Sunday, May 26.

I dejectedly headed back to the cabin after failing to find a good party, stopping briefly to gaze at the full moon rising above the broad wake of the Sea Princess.

Breakfast was eggs Florentine and lox and bagels washed down with a tall, tangy, iced cranberry juice. Afterwards, I had alternating soaks in the hot and wet saunas.

I saw a whale blow water from a distance, just like in those nature documentaries. It was fascinating.

Today we were at sea all day long on our way to Juneau, Alaska’s Capitol. It was a bit overcast and on the cool side.

As anybody who reads “The Wall Street Journal” knows, the British Princess Line is positioning itself for a buyout by either Carnival or Royal Caribbean, two huge cruise ship companies.

Even though Royal Caribbean recently bought up the Celebrity line, Carnival still has more ships than any other cruise company. If Carnival buys the Princess, they will have a virtual monopoly, stifling competition and owning too much of the market share.

This ship, “The Sea Princess,” has the best cabins I have ever encountered. The attention to detail is impressive, and everything works.

The shower is similar to the one in Mom’s bathroom at her new handicap-accessible apartment. There is a large central drain on the spacious tile floor that channels every drop of water. Furthermore, there is nothing to trip over.

The showerhead is removable, allowing one to direct the flow of water. And the water temperature and pressure controls are simple to operate and deliver sufficient supplies of purified, soft water.

The bathroom in our stateroom is enormous and has an excellent ventilation system. A pleasant shade of pink tile covers the floor and walls. Sink and counter space is generous, and the toilet works well.

The bedroom (i.e., everything other than our bathroom) is big enough for the two of us and has plenty of storage space and niches for our clothes, gadgets, and whatnot. Our mattresses seem firm, yet comfy, not lumpy like a sack of potatoes.

Last night I enjoyed a first-run movie called “Ali” (about Mohammad Ali) shown on the big screen in one of the auditoriums. It had one of the sharpest video projection systems I have ever seen.

That movie was excellent, and I hope to watch it with Jennifer someday. I’m sure she will find it interesting, especially after her recent spiritual encounter with the Dervishes.

Unfortunately, this ship does not place fresh towels by the poolside. Every cabin has two beach towels, and passengers are expected to keep track of them. A bill for missing towels will appear at journey's end.

Thankfully, I discovered that the spa stocks the same towel in their locker room, so I can trade my wet pool towel for a dry one when it gets wet.

Canned music accompanied this evening's show. This ship appears to have limited live music, except for a string quartet that seems to pop up every here and there. Our dancers poured their hearts and souls into each show, but they could not possibly compare with the performers on mega ships.

The spotlights shone in the audience’s eyes on occasion and the props were a bit on the rough side, but overall, the show was well-received by their captive audience. Only a couple of people walked out before it was over.

The cruise director delivered a first-class performance as master of ceremonies. He is a well-seasoned, old-school English comedian who did a great job of warming up the audience and introducing the evening's entertainers.

The cruise director told us about how he came across a drunk female passenger who was looking for her cabin. He walked the entire length of the ship with her until she turned to him and said, “You’re passionate.”

The cruise director blushed and walked the passenger down the other side of the ship.

Once again, she turned to him, urgently and said: “you’re passionate!”

The cruise director was embarrassed and exasperated by now and turned to the lady and said, “How can you say that? We just met!”

They walked up and down the ship one more time, and once again, she turns to him with that pretty little face of hers and says, “You’re passionate.”

The cruise turned to the lady and said, “Listen, I've had a big day. I’m tired, and I don’t have time for games. Just tell me, OK, where is your cabin?”

“I told you already,” she said in tears, “You’re passing it!”

10:30 p.m. and it’s still light outside. Tonight at 2 a.m. we turn the clocks back one hour. In the next room, I hear the passengers singing their favorite songs to a Karaoke machine. It's more like painful bellowing: Very similar to the sound of troubled sea lions.

Monday, May 27. 9:45 p.m.
After breakfast (lox and bagels, and French toast with a crunchy cornflake crust on the side) we threw a load into the washing machine.

I was so relieved to see that Sea Princess has passenger washers and dryers, especially after my long railroad trip. I smelled like a homeless person when I got on board, and it was nice to slip on clean everyday clothes, minus the sweat and dirt.

As I was going through my usual routine in the tubs, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, majestic, green, snow-capped mountains cloaked with clouds and mist.

I then settled myself in a teak lounge chair on the promenade deck. Itucked myself under the covers of my green fleece blanket and felt as snug as a bug in a rug.

After lunch, the ship docked in the cozy harbor of Juneau, siding up to the pier very, very carefully with the assistance of an able tug boat. Then Mom and I ventured into the city and checked out the main street, first one side and then the other in search of rare and inexpensive artifacts.

After extensive searching, Mother settled on a beautiful hematite (“Alaskan Gold") bracelet and equally lovely earrings. I bought all sorts of hazarai, including three 8” hematite necklaces, one of which to replace a broken chain I bought for Mom in Grand Cayman during our Carribean cruise.

I also bought beer bottle openers crafted from copper to look like totem poles, ($2.99 each, one for the dean and one for the accountant), three tee shirts (3 for $10) and three Russian eggs with five nesting dolls($5 each).

Mom got in a lot of walking and complained some, but I figured our little hike was good for her and would work off the Drambuie Pie from the night before.

I sit writing these words as the ship prepares to leave the dock. I suppose I could have joined up with any number of cool tours but, to be honest, I truly enjoyed just hanging out with Mom and shopping till we dropped.

Friday, May 28. 3:30 p.m. Glacier Bay is a US National Park that maintains exceptionally tight control over access to its pristine wilderness. The bay has unique weather patterns that have been changing all day long.

The morning mist has lifted, and the sun is peaking through the clouds. Earlier it was damp and overcast. However, when we got to the day’s main attraction, the Margerie Glacier, conditions could not have been more perfect.

Our ship came to a dead stop at a safe distance from the glacier. You did not have to be a geologist to be fascinated by its dazzling colours, fissures, groans and thundering noises as great sheets of ice calved from its mother to become infant icebergs at its base.

The sky was sufficiently overcast to allow the glacial ice an opportunity to give off its renowned cobalt blue, a divinely iridescent hue impossible to capture on a canvas or photographic plate. But Lord knows, everybody, including myself, was busy taking dozens of pictures.

Ice is continually breaking off. Occasionally one hears a loud crack followed by the shattering of a skyscraper-sized piece of the glacier’s face.

Later we were treated to a talk by a park ranger who had come aboard to help us divine the area’s mysteries. She tells us that the glacier has a natural plumbing system, and we watch in wonder as a massive stream of water pours from a fissure at its base.

Now I gaze out the window of the sheltered, mahogany library and gaze upon distant mountains illuminated by a sun that never seems to set; I still find myself awestruck by the beauty of this region.

9:15 p.m. I’ve eaten frog legs, rabbit and duck on this cruise, and they all seem to taste like chicken. There's not much to write home about really. I’ve been eating heartily, however, and storing up fat like an Alaskan grizzly preparing for hibernation.

The ship's atrium, it's a focal point, often has a live string quartet serenading passengers throughout the day, something I have not seen on other lines, except on rare occasions. And, in all fairness, the Sea Princess does have a band, but it did not play for stage productions. It backed Mr. Billy Highgate in the Vista Lounge instead.

Jeff Petersen performed his comedy and magic to a full house this evening. By far, the most impressive thing he did was quote any phrase from a page, paragraph, and sentence of War and Peace selected at random by an audience member. Jeff had memorized the entire book!

He also memorized all the US and Canadian zip codes. Jeff Petersen was no David Copperfield, but he had us all captivated with his unique and entertaining brand of magic.

Skagway. Wednesday, May 29. 3 p.m.
I spent the morning hiking in Skagway's steep foothills and got lost. I eventually found the trail. Upon my return to this tourist town, I visited The Skagway Brewing Co. and ordered a pint of brown ale for $4.

When I returned to the ship, I put on my bathing suit and slipped in the hot tub next to a 12-year-old Nebraskan who had attended Jeff Petersen's performance the night before.

Young Billy patiently explained to me that the magician probably was wirelessly-connected to a short wave radio device and a person on the other end who was looking up zip codes from a master directory (as well as passages from War and Peace) and relaying them through his earphone during the performance.

This explanation does not explain how he was able to figure out the serial number on a dollar bill in a sealed envelope supplied by a random audience member.

I did not discuss the matter with the handsome boy, however. Unlike my young friend, I prefer to believe in magic and am more than willing to suspend my disbelief.

Thursday, May 30. Sitka!
Mom and I tendered to the shore of Sitka in one of the Sea Princess' large life rafts.

Sitka turned out to be a sleepy little town. Not much going on and even the local bar did not have any Alaskan Beer on tap. We walked down the main street, checked out the hazarai, and left.

On the way back I sat on an upper deck, the wind whistling through my hair. A perfect Sitka day, the sun breaking through the clouds at a mild 65 degrees F.

Twilight was particularly beautiful, illuminating the landscape with lovely silhouettes against a magnificent sunset. And when darkness fell, the big dipper shone brightly in the sky. We didn’t do much really except prepare for our departure and watch “A Beautiful Mind” in the auditorium, a film that reduced Mother to tears.

Later, it took 742 glasses to create a pyramid of champagne glasses.

The ship was still rocking when the head waiter finished the crystal palace of champagne glasses. That's when I noticed what appeared to be an olive at the bottom of each glass. Perhaps that olive was a weight that kept the glass structure from falling.

When the headwaiter completed his glass tower, we cheered, and our empty glasses were topped off with free champagne. The ship’s photographer appeared, and anybody could have their picture taken beside the glass monolith.

Here's how they set up the shot: The headwaiter stands by your side, pourschampagne into your glass, and holds you very tight to keep you from crashing into his creation. He has the goofiest look on his face and pretendsto be intoxicated. But he isn’t.

He has probably done this hundred of times. I could not resist having my picture taken but was disappointed with the results when I checked them out at the gallery.

9:30 p.m. Rough seas and barf bags scattered throughout the ship. Mother succumbed to seasickness at precisely 5:45 p.m. She was dressed to kill in her formal black gown, earrings, and fancy shoes. It was formal night, and she wanted so badly to attend dinner, be photographed and attend the show. When I saw her with her head between her legs, I knew thing were getting serious.

Caesar, our steward, had absolutely no doubt it was seasickness, so he ordered broth, crackers, and stomach tamer tea. I helped Mom undress and get into bed. Better she goes to bed than collapses in the dining room. She looked exactly the way I look when I have had way too much to drink.

Mom was not at all interested in the soup or the tea. I strategically placed a garbage can by her bed and then, knowing I had done everything I could do, made my way to the dining room, dressed in my fanciest duds.

It seemed as though there were more than a few empty seats in the dining room, so I gathered that others shared Mother’s predicament. The ship was rocking and rolling in a somewhat nauseating pattern, so I, on the occasion of the most elegant, most elaborate dinner of the entire cruise, decided to moderate my consumption of food.

“On all other nights,” as we are fond of saying at the Passover Seder, I would have ordered two entrees, especially when the main course was LOBSTER.

But on this night (even though I had made elaborate plans to get, by hook or by crook, two or more lobsters)I instead carefully cut up my one lobster and savored every bite. The lovely, demure Hungarian assistant waitress removed the lobster meat from its shell very skillfully.

The waiters have some astounding serving techniques up their sleeves. The night before, the head waiter, a Filipino, cut the baked Alaska using only two dull table knives.

We're talking about a humungous flaming mass of ice cream and sugar frosting, and he didn’t lose a crumb or get any icing on his fingers.

And the waiter did all of this in meticulous dress clothes while announcing the main courses. His accent was thick, but he pronounced every word with enthusiasm, throwing in the word “excellent” at every opportunity.

The Hungarian waitress was so wonderfully sweet. I loved the way she asked if I wanted more coffee, and if I was enjoying my meal. The service on Princess Line is outstanding.

The lobster was fabulous, far outshining everything else I have eaten on the cruise thus far. Brilliantly prepared, every morsel was an absolute delight. And very satisfying as well, a meal in itself.

As much as my brain is trained to get seconds, thirds and fourths, my stomach said “enough.” I was satisfied. Anything more would have been utter greed and gluttony.

And so I finished the meal with an ice cream sundae, something I rarely have: Vanilla ice cream with caramel topping and whipped cream. The waiter did not even write our orders down; he memorizes them, not like the trickster magician. What on earth did I ever do to be the recipient of such outstanding service?

After dinner I enjoyed listening to the Sea Princess Orchestra and a vocalist. He sang an old Dean Martin favorite, “You ain’t nobody until somebody loves you.” How true. If there is anything on earth worth striving for, it is love. That’s the only thing that matters.

Then I decided to pose for a photographer in front of a backdrop of the Titanic staircase. I was sad Mother was not with me, but I just had to have this portrait made, being so well dressed, preened and all.

I guess it was a pretty pathetic and vain thing to do, but I have a long history of doing such things (like the time I signed my high school yearbook because nobody else seemed to want to).

The dancing began after the fuss over the glass pyramid had died down. They did the conga line, the macarena, and the electric slide, but I only watched until the disc jockey played "YMCA," and then I joined in.

A very conservative young lady from Poland, a crew member, invited me to dance a few songs. She was followed by a wild California girl from the stage show.

I had a great time, and I danced until I was drenched in with sweat and it was time to hit the sack.

By morning Mother had sufficiently recovered from her bout of seasickness. After getting some sleep, she was very chirpy with a big appetite to boot.

We said our goodbyes to our dining companions with a bit of melancholy during the buffet on the Lido deck.

Bob Puke, a retired railroad man with 40 years experience gave Mom and me a device he made in his woodshop for pulling a hot cookie tray out of the oven and pushing it back in. It was an ingenious, meticulously carved tool that could only come out of the mind of a "foamer."

Disembarking from the ship went smoothly because Mom wisely used her handicapped status to get to the front of the line. Then a chartered bus collected Mom's things and drove her to the airport.

I wasn't quite ready to leave town yet.

I decided to board a Sea Bus and headed across Burrand Inlet. The Sea Bus is fully automated, and I get to ride on this vessel and the sky bus for only $2 Canadian, good for 90 minutes.

I am impressed with this very user-friendly transportation system. The maps give you an idea of which sights are worth seeing, and there’s always a bus, train or ferry handy to make the journey. People have been friendly and helpful although some almost rejoice in my utter helplessness.

Kudos to the train station and their luggage lockers for storing all my stuff while I explore the city: $2 Canadian per locker.

Unfortunately, it has a very flimsy lock. I hope my stuff is still there when I return, but I’m not obsessing. Que sera sera.

I do the best I can to see and do everything, but shlepping my shit around is just not going to happen. Sometimes one must just place their faith in the hands of a higher power. My big problem is that I test the locks too many times before I move on. I could have already caught three buses if I hadn’t dilly-dallied so much.

This marks the end of the THIRTY-FOURTH installment of "The Last Hoorah." If you'd like to start from the beginning, then please click this page.

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