• Tag Archives Veendam
  • Pathmaker, There Is No Path

    Fall Waning Autumn Moon

    After dinner. The Rotterdam Dining Room has huge lamps, four feet high, with wooden men and lions carved into them for décor, otherwise they look like street side gas lanterns. The wine steward used to work for Marilyn Carlson as a butler on the Radisson Cruise Lines. He was, he said, her butler of choice when she cruised, which was once a year or so. She also came to each launching to swing the bottle of champagne.

    He has never been to Minnesota but he offered to work as our butler for free. If we would sponsor him. When I said, “You’ll work for us to free if we pay to get you into the US?” he laughed.

    Our table, number 31, sits at the stern of deck 8 and overlooks the wake of the ship. Because we chose the 5:45 seating, we also get to watch the sun go down. Can’t get better than that.

    Here’s a testimony to empirical observation. As we head south toward Ft. Lauderdale, we had the bow into oncoming white caps, a moderate swell as I said before. When I looked at the LED screen showing our progress, the scroll bar the bottom said winds N. I knew that couldn’t be right. Sure enough the Captain came on and told us the winds were from the SSW.

    He also told a story about the Bermuda Triangle. He gave what must have been meant as a reassuring analysis of the wrecks and disappearances there. He explained that neither extra terrestrials nor magnetic disturbances were to blame. The only law at work explaining disappearances in the Bermuda Triangle is the law of gravity, he said. Even though he said that statistically there was nothing unusual about this body of water, his focus on wrecks and disappearances left quite another impression.

    Due to cruise ships affected with norovirus there is, too, a somewhat disturbing emphasis on sanitation with hand sanitizers located all over the ship and small signs encouraging the careful washing of hands. I say disturbing because I find myself avoiding touching any common surface, a bit dicey when going downstairs. Besides, I don’t like this feeling that contamination lurks around every corner. Our germ-phobic culture in the US actually encourages the spread of disease by ensuring that only the toughest bugs survive.

    As Kate and I walked around the promenade that runs all round the ship, we noticed Jupiter risen in the West. I’m looking forward to seeing the Southern Cross and other south of the equator constellations. That’s not till post Ecuador, however, a week plus from now.


  • Distracted By The Future

    Fall                                                         Full Autumn Moon

    Just realized I’m going to have change my headings once we’re south of the equator. Seasonal reversal in the Southern Hemisphere. I knew about it, of course, but hadn’t factored it into the blog.

    These days I have my eye on the National Hurricane Center. Right now it says what I want it to say at least through a week from Sunday: no tropical cyclones. This is the hurricane season, so that could change.

    As our embarkation approaches, I find myself withdrawing from now in anticipation of then. A violation of the be here now idea, I know, but it seems the pull of vacation exceeds the adhesion of home. Based on previous experience, this process will reverse itself about a week before the trip ends.

    Why did we choose a vacation lasting right at 6 weeks? Because we could, of course. But, why a cruise?

    I just read a remark by Simon Winchester, author of Krakatoa and most recently, Atlantic, in which he dismissed large ship cruising because it takes away the direct experience of the ocean. He has a purist point, I suppose; but, some of us were born to sail the ocean blue in small craft, appreciating each swell and squall, but another large chunk of us can neither afford that nor desire it.

    Here’s what appeals to me about a cruise. Being on the ocean, cosseted or not, puts us on water, the element that covers 70% of the earth’s surface. That experience, perhaps not as dramatic as Winchester prefers, has a magic of its own. Sort of like traveling through space instead of our atmosphere. A primal difference.

    Kate finds the unpack and pack once part of cruising a primary benefit. In cruising the hotel goes with you from country to country, eliminating the schlepping of luggage from train or plane or car and back again.

    Relaxation comes as a corollary. The less schlepping, the more relaxing. Relaxation alone makes cruising a wonderful vacation. You have a cook, a maid, a ship to explore, few demands. That means time can be devoted to reading, drawing, exercise, enjoying your partner’s company, sleeping. Here, the ocean adds a good deal. Contrary to Winchester, the ocean’s presence cradles the ship and, when the weather is good, rocks us to sleep. There is, too, something about being on a ship, on the ocean, away from everything land bound that frees the mind.

    Cruising does limit the kind of in-depth exposure to a culture that many people enjoy. Shore excursions, except the priciest, tend to stay with driving limits of the port. Still, even when I have traveled hotel to hotel, unless we rent a car, our excursions are limited and even with a car, you can still see only so much.

    The bigger limit than nearness to the port is time. A cruise ship is rarely in a port more than two days. That short period of time makes serendipity almost impossible. This is a big downside for me, but compensated for by the relaxation.

    Cruising is a particular kind of vacation, not the kind I would prefer every time, but for a celebration together with an emphasis on relaxation, it’s the perfect post-retirement mode of travel.

     

     


  • Cruise Diary: April 29

    Spring                                                                                          Waning Bee Hiving Moon

    October 16th.  That’s, let’s see, 5 and 1/2 months from now.  On that day, Kate and I will set out, from the port of New York, for Rio de Janerio by way of Colombia, the Panama Canal, Ecuador, Peru, Chile, the Falklands, Uruguay and Argentina.  We arrive at Rio on November 22nd, flying home from there.  My idea of preparation for a trip of this kind is to read, as I already have, a book about the Andes and one about Patagonia,  a book about Chilean glaciers and an environmental history of South America.  I have also read concise reports about each country we will visit, trying to get a feel for their contemporary politics.  There are, too, websites giving cruising tips, reviews of ships, information about ports of call and, of course, more information about countries and destinations.  There, is, as well, that fat Oxford History of South America, in which I will read essays about certain aspects of South America that seem interesting to me.  That’s all now.

    Before the cruise, and probably as soon as I’ve finished The Monkey King’s Journey to The West (which will be a while, it’s one of the four Chinese classics, all characterized by being very long), I’ll start reading South American novelists.  On the cruise itself I have the Voyage of the Beagle and the Origin of the Species already downloaded to my kindle.  This preparation is one of the things I love about travel.  Kate says she doesn’t need to do it, because she’s got me.

    My attention to a trip waxes and wanes over the time before departure, but it’s never entirely gone.  I suppose many of you must be similar, hoovering up information, not sure what’s of use, but allowing it all to seep in, coagulate into a whole somehow.