Before we visited The Wizarding World of Harry Potter, Andre and I went onto Pottermore to be officially sorted by the Hat.

Andre answered the questions; he’s a Gryffindor. (Yay!) Then it was my turn.

I answered the questions sure in my Gryffindor future. I was confident the Hat would see my bravery.  Or on the off chance that it didn’t, the Hat was sure to recognize my intelligence and place my in Ravenclaw. Or at the very least identify my ambition and cry out Slytherin.

Imagine my shock when the great Sorting Hat flashed a yellow and black crest on my monitor and congratulated me on joining HUFFLEPUFF.

I’m Hufflepuff? I may never recover.

Thankfully the awesomeness of the being in the Wizarding World dulled my pain slightly.

• We rode a terrifying cart through Gringotts bank vaults. Universal staff took pity on us and let us cut lines twice (we were really short on time and the lines were really long).
• I bought more Honeydukes candy than is healthy for anyone. (“Next witch, wizard or muggle in line please.”)
• And, I met a Hogwarts student that gave me private magic lessons. (Turns out Andre is gifted at yet another thing that I need help with. Not that I’m bitter. At least I’m not a muggle.)

With the addition of the Wizarding World, Florida now runs a close second to the Sargasso Sea for my favourite place on Earth.

PS. Shopping for new (yellow) robes and having a magical mirror tell you that you look fabulous takes the sting out of being sorted into the wrong house.

PPS. Several friends read the description of Hufflepuffs and said that the Hat clearly saw into my soul. (Loyal and unafraid of toil. FINE!)

PPPS. I have been informed that the badger is the old world equivalent of a wolverine and you don’t screw with a badger.

 

I’m starting to feel better about my sorting experience.

More Awesomeness from my vacation

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Writing Exercise:

I never wanted to leave The Wizarding World. But, unlike on the cruise ship (where there were no good places to hide from the TSA search parties) I think I could totally stay in Harry Potter land forever without anyone noticing.

1. All the staff wear the same student robes that I now own. (I’m not 100 percent sure that makes me staff…but I think I have an argument to make or at least a compelling disguise if found after hours.)
2. With age comes wisdom, and the ability to lie more convincingly. “No, I don’t think we have met. I’m new.”
3. Water rides + hand soap = shower facilities. (I’ve got it all figured out.)

Is there somewhere you would want to hide forever? Happy writing.

 

Andre and I are officially unofficial members of the Canada II America’s cup racing team. Andre (our volunteer captain) led us to victory against another group of tourists (guided by actual sailors) in a race around the bay in St. Maartin.  (The real captain said he did a great job of being a figure head.)

My official title for the day was Grinder. Primary Grinder mind you, not Main Grinder.  I was reminded of my position several times.  Apparently if the Primary Grinder starts grinding when they shout “Main Grinder Go” it not only puts our ship in danger of losing the race but also of running into random floating things (like other boats). This is bad. But I was enthusiastic and ground like there was no tomorrow on command. This was good…for a while.

Grinding involves leaning over a winch type thing on a pedestal and pulling hard to “grind” the device in a circle which apparently causes the direction of the sail to change. (It was a bit like peddling a bike with your hands.) I say apparently because grinding is a full body, head down experience. “Go, go, go, go, go.”

It was hot, the sea was a beautiful variegated pattern of blue and green and did I mention it was hot?

I’m blaming the heat on the need for a bucket. Apparently, when you’re not used to it, heat and unusual hard work (on the heels of nine days of sloth) are not a good combination.

After the first two legs of the race Andre and I both went green and had to stop grinding.  (The real crew took over.) Our new job was staring at the horizon, dumping bottles of water over our heads and concentrating on not throwing up while the rest of the team dragged our nauseated bodies over the finish line to victory.  (The crew super appreciated that we didn’t throw up…they actually told us that.) Next time I’m going to volunteer as rail meat.

Yay us.

Writing Exercise:

One of the professional sailing crew that led our victory at sea had moved from an urban life in France to a sailing life in the Caribbean.  Sure it sounds idillic, but what if you were like me.  “I can do that, burb, maybe not.” Try writing something called “Yo ho ho, the Pirate’s life is not for me.”

NB. Adam, Anna…I take it back.  I don’t want to live aboard.  I’ll just visit aboard.