No long after Mrs C exhausts her winter sojourn on Key Largo and returns to her native northern haunt, she embarks upon a river cruise in the Nederland. To speak plainly, Mrs. C is an attractive woman of means. She has in addition the distinction of having being a professional health care worker. As here supervisory subaltern (and myself a former professional advisor) I have taken it upon myself to conduct what I believe to be a summary of useful prerequisites governing the wayfaring of such a woman among the unclassified populace of Northern Europe. I wouldn’t dignify the observations which follow as either imperative or even universally predictable; but nonetheless they acquaint the unwitting traveller with some of the more frequent and common perils of unintended publicity such as are the consequence of a peripatetic nature.

To begin I recommend that when for example addressing a male cohort (naturally above the rank of a steward), and if one were asked for example “How are you today?” the appropriate response is “Ask my lawyer”. Curt but to the point.  This succinct rebuttal succeeds to establish immediately the scope of familiarity. Though a lawyer may not be either present or employed, the terse nature of the confutation instantly revives those otherwise sheltered barriers of the most rudimentary nature. Thus assured of this looming threat to any trifling inadequacy the subsequent bafflegab may ensue with minimal risk of exposure. If one were to adopt a less prosaic description it may for example constitute “A hit, a palpable hit!” or as the French are wont to announce upon the revelation of a similar and inexpressibly defiant concealment, “Touché! Distinctement touché!”

Moving on to a more established vernacular, consider if you will the simple matter of a pousse café , that undeniable provocation of a gratifying meal.  While custom invokes the propriety of either Porto or Cognac, may I presume the liberty to suggest a more memorable though somewhat antiquated digestif?  It has in addition what is perhaps an unanticipated American connection to it. I speak of course of the once famous Side Car cocktail.

The Ritz Hotel in Paris claims origin of the drink. The first recipes for the sidecar appear in 1922 in Harry MacElhone’s Harry’s ABC of Mixing Cocktails and Robert Vermeire’s Cocktails and How to Mix Them. It is one of six basic drinks listed in David A. Embury’s The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks (1948).

In early editions of MacElhone’s book, he cites the inventor as Pat MacGarry, “the popular bartender at Buck’s Club, London”, but in later editions he cites himself. While Vermiere states that the drink was “very popular in France” it was first introduced in London by MacGarry, the celebrated bartender of Buck’s Club. Embury credits the invention of the drink to an American army captain in Paris during World War I and named after the motorcycle sidecar that the captain used.

While considered a cocktail (of equal parts brady, lemon juice and orange liqueur), my trained eye has acquainted me with its nourishing post-prandial features complementing both the sweet and digestive yearnings of an evening well-spent. I emphasize the latter distinction because anything thereafter (that is, on heels of one of these concoctions) is assured to be clouded by unrestrained magnanimity and an unparalleled gusto.

Here the cautious advisor (such as I) need only touch upon the mundane though rudimentary topic of apparel. Given that I am well acquainted with Mrs C’s depth of knowledge in matters sartorial I shall not embarrass myself or contaminate my prescience by wading into that subject unnecessarily except to say that less is more.  Again, candid but stinging in its accuracy! It is a sad corollary of every vacation or tour – no matter how short or how long – that we invariably carry with us far more than required. Indeed it is this latter mandate which routinely captures the intelligence of only the seasoned  traveller. And one hat is enough!

Lastly it behooves me to address what I am equally certain will be the almost precipitous inclination of Mrs C to invite me to accompany her (albeit only in steerage) to keep in close communication with the stewards overseeing her and her fellow travellers. I must however decline the bidding because as fate would have it, at precisely the same moment as Mrs C is stimulating her assessment of Amsterdam’s notorious retail legitimacy of matters corporeal, we shall be pondering the purely domestic collaboration and positioning of about 45 wall hangings (paintings, photographs and variable accessories) throughout our new residential apartment back home.  This is not to say however that I shan’t be but as close as the phone (a hackneyed though a conveniently apt adage in our new but miniature digs).