We signed up for everything! Tall Ship tours. Cocktail parties. Captain’s dinners. Day sails. It is something Michael has been looking forward to over four months.

We both wake early, but not because I need to. The Tall Ships Festival doesn’t open till 10:00 a.m. However, Michael needs to feed the parking lot meter at 6 a.m. The meter only allows you a 24 hour day—even though it offers options of more than one, it reneges on its promise when you are ready to feed it your credit card. And, each day ends at the obscene hour of 6 a.m. Who do we complain to? No one I guess. We’ve had worse problems. And this town, in the middle of hurricane alley, has more worries than sleep-deprived tourists.

Since the festival is scheduled to open hours after feeding the meter, Michael fixes breakfast and feeds us. We are in no hurry. The only thing we are sure of is that we do not want to be early. Standing in line to stand in line is not our thing, but still, even though we dawdle and delay—to the point that we sit on a bench on the Strand and people watch— we stand in line.

The Tall Ships Festival

There are four tall ships to tour and two designated for day sails.  Our day sail is scheduled for Sunday.  I really want to tour the Oosterschelde from the Netherlands after seeing it fly over the water yesterday, but the line looks hours long—already!  We choose the lovely Elissa, which we have toured before, tip to toe and top to bottom; not nautical lingo I know, but good enough for me. They treat touring hordes the way we should all treat our wardrobes. If someone new is waiting to board, someone already on board has to leave. A life lesson, and—a wait. We are only second in line.

Today we are not allowed to go anywhere but around the deck in an oblong loop, which is OK and understandable.  It is the tall part I like anyway. Those towering masts with their web of lines that look like a tangled mess but are not. We dawdle, because that is our thing, allowing oodles of people to go in front of us while we stand at the rails and look out toward the bay. From here we can also see the other ships, and the other very long lines that wrap around and around and are NOT anything close to single file. The Festival website has a Q & A section that states the wait in line to see each ship could be from minutes to hours, depending on the time of day. The crowds.  Etc.

Michael looks at me and says, “Why don’t we just walk around the docks and look at the ships from below.”

How did I get so lucky?

The Olympia Restaurant has a bar setup on the edge of their deck, facing the ships. A Bloody Mary, a chair, a great view, sounds like the best way to while away the hours. But—sitting here, seeing all of this luscious seafood piled high I am wishing I were just a tiny bit hungry.

“We shouldn’t have eaten breakfast,” I say. And probably we shouldn’t have been drinking tall Bloody Mary’s in the middle of the day. Much later, we head for our loft apartment and a nap before the evenings Salute to Sunset Cocktail Party.

Salute to Sunset Cocktail Party

The festival is winding down as sunset nears and we arrive a bare five minutes early for the party, hoping will be no line.  There is a line. But the best thing is that we can tour two of the boats without waiting. The wine and the beer and the heavy hors d’oeuvres are secondary. We hurry aboard the Oosterschelde before everyone else gets the same idea.

Sailing on a windjammer cruise off the coast of Maine several years ago, the 164 foot long Oosterschelde looks twice as big. I think she probably is—the dining area huge! They even have a piano in the main salon. This all seems like a major party and an extremely good time to me.

Back amidst the party goers the music blasts and the wine flows. Michael keeps us fed by visiting the hors d’oeuvre table and loading a plate with crab balls, shrimp cocktail and the tenderest beef kabobs I have ever eaten. And thanks to the whims of Texas weather, tonight the  sunset is a beautiful blurry blue.

The Captain’s Table Dinner

Ah, The Captain’s Plank Dinner, finally it is here! But it wasn’t supposed to be 50 degree with winds blowing the palm trees to bits. But it is. Scheduled to be outside, I ignore the outfit I originally chose to wear, and pull out two pairs of slacks, three tops, a bit of jewelry and a beautiful colorful wool wrap from India. I mix and match, trying to decide which combination is best. It’s cold. Warmth takes precedence. It’s windy. We are going to walk to the Seaport museum.  The best laid plans…

Arriving before the appointed time we are checked in and instructed to climb the stairs for cocktails and hors d’oeuvres.  On our way up, I bump into my friend who is on her way down.  We decide the most judicious thing to do is find seating at the banquet table that snakes  around the museum hallway in a never-ending curve. Choosing four seats we stop in our tracks as Becky exclaims, “There is a fish in my bowl.” We pull out our phones and start snapping pictures.

The dinner is a fund-raiser for the Tall Ship Elissa, and as with all fundraisers there is an auction. I’d love to bid on the barbecue for 30 aboard the Elissa, but the chances of me getting 28 of my friends to drive four hours for barbecue probably won’t happen. For just this moment, I wish I lived here.

With dinner history we have the opportunity to board another tall ship. Becky says, “We have to do it.  We’ll be sorry if we don’t.” I’m not really convinced. the palms trees have been whipping and swaying, bending with the wind for the last hour and a half. However, I don’t want to be labeled a party pooper so I wrap my shawl tightly around me and head out the door.

Once on board I look up and am amazed once again at the tangle of lines above me. It is a beautiful web–gossamer in the fading light. I take a picture. It doesn’t capture the scene. Becky looks at my phone and says, ” Try again.” I do.  And again. Failing miserably each time.  You just have to be here.

 

 

 

 

Sail Away on the When & If

“When the war is over, and If I live through it, Bea and I are going to sail her around the world.” – General George S. Patton

The instructions aren’t totally clear and apparently we turn too soon. After inspecting several nooks in the TAMUG parking lot—the ocean-oriented branch campus of Texas A&M University on Pelican Island—and turning many corners Michael is desperate enough o ask someone, “How do we get to the Tall Ships Sail Away?”

We go back the way we came, turning right onto the main road. The sign is several yards ahead telling us to go straight. We go straight. Then we turn. Drive awhile. Ask again. We park as close to the pay station as possible.

“You need to walk fast Charlotte.”

On foot, we once again request directions—we’re almost late. “Go straight, then turn,” we are told.

Apparently we turn too soon—again. As I proudly give my electronic tickets to the attendants to scan we are told, “This ticket is for the Sail Away. You are in the water taxi line.”

We retrace our steps. Surely they won’t leave without us. They don’t. We aren’t even the last ones to board.

We leave the dock. The sails are set. I am thankful for the light breeze rather than the high winds of yesterday. Sitting on board the When and If, the sail boat built for General George S. Patton and commissioned in 1938 to be designed by one of America’s greatest designers and built by F.F Pendleton of Wiscasset, Maine in 1939—I’m cold. My toes are cold. My nose is cold. My fingers are cold. If I concentrate I can find other parts of me that are cold. Patton was probably colder in the Battle of the Bulge. I man-up.

Michael is happy to be on board a boat again. Sailing again. It’s been awhile. And I’m happy to be with him. “You can go down below if you are cold,” he tells me.  There is not a chance in the world that I will do this. Instead I look around and enjoy the moment.

 

There are two mammoth cruise ships in the channel and those on board lean across the railing taking pictures of us while I take a picture of them. We sail close to the Tall Ships where long lines still wind around the docks as patient individuals wait to board and explore. The When and If crew shoots off a miniature cannon to salute the historic sailing vessels. We aim our cameras at the tall ships. Those aboard, aim their cameras at us.  Is this a case of the grass always looks greener…?

Too soon the sails are struck, the motor catches and rumbles, we head for the dock. Tethered, we are instructed to step ashore. Landlubbers once again.

Michael looks at me and says, “It was a good weekend.”