I love palindromes and what better time or place to quote this famous one? My blog today is going to be an ongoing account. I'm in Horizons, Forward, on Deck Ten, and it's ten to five in the morning. I'm told this is the best viewing spot on the ship and that the place will be packed with people well before nine a.m. when it's all supposed to begin. After a while, though, I am told, the crowd dwindles as the transit goes on and on. It sounds like watching paint dry, but we'll see.

It's no hardship for me to come up here at this hour; I often do. There's a coffee/tea station at the entrance where people can make their own beverage, later augmented by muffins and buns and orange juice. I can hear a cup being filled as I write, facing forward into the blackness. Sunrise isn't until 6:03 a.m.

TRANSIT SCHEDULE THROUGH THE PANAMA CANAL:

9 a.m. M/S Insignia arrives at Mira Flores Locks

10 a.m. M/S Insignia departs from Mira Flores Locks

10:50 a.m. M/S Insignia arrives at Pedro Miguel Locks

11:25 a.m. M/S. Insignia departs from Pedro Miguel Locks

12:25 p.m. M/S Insignia Passes by Gamboa

2:35 p.m. M/S Insignia arrives at Gatun Locks

4:20 p.m. M/S Insignia departs from Gatun Locks

-- and sails for Cartagena, Colombia (270 nautical miles)

(he above times are approximate and subject to change.)

It's now quarter to seven and the grandstand seats around me are filled with people with iPads and coffee. There are a number of ships in the water, like the stacking of airplanes waiting to land, but farther apart and by arranged booking, not just first-come-first-served. I'm going to run our of battery power before this assignment is over. A bientôt.

The day after Canada Day, into July now; we dock in Miami on July 8 and I fly to Toronto later that afternoon. So the countdown begins. I woke this morning with terribly domestic thoughts and even checked my grocery flyers although I'm not ready to buy food yet. But we still have too much to do to worry about that.

Tomorrow we transit the Panama Canal. Tomorrow.

Today has been a Sea Day and I have written stuff and people and made lists, and talked to fellow travellers and went to another wine-tasting, this time Wine-Pairings. I always learn something; this time I was given a revelation about Reisling.

Yesterday was fabulous; we went on a Mangrove River Cruise. I love boats and rides and bridges and trains and all kinds of conveyances. (Not heights though.) In spite of another HOT day (98 degrees F.) there was a little breeze as we moved along the river gazing at the mangroves, liking the little blue herons, whistling at the macaws (saw two of them), howling at the howling monkeys,that is, our guide howled, and also whistled. Anyway, the creatures responded, and we saw them. At least, most of us saw them. I gaze and gaze and gaze and sometimes I see something.

I keep thinking of James Thurber and his poor eyesight. He wrote about his university days and his inability to see through a microscope. He almost failed Biology because of that. Try as he would, he couldn't see a specimen under the microscope lens. Finally, after frustrating efforts, he managed to pull up an image and called his teacher.

"I see something," he said in triumph. The Professor came over to look, and turned away in despair. "No, no," he said.

Thurber had managed to focus on his own eyeball.

Well, that's what I do and he's who I think of when I gaze into a mangrove forest searching for a howling monkey. I heard them, though.

I'm happy.