Transatlantic to France on Cunard (trip report)

[Georgia & Zig]

From New York to France via Southampton:

May 28, 2026

Our granddaughter Sara took us to the airport at 7:30 am for our 9:20 flight to LaGuardia via Charlotte. It seems that our children Jason and Emily are more nervous on our behalf this trip than we are. It’s probably an indication of the anxious times we live in. Me, I think Mr. Trump has stressed the entire world in ways not seen since the 1930s. And his health is really suspect. Both physical and mental health. He falls asleep in meetings on camera. He sends out deranged messages on X at 2 or 3 am that are more like the angry bellowing of a grandpa on the Porch than a President of the United States. The frequent trips to the Doctors are not reassuring either. I think it’s past time for invoking the 25th amendment. After his shenanigans vis a vis NATO and the European Union we don’t know what reception to expect from the Europeans. I’m glad we’re sailing on the Queen Mary. It’ll give us a chance to see what’s going on in the world. There are a lot of Europeans who travel by ship.

Trump is still dithering over his blunder of letting Netanyahu play him like a fiddle to attack Iran. Then Iran turns out to be a tar baby. All of Trump’s bluster and insults and posturing does nothing towards “fixing” this situation or bringing this never-ending story to a close. We are worse off in every way than we were when he first took office. Cancelling the peace agreement Obama had negotiated was stupid: in the immortal words of Bugs Bunny, “What a maroon!”

When Trump won the election of 2016 and was still strong leading into 2020 we kept telling ourselves that it was just an aberration, “We are so much better than this,” people said but now we have to face the fact that we are not better than this. This train-wreck shows us who we are—or at minimum it is a significant proportion of who we are. sigh.

We spent the night before embarkation at the Doubletree near La Guardia with 2 huge king-sized beds, though we only used one of them. I ended up sleeping on the wrong side of the bed and kept kicking and punching Georgia all night long (or so she claims). Prices are outrageous. Coffee and a pastry for breakfast came to $25 and a soup and salad supper last night was twice that. No wonder NY is losing population. Ramped up deportations has only made matters worse as it loses the working classes who actually keep our cities livable.

I’m looking forward to a week on the ship paying attention only to my mystery books (MC Beaton and Elizabeth Cornwell) and turning off the depressing national and international news.



Friday, May 29

Got up at 6:30—the sun was already up. We are farther east than Lexington, KY after all. Had $25 worth of bagels, cream cheese, muffin, cappuccino and café latte. Yikes. Then packed and sat in the lobby till our Lyft driver came for us at 11. It took 50 minutes to carry us 13 miles. NYC traffic is dreadful. $71 total, but the bus from the hotel would have been $100 each.

The embarkation process is just as slow and winding back and forth as it was last time and took about 2 hours but once we were on board, good food and drinks revived our spirits and we were able to walk around on deck people-watching and watching the longshoremen load the ship. Then we slowly sailed away with the Statue of Liberty getting smaller and smaller.

There are supposed to be 3400 people on board this time, not counting the crew! And that requires a lot of provisions. Speaking of that, we had a wonderful supper of tomato soup, veal salad, beef with potatoes plus cauliflower in a cheese sauce in the Britannia room. Georgia said she’d eat the cauliflower I fixed if I fixed it like this.

After supper, we watched a floorshow in the ship’s theatre, where a very energetic violinist dressed in exercise clothes poured her heart and soul into entertaining us (even if it killed her). It seems that somehow, her trunk of clothes had been misplaced somewhere on the ship. Luckily she kept her violin with her. She’s not a novice. Keep hold of the things you really need.

Then we toddled off to the Commadore club to have a little drinkey-poo and listen to a pretty tipsy piano player. But he took requests. Then off to bed.



Saturday, May 30

We had room service coffee with cream at 6:30. Delicious! Then a minor crisis over what was and what was not packed. It all worked out. A plug in a plug took care of the electric hotbrush, and rifling through the white t-shirts revealed the misplaced new vibrant t-shirts.

I learned that there is no priest on board again, so there won’t be any Mass.

Talked with a Florida couple at breakfast. He was wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with apologies for the presidency of Donald Trump in 20 or so different languages. He said he didn’t dare wear it at home but got lots of positive comments on board the ship.

I’m in the ship’s library right now and rain is pelting the windows. The sound is very relaxing (several of the library patrons are checking their eyelids for cracks) but it means that the deck is closed. The ship is mostly populated by elderly voyageurs, but there are also many more young and young-marrieds than the last transatlantic voyage we were on. It doesn’t have the feel of a traveling nursing home.

We had lunch in Britannia and met two friends who had been taking trips together for years. Both were widowed and just found it was more fun and companionable to travel together. The man’s name was Pat O’Connor. His parents were Irish and emigrated from England to the US to keep her sons from becoming too “English.”

After lunch we sat in Sir Samuel’s pub, across from the Chart Room but it was too loud to enjoy our drinks. We left and went to a high tea in the Queen’s Room and talked with Susan (with a southern accent) from California. They are going to visit Poland and her friends, like ours, are questioning whether or not it will be safe. We all agreed that there aren’t any purely safe places any longer.

I read most of the rest of the afternoon in the main lobby outside the Purser’s office. Georgia had left me here “for a bit” to see if we could get out on the promenade deck. Went looking for her 3 hours later. Found her in our stateroom. I told her she said she’d “be right back.” She said she would have but closed her eyes for just a bit and woke up a couple of hours later.

Then we decided to catch another show. Saw “The Rhythm of the Night” with 12 singers/dancers. It was (like the violinist) very high energy and non-stop action. We made the mistake of sitting to the side of the stage and the strobe lights on the other side were blinding. Otherwise it would have been very enjoyable. I guess it also gives the young dancers a spot on their resume and also some much needed experience plus future contacts (“Remember when we shlepped our way across the ocean together?”) Las Vegas would seem to be one of very few alternative venues for them. But it must be really hard.

We sat next to Pat and his friend again. She’s reading and loving Dan Brown. I couldn’t tell her what I thought of him and his trashing of the Catholic Church in the DaVinci Code.

After the show we hurried to the King’s Court before they closed for a late supper and then toddled off the bed.



Sunday, May 31

No coffee in the room today so we can get to breakfast sooner. There we met Eve. She’s traveling alone. From Iowa. The sea is stormy and rough. Yesterday’s heavy rain beating on the library windows has continued. The ship is very stable and it is fun watching the crests of the waves throw spray up in the air. According to the daily weather report the waves are 2.5-3 meters high. We only felt a slight rocking.

Took a nap and woke up in time to watch a movie: “One Battle after Another.” It was a 2025 award winner. Technically great, I guess, but story deficient. Certainly not a light-hearted film, with attractive characters. “When their enemy resurfaces after 16 years, a group of ex-revolutionaries reunite to rescue the daughter of one of their own.” So says IMDB. Ugh. I didn’t think it was worth watching once, let alone make it a keeper, that is, worth watching more than once.

Had to dress fancy for supper. Our Chateaubriand was amazing and we had a fun conversation with Jillian and her husband, Iolyn. They were more Trump despisers having to keep a low profile in Tallahassee where he teaches at the University. PBS supporters and Cunard voyageurs seem to form the same group.

Then we went to listen to some mediocre singing group singing 50s and 60s songs in the Theatre, then to the Commodore Lounge to hear a harpist where we met another California couple (THEY’RE everywhere!)



Monday, June 1

Breakfast talking with Findley and Lynn, “Finn and Lynn.” They were lovely talkers going on about their trips round the US but became extremely animated talking about Robin, their David Attenborough-like grandson, being raised without TV or electronics. It reminded me of our youngest daughter Emily’s kids—full of imagination and enthusiasm.

Finally, some sunshine, so they opened the decks. The water is calm, but they are sounding the foghorn. It’s like pea soup. Eventually, the fog burned off and it turned into a beautiful day. Nice warm walk around the deck.

Great meals again with various interesting people. Kim and Ron from Gainesville and an interesting couple from Perth, Australia. She was originally from Wales and was bribed by the government of Australia to move there. She was what’s called “a ten pound Englishman.” He was a born Aussie.

We had the most fun listening to a Dixieland band made up of people from all over the world. Columbia, Ukraine, Indiana, Canada, Hungary. The Ukrainian pianist seemed to be the leader but his accent was so thick I could barely understand him. He said the guitar player started as a banjo player—then gave himself permission to tell two banjo jokes. “What’s perfect pitch? Tossing a banjo into a dumpster and not touching the sides.” And “A true gentleman knows how to play the banjo, but doesn’t.”



Tuesday, June 2

Met more interesting people, Kim and Ron at breakfast, and Perina and Larry, two English teachers from Canada at the Commodore club that night. She cut off my “purina” quip mid sentence. Groan. I spent lots of time in the library, reading my books. Patricia Cornwell’s thrillers featuring Scarpetta, the forensic pathologist trying to find out what happened to the people she’s presented with. It seems the killers are always crazy as loons, and without any scruples. They’re always psychopaths and sociopaths.

We were able to take a few turns on the deck, but it was still chilly and breezy. So dropped into see a comedian in the Theatre. He rehearsed several very familiar jokes, including the one where the pope wants to drive his own limousine and gets stopped by a very confused cop who calls the station asking the sergeant what to do about a speeder so famous that he has the pope as his chauffeur. We sat next to a youngish couple celebrating 30 years together. She was wearing his coat—the auditorium was chilly. They told us about their meeting, “She was cold so he offered her his gloves.” But tonight they were sad. She was distraught at the recent death of their beloved dog, “Sam.” It was 11 or 12 years old, and she, especially, had poured all her maternal love and care into it. They left shortly after the show began. Meeting people on board sometimes feels like entering therapy.



Wednesday, June 3

Another dress-up day. Tried to watch a play: The Constant Wife. We left at intermission instead of falling asleep. The high point of the play came when one of the actors missed a thrown cigarette case and an audience member retrieved it and tossed it to him. The good Samaritan got a huge round of applause.

The meals are consistently good. I had venison at supper. It was tender and succulent, and not at all “gamey.” Georgia had salmon and said it was delicious too. After supper the entire kitchen staff and waitstaff were introduced to much applause. They wound their way through the restaurant waving little flags from their home countries. I didn’t see anyone carrying the stars and stripes.

After supper we played a trivia game in one of the lounges. Only got 13 of 21 questions. Two of our misses concerned flags of the world. It made me think of the Big Bang Theory. I’m sure Sheldon would have gotten them right.

We finished the evening in a terrific fashion. We carried our “gift” bottle of champagne to the Commodore Club where our favorite tipsy pianist was playing and shared it with four other people. Strangers, all, we had a great time meeting. A Scot, an Englishman, a couple from Houston who’d just retired and wondering what’s next, and us. The champagne made a perfect ice breaker.



Thursday, June 4

Went to the Chef’s café for lunch where they had truly foot-long sausages with onion rings.

For supper we finally had the pizza. Then sat outside and saw our first sunset of the voyage. Then we packed for disembarking tomorrow.





To be continued

 

[Georgia & Zig]

To Amiens and Paris by train:

Friday, June 5, 2026

Called the ride-sharing app, Bolt, and eventually left from the berth. Southampton docks are big and there are lots of ships and thousands of people. Meeting up with a particular car is a challenge. But we finally did get to Southhampton’s train station. On the train to London’s St Pancras station we sat across the aisle from a group of four young actors and were unwitting auditors of their gossiping about other actors. I wondered if they were an acting troupe from one of the Southampton ships. “Yeah, I’ve got amazingly high standards (But like I’m hardly Brad Pitt!) I wish I could sometimes lower them.” Then a friend commiserates: “No, no, you need to have standards, be charming and funny, be choosey. It’s not like ‘I’m perfect, but . . .’”

The chorus: “I know, you know . . .”

“Yeah, but the women my age are like newly divorced and looking for their next partner. I feel like I’m at the start of my life but like, others are well on their way. Their careers are moving ahead and mine is like dying. It’s like so depressing.” (Oh, the triumphs and travails of being young starving actors.)

His friends urged him away from such dark thoughts. “No no, like, come back to the light. Don’t go there!” I ended up counting and decided they were hitting about 8-10 “likes” per minute. So self-absorbed and boring, but then in such a fickle profession, so dependent on the impression you made on others I guess self-absorption is necessary. You feel like a chameleon, to inhabit the characters you become. I guess you need to empty yourself before you can fill yourself with someone else.

The land outside the train was also empty but getting filled up too—with housing estates. Developers providing accommodations for an expanding London.

When we arrived in St Pancras station, the French ticket agent didn’t want to sell us tickets to Amiens “They will be more than 450 euros, so, do you want to go to Paris or Milan?” In French, I asked which would be better (mieux) for getting to Amiens, since that’s where we had reservations for tonight. She gave me the universal French “Pffeft” and sold us 2 tickets to Lille, but they weren’t together; in fact they were in separate cars because the train was so crowded. And so was the station. A sweet young woman saw us standing and offered Georgia her seat. The young man sitting next to her offered me his. “It will be easy for me to find another single seat,” he said. Chivalry is not dead.

The scenery outside London was lovely and peaceful and the chunnel itself is always such a surprise. Suddenly it’s dark, but then a few minutes later, suddenly it’s bright again and we are in France. It doesn’t take Eurostar long to go under the English channel at 300 kph—about 20 minutes.

We only had a few moments in the station Lille, Flandres to find our train but got separated in the crush and missed it by “just that much.” So we caught the next train an hour later and arrived in Amiens in time for supper. We ate at a little hole in the wall called the Cabine du Poutain, a Quebecoise restaurant just around the corner from our Airbnb. I had a giant hamburger on a brioche bun and Georgia thought she was getting Barbeque, but it turned out to be BBQ sauce on French fries and Poutaine! Turned out that it was delicious too.

Saturday, June 6

We woke up to the sounds of an amazing street market on the Somme just outside our window. That made up, somewhat, from the constant noise of the revelers last night. The landlord had supplied ear plugs, which helped.

I could learn to love the French culture of sitting with neighbors for coffee and a croissant. I managed to have a charming one-way conversation sitting on a stool at a little table outside a bakery on wheels. The coffee and pastry were delicious. I’m not sure what we talked about but we both agreed that it was a glorious day and delicious pastry. With the number of people he greeted, and who greeted him, he must have been a town fixture, if not the mayor.

We headed off to the museum where they had a nice El Greco, a wonderfully pornographic Picasso, several lovely landscapes and a portrait from the 1500s that was cleaned in the 1960s to reveal another face at the bottom of the painting. It appears to be the sitter’s child and she seems to be “Kilroy was here”-ing her Mama. It was, of course, an accidental conflation, I’m sure, and only made visible with the 20th century cleaning, but charming, nevertheless.

We spent the day just walking around and rubber-necking all the sights. There was a 20’ street clock on a pedestal, wrapped with metal “leaves” and covered with geegaws. Beautifully whimsical.

The Cathedral was perfect, situated on a hill, surrounded by restored and painted houses from all eras. A time-capsule of the centuries.

There were little flower gardens here and there, many with welcoming invitational beehives, and broken walls “repaired” with miniature street scenes. And most fun of all was the statue of the man standing motionless on a pedestal in the middle of the Somme. According to Google, it’s called “The Man on his Buoy,” one of three figures near the river. His apparent sweetie is affixed to a nearby wall but they seemed to be ignoring each other. Evidently, kids regularly swim over and dress him in different t-shirts and hats.

The cathedral glass is a mishmash, as you might expect with an ancient building damaged in two world wars and numerous smaller skirmishes. The most striking was a tesserae window located in one of the transepts. There were two sets of 56 arched panels and a rose window filled with re-leaded medieval glass. Parishioners do love their glass, even when in pulverized fragments in world wars.

There were several monuments to US outfits who liberated Amiens in WWI. With the current EU and NATO situation I’m not sure they would put up any monuments today.

There was an organ celebrating its 800th birthday. Just imagine.

There were so many charming things to see, especially the stone-cutter’s art. A lovely quatrefoil showing a hedgehog and crow in the church (I bet there’s a story there) and 20’ doors surrounded by saints and apostles to welcome you, or warn you away, depending on the state of your soul.

Tomorrow we see Sacre Coeur in Paris!


Sunday, June 7

We caught a Bolt/Taxi at the Airbnb and had him drop us off at the train station. We rode the train from the station in Amiens to the station in Paris then caught another Bolt/taxi to Sacre Coeur. I’m too old to fight rolling suitcases on cobblestone streets or metro stations and fend off pickpockets too.

We settled into the Sacre Coeur guesthouse just fine. Our room is fine. The food is simple and fine. And the sung prayers are sublime. And the other guests are tremendous. Henry Goh and his wife, Linda are from Singapore. They spoke flawless English and there was an instant sympatico That’s the way it is sometimes with travel. You meet someone and know instantly that you could be good friends. And there was Katia Kuzmetsova from Russia, and Berisic Victorija and her twin sister at home.

Katia was the first we met in the lobby of the guest house. She was from Russia and more fluent in French than I was. She helped with our check in. Then we strolled around Montmartre for a while. After a bite to eat we crashed.



Monday, June 8

After breakfast of bread and butter and coffee the first order of business was to go see the cleaned up Notre Dame. And it was lovely; so clean and bright and with new art work as well. Matisse’s paper cutouts were displayed in one of the side chapels. We’d seen his models in his studio in Nice.

But, oh the crowds! Much like the Sistine Chapel there was constant shushing. The cleaned and refurbished chandeliers were especially lovely.

Back at Sacre Coeur we had supper and met Henry and Linda Goh, from Singapore in Malesia. You know how you can meet someone and just “click.” Their English was perfect and their sense of humor perfectly matches too. I’m hoping to correspond for years to come. Their children are in their 20s and it was fun remembering those trials and joys.

Tuesday, June 9

Walking tour of Paris. Walked our feet flat. Visited ‘hidden’ passageways created in previous centuries to help rich Parisians navigate Paris in all kinds of weather and provide mostly safe and secure shopping places, begun in the 1600s and continuing into the 1800s.

Met Jocylyn, from Arizona, who has been ping-ponging around the world for two years. She’s 25 and intrepid. She supports herself with online marketing expertise and says she’s getting ready to take a job back in the States—sight unseen. I wouldn’t have had the nerve.

We had a delicious supper at Le Bouillon Chartier, one of the highlight restaurants, since 1896, seen on our tour. Sat next to a family from Texas. The matriarch was a retired French teacher from UT in Austin, with years of experience bringing studies-abroad students over. No mention of Trump.

Then back to Montmartre where we had some Lebanese ice cream and a generous helping of Talisker, then supper. We met Victoria, another kindred spirit. She’s from Croatia, and seriously considering taking orders with the Sisters of Charity. She’s filled with a quiet joy. I think she’d be wonderful. Her English is also very good.



Wednesday, June 10

Today we visited the Petite Palais and saw a collection similar to the Louvre but much smaller, of course. Sort of a mini-Louvre. There was an early self-portrait by Rembrandt that made him look so short as to be a sort-of midget. He inserted a dog (the card says) to cover a flaw in his painting. I wonder if he really was so short and the dog just helped to de-emphasize it.

There were wonderful examples of all the usual suspects: Pissaro, Sisley, Corot, Monet, and some wonderful sculpture.

Then we visited the Modern Art Museum that I thought was a bust. The only interesting thing was a “sculpture” of a unicorn attended with pages and pages of the artist’s notebooks of obsessive preliminary drawings.

But the walk did give us a lovely view of the Eiffel Tower so it wasn’t a complete bust.

Thursday, June 11

Today we’re on our way to Lyon. Tried to call Bolt to get to the train station but the drivers couldn’t seem to find us at Sacre Coeur. They kept cancelling the ride so we called a traditional taxi. The driver was able to travel in the bus lane so the trip was much faster than it would have otherwise been. Reasonably priced too. But I lost my hiking poles. I’d made a last minute potty break and the driver loaded the car without seeing my poles, I guess. All the carrying I’d done and then to lose the durn things. I hope someone found them and gave them a good new home.

There are so many people traveling they’ve added another train and stuck the two together. So, there we found ourselves rocketing across the French farmland.

Poor Georgia was wedged into her seat next to a young stylishly made up woman with hips wider than her seat. My ticket was supposed to put me next to her but it would have been misery for both of us. Georgia graciously took my place.

At these speeds there is quite a sonic “whoosh” when a train passes going the other way on the next track. After all, there is only a foot or so between the trains.

Our Airbnb in Lyon was once used by the Opera as part of their dressing rooms. It’s in a great location in the heart of the city—immediately next to the Opera house (as you would expect).

Georgia is not feeling well but we ventured out for supper anyway. I made the mistake of leading us to something “close,” but what turned out to be very uphill. It was a sort of ‘hippy’ place. We got a “tranche mixed” which consisted of a mixture of different meats and cheeses to eat with chunks of baguette. Not a very elegant supper in the French city noted for gastronomy. But filling. We couldn’t finish it and couldn’t persuade any of our table neighbors to share it with us. The French hate that kind of familiarity. Worked like a charm on the boat. Crashed and burned on the streets of Lyon.

On the way back we scoped out our coffee and pastry place for the morning. Luckily, downhill was much more do-able than our walk up or Georgia would have left me and gone back to Kentucky by herself. Hope we both feel better tomorrow.



To be continued

 

[Georgia & Zig]

Lyon:

Friday, June 12

The streetscapes in the old parts of Lyon are reminiscent of Sicily. Four and five story apartment houses with multicolored washing hanging out on the lines. And we had a walking tour through Lyon’s famous hidden passageways.

I was fascinated by all the street art—official and unofficial beautifying the walls and streets—especially how someone had spent so much time beautifying the potholes with mosaics of tiny squares of porcelain. And the entire blank walls painted to be an enormous apartment house with centuries of famous people out on their balconies and fire escapes. So very cool.

There are two rivers joining forces in Lyon. That’s probably why the Romans fortified it. When Paris had a population of 2000 people Lyon had 20,000. That’s why it became the center of Christianity north of Rome. And there is still beautiful stained glass. And we also found several Camino de Santiago pavement markers.

We ate supper at a restaurant staffed by mentally handicapped waiters and waitresses. It’s part of the L’arche movement founded by the Canadian Jean Vanier in 1964 as a reaction to the mistreatment of the mentally handicapped. He felt things could be better if they had jobs with dignity. Our food was wonderful. I had a delicious gazpacho. I’d love to try to duplicate it. My main course was a mushroom risotto. Yum.

We took the funicular up to the Basilica of Notre Dame de Fourviere in Lyon which has a large mosaic celebrating St James.

There was a spectacular overlook behind the Basilica and a snack bar where we had a beer while we sat in the shade and looked down over the city.

Saturday, June 13

We visited the Lyon Museum of Fine art. It was wonderful, like another small Louvre. The statuary was very impressive

and the paintings were to die for. One of the best was a winter scene of a deer alerting in a snowy forest.

You can’t help but wonder what it’s seen—perhaps the artist? The best paintings seem to suggest a story.

We made the mistake of also visiting the Museum of Contemporary Art. It’s the kind of museum that rises or falls with the particular contemporary artists being exhibited. It fell on this day with an installation of 50 (or so) electric floor fans blowing fabric into billowing shapes as you walked among them on a floor filled with extension cords. So very pretentious and pointless.

Our daughter Amy sent us a text message that she and her beau were going to a World Cup game in California played between Switzerland and Qatar. I told her that with her grandmother’s background we needed to support the Swiss. And that we saw Swiss partisans parading around Lyon cheering and waving flags. (Learned later that Switzerland lost. Wah!) But, all in all it was a very fun day.

Sunday, June 14

This was a nice easy day for us walking around Lyon. We went to a farmer’s market in the morning to have breakfast. We watched people buying frog’s legs.

The farmer wanted to sell us some too. I begged off in broken French. That made him want to ask us about where we were from. Again, in broken French I tried to converse with him. Gosh! My French conversation skills are so very weak. I need a tutor.

We ate lunch at a different restaurant where I had raw hamburger mixed with onions and spices. My dad used to sing the praises of “cannibal sandwiches.”

A couple of days later I had explosive diarrhea. I’m sure it was a coincidence.

Tomorrow we take the train to Milan, Italy to meet our granddaughter Sara who wants to go hike in the Dolomites!

To be continued in the Italy trip report forum...