Ten-Year Old Travelers

When I was ten years old my mother announced that she and I were going to California to visit cousins. We lived on a prairie farm in Manitoba and the farthest I’d ever travelled was to Winnipeg, thirty miles north on Highway 75. My parents never took vacations so how this came about was a mystery then and remains so to this day.

We caught a passenger train on the platform in Morris, a town of 1300, and off we went. I had never seen a black person before, and the porters and waiters in the dining room were black men wearing white jackets. Everything was new – the train, the cities it stopped in, the scenery, the passengers, and at our destination, the relatives.

Mother had a slew of California cousins. We stayed in a sprawling old home in Oakland, a camp in the redwoods, and a beach house in Los Angeles. There I tasted olives for the first time and devoured 16 before Mother noticed the collection of pits on my bread-and-butter plate.

I suspect it was this experience that gave me the idea of taking my grandchildren on a special trip. When Nikola, the first- born, turned 10 my husband and I took her to England. My father was from Yorkshire; he had three sisters who between them produced five children, who in turn went forth and multiplied, so Nikola got to meet 26 relatives on the trip.

“Are they real cousins?” she asked, incredulous. “You bet,” I replied, proud that I could produce so many exotic family members to compete with her mother’s Chilean tribe.

This past year, in 2024, her twin sisters, Erika and Martina, celebrated their tenth birthday. My life has changed since the English adventure. I’m 77 now and not as inclined to travel, and my husband is still recovering from Guillain-Barre Syndrome and unable to accompany me. What kind of adventure was possible for a grandmother my age with a couple of hyperactive 10 year olds?

And then it came to me – a cruise. I’m not a cruiser by nature. I don’t particularly like the ocean or ships, but it just seemed right. No airports to navigate or flights to catch, no hotels to book, and no restaurants to choose.

Alaska was not a lifelong dream of mine, only a matter of convenience. The twins live in British Columbia, and Alaskan cruises depart from Vancouver every week. I chose Royal Caribbean’s Brilliance of the Seas, a ship with a children’s program called Young Adventurers, so I wouldn’t have to entertain the kids. I ruled out Disney because I refuse to interact with Minnie, Mickey or Goofy.

I’m an anxious traveler, and there was plenty to worry about. What documentation did I need to get the children out of Canada and into the USA? Would we all fall ill with COVID? How would we survive quarantined in a small cabin together if we did? Can one matriarch keep track of two children on board a ship that holds over 2500 passengers? I invited their older sister along as my first mate. She could chase them up and down the decks and keep them from falling overboard. “Nikola, let’s be clear. This is not a holiday for you, you are my helper.”

I flew to Victoria a few days before we sailed to make sure they packed correctly. I even printed off a list of what kids need to take on an Alaskan cruise. To my surprise, they had purchased black jumpsuits for formal night, which forced me to hit Value Village in search of a suitable dress for myself. When I modeled it that evening for the family, my son said: “Are you looking for a replacement for Paul?” “Of course not. Why would you say such a thing?” “It’s sort of sexy, that’s all.” I had a similar reaction to Nikola’s mini dress. “I don’t think you should walk around the ship at night wearing that,” I said. “Oh, Grandma, I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll change into sweats right after dinner.”

I filled out the requisite paperwork and got it notarized. Nikola was up island celebrating her graduation from high school. Would she get back in time to catch the ferry with us? I worried about this and much more. Somehow, we managed to stuff sufficient clothing into our carry-ons, catch the ferry, book an Uber to get us to the hotel, find a Chinese restaurant for Saturday night dinner, and book another Uber to get us to the port on time in the morning.

Nobody cared if I was traveling with children with different surnames from mine, who I might very well be kidnapping. We boarded quickly in spite of Erika’s know-it-all little friend who had warned her it would take two hours standing in line. Once on board, I took care of all the details immediately including registration for the Young Adventurers Program (in case it filled up) and a reservation in the dining room for the 7:00 p.m. sitting.

Suddenly it struck me that now I was also responsible for a sexy 17 year old as well as 10-year-old twins. I eyed the young male crew with suspicion. “Whatever you do, don’t go to anyone’s cabin”. The first night Nikola announced she was off to “tour the ship.” When she didn’t return by midnight, I texted her. Her response was: “Don’t worry, Grandma. I’ve made some friends. I’ll be home soon.” I had established an 11:00 p.m. curfew for her, but it became clear that was not a viable option. She met a fellow passenger, who was pretty sexy himself. She was smitten, he was smitten, and this would be her holiday, too. We worked out a schedule. She could stay out late at night and sleep in, while I got the twins to their program after breakfast. She joined us for lunch in the cafeteria, took them swimming, and had dinner with us. Her evenings were her own.

There were 600 children on Brilliance of the Seas. That’s right – 600. Consequently, lunch in the cafeteria was a three -ring circus. Erika discovered the dessert bar and one day ate four slices of chocolate cake for lunch before I realized what was happening. Call it a minor lapse in supervision.

I’m not going to pretend it was all smooth sailing. I came perilously close to hurling a set of earphones at Martina one day but restrained myself and left the cabin, giving myself a time out. The twins are headstrong and quite rude, so I modeled correct behavior, even to the point of saying, as we approached customer service to sort out our Wi-Fi problem: “Girls, pay attention to how I deal with this. I am not going to yell or stamp my feet (as they had just done). I am going to ask Carl nicely for his help.” Carl came to the rescue and Erika said: “Grandma, you’ve got good social skills.”

We had disagreements. Daily. They wanted to sign themselves in and out of the Young Adventurers Program and I said “no.” They wanted to wear shorts to dinner, and I said, “absolutely not.” I decided the girls were malcontents in the making and introduced the concept of a gratitude conversation over breakfast. “I want each of you to tell me something you are grateful for.” “I’m grateful I have a grandmother rich enough to take me on a cruise,” said Martina. What could anyone say after that?

I used the dining room to demonstrate table manners and dining-out skills. Our waiter always greeted us with “Family!” and soon the twins were using their newly acquired charm to ask him politely: “May we order dessert from the adult menu?” “Of course,” he replied. “May we have Caesar salad for breakfast?” “Of course.”

We didn’t see much of Alaska. The weather was dreadful. The day we docked in Juneau, it poured. The rain ponchos I bought at the Dollar Store in Victoria disintegrated after about ten minutes at the Mendenhall Glacier. We saw more of it in the Information Center Cinema than outside. The highlight of Juneau was our Uber driver, Situck, who was informative about indigenous culture and sympathetic when Martina slammed her arm in the door of his van. Thankfully, Nikola was able to calm her sister down until we got back to the ship. I took Martina to the doctor, who pronounced it a “contusion,” which is a $200 word for “bruised.” Martina proudly wore a sling for the next 24 hours, but then decided swimming was more important than the extra attention it generated and took it off.

Our seven days at sea passed quickly. On the final evening, Nikola sighed, gazed at a glorious sunset, and sighed some more. She and Marc were saying goodbye but promising to keep in touch. The twins attended the farewell pajama party for the Young Adventurers and sobbed when it was time to say goodbye to their new friends. Next day when their father picked us up, they sobbed even harder. Martina held on to me as if she were drowning. Apparently, they learned to love their grandma in spite of the arguments and scolding and daily lessons in good manners.

What are the takeaway memories from a trip when you’re 10? I remember black porters in white coats and California olives and lobsters waiting to be boiled on Fisherman’s Wharf and giant redwood trees. Nikola remembers Big Ben and twenty-six cousins with English accents. And the twins will probably remember Caesar salad for breakfast, chocolate cake for lunch and, hopefully me, their grandmother “rich enough to take them on a cruise.”