View from our room Sol Melia Resort aka Ivana's side

Our last day was spent lounging by the pool and saying goodbye to Ulysses the towel guy. He was such an important part of our trip I nominated him as the best employee on the resort. I gave honorable mention to Hernando, the shuttle guy, and Daniel, the desk clerk.  Read More→

La Perla, the tarnished pearl of San Juan, aerial view

Dateline: Friday, July 15, 2011, Old San Juan PR– (Daughter)Stephanie McMann at the wheel–(Son) Mike Massey navigator

Finally, we were going to see Old San Juan, at least part of us. The Rick Cooglers had taken off in exploration of underground caverns, and the Billy Cooglers, relaxed by the pool. My son-in-law Clay stayed behind nursing his back after a day on horseback.

The remnant army of Nana (that’s me), Stephen, Joy, and Faith McMann, Stephanie and Mike set out to explore the old forts of San Juan. Nelson, my Puerto Rican PT, had given me warnings about where not to park and the direction to walk. Nelson had been forbidden as a child to ever enter the neighborhood of La Perla (English:the pearl). Read More→

Since my family comes from a long line of big eaters, food was a major subject on our Puerto Rico Trip. When I go on a trip. I don’t want to eat at KFC or Burger King unless I’m in a huge rush.  We did eat at many of Puerto Rico’s ‘food thingies’ as I mentioned in my first post, see (The Jeweled Isle). Most of the food looked American, but with a different flavor.  I’ve never liked just to eat a raw banana, the glob nature of it sticks in my throat. But I do love food that’s made from bananas: banana nut bread, banana popsicles, and smooth banana pudding, no globs!  I did eat one Puerto Rican banana, they are small and cute. Read More→

Dateline: March 15, 2011 – Salem, SC– Thumbing through the RCI Catalog on my bed

“Hmmm, we want to fly or sail into San Juan, since we can’t walk.  Looking at a map frame of the island, there’s a group of resorts in the Carolina sector of the island. ”

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Looking toward the El Morro Lighthouse from Cementario de San Juan

After nearly five months of planning, our family trip to Puerto Rico was becoming a reality. The sweat and bother of packing, waiting in a security line, and no airline food service, was soon to be a memory.

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The last leg of our great adventure took us to Saint John, New Brunswick, and Halifax, Nova Scotia. I felt like a celebrity entering the Port of Saint John. Ambassadors from the city presented  flowers to the ladies and lapel pins to the men. A congenial corps of volunteers directed us to the gateway of a clean and green city. Read More→

Our next October cruise stop was Bar Harbor, Maine. I love shopping for that perfect adventure when the ship ports for the day. When we pulled in to Bar Harbor I had a choice between a tour of  Acadia National Park or whale watching.   My adventure gene was calling. Read More→

“Sit down everybody, you’re rockin’ the boat!”  I yelled as I tried to walk through the corridors of our large cruise liner.  Maybe, if everyone else in the hallway sat down, I’d be able to walk without falling. Read More→

It had been forty-one years since our last reunion. Her face showed lines I didn’t remember. Rain and wind seized the sunlight as we traveled in her direction. The last time I had seen her, my dad was with me. Now I was a grandmother. She had seen tragedy but stood regal.

We left the boat and dashed into the coffee shop. My husband, Bill, chose to let me visit her alone. Bill had worked eighteen years in “the city” as he called it, and enjoyed watching me be the tourist. The wind threatened to steal the Golden Tiger baseball cap he had earned at his Clemson University class reunion. Clutching my umbrella and camera I hurried to her side.

The wind turned my umbrella inside out as I held it in one hand and took her picture with the other. Her cheeks were streaked with what appeared to be black tears.

This was Miss Liberty; if she could talk what tales she could tell. The faces of the hopeful as they approached Ellis Island, tranquil sunsets, parades of tourists, renovations, world championships, and the horror of the charred ruins of the World Trade Center.

I thought of how much my dad enjoyed our visits to New York when I was a child. It was a different New York then; and now many are afraid to visit America’s city. The glare of Times Square hasn’t changed; just the signs. The sidewalks are still shellacked with humanity. Restaurants still offer cuisine beyond expectations. Bill and I thrilled to the Broadway hit, “Movin’ Out,” a tapestry of Billy Joel’s music trimmed with the choreography of Twyla Tharp.

Names written in neon brought back cherished memories:  my mother in yellow chiffon dancing with my dad in the Rainbow Room; my sister’s exasperated face as I emulated the high kicks of the Rockettes on the sidewalk outside of Radio City Music Hall; our family’s excitement as my sister competed for a spot on “The Price is Right” within NBC Studios.

At sunset we took our place to sail toward New England, away from the upraised torch of Miss Liberty. The crowd pressed me into the ship’s railing as I promised Her Majesty my return.

Our Nova Scotia cruise was three years in the making, and our plans were in place.  We arrived at Greenville-Spartanburg Airport far ahead of our departure time. There were four of us, to be joined by others for a cruise to New England and Canada. Our airline tickets said a resounding NO to the column listing in-flight meals. The pilot tried to prepare one as the plane taxied. Read More→