… and Mr UD smiling through the cold. Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.

… in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, haunt of presidents-elect.

Les UDs greet the early evening on their Rehoboth Beach balcony.

6:30 AM, Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.

Rosenfeld’s Jewish Deli, Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.

At this point, the trip probably looks like a pilgrimage to the summer White House; but it’s really just another in a long line of beach jaunts. The weather will be beautiful for the next few days, and UD could use a breather from all the political tension – that’s why she’s going. Walking by the president-elect’s house – on my way to dark skies/Taurid fireballs at Cape Henlopen State Park – would be fun, but I’m not going out of my way for it.

Blogging continues, of course.

… having lunch in Rehoboth.

We are on our balcony. They are about to lie out on the beach.

… which, loyal readers know, is a regular thing for her. There will be a large number of family and friends there, as everyone begins peeking out of their covid isolation and looking for something vacationesque but not far away. Loyal readers also know that UD’s blog energy does not flag when she is away – blogging continues apace.

On today’s up-and-back boardwalk march, whenever greetings were exchanged with fellow walkers:

“Mourning!”

“Mourning!”

“Mourning!”

Who knew? Who knew that all the time UD spends on her balcony in Rehoboth Beach staring through binoculars at immense container ships with three immense initials painted on their sides she could be ON the ships, steaming to Hamburg? Who knew that the endless UD/Mr UD dithering about what’s on each ship, where it’s going, how it operates, what the thing’s various decks actually look like, etc., could so easily be settled?

A highlight [of my trip] was a morning’s tour of the ship, led by crew members. In addition to nearly 4,000 containers stacked on the exterior decks, there were six “roll-on, roll-off” decks carrying vehicles, ranging from a fleet of Range Rovers and transport trucks for the US army to an aeroplane fuselage. As the captain explained the complexities of the enormous operation, I marvelled at the sheer scale of everything around us, an industry responsible for transporting 90% of goods worldwide.

Cabins, with private bath, sound fine; on-deck activities are simple but fun (UD would of course play Scrabble); cruising instead of flying gives you big eco bragging rights…

Recent campaigns such as the Swedish flygskam (flight shame) had shone a harsh light on my blindness to the climate impact of air travel, and I had decided that booking a flight wasn’t an option. Since 2017, I’d emitted over 14 tonnes of carbon from flights alone. I realised that all my efforts to reduce my carbon footprint at home in Milan – I cycle to work, limit food waste and seldom buy new clothes – are wiped out by just one flight between Canada and Europe.

I’ll see your flygskam and raise you thirty years of not driving cars, taking trains everywhere, walking everywhere, living in a small house, owning one teeny, insanely fuel-efficient Prius, very seldom buying new clothes (so there!), and indeed finding virtually all of my consumer goods as brand-new castoffs in my daughter’s long-since-abandoned bedroom. The only food I waste is my once a year pomegranate martini at the beach — I can never finish it.

Mr UD (with binoculars), and friend Steve, wonder what the enormous white blob in the water in front of them is. Turns out it’s snow geese, which can (a woman who lives in our apartment building year-’round tells me) stretch out and float over large swathes of ocean.