Azamara Quest: A Gourmet Experience on a Glass Bottom Boat in the Bahamas

I couldn't believe this was our last day.  I couldn't believe that this time tomorrow, we'd be sitting in Fort Lauderdale Airport.  It had all gone so fast! But why spoil today by thinking about tomorrow? Better to emulate Xingxing and live in the moment. Buddhists spend their whole lives trying to do this, but for dogs, it just comes naturally.
Xingxing smelled land an hour before we dropped anchor off Cococay, an island owned (like Labadee in Haiti) by the cruise ship company.  He didn't want to use his box.  He wanted to go ashore. He could see the beach.  He could smell the dogs.  So he held it.
People don't come to the Bahamas for art, history or culture.  They come for white sand beaches, turquoise seas and snorkeling.  Cococay has these in abundance, plus a cute marketplace where you can buy the sorts of things you'd expect to buy in the Bahamas. So it sort of makes sense for the cruise company to have its own island.  (The next island over belongs to Norwegian Lines) Since I didn't think Xingxing would be much chop at snorkeling, we'd opted for a tour in a glass bottom boat. But first, he watered half a dozen palm trees and left an offering which I buried in the sand.
The glass bottom boat was quite different from what I expected. We didn't see many fish.  Mostly they were what the guide called sergeant-major fish (I would have called them zebra fish) swimming in schools.  But then we were told to prepare for "the biggest clown fish you've ever seen" and there he was! swimming beneath our boat.
Just talking about fish was boring, our guide told us.  Now, we were going to have an opportunity to get up close and personal.  Our "clown fish" brought a live starfish aboard.  Taken aback, we passed it from hand to hand.  It was definitely alive, and pissed off.  When we'd all had a look, it was tossed back into the ocean and we were presented with as living sea anemone, tentacles moving.  After he (or she) had done the rounds and was thrown back, we were given a crash course on the conch.  (It's pronounced, conk)  Five different varieties of conch were brought up for our inspection.  We learned how to tell a young conch from an older conch.  There are 27 varieties of conch in these waters, but only one is edible.  This one! said the guide.  We passed it from hand to hand.  Then we were asked, Who wants to taste it?
We demurred.  I mean, it was alive.  Five minutes ago, it had happily been doing whatever conches do, on the sea bed.  It seemed a shame to kill it, just for fun.
Not for fun, our guide assured us.  This is part of our diet.  This is part of our way of life.  This is our Bahaman culture!
He used a hammer and a skewer to extract the meat.  (At least, it was quick. I told myself the conch probably didn't feel a thing). Then he cleaned it, and sliced it into pieces.  They eat it raw, in salads.  Who wants a taste? our guide asked. Most of us did.
It didn't really have a taste.  It was tender, and chewy -- sort of like octopus sushi without the rice.
Our guide ate what was left, with gusto.  At least, I told myself, the conch didn't die in vain.
Back on shore, we walked along the kinds of beautiful beaches you only see in brochures, and finally made our way to the sumptuous barbecue that had been brought ashore for our delectation.  Then it was time for a bit of shopping at the Straw Market.  And another walk for Xingxing (who, like all men, hates shopping) before returning to the ship.

Azamara Quest: A Typical, Blissful Day at Sea

We start each day with breakfast in bed.  The only thing nicer than breakfast in bed is breakfast in bed overlooking a vast expanse of open ocean -- or maybe, breakfast in bed watching the sun rise.  And there's no extra charge for this delicious bit of luxury.
After breakfast, we do our morning walk.  By now, Xingxing knows exactly where his box is and what he is meant to do there. then we go up and do a few laps on the jogging track. Being on a ship in the middle of the sea doesn't seem to faze Xingxing.  But he is really an amazing little dog.  Nothing fazes him.
There are daily crossword puzzles and sudoku in the Looking Glass. Also a library.  And there's a lovely swimming pool, with two jacuzzis. But my favorite place is the spa.  This costs a little bit extra, but it is worth every penny.  At the prow of the ship, there is a magnificent, private, glassed-in area where you can sun-bathe out of the wind and watch the world go by -- it's like owning your own, private yacht.  It is absolutely spectacular and -- perhaps because it costs that little bit extra -- quiet, uncrowded and idyllic. But the best part is the Thalassotherapy Pool.  No chlorine, just salt water and minerals.  The water is warm, and the bubbles give you a lovely, gentle massage.  Floating in the pool, the blue sky above and the blue sea all around -- this is definitely living.  Xingxing lies on the deck, puzzled (why does she want to get wet?) but resigned to the strange pastimes of human animals.
Now it's time for lunch.  Ah, lunch.  Shall we go to the buffet and pig out on sushi?  (The sushi is to die for) Or dine in the always-wonderful Discovery Restaurant?  Or go to the barbecue on the pool deck, which features a whole, roasted pig among other delights?  Decisions, decisions.
We opt for the barbecue.  Xingxing scores a rib bone, and is a very happy camper.
After lunch, there's bridge and scrabble and health lectures and games and a cooking demonstration and fitness classes and heaven knows what else.  I'm happy to just kick back with a good book.  Before I know it, it's time for Afternoon Tea.  People are playing the slots in the casino, and there's an acupuncture presentation in the spa and an exercise class in the gym.  I like the slots, but I only play for pennies.  If I win, I'll only win pennies, but I don't mind. I don't win, but I have fun.  Now it's time for pre-dinner cocktails.  Where did the day go?
The Azamara Quest is a small ship and there are only 600-odd guests aboard.  You soon get to know people. Xingxing knows everyone, and they all know him.  No matter where we go on the ship, someone calls out, Xingxing!  And then there's tail-wags and kisses all around.  Someone always wants to chat, so we're never alone.  That's nice.
Tonight, we're joining our new friends Jay and Terry for dinner at the Prime C, a specialty steak house restaurant.  Words fail me.  This is -- without qualification -- the best steak I have ever had in my life.  It is simply divine.  It is the Rolls Royce of steaks.  The side dishes are equally exquisite, the wines are perfectly matched, and afterwards, there's dessert.  How can I possibly eat dessert?  Somehow, I manage. Xingxing scores two more bones, and after a quick visit to Deck Five -- so that Xingxing can do what dogs do --


we waddle happily down to our stateroom, where two little chocolates await us next to our freshly turned-down bed.
This has got to be the best holiday I've ever had.

Azamara Quest: An Unexpected Adventure in the Dominican Republic

The sky was dark and threatening when we dropped anchor at Cayo Levantado, just off the coast of the Dominican Republic.  The seas were choppy.  Watch your step! we were cautioned as we boarded the tender.  A few drops of rain spattered down.
The tender bumped and bounced across the swells.  The sky just kept getting darker.
At the little wooden pier, those of us who were going on tours were herded to one side.  At that point, the sky opened and within seconds, we were all soaked to the skin.  Even the people who had umbrellas were getting wet, it was raining so hard. It was like standing under a waterfall. Meanwhile, men in shorts and tee-shirts (also drenched) were yelling something in Spanish, and pointing at a pair of long, white open fiberglass boats that were bobbing alongside the pier.  The boats had molded plastic seats, no awnings or roofs and were rapidly filling with rainwater.

It became clear that we were meant to get in the boats, which would take us to the city of Samana.   But nobody wanted to do that.  The water was at least a foot lower than the dock, and there were no railings or anything to hang onto.  And it was pouring. Some of us decided to give up on the excursion and return to the ship.  But Xingxing and I were already as wet as we could be, and tropical cloudbursts are usually short-lived.  So -- holding Xingxing -- I leapt awkwardly into the heaving boat, counting myself very lucky not to have broken one of my elderly bones.
For a few minutes, it looked as if Xingxing and I were going to be the only intrepid travelers. But as the rain began to ease, more people struggled aboard.  Soon we had a boatload.  By the time we got underway the rain had stopped, although several inches of water were still sloshing around our ankles.  Off we went!  The boats decided it would be fun to race one another through the very choppy sea, slamming and banging against the waves, sea spray everywhere.  It was really rather an adventure, I thought.  We weren't that far off-shore.  If worst came to worst, I thought, we could probably swim for it. Xingxing didn't agree. He hates getting wet. And he swims like a stone. He huddled in my lap, looking up at me as if to ask, Are we having fun yet?
By the time we reached Samana, the sun was shining but we were wetter than we'd been when we started.  It didn't really matter.  It wasn't cold. And by the time we'd visited the tiny Whale Museum and  reached Taino Park, our clothes had dried off.
Taino Park turned out to be a life-sized recreation of the history of the Taino Indians, starting with their arrival in the Dominican Republic (they originally came from the Amazon) and showing scenes from their idyllic daily lives, up to the time of Columbus -- and then not-so-idyllic depictions of their subsequent lives under Spanish rule.  We walked from scene to scene, listening to the excellent, spoken commentary that accompanied the exhibits through individual head-sets.  It was fascinating, and extremely well done. I'm really glad I didn't miss it.
Driving back through the countryside to Samana, we were struck by the lushness of the vegetation. Bananas, sugar cane, mangos, papaya -- everywhere you looked there was something to eat.  Nobody goes hungry, our guide told us. All you have to do is reach out your hand, and there's food. The houses were small and made of cement blocks, but brightly painted.  People whizzed around on motorcycles. Everyone looked happy and healthy and well-fed.  All of the children -- we were told -- go to school. We saw some, wearing their school uniforms.
Haiti and the Dominican Republic share the same island, Hispaniola.  Both were populated by the Taino Indians.  Both were colonized, Haiti by the French and the Dominican Republic by the Spanish.  When the Taino died out, both were repopulated by slaves imported from Africa.  Yet the Dominican Republic is prosperous, and Haiti is not.  I could not help but wonder how two countries -- starting from more or less the same point with more or less the same advantages and disadvantages -- could turn out to be so very different from one another.

Azamara Quest: So Did We Go to Haiti or Not?

I admit that I had mixed feelings about taking Xingxing to Haiti.

Even before the awful earthquake that devastated most of the capital, Haiti was already one of the poorest countries in the world. How must the average Haitian feel about passengers on a cruise ship that costs almost as much per day as the average Haitian family earns in a month? I wondered.

I’d also read someplace that Haitians don’t like dogs.  Apparently, Papa Doc threatened to come back as a dog and tear them to pieces. Suppose someone mistook Xingxing for a reincarnation of Papa Doc and came after us with a machete?

Haitian regulations stipulate that the Veterinary Certificate of Health must have been issued within seven days of arrival.  That meant we had to get it in Charleston, and that’s what we did. But I was still very ambivalent. Adventure is one thing, but there is no way I would willingly put Xingxing at risk. I finally decided that when we docked, I’d look the place over from the safety of the ship. And if I didn’t like what I saw, we wouldn’t go ashore.

However, I needn’t have worried. We didn’t get anywhere near the Haiti you read about in the newspapers. We tied up at Labadee, a 260-acre peninsula on the other side of the island from Port Au Prince that is owned (via a 99-year lease) and operated by the cruise company.  This peninsula is separated from the rest of the island by a huge fence, which keeps the tourists in and -- except for carefully chosen employees -- the Haitians out.  There are cabanas and beaches and pretty walks and a “marketplace” and a trolley to carry you from one end of the peninsula to the other.  It is anything but dangerous.  But it isn’t exactly Haiti, either.

I did a walking tour.  Our guide's name was Lamy. Right off the bat he told us how grateful he was that we’d taken this cruise and were visiting Haiti.  For one thing, our visit provided him with a job, and in a country with 80% unemployment, that is significant. Turns out, tourism is a major money-earner for Haiti, worth $100 million per year.  

We stood under a neem tree while Lamy rubbed a handful of leaves between his hands.  Neem leaves (and berries) cure all sorts of skin disorders, including skin cancer.  We walked past the ruins of what had been a tavern for pirates, called Nellie's. 

Lamy also explained the difference between pirates and bucaneers.  Pirates roam the seas. Buccaneers are pirates who have grown old and come ashore and settle down.  Bet you didn’t know that.  The word buccaneer comes from a Taina Indian word meaning fire smoke.  The Taina, Lamy explained, were the original inhabitants of Hispaniola Island.  They were gentle and peace-loving, quite unlike the Caribs, who were warlike and bloodthirsty and lived on adjacent islands.  (The Caribbean is named for the Caribs)  When Columbus ran aground on Hispaniola, the Taina welcomed him.  But if he’d happened to land on a Carib island, it would have been another story -- the Caribs would have most likely killed him and eaten him, and Western history would be very different.
We did a coastal boat trip in the afternoon, but there wasn't much to see, although Xingxing seemed to enjoy the smells as we bounced along on a low swell.  Other than a lone millionaire's mansion, it's just mountains and vegetation tumbling down to the sea.  Apparently, the hills around Port Au Prince (a six hour drive away) have all been denuded, for firewood.  But this side of the island is wild, and unspoiled, and uninhabited.
I'd planned to shop in the "marketplace" when we got back at 2 PM, but it was already closed.  They're apparently expecting a much bigger ship tomorrow, and I guess they thought we weren't worth the bother.
So did we visit Haiti, or not?  You tell me.

  

Azamara Quest: Victory at Sea

After Charleston, we have two, full days at sea.
I'd been dutifully sopping up puddles of Xingxing's urine with bits of newspaper, and storing the newspaper in a ziplock bag.  On our last morning in Charleston I took the little plastic fire hydrant I'd brought along and shoved it beneath a startled Xingxing as he peed, then wrapped it in plastic and let it marinate.  I also scooped up handfuls of dirt from places he sniffed, and squirreled them away in the plastic bag with the urine-soaked strips of newspaper.  You have to admit, I was doing my best.  And all the while I was thinking, He can't go two days without doing anything.  He simply can't.
As we headed out to sea, I tucked the pieces of newspaper beneath the cedar chips, sprinkled the dirt I'd collected over the top and set up the (hopefully) reeking plastic fire hydrant.
The next morning, we went out on deck. Water, water everywhere.  White-caps, too. I led Xingxing to his "special place".  He jumped into the box, and promptly began to sniff.  He was interested.  He was more than interested.  He circled the little red hydrant three times, and finally -- after due consideration -- lifted his leg.  Victory at sea!
This is not the sort of detail you find in most travel blogs.  But if you're thinking of taking a dog on a cruise ship, it should be compellingly interesting.  And yes, I'd brought along some puppy pads.  But Xingxing has never used puppy pads, and found them as uninspiring as the original cedar chips.
Now that we'd solved the potty problem I could exhale, settle down and enjoy myself.  There is plenty to do, even at sea.  Crossword puzzles and sudoku in the library, where there are also a number of novels.  Talks by guest presenters, on a variety of topics.  Ping pong. A casino, with slots and gaming tables.  Bridge and scrabble.  A pool, a fully equipped gym and a jogging track.  And of course, a spa -- including an acupuncturist.
Beyond the spa Xingxing and I discovered the best place on the entire ship --  the big, warm, bubbling Thalasso Therapy salt-water pool.  Set like a blue jewel in its own, private, glass-enclosed area at the prow of the ship, this is purely delightful.  First, you luxuriate and rejuvenate in the pool. Then, you stretch out on one of the deck chairs and (protected from the wind) enjoy the sun and the fabulous view.  It's very quiet, and for some reason, there are never many people. You feel as if you're atop a magic carpet, gliding above the sapphire sea.  I could have stayed there forever.  But it was noon, time for lunch.
That's the other thing you can do all day aboard the Azamara Quest: You can eat. There are seven different places you get a meal or a snack, plus several bars.  Plus 24-hour room service. Drinks at the bar are free, and so is wine with lunch or dinner. (Also wine at the bar) Azamara Club cruises are all-inclusive, including gratuities. And it's open seating, which means you can eat when you want to eat and you can sit with anyone.
No matter where you eat, the food is simply fantastic.  I am going to get seriously fat.

Azamara Quest: A Taste of Antebellum Southern Life

For me, the visit to Boone Hall Plantation was a major highlight.

The house was featured in the mini-series “North and South” which I only saw a year or so ago. (I lived in Australia for 32 yers and so I missed a lot of American TV)  Just driving up the magnificent, oak-lined avenue that leads to the house brought back all my memories of the series, so it was a feast for the imagination as well as for the eye.  Some scenes from "Gone With the Wind" were also shot here.

Xingxing enjoyed the horses (thoroughbreds, wearing winter blankets) grazing the green, green grass in an adjacent paddock.  Xingxing is fascinated by horses, and by the smell of horses. Especially horse poop.  I don’t know why.

Boone Hall has been a working plantation for 300 years. They still grow peaches and pecans, but these days tourism is also an important source of income and Boone Hall is also America’s most photographed plantation.  It has had several owners through the years, and today's Boone Hall is the third house to be built here.  Interestingly enough, it was built -- in the Southern manner -- by a retired Canadian diplomat.  It is now owned by a South Carolina family who are frequently in residence, although there was no sign of them the day we visited.  From the number of times Xingxing lifted his leg, I suspect the family has one or more dogs.

The rooms were decked out with wreaths and twinkling Christmas trees -- one of which was entirely decorated with cotton bolls --  and you could easily imagine the family gathering around the piano in the 700-square-foot drawing room and singing Christmas carols.  Unlike many of the huge mansions I’ve visited, the proportions of Boone Hall are warm and welcoming and human. The traditional Southern way of life was -- and remains -- gracious.  

Our guide -- in period dress, her ankles demurely covered -- led us from room to room, recreating a not-quite-lost tradition of culture, graciousness and Southern chivalry.  Under no circumstances, she explained, must a gentleman catch a glimpse a woman's ankles.  If he did, he was expected to marry her.

Then it was time to visit the slaves’ cabins, which lay a distance from the main house.  These were small but sturdy, made of brick and featuring fireplaces and shuttered windows.  Each cabin housed a different historic presentation highlighting some aspect of slavery but the one-room buildings themselves were quite cozy.  (These cabins were occupied by skilled slaves, carpenters and wheelwrights and such. Slaves who actually worked the fields lived further away, closer to the fields and presumably, their lodgings weren’t quite as pleasant)

The gardens on either side of the house were parterre style, with little paths and brick borders and beds of flowering winter blooms and winter vegetables.  We all wandered about, sipping cider and nibbling freshly baked cookies. 

 I could imagine couples courting here, handsome young men wooing demure Southern belles.  Hoop skirts and crinolines.  Elegance and afternoon tea served on fine china.  What would they make of our jeans and track-suits  and McMeals? Somehow, I don’t think they’d call it progress.

Azamara Quest: Parks, Pralines and Fluffy Mud

One of the nice things about traveling with a dog is that you get to visit places you might never have seen, otherwise.  Especially parks.  The first thing I do when I arrive in a new city is find the nearest park.  Twice a day, we walk; so since we’ve got to do this in any case, I figure we might as well do it in someplace that’s pretty.

The Waterfront Park in Charleston is gorgeous, lush and green even in December. All of downtown Charleston is festooned in wreaths and ribbons for Christmas, which just adds to the feeling of festivity. The park is only a few steps from where the cruise ships dock. You enter through little, wrought-iron gates and walk along tree-lined paths. Judging from Xingxing’s numerous stops, this park is frequented by lots and lots of dogs -- and now they all know Xingxing was here! 

There are two fountains and apparently, people wade in them during the summer months. We didn’t spot any waders, but both fountains are very pretty.  One is shaped like a pineapple, which is meant to be a welcoming symbol.

And of course there are “poop bag” dispensers, some of which are dedicated to certain dogs. The one in the photo (in case you can’t read the writing) is dedicated to Holly and Samantha. I’m assuming that you put up the money for the dispenser, and then dedicate it to your dog, complete with photos.  What a great idea!

Today’s highlight was shopping in the old Market -- I had to buy those stone-ground grits, didn’t I? Charleston has other specialities, including intricately woven sweetgrass baskets done by the descendants of the West African slaves who worked the fields way back when. They’re quite beautiful, but the prices reflect the many hours that go into the weaving. And I don’t really need another basket.

Xingxing seemed determined to go towards the right, so I followed his nose and we left the market and came back out onto the street, finally coming to a halt in front of someone who was handing out free samples of freshly-made praline candy. But this candy was different. It was a sort of combination of praline and creamy, pecan fudge, and it literally melted in my mouth.

The Strickland family has been making and selling this wonderful stuff for 40 years. However, they’re not from Charleston. They’re from Savannah, Georgia.  But who cares? It’s all part of the south, isn’t it?  The business is called River Street Sweets, and the pralines -- which also come in chocolate -- are deservedly world famous.

Walking back down the long pier to the ship, I smelled something like sulpher.  Maybe, I thought, it’s my imagination.  It wasn’t. It was what the folks hereabouts call “fluffy mud” -- when the tide goes out, the reeds and the fluffy mud (which smells like sulphur) are exposed.  According to one of our guides, kids like to play in it. There’s nothing wrong with it, I was assured.  It’s not polluted.  It’s just fluffy mud.

Interesting place, Charleston.

  

Azamara Quest: Southern Hospitality in Charleston

Charleston, South Carolina is probably the prettiest city in America.  It’s also one of the oldest, and most historically significant. Four of the men who signed the Declaration of Independence came from Charleston, which in 1776 was one of the four biggest cities in what was to become the United States. George Washington didn’t just sleep here, he stayed for a week. South Carolina was the first state to secede from the Union. And of course, the shots fired at Fort Sumpter signaled the start of the War of Northern Aggression, sometimes known as the Civil War) 

Many, many of the buildings date from the 18th century. There are no skyscrapers, no high buildings at all.  Partly, this is due to the earthquake that almost shook the city from its foundations in the late 19th century. Still reeling from the financial devastation of the war, Charlestonians couldn’t afford to tear down their tottering buildings and replaced them. So they shored them up, using what came to be called “earthquake bolts” that literally ran through the houses and propped them up. 

All of the streets are designed for horses and carriages rather than automobiles, and smaller streets are cobbled with the stones that were originally ballast from ships that came to Charleston empty and left with a cargo of rice, or indigo.  And there are parks everywhere, from the lovely Waterfront Park where Xingxing and I walk every morning and evening to the tiny, vest-pocket parks tucked between the beautifully kept, old, wooden buildings.

The people are as gracious as their surroundings. They’re polite, they never seem to be in a hurry, and they smile a lot.  Boys and girls still learn ballroom dancing, and attend cottilions. They no longer wear crinolines and string ties, but the girls still don long, white gloves when they’re going to a ball. You almost feel as if you’re in a time warp. 

We did a walking tour that ended at Charleston Cooks! where Liz showed us how to prepare three Low Country classics -- Southern Fried Chicken, Grits and Butterscotch Pie.  The grits were a revelation.  I always thought grits tasted like cream of wheat, and I hate cream of wheat.  These grits -- with apples, onions and cheddar cheese -- were so good that I later purchased a pound of stone-ground grits (very important they be stone-ground) grits to take home and cook for myself. 

That first evening in Charleston, Azamara treated us to an AzAmazing Evening -- an Anchors Aweigh Party aboard the USS Yorktown, the famous “fighting lady” of World War II.  Now, she’s a museum.  Is Xingxing the first Shih Tzu to board an aircraft carrier?  Of course, with waiters in black bow-ties carrying trays of drinks and canapes, it didn’t feel like an aircraft carrier.  We walked past a Wildcat, an Avenger, a Corsair, a Hellcat, a Skyraider and a Cougar and found ourselves at the buffet.  There was food, wine and music.  It was a magical evening, a wonderful end to a perfect day. 

Azamara Quest: Doing What Dogs Do

We left Miami at sunset, heading north. As it happens, there is another service dog aboard. Both were given bath-towel-sized mats made of artificial grass -- puppy potties. The other dog (an elderly Westie) has no problem with this arrangement, but  Xingxing won’t go near it.  Apparently, it hurts his feet. (It doesn’t feel anything like grass; more like blunt, plastic needles) 

Azamara Quest staff were more than willing to accommodate us. They built Xingxing a 4x4 shallow wooden box, filled it with cedar chips and placed it at the sheltered end of one of the decks. I bought a little, plastic replica of a fire hydrant which is supposedly impregnated with smells that encourage a dog to pee on it, and I put that in the box as well. Xingxing jumped into the box and walked round and sniffed, but it was clear he did not associate it with doing what dogs do.

 

We were at sea all day and all night. Xingxing didn’t pee, and didn’t poop.  The cedar chips were brand new and they didn’t smell right. (The plastic fire hydrant was also unconvincing) Xingxing was waiting to be taken outdoors.  Problem was, outdoors was the Atlantic Ocean.

I was getting frantic.  So I approached the owner of the Westie. I was thinking maybe if her dog would pee in Xingxing’s box, it might get things rolling.  When I explained the problem, she gave me a withering look and said her dog was trained. End of conversation. In her place, I’d have wanted to help. She didn’t.  

When we finally got off the ship at Charleston -- our first port of call -- Xingxing lifted his leg and peed for nearly a minute, non-stop. Then he pooped. And then he pooped again. Problem solved, for the moment. But when we leave Charleston, we’ll have two full days at sea.

A local veterinarian suggested that while we were on land, I soak up Xingxing’s urine with bits of newspaper, which I could then tear into small pieces and scatter among the cedar chips.  Or I could try catching his urine in a paper cup.  Have you ever tried catching a small dog’s urine in a paper cup?   I went with the newspaper.

Xingxing would lift his leg and then I’d carefully sop it up with newspaper.  The first time I did this in the streets of Charleston a gentleman tapped me on the shoulder.  Really, he said.  You don’t have to do that.  I guess he thought I was being a truly, truly responsible dog owner!

I don’t know what we’ll do if this doesn’t work.  But I’m hoping it will.

Sunshine, Scowls and Interesting Architecture -- Welcome to South Florida!

We've had three nights here in Hollywood, which gave me a chance to catch up with old friends (I used to live in Aventura) and meet a business associate.  It also gave both of Xingxing and me a chance to adjust to the jet lag.
South Florida is not dog-friendly.  Dogs are not allowed on beaches, or even in parks adjacent to beaches. Dogs are not welcome in hotels, including this one. (Xingxing is a service dog, so he's allowed) The grass in the nature strips is laced with poison, and there are signs everywhere warning that dog waste spreads disease. This puzzles me, because there are plenty of dogs around -- expensive, well-groomed little dogs being walked by their scowling owners.
I am amazed at all the scowling faces.  Most of the people here come from New York, and New Yorkers are not known for their smiling, friendly demeanor. But here we are, away from the ice storm that has gripped most of the United States, enjoying the sunshine and the balmy breezes.  You'd think everyone would be walking around with a great, big grin on their face.  Nope.  And it's not just the tourists who are scowling.  The locals scowl, too.
When I was a child, whenever I got upset or angry my mother warned me to be careful because if the wind changed, I'd wear that angry, sulking expression all my life.  Obviously, a lot of these people got caught when the wind changed.
The most spectacular sights around here are the hotels.  This one -- the Westin Diplomat -- has a waterfall out front that's bigger than some of the ones I saw in Canada, and an entrance atrium that's about twenty stories high.
We've had a pleasant, relaxing time.  Unlike the tourists and the locals, the hotel staff are full of smiles. They seem fond of dogs, too.  But then, they're not New Yorkers.

Why is traveling with a dog like painting a house?

Why is traveling with a dog like painting a house? Because preparation is everything.
We're about to embark -- figuratively and literally -- upon our most challenging journey yet.  Tomorrow, we will board the Azamara Quest at the Port of Miami for a 12-night Colonial South and Caribbean cruise to Charleston, South Carolina, Haiti, the Dominican Republic and Grand Turks and Caicos. This will be interesting.

The first challenge is making sure Xingxing can come ashore to participate in the land tours that I'm taking in Haiti, the Dominican Republic and Grand Turks and Caicos, none of which have Service Dog legislation. The Dominican Republic simply asks for an International Veterinary Certificate dated within 30 days of arrival.  That's easy.
Turks and Caicos (part of the Bahamas) is more complicated.  Naturally.  They're British, and the Brits are sniffy about animals.  You have to fill out a form and mail it to the Department of Agriculture in Nassau, with $15 cash or a money order.  (No checks) I did that, back in September.
Haiti is tricky.  They also want an International Veterinary Certificate, but it has to be dated within 7 days of arrival.  We set sail on December 8th, and get to Haiti on December 15th.  Ooops!  As there is no veterinarian aboard the Azamara Quest, we'll have to get the International Veterinary Certificate in Charleston, South Carolina.  I find a veterinary practice that seems to be located reasonably close to where the ship will dock, contact them, make an appointment and arrange for Xingxing's veterinary records to be faxed to them.
By late October, I still haven't heard back from the Bahaman Department of Agriculture.  So I telephone.  Yes, they received my application.  It should be processed within a couple of days.  In mid-November, I call again.  Progress has been made. The application has been approved, but they can't fax it to me. They've mailed it, instead.  It eventually arrives, with my money order stapled to it.  It is definitely a permit, signed and sealed.  But why they didn't cash the money order?
 I don't know what this means, but decide to think positive.
The next step is getting permission for Xingxing to accompany me on the actual tours.  Being allowed to come ashore doesn't necessarily mean he'll be allowed to board the tour bus.  Luckily, Azamara Club Cruises has a special department to handle such matters -- all permissions granted!  So that was easy, but you can't just assume things will be easy.
D'you see what I mean about preparations?

Acoma: The Oldest Continuously Inhabited City in North America -- Bet You Didn't Know That!

Acoma is off the beaten track.  Not far.  And there's a casino, to tempt you -- if you are tempted by things like a casino.  But it definitely involves a detour, one that I might never have taken if Christopher hadn't wanted to visit Acoma.
At least, it's a paved road -- although I must say, it is not what you'd call a promising paved road.  In the distance, there was what looked like a huge something.  A rock, maybe.  But it was too big to be a rock.  It was a mesa.  It's 400 feet high, but from the ground, it looks higher.  You'd feel pretty safe, living in a village built on top of something like this. One wonders how the Spanish managed to conquer these people.
There's a Visitor Center at the base of the mesa.  And tours, because you can only visit Acoma on an accompanied tour.  The road that runs up the side of the mesa was built in 1940, for a John Wayne movie.  Today, it's used by the bus that takes visitors like us to the top.
"But I don't know how safe your dog will be", we were warned by the woman who sold us our tickets.  "There are dogs running around loose up there."
We zippered Xingxing into his stroller and boarded the bus.  Xingxing had never been zippered in, before but he didn't seem to mind.  He is a very laid back dog.  However, this is something to bear in mind if you are traveling with a dog and planning to visit pueblos -- a stroller comes in handy.
So there we were, on top of this mesa.  Adobe dwellings.  A few people still live here, although there's no electricity and no running water.
Our guide -- an Acoman -- told us that all the buildings still belonged to individuals.  He pointed out his own family home,  and told us that when his parents died, it would go to his youngest sister.  All the real estate is owned by the women, and it is always passed down to the youngest daughter -- the idea being that she's the one who will live the longest, and thus be able to care for other family members. His grandmother was sitting outside, selling slices of cherry pie. She gave him one.
Most of the tour was about Acoma history -- and in particular, how it was interrupted by the Spanish conquest and corrupted by Franciscan priests, who proscribed the Acoma religion and executed Acoma shamans.  From the vehemence of our guide, you would think all of this happened last year, instead of 500 years ago.  Acoma memory runs deep.
One of the things they are particularly touchy about is photographs.   There is a church (built by the Franciscans and no longer used for Christian worship) and an adjacent graveyard, in which people are buried in layers. There are four layers, but there won't be any more, because four is a sacred number to the Acoma.  No photographs are allowed of the church, or of the graveyard, or of any living person.  A hapless tourist who was trying to photograph birds flying above the church and accidentally captured a distant Acoman repairing his roof had all her photographs deleted by our guide.  As I say, he took all this very seriously.  This was his home. This was his life. These were his people.
There were no dogs.  It was very hot, and they were probably all inside.  Xingxing slept through the whole thing.
Acoma is one of those places where there are more ghosts than people.  At one point, when the tour group got a bit ahead of us and we paused in the shade, the ghosts were palpable.  You couldn't see them, but you could feel them.  And of course, the views from up here are spectacular.  Again, I found myself wondering how the Spanish ever managed to defeat these people in the first place.  Or why they'd even want to.
I also wonder how many more years it will be before the Acoma claim sovereignty once more, and again become masters of these lands they ruled for so many centuries.  
We left Acoma in a quiet, thoughtful state of mind and got as far as Holbrook, where we spent the night.  By noon the next day, we were back in Scottsdale.

Albuquerque: Another Museum You Must Not Miss

By the time we dragged ourselves away from Santa Fe and hit the road for Albuquerque, it was late afternoon.  But who cares what time it is when you're having fun?  And we all had a good time in Santa Fe.
The sky over New Mexico is a scenic attraction in itself.  Partly, it's because there aren't many towns -- you've just got miles and miles of flatlands and mesas and mountains, untouched by human hands.  The sky is a great big playground for the clouds and wind and some of the cloud formations are truly spectacular.  New Mexico isn't a wealthy state, but it is a magnificently beautiful state.
Our motel in Albuquerque was at the edge of Old Town.  We settled into our rooms, enjoyed the company of our trusty traveling companion Johnny Walker, gave Xingxing his dinner and then set out to see what we could of Old Town before it go too dark.
There was a mariachi band playing in the square, and we sat on a bench and enjoyed the music and the general ambience as the sun set.  There were still a few shops open, and Christopher has never met a shop he didn't like. The infinite variety of merchandise in New Mexico is amazing, and so are the usually quite modest prices.
We had dinner at a Mexican cantina, and walked back to our motel beneath a star-studded sky, Xingxing slumbering contentedly in his stroller.
The next day was Thursday, and we had to be back in Scottsdale by midday Friday.  And there was still Acoma to come. We took advantage of our Best Western Motel's generous, free hot breakfast (so we wouldn't have to waste tine eating lunch) and pondered our next move. The shops in Old Town wouldn't be open until 10 am.  So what else was there to do in Albuquerque, this early in the morning?

I was here some years ago and seemed to remember that the Albuquerque Museum of Art and History adjacent to Old Town had an interesting sculpture garden.  It does indeed. And a number of new pieces have been added since my last visit, all of them stunning. The architecture of the museum itself is worth a visit, even if it's not open.  And a sculpture garden is really an open-air museum.  Christopher
 was so impressed by the outside of the building that he wanted to see what it looked like inside, so he went up to the front door to peek in and guess what?  They were open!  Turns out, they open at 9 AM --an hour earlier than most museums.
We browsed the art and ended up in the Museum Shop -- well, where else?  It is an exceptionally tempting Museum Shop.  In recent years, Museum Shops have become a shopping genre of their own, many of the larger ones transmogrifying into sprawling upmarket boutiques.  Every now and then, you find a Museum Shop in a smaller place that is nonetheless amazing.  This was one of them.  If you're ever in Albuquerque -- even if you're not big on museums -- don't miss this museum shop.  (By the way and as long as we're on the subject, another really good museum shop is the one at the Tucson Museum of Art)
The plan was to proceed to Acoma -- where we would do a guided tour -- and then push on as far as we felt like going, perhaps all the way to Flagstaff.

Santa Fe: Art, Shopping, and a New Museum

We stayed in downtown Santa Fe, just two blocks from the green, shady, totally inviting central plaza. Say what you will about the Spanish, they definitely knew how to plan towns.
Xingxing loved Santa Fe -- after all those white sands and little green aliens, he was happy to be back where there were things like sidewalks, grass, trees and doggy smells.  Especially the latter. As everyone who is owned by a dog knows, finding just the right spot is vital when a dog needs to do what dogs gotta do.  And few dogs want to be the first to go where no dog has gone before.  This proved to be a bit of a problem at the White Sands Monument.
But we saw lots of dogs in Santa Fe, which is a very dog friendly town.  And where there are dogs there is an abundance of tempting spots -- in the course of a single block, Xingxing stopped and lifted his leg no less than twelve times, letting everyone know he had come to town.  Someone wrote that dogs write their history in urine.  Xingxing certainly does.
Santa Fe is actually a city, but it feels like a town because there are hardly any buildings over two stories high -- which is delightful, really.  The architecture is Southwest adobe, the colors sunburnt browns and pinks, the population easy-going and relaxed.  Artistic souls are drawn to the ambience, and the local art scene is purely incredible.  So are the shops.  You can buy things here you wouldn't see anywhere else in the world.
Shopping is fine with Xingxing, so long as he can ride in his stroller.  In fact, just about anything is fine with Xingxing when he's in his stroller.  So instead of spending all our money in the Dinosaur Shop, we left Christopher there haggling over a chunk of meteorite on a chain and headed for the newly-opened History Museum of New Mexico.
This three-dimensional, multi-media presentation is not to be missed -- suffice it to say, museums have come a long way since I was a girl!  Touch screens, video commentary, interactives and a simply breathtaking 17-minute film in the Manifest Destiny section combine to make a visit to this museum a feast for the ear, eye and mind.  From the talking petroglyphs to the Pueblo Revolt to the Harvey Girls to the "secret city" of Los Alamos -- what a trip!
My favorite was the room that featured a full-size covered wagon -- the kind the settlers used, coming West -- and a series of voice-overs taken from settlers' actual words.  One woman said, After weeks of travel, we arrive at a city of mud.  Everything is mud.  The streets are mud. The houses are mud. The walls are mud.  Everything is mud.  There is nothing here but mud.
She meant adobe, of course.  But you can sympathize.
We met up with Christopher and had lunch in a courtyard restaurant and bought stuff, and wandered around some more.  I found a bronze statue of a dancing Ganesh, something I have always wanted. I saw one once, years ago.  But it was expensive and I hesitated for several days and by the time I made up my mind to buy it and went back to the store, it was gone.  You see images of Ganesh standing on one leg, and sitting, but rarely dancing. Wouldn't you know I'd find it in Santa Fe? And before we left for Albuquerque, we went back to the Dinosaur Shop and I bought a Tibetan singing bowl.  I have also always wanted a Tibetan singing bowl.
And we had to get this shot of Xingxing and me in front of the skeleton of a prehistoric cave bear. I mean, how often do we get to pose with a cave bear?

So What Really Happened at Roswell on July 7 1947?

Over 60 years ago, something fell out of the sky and crashed on a sheep ranch near Roswell, New Mexico.  But was it a UFO manned by aliens?  Or was it just a weather balloon?
Lt. Walter Haut, a bombardier navigator stationed at Roswell Army Air Field and acting as PR officer wrote the first report about the incident, describing a "saucer" made of some sort of unknown metal.  The next day, General Roger Ramey pooh-poohed this version and told the media the saucer was really only a weather balloon.  But according to W. Glenn Dennis (who was working at the Ballard Funeral Home in Roswell) members of the military had been asking around trying to find youth-sized caskets.  And a friend who worked at the base hospital said he'd seen doctors examining something that was alive, but not human.
The military closed ranks, as only the military can.  For over 30 years, nothing more was heard about the matter.  But in 1980, "The Roswell Incident" by Charles Berlitz and William Moore appeared and the world has been fascinated ever since.
There was so much interest in Roswell and what did -- or did not -- happen there that Haut and Dennis had the idea of establishing a UFO Museum, which opened in 1991 and logged its one-millionth visitor ten years later.  About 150,000 people visit the UFO Museum every month, which is impressive, as Roswell isn't exactly on the beaten track.

The UFO Museum's exhibits include extensive information -- including statements from witnesses, copies of original newspaper reports, a radio announcement and documentation describing the subsequent cover-up -- as well as fascinating material about crop circles and alien abductions. There's also some "fun" stuff, like the flying saucer and animatronic aliens that flash blue lights and belch smoke every hour or so.  And sets from the Showtime Movie, "Roswell".  My personal favorite was the cartoon wall, featuring dozens of cartoons concerning Roswell.  One of them depicts a General asking another General, So why have we kept a weather balloon on a life support system for the past 60 years?
The evidence is pretty overwhelming.  There was a cover-up.  But why?  We're presented with a whole list of reasons.  The government was afraid there would be a panic.  The government was afraid it was all a Russian plot.  The government didn't want to offend people who believed in God.  None of these reasons are very convincing.  So what really happened?  We still don't know.  But as they say, The truth is out there.
Whether or not you believe in UFOs and alien abductions, the UFO Museum at Roswell is definitely worth a visit, even if it involves going miles out of your way.  It is fascinating, and it is fun. There is also an annual UFO Festival, held early in July.  That sounds like fun, too.  And there's quite a good selection of motels (most of them dog friendly) and restaurants in Roswell if you decide to stay over, which we did.
Xingxing toured the Museum in his stroller, and was unimpressed -- probably because there weren't any dogs involved.  If he could have asked a question it would probably have been something like, Why didn't they bring their dogs along with them?  But he cheered up enormously when we reached the gift shop and he was presented with a little green stuffed alien, which he chewed on happily as Christopher and I shopped for souvenirs.

White Sands National Monument

It's called White Sands National Monument, and Christopher expected little more than a statue.  (I don't know what Xingxing expected) But what we found was nothing less than  the largest gypsum sand desert in the entire world.
The white, gypsum sands really are white, spectacularly so. They are arranged in undulating dunes which are constantly on the move, traveling as  much as 38 feet in a single year.  The gypsum comes from the surrounding mountains.  It is leached out by the rain, and flows down the sides of the mountains to collect in pools, where it forms soft crystals as the pools dry out.  The crystals are light enough to be blown about by the wind, and when this happens, they break up into smaller and smaller particles, eventually forming fine, white sand.
People climb the dunes and slide down them and take photographs, but I suspect it wouldn't be all that difficult to get quite lost here, and quite quickly.  Once you're out of sight of the road, it all looks pretty much the same.  Because the dunes are continually moving, the road has to be plowed regularly.
Prevailing winds blow the sands across the flat basin and gradually, as the winds grow weaker, sand accumulates and grasses and other vegetation take root, forming a boundary of sorts. Animals live here -- mostly small, and mostly nocturnal.  We didn't see any of them.
Christopher climbed a dune to see what was on the other side -- more dunes -- but Xingxing and I were less adventurous, sticking to the boardwalk which has been constructed to give visitors a feeling of the desert without the risk of losing themselves in the white vastnesses.
Driving along past all these huge, white mounds of sand was a bit unworldly -- which I guess was a good preparation for our next stop: Roswell, and the International UFO Museum.

Xingxing Hits the Road Again

Our Australian friend Christopher recently paid us a visit.
While he was here, he said he'd like to visit Roswell, Santa Fe and Acoma, all of which are in New Mexico.  So last Saturday we hit the road. Although Xingxing has done one-day car trips -- to Mexico and to San Diego -- he has never actually done a road trip.  And sometimes, he does get car sick.  This is happening less and less as he gets older, but I truly didn't know how he'd handle having to get back into the car and travel for several hours at a stretch, day after day.  I also wondered how he'd feel about having someone else in the car with us, sitting in his seat. However, there was only one way to find out.
Our first day's drive was the longest, from Scottsdale to Las Cruces, New Mexico.  This is a good, solid six-hour drive at the best of times, about the same as amount of driving that it takes to get from here to San Diego. We got a late start and ended up stopping for lunch in Tucson, which made the trip even longer.  Xingxing didn't have lunch (he never does) but he did have a few nibbles of bread and butter, which he absolutely loves.  He also had a drink of water.
This -- I realized after the fact -- probably wasn't the greatest of ideas. But Xingxing was amazingly, incredibly good.  I'd put a little doggy bed in the back seat, and when he wasn't curled up in it he was sitting on Christopher's lap, having a cuddle.  Here in Arizona, it is against the law to drive with a dog sitting on your lap, so simultaneous driving and snuggling was a new experience for him.  He definitely liked it. AndChristopher is a dog person who quite enjoys dog kisses, so everyone was having fun.
Even so, that first day was a long drive.  At dusk, it began to drizzle.  I don't see very well at night, so Christopher took over the driving for the last stretch.  Coming into Las Cruces, there was roadwork, as well.  Really poorly lit roadwork. The last little bit off the exit ramp was like an obstacle course.
By the time we got to the motel it was two hours past Xingxing's usual dinner time -- and he'd missed his afternoon walk.  (It was also an hour later, because Arizona doesn't have Daylight Savings Time and New Mexico does -- but dogs don't have to worry about these human-made technicalities)
Xingxing was unfazed by any of it. He ate his dinner, drank some water, had his walk, did what dogs do, curled up in bed next to me and went happily off to sleep.

United Airlines: Hell in a Very Small Space

We'd booked First Class flights from Halifax to Newark, and then from Newark to Phoenix.
Several weeks before we left home, I got an email saying the flight from Halifax had been changed, and was now a tourist class flight.  I called United Airlines to find out what was going on, and spoke to a representative (who of course, did not possess a surname) who assured me that I would get a refund for the First Class flight I no longer had, and that I still had my bulkhead seat.
Not true.  None of it.
Xingxing and I were crammed into a space so small that if I put both of my feet on the floor in front of the seat there was no room for Xingxing.  There was barely room for me.  They knew I was traveling with a service dog -- suppose he'd been a Labrador?  Where would they have put him?  In an overhead locker?
The airplane wasn't full. I could have been given two adjacent seats -- but a young man (clearly a friend or relative of one of the snotty cabin attendants) carrying one of those huge backpacks -- no way that would fit in an overhead locker -- was given those two seats to himself.  He and his illegal backpack were given every consideration.  I was treated like a piece of dirt.  One of the cabin attendants did her best to step on Xingxing's tail every time she passed.  Xingxing was a really good sport.  Xingxing is always a good sport.
I'm not going to dwell on the Dantean horrors of Newark Airport, or the hostility and unhelpfulness of each and every United Airlines employee we encountered during our very long stay there.  United Airlines employees are not happy people, and they take it out on United Airlines customers.  
Hours and hours and hours later, we were finally in our First Class (but not bulkhead) seats on our United Airlines flight from Newark to Phoenix.  Did I want dinner?  Absolutely.  All that's left is pasta, I was told.  We go by priority.  The other passengers have priority, so they got first choice.  You get what's left.
I always thought a First Class ticket was a First Class ticket.  Silly me! But there is nothing on the United Airlines website explaining that there are different priorities of First Class service.  I didn't realize that I'd paid top dollar for a low priority First Class ticket.
United Airlines doesn't have a Vice President for Customer service.  Instead, they've got a Vice President for Customer Experience.  And he doesn't answer his mail.  He passes it on to underlings, who are as snotty and unhelpful as everyone else.
If you want a "customer experience" fly United Airlines.
As for me, one "customer experience" was enough to last a lifetime.  I will never fly United Airlines again.  If you're smart, you won't either.  Especially if you're traveling with a service dog!

Wet Rocks and an Amazing Work of Art

It's raining, now.
We have the same driver as yesterday.  His name is Mike, and today he's wearing a kilt.  On the way to Peggy's Cove, he tells us how lobster traps are constructed -- with two sections -- and other interesting things about lobsters.  Here, lobster is cheap and common.  Lobster is what you eat when you can't afford anything else.
By the time we get to Peggy's Cove, it is pouring.
Peggy's Cove is a straggle of little wooden houses scattered around a road that winds down to the waterfront where it ends at an enormous restaurant-cum-souvenir-shop surrounded by a parking lot.
Nobody actually knows why it is called Peggy's Cove, or who Peggy was, or even if there ever was a Peggy.
Unlike most of the surrounding area -- which was carved out by the retreating glaciers -- Peggy's Cove sits on a solid granite base, as does the lighthouse for which it is famous.  The red and white lighthouse, the massive granite cliffs and the beach below must be very picturesque when the sun is shining.  Mike tries valiantly to put a good slant on the rain, saying that it adds mystery and atmosphere to the scene.
Xingxing is intrigued by the rain.  He has never seen rain.  He keeps looking up at the sky, and trying to catch raindrops on his tongue.
There are half a dozen tour busses, and a large number of intrepid Japanese tourists with umbrellas swarming over the wet rocks that lead to the lighthouse and stopping every few steps to take photographs of one another.  There's a path down to the base of the cliffs, where there are tidal pools full of sea creatures.  But it's too wet and too crowded to tempt me.
Amazingly, there is absolutely nobody at William Degarthe's house, an unprepossessing wooden structure set down in front of a 100-foot long granite outcrop.  Degarthe was born in Finland, but came to Canada as a young man and became an important artist and sculptor.  He owned an advertising agency in Halifax, but spent summers here at Peggy's Cove.  When he was 70 years old, he decided to "do something" with the granite outcrop in back of his house.  His plan was to create a monument to Canadian fishermen and their wives and children.  Using hammers and chisels, he set to work.  Although he died before he could complete the work, its larger than life-size figures and depictions of fishermen at work and their families presents a poignant and incredibly moving picture of life here at the edge of the sea.  Under Degarthe's hands, the granite comes to life.  I find it much more impressive than the lighthouse.
When you've seen one lighthouse, you've more or less seen them all.  But Degarthe's sculpted masterpiece is utterly unique.  I linger for quite a while before making my way down the road to the restaurant and parking lot.
The time has gone so quickly.  I can't believe this is our last day!

The Halifax Explosion

Our last day in Halifax, and it's cool and overcast.  We've got one, last tour this afternoon.  But our morning is free, so we head for the waterfront and the Maritime Museum.
This is a fascinating museum.  Anchors and mastheads and models -- I was intrigued by the equipment they used to step the masts.  One nice touch is that the museum floors are made of wood, and the wood creaks underfoot, as if you're walking on the deck of a ship.  Xingxing was happy to ride in his stroller, and we ambled happily through the exhibits, ropes as thick as my legs (and that's saying something!) and wonderful, hand-carved bowsprits.
Everyone knows about the Titanic -- although I didn't realize the men who rescued the survivors and brought back the bodies of those who didn't survive for burial sailed out of Halifax harbor.  Or that it was the Halifax cemetery where they were laid to rest that inspired James Cameron's film.  The Maritime Museum features a huge display about the Titanic.  But we didn't get to see it because we got waylaid by the Halifax Explosion.
I have to admit, I have never heard of the Halifax Explosion.  Have you?
It happened in December, 1917.  And it was the largest, man-made explosion to occur on the face of the earth until the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, nearly 30 years later.  Large portions of the city of Halifax were totally wiped out, and thousands died in the conflagration.  It was one of the great disasters of the twentieth century -- and I'd never heard a word about it.  But when I went to school, we mostly studied American history and European history.  I don't recall ever hearing much about Canada. We knew it was there, but that was about it.

It was during the first World War. Halifax harbor was where the convoys gathered to set out across the Atlantic. What happened was that two ships collided in the narrowest part of the harbor.  One of them was a munitions ship, heavily loaded with explosives and waiting to join a convoy across the Atlantic. The other was a merchant ship.  When the ships collided, the crew of the munitions ship clambered into life boats and rowed furiously for Dartmouth, the settlement across the harbor from Halifax.  They were terrified, because they knew what was about to happen.
The ships caught fire, and burned spectacularly.  It was early morning -- people were going to work, kids were going to school.  Half of Halifax ran down to the waterfront to gape at the spectacle.  The two burning ships drifted slowly towards the Halifax shore. And then the munitions ship exploded.
It was as if an earthquake had hit the city.  The shock wave knocked down row upon row of the little wooden houses that lined the shore and fires from stoves and fireplaces swept through the wreckage.  It was total, utter disaster.  The desperate city officials sent out a plea for help and one of the first respondents was the city of Boston, which sent a trainload of supplies and personnel, includig doctors and nurses.  And every Christmas -- to this day -- the city of Halifax presents Boston with a huge Christmas tree, a token of the city's gratitude and appreciation.
By the time we've worked our way through the series of rooms documenting the explosion and its aftermath -- including recorded accounts from the survivors -- it's time for lunch.  We find a waterfront restaurant -- Murphy's -- and I decide I've had enough lobster, so I order a Fisherman's Platter.  It is the best Fisherman's Platter I have ever eaten anywhere, ever in my whole life.  Fish doesn't turn Xingxing on, but he enjoys the bread and butter.
Now, it's time for our tour to Peggy's Cove.