September 8, 2025
It’s 10:15 on Monday night. The lights of Port Angeles shimmer in the distance. A full moon drifts into view at the stern and then disappears beneath a buttermilk cloud sky. I tentatively reach with my phone out over the rail to snap a photo, but quickly pull it back for fear of dropping it into the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Disappointed that I captured only half the moon, I consider trying again but am spared the dilemma when the moon disappears altogether.
Glimpses of the first 36 hours of this trip are bright but passing, not unlike that shy moon:
Sitting in the Sonoma County Airport waiting for our Alaska Airline flight to depart for Seattle, Cathy and I watch as the flight crew passes by. They are all young, but the captain looks to be about 14. When the flight attendant announces that the First Officer is named Dakota, we look at each other, but say nothing.
When we arrive in Seattle, an Afghani Uber driver named Nemat approaches, invites us to bypass the line and formal Uber protocols, and proposes to take us for cash to our hotel. Our scam-sensitive spidey sense says, “Danger, danger Will Robinson…you two patsies have been targeted for the taking.” But Nemat, a former army interpreter who despises the Taliban and whose family can not yet join him because of Trump’s asshole new immigration policies proves to be as honest as this arctic day is long. We give him a generous tip and he insists on taking our heavy bags inside the hotel. The valet, seeing this, says he has never seen this before.
The Lotte Hotel is a dramatic blend of new and old, a faceted glass skyscraper attached to a historic landmark “The Sanctuary”, a 1908 Beaux-Arts stone building.
We step from the elevator where Cathy compliments an almost distraught woman on her Seahawk themed outfit and, learning we are from the Bay Area, she begrudgingly but graciously says her Seahawks will get the Niners next time.
The elevator doors close and we shake our heads.
Our corner room in the Lotte Hotel in downtown Seattle offers a spectacular view of downtown, the Seattle Great Wheel, and Elliot Bay beyond.
As even her grandchildren know, Cathy’s favorite color is orange. Apparently, the interior designer of the Lotte Hotel knew she was coming.
With morning, we checked out and hoofed it to where we hoped to have breakfast, The Biscuit Bitch. So too did most of Seattle as the wait for a biscuit was a bitch.
On to the Space Needle where my fearless wife scared the bejesus out of me.
I myself was terrified to walk on the glass floor.
Cathy? Not so much.
I mean, really?
I don’t know the woman.
Show off.
Sometimes, she scares me.
A bite of lunch beneath a ceiling strewn with hanging accordions. Cathy’s uncle Charlie Garzoli would have loved this place.
We board the Queen Elizabeth at 3:00, dutifully reporting to our emergency staging station, organize our cabin, get acquainted with our cabin steward Chris and our waiter Mike.
My wife was more stunning than the sunset.
We close the day in the pub, joining with a bunch of Aussies in rousing renditions of classic Irish folk songs like Molly Malone, The Black Velvet Band, The Wild Rover and Whiskey in the Jar sung by the Blackthorn Irish Folk Duo, amazing musicians from Tipperary who were as witty as they were deft on the banjo and guitar.
I wish I could embed video in this blog to share with you.
That, and the taste of the Redbreast whiskey I sipped while tapping me toe.
"Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost" 