Our Great Lakes boat is new, in great condition, and carries a hundred-and-forty passengers and a hundred-and-twenty crew members. It’s not like one of the gigantic ocean-going cruise ships. It’s sleek and graceful and intimate.
On every cruise of this sort there are two focuses—the meals and the excursions. This is a Tauck (pronounced towk) tour, which means everything is included. Vodka and scotch flow freely—no exorbitant charge for a single bloody Mary, and no judgmental moue from the bartender when you order a third gin and tonic. And the food is rich, plentiful, and delicious. The conversation during mealtimes most often morphs into an unnamed competition about whose been on the most tours and who’s been to the most foreign locations. In this discussion David and I show interest, but we don’t share because we realized long ago that people don’t want to know, they want to tell. As we all exit the dining room at the end of the meal, most of us can’t remember the names of the people we just sat with, though there are an annoying few who show off by greeting those of us who cross their paths the next day by name.
As to the excursions, well, the tour people do the best they can to find interesting places between Toronto and Chicago; and, for my part, I make a few mistakes. For instance, I don’t know what I was thinking when, a few months ago, I signed up for the Detroit city tour instead of the Ford Motor Museum. I assumed, without doing any research at all, that the city tour would be a fun walk through interesting streets and buildings, when in actuality it turns out to be four boring hours circling the city in a bus, literally passing the same buildings again and again. What I get out of it is that Detroit is trying really hard to stay vital, though, because of its reduced state, it’s shunned by all the chain stores and restaurants that would boost the local economy. On the other hand, David goes to the museum and has a great time. To hear him tell it, it’s a vehicle wonderland. Definitely a bad call on my part.
A lesson I learn from the Detroit decision is that I misconstrued the whole cruise concept, which is apparently centered around people who have difficulty getting around. David and I are far from young, but there are many who are older. While I realize there will come a time when we are slow, right now we are fit and we like to move fast. People with canes and limps and ankles crumbling from a lifetime of supporting heavy bodies do not move fast. And because of our speed we end up in the front of every line, which is fine with us because, honestly, it’s painful and frustrating to observe the difficulties our fellow passengers have negotiating steps and aisles. But it soon becomes obvious that our lead position isn’t appreciated by one of our fellow passengers, a massive shuffling wobbling woman who tells the guide in charge of every bus that, due to health issues, she must sit in the front; which means thirty-six people are held up as she slowly teeters up the stairs before they can enter, and down the stairs before they can leave.
As happens more often than it should, I find the woman and the situation she’s created to be irritating, which causes me to ponder my lack of empathy toward the elderly. It seems that I’ve adopted notions, possibly unrealistic ones, about what sort of old lady I want to be. I don’t want to be an old woman who expects or demands concessions because I can’t hear or see or remember anything. And I don’t want to force others to wait and watch, or even help, as I navigate every aching step. But there’s an obstacle to this passive future self that I’ve envisioned—my obviously crabby and impatient mindset. I badly need to work on my tolerance or old age is going to turn me into a vicious hag.
Anyway, back to the tour. Off the ship, on to the bus; off the bus, on to the ship; so just the highlights.
Mackinac Island, pronounced Mackinaw because it was settled by the French, who like to put consonants at the end of words for no reason. This was a delightful day off the boat. No automobiles allowed, just bikes, horses, and human feet. I take the carriage tour and David takes the bike tour. We are equally happy with our choices. The homes are quaint and inviting, and they look out over Lake Huron, offering a charming view from the water. Flowers abound, and we’re told that when the lilacs bloom in mid-June the whole island smells good. Due to the presence of horses, there are many well-kept stables and people to follow the carriages with shovels. Fort Mackinac has been restored to it’s former condition—homes, bunkhouse, guardhouses, quartermaster’s office. Excellently done. Writings from the people who lived there are displayed—not just facts, but tales of romance, commerce, loss of babies, difficulties because of weather during the winter months. I highly recommend Mackinac as a travel destination and I’ll always remember it fondly.
Two days later we arrive in Chicago, which I love from the get-go. First, on the river for an architectural tour which sounds tedious to me, but surprisingly turns out to be fascinating and actually gives me an unprecedented appreciation for the thought and talent that goes into creating buildings. Then, to Giordano’s for deep-dish pizza, which Chicago’s apparently known for; and the pizza’s great if you think it wise to eat three inches of melty cheese in a bowl made of thick pizza crust. After lunch David and I take a walk and are curious when we come upon clusters of people strolling along—moms pushing strollers, groups of teenagers, old and young—keeping their eyes on their phones and wearing costumes that appear to be themed around Alice in Wonderland. We’ve wandered into a citywide online scavenger hunt. And that’s not all. After David and I get to the hotel we walk to Millennium Park where a teen dance festival is in progress. In the Pritzker Pavilion kids are learning and then performing simple ballet steps. Further on, a hip-hop guy teaches teens to do a dance based on dance-stop-hold it, dance-stop-hold it. And in a large tent an enthusiastic woman leads a hundred equally enthusiastic dancers in jazz-based cardio movement.
How delightful. Chicago is indeed an engaged city!
Tomorrow we go home where, at the midnight airport, we will find out if my drive-flat tire has gone completely flat or if it’ll see us safely home.
Isn’t she beautiful?
This is an unusual fountain in Millennium Park. We liked it more than the bean.
I mean, look at this ridiculously rich pizza.
I wonder how they clean this thing.
The view from our hotel room.
