P.S.

People I forgot to thank:  Henry, Andrew, Stephan, James, Ernesto, Melony - the best pursers in the whole, wide world.

And, in John Lewis in the West Quay Mall:

Lorraine at the Yves Saint Laurent counter
and
Julie at Clinique.

Julie, your advice and recommendations were spot-on.  I forgot the primer but will be back in 2 weeks - see you then.  And, keep working on your dream and it will turn into a plan which will turn into reality.  I am living proof of that.

Southampton, the real end of the circumnavigation, yesterday was rainy, sunny, cold, warm, windy - all within 2 hours.  I did some shopping (see above), came back to the ship early and fell asleep, missing dinner in the dining room.  I went upstairs to the "smash and grab" and then to jazz.

Because I do not like the new line dancing teacher (in one dance, we have to make the crocodile's mouth, just like in first grade!), I no longer have to rush in the morning.  I just might make up some of my sleep deprivation.  Or, I just might stay up late, in the Chart Room for the jazz.

No matter what, it will still be amazing.

When I was about 10, I found some books which had belonged to my uncle, who died in England during WWII.  They were travel books by Richard Halliburton.  I devoured them, determined to follow in his footsteps. Although they are dated, I still enjoy them and recommend any and all.

In the forward to his books, he said that he had planned to take his children around the world, but since he did not have children, he invited the reader to accompany him.  I guess I have done the same thing, inviting you to join me.

Thank you, all of you, for traveling with me.  I hope I have been able to adequately express my amazement, my wonder, at all I have experienced.  Someone described my enthusiasm as "a 7-year-old 3 days before Christmas".  I was and still am.  Hope you are too.

THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES.......

First, thanks to Nicola and Regina, who kept my apartment alive; Wendy, who took care of the American arrangements.  I could not have done this without your combined support.
And, Michael who joined me for 9 days of this journey but accompanied me the entire time.

In no particular order:
Commodore Christopher Rynd,
Commodore Tim Lowe,
Ed, Chris, San, Kelvin, James P. and James of Oxford, Jamila, Natalya
Jan otherwise known as Gladys, Brian, Glenn and Elaine, Asher, Tony, Ailwin,
Warren, Joan, Mel and Allen,
Thomas, the whale-watching Waltz King,
Petra, Nathan, Terry, Ray and Lise,
Glenn, Glenn, Joue, Viktoria, Jason, Lynn, John, Jo, Sophie, Natasha,
Dan and Nikki, Steve M, dance host and author,
DJ Lee, the absolute best in the world,
all the waiters who spoiled me rotten,
Harold King, who made all of us believe that we could dance and suddenly we could,
and Dragana, who made it all possible.

The last, very special thanks to (in alphabetical order) Lil, Maree and Tita - the Melbourne Triplets - whom I still miss.
 
Three women boarded in Australia and came to line dancing.  The first thing I noticed was that they finished each other's sentences.  Then, I noticed that they all used one pair of eye glasses.  Super dancers and obviously super friends. 

Well, they "adopted" me, and Ed, and never before nor since have I had so many hugs, kisses, giggles, laughs, belly laughs, dancing and fun, punctuated by serious talks on deck 7 after dancing in the "G".
Of course, after the joke John K told, I will never look at a chicken again without thinking of him.

We still do ZORBA and BABY GIGOLO, I have found HAUNTED HEART and will learn it when I am back in Germany.

ED, if you have an ounce of sense, you will get on a plane and fly to Melbourne into the waiting arms and hearts of the Triplets.

So, to all of you and anyone whose name I have not listed (blow to the head, blunt force trauma, remember? Yes, but vaguely!!),


THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES.


The greatest compliment I can give anyone: 

whenever I think of you, I will smile.

Malaga, the talent show, rock and roll, a jazz singer and King Harold

The day was exactly as any tourist would wish for:  warm, about 75 F (20-something Celsius), sunny with a light breeze from the sea.  There were 4 ocean liners in the port but the only queue (line) for entrance was at the Picasso Museum.  Fortunately, I am not a fan so that was not on my list.

This time, no tour.  I walked, attempted to use the Spanish I had learned and unfortunately forgotten in the last 4+ months.  But, I had fun and got lots of help.   First, to the cathedral - very large and being renovated inside and out.  So, several of the chapels were closed to the public but it was still an enormous place.  It is my custom to light a candle only here, the candles are plastic, behind a clear plastic case and light up when the coin you drop in the box hits some kind of sensor.  Interesting!  There were a couple of tour groups, from the Holland-American ship so the tours were in English but not obtrusive.  Marietta was not there!!!!!

From the cathedral I began to wander through narrow streets with houses, apartments, shops and restaurants.  In parts of Germany, especially where I live, it's common to see empty stores and used-to-be restaurants.  In Malaga, the shops seemed to be doing ok but there were lots of empty dwellings.  One especially attractive one, near the cathedral but on a quiet back street had glazed tiles (Portuguese?) with blue and tan designs, covering the front of the building.  Unfortunately, there was graffiti smeared on part of it but even that did not destroy the inherent beauty.

Of course, I began thinking about renovating - a small hotel and restaurant ?  A b&b??  The upper stories got a lot of sun and there were small, wrought-iron balconies, enough for plants.  Actually one balcony in an obviously otherwise inhabited building had huge, red flowers (amaryllis, I think).  The one below it had masses of red geraniums, a wonderful sight.

From the old town I began to climb the hill towards the "castle" - I am not sure what it is since I did not make it.  My "deranged" knee (see early entry about the accident) began to throb so I stopped for about 10 minutes and then came back down the hill and went to the beach.

There is a small stretch of sandy beach near the cruise/ocean liner terminal and I sat in the sand after wetting my feet.  I worked with a textbook many years ago - THE SUN THAT WARMS - a lovely title, which I thought about when I was there.  Actually, I fell asleep for about 20 minutes before resuming my walk.

One of the main streets could have been in London, NY or any other big city:  within 200 yards, there were McDonalds, Burger King, Taco Belle, Dunkin Doughnuts and Pizza Hut.  It's true, all big cities look alike.  I bought a strawberry doughnut, ate 2 bites and threw the rest away.  I used to like them, I think, about 30 years ago but I, and my tastes, have changed.

This was one of the longer on-your-own days and it was wonderful, the perfect last port before the end of this amazing trip.  Thanks, Malaga.

Yesterday, we, some of the regular line dancers, were the opening act of the passenger talent show -
Triplets, do you remember?????  Well, you should have been with us because we did ZORBA - exactly as you taught us, and we did the entire song!!!  Definitely high energy.  It was a fitting farewell to James who is leaving for a holiday and then going to the RMS QUEEN VICTORIA.

I tried ballroom dancing last night but the rock and roll of the ship made it impossible.  Wandering around the ship, I blundered into karaoke - apparently Japanese for "empty orchestra".  The pub patrons were drunk so they applauded everyone, mercifully.  James invited me to try but I begged off.

Then, I went up to the Chart Room to have my mojito (no rum, no mint, sort of a lime soda) and listened to the jazz trio.  They were excellent, did requests (SPEAK LOW) and I was told I looked like a singer - whatever that means.  Then, I was invited to join in but said, in truth, that all those years of smoking had ruined a fine alto voice so I would just confine my singing to the shower and would just mouth the words for my own enjoyment. 

As I usually do at midnight, I went up to deck 7 for fruit but was seduced by spare ribs - yeah, I know, I am a vegetarian except for liver and occasionally spare ribs and last night was another of those occasions.  As I was munching along, King Harold joined me and we stayed there until 2 am talking to Harold, an amazingly brilliant choreographer and instructor and raconteur par excellence.  He is demanding, as he should be, and brings out the best in all of us.

The rest of the time to Southampton (arrival tomorrow at 6 am) will be spent saying goodbyes and thanks to the special people who are leaving.  I realized that this has become my community and I will be very sorry to leave it.  On the other hand, the vessel continues to Norway.  Hmmmmmm.

The Tour Guide from HELL!

This is how the tour began:

"Good Morning. Look at me! This is my name. Are you looking? Well, look closely! My name is Marietta. It means "Little Mary" because I was very little when I was born. I mean, all babies are little but I was very little so my grandmother named me Marietta. The name looks not Greek, heh? Well, that's because it is not Greek, it is Italian because there are Italian people, well not really Italian now, but they used to be Italian, people in the part of Greece where my grandmother was born and she thought I should have this name. The priest and my mother did not want it but my grandmother did so I am named Marietta and you will not find many other Greek women named Marietta so you cannot confuse me with no one else because there is no other Marietta tour guide who has ever been, are you listening? Well, listen carefully because what I say is important! There is no other tour guide, well maybe there is another one somewhere in Italy but I am sure that there is no other tour guide in Greece named Marietta, not even in the part of Greece where my grandmother came from in case there are still Italians there but I have not visited that part of Greece for many years....................." And it never stopped, 8 hours long!!!

The woman's mouth ran far ahead of her brain, which was a pity.  She had a lot of information, much of which I knew (thanks to parents and grandparents who read and great teachers!) but there were many on the bus for whom this was all new.  After about an hour, a lot of us tuned out or tried to.

First, we went to the stadium which was the site of the first modern Olympics - 10 minutes photo op and restroom stop.  She kept referring to the restroom as Walter and Claire (W.C.) and found it terribly amusing.  Actually, she found herself so interesting that she droned on and on.

We could see the Acropolis from many parts of the city as we rounded the harbor driving towards it.  I had thought we would drive up to it but the car park is at the bottom of the hill and about 80 steps later we were actually there.  Normally, that would have taken a few minutes but Mariette insisted that we stop at the first landing (after about 10 steps) and gave us a lecture about the trees, not just what they were but how to avoid hitting low branches - duck.  Thanks, Marietta.  We would never have thought of that on our own.

Then, the next landing and the next so that it took about 35 minutes to finally get to the Acropolis, which is much smaller (it's still big!) than I had expected when viewed from the harbor.  It's absolutely beautiful but still in a state of disrepair, despite billions (yes, billions with a "b") from the European Union since the 1980's.  There is scaffolding which has rusted almost away and is certainly dangerous but since it's not in use - no money to pay the workers! 

There was a souvenir shop at the base of the hill and the man running it is a certified civil engineer with a degree from Wuerzburg, a famous German university.  He is fluent in Greek, English and German and cannot get a job because he does not have the right connections or family name.  In Germany, we often see news reports about the nepotism in Greece and here I was, confronted with it.  His German was actually better than mine and his English was practially unaccented but he cannot get any other job than running his uncle's small souvenir shop. 

He wanted to stay in Germany and the company where he trained during his senior year (and about which he wrote his thesis) wanted desperately to keep him but the German authorities said that there were enough German engineers to fill the job.  There aren't, and many companies complain about not being able to hire competent foreign workers but to no avail.

From the Acropolis, we went to lunch at the Metropolitan hotel - hooray!  It was excellent, we were the only guests and there was an enormous buffet.  Well-prepared and presented Greek food is excellent.  I tried to sample a bit of everything but only managed about half of what was there - the cheese pie was my favorite but I did eat lamb and veal. 

Then, in true carnivore fashion, I wanted to nap in the bus during the 60+ minute drive to Cape Sounion.  Silly me!!  Marietta was at it again.  After about 30 minutes (doesn't she have to breathe?) she said she would give us a rest.  Click off when the microphone.  I began to speak to the woman across the aisle when Click on and Marietta was at it again.  I fell asleep for about 20 minutes and I swear she noticed it and turned up the microphone.

Finally, we got to Cape Sounion - "You can use the Walter and Claire but if you buy some food from here you have to go away and it eat and there isn't time to eat here.  Besides you should not be hungry or thirsty after that lunch.  Did you enjoy the lunch?  You should have enjoyed it!  It was prepared just for you.  I thanked the chef.  Did you remember to tell the waiter how good it was?  It was cooked for you!  Lord Byron, this is for the English, uh, UK participants since maybe the rest of you do not know who Lord Byron was but he was famous, a famous English person and he died in Greece, very tragic, because he died so far away from home and he was here and left his name on a stone, it's one of these but it was a long time ago and it's not so easy to see unless you have good glasses, I mean eyeglasses and then maybe you can see it because it's not easy to see............"

And on and on.

From a previous entry, you know that I really wanted to see the Temple of Poseidon at Cape Sounion.  It was just a short walk up a small hill, at the cliff edge (yes, I did go near the edge and look over) but of course, we were expected to stop and listen to her talk about Lord Byron again (a famous English person from the UK who died here because he was here at that time) - duh! - who carved his name in one of the blocks.  It's still graffito to me even though I am a fan of his poetry. 

So, taking my life in my hand, I not only did not listen, I walked further on, to the temple.  God did not strike me dead for defying Marietta although I think she expected it. 

The temple was erected to be a sanctuary, small and perfect, on a promontory surrounded by water on 3 sides, but in the same state of disrepair as the Acropolis.  Nevertheless, the witch still went on a rampage about the Elgin Marbles, a sensitive subject which should never have been broached.

When Greece was under the domination of the Ottoman Turks, Lord Elgin was given "permission" to remove some of the marble figures from the Parthenon and other sites.  The action was controversial then and still is but......Greece did not do much of anything to protect the remaining figures.  In fact, they did not open a museum to shelter them until 2009, 200 years after Elgin removed the ones now in the British Museum.  And, those still in Greece are eroded and rather sad.  Of course, when you want to divert public opinion from real problems at home, you can play the "national pride" card and some will fall for it.

An English woman sitting behind me assured those of us who could hear her that there were no marbles in her luggage but unfortunately, Marietta had lost hers.  It seemed like a joke then, until Marietta began to cry "poor mouth". 

She has worked all her life and her pension will only be 400 euros and that's not fair.  She has to pay for her children's education and her son went to MIT and that was very expensive or he is still there, I am not sure.  This subject should never have been broached - a German man at the back yelled, "You should pay your god-damned taxes!". 

When Greece's financial problems first began to become public knowledge, there were many news reports on German tv with interviews of Greeks who not only did not pay taxes but made fun of the German reporter and Germans in general for paying taxes voluntarily.  One interview which sticks in my mind was with a surgeon who claimed that he only earned about 10,000 euros a year - about $13,000.  A friend lent him the Porsche he was driving and his wife's job paid for the house (with pool) where they lived.  She was a secretary in the Health Department.  Huh?

Now, we have to rescue the bastards and I am really not happy about it.  But, it's the very old and the very young who will suffer most, not the politicians who created the wreck which passes itself off as the Greek government.

Normally, the tour participants give the guide some money - a tip for the guide and the driver.  Most of the people on the bus had taken out money but all of us put it back in our pockets.  Had she shown one iota of gratitude for the help Greece has been given or had she not broached the subject of money, she would have been much richer at the end of the day = 45 passengers @ $10 per passenger.  If she was lucky, she got a quarter of that - from the Americans who do not know of the bailout.

If we are lucky, we will never meet her again.

Format

For reasons not clear, blogspot has changed several things and I was not able to make paragraph breaks in the last post. Anyone know the reason?

Lorena R. Heathcock, Anita F. LeMon, Latin and the Temple of Poseidon

I was blessed with an array of excellent teachers throughout my school career. Mrs. Sametta Wallace Jackson at Harrison Elementary School - 5th and 6th grades. She tolerated a degree of silliness but insisted that we excel. Once, when we were supposed to find certain countries on a map and the boy behind me was not paying attention, she asked him, very quietly because she never raised her voice, why she should have more respect for his education than he had. Mrs. Jackson's words were on my mind very often last autumn when it was obvious that at least two-thirds of my clients were not interested in learning - they were just going through the motions, sometimes not even that. In the 5th grade, we had the possibility to learn Latin 30 minutes after school, one day a week - Mrs. Jackson's initiative. It was mostly stories in English with a few Latins words important in English: sub + mare = submarine, below the water. Like all good learning, it was level-appropriate and fun. And, we felt so smart, knowing a "foreign" language. It was serious, but no less fun from the 8th to the 12th grades. Lorena R. Heathcock, the greatest Latin teacher in the world, began to tell us about Ulysses the first week of 8th grade. We had class every day and the last 20 minutes on Friday were dedicated to the story, our reward for a week of otherwise hard work. There were a few new Latin words each week, translated if she saw blank expressions, until by the end of the year, the story was 90% in Latin, always tailored to the vocabulary in the book. Mrs Heathcock decided to send two of us to compete in the city-wide Latin exam held by the Washington Classical Club. Schools had recently been integrated and the Club had to open the exam to all schools. We would be the first Negroes (as we were designated then) ever to compete. She stayed after school with us for weeks, and the other student and I practiced together at lunch time. Her faith in us never wavered - she was sure we would make everyone proud. Believe it or not, I can still remember part of the test - one text to be translated into English from Latin was about Vercingetorix, chief of the Averni, who raised an army against Caesar. Should you ever visit me, you will see the certificate -vellum- framed, hanging in the entrance hall. I placed 4th out of more than 1,500 students from the greater D.C. area. The other student placed 10th. Mrs. Heathcock beamed for weeks. She was much loved. Mrs LeMon, too. The D.C. School Board (all white once my cousin Margaret left it) decided that black schools did not need Latin and if we did, then only in the 10th grade. Mrs L refused to accept their decision so she petitioned the School Board and then took us (14 students who wanted to continue with Latin) to a hearing. The Board members were too astonished to object so the principal, Charles Lofton (a saint!) just rearranged the schedule and we studied Cicero in the 11th grade and Virgil and Horace in the 12th. No, I cannot read it anymore but it was an enormous help in English and French and now in Spanish which is why I always recommend it. Mrs LeMon retired the year my class graduated, and she gave us some books. One, LATIN FOR AMERICANS, which she gave me, had a black and white photo of the Temple of Poseidon in Greece as an example of Greek architecture later adopted by the Romans. Two days ago, I stood in front of the remains of that temple, silently thanking all the superb teachers I have had. I said on the other blog that if there is someone who has touched your life, enriched it, let them know. Tell them before it is too late. I managed to thank all of the teachers I wrote about today, in person, as well as several others, especially Mrs Lucas, also in person. She's the reason I am an English teacher, a development never planned nor thought of when I was in school, but one which has allowed me to support myself and my sons when they needed it. Thanks, D.D.L. Later, I will tell you about the tour guide from Hell.

15 Minutes of Fame

When I got back to my stateroom on the 17th, there was an invitation to be a guest on the QM2 morning tv show. Certain that there must be some mistake, I called the Entertainment office. No, they really meant me. The "studio" is a general-purpose room on deck 1. The Entertainment Director is charming and I was immediately at ease. He, and judging from the response, some of the passengers found it interesting that what started as a 7-day journey had morphed into 5 months. We had about a 10 minute talk and at the end of it, he invited other passengers to stop me and say "Hello". The program is broadcast at 6 am so I thought that viewing would be limited. What I didn't know was that it was on a loop until noon. Since then, I have been whispered about and pointed to and about 20 people have spoken to me about it. Some seem genuinely surprised that I still enjoy it - every minute of every day, still! Forgive me if I have already told you about the following: there should be an interview of me on BS6 (no jokes, please!), a Japanese satellite tv station which will be broadcast over the internet at 9 pm Japanese time on the 25th. If anyone sees it, please let me know. I just discovered that there are comments from readers of this blog. Yes, phrasemonger, David Frost was asked about the Nixon interview and had some very insightful comments, including Nixon asking him (Frost) if he (Frost)had "fornicated" over the previous weekend. Poor man.

The stars, the planets and Dr D

There is a fully-functioning planetarium aboard QM2 and now there is an astronomer to make proper use of it. There was a presentation listed in the daily activity program but by the time I got to Connexions, the tickets were all gone. The sign said we could go to the planetarium and wait in case of no-shows. I did and got a great seat.

It was the first in a series presented by Dr Diego, a Fellow of the Royal Astronomical Society, who has a soft voice, with a vaguely Spanish accent, strangely reassuring in the dark but exuding enthusiasm and knowledge.

The late Michael Crichton wrote an excellent essay lamenting the fact that scientists are generally very poor at communicating except to other scientists. Dr Diego is the exception. He has the all-too-rare skill of bringing science to non-scientists, presenting and explaining with just the right mix of erudition and conversation.

Luck comes in many forms: because my accident was neither fatal nor paralyzing but serious enough to make me re-think my priorities, I got on this ship, was lucky enough to get accommodation at every segment and now am lucky enough to experience and appreciate Dr Diego's knowledge.

We started on the virtual deck of the QM2 at noon, watched the sun set and the stars rise. Ok, I know that it's the Earth which is moving but somehow it seems more romantic, and is more egocentric, to think that the stars, moon and planets are putting on a show for me.

We looked at a star hatchery (Orion's nebula), a star hospice (the center of our galaxy) and the remains of an exploded star (in the Crab nebula), at hot, blue stars, cool (in relative terms) red stars and our yellow sun, midway between the 2 extremes, at the Milky Way (in German, die Milchstrasse) as prominent as it was when I saw it in Australia and at constellations as imagined and drawn thousands of years ago.

We traveled millions of miles out and back, faster than the speed of light, only possible in a virtual world, and saw how tiny our place in this vastness is. Dr Diego quoted from Carl Sagan, a hero of mine.

Years ago, I read COSMOS, later M and M read it. Before that, we were in London and got a home planetarium which No. 2 had to carry home. It consisted of a large glass dome with a light bulb inside and hard plastic templates which fit over it. Each had holes in the pattern of well-known constellations which were then projected onto the ceiling.

At the Smithsonian, I bought a telescope and once when it was exceptionally clear, we saw Jupiter (that bit was easy), 3 of its moons and the shadow of the 4th on the planet's surface.

Like all good obsessions and stargazing is, it had a great start. One night, at Highland beach, I asked my grandfather where the stars came from and he said that when good people die, they become stars. He pointed to a bright, yellow object (probably Jupiter but who knew! He was a dentist!) and said that was his mother.

Shortly after he died (it was in July which is important for this story), I was at the beach again, saw a bright reddish star (Antares, only visible in the summer in MD) and promptly decided that it was my grandfather. Ground light in the city was so bright that it was impossible to recognize much more than the Big Dipper but I knew he was there, and still is.

OMAN, frankincense, myrrh and the fighter pilot

About 2 generations ago, I read a book about the frankincense trail from Oman. My interest was reinforced by Sunday School lessons about the Three Kings - The Magi - The Wise Men (probably astrologers if they really existed but that's not the point of this narrative) and the gifts they brought: gold, myrrh (still looks like a typographical error!) and frankincense. Our teacher, a high school student not much older than we were, had trouble with the pronunciation. She said gold (ok, she got that right), my ruh, and frank's sense. I remember that Ronald asked what they were and she answered, "Bible stuff".

My grandmother knew all about them and read to me from the encyclopedia including articles about the Sultanate and the importance of incense in our church - Episcopal.

The tour I had booked turned out to be the best of all. Our guide, Adil, was chatty, knowledgeable and eager to answer questions, which he did with suprising frankness.

Muscat, the capital city, is much larger than I had expected, with lots of new houses built in a quasi-Arabian style but with central air conditioning in an area where the temperature averages 44 degrees C in the summer and almost never goes below 18 in the winter. It was 38 degrees at 10 am when we arrived at the souk just as it was opening.

I was tempted to buy an Omani evening dress, beautifully embroidered but it was black and I could not bear the thought of wearing black for fun.

From there we went to a highlight - the Bait al Zubair Museum (www.baitalzubairmuseum.com) dedicated to Omani life and culture. I am always interested in jewelry and the collection is superb. Of as much interest was the fact that the clothing representing each region was very colorful, nothing in black. I asked the guide and he answered me there but then in the bus expanded on the theme of religion vs tradition. The religion is based on 5 tenets - The Five Pillars of Islam. But, nowhere does it say that a woman should wear black as in Saudi Arabia or Iran, nor does it say that a woman has to wear a mask.

Islam is a religion founded in the desert and having been caught in a sandstorm, I know how it feels on your face. A mask would have come in very handy at that time. So, the tradition of a woman wearing a mask in the desert has endured but it looks really silly (or threatening) on a London bus. That's the tradition, practiced in the wrong place.

There were 2 women wearing all-black including masks and when I asked about them, he said "Yemeni", probably refugees from the civil war still continuing there. They were the only women I saw covered. Everything, he said, is based on respect. In the souk, he saw a Western woman wearing short shorts and he told her to cover up, that she would be disrespected publically if she did not. Unfortunately, she did not seem to want to listen. Cover knees and elbows at all times in public, a scarf (see pictures of Queen Elzabeth in the rain and you'll know what he means) and you are good to go.

The Sultan is much loved and no one wants to talk about a successor - they want him to live forever, or at least for a long time. He has managed to develop the country slowly and carefully, with the common welfare in mind. There is a new Grand Mosque but there is also a magnificent opera house - the only one in an Arab country, I think.

Also, each person, man or woman is given a parcel of land (about 600 square meters, I think) and can do with it whatever he/she wants: build on it, grow crops on it, lease it or sell it. According to the guide, one woman leased her land and with the money, paid for her daughter's education. Today, that daughter is a jet fighter pilot in the Royal Omani Air Force - the first and only female jet pilot in the Arab world.

This is the only Islamic country I could live in, I am sure. And, I think with a knowledge of Arabic which I have wanted to learn for years and years, and air conditioning of course, I would enjoy it.

The Not-So-Gala Dinner

Each year there is a Gala Dinner, theoretically a big deal, held for the World Voyagers. This year's dinner was held in Dubai, at the Madinat Jumeirah Resort Hotel- "The Arabian Resort". The setting was as totally Scheherazade / Sinbad / Arabian Nights as one could possibly imagine, complete with Yemeni-looking drummers, Turkish-looking belly dancers, a horrible trio of musicians/singers and the worst meal I have had in years and years.

The starter was supposed to be spinach and shitake mushroom salad - already not terribly "gala". What I got was shredded lettuce and carrots with oil. The main course was beef but I had checked the vegetarian menu expecting something typically Arab, but I got salmon. It was lukewarm, watery and undercooked: warm on the top and bottom and cold in the middle. Had I been able to find a waiter I would have sent it back, but, there were only 7 servers for 300 diners. The potatoes au gratin were also cold and tasted soapy, the cola was flat and room temperature. The dessert was beautifully presented but I do not like dark (bitter) chocolate. I know it has health benefits but so do Brussel sprouts and I don't want them for dessert, either.

Fortunately, I was sitting next to the sous-chef from the ship (he was the host at our table) - the perfect witness to the murder of my dinner.

Me - short autobiography: 6 words

After posting the photos of the service for my father, I remembered the homily delivered by "Gino", the chaplain. He spoke about inheritance in terms other than of money or possessions.

So, now when I think of inheritance,genes come to mind.

From my mother: one half of my brain, tenacity, to-the-death fighting (since mellowed, I hope), my memory and love of school

from my father: the other half of my brain, interest and ability in business, my color, the shape of my eyes, 2 dimples on the left side of my face

From Granddaddy: my wacky sense of humor and quick wit, personality, manual dexterity, love of family, love of opera

from MaMa: imperiousness, sense of fairness, part of my complexion, love of reading, kindness to those weaker than I, love of all things French, shape of my hands

from Grandma: love of cooking, love of reading, appreciation of my father's achievements

from C.F.: love of music of all kinds and ability to remember lyrics, desire to own a hotel/restaurant, the rest of my complexion

All coalesced to make me,
But, my hair is still a mystery!

My autobiography in 6 words:

"Much expected of me, often achieved."

You might want to write your own - it's fun and interesting.

Trouble posting

12 April 2012

For reasons known only to the spirits of the web, I have not been able to post anything for the last 6 or 7 days. Either I have lost it because the satellite checked out or blogspot would not save it or I ran out of computer time. In any event, there is a post coming soon to a monitor near you.

Laem Chabang, Singapore, Phuket, Cochin and Pirates - real ones

Laem Chabang is the port which the QM2 uses for Bangkok and when I found out that there would be another 2+ hour bus ride to get into Bangkok, I decided to take the shuttle to Pattaya, the nearest city. It was hot, very dusty and dirty (around the corner from the luxury hotels) with signs advertising rooms to rent by the hour - "claen + sanitation" - souvenirs made in China and India, old European men with very young Asian women. I only stayed about 90 minutes, just long enough to find the post office and go to the beach for a quick get-my-feet-wet. Unfortunately, the rocks at the shore served as collection points for rubbish.

Singapore was great from a distance which is all I saw since Number 2 Son boarded the ship after a 13 hour flight, but on the A380 with more than 500 of his new best friends. He arrived at the ship in the afternoon, a bit jet-lagged and tired and by the time he was checked in, it was too late to do anything intelligent in Singapore so we stayed on the ship. He had walked around the night before and I was not interested in another big city. Sorry, I know that there are interesting things there but they will have to wait until my next trip.

We have been slowly regaining the hours lost when we sailed east. Good thing, too. My sleep deprivation had its own deprivation but I am catching up. On the other hand, it means that I will have to return to the real world in about a month. Yikes!

Phuket (poo-ket) is an island and a favorite holiday destination of many Germans I know. We were again at anchor which meant a tender to shore. The ride was a bit bouncy - exactly what I love - and just as we were about to land, we thought, the Captain came on the radio:

"Fred, you are going the wrong way!" We all laughed, including Fred, the driver, and had an even bigger laugh as we tried to follow the captain's instructions:

"Look at the mountain with the cloud coming over it and steer towards it". No one saw the right mountain at first since we were already on the other side which meant a hard turn to the left. By this time, Fred was getting instructions from the bridge as well as from many of the passengers in the tender. Total confusion and funny until the woman sitting directly behind me began to moan and hold her stomach. We landed at the beach before the situation became more serious.

First order of business - as always - find a post office. I followed M who followed his nose and after 40 minutes of walking in showers and sunshine, we found a lovely air conditioned post office with signs and prices in English and Thai. Then I bought flowers for the shrine at the corner before we headed for the beach.

It was a wonderful sight - the QM2 almost within swimming distance for someone who can swim. I waded, got my skirt and myself wet, got dry quickly and walked back to the tender pier. M stayed on the beach and came back RED!

Shortly after I booked the round the world voyage, I signed a document stating that if I could not obtain a visa for India, I might have to leave the vessel before it entered Indian territorial waters and reboard the vessel at its next destination. Then, the purser's office tried to obtain a visa for me at the Indian embassy in Hong Kong. The office was closed for a week - moving - so I had no visa but was able to stay aboard. Good thing! It was total chaos.

The ship arrived late and had only about 12 inches of water clearance under the keel. The immigration officials insisted on face-to-face interviews with all aboard - over 4000 people and only 3 immigration officials. Finally, they got one more but it was pretty horrible for all aboard. Except me! I read, cleaned out my stateroom, slept, did my hair, slept and generally enjoyed the day. No 2 went shopping and got some authentic Indian clothes for me to wear at the Raj Ball. He did a great job - there were lots of compliments on his choice.

Now, for the serious bit: from the 7th to the 17th we will be traveling through waters of high pirate activity - the Arabian Sea, Gulf of Aden, the Red Sea. We were given written instructions about what to do now, including closing the curtains in the evenings, not leaving lights on unnecessarily, no access to the promenade deck after dusk, all windows blocked after sunset.

The Commodore (another one) explained that for these pirates, it's just a business venture. No politics involved. They do not want to hurt anyone - they will, of course, if we give them trouble, but it's "the money, Honey!" Our aim is to out-run or out-gun them. So, as we were rounding Sri Lanka, sea marshalls were ferried to us via pilot boats. They will remain aboard until we reach the Med.

Then, we had a drill. The alarm sounded and we had to return to our cabins. Those in inside cabins were told to go to their cabins and stay inside. Those of us with balconies were told to lock the cabins and sit outside in the hallway, not in front of the door. News stories about far-away threats became very real, very personal and rather scary.

But before we got too carried away, another passenger provided comic relief. In the middle of this serious drill, she brought her husband's dirty clothes (we could see them through the net bag) to the launderette down the hall from my stateroom. As my next-door neighbor said, "Soapy boxer shorts can be lethal at close range."

What we hope never to hear is, "Attention! Attention! Security Alert. Go immediately to your secure positions"

#written earlier, posted on the 12th

Saigon / Sai Gon

The ship docked at Phu My which meant a 2+ hour bus ride into Saigon - now officially Ho Chi Minh city but the guide said Saigon. The highway, without lane markers for much of the time, was more chaotic than any other traffic in my experience.

Imagine a 2-hour-long strip mall, with buildings, shacks, huts, at least 2 enormous gated communities with luxury villas, regular villas not gated, 3 or more shrines, a statue of a black male saint (St. Martin?) on a building next to the 3rd Communist Party council building complete with a hammer and sickle plus a beefy worker holding a poster of Ho and a Vietnamese flag aloft, followed by hundreds of happy workers, more shacks, coffee shops without walls but with hammocks (?) all punctuated by rice paddies, in different stages of growth - home of the famous (in Vietnam) rice rat.

According to our guide on the bus ride, the rats which live in rice paddies are eaten by the southern Vietnamese. He said that if you eat a Saigon rat, you will die but the rice rats (which eat, of course, rice) are clean, tender and tasty. If you were not a vegetarian before now........ On the other hand, the practice does preserve more of the harvest.

The strip-mall-highway has a carpet of plastic trash which people walk on, over or through but in the 5 hours on the highway, I never saw anyone picking it up. From a distance, it might actually look like a carpet but up close, it's just rubbish, often wet and muddy.

The coffee shops consist of thick poles supporting a thatched roof. Hammocks are suspended from the poles - I really do not know why. Normally coffee wakes you up. The thatched roof is home to rats (cousins of the ones in the paddies?) and where there are rats, there are snakes. During the rainy season, it's quite common for the rats and snakes to get washed out of the roof and fall onto the patrons, thus ruining a coffee break, I suppose.

My memories of Vietnam were in suspended animation from the 1970's - whole families on bicycles, sacks of rice, furniture, a sheep, pig. Fast forward to now - whole families on Vespa or Hondo 50-type motor scooters/cycles: man driving, wearing a small, skull-cap helmet, cigarette dangling from his mouth, child in front of him (no helmet), child (no helmet) between man and woman (no helmet), child behind woman (right, no helmet) or a Vespa-type with 4 women - yes, they are slender but not that slender.

Sai Gon (written apart most places in the city) is like Hong Kong on crack! The traffic is overwhelming, extremely loud and totally chaotic. Traffic lights are treated like unwelcome suggestions and the thousands upon thousands of scooters compound the problem exponentially.

How to cross a street in Saigon? Slowly. Allow the traffic to weave around you. Start off, let the car coming from the left directly in front of you pass, take the appropriate number of steps to allow cars to pass behind you and stop to let the next car coming from the left know your position. It can take a while on boulevards with unmarked lanes but what the hell - it's too hot to run anyway. It's step-pause-step-pause until you reach the relative safety of the sidewalk - relative because some scooter drivers use sidewalks as shortcuts.

I had booked a shopping trip - yes, me - less for shopping than to see the city. We were first taken to an enormous covered market, somwhat like the souk in Turkey, but dirty and smelly. The first item I saw was a bottle of wine containing an entire snake, in the act of biting a scorpion. And it was all downhill from there. Lots of clothing in Vietnamese sizes which I would not have bought anyway, knock-offs of luxury brands which I will never buy, and things which smelled odd. I left quickly, crossed a boulevard obviously planned by the French to mirror paril boulevards - no marked lanes but about 9 lanes at any one time - went to an electronics store, a real clothing ship and a bleaching studio.

The guide told us that most Vietnamese women want to have light complexions and wear masks and floppy hats to prevent suntans. The bleaching shop had before and after photos which looked eerily like Michael Jackson. I didn't go in. There was a fruit vendor selling fruits I did not recognize and did not try.

I am adventurous about many things but not food which is probably why I switched from majoring in anthropology to linguistics. I won't go to American chain restaurants on g.p. but got through the entire day in Saigon on a small breakfast and grapes from the ship.

We were subsequently taken to a lacquer factory - my favorite. The various processes of production were explained, demonstrated and we were then escorted into a showroom and left alone - no hard sell.

The last stop was "get around downtown on your own for about 90 minutes". I got postcards, stamps, mailed the pc, crossed an incredibly busy street - it was only 1:30 in the afternoon but looked like rush hour anywhere else - visited a department store, then walked past 2 of the 7 luxury hotels in Saigon, featuring boutiques from most luxury brands, and full of Asians as well as Westerners. Americans comprise the largest number of tourists to Vietnam - go figure!

The cathedral (French, of course) was closed - it would have been open in France.

I did not buy much but everything I bought including postage was paid for in U.S. dollars. What undoubtedly has Ho spinning in his grave is the rampant capitalism, the disdain for the Vietnamese currency and the insatiable hunger for dollars. He won all the battles but lost the war.