By Tim Seelig—
I am writing this on a big boat docked in the stunning harbor in Nice, France! In Texas, we would say, “That’s nice,” meaning, “Bless your heart,” or something not suitable for print. This is the third article about my Bucket List. You can read the other installments at the San Francisco Bay Times website (https://sfbaytimes.com/).
Part Une is titled “Bucket List Equals Hope,” and Part Deux is titled, “A Father Son Trip to Bali.” The first two were surprise entries on the list.
Jumping out of an airplane was never a lifelong dream. I was watching Top Chef, they jumped, and I decided I could, too. Bobby came along for the fun (?). Bali sounded exotic from the I first time I heard the song “Bali Hai” in the musical South Pacific. When I looked on a globe, it was too far away. You’d have to be Hai to want to travel that far. Then my son invited Bobby and me to take us there! I couldn’t turn that down. It is stunning.
Part Trois has been on my list for a very long time. I know that nobody wants to hear about what I did on summer vacation, see the slideshow or PowerPoint. Don’t worry, I’m no Rick Steves. I’ve been lucky to travel to Europe many times and lived there twice. I’m not climbing the Alps or walking the Camino any longer. How about a Mediterranean cruise? Yes, please. I just had to schedule it between cataracts, rotator cuff, and knee replacement surgeries. You didn’t ask for an organ recital. Moving on.
The bucket started off rough. Sing along, “There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza.” Poor Henry had no idea how to fix it as the hole got bigger.
I left Portland on Sunday, the 28th of June, headed through SFO to Rome. You all were busy priding. The flight was delayed. Then we sat on the tarmac another 45 minutes due to air traffic in San Francisco. Surprise. When we arrived, the United app said it was a 24-minute walk from D2 to G1. Boarding ended in 14 minutes. They knew I was coming. I made it in 18 minutes. As I approached, the agent said, “Tim Seelig?” I panted, “Yes.” “I’m sorry, they just closed the door.” I could see the jet bridge maybe 2 feet from the airplane. Nope. No turning back. She was able to book me that night through London arriving in Rome Monday night. I was grateful(ish).
I got to Rome late Monday—baggage, customs, exited, and swelteringly hot. I then scheduled an Uber. The driver wasn’t at the meeting spot. He called me. He only spoke angry Italian. He canceled. I called another. He spoke very little English, but I found him—dragging my bags and sweating in all the places.
I fell into the backseat, grateful for air conditioning. At the hotel, I schlepped my bags into the lobby. They asked for my passport. I turned to my pile of bags. No backpack. I had left it in the Uber. Now don’t get all judgy on me, but it had my passport, wallet, laptop, credit cards, and everything I own except my phone, two suitcases, and neck pillow! Without a passport, I could not board the ship the next afternoon. Without a passport, I couldn’t leave Italy. Without paying the city taxes the next morning, I couldn’t leave the hotel!
Bobby’s bucket wasn’t going much better. He had been at a writing retreat in Ireland for the prior nine days. He was coming from Belfast. He had reserved a 2 am bus from Belfast to Dublin to catch a 6:30 am flight to Rome. When he arrived at the bus, it was oversold—filled with a youth soccer team! He had to take an Uber from Belfast to Dublin in the middle of the night! But he made it. I shared none of my travails with him. He didn’t need that.
The hotel clerk tried to contact someone at Uber. No luck. There are no humans there. No luck calling the driver. The U.S. Consulate opened at 8:30 am the next morning. A replacement passport takes a minimum of 24 hours. We would miss our cruise. I finally went to bed around 11 pm—no sleep, of course.
At 1 am, the hotel clerk knocked on my door. The Uber drive was downstairs with my backpack. He had just found it almost four hours later. I started singing, “Heaven came down and glory filled my soul!” as I gave him the largest tip of his week. Maybe month. The hole had been plugged! Bless Henry’s heart.
On Tuesday, June 30, at 3:30 pm, we boarded our ship for an amazing 9-night cruise. In Naples it was legendary pizza! In Florence, we saw David (all of him). In Nice we ate mussels down by the seashore (different than David’s muscles) and scored an extravagant one-of-a-kind souvenir. It was very nice in Nice.
We will end our cruise with an extension of four days in Sitges and Barcelona. Part Trois has more than made up for the rocky start by being a slice of heaven.
Liza heard my prayer. The holes in our bouquets were miraculously fixed by Uber drivers in Belfast, Ireland, and Rome, Italy. Who knew? Gotta run now. Another French word—the buffet—is calling. And I’m still not going to Target (tar jay) when I get home.
If you do not have a Bucket List, start one. You can start with a tiny bucket: things I’d like to do in the next year. Make a 5-year list and then one you might start checking off when you’re 75! Y’all, in our crazy world, there is no time like the present! Get busy! Leave a few blank spots for the surprises.
Dr. Tim Seelig is the Conductor Laureate of the San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus. http://www.timseelig.com/
TLC: Tears, Laughs, and Conversation
Published on July 16, 2026
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