As I look around at my future fellow cruise travelers, shuffling through the Marriott’s breakfast buffet, eager to leave cold, wet Anchorage for cold wet [enter name of any other port], I am reminded of a little tune:

I stick out like a sore, well-dressed, non-fannypack-wearing, gay thumb.



We’re off for a 5-hour train ride to Seward.  Let’s hope for some great photos.