My fear of flying (remember that?) was so bad that when I left Canada for Europe I went by bus. Yes you heard right, by bus. A friend Peter T and I paid for and boarded in Toronto and drank our way to New York. If I remember correctly the trip took about six hours.
How were we to get from New York to Europe? I thought you’d never ask. Way back then there was a form of luxury travel available that held out the promise of romance, unrivalled luxury and service. It was called a ship. A luxury liner in this case. It was the SS France to be exact; at that time, arguably, the finest passenger carrying, ocean going ship in the world. Peter and I would enjoy a 6-day (If memory serves) trip across the Atlantic. This would be in the lap of luxury with service and food to match. That was the theory anyway.
Although I had spent a great deal of time in the US prior to moving back to Canada, I had never, ever, been to Europe. It was November 1972 and I was 35.
The SS France was the stuff of great food, great music, dining with the captain and great occasions.  Only trouble was the time of year. It was November and the Atlantic has its own, changeable mind. The Ocean of Oceans decided not to cooperate with either the massive ship or this runaway Canadian and friend. The Atlantic decided to do what it normally does in November but bigger, better and more ferocious. The ocean acted up big time.
However nothing could overcome my fear of flying. Not the perfect storms the Atlantic dreamed up, nor the loneliness of having dinner alone when the dining room could have held more than 2000 paying guests. Hell I was aboard the SS France wasn’t I?
While Peter and most of the passengers were tucked away puking and cringing in their staterooms, I had the run of what seemed to me like almost abandoned ship.
Plus, the antics of the ocean and the ship sailing on it were absolutely thrilling. When the front and the back of the great ocean liner-that’s the bow and the stern to landlubbers-were out of the water at the same time, I stood, enthralled in awe.
The greatest ocean-going, passenger-carrying ship that was ever built was sitting on the top of a monster wave. Her propellers were turning and roaring wildly, way out of the water, while the bow was also peeking about, absolutely on its own. Only the center of the ship remained in touch with the deep sea. But you know what? The ship didn’t bat an eyelash; it handled the waves perfectly.
Well you get the picture. The SS France, for all intents and purposes was all but deserted. Each function, and there were many of what should have been busy ones, resembled a ghost town.
This included the much-vaunted Captain’s table dinner. Because of the very real shortfall of potential guests I got invited. That is actually invited to dinner with the Captain of he SS France, at his special table.
My answer?  “ What? I paid thousands of hard earned dollars for this trip. No way am I eatin’ with the help”.