raining and the East Texas black earth squished beneath their boots as they went, causing Ms. Mary to exclaim, “Pa, walking up here's like walking on puddin’!”  The name stuck and the rest is history. The land was inherited in the 1940s by Mary’s great-granddaughter (and namesake) Mary Lauderdale. Ms. Lauderdale also inherited Mary’s much sought after fruitcake recipe which she made for friends who encouraged her to mass-produce the cake and turned it into a business.

There was an amazing array of finger foods to sample including a chili-pepper peanut brittle which innocently passed over your taste buds but then hit you at the back of your throat on the way down. The fudge left you breathless and of course, we took several samples home (some of which didn’t survive the hour’s trip back to the barn). An interesting bottled relish caught my eye, something called “Hill Country Caviar”. An interesting concoction with its primary ingredient being Black-Eyed Peas. For the uninitiated, Black-Eyed Peas (no, not the band) are a Texas staple and found in most native recipe books.

Apparently, during the Civil War (TWONA), it was quite common for Union troops to burn Confederate crops, but Union soldiers viewed the black-eyed pea as livestock feed and not an edible vegetable, so - legend has it - they spared the "cow pea". Southerners were so overjoyed to find the peas still in the fields, hungry and hard-pressed by the perils of war; they turned to the pea as a primary staple of sustenance.

In the 1940s, Elmore Torn, a Circleville, Texas citizen and father of actor Rip Torn of Taylor, Texas reportedly fabricated a tradition seemingly steeped in Southern pride, making it good luck to include black-eyed peas in a New Year’s meal as a way of insuring a prosperous year. It was actually Elmore’s PR stunt to increase his cannery business in Athens, Texas . But it seemed to catch on and you often see black-eyed peas as a regular menu item at restaurants and homes throughout this great land. Crazy, huh?

On the way through town, we stopped briefly in downtown Greenville, Texas, the County seat of Hunt County. It has a sprawling Moderne (yes, with an “e”) style Courthouse along our route built in 1929. Coincidentally, it too is the seventh Courthouse on that site starting out as a log cabin (sound familiar?) and being destroyed by fires over the years until a more resilient structure was built. I think the 1885 Courthouse was the best.

The Courthouse has a couple of the usual plaques and monuments around it, one of which is a sort of North Texas standard, the Audie Murphy monument. Although Audie, the most decorated US soldier in WWII, was born in Kingston, Texas just north of Greenville, his family moved through several communities in North Texas throughout his young life and many of those towns still have parks or museums celebrating his life. Coincidentally, his brother, Joseph Preston Murphy, was a Frisco Police officer who died in the line of duty January 29, 1968 in an automobile collision on the way to a call. Thankfully, his is the only name on our Police Officers Memorial (named “Transparent Strength” for the artist’s extensive use of glass) in front of our Police Headquarters.

Hunt County was named in honor of Memucan (don’t hear that name much anymore) Hunt, Texas Secretary of the Navy. Yes, the Republic of Texas had a Navy prior to Statehood and the Civil War (TWONA). The city of Greenville was named for General Thomas J. Green, a leader in the Texas Army in the war for independence from Mexico. He later became a member of the Congress of the Republic of Texas. Greenville really dodged a bullet because originally, the city was almost named “Pinckneyville” in honor of James Pinckney Henderson, the first Governor of Texas. I think they made the right call on that one.

In its early years, Greenville and Hunt County were known as the cotton capital of the world. The world's largest inland cotton compress was located in Greenville until it was destroyed by fire in the mid-1900s. Cotton has gone by the wayside and Greenville now touts some high tech firms as its primary employers. There was a darker time in its history when the town was famous (or infamous) for a sign that hung over Lee Street, the main street in the downtown district. Between the train station and the bus station, from the 1920s to 1960s, a banner read "Welcome to Greenville, The Blackest Land (referring to the East Texas black earth), The Whitest People". That politically incorrect sentiment was also printed on the city water tower. Thankfully, those days are over.

Patty brought us in on the Texas 302 which turns into Lee Street, the main drag of Greenville where the Courthouse resides. We stopped long enough to snap some photos and for my walk around the building taking in the ambiance and architecture. As we entered Greenville, I noted that the city fathers, like many large communities, laid out their fair city utilizing criss-crossing one-way streets. I know this eventuality usually causes Dianna a certain level of stress and concern whenever we arrive in such a place. This response is deep rooted in a traumatic event she experienced by my hand some 37 years ago.

Let me digress and allow yourselves to visualize the hands of the New Year’s clock winding backward like in “It’s a wonderful life” (1946). The time is 1973, Dianna and I are still dating in the time of polyester and platform shoes (pre-marriage, kids, dogs and cats) long before cell phones and GPS navigation devices. We are embarking on our very first road trip. It’s Spring Break and we decided to visit her half-sister Claudia and her family in Novato, California, a stone’s throw from San Francisco. Because her stepmother was a staunch Catholic, we were only able to make the trip if her sister Claudia swore on a stack of Bibles there would be separate accommodations so we wouldn’t be sleeping together. True story and no we didn’t.

The five-hour drive in my 1967 Rambler American two-door sedan (AM radio, under-dash 8-track tape) went without a hitch and we successfully found Novato and Claudia’s home. After spending the weekend with the family, we ventured out on our own into the big city. We hit all the usual tourist sites and after picking up a street guide from Fisherman’s Wharf, Dianna tried her hand at map and urban navigation from the right seat.

We were on the way to Coit Tower that beautiful 210 ft. tall obelisk on Telegraph Hill rising above the city below. Some of you might know it was a gift to the city by Lillie Hitchcock Coit, a wealthy socialite who was a fireman groupie in the early days of the city's history. Coit Tower is a monument to the firefighters of San Francisco. Lillie was so active in her support for the firefighters, Knickerbocker Engine Co. No. 5 actually made her their mascot, if you will, and let her ride the truck whenever they responded to a fire. She died in 1929 and bequeathed the funds for the tower, which was completed five years later. The two best things about Coit Tower are the great Public Works Project (WPA) murals inside the tower and the lookout deck which has the most amazing vistas of the city-by-the-bay below.

Under Dianna’s direction, we got a little turned around and I decided to zig instead of zag and wound up making an ill-advised left turn onto a wide boulevard trying to double back to where I thought we needed to be. San Francisco is littered with one-way streets and I took that moment to turn onto what turned out to be the wrong-way on a one-way street. I was now bobbing and weaving in the face of blaring horns receding into our rear-view mirror as they passed like Steve McQueen prosecuting the classic chase scene from “Bullit”(1968). Finding the first right turn I could make, we escaped back into the anonymity of the city’s Warehouse District. None the worse for wear, we ultimately made it to the Tower and still have the Kodak 126 photos somewhere in the closet.

Since then, whenever we enter a new town, as soon as evidence of a standard Department of Transportation  “one-way” sign surfaces, Dianna’s head pops up from the comfort of the mono-chrome screen of her Barnes and Noble “Nook” (no more books-on-tape for us), her eyes narrow, pupils constrict and she begins scanning the concrete jungle surrounding us like a soldier “on point” looking for signs of ambush. Her observations take on the staccato pace of Patty (if Patty had a speech coach, I now know who they used) and she begins a running commentary of street conditions as if doing so will somehow ward off catastrophe.

As we passed a particularly interesting tattoo shop, the “Divers Dungeon” (Dianna has an affinity for tattoo shops which must be photographed with her iPhone), she asked to double back to get the shot.  As if on cue, as Patty is heard trying desperately to get us back on her well-chosen path, I made a quick left and another left without checking the street signs. Surprisingly, as if to tell me, “I told you so”,  I was greeted with silence from Patty and the growing sense of unease  intensified as I cruised along the left curb line returning to Lee Street. In my defense, the street was wide enough for a two lane roadway but someone had neglected to paint a center line masking it’s true function as a two-way street. This became apparent as I came to a stop at the red light glaring down at me before making my left turn back onto westbound Lee Street.

As I looked forward, I was greeted by the gleaming grille work of a southbound car in my lane of travel. Quickly reviewing my checklist of options, I elected to violate the Texas Vehicle Code again, turn left against said red light onto westbound Lee Street. In the past, at crucial times like these, Dianna could be seen reaching for the dash and stomping that phantom brake pedal we all have resting below our seat. She has mellowed over the years (or the result of the past angry debriefing exchanges which occur between us in such cases). Now she utters an almost inaudible sudden intake of breath. You know, the one you take just before the airbag deploys. In less time than it takes to tell, I made a quick stop for Dianna’s photo and hightailed it out of town as fast as Patty could find her voice again and call out (very sarcastically I might add), “Continue on Texas State Highway 302 for 3 miles to US 380”. I could sense Dianna’s eyes rolling over at my indiscretion and wonder at the surprisingly safe conclusion of our trip to Greenville.

Sunday, January 9th, 2011

Like a boomerang, thanks to GPS technology, Patty quickly returned us directly to the relative safety of our home, without further incident, where we unloaded our booty and relaxed in anticipation of the possibility of a soft snow the next day. Hey, it's Texas. If you don't like the weather, wait 15 minutes, it'll change.

The Last of it

The following morning I was surprised to see the sun rising through our balcony window. See we were on the port (left) side of the ship and we should have been steaming north back toward New Orleans. Thus the sun should have been on the starboard side. With a check of the ship’s cable channel, I could see we had changed course and were heading east toward the Florida Keys. I had a brief flash of Sandra Bullock trying to stop her cruise ship crashing into the dock but in checking with the room steward he told us a guest had taken ill and needed immediate transport to a hospital on land. This will become our third helicopter rescue of a passenger in our travels. We had two people taken off our Hawaii cruise back in the late 90’s. I don’t know how much it costs for one of these Medevacs but the cruise line asks for half the cost UP FRONT and it’s up to you to either pay the rest or get your insurance company to kick in the rest.

We ran eastward for three hours until we were in range of the Key West Coast Guard station while the crew cordoned off the aft sections of the ship for the rescue. Around lunch, a Sikorski HH-60J (Jayhawk) came in and made several passes on the port side (lucky me). The Jayhawk is the Coast Guard version of the Army's Blackhawk. It's like seeing a Chevy Tahoe next to a GMC Yukon. Same airframe with nicer ashtrays. They sent along a  C-130 four-engined transport along for insurance as well. The 60 then pulled into a hover abeam (alongside) of the ship in preparation to hoist the patient onto their craft. The HH-60 is a relatively large twin-engine helicopter, which is way too big to land on the landing pad on the back of the ship. It’s easier and safer to send the PJ ( rescue swimmers in the Coast Guard) down to hook up the patient in their litter and wind him back to the aircraft.

A word about PJs. These are mentally challenged people (and some women) who volunteer to go through some of the most arduous training in the military to fulfill their lifelong dreams of jumping out of perfectly good boats and aircraft into the same sea states that just sank the vessels or washed away the crew members they were sent in to save. Many get enough training to qualify as paramedics. It was reported that in the first five days following Katrina, Coast Guard PJs performed more than 33,500 rescue and hoist operations of Katrina victims stranded on rooftops and in floodwater. I salute them. I’m glad they’re out there protecting us.

Once the rescue was completed, the ship made a gentle turn back north. Now with the sun in its proper place, the Captain had to make up for lost time and distance to get us back in time. Unfortunately that required a commensurate increase in speed, which returned us to the bobbing and rolling we experienced on the first day of our cruise.

The last day at sea is a mixed blessing. Certainly there is the beauty of the sea to take in but a lot of packing is going on throughout the ship. We’re trying to stuff all the ill-gotten gifts we’ve picked up for the last seven days and the crew is getting things in order to turn the ship around in New Orleans. The next cruise is scheduled to leave that same evening after we arrive.

The last night we decided to take in the formal dining room for dinner. When we got there, we were asked if we would consent to dining at a table with another couple. If you’re a couple who wants company, you can ask the concierge to bring over another couple to dine with you. We agreed and got to meet Marcel and Sheryl of  Abbeville, Louisiana. They turned out to be great dining partners.

Marcel was a retired tax preparer and Sheryl was a retired commercial photographer and a volunteer docent at their town’s Cultural Museum. Marcel really belied his age of 70 and Sheryl was 10 years his junior. Inevitably the question came up as to how they met. Turns out they met online on Match.com and married soon after. They've traveled the world. Marcel is a retired military Vet and they use his travel privileges on Military transports. Sheryl said they've been all over Europe, Asia and the Middle East by going Military Stand-by. Military flights in  C-17s are not glamorous affairs and they usually have to travel like the service people in webbed jump seats or sleeping on the metal floor in sleeping bags with the cargo. The transports are usually a little dirty and not heated spaces so it can get real cold at 30,000 feet. But Sheryl keeps a supply of $5 dollar garage-sale sleeping bags and they just toss them in the trash when they’re done. They were very funny and informed people and we were glad we made the decision to join them.

Our next mission involved retrieving some bottles of Kaluha Dianna got from the duty free liquor store on the ship. Ironically, we were directed to a storeroom right next to a conference room which held the meetings for “Friends of Bill W”. To keep things discrete and not embarrass anybody, the secret code for Alcoholics Anonymous meetings on the ship are named after the group’s founder, William Griffith Wilson. Not that I would know that.

There was no reason for two of us to wait in line and I chose to stand in the comfort of the connecting hallway. I was in nice dinner attire and must have looked to some as one of the ship’s staff. As people arrived in the hallway (and many looking in need of a drink) they kept asking me for directions to the waiting area for the booze. I immediately took on the practiced professional aire I acquired from my many years in law enforcement and began directing them to their destination.

One older couple (much older than Dianna and I) came by and the gentleman was obviously upset about having to stand in line for his alcohol purchases. As they approached, the man lit into me about the injustice and embarrassment he and his lovely wife had to endure to wait like Somalis at a UN food distribution center to collect their booze. He said the cruise line was treating them like children in not allowing them to keep their alcohol in their room. On behalf of Norwegian Cruise Lines, I apologized profusely, handed him a comment card, told him to note it on the card and turn it in to his cabin steward immediately upon his return. This seemed to ameliorate him. Then he and his wife thanked me for listening. I may have a future in public relations after all.

With all our stuff packed, we decided to try the unassisted departure in the morning. On cruises, you have the choice of putting out your bags into the hallway the last night. You apply some tags to your bags, the bags are whisked off the ship and you claim them back in the terminal at your assigned departure time. The stewards take them below to be moved to the dock when we tie up. We decided to roll our own stuff off when the gangway hit the deck. This turned out to be a bad idea.

Let me explain. Recall our unexpected eastward run to get a passenger to the hospital. This set our return time in serious jeopardy. We were scheduled to get to the pier at 7 a.m. and begin debarking at 8. We were well off the mark and even with a high speed run back through the Gulf, we didn’t get to the dock until almost 9 a.m. Realize that there were many folks expecting to make airline connections in New Orleans, so there were a lot of anxious passengers standing around the ship wondering if they were going to have to make some last minute expensive rebookings. So a sort of hypnotic suggestion ran through the ship that keeping their bags would expedite their departure and get them to the airport on time.

So when morning came, there were people standing all over the ship next to stacks of their luggage. Simultaneously, on the morning of our departure, the crew are busily getting the accommodations back in pristine condition for the next bunch of giddy travelers coming on in about four hours. So all guests are encouraged to leave their rooms as soon as possible to select areas of the ship dictated by the colored tag system issued to you by the stewards the night before. That's the plan anyway.

Seeing this tidal wave of walk-off passengers rising, the staff decided to organize the walk-offs onto the starboard promenade deck (where we held our frosty boat drills on the first day) to queue them up for the single gangway departure point. With the ship still steaming up the Mississippi, they directed us, dragging our luggage with us, to the rails for the docking. Problem was it remained cold in Louisiana the entire week and was still in the 40s on our arrival. So there we were, in the biting cold wind, desperately looking for any sign of the Greater New Orleans Bridge where our berth was located.

This went on for about another 90 minutes until we pulled alongside the dock. Then there was a delay as the longshoreman finished cinching our lines securing us to the dock. Another delay while the ICE people came aboard the ship looking for Al Qaeda and to do their checks while a portion of the ship’s crew got off the ship, went through an INS check in the terminal and returned to the ship. The clock was now approaching 11 and the mood was getting ugly as the departure staff conducted the last ID check with each passenger as they headed for the gangway. We were required to swipe our Sea Cards one last time to get off as we each took turns squeezing through the queue and onto the gangway to freedom and warmth.

Now that everyone has to have a passport to travel abroad, it made the trip through Customs a little easier. It wasn’t too long ago that you just needed a birth certificate or citizenship papers to go through Customs. That was a time-consuming process as INS officials had to make heads-or-tails of foreign or unreadable documents. Now they swipe your bar-coded passport and ask whether we had anything to declare. Having declared our precious booze, we headed to the parking lot and headed for the US-90 and the Lake Pontchartrain bridge.

Just when we thought it was all over, as we exited the parking structure, we got a desperate call from our daughter Nicole telling us our Chocolate Lab Marley was in distress and needed to go to the Animal Hospital Emergency Room. With that disturbing news, we backtracked our way west then north through Louisiana, back into North Texas, and home. It was a long and silent 8-hour drive.

Once home we discovered Marley had a bout of pancreatitis. It was touch and go for the first 24 hours but we were able to bring Marley home, none the worse for wear, by the following Wednesday in time for Christmas. I think it's going to be awhile before we see the inside of a cruise ship any time soon.

Part Three

Our arrival in Roatán, Honduras was our first venture into South America. There is apparently a distinction between Belize in Central America and its southern counterparts. I thought anything above the Panama Canal was Central America. Oh, well.

Roatán is an island district of mainland Honduras. It’s about 37 miles long and only 5 miles wide. Of course, the slave traders and stupid white folks couldn’t pronounce it correctly and called it either Ratan or Rutan. There is a pretty good road system, which you can take all around the island with a look and feel of Hawaii. We entered, for all intense and purposes, a small cove along with the Royal Caribbean “Glory of the Seas”. We had a parking space just behind the RC behemoth, which was at least a third bigger than our ship. All the newer ships now have “thrusters” on each side of the ship and are not dependent on rudders or tugboats to move them around in a harbor. You can turn these bad boys on a dime and park them like you parallel park a car (there’s a lost science).

It’s a neat little place without a “town” per se but a built from scratch outdoor mall. It led to a very picturesque beach resort where you can drink and fry to your heart’s content. Remember the tropical sun is just a little different from our northern climes. Even as the winter solstice pulls the sun a little more south, it’s still packs a punch and we tourists forget the sun screen and Pow! as the first mist of that first shower reminds us.

No excursions this time. We did walk through the market place and get down to the beach resort. We must have looked like good co-conspirators for an older couple who approached us as we entered the queue for the chairlift ride to the beach. You could walk or pay 12 bucks a head to fly over. Dianna wanted to fly and take more pictures with her phone (of course).  They came up to us and in low voices, said they would give us their wristbands to take the lift. It seems the wife had convinced her husband to use the lift, problem was he’s afraid of heights (go figure). So, in broad daylight, with our backs to the ticket booth, they slipped off their bands and passed them off  like a hand-to-hand dope deal (I didn’t say we were very good co-conspirators).

Flying to Mahogony Bay

The Harley Store in Roatán 

With our newly acquired wristbands on we made the trek to the beach. More people eating, drinking and frying but having a great time. We had the nachos (damn, Velveeta), a couple of soft drinks at Fat Tuesdays and made our way back via the lift. On our return to the ship we had just enough time to pick up some Jamaican honey (apparently honey was on the fridge shopping list) and made it back through security with only three bags of stuff. Each day we return to the ship with the corresponding number of bags.

At the appointed hour, we slacked the lines and heaved to. Well, just getting into the spirit of things, Roatán, like most of our stops on this trip, were home to many pirates and seaborne explorers. These cruise people don’t mess around. At once, there was the ships horn, somebody dropped that baby in drive, and off we went. As we whisked by the beach we had attended that morning, it occurred to me that these resort islands really are dependent on the tourist trade and especially the cruise ships. The beach and the surrounding shopping center were closed up, void of people like the last scene of “On the Beach” (1959). Roatan’s a pretty cool place and we might consider returning for a full-blown vacation. It has all the makings of a tropical paradise. Onward to our next destination, Cozumel.

I need to mention the “road trip duck”. I believe the only people who may wax poetic about the “Duck” may be Al, Curt, Dana and Sharon. They will recall a tradition we had at my old Sheriff’s Child Abuse Detective job where all Investigative Travel (i.e. Road Trips) had to be accompanied by a little fuzzy Duck we "liberated" from the Center for Child Protection at Children’s Hospital in San Diego. Photos had to be taken with the Duck in significant locations to be preserved for future generations.

Coincidentally, since we’ve started our weekend road trips here in Texas, Dianna has instituted a similar tradition with her digital documentation of everything she does. Thus we have hundreds of shots which are quickly filling up her iPhone (and the basis of the AT&T shutdown mentioned earlier) of a little plastic duck (much easier to stuff in a purse) in various locales including our cruise. Perhaps, if you remain on her “nice” list, you too can be the recipient of a shot of the duck.

On our arrival to Cozumel we had scheduled an excursion to a Tequila Tasting class given at the  theme park Discover Mexico . Whenever we’re in Mexico, we try to go to a Tequila tasting. It’s one of the few places you can try and buy various Tequilas and our favorites, flavored Tequila Liqueurs. There are many flavored Tequilas out there but few are sold outside of Mexico. So we attended one at the park and our Tequilier was Javier. Turns out, of all the ships that had docked that day (6), we were the only ones who had signed up for the class. More for us, right? Oh, except that we were on the last day of our medication and couldn’t drink. Did I mention how much fun I was having?

All was not lost, in that although Tequila is generally between 35% to 90% alcohol, Tequila Liqueurs are usually 12% to 19%, thus, by law, they cannot be called “Tequila”. So we were able to sip a little just to get the taste. Obviously we survived. Thanks Doc.

The real cool part turned out to be the personal tour of the Discover Mexico Park we got as part of the package. Javier handed us off to our own personal tour guide who took us on a very informative tour of the park. The great thing about this park is that all the exhibits are to-scale models of the Mayan Temples, historic buildings and portions of Mexico City depicted among the many Pre-Hispanic, Colonial and Modern Mexican wonders along their beautiful outdoors walk with indigenous natural and exotic flora and fauna along the way.

I have to say that it kind of blew me away. It is a little hidden secret of the Cozumel experience and I was surprised it wasn’t better advertised to the tourists. There was an art museum and an impressive video viewing which took you to all the major points of interest and cultural zones of Mexico. And of course a park store to buy locally made gifts and jewelry and…. our Tequila. All of the exhibits were very well done and really should be a “must see” for any first time visitor to that part of Mexico. Yes, that's us at Senor Frogs at the foot of the pier in Cozumel. Just in case you're wondering, I had a Sprite and Dianna has a Diet Coke. The chicken nachos had real cheddar on them.

We got back to the ship with our booty but had to give up all the alcohol to Security. They x-ray your stuff as you come back aboard so they’ll catch you if you try to smuggle it aboard. Of course the ship would rather have you buying their overpriced drinks so you can’t get it back until the last morning so you can pack it to leave. We had one last full day at sea and then back to New Orleans on Sunday morning.

Cruise Part Deux

Food on a cruise can be summed up as pretty bland food and lots of it. We have concluded that, because of all the different folks they attract on these cruises, they pretty much hit the culinary center with some pretty generic food stuffs. I think they just figure you’re going to spice it the way you want it and hope for the best. Not to say the food is bad but it wasn’t Iron Chef material. Breakfast lunch and dinner at the famous buffets will satisfy and fill you up but the real deal is at the formal dining room or the specialty restaurants you can make reservations and pay extra for.

And there is always the presence of alcohol. They have staff walking through every venue of the ship trying to get you to purchase one of the many signature drinks being hawked about. Of course, the ticket you bought is all-inclusive. You could make it through a cruise and never pay for anything but that’s where they get creative. Once you leave the banality of drinking ice tea, coffee, milk and juice you enter the world of “pay as you go” cruising. Every alcoholic drink, soft drink, spa service and shopping service you participate in costs you extra. There are some bargains to be had (mostly from Duty Free shops) but a lot of people get some big surprises when they see that last days invoice slipped under your door. Some folks have been known to spend more than the cost of the cruise in alcohol alone. We’re not on dry land, it takes an act of God to get a bartender to cut you off here.

Here is where the cruise took a bad turn. We are pretty much tea totalers but our time to shine is on our cruises. As we wander the ship or take in a show, we like to get our fruity nectar of the gods with a prominent umbrella well ensconced in it’s frozen surface. Hey, somebody else is driving. Around day two, Dianna was feeling a little puny and I convinced her to take it to the Ship’s Doctor to get an opinion. Cruise ships have had some bad press recently about epidemics running through the passengers and crew ending up with quarantines coupled with refunds and law suits.

So you can imagine the concern a Ship’s physician has when you show up with symptoms which may remotely look like a pandemic disease (really remote). The good doctor loaded her up with anti-biotics and, believing by osmosis I might also be a carrier, loaded me up too. Problem was, because of the type of anti-biotics they had on hand, we were warned by the good doctor, would become toxic in the liver when combined with alcohol and we might die a horrible slow death. So, with that happy prospect in mind, for the duration of the cruise, we could not drink. I must say, this cruise was getting better by the minute.

The cruise lines always have some kind of song and dance troupe on board doing two shows a night. It’s hard for them to attract the best performers. I don’t think anybody thinks of this as a real résumé builder but they do get some energetic performers and some have some real talent. We caught the 7 o’clock show because we’re old and wouldn't stay awake for the 9 o’clock show. Of course, with our malady in check, we could only order “virgin” drinks drawing a distinct look of disdain from our tip hungry servers.

The next day we were awakened by bright sun and much warmer temperatures as we slipped into the harbor at Costa Maya, Mexico. Costa Maya is a small village situated on the Yucatan Peninsula just a stones throw from Cuba. It is our second time in Costa Maya. Costa Maya has had it’s share of bad luck.  Hurricane Dean  in 2007 struck and really tore up the place. It has taken these past three years to make a comeback. When we first came here they had not quite recovered from the hurricane and the port was just beginning to rebuild.  Things have improved since then with an expanded port and a redeveloped downtown. But still rather sparse in activities. If you don’t fish, snorkel or drink, there is little to do. We took a quick trip to the outdoor port shopping center and with new Tee shirts in hand, quickly returned to the ship.

Our next stop was Belize, Central America. Belize is a grand place still steeped in its Spanish and British Colonial past. It should be noted that a long coral reef runs along the coast of Belize making the water too shallow for deep draft vessels like our ship to cross. It is part of the 560 mile long Mesoamerican Barrier Reef System, which is continuous from Cancún on the northeast tip of the Yucatán Peninsula down to Honduras making it the second largest coral reef system in the world after the Great Barrier Reef in Australia.  This requires cruise ships to anchor off shore and requires the use of boat tenders to move people from the ship to the shore and vice-versa. Sometimes the cruise ship uses their own lifeboats. It gives the crew a chance to keep up their skills with the rescue craft but sometimes the cruise lines contract with local water taxi services to do the heavy lifting. This was one of those times.

We stopped at  Belize City , the former capitol of Belize. It took the destruction of Cat 5 hurricane Dean to convince the government to move the capitol further inland to the town of  Belmopan . Belize City, like New Orleans, is below sea level and even an unusually high tide can flood the city.

Belize has traded hands a couple of times and most recently as a British possession. Most of it’s past revolves around the lumber industry. For many years, it was prized for it’s rich supply of mahogany. When the Europeans saw the extent of the wood supply, they imported many African slaves to help them develop the industry and the region. Brutal times they were with the British slave masters getting their slaves to harvest the wood in the tropics with little or no support. Although the British gave the workers some provisions they weren’t all that good at keeping them supplied. So the slaves began foraging for themselves to survive. They watched the local indigenous folks and noted they fed themselves from various fruit trees like papaya and something they referred to as a “provision tree”. It had a large hanging fruit which can be boiled and eaten. It is thought that making a tea from its bark helps to build the blood. The flower is really beautiful.

We took an excursion which took us up the Belize River and over to a Mayan Temple complex called Altun Ha. The weather had followed us and the area was experiencing unseasonably cold temperatures and we needed to go up-river in an open outboard motor boat which looked a lot like the ride at Pirates of the Caribbean. With Mike as our driver, Sam (think Denzel Washington in “X”) and Hilberto as our guides, we launched up-river into a biting cold wind. Our first stop was a  Manatee breeding area at the mouth of the river. Manatees are endangered and the Belizians protect them well. They fall victim to boat propellers as they remain just below the surface and only expose their noses to take a breath. As our guides pointed out surfacing Manatees, Dianna, sitting at the gunwale (pronounced: gun'al the top edge of the side of a boat), was pointing out what she thought was a silhouette of a Manatee to members of our group. Sam looked over and deadpan says,”It could be a Manatee….or a croc.” I never saw Dianna pull her hand back so fast. Belize has Crocodiles not Alligators. They are little guys and although Sam insisted they were not aggressive, who’s going to make that gamble.

They also have the biggest Iguanas I have ever seen. The Belizian’s call them “Bamboo Chicken” because they are harvested for food and can usually be found in a local “Spiny” bamboo which grows along the rivers. Now they too are protected but the locals can take up to three at a time if they need too. Of course, Sam said they taste “just like chicken” when cooked.

We also saw several local tropical birds but the best thing was the Howler Monkeys we saw hanging in the trees. They vary in size with the males being the biggest. They are jet black and kind of hard to spot except they occupy a tree as a family and you lock on when you catch one jumping through the tree branches. There are two monkeys indiginous to Belize. The  Spider Monkey  and the  Howler. The spider monkey is found in the rainforest and mountainous regions.

Just before arriving at the landing for our lunch and transfer to a bus for the run to Altun Ha, we rode under a bridge and Sam pointed out another cool local animal, the “Insect Bat”. The locals don’t intervene in their living arrangements. It is this cute little bat that lives under bridges and along rivers. They are a natural insecticide because they eat just bugs and mosquitoes so they help keep disease under control.

Although Belize (formerly British Honduras) looks like a poster child for third world countries, it is actually regarded as one of the wealthiest countries in Central America. Once seceding from the British September 21, 1981, wood and sugar are still major exports but they are moving their country forward with the recent discovery of oil. They export primarily to the US and we have reciprocated with providing free health services to the population as part of our foreign aid program to Belize. Your tax dollars at work.

Hilberto told an interesting factoid. In the late 1800’s many Mennonites (hard core Amish) moved to Belize for their religious freedom and their penchant for living without modern amenities. They lived simply and made their living using their skills as master furniture makers and still have a significant presence in Belize. Well things have changed. Hilberto reported they can now be seen driving around in cars and talking on their cell phones. And that oil that was found? Apparently most of it was found under land owned by the Mennonites. Hilberto said the locals now refer to them as the “Moneyites”.

We arrived at the Mayan Temple  Altun Ha to a beautiful open national park run by the government of Belize. It was well cared for and had park rangers all over the place. The Temple complex is very large and is the only part that was uncovered by Canadian archaeologists back in the 60’s. Hilberto said the complex is only a small part of a large city built around 200 A.D. that occupied the area and was inhabited by more than 10,000 people. He pointed out several mounds throughout the park and said there were probably a thousand more in the forest we couldn’t see. It was weird seeing these dirt mounds all around with full grown trees sprouting out of the sides and tops of what were peoples homes. It forced a visual of what will probably occur when our time ends and the earth takes back what we’ve built. It’s still a mystery as to what happened to the Mayans. Their very advanced culture grew throughout much of Mexico, Central and South America (there’s evidence they even made it well into North America) up to about the 9^th century then decentralized up to the Spanish Conquest of Yucatán in 1697. Although there are still many Mayan descendents still around, they pretty much walked away from their creations and have never been heard from as a society again.

Driving back through downtown Belize is like driving through most Mexican border towns along the US border. Lots of poor housing and poverty is a little overwhelming but the Belizians make due. Sam told us the minimum wage in Belize is around 35 dollars a week and it takes two Belizian dollars to equal one US dollar. Gas is 10 Belizian dollars a US gallon. Hilberto pointed out they never took on the Metric system and use the US system of measure and drive on the right. Our guides said you could buy land and build a “mansion” in Belize for about $40,000 US dollars and one of the largest cultural groups who have migrated to Belize are Taiwanese. After the big hurricane, Taiwan (Republic of China) was one of the largest contributors to their recovery and are still big investors in the country. Belize is very scenic and probably worth a full time vacation.

A moment about Dianna and her cell phone. In my pre-cruise preparations, I made contact with all our credit card folks and cell phone provider to keep everything running when we start making our purchases overseas. That was fine as long as Dianna wasn’t using her phone. We got two days into our travels and I noticed Dianna seemed to be using her phone a lot. Seems she was taking photos, texting and emailing everybody in the free world. AT&T, concerned about usage, cut her off and silenced her phone. This drew her ire and initiated a call to the phone company. AT&T was somewhat apologetic but after Dianna got a stern talking to about her single handed reduction of worldwide bandwidth, they re-established her service. Our next stop, Roatán, Honduras, promises to have calm seas and warmer weather.