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.