Some Final Thoughts

"The gentle reader will never, never know what a consummate ass he can become, until he goes abroad.  I speak now, of course, in the supposition that the gentle reader has not been abroad, and therefore is not already a consummate ass.  If the case be otherwise, I beg his pardon and extend to him the cordial hand of fellowship and call him brother.  I shall always delight to meet an ass after my own heart when I shall have finished my travels. "

-Mark Twain, from The Innocents Abroad 

It's been 10 days since I disembarked in Ft. Lauderdale and returned to my regular life.  Well, not entirely my regular life--I don't go back to work for another week.  But, notwithstanding Christmas being in the middle of time I've been back, I have been able to reflect a bit on the trip (I've also been able to post my photos.  They can be found at http://gallery.me.com/cryswill#gallery  ).  Here are some random observations:

The wonder of it all:  It still amazes me that I had the chance to do something like this.  I owe a lot to a lot of people for making it possible.

What was my favorite place/activity?  This is the question I've gotten the most since I've returned, and I really cannot answer it.  The places and activities were so varied that calling one a favorite is like picking a favorite child.  Certainly some stand out more than others:  ancient Egypt, Petra, the safari, Mumbai, Kerala, Cape Town and Rio certainly all qualify as favorites.  But I wouldn't discount Dubai, Namibia, Fujairah, the Seychelles, or really almost any other experience along the way.

How did I stand those days at sea?  I will admit that, prior to this trip, I had never been a fan of days at sea on cruises.  For me, it's always been all about the places being visited.  But that changed for this trip.  Particularly after that first week, when I was off the ship overnight for Cairo, then again for Petra, then again for Luxor, I needed a vacation from my vacation--time to just re-group.  After a while, I started to stress when there were lots of ports in a row.  That is, until I had a little chat with myself and let it go.  Unfortunately, the victims of that stress were my visits to Mombasa and Zanzibar--I didn't really take them in properly because I was suffering from travel fatigue at the time.  Fortunately, I did not have that particular malady again until we hit the Caribbean, where it really didn't matter and where it was all about getting ready to end the trip anyway.

In any event, there was plenty to do during days at sea--lectures, classes, card games, socializing, catching up on the news and on my blog, and deck chair with book, to name a few.  The ship provided plenty of activities, and friends provided more.

Speaking of friends, the people I had the privilege to meet, both on the ship and off, were perhaps the best part of it all.  From the very first night in Athens, when we entered the rooftop bar and immediately recognized a "virtual friend" from the internet and then went to dinner and met a wonderful couple who would become valued friends throughout the trip, to the farewell parties when we had to say goodbye to so many terrific people, the community that was formed on this trip was something special.   

This included not only the 80+ people who were on for the full cruise, but those who joined and left along the way for the five individual segments of the cruise.  The ship's capacity is 490 passengers, and we tended to average in the neighborhood of 400 passengers at any given time, so there were plenty of people on just for the segments.  In particular, there was a group that was on the safari and joined the ship in Cape Town who participate on a message board that I've belonged to for a while, and it was great to finally get to know them in person.

The crew was a major part of the community, and became part of our lives for the duration.  I have to hand it to them--no matter what happened, there they were keeping their composure and dealing with whatever was in front of them.  For them, there was no escaping--they lived on this ship and had to deal with their responsibilities every time they left their quarters.  It cannot have been easy, and yet they all, from the captain to the general manager to the cruise director to the tour desk and reception to every waiter and steward and stewardess, left one feeling like they found it a pleasure to be with you and doing what they were doing.  My hat is off to every last one of them. 

Then there was my roommate, Beth.  She was a large part of why this trip was so great.  Her warm and friendly personality meant lots of new friends that she always shared.  Her considerateness made living with her easy.  Her sense of humor meant that I spent a good portion of those 72 days and 71 nights laughing like a lunatic.  I miss sharing quarters with her--which is something for a curmudgeon like me.

So now I'm home, and have to make my own bed, clean my own home, and cook my own meals.  When I wake up in the morning, there is not a new city or country to explore.  But that doesn't mean the adventure is over.  What this trip left me with is a renewed sense of wonder and beauty.  I saw many beautiful sunsets in exotic places, but I had that same sense of awe as I watched the sunset as I drove to North Carolina for Christmas.  Just a few minutes ago, I stopped to enjoy a painting on my own wall that has been there for a very long time.  And the time I'm spending with family and friends is more precious than ever.  

I picked a period to be away that was profound from a historic perspective.  America elected a president who, during my childhood, would have been considered unthinkable for the post.  The economy tanked in a big way, and we're all still unsure what it means to us or the world, or how much worse it's going to get.  The world remains a violent, uncertain place--both in places I visited (Mumbai, Athens, the Gulf of Aden) and places I didn't (Gaza, Afghanistan, Iraq and Iran).  But I'm fortunate, in that I had this opportunity, that I missed the violence in the places that it took hold, and that I was able to take a very deep breath before plunging once more into the fray--for once refreshed and ready to go.

To my friends and family:  I will try not to be too consummate an ass, but stop me when I get too boring.  I really am full of the last few months' adventures, and that could well make me full of something else.  

Da Water and Da Rum, Mon

"RUM, n.  Generally, fiery liquors that produce madness in total abstainers."

-Ambrose Bierce

The last week of the cruise was appropriately different from the nine weeks that went before it.  Those nine weeks were about exploring the historic and the exotic (or at least exotic to the likes of me).  The final week was about water, rum, and saying goodbye to new friends, as we plied the more traditional cruise ship waters of the Caribbean.  Stops were at Barbados, Dominica, Puerto Rico, and Grand Turk.

At all stops except Puerto Rico, the activity for me was the same:  snorkeling.  In Barbados, the snorkeling was with giant green turtles off a catamaran.  The cat crew were a friendly and helpful bunch, though I wasn't so sure about the advice one crewman gave me when the bad-tempered turtle named Hawkeye swam past:  make fists so that no fingers are dangling for him to bite at.  But my fingers went unbitten, so perhaps it was good advice after all.  After the snorkel, it was rum drinks all around as we relaxed and danced in the sun while the cat made its way back to shore under full sail.

In Dominica, it was snorkeling via "fun cats"--two-person catamarans that we steered ourselves as we formed a convoy of six cats.  Dominica itself is a beautiful island, widely considered to be the most unspoiled island in the Caribbean.  However, the reef is not so unspoiled--where we were, it was largely dead.  There is mining nearby of volcanic ash, and the off-flow from that activity has taken its toll on the coral.  

Dominica is politically interesting.  With a population of only 70,000, and dimensions of 29 miles by 16 miles, it is nevertheless an independent country with a seat in the United Nations.  It used to be a British colony, but became independent in 1978.

Our other snorkel island was Grand Turk.  I'd heard much about the quality of the diving here, so was looking forward to the snorkeling with the idea that if the diving is good the snorkeling will be too.  As in Barbados, we were on a catamaran.  The operation was totally professional, with the best equipment we'd had on any of our snorkels and a crew that was careful to make sure everyone knew what they were doing.  The waters were extremely rough, but I didn't experience the kind of difficulties I'd had in the Seychelles, probably because we weren't snorkeling near rocks and because the quality of the gear helped in battling the current.  But the work to counter the current did not have the same payoff as in the Seychelles--the reef here was in bad shape.  Apparently, while the island repaired its structures quickly after Hurricane Ike in the fall,the damage to the reef is more devastating and cannot be repaired by man.

The sail back to shore was particularly pretty, as the sun was setting as we sailed.  Rum drinks all around again, though less dancing on this one, probably because the cat was a good bit more crowded.  But still a pleasant day.

In Puerto Rico, we skipped the snorkeling and went straight for the rum, taking the ferry over to the Bacardi factory for a tour and free mojitos.  After that was a stroll around old San Juan, looking at the lovely buildings and blue cobblestone streets, stopping in a local cafe for lunch, and finding an exhibit in a park called "Earth from Above."  The exhibit was comprised of large, detailed and stunning photographs of places all over the world as seen from airplanes, helicopters and hot air balloons.  Many of the photos were of places we'd visited on our trip, albeit from above:  the dunes of Namibia, Kenyan villages, Petra, etc.  It was the perfect coda to our trip, coming as it did at journey's end.  And, as if to punctuate the point, the skies opened and it started to pour just as we returned to the ship from this wonderful day.

And indeed the journey is now over.  My next entry will be the last for this journal--some final words about the two and a half months of a trip that I'd never have dreamed I'd be able to take and that was beyond all my expectations of it.  

Life Along the Amazon

“A regal, ruling river there exists,
unique, and vast, of loveliness unmatched,
lowly-born amidst cold summit mists
then haughty, snubbing oceans, when dispatched."

- Fabriciano Hernàndez, Hymn to the Amazon

As mentioned in my last entry, we were scheduled for three more stops in Brazil after Rio. However, a funny thing happened on the way to Fortaleza. I awoke at about 5:00 am with the odd sense that something was wrong. It took me a few minutes to realize that there was no electricity—the nightlight in the room was out and the air conditioning shut down. It took me a couple more minutes to realize that the ship was not moving. Our entire power system was gone, and the ship was dead in the water. It remained this way for over an hour, and we experienced a couple more partial shut-downs through the course of the morning. Turns out, a water-cooled generator had failed and, being interconnected to other systems, had taken down the ship’s entire power system.

We were within sight of land when this happened, so it was not too disturbing. But it was a little unnerving to think that it could have happened while the ship was crossing the Atlantic, days from any land, or when we were in the Gulf of Aden where all the pirate activity has been taking place.

What it did do was set us back on our schedule such that the port stop in Fortaleza had to be foregone. So, I can write only of Salvador and Belem.

Salvador

Salvador, in the state of Bahia, was founded in 1549, and is Brazil’s third largest city (and the fifth largest in Latin America). It once was the capital of Brazil.

Salvador has a lower city and an upper city, with the lower being the commercial center and the upper containing a picturesque old city. Interestingly, the best way to get between the upper and lower cities is to take a giant municipal elevator. At a cost equal to about 25 cents, it is certainly cheaper than a taxi. We docked in the lower city, but did our exploring in the upper city, so the elevator came in handy.

The old city is laid out with narrow cobblestone streets, and churches everywhere. There are said to be 365 churches in the city, one for every day of the year. Many of the churches are quite ornate in design, and quite old, but there also are many newer ones. The cobblestone streets are lined with restaurants and shops, most of the latter selling crafts and art. Some of the streets are quite steep, and I can’t see many cars being able to withstand the cobblestone climb. Which may explain why we saw very few cars in this part of the city.

On the way back to the ship, I decided to try the popular local drink—coconut water. For the equivalent of about 40 cents, a vendor will sell you a green coconut, lop off the top with a machete, and give you a straw. Not a drink I would seek out, but not vile either. It was thirst-quenching, which was what I needed on that hot and humid day walking around the city.

Belem

Our last stop in Brazil was Belem, the gateway to the Amazon. The Amazon is the world’s largest body of freshwater and, measured by water volume, the largest river in the world by far (measured by length, the Nile is slightly larger). Because of the way the tides behave, we had to drop anchor a good distance out of Belem, in an estuary of the Amazon, which meant that we had to take a 45-minute bus ride to get to Belem and board our river boat for our mini Amazon adventure.

It was worth the ride. We got a glimpse of Amazonian life as we sailed up the river and through some of its channels. Houses on stilts line the river, and small boats and canoes are to this area what cars and bicycles are to other locations—the main form of transportation. We visited an island where the people make their living by gathering the fruits, barks and other materials on their land, take them in the morning to Belem to sell, then return in late morning to a relaxing rest of the day. We met a 70-year-old man who climbs thin, tall trees to gather fruit. We also encountered lots of children, many of whom followed us around. Unlike other places we’ve visited, they were not begging but were just curious about the strangers in their midst. School had just ended for summer vacation (remember, the seasons are opposite in the Southern Hemisphere from the Northern Hemisphere), so the children were on their school break. They were very sweet.

We bought some brazil nuts fresh from the tree. What I had never known is that the nuts that we know as brazil nuts actually are a much larger nut that, when broken open, contains as many as 18 of the nuts we see in stores. The fresh nuts have almost a coconut taste to them. We also tried jackfruit which, while slippery, is quite tasty. We also saw cocoa growing in its natural environment, and learned of the many different varieties that exist just on that little island.

We are now back on the ship, and just crossed the equator and so are back in the Northern Hemisphere. One week from today, I’ll be off the ship and headed home. Our remaining stops are on some Caribbean islands. While I’ve only been to one of them (Puerto Rico) in the past, I somehow feel as though the exploration portion of the trip is over. Now is just some fun in the sun.

Sailing Down to Rio

“There is no point to samba if it doesn’t make you smile.” -Latin American journalist (and author of the book Samba) Alma Guillermoprieto

Having arrived in Rio from Africa, much seemed familiar in the spirit of the people and in their crafts. This turns out to be no coincidence. At the height of Portugal’s colonization of the area, many slaves were brought here from western Africa, to the point that the proportion of slaves to Portuguese was 4 to 1 (and they all outnumbered the indigenous people by a significant margin). Some slaves eventually became free, and intermarriage between the three populations over the years became quite common, so that the culture became homogenous with a strong African influence.

And all this comes down to the samba—the drum-driven music, the feathers and beads, the “joyful noise” are all of African origin. Derived from a word meaning “to pray” or “to be joyful,” samba has its roots in the African embrace of the Christian mandate to make a joyful noise unto the Lord. Much of what we saw and experienced in Brazil, a country of deeply prevalent religion, was about the samba.

Our first visit in Rio was to Samba City, the place where the floats for Carnival and other parades are made. Few other visitors were there, so we and the workers largely had the place to ourselves.  Much work was being done on both the upcoming Carnival and the Christmas parade, and it was fascinating to watch these craftspeople at work, and to see some of their results. Feathers, beads, and all manner of decoration rule the day. A young man took some time out to show us how the characters on the Santa float were being constructed, starting with Styrofoam, then covered by paper mache, then painted. It was a fun and colorful morning.

The evening picked up the samba theme, as we attended a samba show at the club Plataforma. The audience was mostly tourists—from all over the world—but the performance was genuine samba. The costumes were colorful, the dance steps energetic and sometimes intricate, and the evening highly entertaining. The caipirinha (the national drink of Brazil) flowed heavily, making the evening a woozy one. It is said of the caipirinha that after one you feel good, after two you can dance the samba, and after three you can speak Portuguese.

In between the samba experiences, we were faced with making the most of our time in Rio on a rainy day. But we looked up from Samba City and realized that the cloud cover had cleared, so proceeded to the Corcovado, the mountain over the city on which the giant Christo Redentor statue perches. It is something of a trademark for Rio, and no trip to that city is complete without a visit to its base to take in the views of the city and its harbors. Intended to mark the 100th anniversary of Brazil’s independence in 1922, the Christo Redentor didn’t open until 1931 due to a funding shortfall during its erection. It is 98 ft high (on a 26-ft pedestal) and 98 ft between fingertips, and dominates the view above the city. When you see pictures of Rio, inevitably a photo of this statue turns up.

To get to the statue, a tram travels up the mountain through the Parque Nacional da Tijuca. At more than 8,000 acres, this is the largest urban forest in the world and one of the last remnants of rainforest on Brazil’s southern coast. The 20-minute ride up is a study in botany, with different areas labeled with the different plants on view. Every so often, you get a quick glimpse of the view below, but those glimpses are only teasers. About 15 minutes into the trip, suddenly the trees open up and a breathtaking view of the city below presents itself.

It had started raining again during our trip up, and we worried that the views would be obscured by clouds. Ha! Not to worry—the rain had stopped when we reached top, and the winds were so high that the clouds were blowing away at a rapid rate. Unfortunately, the winds were so high that it was nearly impossible to stand and look at the fantastic views for fear of being blown off the mountain. I have never been outside in winds like that before, so it was a new experience for me. The winds were high enough that they had closed the elevators and escalators that lead from the tram station to the base of the statue, so we’d had to walk up. We were told that, while it usually is windy up there, the winds that day were higher than any in recent memory. But we did get to see our views, and have a wind-swept experience on top of it. It was good that we went up when we did, as a fallen tree closed the tram later that day.

After that, we trolled the famous Ipanema and Copacabana beaches for a bit. For Brazilians, the beach is the center of life and activity. However, this was a rainy week day, so there were not many people on the beach that day. But the beaches themselves stretch for miles, with volleyball and soccer areas set up on the beach and plenty of vendors to provide whatever one might need or want. Sand sculptures were the order of the day, some extremely large and elaborate—and managing to hold up notwithstanding the rain. Christmas themes showed up in several of them, reminding us that it indeed is the Christmas season—hard to remember when it’s 90 degrees out, but Christmas falls in the summer in Brazil.

The next day was clear and sunny, with moderate temperature. In other words, perfect weather. So this was to be the day for the “other” view of the city—the trip up Sugarloaf Mountain. Rio is built in and among many mountains, but the Christo Redentor makes the Corcovado stand out, and Sugarloaf stands out because it sits at the mouth of the harbor. Access is by cable car—you board at the bottom and it takes you halfway up for some spectacular views, then you board another and it takes you to the very top. Life on Sugarloaf looks much like beach life, with opportunities for relaxation, family activities and picnicking. Once again the views were spectacular, though this time without the threat of being blown across the city.

From there, we returned to see the beach life on a sunny day. Though again a weekday, this time the beach was alive with activity—people walking, sunning, playing volleyball and soccer (in bare feet!), eating, drinking, and just generally living at the beach. Skimpy swim suits were the order of the day for both male and female, and no matter what the body shape of the wearer. It was great to see such a lack of self-consciousness.

We then paid a visit to the tiny but entertaining Carmen Miranda Museum, getting a short and informative review of her life and career. Apparently not that many people visit the museum, so we were treated like honored guests. From there, we went to a monastery with a chapel of elaborate wood and gold leaf, with both modern and old frescoes decorating the altar area. It reminded me of a similar chapel we saw in Oporto, Portugal—probably not a coincidence.

This was to end our visit, as our ship was sailing in the early evening. The sailaway was probably the most beautiful we’ve seen, as we headed out the harbor past Sugarloaf Mountain and the Ipanema and Copacabana beaches and out to sea for our trip up the Brazilian coast.

Our next visits are to Salvador da Bahia, Fortaleza and Belem. Each visit will be sandwiched between sea days, so it will take us another six days to cover the coast before we head out into the Caribbean for the final week of our cruise.

Life at Sea

“I lead the dancing to the dithyramb,
the hymn to Dionysus, lord divine.
I’m good at it, I’m even quite the ham—
Provided that my brains are braised in wine”
-Archilochus


Before I left on this trip, the most frequent question I would get was “how can you stand to be on a cruise ship for 72 days?” As I am now in the final two weeks of the voyage, I can answer that question—very easily.

Accomodations

The cabin that I am sharing with Beth is reasonably-sized: 359 square feet overall, including the balcony. It has a bedroom, sitting room that can separated from the bedroom by heavy curtain, good-sized bath, walk-in closet and balcony. In addition to this private space, we spread out to the public spaces: two restaurants, three bars, a library, a few little alcoves here and there, the gym, the pool deck (including a grill and bar I don’t count in the restaurant and bar count), the upper deck, and the promenade deck. In other words, there’s plenty of room to run.

Our ship is small for a cruise ship in this era. Its maximum passenger capacity is 490, and we’ve been running with anywhere from 350-420 since I got on. Approximately 80 of us are doing the full voyage—either the 71 nights like Beth and me, or 82 nights for those who boarded Sept. 27 and did the segment before ours. These lengthy cruises are divided into segments, with lengths running from 9 days to 21 days. Our full cruise covers a total of 5 segments, and those who boarded on 9/27 are on for a total of 6 segments. Collectively, the people who boarded on 9/27 or, like us, on 10/8 are considered the “full cruisers.” I have now become aware that some animals are more equal than others on a cruise ship—full cruisers being among the more equal. There’s just a bit more pampering and bit more attention meted out to the people on for the longer period. I suppose that’s a bit natural—when you’re on that long, the crew gets to know you better (for better or worse) and has a better feel for your preferences.

Shipboard Culture and People

Life aboard the ship is much like living in a small town. Everyone knows everyone else, and when people move away (i.e., leave at the end of a segment) it is cause for a sense of loss. But, when new people move in (i.e., board at the start of a segment), there is great curiosity about the new neighbors. And, in between, all the things that go on in a closed community: camaraderie, friendship, gossip, fun and the occasional hurt feeling.

The community consists of the passengers, the crew, and the staff. The level of interaction between passengers and personnel is pretty high. When you’re on for a long time, or even just for a week, you get to know the steward or stewardess who takes care of your room, and become well-acquainted with the wait staff. The Regent Seven Seas cruise line, which is the one I am on, has open seating at meals, so you do not get the same wait staff every time. Plus, they rotate the staff between restaurants and areas. But one does become friendlier with some than others, and it is a pleasure to get to know these hard-working people who somehow manage to remain pleasant through grueling hours and sometimes difficult people.

On this ship, the officers are quite visible, frequently mixing with the passengers. We have seen the captain helping people off the tenders, hauling luggage and provisions, and even bussing tables. Passengers will receive invitations to dine with a specific officer or two on many evenings, which demands that the officers be “personalities” in addition to being competent in their respective areas. I’ve developed a great deal of respect for these folks, who really do put up with a great deal. There’s also an interesting dynamic among some of the passengers who tend to “collect” officers—they enjoy spending time with the officers and go out of their way to engage in extra activities with them.

Another group that mixes a lot with the passengers is the entertainers. The ship has a resident troupe of singers and dancers, who double as social hosts and hostesses. These are all personable young people (one came of drinking age during the Africa segment of the cruise) who put on a couple of song and dance shows per week, and often also sing in the lounges in early evening or late night. It is really very clever of the cruise line to have them mix with the guests so much—the show is that much more enjoyable when you feel like you are watching your friends perform.

There also are headliners aboard—singers, comedians and musicians who put on solo performances. Many, but not all, of them also mix with the passengers. Our cabin is on the hall where most of them reside during the cruise, so we have gotten to know a few of them fairly well.

They are not quite entertainers and not quite staff, but there also are lecturers aboard who give talks during days at sea. Sometimes the talks are relevant to the cruise— particularly good ones have been the lecturer on the history of South Africa and a cultural anthropologist with expertise in South America—and sometimes they are random topics like “how to stay young” or the history of spying. The lecturers also live among the passengers, and will often join us for meals or excursions.

There are other staff as well—the tour desk folks, the reception and guest relations staff, the cruise consultant, the photographers—who mix with the passengers, and who are also friendly and energetic. In addition, there are the personnel we don’t see: the deck and bridge crew and the cooks being prime among them.

Cruise Ship as Mode of Travel

The number one advantage of cruising is how it simplifies travel. You unpack once, then your hotel moves from place to place. You go to bed at night and wake up in another town, get off and explore it, come back “home” for dinner and bed, then wake up in yet another town and do the same. Sometimes you stay overnight in the town, but you still return to the ship to sleep, so it’s still your hotel. And you have the choice of eating in town or eating on the ship. But you never have to bother about the logistics of travel—you are on the vessel that takes you to the next place.

Meals and Pampering

The fact that the ship is all-inclusive also simplifies matters. One never has to worry about the check for a meal or drinks. Wine pours freely at dinner, and the food usually ranges from good to excellent. There are usually about five choices for the main dish at dinner, plus a group of items that are always on the menu. You can eat in one of the two restaurants, order room service, or, at lunch, eat at the pool grill, which often has featured themes. In other words, there is no lack of food or drink. The biggest challenge we face is maintaining weight control and sobriety.

And, of course, this is one long vacation. Every day, my bed is made, my room is cleaned and I have fresh towels. If I sit down in pretty much any public space, some nice young man or woman magically appears offering me a drink. Or, food or drink is brought to my room if I so choose. It was not hard to get used to living this way.

Life is a little reverse from what happens at home. At home, at least during the week, I dress up and put on makeup in the morning, then in the evening take off the makeup and put on my casual clothes for dinner. Here, I wear my casual clothes and no makeup all day, then in the evening dress up and put on my makeup to go to dinner. This dressing for dinner thing is so civilized. There are formal nights (and no one has been rude enough to notice how often I wear the same two outfits), informal nights (dressy but not quite formal), and “country club casual” (slacks or skirt and a nice top). There is something very grounding about the need to dress each evening.

How Our Days and Nights Are Spent

So how do we spend our time on a cruise ship? Well, when we are in a port, usually the time is spent exploring that area. But there are days at sea, sometimes several in a row. How are they spent? Well, it’s up to you: a book and a deck chair are always a fine combination. Or, you can engage in activities: lectures, wine tastings, cooking demonstrations, dance lessons, deck “sports” like shuffleboard, baggo or bocce, gambling (no, I haven’t), trivia contests, organized bridge games or other pickup card games (I’ve fallen in with a group that plays a game called Pooch in the afternoons), crafts, and of course eating and drinking.

Evenings usually consist of gathering in one of the bars for before-dinner drinks (and usually there’s a pianist, a small band and/or vocalist playing), then off to dinner. You can dine alone, ask to be put with others at a larger table (“people pot luck”), or sit with friends or otherwise form a group beforehand and ask for a table together. Early in the cruise, we took people pot luck, but in the later weeks we’ve usually made dates with friends to be sure to have some time with them. On formal nights, one tends to have invitations to eat with an officer, and so you get a kind of people pot luck there, depending on who else is at the table.

Dinners tend to be long and leisurely, with different people having different numbers of courses, and much wine being poured throughout. After dinner, there is usually a show in the lounge—often a singer backed up by the ship’s orchestra or a revue put on by the resident troupe. There also is dancing in Galileo’s, the upstairs lounge, which extends well after the show. One of the other full cruisers is a 91-year-old gentleman who dances until midnight every night—usually with the youngest women in the room. Also, another bar, the Stars Lounge, puts on a disco or karaoke after the show. And, the smaller Navigator Lounge is a post-dinner gathering place for conversation.

Other “special” activities turn up from time to time. Just concluded was a “Dancing with the Navigator Stars,” whereby passengers teamed up with dance professionals from the ship (the dance instructors, the performers, and the “gentleman hosts”—men who, in exchange for free cruises, spend their evenings dancing with the ladies; see the movie “Out to Sea”) for a dance contest. It was great fun, and showed up some real talent or just good spirit (the 91-year-old gentleman mentioned above came in third). Every so often, the crew will put on a show—there’s a lot of talent there too. Though, a Filipino waiter named Elvis just got off the ship for a well-deserved vacation. You can probably guess what his act is.

There also are periodic parties on the deck to celebrate something or another—sailing from a nice port, good weather, crossing the equator, or just someone felt like putting one on. The equator crossing party was something wild—I will not reveal too much of it lest I spoil the surprise for others’ first crossing. Let’s just say that the photo above is from the aftermath of that party and, yes, that is the ship’s doctor with a watermelon on his head.

Overall

This truly has been the experience of a lifetime. I’ve seen places I’ve always dreamed of, places I otherwise would not have seen, and places I must go back to to spend more time. There have been adventures, quiet times, riotous times, and, most precious of all, good friends. Even as we are starting wind down, I continue to be amazed at my great good fortune to have had this opportunity, and remain grateful to the colleagues who made it possible for me. I will be seeing you soon.

Next entry: Rio de Janeiro

On British Soil: St. Helena

“Glory is fleeting but obscurity is forever.”
-Napoleon Bonaparte

On any lengthy cruise, there is bound to be a port or two that is a “throwaway”, one that is stopped at only because it happens to be along the way. I’d assumed that St. Helena would be just that, as it is pretty much the only thing on our route to Rio from Namibia. Without it, our crossing of the Atlantic would be 7 days, a bit too many days at sea. Was I ever wrong! St. Helena was one of those delightful surprises.

What I knew about St. Helena before getting there was that it was the place of Napoleon’s last exile and where Napoleon died. And, indeed, visits to the house where Napoleon lived and his tomb (although he was removed from the tomb years ago) were focus points of our tour of the island. But the highlight of the tour was the astounding beauty of the island.

Just the act of touring the island was an adventure in itself. There are no airports on this island, so the only way to reach it is by ship. As Helena is 2-3 days by sea from the nearest continent, very few ships visit it. Ours was the first cruise ship this year, and the next will not stop there until January. Other than that, it sees a mail ship stop once a month. There may be an airport eventually—one of the passengers on our ship was aboard in order to meet with St. Helena’s governor about building the airport.

Because of the limited number of visitors, and the limited number of residents (3600), there is only a limited tourism infrastructure, but that was a large part of the charm. We wound up touring the island by way of the “ancient bus,” a 1929 Rolls Royce (or at least pieces of it) tricked out as an open-air truck held together by wires and duct tape that carries up to 14 passengers. What great fun to travel around this lush island by way of this vehicle!

Everywhere we went, people waved, and one woman came running out of her house to take a photo. Presumably she’d seen our peculiar vehicle before, so I’m thinking she wanted a picture of the strangers in its back. When the vehicle is not operating as a bus, it is a taxi. Our driver, and the owner of this unique vehicle, is Colin Corker. Together with his wife Tracey, they are quite the entreprenaurs.

St. Helena’s landscape is fascinating. As you approach it by sea, you see rocky cliffs and a valley where the town of Jamestown is built. Once on the island, you travel some narrow and winding roads up the mountains to a green lushness that would rival anything seen in places like Tahiti or Hawaii. The beauty is breathtaking, and the views of valley and mountain at every turn are spectacular. The homes are lovely—most of them in town, or in a new development above town at the top of Jacobs Ladder, a 700–step set of stairs originally used to move manure up the mountain, but a few homes dispersed throughout the mountain area or in very small villages here and there.

My only complaint about St. Helena is that we had only 4 hours there. I’d have loved to have more time to explore this lovely terrain and town.

We are now on our trans-Atlantic sailing. My next entry will discuss life aboard a cruise ship on a lengthy cruise.

The Land God Made in Anger: Namibia

“Oh that the desert were my dwelling place.”
-Lord Byron, from Childe Harold

Our visit to Walvis Bay, Namibia, was all about the sand. Red sand, white sand, black sand, all together on sand dunes large and small. First we went through the Valley of the Moon, a desert of bleak, black iron deposits and, of course, sand. The closest thing I’ve ever seen to it is the Badlands in South Dakota. It is beautiful in its starkness, with fascinating rock formations and life forms that we could see limited to lichen, klipspringers (an antlelope-like animal), and a 200-year old plant that I cannot begin to describe.

We then visited the sand dunes, which vary in color and complexion as the light shifts through the day. Most are red in color, but with some parts white and some black. The sands shift constantly with the winds, and it is all the roads maintenance people can do to keep the sand from obliterating the roads (the main one of which is well-paved and maintained).

The town of Walvis Bay is pretty, with colorful ranch-type cottages and a beautiful lagoon at its center. During the morning, the lagoon is typically filled with white flamingoes. However, we got there later in the day and the flamingoes were gone. Those who know me can imagine my disappointment at this turn of events.

What little I saw of Namibia seems a lovely country. I saw little of the visible poverty seen in places like Kenya and Tanzania, nor the press of people seen in so many locales. No surprise with respect to the latter—Namibia is the second most sparsely populated country in the world.

In the evening, the ship put on a “dune dinner under the stars”. It was a wonderful evening. A percussion band greeted us as we arrived, and then a chorus from a local school put on a terrific concert. The dinner was barbecued meats, seafood, and vegetables, and was delicious. The only part missing was “under the stars.” It rarely rains in the desert. But it did that night. It was not a hard rain—more a light drizzle—but it was entrancing to be in the desert for such an unusual event. And, it made the conditions ripe for a truly spectacular sunset.

It was with great reluctance we returned to the ship that evening, and sailed away the next day from this place where the desert meets the ocean.

Our departure from Namibia marked the end of our sojourn in this hemisphere, and we set sail across the Atlantic bound for Brazil. Our mid-ocean stop, after two days of sailing, would be the island of St. Helena, which is my next blog entry.

The Rainbow City: Cape Town

“There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.”—Nelson Mandela

I’d long heard about Cape Town from friends, books and news reports—heard of its beauty, of its role in the worst and best of South Africa’s history, and of its culture and vitality. It indeed was all it is reputed to be.

One thing that was different than I expected, however, was the waterfront where the ship was docked. I knew that there was a complex there, but I expected some hokey Rouse-type development. The Victoria and Alfred Waterfront (named for Queen Victoria and her son Alfred, who visited in 1860) is more than that—it’s a city within a city. It takes the best of waterfront development, shopping mall and downtown street, and puts it all in the beautiful seaport area. With the fabled Table Mountain and Signal Hill rising above it, the setting of the waterfront is just about picture-perfect. A person could spend several days there and not exhaust its offerings—a fine aquarium, smaller museums and craft houses, shops, restaurants, sidewalk arts, and the jumping off point to get to Robben Island (more about that later). A place where visitors and locals mingle, nightlife and street life prevail.

We were not on the ship when it sailed into this lovely waterfront. Instead, we flew into Cape Town from our safari, and so had our first view of the city as we rode in from the airport. That drive was a study in contrasts. There is new construction around the city, including a massive new stadium in anticipation of the 2010 World Cup, but many older sites still in place. What stood out was the large township we passed—one that was formed during the apartheid years but still exists today. However, transition was visible. There were parts that were the shantytown of the photos we’ve all seen, but parts that were being renovated and improved into very nice homes. I suppose it’s a form of evidence of the change that the country is experiencing.

We would later see other shantytowns that were suffering the opposite change—a deterioration of condition. These, we learned, are the newer townships being formed by immigrants and refugees, mostly from Zimbabwe and Somalia. Some from both countries are in the same townships, and are not getting on well together. Other shantytowns have been abandoned, as the violence against immigrants from several months back has driven the refugees away. With 25% unemployment in South Africa, it’s a tense situation, as turning against the immigrant when times are tough must be something of a universal.

We arrived at the ship in the evening, and went out to the waterfront for dinner, at a Cape Malay-style restaurant, then wandered around the complex a bit. The next morning, we met a guide that we’d engaged through Hylton Ross, one of the big tour-guide companies, and four of us set out in a car with Kim, our guide, first up to Table Mountain, then through the towns and seaside areas on the way to the Cape of Good Hope. We were very fortunate in the weather that day, as Table Mountain was clear and the winds were low, so that the cable car was in operation, and our view from the mountain over Cape Town and the bays, ocean and cape, was clear and lovely.

I had particularly looked forward to the Cape of Good Hope, as it had captured my imagination ever since I’d read about it (and its challenge to explorers) as a child. We’d missed sailing around it, since we were on safari when the ship made that part of the journey (and probably a good thing—I’m told the seas were rough). So the drive was a kind of consolation prize. It was a picturesque drive through wineries, beaches and a number of pretty towns. One highlight was a stop at Boulders Beach, where we watched a colony of African penguins. It was molting season, and so the penguins were in a variety of conditions depending on where they were in the process.

The cape point itself was a bit eerie and windswept—exactly as I’d always imagined it. Along the way, we encountered ostriches and baboons along the road. In fact there were large baboons at the place where we stopped for lunch, as well as men whose job it was to keep chasing the baboons away—apparently, baboons can get pretty nasty with their propensity to steal food and other objects and fling pooh (and I’m not talking Winnie here).

We also went through the former District 6—an area of a once-thriving ethnic community, until the powers of apartheid deemed that they should all be moved to a township and removed from this prime real estate. Ironically, despite the massive displacement, the area that was plowed down was never re-developed, and to this day lies rather empty. There is an effort underway to get some former District 6 residents to return, but so far few have done so.

That evening, the ship had arranged a dinner for the people on the full voyage at Buitenverwachting, a well-known fine restaurant on the Constantia wine estate. Groot Constantia is the oldest vineyard on the Cape. When Napoleon was exiled to St. Helena, he selected their wines as substitutes for his favored French wines. The building where the restaurant is housed is an example of Cape Dutch architecture. The meal was excellent, the wine even better, and the company terrific. A nice evening all around.

The next morning we had arranged tickets to tour Robben Island, Cape Town’s answer to Alcatraz (actually, comparisons to San Francisco are apt in many respects—the two cities have similar feels). However, Robben Island reflects the greatest shame of South Africa’s history—it is where male, non-white political prisoners were held during much of the apartheid era. It is where Nelson Mandela spent the bulk of his 27 years of imprisonment.

The tour is well-organized and very moving and informative. You take a ferry from the pier where the prisoners used to be sent, and arrive on the island for a general overview tour. The island is much larger than expected, and had functioned variously in its history as simply a town, then an insane asylum and leper colony. It eventually came to be used as a prison, but also boasts a settlement of people who, during the prison era, worked in the prison and now work in the museum. There is even a school on the island, though it only goes up to the equivalent of the 7th grade. The children go the mainland for secondary school.

The guides in the prison itself are all former prisoners. Our guide, Wiseman, was himself imprisoned there for 10 years for anti-apartheid activities. It is a reminder of how recent this history is that Wiseman is a fairly young man. I doubt if he is older than 45. In fact, many of the children who attend school on the island are children of these former prisoners. Some of the former warders also work in the museum, in a variety of functions. It is a tribute to the reconciliation of recent years that former prisoners and warders can work side by side, but having read Nelson Mandela’s “Long Walk to Freedom” I can understand how that simpatico could have developed.

Wiseman gave us a clear view of the hardships of imprisonment, and the degree to which prisoners of different racial backgrounds were treated differently. Black prisoners received less food (both in quality and quantity) than other races, and were in many respects treated more harshly. Wiseman was in a “group” cell, where some 50 prisoners slept, at first on thin floor mats but eventually on bunks. We saw the cell where Mandela was kept—he was one of the isolated prisoners because he was deemed “dangerous.” That seems ironic today, given the role of reconciler he played upon his release, but then the U.S. only just recently took him off the list of “known terrorists.” Mandela certainly engaged in guerilla warfare in his time, in the long fight for freedom, but the line between those acts of sabotage and the wanton attacks on anonymous civilians that we see today is not a thin one.

After that sobering and educational morning, we spent the afternoon strolling the waterfront and doing a little shopping. We sailed away in late afternoon, with a surprising number of people on the pier waving goodbye. In fact, I was surprised at the number of passersby who took pictures of the ship while she was in port. I gather that, while cruise ships do call at Cape Town, it isn’t often that one is small enough to dock right at the V&A Waterfront. I’m so glad we did.

After a beautiful sail-away, we were bound for two days in Walvis Bay, Namibia, my next entry.

A Sad Interjection

“…As long as communities feel marginalised and victimised, terror will breed in ghettoes around the world. Inclusion and integration is the only way forward. Just to clarify, I am not saying we can hug terrorists and make them change. But we can change the hearts and minds of ordinary people and take away the breeding grounds. / The enormity of the task is daunting, but I really believe there is no other choice. It is no use waiting for a 21st century Gandhi to do it! You and I must do it, if we are to change the world...”
-Deepa Krishnan, owner of Mumbai Magic (the guide company we used in Mumbai), in her blog at http://www.mumbai-magic.blogspot.com/

As the horrors of the attacks in Mumbai have unfolded over the past few days, I’ve remained silent in my blog only because I have no words to express the sorrow over what this wonderful city and its fine people are enduring, and over the fates of the victims of the attacks. But I cannot just continue to post about our adventures (which, yes, I will update shortly) without paying homage to the courage and spiritual beauty of the people of Mumbai.

Somehow, when you have visited a place—and particularly when the visit has been very recent—tragedies like this seem all the more vivid. You think of the people you met, and pray for their well-being, and of the people you saw or did not meet, but know how deeply their lives are affected. I may understand a bit, having lived in one of the target cities (Washington, DC) on Sept. 11, 2001. The emotions of that day are still raw, and I’d imagine that the people of Mumbai may be feeling much the same.

The stories of heroism are starting to come out—of hotel personnel risking their own lives to secure the safety of others, of police officers once again putting themselves in the line of fire, of people on the streets taking steps to secure the safety of others—and they are no surprise in light of the sense of the spirit of the people I felt in my short visit there.

To the people of Mumbai, my heart is with you in this troubled time. May you emerge even stronger and wiser from your ordeal.

Safari in South Africa

“Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up.
It knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed.
Every morning a lion wakes up.
It knows it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death.
It doesn’t matter whether you are a lion or a gazelle.
When the sun comes up, you better start running.”

-African proverb

I used to wonder why people would go on game-watching safaris. After all, most people have seen those animals before in zoos. Well, now I understand. There is nothing to compare with tracking them and observing them in their own environment.

One thing I find extraordinary about game-watching safaris is their safety. You’d think that that hungry lion would as soon eat a human as a gazelle, but the fact is they leave the humans alone—at least in game preserves and at least as long as the humans don’t do anything stupid. In a game preserve (which was where we did our safari—the Madikwe Game Preserve), no hunting is allowed, so the animals are not conditioned to perceive humans as a threat.

Here’s how the safari works, at least where I was: People stay on the game preserve in lodges, and each lodge takes its guests out twice a day—in the early morning and later afternoon—for a game drive in an open-air truck which seats anywhere from 4 to 10 people. The seats are tiered so that all get a good view. Each truck is accompanied by a Ranger, who drives the truck, spots the wildlife, explains it all to everyone, and is responsible for everyone’s safety. There is also a tracker, who at least in the trucks run by our lodge, Madikwe Hills, sits in a jump seat at the front of the truck’s hood. We were very fortunate that we never had more than 6 passengers in our truck (so no one was stuck in the dreaded middle seats), and that we had a terrific Ranger (Frans) and Tracker (Max).

Every morning, we were awakened at 4:30 am (yes, that’s right, I willingly got up at 4:30) in order to be ready to start the drive at 5:00. This has two reasons: one, that’s when it is easiest to find some animals and, two, you get to see some spectacular African sunrises over the bush.

I will spare you the laundry list of animals we saw, and just give the high points. Suffice it to say, we saw all the “Big 5” (elephants, giraffes, rhinos, cape buffalo, and leopards) except the leopards (though our tracker and ranger certainly tried to find them for us), as well as a number of other animals, many of which I’d never heard of or seen before. It was entrancing.

One of the most fascinating experiences was on our first morning drive, when we came upon a pride of lions. There was a male lion asleep in the bush, and a female and two cubs walking around nearby—they’d been on one side of the road and crossed right in front of us. While the cubs played, the male roused himself and went about his business (have you ever seen a lion urinate? You don’t want to be near that stream). Pretty soon, we could hear another lion roaring in the distance, then this lion roaring back. This went on for several minutes, with the female and cubs occasionally adding in some noises. I have never heard anything like it. Frans explained that this was a friendly exchange—the lion in the distance is the brother of the lion we were watching, and when the two of them get together, they do something akin to hugging each other.

Once we moved along, we saw what the lions had been doing on the other side of the road—there were the remains of a wildebeest lying there (I’d never have recognized it as such, but Frans assured us that was what it was). We knew that those remains would not go to waste, because before we came upon the lions, we’d seen a jackal doing his thing—gnawing on the bones of an animal’s remains from some other predator’s breakfast. That’s what jackals do—pick the bones of others’ leavings.

After the lions, we came upon a herd of wildebeest, quietly going about their grazing. Frans referred to them as “the spare parts animal”—they have the head of a goat, the horns of a buffalo, and the body of a zebra. Unfortunately, the wildebeest set off in the direction of the lions, though we did not stick around to see the inevitable results of that particular meeting, particularly as we’d just seen one such result.

We also came upon a herd of elephants, which included a baby elephant running around and poking at the others in an apparent attempt to get them to play. It was adorable, but our ranger was very wary—apparently elephants are the animals most likely to attack humans, when they feel that their young are threatened. So he was always on high alert when baby elephants are in a herd.

We were to see quite a few elephants in our time there. In addition to the herd discussed above, we encountered groups and individuals in the road, on the side of the road, up hills, in bush, and pretty much everywhere. And yet, some people at our lodge never saw more than a single elephant, but did see a number of animals we did not.

The best elephant sighting was at a watering hole, where we encountered a herd of at least 20 that we could see. They were eating, playing in the water, etc., and making quite a noise of it. They were on three sides of us, and were something to observe. In particular, a fight between two males to establish dominance was fascinating—it wasn’t a blood fight, but instead a kind of play fighting, but with a very definite goal—which bull was the alpha elephant.

We’d encountered this herd after what was probably the best “treat” of all—the wild dogs. We know people who have been to this park several times and never seen them, yet we got to watch a pack of 23 for quite a while. This is a disappearing species—there are fewer than 3,000 of them left in the world. The dogs travel in a pack, with an alpha male and female, and can take down and eat another animal in a matter of minutes. The pack included 7 pups just two weeks out of the den, who were having a grand old time playing with a piece of cardboard while the adults sauntered by either ignoring us or giving us no more than sidelong glances. They then laid in the road, waiting for the youngsters to catch up.

One of the rules of the park is that no more than two trucks can be at a given sighting at a time. We were not really aware of this rule until this point, since it was rare to see the trucks bunching up, and there would be different trucks scoping out different animals at any given time. But the dogs attracted all the lodges, so the trucks were lined up at intervals along the route the dogs were following, with no more than two in any one place. These dogs move quickly, and could be miles away within an hour, so everyone was out looking while they could.

While the dogs were cute, there was no doubt of their deadliness. Not long after this encounter, they took down a wildebeest in a matter of minutes, devouring the animal alive. Believe me, no one was sticking an arm or leg out of the truck in their presence.

But really, the only time I felt at all threatened was when we encountered some cape buffalo. The herd was spread across both sides of the road, and many of them were watching us carefully with what seemed an evil eye. Eventually, all but one lost interest in us, but that one kept a careful eye out. We later learned that this particular herd used to be in an area where hunting was allowed, and recently had been moved into the preserve. So they did view humans as a threat, which is probably why we had the sense that they were a threat to us.

I will warn my friends and family now: I am so enthralled with the safari experience that I will be boring you silly with it for some time to come. And, if you are thinking about a safari, I highly recommend Madikwe Hills Lodge—the personnel are great, the food was really almost too good, and the overall experience was beyond all expectations.

There is so much I’m leaving out here—the astonishing beauty of the bush, the way the foliage totally transformed after rain, the eerie beauty of a thunderstorm coming in over the veld, the spectacular sunrises and sunsets, and the starry, starry nights. To all my friends who have lived in or come from Africa, I now understand the wistfulness in your voices when you speak of this wonderful continent. I know I will be back—how can I stay away, now that I’ve seen it?