New Zealand to Sydney

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

We will make three stops in New Zealand, the first at the Bay of Islands which is gorgeous—the main reason for the stop.  It is also the location of the signing of the treaty which established New Zealand as a country and gave the Maori the rights of full citizens.  Our tour started with a drive through the country to the Stone Store, the oldest stone building in the country.  Pretty roads lined with sheep (a declining industry), cattle which are replacing some the sheep, kiwi vines, grape vines, a quarry and fruit trees.  All four legged animals larger than a lizard are imports which explains the flightless birds which had never needed to learn to fly and are now becoming extinct.  There are no other pests or snakes either, but we take that with a grain of salt because there certainly are flies. 

We next visit the grounds where the Treaty of Waitangi was signed on February 6, 1840 so we have just missed their independence day.  There was also a Maori meeting house, the world’s longest paka (war canoe—ceremonial only) and the former home of James Busby and his family which was quite small because his boss did not like him and cut his plans in half and also withheld half his salary.  Busby had no real authority, but nevertheless did significant work establishing a maritime flag for New Zealand which protected their shipping from capture by the Australians and calling together thirty-five tribal chiefs who signed a Declaration of Independence.

Lunch was in town at a small restaurant which was overwhelmed by the arrival of a large number passengers from the ship.  Service was slow, but the food was good.  We wandered a local craft fair and returned to the ship too full of lunch to enjoy much dinner.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

It gets harder to tell what day it is.  Each day we receive a very much abbreviated NYTimes, but while we have crossed the dateline NY has not and the days and dates no longer match.  At some point we must catch up again or perhaps the world will catch up with us. 

Auckland is a real city with city sounds and buildings and we are docked right downtown across from what I think is the old custom house or maybe the ferry building.  In any case it is picturesque.  The country has rolling hills, lots of bays and is totally beautiful.  The climate is lovely.  I can imagine living here although without NYC culture.

 Having been here before we have opted for a day in the country.   We drive to a gannet colony with hundreds of birds and see miles of rolling, prosperous countryside, have lunch at a “farm” and watch a sheep dog and shearing demonstration which we have actually seen before.  It is a lovely, relaxed day but something is in the air and irritating my throat; I go through almost a package of cough drops. 

Activities we have done before and recommend:  Kelly Tarlton’s aquarium and Antarctic display.  Further from town we found the Waitomo glow worm caves a mild thrill and Rotorua, a local geyser area is interesting.

Through each segment of the voyage, Cunard gives the “round the worlders” a cocktail party but in Auckland it is a formal dinner with the president of Cunard flying out from London and entertainment, wine and enormous amounts of food.  We are at Sky City, but the group is too large for the tower.  We are more than eight hundred and are in an enormous room with television screens so that everyone can see the program.  It is well done.  Unfortunately there is a very loud orchestra playing, and I strain my voice.  Between the afternoon irritation and the evening strain, I have a barking cough all night and trouble talking today.  I am all right as long as I keep my mouth shut, but that is a tough one.

As the day progresses it becomes evident that I have another cold.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

A quiet day at sea with “fresh” breezes which means fairly strong.  I can’t figure out if the captain is ironic when he says that.  Seas of twelve feet or so are predicted for this evening.   We decide to take some Bonine.   The easiest way to judge the waves is to go up to the swimming pool.  The water sloshes merrily when the waves are moderately high.  Today it is sloshing out of the pool and the entire deck is wet.  No one is in the pool or on the lounges. Pretty definitive in my book.

After two miserable nights of coughing where even my nearest and dearest looks like he would like to escape, I went to the medical clinic this moring (first patient) and took their meds before heading to Australian Immigration hoping they would let me in the country. We sailed through—much better than US immigration where the lines were long and slow. I manage not to cough while before the immigration people.  Good thing it was quick.  Cunard collected all of our passports so the Ozzies had reviewed them all before we even showed up. Once they verified that the face matched the picture and we handed in the cards saying we had not done anything objectionable like selling things, we were done.

  I have missed two day trips because I was not well at the time of the trip.  We decide to turn in the tickets to the Sydney opera—John thinks he may be coming down with this.  Not the end of the world.  It is Carmen, and it would have been a pleasant evening with other music fans, but the opera is familiar and the only real interest would be in how they managed to stage it in what is a spectacular but rather small opera house. 

Monday, February 21, 2011

Another quiet day at sea because I am still bothered by the cold and the kind of massive coughing attack that comes with it.  Three trips to the doctor have yielded a useless coughing medicine and two sessions with a nebulizer which seems to help.  We will know more after tonight.  Tomorrow is Sydney.

Tuesday, February 21, 2011

I cough all night; although John announces I did have some quiet hours.

We have been promised that the early morning entry into Sydney harbor would be an event, and Sydney does herself proud.  Queen Mary 2 enters at the same time—actually first, then turns around and we slide past.  The two ships salute each other loudly and are completely lit up.  Dozens of small boats come out to meet us and a stream of ferries.  A dozen helicopters circle.  We see the opera house, the terminal and the fireboats spewing water.  It is worth getting up for, but I wonder what drives the Ozzies to get out of bed, drive somewhere and get their boats up and running to watch two ships enter the harbor.  In transit guests have been off the ship for awhile, but those disembarking must wait until their luggage is cleared which takes longer than expected for some reason.  There is a Life Lesson here: don’t schedule tight connections.

John is off finding a Citibank.  I wait happily as I still do not feel 100%.  Although we arranged for all charge transactions to be paid automatically while we are gone, one account has not gone through, and he was unable to fix it on the internet.  Citibank in foreign countries does not deal with private customers, but they do have a phone, and John is able to straighten it out.  We think.

In the afternoon we walk to the opera house, and John is able to score a single ticket for tonight. We stroll together through the botanical garden and the tropical conservatory.  On leaving the conservatory, we are startled by enormous bats, the size of chickens,  gathered in a pair of trees and screeching and flying around in the daytime. We had planned to visit the art museum, but I am tired.  We return to the ship for an early supper.

News

Tuesday , February 08, 2011

This morning we heard a lecture on hurricanes.  This afternoon, the horizon disappears, and curious, I open the door to the deck.  Except that the door will not open.  The outside pressure must be really low, but the sea is calm.  My imagination runs wild as the apparent horizon creeps closer to the ship.  It is clearly raining now, and the pressure lock is broken.  This is the first rain in three weeks of sailing.  The sea remains calm.

  We have been promised scattered showers at Apia tomorrow.  Probably a fairly safe forecast in this part of the world.

Wednesday, February 10, 2011

Apia is the capital of Samoa—as opposed to American Samoa.  Samoa is an island nation.  It has two main islands, two smaller ones and five uninhabited islets.  One of small islands is James Michener’s model for Bali Hi. 

Arriving is exciting in a way that other stops so far have not been.  The clouds lay on the island, the sun rises, and we are greeted in with a group of singers and dancers in green costumes who sing us onto the island.

The showers are scattered all over—a steady rain that varies from downpour to drizzle.  We take a bus tour around the town and up to Robert Louis Stevenson’s house.  He only lived here four years, but wrote thirteen books in that time, all by hand—no typewriters, let along computers.  He came here for his health and died here greatly beloved by the Samoans.  He respected their culture, invited them to his home, and visited them in prison taking food and other support.    Before he died, he wrote a poem, Requiem, which has been translated into Samoan, but our guide tells us she becomes too emotional when it is spoken in Samoan and reads it in English including the words, “Home is the sailor, home from the sea.”  He is buried a forty-five minute walk up the hill to a spot we told with beautiful views, and his grave is oriented to the direction of Scotland.  When he died a line of people the entire length of the path passed his body from one person to the next up the hill to the burial site.  It would have required an enormous number of people.

In the drizzle we return to the ship for lunch and an afternoon indoors.

As the ship prepares to leave in the evening, another group of dancers and singers sing us off.  These are dressed in yellow this time and, as in the morning, the dances and songs are lovely.  I take many pictures.

As the ship moves out, it becomes stuck on a sandbar for a few minutes despite the two pilot boats guiding us. 

Egypt is in turmoil.  Mubarak hangs on as president, but today the word is that the Suez Canal workers are on strike.  There is constant speculation as to whether we will make the canal crossing, and when must they decide if a change of route is required, but actually it is nearly six weeks until we get there and impossible to predict.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Ship movement is strange.  When it rolls from side to side, I never have the sensation of the floor moving.  It feels as if I am lurching.  When it pitches back and forth, I have the sensation that I am being compressed, fighting enormous pressure to take a step forward.  The movement continues to be gentle, but the ship constantly creaks—I have never been on such a noisy ship.  It is also rusting, and the crew is constantly repainting despite the newness of the ship.  Our deck shows faint rust where the wood meets the metal.  It seems odd on a brand new ship, but what do I know?

We visit Pago Pago, pronounced “Pongo Pongo” which is American Samoa.  Pago Pago is on the island of Tutuila which is eighteen miles by one mile and a drowned volcano crater.  American Samoa is five volcanic islands and two atolls, but we see only Tutuila. The five islands cover 76 square miles of land but 117,500 square miles of water rights.   We take a “village” tour which takes us around the island to several scenic spots and to a “village” where we see native huts, a cooking demonstration and more singing and dancing.  Our guide tells us that 70% of the island economy is based on Star-Kist and tuna processing.  In the afternoon we wander to town and find an internet café and check email, but since I did not bring my computer we cannot post.

Tonight we cross the International Date Line.  We will go to bed Thursday evening and wake up Saturday morning. 

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Is it the 12^th?  Isn’t it strange?

The ship staff have announced some electrical repairs with outages possible—perfectly normal and not to worry.  Unless of course, you are in the bathroom, the elevator or have a load of laundry in. 

Today is Fiji, a nation of 332 islands so we are surrounded with beauty but parked some distance from land and will have to use tenders.  Fiji is steamy and rainy.  We visit Raymond Burr’s Garden of the Sleeping Giant named for a nearby mountain, but we do not even see the house.  There are more than 300 orchids here, and they are beautiful as we walk under umbrellas, but it doesn’t really start to rain until we are under the canopy for the folkloric dancing.  The women move their hips so fast, mine hurt just from watching.  The men manipulate wooden “knives” very quickly around their bodies and tossing them in the air.  One man is blindfolded and does the routine, but it is raining hard, and the area is muddy. The “knives” are very slippery so they drop them frequently.  They carry on.

Monday, February 14.

We begin two days at sea heading for New Zealand. 

BOOKS:  I have finished An Object of Beauty by Steve Martin, a writer with marvelous sentences and a serious love of art.  Nearly every page has a wonderful observation and the novel is at least as much a comedy of manners as it is a story.  It is also a consideration of the essence of art and its importance, if any, to the rest of us.  “Art,” says one character “is what lies between our dreams and reality.”  Highly debatable, I think, but nevertheless, worth arguing about and not the only definition of art in the book.  The plot centers on a bright young art dealer, Lacey Yeager, and her questionable means of pursuing success.  I had a hard time sticking with her and put the book down from time to time.  None of the characters are well-rounded.  We do not know what made Lacey the way she is or why her success matters.  It was not a book where you cared about the characters or whether they were successful.  The words, however, pulled me back, and I can see this as a very successful movie.  Steve Martin, an actor among other things, can write a terrific scene.  Highly recommended.  Also good for discussion.

Wednesday

It is 4:30 in the morning (or 10:30 according to my computer which is on some time of its own).  I awoke and thought that it might be possible to get on the internet—no luck so far.  If you see this you will know I got through.

7:20 A.M.

Honolulu to the Equator

If you checked the blog, you might think that I made it into town, but actually I posted from the ship with great difficulty.  Then I went to town and checked my email.  All the satellites are posted around the equator in what is called the Van Allen Belt.  As we get closer to the equator, you might think that we would be in satellite heaven, but it seems that each is aimed to beam at a particular part of the earth and few or none are aimed at uninhabited areas of the Pacific.  Thus, we sail for days with the notification that service will be spotty.  If you don’t get a response, give up, we are told. 

Honolulu was an independent day—we walked to Foster botanical gardens and enjoyed a stroll through lovely trees and flowers.  Then a cab to the Honolulu Academy of Art which has several very worthwhile galleries—Hawaiian artists and the “Volcano School” (Think Hudson River School with a lot of red.), a Doris Duke gallery with many nice pieces by artists you have heard of, and a third Eurpean gallery with a lovely Gauguin Tahitian painting.  At the Academy we met two of our table mates, Dan and Lupe, had a leisurely lunch and then cabbed to the home of our other table mates, Denny and Barbara, who have a stunning house near Diamond Head to which they had invited us for wine and fruit.  It was a lovely, lovely house and a lovely, lovely day.  Lots of good pictures, which of course, I cannot upload.

Now we begin four days of sea with lectures, lessons, concerts, and other entertainments.  I walked a mile around the deck, and  I took my first stretch class today and will let you know tomorrow how it went.  It seemed okay at the time.  Many of the lectures are about World War II in one way or another, and you can guess what the audience looks like.  There are also several Brits lecturing mostly about American popular musics composers—the “Great American Songbook” if you listen to WNYC.  Today’s topic was Harry Warren who wrote a lot of hits for the movies.s

I have been told that by entering www.wearecunard.com in the search bar of your browser you can see what the front of the ship is pointed at, the back of the ship and receive comments from the entertainment director, Alastair Greener.  Of course, the days and nights may be reversed.  At present it is almost five in the afternoon on my watch and nearly ten in the evening in New York and almost three in the morning in London, but things will get more diverse as we continue.  We are almost into the area of no correct time on our little magic clocks.

The Super Bowl attracted almost all of the Americans to various bars.  The English Pub, the Golden Lion, served American bar food for the day.  Far, far in the Pacific where the interent is ephemeral, they managed to get the program, but not many avacadoes.  Supposedly this is the day with the most guacamole consumption of the year, but not on the Queen Elizabeth.  There was joy at dinner for the two Wisconsin table members, and, of course, John was born there.

Monday, February 07, 2011

The stretch class did no damage, but I still managed to sleep through it this morning.  My bad.

Today we crossed the equator with all of the appropriate ceremonies.  All of those who had committed heinous crimes had to confess them to King Neptune and his court.  When asked if the victim was guilty, the crowd shouted guilty and the criminal was given the appropriate punishment. 

It was all voluntary and a prior meeting had been held to decide who wanted to be guilty and what type of guilt was desired—“kiss the fish” guilty or “smeared with goo and tossed into the pool” guilty.  John confessed to a minor heinous crime but did not tell what it was, and I escaped the whole thing by saying I had to photograph Flat Billy, my grandson’s second grade geography paper doll. 

The scene was so crowded that I mostly got pictures of crowd.  I did beg an audience with King Neptune however on behalf of Flat Billy and got the picture.

Of course, if something terrible befalls the ship, it will no doubt be because I did not submit to my due punishment by Neptune.  Another my bad for me.

LA to Lahaina

Entrance into the harbor this morning was slow because of fog, and Immigration this morning was very slow.  We did not leave this ship until late morning.

Long Beach, California, was the last chance to pick up items at mainland US prices and also the chance to catch up on email and make a blog post.  Thus, it has been a utilitarian day for us. Cunard provided shuttle bus service to the aquarium area, and the city provided a shuttle to the Pine Street shopping area.  It was all very convenient.      It is probably our last cool weather for a long time as by the time we get to possible cold spots, a couple of months will have passed.  Australia will be having summer when we are there and is pretty close to the equator anyway. 

We start four sea days to Hawaii this evening sailing out around dinner time.  Four days of lectures, classes and general pampering.  We shall see what there is to report.

The sailaway from Los Angeles is beautiful.   It is dusk at 5:30, and the lights are lit, but there is still good daylight.   Two other ships leave first, each with all their decks lined with passengers and much hollering and waving.  The first backs out, and John yells, “You’re going backwards!”    There is a band of Scots pipers on quayside and a fireboat to salute our maiden voyage.  The thrusters will move us laterally away from the dock.  Will someone yell, “You’re going sideways!”?

Time to dress in “elegant casual” for dinner.  The distinctions between elegant casual, semi-formal and formal for women seem a little murky to me and to other women.  The men have it easy—elegant casual means no neck tie, semi-formal means a necktie and formal means a tux.

We are promised waves of three to four meters, but the ship movement in the night seems pretty close to normal.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

We are on red alert for infection control again since we took on passengers in LA, but we are promised that it will only be two days.  I seem to have a touch of whatever has been bothering our table mates.  Whatever it is, it does not interest infection control which seems focused on digestive complaints.  My plan is to lie low and hope it passes.  But what really bothers me is that this complaint is only affecting the women at the table.  Aren’t we supposed to be the stronger sex?  I have told John to avoid me as much as he can for today.

Monday, January 31, 2011

I have a mild cold.  Today I read and attend one lecture on Cold Porter, have lunch with Australians because we could not find a table for two.  The Ozzies tell of the floods, and we talk of things Australian.  They question American politics which I mostly find too depressing to think about.

BOOKS: I have finished Marina Lewycka’s We Are All Made of Glue, and the discussion has been held.  Apparently these are “corporate” choices and based to some degree on countries we will visit (or from which Cunard has customers from which would explain the next choice which is by a South African where we are not going).  About Glue—it is a book with problems of focus and a highly controversial point of view.  It starts with a marital quarrel which leads to a separation, a teen-ager in thrall of religious mania, an impossible old woman who imposes on our heroine, the questionable practices of real estate agents and finally gets to what seem to be the main point which is the Arab-Israeli conflict its possible resolution.  All sides are given some good lines.  There are a large number of characters of more or less importance.  It is hard to imagine a good discussion, but when the group discussion is held, nearly thirty people—all but one are women—show up.  Discussion is lively if not terribly insightful, and a pleasant time is had by all.  The book was readable, but some women felt her earlier title, A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian, was better.  In my opinion it was what I think of as a popular read—get the characters on, give each a problem and a personality, solve the problems and get them off.

MORE BOOKS: Summertime by John Coetzee is the next book club selection.  No group discussion has been held yet.  I found it a much better written book than Glue and quite enjoyed it.  The story of a writer named John Coetzee, his notebooks, and the interviews of those who knew him, serve as a draft for a biography which is not written.  It raises a number of issues of a discussable nature besides being an absorbing read.  We come to know Coetzee as he thinks he is seen by others.  His self-hatred is quite evident.  Why choose this means of telling the story?  His final choice—to sacrifice his needs to care for his father or to desert his father is not told.  The man must have been writing for book clubs!  It will be interesting to see if the discussion if livelier or not.

Thursday, February 03, 2011

I have done nothing physical for a week, so in preparation for a two mile hike, on Wednesday I walk the deck three times and climb the stairs from A deck to nine.

We enter La Haina’s harbor area early in the morning; the Island is a mass of black with twinkling lights here and there.  We are scheduled for a rain forest hike, but I awake with diarrhea, of all things, and despite medication decide, at the door of the bus, that this trip is not for me.  It was the right decision, I know, and John continues on the tour.  I take the tender back to the ship hoping to take a ride into the internet café later.  Meanwhile I do a fast load of laundry. 

One of the things I got for the trip was a “World Clock” which switches time zones as you switch a dial.  Amazingly the alarm works in the time zone we are in.  But the clock does not cover all time zones.  Yesterday we were in a blank so I used Moscow which is just twelve hours off.  Fortunately I did not need the alarm. Today I am comfortably in the Honolulu or Hawaiian time zone.