31 December 2007
Hola desde Lima, Peru,
The gleam in passengers’ eyes let you know that the smell of land was wafting softly over the sea as we churned eastward and our first real landfall since leaving Easter Island. Considering that we were only ashore for four hours at Easter Island and we didn’t really go ashore at Pitcairn Island, we have been at sea on the lovely Pacific Princess for eleven days straight with litle testing of our land legs to see if they still work. It is really a strange sensation when you step ashore, after along period at sea, and the realization creeps over you that the floor has stopped moving. Most people stagger for a few minutes as they reacquaint themselves with Mother Earth, bless her solid quickly wearing out self.
Our first visit to Peru was a call of convenience rather than attraction. Several hundred of our passengers elected to take the three day tour to Machu Pichu while others chose a two day tour to the Galapagos Islands. San Martin, Peru was a good spot for both of these transfers. Other than that, those of us who stayed behind rejecting such exotica were left with few choices. There was a birding tour in the small bays on the coast of Peru and another tour to see the devastation created by last summer’s earthquake that centered on Pisco, about 45 kilometers from the port at San Martin, effectively leveling the entire community. We were told that the 7.0 quake lasted for almost ten minutes.
While San Martin is named after the Liberator of Peru, General San Martin, and the site played a significant role in the fight for Peruvian independence, little else was shared with us about the town. Actually, to call the place a town is a complete misnomer. It is simply a seaport that serves the southern part of Peru and not much else. Marty and I donned our adventure outfits, big hats and sunscreen, and headed out of the gates of the port. After walking a mile or so, we looked ahead and didn’t see a soul. We looked behind us and didn’t see anyone following. We came to a quick conclusion that our adventurous spirits probably weren’t going to produce much excitement in our lives.
Several taxis stopped as they passed us to sell us rides to wherever. In each case we told the drivers that we were looking for a telephone where we could call the United States. Each dutifully produced
his cell phone and looked quizzically at for a moment before deciding that it wouldn’t do. We were told several times that there was a hotel a few miles down the road that “might” have a telephone we could use. After walking another mile or so through interminable sand dunes, we came to a high spot in the road where we could see ahead for several miles. No building was in sight. As a matter of fact, nothing was in sight except more sand dunes with the ocean off to the west. We finally succumb to the next taxi that stopped when he told us there was a telephone shop in the next village that could help us. The next village was another six or seven miles north along the road we were hiking. The town, Maragossa, was a small fishing village of perhaps 400 population. Our driver wound his way through a variety of shops and houses and sopped in front of a shop with a telephone sign sandwich boarded in front. We hopped out and received a quick lesson on how to use the shop’s satellite cell phone and I was in business. My first call went through immediately but then died before Marilyn Athenour had a chance to discover who was on the other end of the line. My second call was to Dottie and she came through clear as a bell. The phone had amplification so everyone within 100 meters was privileged to my call. At first, I turned to the gathering crowd interested in what the Gringos were doing and asked as politely as I could, Privata,Por Favor. This only brought more people off the street into the already crowded eight feet by eight feet shop. In defense, I ducked through a dorr at the back of the shop leading into the shop keepers home. Now I had two little two year old staring at me from behind their stark nakedness. They didn’t seem to mind what probably sounded to them like nonsensical “cooing” so I didn’t mind them listening in. As Dottie and I talked, I noted that my path had led me to a new sociological discovery; Peruvians don’t have doors on their toilets. The facility was very clean and inviting but I hadn’t been invited.
While I was chatting it up by satellite, Marty was outside keeping in eye on the taxi driver who had promised to take us home when we were finished. He attracted almost as much attention as my conversation with Dottie. In the latter case, we found later that there was only one man in the village who could understand and speak English. Even without the necessary language skills, I guessed that the characteristic noise that emits through puckered lips was a message that all could understand. Anyway, back to Marty. He was first approached by a man with a boat who wanted to take him out in the bay on a fishing expedition. When he rejected that offer, another wanted to take him to what the locals call the “Little Galapagos”, some nearby islands that are thoroughly encrusted with guano deposited by the thousands of birds who call the little islands home. This gentlemen too left dejectedly with head hung toward the dirt road in front of the shop.
Next came a string of lovely young ladies who spotted Marty as something of a sport looking for a good time. Poor Marty doesn’t understand any Spanish but he had no difficulty understanding the sign language involved in pressing the message. When I finally finished my call, I came back into the shop to find Marty in the middle of the street saying cutesy little things in English like No!, I said No! Stop touching me and other such endearments. Our calls completed, we asked our Taxi driver if anyone in town could help us make an airline reservation. My Spanish got the message across and we soon found ourselves in front of a Travel office, perhaps the nicest looking shop in town. The two girls in the shop knew nothing about aviones or aerolineas or reservationes so our driver took us to a café overlooking the marina where dozens of small boat rocked gently with the tide. The gentleman was introduced to us with grand eloquence and we knew we were probably speaking to the patron of all patrons in Maragossa. He quietly but positively told us that there used to be a travel agent in Pisco but the shop no longer existed. He suggested our best bet would be in Lima. We thanked him with returned graciousness and returned to the cab.
Our chatty cab driver asked me where I was from and all the usual questions. I in return asked him where he lived. He told me he lived in Pisco. I immediately asked if he had been effected by the Tremulo or Sismo as they call earthquakes in Peru. He told me his story. At the time of the earthquake, he was in his cab about a mile from his home. The street immediately filled with rubble. He ran to his home to find that the second story floor had collapsed so that the pile of his remaining house was less than two meters high. He frantically searched around the house and found no one. His neighbors helped him begin to search through the rubble until he found his wife, his nine year old daughter, his fifteen year old son and his two parents, all dead. I offered my hand over the front sseat mumbling a simple “lo siento” and “tu familia son con Dios” I couldn’t think of anything else to say to the poor man. After about five minutes of quiet, he perked up a bit and and asked me, “Y usted Senior, tiene una familia”. I told him about my two daughters and there families. He then asked, “tiene una espousa?” I responded “No amigo, ella is muerta”. He raised his hand for mind and gave my hand a squeeze. When we finished our drive to the port and I was paying the fare, our eyes met momentarily and he opened his arms for an embrazo. What can I say?………….
Our next port of call, Callou/Lima, Peru, provided some welcomed site seeing and a new experience. Marty and I decided that the first thing we wanted to do was to explore Callou, the town adjacent to Peru’s largest seaport. Both of us had been to Lima in the past to see the sights so we were looking for a new venue to explore. A free shuttle took us to the port gate where we had to show all kinds of identification just to get through the gate. Once through the gate, we were besieged by the dozen taxi drivers parked at the curb waiting for fares. We made it through the phalanx of drivers safely and without succumbing to their terrific deals and began our walk away from the port. Within a block, we became aware of a police car following us slowly at the curb. A few minutes later, we couldn’t help but notice that one of the policemen had left the car and was walking at a brisk pace to catch up to us. Once he was abreast of us, he asked where we were going. I responded that we were going “por pie”, for a walk. A donde, to where he asked. We told him we were going to town, Callao. With this response he shook his head, seeming somewhat in disbelief. He simply said “no senor.” I asked,” porque no?” He resonded “senior, es muy peligroso!” “Peligroso, como peligroso?” I queried. The policeman simply passed his hand across his throat in a gesture that was unmistakable. Within that moment, Marty and I had reversed course and headed back through the gate to the port and safety.
We then took a shuttle bus to the nicest part of Lima, Miraflores, where I set about one of my errands for the day to buy some stamps. The shuttle dropped us off in front f a Marriott Hotel so we went in knowing that somewhere in a nice hotel you can always find stamps. My first request sent us up stairs to the business center where a lovely young lady sold us some stamps and took my stamped mail and put it in her outgoing mail box. We asked about directions to the center of Lima and the older section of town. She frowned and told us we didn’t want to go there She added that no one who doesn’t need to be in the city center on a holiday would stay away, way away. Apparently crime is a big thing in Lima and it gets especially bad over the holidays when spirits encourage otherwise nice people to be not so nice. Our slight apprehension about believing the policeman at the port was reinforced when she added that it was particularly bad near the port. She said that the weekend will produce a dozen or so deaths in that area, often involving people who were minding there own business in the wrong place. Wow!
With our mail on its way, we hit the streets in search of Mercado Artisano described in our guide book as being special. On the way, we found a barbershop where Marty got a much needed but very quick haircut. The barber looked as though he had learned his traide shearing sheep but Marty looked a lot better after his efforts. I decided I didn’t need a haircut that bad.
We met some very nice people along the way who offered helpful advice and directions. One man, on the other hand, responded to my carefully worded and pronounced Spanish request for directions with the comment that he spoke English and he couldn’t understand my Spanish. I thanked him for his help but I didn’t smile.
The Marcado Artisano met all expectations. It was more than the usual collection of stuff for tourists. The quality of everything we looked at was top notch making our mile walk to and return more than worth the effort.
On Monday, both Marty and I were requested to go on tours to assist the guides. My tour was a city tour that I recall taking the last time I was in Peru. This tour took us into two different downtown 16th century monasteries that I didn’t see on my previous tour. Both were grand and loaded with 16th and 17th century religious art. We were reminded that the Lima megalopolis is home to eight million people. Peru as a whole has a population of 27 million. 85% of Peruvians are Catholic. While Spanish is the official language in Peru, there are 44 recognized dialects spoken. The people who live around Lake Titicaca have a language of their own that is not recognized by the government but spoken by my most residents none the less.
Lima has the distinction of never having rain. The last recorded rain fall in Lima was in 1936. There are occasions when the usual high humidity raises as high as 100%. Instead of rain, a mist is present that sometimes measures as much as several thousands of an inch in a single day. Even when it “mists”, you would be well advised to water your lawn.
In case you were wondering, I didn’t lose anyone in our tour group although each time I counted the group when they got back into the bus I always got a number bigger than the last count.
Lima is divided into five “neighborhoods” each with its own elected mayor but having nothing to do with the person who serves as Mayor of Lima. The new President Garcia seems well received by most but there remains about 40% of the population who would prefer the return of the now jailed ex-President Fujimori. If he can swing another 10% of support, he could possibly get out of jail and back into politics. Seems like a natural progression ti me.
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Tonight will be a shipboard celebration of New Year’s Eve. I’ve never been at sea for such an event so I’ll be well equipped to tell you all about it tomorrow. The only thing I know for sure is that lobster is on the dinner menu tonight so It shouldn’t be too bad of an evening.
……………….con amor,
Yo esiro por todos un aventuro y prospero ano Nuevo,
And may you look forward to the mysteries and adventures you will meet in 2008!
Grandpa Bill, Dad and Barnacle Bill
Monday, December 31, 2007
Thursday, December 27, 2007
27 December 2007
27 December 2007
Greetings from a long way from anywhere!
Two days away from Easter Island and three days away from the coast of Chile ia a lot of water. Couple that brilliant observation with the fact that we’re not traveling on a regular shipping line and we’re talking lonely here. We haven’t seen another ship since we left Pitcairn Island and we probably won’t see anything moving on the sea surrounding us until we’re close to San Martin. The further east we sail more character the sea is providing us. Since leaving Easter Island the swells and the chop on the water has added a constant motion to the ship that makes people walk like they’ve had a few too many. On second thought, the sea motion may not having thing to do with said staggering.
Easter Island was the main reason that most of the passengers on the Pacific Princess signed on for this cruise. Easter Island is off the beaten path and fewer than half of the cruise ships that work this part of the world include it in their itinerary. And that’s a shame.
Easter Island is known for its Moai; sculptured stones made to look like people or the stylized heads of people. We usually relate the Moai statues to Polynesia although they are only found in their original state on Easter Island. As a matter of fact, our tour guide told us that there are eight hundred ninety of the Moai, in some form, on the island. We didn’t see all of the statues standing but rather we saw them under construction, broken in pieces and sometimes standing. We were taken to the “quarry” on the side of an extinct volcano where the Moai were originally made. There were dozens of Moai that were just beginning to look like something along with many more that were in the process of completion. The soft volcanic rock used to make the Moai was apparently easy to shape with rudimentary tools. There are many theories about what the Moai meant to the ancient Easter Islanders with some concluding that they were a part of some kind of religious observance. The Moai were created in the years between 1100 and 1400 AD.
No one really knows where the inhabitants of Easter Island came from but most agree that the natives were primarily Polynesian. Thor Hyerdahl, of Kon Tiki fame, believes that the existence of potatoes on the island suggests that some of the early islanders came from South America. While the population of Easter Island today is about 3,500, evidence suggests that at one time more than 9,000 people lived on the island. There is evidence of a great many wars among the clans on the island probably resulting from an over population and a shortage of food. If some of the islanders came from South America, it is believed that their group may have been eliminated by one or more of the wars.
Evidence suggests that the first inhabitants on the island arrived between 400 and 700 AD. At the time, the now wind swept barren island was a palm tree covered paradise. The first contact with Europeans occurred in 1722. It is likely that the islanders lived in total isolation for about 1300 years creating a totally unique civilization that social scientist have explored and written about for several generations.
I was interested at one stop to learn that the Moais we had stopped to see were part of a recently completed project to restore a group of fifty Morais that had once stood in a row; the largest single group on the island. The original site had been destroyed in the late eighties by a sunami that carried most of the Moais up to one kilometer inland. A joint project to restore the area was funded by the Chilean government (Easter Island is a part of Chile) and the government of Japan.
Today the islanders prefer to tell visitors that they are descendants of Polynesians. Many have wonderfully tanned skin but they look more European than what would anticipate as Polynesian. I hd a chance to talk to a twenty year old guide who briefly described her life on the island. She told me that the thirty to forty cruise ships that stop each year provide the Island’s primary source of income. There is some farming to provide meat and vegetables for the local population.
I was told that many of the families rely on horses to take them around the island. I didn’t see many cars on the Monday we visited the island. It was rather obvious that traffic is not a problem. Our small van had to stop a number of times to wait for people to move who had simply stopped their cars in the middle of the street to visit with the occupants of a second car. I didn’t see any horses or horse drawn carts in the one village we drove through but I did see a number of horses grazing freely in fields outside of the village. One thing I didn’t see was anyone who looked like a native Polynesian or a shack like dwelling were some one less fortunate than others might live.
Everyone seemed pleased with their visit to Easter Island. The fact that we hadn’t had a chance to walk on solid ground for four days may have had something to do with the elation. No one seemed to want to talk about the fact that it will be another four days before we have a similar opportunity.
Visisting Easter Island on Christmas Eve leads one to wonder if the cruise line has plans for an itinerary that includes a visit to Christmas Island at Easter time. If there is such a place at such a time, count me in. But please, see if few can do it with less than four days at sea each way.
Los of salty kisses and hugs to all,
Grandpa Bill, Dad and Barnacle Bill
Greetings from a long way from anywhere!
Two days away from Easter Island and three days away from the coast of Chile ia a lot of water. Couple that brilliant observation with the fact that we’re not traveling on a regular shipping line and we’re talking lonely here. We haven’t seen another ship since we left Pitcairn Island and we probably won’t see anything moving on the sea surrounding us until we’re close to San Martin. The further east we sail more character the sea is providing us. Since leaving Easter Island the swells and the chop on the water has added a constant motion to the ship that makes people walk like they’ve had a few too many. On second thought, the sea motion may not having thing to do with said staggering.
Easter Island was the main reason that most of the passengers on the Pacific Princess signed on for this cruise. Easter Island is off the beaten path and fewer than half of the cruise ships that work this part of the world include it in their itinerary. And that’s a shame.
Easter Island is known for its Moai; sculptured stones made to look like people or the stylized heads of people. We usually relate the Moai statues to Polynesia although they are only found in their original state on Easter Island. As a matter of fact, our tour guide told us that there are eight hundred ninety of the Moai, in some form, on the island. We didn’t see all of the statues standing but rather we saw them under construction, broken in pieces and sometimes standing. We were taken to the “quarry” on the side of an extinct volcano where the Moai were originally made. There were dozens of Moai that were just beginning to look like something along with many more that were in the process of completion. The soft volcanic rock used to make the Moai was apparently easy to shape with rudimentary tools. There are many theories about what the Moai meant to the ancient Easter Islanders with some concluding that they were a part of some kind of religious observance. The Moai were created in the years between 1100 and 1400 AD.
No one really knows where the inhabitants of Easter Island came from but most agree that the natives were primarily Polynesian. Thor Hyerdahl, of Kon Tiki fame, believes that the existence of potatoes on the island suggests that some of the early islanders came from South America. While the population of Easter Island today is about 3,500, evidence suggests that at one time more than 9,000 people lived on the island. There is evidence of a great many wars among the clans on the island probably resulting from an over population and a shortage of food. If some of the islanders came from South America, it is believed that their group may have been eliminated by one or more of the wars.
Evidence suggests that the first inhabitants on the island arrived between 400 and 700 AD. At the time, the now wind swept barren island was a palm tree covered paradise. The first contact with Europeans occurred in 1722. It is likely that the islanders lived in total isolation for about 1300 years creating a totally unique civilization that social scientist have explored and written about for several generations.
I was interested at one stop to learn that the Moais we had stopped to see were part of a recently completed project to restore a group of fifty Morais that had once stood in a row; the largest single group on the island. The original site had been destroyed in the late eighties by a sunami that carried most of the Moais up to one kilometer inland. A joint project to restore the area was funded by the Chilean government (Easter Island is a part of Chile) and the government of Japan.
Today the islanders prefer to tell visitors that they are descendants of Polynesians. Many have wonderfully tanned skin but they look more European than what would anticipate as Polynesian. I hd a chance to talk to a twenty year old guide who briefly described her life on the island. She told me that the thirty to forty cruise ships that stop each year provide the Island’s primary source of income. There is some farming to provide meat and vegetables for the local population.
I was told that many of the families rely on horses to take them around the island. I didn’t see many cars on the Monday we visited the island. It was rather obvious that traffic is not a problem. Our small van had to stop a number of times to wait for people to move who had simply stopped their cars in the middle of the street to visit with the occupants of a second car. I didn’t see any horses or horse drawn carts in the one village we drove through but I did see a number of horses grazing freely in fields outside of the village. One thing I didn’t see was anyone who looked like a native Polynesian or a shack like dwelling were some one less fortunate than others might live.
Everyone seemed pleased with their visit to Easter Island. The fact that we hadn’t had a chance to walk on solid ground for four days may have had something to do with the elation. No one seemed to want to talk about the fact that it will be another four days before we have a similar opportunity.
Visisting Easter Island on Christmas Eve leads one to wonder if the cruise line has plans for an itinerary that includes a visit to Christmas Island at Easter time. If there is such a place at such a time, count me in. But please, see if few can do it with less than four days at sea each way.
Los of salty kisses and hugs to all,
Grandpa Bill, Dad and Barnacle Bill
Monday, December 24, 2007
24 December 2007
24 December 2007
Merry Christmas Everyone,
The last few days, as the 25th of December closes in on us, I’ve had a brand new Christmas experience. During off moments when my mind has had the opportunity to drift, I’ve found myself thinking a lot about my childhood Christmases. The Douglas fir trees that found their way into the living room of my family’s home in Hayward have made their way out of my memory bank for the first time in years. The colored lights, tinsel and silver and red balls that came out of storage each year in mid-December have twinkled in my memory along with the annual contest I had with my older sister Jan to see who could tease the other into madness, if not into trouble with our mother while decorating the tree. The care that was taken to choose just the right gift for each member of the family paid for with money saved over the previous several months. The anxious thought that went into deciding on a specific gift request from Mom and Dad hoping that what was asked for was not considered too outlandish or too expensive. The hours taken in pouring over the Montgomery Ward Christmas catalog and the special section with gifts for kids. And the year that I found a new bicycle next to the tree on Christmas morning and the wonderful approving smile on my father’s face when I asked if I could give the hand me down girl’s bike, that I had inherited from Jan, to my depression poor best friend at the time, Woodrow.
I have a keen recollection of worrying to excess about whether or not the gifts I had wrapped with a little boy’s care were going to be well received or dismissed by other family members. I can’t remember ever being disappointed although at times I was sure that I had missed the satisfaction mark by a mile. Most of all, I can almost smell the sweetness of the newly opened annual Christmas box of cookies that my grandmother Berck sent from her Nebraska kitchen. The shoe box container usually arrived with most of the cookies on the top and bottom layer crushed and cracked; providing a bowl full of pieces that were put out on the cupboard for quick consumption.
And then on Christmas morning, I was privileged to go “carol singing” with the Methodist Youth Fellowship group that my father served as adult leader, even though in the beginning I was eight to ten years younger than some of the high school kids in the group. And then several years later, the fun I had each Christmas morning singing four part harmony with the group as I learned to read music and exercise my teenage tenor voice.
The years of World War II were especially memorable because my parents seemed always able to find several service men to come to our house to celebrate Christmas with us. For an early teens boy, these guys were all heroes and adventurers to me who traveled the world and seemed not to have a care in the world. While most of these brief visitors seemed more interested in my older sister than me, they always talked to me and treated me like one of their own. I felt a foot taller when they were around.
A lot of Christmases have flown by on evergreen wings over the past sixty or so years. Each has had its own flavor and mixture of gifts and people and good times. And each has been culminated by someone saying, as my mother did each and every year in my memory, “I think that this has been the best Christmas ever”.
From the bottom of my heart I wish everyone “The best Christmas ever” with many more to come.
I miss you all on this Christmas eve and love you all very much.
Grandpa Bill, Dad and Barnacle Bill
Merry Christmas Everyone,
The last few days, as the 25th of December closes in on us, I’ve had a brand new Christmas experience. During off moments when my mind has had the opportunity to drift, I’ve found myself thinking a lot about my childhood Christmases. The Douglas fir trees that found their way into the living room of my family’s home in Hayward have made their way out of my memory bank for the first time in years. The colored lights, tinsel and silver and red balls that came out of storage each year in mid-December have twinkled in my memory along with the annual contest I had with my older sister Jan to see who could tease the other into madness, if not into trouble with our mother while decorating the tree. The care that was taken to choose just the right gift for each member of the family paid for with money saved over the previous several months. The anxious thought that went into deciding on a specific gift request from Mom and Dad hoping that what was asked for was not considered too outlandish or too expensive. The hours taken in pouring over the Montgomery Ward Christmas catalog and the special section with gifts for kids. And the year that I found a new bicycle next to the tree on Christmas morning and the wonderful approving smile on my father’s face when I asked if I could give the hand me down girl’s bike, that I had inherited from Jan, to my depression poor best friend at the time, Woodrow.
I have a keen recollection of worrying to excess about whether or not the gifts I had wrapped with a little boy’s care were going to be well received or dismissed by other family members. I can’t remember ever being disappointed although at times I was sure that I had missed the satisfaction mark by a mile. Most of all, I can almost smell the sweetness of the newly opened annual Christmas box of cookies that my grandmother Berck sent from her Nebraska kitchen. The shoe box container usually arrived with most of the cookies on the top and bottom layer crushed and cracked; providing a bowl full of pieces that were put out on the cupboard for quick consumption.
And then on Christmas morning, I was privileged to go “carol singing” with the Methodist Youth Fellowship group that my father served as adult leader, even though in the beginning I was eight to ten years younger than some of the high school kids in the group. And then several years later, the fun I had each Christmas morning singing four part harmony with the group as I learned to read music and exercise my teenage tenor voice.
The years of World War II were especially memorable because my parents seemed always able to find several service men to come to our house to celebrate Christmas with us. For an early teens boy, these guys were all heroes and adventurers to me who traveled the world and seemed not to have a care in the world. While most of these brief visitors seemed more interested in my older sister than me, they always talked to me and treated me like one of their own. I felt a foot taller when they were around.
A lot of Christmases have flown by on evergreen wings over the past sixty or so years. Each has had its own flavor and mixture of gifts and people and good times. And each has been culminated by someone saying, as my mother did each and every year in my memory, “I think that this has been the best Christmas ever”.
From the bottom of my heart I wish everyone “The best Christmas ever” with many more to come.
I miss you all on this Christmas eve and love you all very much.
Grandpa Bill, Dad and Barnacle Bill
Saturday, December 22, 2007
22 DECEMBER 2007
21 December 2007
Hello Everyone from Pitcairn Island,
After three continuous days of sailing, we reached Pitcairn Island as planned at 7:00 AM this morning. We arrived but we didn’t disembark or go ashore or any of that good kind of stuff. Today, the island came to us. About two dozen Pitcairnese, or what ever they’re called, came out to us in an open boat and came aboard with dozens of cases of stuff to sell.
For the uninitiated who didn’t read “Mutiny on the Bounty” or missed the movie, -Pitcairn Island is where Fletcher Christian and the mutineers landed and took up residence sans Captain Blye. The island is situated below the tropic of Capricorn and halfway between New Zealand and South America. It took us three full days and nights of sailing to get here from Bora Bora and it will take almost the same amount oftime to reach our next destination; Easter Island off the coast of Peru. It was here in 1790 that the Bounty and the mutineers ended their respective sea faring careers. The remains of the HMS Bounty still rest off shore in about forty feet of water. The descendants of the mutineers that survived the first couple of tumultuous years still live on the island. There are fewer than sixty island residents a third of which proudly carry the Christian family name.
Pitcairn Island is really a small group of islands. The largest of the group, Henderson Island, is where everyone lives. These raised coral islands are home to a wide variety of exotic birds. Because of these rare birds, the islands have been made a UNESCO World Heritage Site. While today’s residents don’t raise cattle, sheep or goats, they do enough farming to provide vegetables and fruit for their tables. Our ship left several large packages of meat for the islanders so we decided we didn’t have to feel sorry for them and their limited diet. We were assured that a number of cruise ships like ours stop by for brief visits throughout the year.
We had an interesting Q and A with one of the islanders. We learned that kids typically are sent to New Zealand for high school and beyond. New Zealand claims ownership of Pitcairn Islands and dictates the laws for the territory. There have been occasional immigrants who move to Pitcairn to get away from it all. Pitcairn is undisputedly the most remote and isolated place in the world where people have chosen to live. The source of water for the local residents is rain water. It rains a lot and catch basins and storage tanks store sufficient water for all of the island’s needs. Within the last couple of years, telephones have come to Pitcairn and with them the ability to talk to New Zealand by means other than the short wave radio.
The residents do maintain a “registration” of residents to prevent the kind of inter marriage problems that have historically devastated similar living groups. The people who came on board seemed bright and whole leading me to believe that folks have been careful about letting cousins marry too often. As a matter of fact, the people we met seemed totally ordinary. While the residents all like to claim some form of Polynesian ancestry, the skin coloring of those we met spoke more of their 18th century English heritage than anything else.
The group from the island came on board with all kinds of touristy stuff to sell. I found a patch to add to my collection. I passed on dozens of different kinds of carved objects, tee shirts with Pitcairn prominently screened on the fronts, little jars of jams and jellies, postage stamps that would take your mail absolutely no where and a variety of books for those who like to stock their book shelves with things to impress people. The patch I bought cost $10 US making it the most expensive patch in my collection. Tee shirts were going for $30 leaving me with the feeling that the islanders had learned how to profit from their isolation.
I apologize for not being more timely with my blogs this past week. After my first blog, the system failed me. After struggling with the system for several days, I finally convinced the “Technology Officer” that the problem was in the ship’s system not my computer. I was interested in the source of the solution to my problems. Once it was decided how the problem could be solved, the staff had to notify an office in LosAngles that controls the technology services for all of the Princess Line cruise ships all over the world. We had to wait several days for an email from LA to authorize the steps that needed to be taken to get me back on line. In the mean time, I used the Internet system on the shipe (I usually use their wireless system). The internet system that is available is so slow that it takes a minimum of fifteen minutes to read one email and respond. The wireless system is almost as fast as working at home.
Our bridge sessions are going very well. I have been teaching a beginners group each morning and running a game for the same people for a couple of hours each afternoon. I’m really pleased with how well my students are doing. With the number of “sea days” we have on schedule, my students will be playing duplicate before the end of our cruise.
A couple of days ago the ship began dressing some of the crew in sad looking red Christmas hats with almost white balls on their tips. To tell you the truth, it really doesn’t look very much like Christmas. It will be interesting to see what is done in the next few days to build to the holiday. So far we’ve heard more about the grand New Year’s Eve party that is planned than anything for Christmas. We do have a Catholic priest on board who should bring a little bit of the Christmas story into our pampered and over fed lives.
I’m beginning to forget what it feels like to walk on something under foot that isn’t constantly moving.
Love to all,
Grandpa Bill, Dad and Barnacle Bill
Hello Everyone from Pitcairn Island,
After three continuous days of sailing, we reached Pitcairn Island as planned at 7:00 AM this morning. We arrived but we didn’t disembark or go ashore or any of that good kind of stuff. Today, the island came to us. About two dozen Pitcairnese, or what ever they’re called, came out to us in an open boat and came aboard with dozens of cases of stuff to sell.
For the uninitiated who didn’t read “Mutiny on the Bounty” or missed the movie, -Pitcairn Island is where Fletcher Christian and the mutineers landed and took up residence sans Captain Blye. The island is situated below the tropic of Capricorn and halfway between New Zealand and South America. It took us three full days and nights of sailing to get here from Bora Bora and it will take almost the same amount oftime to reach our next destination; Easter Island off the coast of Peru. It was here in 1790 that the Bounty and the mutineers ended their respective sea faring careers. The remains of the HMS Bounty still rest off shore in about forty feet of water. The descendants of the mutineers that survived the first couple of tumultuous years still live on the island. There are fewer than sixty island residents a third of which proudly carry the Christian family name.
Pitcairn Island is really a small group of islands. The largest of the group, Henderson Island, is where everyone lives. These raised coral islands are home to a wide variety of exotic birds. Because of these rare birds, the islands have been made a UNESCO World Heritage Site. While today’s residents don’t raise cattle, sheep or goats, they do enough farming to provide vegetables and fruit for their tables. Our ship left several large packages of meat for the islanders so we decided we didn’t have to feel sorry for them and their limited diet. We were assured that a number of cruise ships like ours stop by for brief visits throughout the year.
We had an interesting Q and A with one of the islanders. We learned that kids typically are sent to New Zealand for high school and beyond. New Zealand claims ownership of Pitcairn Islands and dictates the laws for the territory. There have been occasional immigrants who move to Pitcairn to get away from it all. Pitcairn is undisputedly the most remote and isolated place in the world where people have chosen to live. The source of water for the local residents is rain water. It rains a lot and catch basins and storage tanks store sufficient water for all of the island’s needs. Within the last couple of years, telephones have come to Pitcairn and with them the ability to talk to New Zealand by means other than the short wave radio.
The residents do maintain a “registration” of residents to prevent the kind of inter marriage problems that have historically devastated similar living groups. The people who came on board seemed bright and whole leading me to believe that folks have been careful about letting cousins marry too often. As a matter of fact, the people we met seemed totally ordinary. While the residents all like to claim some form of Polynesian ancestry, the skin coloring of those we met spoke more of their 18th century English heritage than anything else.
The group from the island came on board with all kinds of touristy stuff to sell. I found a patch to add to my collection. I passed on dozens of different kinds of carved objects, tee shirts with Pitcairn prominently screened on the fronts, little jars of jams and jellies, postage stamps that would take your mail absolutely no where and a variety of books for those who like to stock their book shelves with things to impress people. The patch I bought cost $10 US making it the most expensive patch in my collection. Tee shirts were going for $30 leaving me with the feeling that the islanders had learned how to profit from their isolation.
I apologize for not being more timely with my blogs this past week. After my first blog, the system failed me. After struggling with the system for several days, I finally convinced the “Technology Officer” that the problem was in the ship’s system not my computer. I was interested in the source of the solution to my problems. Once it was decided how the problem could be solved, the staff had to notify an office in LosAngles that controls the technology services for all of the Princess Line cruise ships all over the world. We had to wait several days for an email from LA to authorize the steps that needed to be taken to get me back on line. In the mean time, I used the Internet system on the shipe (I usually use their wireless system). The internet system that is available is so slow that it takes a minimum of fifteen minutes to read one email and respond. The wireless system is almost as fast as working at home.
Our bridge sessions are going very well. I have been teaching a beginners group each morning and running a game for the same people for a couple of hours each afternoon. I’m really pleased with how well my students are doing. With the number of “sea days” we have on schedule, my students will be playing duplicate before the end of our cruise.
A couple of days ago the ship began dressing some of the crew in sad looking red Christmas hats with almost white balls on their tips. To tell you the truth, it really doesn’t look very much like Christmas. It will be interesting to see what is done in the next few days to build to the holiday. So far we’ve heard more about the grand New Year’s Eve party that is planned than anything for Christmas. We do have a Catholic priest on board who should bring a little bit of the Christmas story into our pampered and over fed lives.
I’m beginning to forget what it feels like to walk on something under foot that isn’t constantly moving.
Love to all,
Grandpa Bill, Dad and Barnacle Bill
Friday, December 21, 2007
18 December 2007
10 December 2007
A south seas hi there to all,
This is a cruise that does a lot of cruising. After leaving Moorea we headed to sea; the south seas that is. Our first destination was Bora Bora, a place where anyone who has ever visited this part of the world inevitably visits. Bora Bora embodies the total essence of a south seas island. It is an island surrounded by an atoll surrounded by coral reefs that extend out into the ocean for several hundred yards. From the air it must look like a doughnut with the lagoon being the dough. It seems to be almost perfectly round with the “hole” taking the form of a couple of sharply rising mountains.
The tours at Bora Bora mostly centered on exploring the lagoon. My bridge mentor Marty accompanied a tour that traveled in the lagoon to a place where those who wished could get in the water and swim with huge Manta Rays that had had their stingers snipped from their tails. Some of the Rays were six feet across. Sounds like a scary experience to me but what the heck, if one can swim with the dolphins any thing else should be easy stuff. One tour involved a jeep ride up one of the mountains, giving the participants a grand view of the lagoon, the atoll and the sea. I talked to two couples that made the trip who claimed that the bruises they received on the sitting part of their anatomies would take years to heal. The road was more than just a little bit bumpy. Ahh, those wonderful lasting memories of Bora Bora.
The area where our tenders took ashore was ripe with opportunities to shop, but not much else. I took a walk down the narrow main “highway” for several miles to check out “Bloody Mary’s” bar/ restaurant. It was closed for the holiday season ??? But I did have a chance to read the long list of famous people who were claimed to have visited Bloody Mary’s. I didn’t find anyone I know on the list.
Bora Bora is home for a sizeable cultured pearl industry. I took a “free” shuttle ride to an “oyster farm” where I was given a first class tour of the facility. In my last log, I noted that a museum I had visited talked about the continued use of centuries old techniques for harvesting pearls. In reality, most pearls today are the product of farms like the one I was visiting. I was shown how the pearl farmers help the oysters grow the size and shape of pearls that the market demands. As you have already guessed, the “farm” also had a very nice showroom with super friendly sales people. I was shuttled out to the farm in the back of an old rusty converted pick-up and was escorted back to the dock in the back of a stylish sedan.
We are into “at sea” time and our bridge games are running full tilt. We had a number of absolute beginners who wanted to learn the game so, while Marty lectures to the seasoned players and advanced techniques, I have been working with beginners. By beginners, I mean real beginners. Half of the class on the first day couldn’t distinguish between clubs and spades. I taught people how to shuffle cards and arrange the cards in their hands. I had sixteen the first day and nineteen the second day. I think this will be a lot of fun for me and for my new bridge players. Marty ran six tables of duplicate on the first day and that will probably grow with time. All of a sudden I have dozens of people on board who greet me with a “Hi Billl” as I wander around the ship.
After leaving Bora Bora we will be at sea for three days. Then we’ll spend a half day at Pictairn Island (Mutiny on the Bounty fame) where we will meet some descendants of Fletcher Christian and then back to sea for a two day sail to Easter Island. We’ll spend Christmas Day in and around Easter Island and then we’ll sail away for another three days at sea before we hit the coast of Peru. All in all, the next week or so will keep me busy with a lot of bridge to manage with little opportunity to play any hands.
We lose an hour on the clock every other day making for short nights for sleep. None the less, I haven’t missed my morning walk and work out each day. The walking venue on ship is a track that takes 11 trips around to make a mile. When we are sea the walking on the bouncing deck makes one look like the morning’s orange juice was spiked without having an umbrella added.
Lots of love to all,
Grandpa Bill, Dad and Barnacle Bill
A south seas hi there to all,
This is a cruise that does a lot of cruising. After leaving Moorea we headed to sea; the south seas that is. Our first destination was Bora Bora, a place where anyone who has ever visited this part of the world inevitably visits. Bora Bora embodies the total essence of a south seas island. It is an island surrounded by an atoll surrounded by coral reefs that extend out into the ocean for several hundred yards. From the air it must look like a doughnut with the lagoon being the dough. It seems to be almost perfectly round with the “hole” taking the form of a couple of sharply rising mountains.
The tours at Bora Bora mostly centered on exploring the lagoon. My bridge mentor Marty accompanied a tour that traveled in the lagoon to a place where those who wished could get in the water and swim with huge Manta Rays that had had their stingers snipped from their tails. Some of the Rays were six feet across. Sounds like a scary experience to me but what the heck, if one can swim with the dolphins any thing else should be easy stuff. One tour involved a jeep ride up one of the mountains, giving the participants a grand view of the lagoon, the atoll and the sea. I talked to two couples that made the trip who claimed that the bruises they received on the sitting part of their anatomies would take years to heal. The road was more than just a little bit bumpy. Ahh, those wonderful lasting memories of Bora Bora.
The area where our tenders took ashore was ripe with opportunities to shop, but not much else. I took a walk down the narrow main “highway” for several miles to check out “Bloody Mary’s” bar/ restaurant. It was closed for the holiday season ??? But I did have a chance to read the long list of famous people who were claimed to have visited Bloody Mary’s. I didn’t find anyone I know on the list.
Bora Bora is home for a sizeable cultured pearl industry. I took a “free” shuttle ride to an “oyster farm” where I was given a first class tour of the facility. In my last log, I noted that a museum I had visited talked about the continued use of centuries old techniques for harvesting pearls. In reality, most pearls today are the product of farms like the one I was visiting. I was shown how the pearl farmers help the oysters grow the size and shape of pearls that the market demands. As you have already guessed, the “farm” also had a very nice showroom with super friendly sales people. I was shuttled out to the farm in the back of an old rusty converted pick-up and was escorted back to the dock in the back of a stylish sedan.
We are into “at sea” time and our bridge games are running full tilt. We had a number of absolute beginners who wanted to learn the game so, while Marty lectures to the seasoned players and advanced techniques, I have been working with beginners. By beginners, I mean real beginners. Half of the class on the first day couldn’t distinguish between clubs and spades. I taught people how to shuffle cards and arrange the cards in their hands. I had sixteen the first day and nineteen the second day. I think this will be a lot of fun for me and for my new bridge players. Marty ran six tables of duplicate on the first day and that will probably grow with time. All of a sudden I have dozens of people on board who greet me with a “Hi Billl” as I wander around the ship.
After leaving Bora Bora we will be at sea for three days. Then we’ll spend a half day at Pictairn Island (Mutiny on the Bounty fame) where we will meet some descendants of Fletcher Christian and then back to sea for a two day sail to Easter Island. We’ll spend Christmas Day in and around Easter Island and then we’ll sail away for another three days at sea before we hit the coast of Peru. All in all, the next week or so will keep me busy with a lot of bridge to manage with little opportunity to play any hands.
We lose an hour on the clock every other day making for short nights for sleep. None the less, I haven’t missed my morning walk and work out each day. The walking venue on ship is a track that takes 11 trips around to make a mile. When we are sea the walking on the bouncing deck makes one look like the morning’s orange juice was spiked without having an umbrella added.
Lots of love to all,
Grandpa Bill, Dad and Barnacle Bill
Sunday, December 16, 2007
16 December 2007
16 December 2007
Hello to all,
Here I sit with a little white flower tucked behind my ear, a tropical ninety degree sun streaming down soothed by a pleasant sea breeze, the sweet smell of tropical flowers on that breeze and my stomach growling because it’s still a half hour before the dining room opens for lunch. Life has its little problems but not in French Polynesia.
Dear Dottie was up bright and early on Friday morning to take me to BART and get me started on my twenty-six day adventure. We both had a great time on Thursday night at the annual Rotary Christmas Dinner/Dance at the Pleasanton Hilton. After dancing the night away, Dottie was a marvel showing up on my door step at the crack of dawn looking like she was raring to go wherever the winds might blow. I promised her that the future holds a time when we can both be leaving together on some “mysterious adventure”.
My flight to Papeete via Los Angeles was uneventful except that the flight that I was supposed to catch at 6:00 PM out of Los Angeles didn’t leave until midnight. One can only sit and read for so long before a ten hour lay-over becomes down right boring. I met Mary at Los Angeles and we both agreed that it would have been nice to have known of the delay so we could each take a later flight. But then, that’s the fun of air travel…….I guess. I slept about five hours of the eight hour trip to Papeete and was relatively well rested when we arrived.
For the uninformed (I just left that group), Papeete is the capital city of French Polynesia and is located on the island of Tahiti Nui. You might well ask about the “nui” as I did. Actually, the island of Tahiti is one of two islands joined at the hip; like a basketball and a softball touching one another. The smaller portion of the combine is Tahiti itti. I couldn’t find anyone who could define “nui” and “itti” for me so I can’t help you there. I found a map of French Polynesia in the seat pocket on my flight on Air Tahiti Nui that showed the entire area of French Polynesia and the more than one hundred sizeable islands in the group. I’ve been told that there are several hundred islands in the area that are too small for much habitation making the area of several thousand square miles a mass of islands. I would imagine that one could spend a life time exploring the area and never come close to setting foot on every island.
Our arrival in Papeete was several hours before the “Pacific Princess” was ready to receive its new passengers. Marty, who has been to this area a dozen or more times, offered to take me on a tour of the town. To say the least, the town was bustling on the Saturday morning we visited. Heavy traffic flowed through town on the main arteries and lots of folks filled the stores; probably Christmas shopping. We visited the Cathedral of Tahiti found in the middle of town. After ooing and awing over European cathedrals for years, this cathedral
would more aptly fall into the category of a nice little church rather than a “Cathedral”. Bu then, there aren’t many people in this part of the world so maybe its size was appropriate. The cathedral was the largest church we saw on our walk around town so I am probably unfair in dissing its size. We passed a cute little protestant church a few blocks to the north that made the Cathedral look really big.
The place that Marty really wanted me to see was the Papeete Pearl Museum. The museum was really very elegant and informative. There were displays describing how divers have harvested pearls from oysters for hundreds of years. In a number of places around the world, the value of pearls has only become as we know it in the last couple of centuries. One historical account told about Caribbean islands where the natives that the Spanish explorers met had so many pearls that they considered them worthless. I was surprised to learn that pearls are found in most seas in the latitudes thirty to forty degrees on either side of the equator. While harvesting oysters for their pearls could be relatively easy today using scuba diving equipment, one display reported that pearls today continue to be harvested by divers who develop an inordinate ability to stay under water for a long time.
Apparently, Tahiti and French Polynesia are famous for the black pearls that are commonly found in the area. The museum featured a sales room (can you believe that?) where I saw beautifully crafted jewelry using black pearls. I considered that this might be a place to complete my Christmas shopping until I noticed that most of the items were tagged with prices in the one to five million Tahiti Francs. Marty pointed out that a Tahiti Franc is the equivalent of about one and a half cents. Unfortunately, even taking a couple of zeros off of the prices put the black pearl jewelry our of my range for Christmas presents.
Last night, a traditional Tahitian Folkloric show was brought on board for our evening’s entertainment. The group that performed included five musicians that played mostly drums with an occasional ukulele, four men dressed in various Tahitian costumes (I guess) and four lovely young ladies wearing various states of Tahitian undress. The show consisted of an hour of dances; sometimes the whole group, sometimes just the men or women and occasionally one man or one woman. We’ve all seen the Hawaiian hula. Tahitian dancing is a lot like the hula but much faster (How do they do that?) and a heck of lot more suggestive and seductive. If the program hadn’t have been so enjoyable, it could well have been the worst night of my life. I forgot my camera. That’s a double “Drats”. After the show, the dancers offered to pose for pictures with passengers who dared to stand close to the exciting young people; men with the girls, women with the male dancers. I’m truly sorry to report that I won’t come home with a picture of myself surrounded by clinging partially clad Polynesian beauties. I mean really truly sorry.
Today our ship skipped across a twenty mile passage to Boorea Island. The information sheet we received for the day told us that Boorea is the complete opposite of Tahiti. I found no hustle and bustle but rather a sleepy lay back way of life that books on the south sea islands in the past have described. Tropical vegetation is everywhere. The houses along the shore line were no more than one hundred feet from the sea on the lee side of the island. The coral along the shores make Boorea a popular spot for snorkeling and otherwise just goofing off. The island is big into pineapple farming but you couldn’t tell on the Sunday I visited. People just seemed to be lounging around without a care in the world. The few booths selling hand made jewelry and ladies dresses were without sales people in most cases and the few ladies that were in attendance seemed like they would prefer that you not bother them by buying their wares.
A little protestant church was a couple of hundred yards away from the quay where our tender dropped us. I walked inside to find the Sunday morning worship service in full swing. I went in and sat down and tried to look totally engrossed in what the speaker was saying. Most people were similarly engrossed but about half of the congregation of about fifty had their chins on their chests. My attention span couldn’t quite meet the challenge however when I adjusted my hearing to the situation and discovered that the preacher was using a language I had never heard before. French is commonly spoken throughout French Polynesia (I guess that makes sense) but the people living on the many islands generally speak a language or a dialect that is peculiar to that one location. Whatever the language, I concluded that parishioners that were awake probably knew the language and the sleepy ones shared my lack of linguistics necessary to participate. I decided from the town of the preacher’s voice he was either telling the congregants that they would surely go to Hell doing what they were doing or maybe he was warning all to stay away from those funny smelling people from the ship who only wanted to steal their jewelry paying with worthless green colored money. I guess I’ll really never know.
My love to all,
Grandpa, Dad and Bill (the guy with the flower behind his ear)
Hello to all,
Here I sit with a little white flower tucked behind my ear, a tropical ninety degree sun streaming down soothed by a pleasant sea breeze, the sweet smell of tropical flowers on that breeze and my stomach growling because it’s still a half hour before the dining room opens for lunch. Life has its little problems but not in French Polynesia.
Dear Dottie was up bright and early on Friday morning to take me to BART and get me started on my twenty-six day adventure. We both had a great time on Thursday night at the annual Rotary Christmas Dinner/Dance at the Pleasanton Hilton. After dancing the night away, Dottie was a marvel showing up on my door step at the crack of dawn looking like she was raring to go wherever the winds might blow. I promised her that the future holds a time when we can both be leaving together on some “mysterious adventure”.
My flight to Papeete via Los Angeles was uneventful except that the flight that I was supposed to catch at 6:00 PM out of Los Angeles didn’t leave until midnight. One can only sit and read for so long before a ten hour lay-over becomes down right boring. I met Mary at Los Angeles and we both agreed that it would have been nice to have known of the delay so we could each take a later flight. But then, that’s the fun of air travel…….I guess. I slept about five hours of the eight hour trip to Papeete and was relatively well rested when we arrived.
For the uninformed (I just left that group), Papeete is the capital city of French Polynesia and is located on the island of Tahiti Nui. You might well ask about the “nui” as I did. Actually, the island of Tahiti is one of two islands joined at the hip; like a basketball and a softball touching one another. The smaller portion of the combine is Tahiti itti. I couldn’t find anyone who could define “nui” and “itti” for me so I can’t help you there. I found a map of French Polynesia in the seat pocket on my flight on Air Tahiti Nui that showed the entire area of French Polynesia and the more than one hundred sizeable islands in the group. I’ve been told that there are several hundred islands in the area that are too small for much habitation making the area of several thousand square miles a mass of islands. I would imagine that one could spend a life time exploring the area and never come close to setting foot on every island.
Our arrival in Papeete was several hours before the “Pacific Princess” was ready to receive its new passengers. Marty, who has been to this area a dozen or more times, offered to take me on a tour of the town. To say the least, the town was bustling on the Saturday morning we visited. Heavy traffic flowed through town on the main arteries and lots of folks filled the stores; probably Christmas shopping. We visited the Cathedral of Tahiti found in the middle of town. After ooing and awing over European cathedrals for years, this cathedral
would more aptly fall into the category of a nice little church rather than a “Cathedral”. Bu then, there aren’t many people in this part of the world so maybe its size was appropriate. The cathedral was the largest church we saw on our walk around town so I am probably unfair in dissing its size. We passed a cute little protestant church a few blocks to the north that made the Cathedral look really big.
The place that Marty really wanted me to see was the Papeete Pearl Museum. The museum was really very elegant and informative. There were displays describing how divers have harvested pearls from oysters for hundreds of years. In a number of places around the world, the value of pearls has only become as we know it in the last couple of centuries. One historical account told about Caribbean islands where the natives that the Spanish explorers met had so many pearls that they considered them worthless. I was surprised to learn that pearls are found in most seas in the latitudes thirty to forty degrees on either side of the equator. While harvesting oysters for their pearls could be relatively easy today using scuba diving equipment, one display reported that pearls today continue to be harvested by divers who develop an inordinate ability to stay under water for a long time.
Apparently, Tahiti and French Polynesia are famous for the black pearls that are commonly found in the area. The museum featured a sales room (can you believe that?) where I saw beautifully crafted jewelry using black pearls. I considered that this might be a place to complete my Christmas shopping until I noticed that most of the items were tagged with prices in the one to five million Tahiti Francs. Marty pointed out that a Tahiti Franc is the equivalent of about one and a half cents. Unfortunately, even taking a couple of zeros off of the prices put the black pearl jewelry our of my range for Christmas presents.
Last night, a traditional Tahitian Folkloric show was brought on board for our evening’s entertainment. The group that performed included five musicians that played mostly drums with an occasional ukulele, four men dressed in various Tahitian costumes (I guess) and four lovely young ladies wearing various states of Tahitian undress. The show consisted of an hour of dances; sometimes the whole group, sometimes just the men or women and occasionally one man or one woman. We’ve all seen the Hawaiian hula. Tahitian dancing is a lot like the hula but much faster (How do they do that?) and a heck of lot more suggestive and seductive. If the program hadn’t have been so enjoyable, it could well have been the worst night of my life. I forgot my camera. That’s a double “Drats”. After the show, the dancers offered to pose for pictures with passengers who dared to stand close to the exciting young people; men with the girls, women with the male dancers. I’m truly sorry to report that I won’t come home with a picture of myself surrounded by clinging partially clad Polynesian beauties. I mean really truly sorry.
Today our ship skipped across a twenty mile passage to Boorea Island. The information sheet we received for the day told us that Boorea is the complete opposite of Tahiti. I found no hustle and bustle but rather a sleepy lay back way of life that books on the south sea islands in the past have described. Tropical vegetation is everywhere. The houses along the shore line were no more than one hundred feet from the sea on the lee side of the island. The coral along the shores make Boorea a popular spot for snorkeling and otherwise just goofing off. The island is big into pineapple farming but you couldn’t tell on the Sunday I visited. People just seemed to be lounging around without a care in the world. The few booths selling hand made jewelry and ladies dresses were without sales people in most cases and the few ladies that were in attendance seemed like they would prefer that you not bother them by buying their wares.
A little protestant church was a couple of hundred yards away from the quay where our tender dropped us. I walked inside to find the Sunday morning worship service in full swing. I went in and sat down and tried to look totally engrossed in what the speaker was saying. Most people were similarly engrossed but about half of the congregation of about fifty had their chins on their chests. My attention span couldn’t quite meet the challenge however when I adjusted my hearing to the situation and discovered that the preacher was using a language I had never heard before. French is commonly spoken throughout French Polynesia (I guess that makes sense) but the people living on the many islands generally speak a language or a dialect that is peculiar to that one location. Whatever the language, I concluded that parishioners that were awake probably knew the language and the sleepy ones shared my lack of linguistics necessary to participate. I decided from the town of the preacher’s voice he was either telling the congregants that they would surely go to Hell doing what they were doing or maybe he was warning all to stay away from those funny smelling people from the ship who only wanted to steal their jewelry paying with worthless green colored money. I guess I’ll really never know.
My love to all,
Grandpa, Dad and Bill (the guy with the flower behind his ear)
Thursday, November 29, 2007
29 November 2007
29 November 2007
Aloha from Lahaina, Maui
We had a beastly day of weather for our one day at sea on Wednesday. The sea was calm but the rain came down by the buckets-full making the exposed decks slick. One shouldn’t be surprised to find a couple of hundred of our passengers swimming in the pool, soaking in the saunas or stretched out on the chaise lounges. After all, you go on a vacation to swim in the pool, soak in the sauna or lounge on a chaise and what does a little (make that a lot) rain have to do with anything. Sometimes you have to work a little harder than other times to enjoy the good life.
The foul weather greeted us in the late afternoon on Tuesday just as our ship left Kaua’I. The plan was for the ship to slowly drift by the beautiful north end of the island so that passengers who didn’t have an opportunity to visit the area while on land could experience the beauty that is there. With the gathering storm, the island looked like a dark lump of coal peaking out from the ocean. We actually parked at the north end of the island so that digital cameras could take advantage of the normally cool photo-op. We parked but the beginning of the rain storm drove everyone inside where they found it is really hard to get a good picture through a window covered with rain drops.
On Wednesday, our day at sea, we passed slowly by Molakai, Lanai and the smaller Kalohabi; each looking like a drowned animal of some kind trying to swim to dry land and failing. I doubt if many of my fellow passengers will brag about their pics from the three islands.
Today arose like phoenix from the ashes of yesterday and provided us with a marvelous Hawaiian kind of day. The brilliant sunshine accompanied us as we “tendered” to Lahina for a morning of seeing sights. I found that the old “Pioneer Inn” still maintains its position of prominence at the center of the little town crowded with souvenir shops and tour barkers. The streets and sidewalks were packed with the 2000 passengers from the Pride of Aloha and a thousand or so from the Holland America ship Zaan Damm (which sounds a little bit like something worthy of washing out one’s mouth with soap”. With no specific quest for the day, I wondered from one end of Front Street to the other taking in the sights and smiling at people who said hello to me by name. Working the bridge game lets you meet a lot of people who find the name Bill easy to relate to the guy with the white hair and beard.
The largest Bayan tree in Hawaii still graces the town square opposite the Pioneer Inn. The tree was planted in 1873 by the then sheriff to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the first Protestant mission in Lahaina. It has been lovingly nurtured ever since. It now stands about sixty feet tall and for all intents and purposes covers the one acre town square. While I sat in the shade of this marvelous tree, workmen were busy stringing Christmas lights that will be turned on to begin the Christmas season on the coming Saturday. I began to think about the fact that Christmas was about to begin in Lahaina but no other signs of the season were evident. It almost seems as though no one in town wants to bring out their Yule dressings before the Banyan Tree starts the season. What a great idea!
On board ship, Christmas began just after the dishes were washed on Thanksgiving Day. Trees and garlands were brought out of storage and set up all over the central part of the ship. Not to be picky, but the trees appear to be laden with the dust of many Christmases past and just a little bit tacky.
I have had fun the last couple of days watching a magician perform. I have seen many ship board magicians over the years but this man is really great. Several years ago I was chosen from the audience (I was sitting in the front row with my pick me smile in place) to participate in an amazing allusion. I was put in a sack like curtain with the magician’s charming assistant for less than five seconds, the time it took to pull the sack up around us and then to drop it down again. When the sack came down, I was coatless and the girl was wearing my tux coat. When people asked me how she did it, I answered that I was asked not to tell. Honestly, I don’t know how she did it. The magician of the last couple of days tied his girl with a large rope and a half dozen big nots and then put her in the sack with a man from the audience. The sack was held up to cover the two for about thirty seconds. When it was lowered, the girl was wearing the man’s coat with the rope still in place but on top of the coat. The extra time was probably needed to untie and retie all of those knots. Amazing. A second allusion really amazed me. The magician called for three people in the audience to volunteer the rings they were wearing. Mine was one of the three. The other two were lady’s wedding bands. The magician performed the time honored Chinese Ring trick but with our rings. Believe it or not, he made the three rings appear to be looped together. You and I know that such is not possible but he convinced his audience, and me, that the three rings were truly linked together. He held the three within three feet of my nose and asked if that was really my ring and I had to answer in the affirmative. Just call me Shill Bill but it certainly looked like they were linked.
The magician did a second show in the afternoon of the following day with ‘ole Shill Bill in the front row. His slight of hand tricks were very impressive and a lot of fun to watch.
Bridge has been pretty much of a bust on this cruise. We had three tables twice, two tables once and six tables on our At Sea day. With 2000 passengers one would normally expect a dozen or so tables each game day. I played one day but acted as stand-by fill-in for people who had to use the John or leave early. Not the greatest but still fun.
We will have one more stop at Hilo tomorrow and then disembarkation on Saturday with a short airplane ride home. With luck, I’ll be home in time for the ten o’clock news and ready for a busy couple of weeks getting ready for the next cruise.
While taking a picture of the Pioneer Inn, I recalled, as if it were yesterday, having a candle light dinner there on a stormy night thirty- five years ago. The candles weren’t for affect but rather to replace the electric lights that had been wiped out by the storm. Luckily, our food wasn’t prepared by microwave in those days, as is so often the case now. If it had, we would probably still be sitting in the wind rattled dining room waiting for our entree.
Love to all,
Grandpa/Dad/Bill
Aloha from Lahaina, Maui
We had a beastly day of weather for our one day at sea on Wednesday. The sea was calm but the rain came down by the buckets-full making the exposed decks slick. One shouldn’t be surprised to find a couple of hundred of our passengers swimming in the pool, soaking in the saunas or stretched out on the chaise lounges. After all, you go on a vacation to swim in the pool, soak in the sauna or lounge on a chaise and what does a little (make that a lot) rain have to do with anything. Sometimes you have to work a little harder than other times to enjoy the good life.
The foul weather greeted us in the late afternoon on Tuesday just as our ship left Kaua’I. The plan was for the ship to slowly drift by the beautiful north end of the island so that passengers who didn’t have an opportunity to visit the area while on land could experience the beauty that is there. With the gathering storm, the island looked like a dark lump of coal peaking out from the ocean. We actually parked at the north end of the island so that digital cameras could take advantage of the normally cool photo-op. We parked but the beginning of the rain storm drove everyone inside where they found it is really hard to get a good picture through a window covered with rain drops.
On Wednesday, our day at sea, we passed slowly by Molakai, Lanai and the smaller Kalohabi; each looking like a drowned animal of some kind trying to swim to dry land and failing. I doubt if many of my fellow passengers will brag about their pics from the three islands.
Today arose like phoenix from the ashes of yesterday and provided us with a marvelous Hawaiian kind of day. The brilliant sunshine accompanied us as we “tendered” to Lahina for a morning of seeing sights. I found that the old “Pioneer Inn” still maintains its position of prominence at the center of the little town crowded with souvenir shops and tour barkers. The streets and sidewalks were packed with the 2000 passengers from the Pride of Aloha and a thousand or so from the Holland America ship Zaan Damm (which sounds a little bit like something worthy of washing out one’s mouth with soap”. With no specific quest for the day, I wondered from one end of Front Street to the other taking in the sights and smiling at people who said hello to me by name. Working the bridge game lets you meet a lot of people who find the name Bill easy to relate to the guy with the white hair and beard.
The largest Bayan tree in Hawaii still graces the town square opposite the Pioneer Inn. The tree was planted in 1873 by the then sheriff to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the first Protestant mission in Lahaina. It has been lovingly nurtured ever since. It now stands about sixty feet tall and for all intents and purposes covers the one acre town square. While I sat in the shade of this marvelous tree, workmen were busy stringing Christmas lights that will be turned on to begin the Christmas season on the coming Saturday. I began to think about the fact that Christmas was about to begin in Lahaina but no other signs of the season were evident. It almost seems as though no one in town wants to bring out their Yule dressings before the Banyan Tree starts the season. What a great idea!
On board ship, Christmas began just after the dishes were washed on Thanksgiving Day. Trees and garlands were brought out of storage and set up all over the central part of the ship. Not to be picky, but the trees appear to be laden with the dust of many Christmases past and just a little bit tacky.
I have had fun the last couple of days watching a magician perform. I have seen many ship board magicians over the years but this man is really great. Several years ago I was chosen from the audience (I was sitting in the front row with my pick me smile in place) to participate in an amazing allusion. I was put in a sack like curtain with the magician’s charming assistant for less than five seconds, the time it took to pull the sack up around us and then to drop it down again. When the sack came down, I was coatless and the girl was wearing my tux coat. When people asked me how she did it, I answered that I was asked not to tell. Honestly, I don’t know how she did it. The magician of the last couple of days tied his girl with a large rope and a half dozen big nots and then put her in the sack with a man from the audience. The sack was held up to cover the two for about thirty seconds. When it was lowered, the girl was wearing the man’s coat with the rope still in place but on top of the coat. The extra time was probably needed to untie and retie all of those knots. Amazing. A second allusion really amazed me. The magician called for three people in the audience to volunteer the rings they were wearing. Mine was one of the three. The other two were lady’s wedding bands. The magician performed the time honored Chinese Ring trick but with our rings. Believe it or not, he made the three rings appear to be looped together. You and I know that such is not possible but he convinced his audience, and me, that the three rings were truly linked together. He held the three within three feet of my nose and asked if that was really my ring and I had to answer in the affirmative. Just call me Shill Bill but it certainly looked like they were linked.
The magician did a second show in the afternoon of the following day with ‘ole Shill Bill in the front row. His slight of hand tricks were very impressive and a lot of fun to watch.
Bridge has been pretty much of a bust on this cruise. We had three tables twice, two tables once and six tables on our At Sea day. With 2000 passengers one would normally expect a dozen or so tables each game day. I played one day but acted as stand-by fill-in for people who had to use the John or leave early. Not the greatest but still fun.
We will have one more stop at Hilo tomorrow and then disembarkation on Saturday with a short airplane ride home. With luck, I’ll be home in time for the ten o’clock news and ready for a busy couple of weeks getting ready for the next cruise.
While taking a picture of the Pioneer Inn, I recalled, as if it were yesterday, having a candle light dinner there on a stormy night thirty- five years ago. The candles weren’t for affect but rather to replace the electric lights that had been wiped out by the storm. Luckily, our food wasn’t prepared by microwave in those days, as is so often the case now. If it had, we would probably still be sitting in the wind rattled dining room waiting for our entree.
Love to all,
Grandpa/Dad/Bill
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
27 November 2007
27 November 2007
Aloha from Kaua’i
Kaua’I is known as the “Garden Isle” with good reason. It is the wettest and rainiest of all the islands and, as a result, is the perfect definition of “lush”(not the booze kind). The northern end of the island in particular is unbelievably green every where you look. Mix in the cocoanut palms and the hibiscus and you have a veritable paradise by any measure.
I recently mentioned that Marty lived in the islands for five years. Actually it was more like twenty-five years; the years just after his graduation from college. His work in the travel business took him to all of the islands repeatedly allowing him to act the role of the real expert on what to see on each island. He told me that he knew of a view that was the most spectacular in all of Hawaii but one that the tour busses couldn’t visit.That was enough for me so we rented a car and headed for the Koke’e State Park and the Pu’u 0 Kila overlook where the canyon meets the sea. Until a few years ago the road stopped about a mile and half from the overlook and those who wanted to experience the sight had to hike over a fairly well defined trail. Now it is possible to drive to the overlook but the narrow road and small parking lot denies access to the tour busses that stop at Waimea Canyon about five miles down the road. The sight was spectacular as promised, but probably not the most of anything in Hawaii. I “ooed” and “awed” for Marty’s benefit and took a bunch of pictures so you can decide if it really the
“mostest” as GreatGrandma Lois used to say.
The weather on our trip was as perfect as it could be for Kaua’i . The sun was bright and only a few fluffy white clouds were sprinkled across the sky. I thought I recalled that my last visit to Waimea Canyon,at Christmas time about thirty-five years ago, was accompanied by an overcast sky and maybe a little rain. Marty assured me that one should expect such weather at the Canyon sixty to seventy percent of the time. He remarked that the weather at the overlook was the best he had known in a dozen visits.
The tour busses find Waimea Canyon without any difficulty so our visit was not a lonely one. The Canyon is a beautiful sight with all of the colors in the water and wind carved walls that are to be expected at the Grand Canyon in Arizona.
We drove back down the windy track we climbed earlier (about 4000 feet) to the west coast of the island and drove back to Lihu’e where we picked up the highway heading north along the island’s eastern coast line. The further north we traveled, the more we became a part of what the island is all about. Beyond Kapa’a we passed dozens of comfortable little resort hotels with people wandering the streets in bathing suits and carrying beach chairs and such. We stopped at a number of beaches along the way to find people doing beachy kinds of things; mostly sunbathing. Surprisingly, I saw few folks as tanned as some on our cruise ship who have spent every possible moment lounging on deck chairs soaking up the rays.
The further north we drove, the prettier the beaches and the fewer the people. Fewer, that is, until we reached the end of the road at the Ha’ena State Park and Ke’e Beach. According to Marty, this is where the locals go to get away from the tourists and there were plenty of locals around for a Monday afternoon. We were lucky to find an “almost parking space” so that we could get out and take a few pictures.
Close by were the Waikapolae and Waikanaloa wet caves. The caves have been carved out of the steep seaside cliffs providing an unusual visual experience for first time visitors. When I saw the first cave I immediately recalled experiencing the sight during our last visit to the area thirty-five years ago. The caves are still awesome.
It took me a while but I think I’ve figured out where all of the young people come from at the primary dancing venue each evening after all of the shows are over. The Pride of Aloha is a ship of United
State Registry. The registry is unusual but the direct product of the Jones Act which requires that cruise ships that stay over night in Hawaiian ports must be of U.S. Registry. Because of the U.S. registry, the crew members must be U.S. citizens. The young unattached kids who work in the dining rooms and as room stewards get together after dark at the only place that caters to their tastes; ie. Contemporary dance music and entertainment ( like dumb Elvis impersonation contests). So much for renewing my dancing skills on this voyage.
The Pride of Aloha will stay in port at Lihue through today, Tuesday and then set sail for our next destination with an all day sail on Wednesday, our only day at sea on this cruise. Rather than go ashore today, I have selected the following events to attend during the day. Recounting my schedule will give you an idea of some of the things that one can do on board. Incidentally, yesterday and today are non-bridge days. 2:00 - lecture on Kukui Nut Leis;( I know, don’t buy the cheap ones because they will rot when you get them home); 4:00 - Napali Coast Narration as we sail along the island’s west coast; 4:30 - Broadway Appreciation - the work of the Gershwin Brothers; 6:30 - Pianist Robin Lucas entertains ( she’s great!); 7:30 - The Magic of John Shryock; 8:45 - “An Intimate (?) Evening With Sonny Rose”( this guy is good); and dinner at 9:45. Does that sound great or what?
Only today and three more days to struggle through this ordeal I’ve gotten myself into. Blame it on “Ollie”!
Aloha and love to all,
Grandpa/Dad/Bill
Aloha from Kaua’i
Kaua’I is known as the “Garden Isle” with good reason. It is the wettest and rainiest of all the islands and, as a result, is the perfect definition of “lush”(not the booze kind). The northern end of the island in particular is unbelievably green every where you look. Mix in the cocoanut palms and the hibiscus and you have a veritable paradise by any measure.
I recently mentioned that Marty lived in the islands for five years. Actually it was more like twenty-five years; the years just after his graduation from college. His work in the travel business took him to all of the islands repeatedly allowing him to act the role of the real expert on what to see on each island. He told me that he knew of a view that was the most spectacular in all of Hawaii but one that the tour busses couldn’t visit.That was enough for me so we rented a car and headed for the Koke’e State Park and the Pu’u 0 Kila overlook where the canyon meets the sea. Until a few years ago the road stopped about a mile and half from the overlook and those who wanted to experience the sight had to hike over a fairly well defined trail. Now it is possible to drive to the overlook but the narrow road and small parking lot denies access to the tour busses that stop at Waimea Canyon about five miles down the road. The sight was spectacular as promised, but probably not the most of anything in Hawaii. I “ooed” and “awed” for Marty’s benefit and took a bunch of pictures so you can decide if it really the
“mostest” as GreatGrandma Lois used to say.
The weather on our trip was as perfect as it could be for Kaua’i . The sun was bright and only a few fluffy white clouds were sprinkled across the sky. I thought I recalled that my last visit to Waimea Canyon,at Christmas time about thirty-five years ago, was accompanied by an overcast sky and maybe a little rain. Marty assured me that one should expect such weather at the Canyon sixty to seventy percent of the time. He remarked that the weather at the overlook was the best he had known in a dozen visits.
The tour busses find Waimea Canyon without any difficulty so our visit was not a lonely one. The Canyon is a beautiful sight with all of the colors in the water and wind carved walls that are to be expected at the Grand Canyon in Arizona.
We drove back down the windy track we climbed earlier (about 4000 feet) to the west coast of the island and drove back to Lihu’e where we picked up the highway heading north along the island’s eastern coast line. The further north we traveled, the more we became a part of what the island is all about. Beyond Kapa’a we passed dozens of comfortable little resort hotels with people wandering the streets in bathing suits and carrying beach chairs and such. We stopped at a number of beaches along the way to find people doing beachy kinds of things; mostly sunbathing. Surprisingly, I saw few folks as tanned as some on our cruise ship who have spent every possible moment lounging on deck chairs soaking up the rays.
The further north we drove, the prettier the beaches and the fewer the people. Fewer, that is, until we reached the end of the road at the Ha’ena State Park and Ke’e Beach. According to Marty, this is where the locals go to get away from the tourists and there were plenty of locals around for a Monday afternoon. We were lucky to find an “almost parking space” so that we could get out and take a few pictures.
Close by were the Waikapolae and Waikanaloa wet caves. The caves have been carved out of the steep seaside cliffs providing an unusual visual experience for first time visitors. When I saw the first cave I immediately recalled experiencing the sight during our last visit to the area thirty-five years ago. The caves are still awesome.
It took me a while but I think I’ve figured out where all of the young people come from at the primary dancing venue each evening after all of the shows are over. The Pride of Aloha is a ship of United
State Registry. The registry is unusual but the direct product of the Jones Act which requires that cruise ships that stay over night in Hawaiian ports must be of U.S. Registry. Because of the U.S. registry, the crew members must be U.S. citizens. The young unattached kids who work in the dining rooms and as room stewards get together after dark at the only place that caters to their tastes; ie. Contemporary dance music and entertainment ( like dumb Elvis impersonation contests). So much for renewing my dancing skills on this voyage.
The Pride of Aloha will stay in port at Lihue through today, Tuesday and then set sail for our next destination with an all day sail on Wednesday, our only day at sea on this cruise. Rather than go ashore today, I have selected the following events to attend during the day. Recounting my schedule will give you an idea of some of the things that one can do on board. Incidentally, yesterday and today are non-bridge days. 2:00 - lecture on Kukui Nut Leis;( I know, don’t buy the cheap ones because they will rot when you get them home); 4:00 - Napali Coast Narration as we sail along the island’s west coast; 4:30 - Broadway Appreciation - the work of the Gershwin Brothers; 6:30 - Pianist Robin Lucas entertains ( she’s great!); 7:30 - The Magic of John Shryock; 8:45 - “An Intimate (?) Evening With Sonny Rose”( this guy is good); and dinner at 9:45. Does that sound great or what?
Only today and three more days to struggle through this ordeal I’ve gotten myself into. Blame it on “Ollie”!
Aloha and love to all,
Grandpa/Dad/Bill
Sunday, November 25, 2007
25 Nivember 2007
25 November 2007
Aloha All,
Our two days at Lihue on the island of Maui were uneventful but nice. I went ashore each day and wondered around trying to find some sites to see. I remembered that a teacher I worked with in the fifties lived nearby and I checked the local phone book with no luck. Maui is keeping the Hawaiian tradition alive by providing temperatures that invariably fall between seventy and ninety degrees Fahrenheit year round. The pleasant sea breezes that are ever present make for a wonderful place to do one’s thing. My thing at the moment is enjoying the good life.
That good life invariably includes good food and pleasant surroundings. Last night we had the ‘once a cruise’ traditional lobster dinner. It couldn’t have been finer. My partner Marty is a nice person to share time with but he doesn’t quite fill the bill (this Bill that is) as others might.
Maui is “plantation country”. Pineapples became a plantation staple in 1901 when James Dole built a cannery on the island of Oahu marking the start of the Hawaiian Pineapple Company and the shipping of pineapples around the world. The first sugar mill was created on Lanai in 1802 by a Chinese man whose name has been lost to history. The first full scale sugar plantation was established in 1935 and a year later the first shipment of sugar and molasses was shipped to the United States.
It is interesting to note that Hawaiians have never been the prime source of labor on these plantations. History tells us that following the discovery of the Hawaiian Islands in 1778 by Captain Cook, five-sixths of the 1778 Hawaiian population died in the next couple of decades from the diseases brought to the islands by Europeans. The remaining Hawaiians preferred to fish and farm as they always had rather than work for the foreigners. Between 1852 and 1946, approximately 400,000 workers were imported to the islands from various places in the world, statistically changing the demographics of the territory.
Missionaries turned business men effectively took over the sugar industry and were crucial to the overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy on January 17, 1893.
After our two days at Lihue, the Pride of Aloha set sail again to the “big island” of Hawaii and the town of Kona. Our bus driver guide informed us that Kona was the first capital of Hawaii under the reign of King Kamamaha; the man responsible for bringing the various island peoples into one political entity. King Kamamaha established his palace at Kona and it is open today to those who want to see what a Hawaiian King’s palace looked like. Directly across the street from the palace is the oldest church in the islands. I walked past the church on Sunday morning at a time when one would expect church services and it was locked against who ever might think they might want to explore. The old Catholic Church a block down on the same side of the waterfront street was very much in business. However, the service was being held in a permanent looking tent in the church parking lot. It looked like a couple of hundred parishioners were participating in the morning worship service.
My tour of Kona began with an exotic shuttle bus ride to one of the busiest places on this Sunday morning, Wal-Mart. I lost a screw that held one of the nose pieces in place on my glasses and I badly needed to find an optician who could make the repair. When I asked around, I got the same answer, Wal-Mart will be the only glasses shop open on a Sunday in Kona. Much to my surprise and pleasure, I found a shuttle bus, the Wal-Mart Special, in line with a half dozen other tour busses at the end of the pier where our tender dropped us. Apparently, wise cruise passengers know that Wal-Mart is the cheapest place in town to buy souvenirs, Hawaiian shirts and sun block. It was only a five minute ride to the Wal-Mart shopping plaza but it was up hill on a warm day and the ride was appreciated. The store was packed with people from our ship grabbing up stuff like it was going out of style. I wasn’t interested in another Hawaiian shirt or pucca shell necklaces but I was pleased to find the optician who fixed me up in a few minutes time at a reasonable price - nothing. When the shuttle bus returned to the pier there were better than thirty people in line to board the twenty-four passenger bus. The bus driver, a jovial type, invited the crowd to pile on board noting that if there wasn’t enough room for all one of the younger ladies could sit on his lap. Once under way, I heard him asking the unmarried ladies to raise their hands; quickly adding his thank you for their volunteering to act as sacrifices to the god of something Hawaiian sounding.
I had an opportunity to exercise my considerable acting abilities last night. One of the public venues is called the “Blue Hawaiian” with a statue of Elvis at the entrance. I was passing through after dinner in time to hear the MC of whatever was going on announce something that had to do with Elvis. Within minutes, a young man built like a bouncer had a grip on my arm leading me to the dance floor]stage. I finally made out through the din that there was going to be some kind of contest to emulate Elvis and I was to be involved with two other men. My protestations and Mahala Nos were for naught and I resigned to have some fun. I’m sure I was chosen because I appeared to be the oldest man in the audience walking without a cane. Anyway, I was dressed up with an Elvis wig with side burns, my collar was turned up and I was encouraged to lip sinque “I’m Nothing But A Hound Dog” which blared over the PS system. I was reminded that Elvis was known for his gyrations on stage so I did my best (pretty good I thought) to be an Elvis for the moment. The crowd screamed and clapped but I didn’t win the competition. My second place prize was a stupid little flashlight with the NCL logo. The guy who won was so young I doubt that he had ever heard an Elvis recording.
Other than the “Blue Hawaiian” there are other respectable show rooms that provide some pretty good entertainment each night. The ship’s Broadway Stage group has some of the best dancers I’ve ever seen. One of the vocalist on board has a great stage presence and has already done two shows that I really liked.
Leaving Kona I couldn’t help but recall a very rainy night in July 2006 when a bunch of us tried to find a place for dinner and were almost washed out to sea in the process. Running to Jack-in-the-Box (our final and only choice) through six inches of water running down one of the main streets in town will be a memory that will be with me long after I’ve forgotten my ride to Wal-Mart on a sunny Sunday morning.
Love to all,
Grandpa/Dad/Bill
Aloha All,
Our two days at Lihue on the island of Maui were uneventful but nice. I went ashore each day and wondered around trying to find some sites to see. I remembered that a teacher I worked with in the fifties lived nearby and I checked the local phone book with no luck. Maui is keeping the Hawaiian tradition alive by providing temperatures that invariably fall between seventy and ninety degrees Fahrenheit year round. The pleasant sea breezes that are ever present make for a wonderful place to do one’s thing. My thing at the moment is enjoying the good life.
That good life invariably includes good food and pleasant surroundings. Last night we had the ‘once a cruise’ traditional lobster dinner. It couldn’t have been finer. My partner Marty is a nice person to share time with but he doesn’t quite fill the bill (this Bill that is) as others might.
Maui is “plantation country”. Pineapples became a plantation staple in 1901 when James Dole built a cannery on the island of Oahu marking the start of the Hawaiian Pineapple Company and the shipping of pineapples around the world. The first sugar mill was created on Lanai in 1802 by a Chinese man whose name has been lost to history. The first full scale sugar plantation was established in 1935 and a year later the first shipment of sugar and molasses was shipped to the United States.
It is interesting to note that Hawaiians have never been the prime source of labor on these plantations. History tells us that following the discovery of the Hawaiian Islands in 1778 by Captain Cook, five-sixths of the 1778 Hawaiian population died in the next couple of decades from the diseases brought to the islands by Europeans. The remaining Hawaiians preferred to fish and farm as they always had rather than work for the foreigners. Between 1852 and 1946, approximately 400,000 workers were imported to the islands from various places in the world, statistically changing the demographics of the territory.
Missionaries turned business men effectively took over the sugar industry and were crucial to the overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy on January 17, 1893.
After our two days at Lihue, the Pride of Aloha set sail again to the “big island” of Hawaii and the town of Kona. Our bus driver guide informed us that Kona was the first capital of Hawaii under the reign of King Kamamaha; the man responsible for bringing the various island peoples into one political entity. King Kamamaha established his palace at Kona and it is open today to those who want to see what a Hawaiian King’s palace looked like. Directly across the street from the palace is the oldest church in the islands. I walked past the church on Sunday morning at a time when one would expect church services and it was locked against who ever might think they might want to explore. The old Catholic Church a block down on the same side of the waterfront street was very much in business. However, the service was being held in a permanent looking tent in the church parking lot. It looked like a couple of hundred parishioners were participating in the morning worship service.
My tour of Kona began with an exotic shuttle bus ride to one of the busiest places on this Sunday morning, Wal-Mart. I lost a screw that held one of the nose pieces in place on my glasses and I badly needed to find an optician who could make the repair. When I asked around, I got the same answer, Wal-Mart will be the only glasses shop open on a Sunday in Kona. Much to my surprise and pleasure, I found a shuttle bus, the Wal-Mart Special, in line with a half dozen other tour busses at the end of the pier where our tender dropped us. Apparently, wise cruise passengers know that Wal-Mart is the cheapest place in town to buy souvenirs, Hawaiian shirts and sun block. It was only a five minute ride to the Wal-Mart shopping plaza but it was up hill on a warm day and the ride was appreciated. The store was packed with people from our ship grabbing up stuff like it was going out of style. I wasn’t interested in another Hawaiian shirt or pucca shell necklaces but I was pleased to find the optician who fixed me up in a few minutes time at a reasonable price - nothing. When the shuttle bus returned to the pier there were better than thirty people in line to board the twenty-four passenger bus. The bus driver, a jovial type, invited the crowd to pile on board noting that if there wasn’t enough room for all one of the younger ladies could sit on his lap. Once under way, I heard him asking the unmarried ladies to raise their hands; quickly adding his thank you for their volunteering to act as sacrifices to the god of something Hawaiian sounding.
I had an opportunity to exercise my considerable acting abilities last night. One of the public venues is called the “Blue Hawaiian” with a statue of Elvis at the entrance. I was passing through after dinner in time to hear the MC of whatever was going on announce something that had to do with Elvis. Within minutes, a young man built like a bouncer had a grip on my arm leading me to the dance floor]stage. I finally made out through the din that there was going to be some kind of contest to emulate Elvis and I was to be involved with two other men. My protestations and Mahala Nos were for naught and I resigned to have some fun. I’m sure I was chosen because I appeared to be the oldest man in the audience walking without a cane. Anyway, I was dressed up with an Elvis wig with side burns, my collar was turned up and I was encouraged to lip sinque “I’m Nothing But A Hound Dog” which blared over the PS system. I was reminded that Elvis was known for his gyrations on stage so I did my best (pretty good I thought) to be an Elvis for the moment. The crowd screamed and clapped but I didn’t win the competition. My second place prize was a stupid little flashlight with the NCL logo. The guy who won was so young I doubt that he had ever heard an Elvis recording.
Other than the “Blue Hawaiian” there are other respectable show rooms that provide some pretty good entertainment each night. The ship’s Broadway Stage group has some of the best dancers I’ve ever seen. One of the vocalist on board has a great stage presence and has already done two shows that I really liked.
Leaving Kona I couldn’t help but recall a very rainy night in July 2006 when a bunch of us tried to find a place for dinner and were almost washed out to sea in the process. Running to Jack-in-the-Box (our final and only choice) through six inches of water running down one of the main streets in town will be a memory that will be with me long after I’ve forgotten my ride to Wal-Mart on a sunny Sunday morning.
Love to all,
Grandpa/Dad/Bill
Friday, November 23, 2007
23 November 2007
23 November 2007
Aloha All,
My flight to Honolulu was uneventful and almost an after thought as compared to the 44 hours it took me to return from Swaziland. Good friend Dotty Laird was kind enough to pick me up at 4:45 AM and take me to BART for my ride to the San Francisco Airport. I arrived at the “Pride of Aloha” hours before closing and my embarkation was relaxed and comfortable. The lines were long but no one seemed in a hurry and the time provided for a wonderful chat with some people from SouthAfrica who just moved to their retirement home in Hawaii. I found myself the only person in line 1) carrying a coat, 2) wearing long pants and 3) wearing socks. I changed all of that as soon as I was on board and my suitcases were delivered to the stateroom.
Bridge Director Martin arrived several hours later and quickly established contact with the ship’s personnel responsible for the arrangements we need for the duplicate bridge games. It was learned that we will have five games and one lesson. There is only one day “at sea” but we will have games on port days for those who don’t go ashore. Our first game yesterday only filled three tables and that was with me playing. It looks like bridge on this cruise will be pretty relaxed. On Martin’s last cruise he had fifteen tables each day at sea with an overflow of beginner types that filled another half dozen or so tables.
Martin has been sailing almost non stop for the past six months. In the last three years he has been at sea for just over 600 days. One would say that he is really into this Bridge Director thing. At age 55, it appears he has developed a life style that he hopes to continue as long as the cruise lines will have him aboard as a Bridge Director.
The Pride of Aloha is larger than I was led to believe. It maxes out at 2500 passengers and about 1500 crew. It features a half dozen restaurants and the usual theater and bars. The only music on board is provided by a six man band that is into rock and roll primarily, a guitar player who is accompanied by an electronic synthesizer and a piano bar kind of guy. The first night on board, the only dancing was with a DJ who was nice and loud and pleasing to the 20/30 something group of about a dozen dancers. The guitar player was entertaining and I sat through a scotch listening to his variety of songs. During his act, while he was playing something surreal, a lady sat next to me at the bar and seemed mesmerized by the song(?). When it finished, I commented that the tune was certainly different. She was quick to tell me that she had requested it because it was the song that her daughter had played at her recent wedding. Oops!!
The clientele on board represents a huge group from Australia, an equally large group from Canada and the rest from the US and the rest of the world. There is a noticeable absence of the usual Japanese tourists and, as a matter of fact, other foreign groups. The usual elevator chatterings that include a number of different foreign languages is missing; an unusual occurrence in my experience.
Martin and I were discussing another interesting observation at breakfast this morning. It seems that more than half of the passengers prefer to eat at the 11th floor Buffet, with long waiting lines, rather than use one of the dining rooms. We decided that perhaps the clientele attracted to this cruise may be more comfortable eating on formica with paper napkins rather than at a linen covered table with a liveried waiter looking after your every need. This morning we found that one of the restaurants actually closed for breakfast for the remainder of the cruise because of the lack of business.
The crew is different. Most of the cabin stewards are stewardesses and the wait staff in the restaurants seems to be made up of kids who probably haven’t reached their majority. A few of the waiters seem to be long time professionals but they are out numbered by the kids who are probably limiting their sea adventure to their first five month contract. After sailing for so many years aboard the Marco Polo where the crew was almost entirely from the Philippines, the youthful blonde faces seem out of place. The kids all seem to be having the time of their lives.
Our sailing schedule will include three days in Honolulu, two days on Hawaii (Kona and Hilo), three days on Maui, two days on Kauai and one day at sea. The schedule doesn’t provide any place that I haven’t been before but there may be some side trips that will provide some new experiences. Martin lived in the Islands for five years as a Travel professional and he has suggested that, if nothing else, we should rent a car on Kauai to see a site that he believes to be the most spectacular in the islands.
I had a nice Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings beautifully served. The food was great but they didn’t serve Richard’s GranMarnier stuffing. What a shame!
Love to all,
Grandpa/Dad/Bill
Aloha All,
My flight to Honolulu was uneventful and almost an after thought as compared to the 44 hours it took me to return from Swaziland. Good friend Dotty Laird was kind enough to pick me up at 4:45 AM and take me to BART for my ride to the San Francisco Airport. I arrived at the “Pride of Aloha” hours before closing and my embarkation was relaxed and comfortable. The lines were long but no one seemed in a hurry and the time provided for a wonderful chat with some people from SouthAfrica who just moved to their retirement home in Hawaii. I found myself the only person in line 1) carrying a coat, 2) wearing long pants and 3) wearing socks. I changed all of that as soon as I was on board and my suitcases were delivered to the stateroom.
Bridge Director Martin arrived several hours later and quickly established contact with the ship’s personnel responsible for the arrangements we need for the duplicate bridge games. It was learned that we will have five games and one lesson. There is only one day “at sea” but we will have games on port days for those who don’t go ashore. Our first game yesterday only filled three tables and that was with me playing. It looks like bridge on this cruise will be pretty relaxed. On Martin’s last cruise he had fifteen tables each day at sea with an overflow of beginner types that filled another half dozen or so tables.
Martin has been sailing almost non stop for the past six months. In the last three years he has been at sea for just over 600 days. One would say that he is really into this Bridge Director thing. At age 55, it appears he has developed a life style that he hopes to continue as long as the cruise lines will have him aboard as a Bridge Director.
The Pride of Aloha is larger than I was led to believe. It maxes out at 2500 passengers and about 1500 crew. It features a half dozen restaurants and the usual theater and bars. The only music on board is provided by a six man band that is into rock and roll primarily, a guitar player who is accompanied by an electronic synthesizer and a piano bar kind of guy. The first night on board, the only dancing was with a DJ who was nice and loud and pleasing to the 20/30 something group of about a dozen dancers. The guitar player was entertaining and I sat through a scotch listening to his variety of songs. During his act, while he was playing something surreal, a lady sat next to me at the bar and seemed mesmerized by the song(?). When it finished, I commented that the tune was certainly different. She was quick to tell me that she had requested it because it was the song that her daughter had played at her recent wedding. Oops!!
The clientele on board represents a huge group from Australia, an equally large group from Canada and the rest from the US and the rest of the world. There is a noticeable absence of the usual Japanese tourists and, as a matter of fact, other foreign groups. The usual elevator chatterings that include a number of different foreign languages is missing; an unusual occurrence in my experience.
Martin and I were discussing another interesting observation at breakfast this morning. It seems that more than half of the passengers prefer to eat at the 11th floor Buffet, with long waiting lines, rather than use one of the dining rooms. We decided that perhaps the clientele attracted to this cruise may be more comfortable eating on formica with paper napkins rather than at a linen covered table with a liveried waiter looking after your every need. This morning we found that one of the restaurants actually closed for breakfast for the remainder of the cruise because of the lack of business.
The crew is different. Most of the cabin stewards are stewardesses and the wait staff in the restaurants seems to be made up of kids who probably haven’t reached their majority. A few of the waiters seem to be long time professionals but they are out numbered by the kids who are probably limiting their sea adventure to their first five month contract. After sailing for so many years aboard the Marco Polo where the crew was almost entirely from the Philippines, the youthful blonde faces seem out of place. The kids all seem to be having the time of their lives.
Our sailing schedule will include three days in Honolulu, two days on Hawaii (Kona and Hilo), three days on Maui, two days on Kauai and one day at sea. The schedule doesn’t provide any place that I haven’t been before but there may be some side trips that will provide some new experiences. Martin lived in the Islands for five years as a Travel professional and he has suggested that, if nothing else, we should rent a car on Kauai to see a site that he believes to be the most spectacular in the islands.
I had a nice Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings beautifully served. The food was great but they didn’t serve Richard’s GranMarnier stuffing. What a shame!
Love to all,
Grandpa/Dad/Bill
Thursday, November 8, 2007
8 November 2007
8 November 2007
I found the monkeys frolicking around the fourth tee yesterday morning and have the photos to prove it. It has become obvious to me that the dozen or so monkeys move around the golf course to suit their fancy and rarely stay in the same spot very long. I spotted one little fella in the middle of the fairway where he sat all by his lonesome self for about five minutes. And then all of a sudden the rest of the group materialized from who knows where, seemingly with the purpose of posing for my photos. As soon as I put my camera back in my pocket they disappeared again. Really a weird experience.
Our time in Swaziland is quickly coming to its end. Wednesday we had our last work day at New Hope. This time I worked with the gardening group setting up drip irrigation and planting bedding plants of lettuce, beets, onions, bell peppers and cauliflower. The above amounted to a full day’s work for the six people in our crew. It was interesting working with a local Swazi foreman who spoke clear English but in a wee little voice that none in the group cold understand completely. In the end, the six of us stood around sharing notions about what we had just heard before we started what we believed to be our leader’s directive. The work was satisfying and we were all bushed when it became time to pick up our tools and call it a day.
Our last day at New Hoe Center included the dedication of a new senior girl’s dormitory that was completed only as far as the foundation. Since no other groups like ours are planned to be around in the next couple of months, it was decided to do the dedication now while a crowd of interest folks were available. The program was complete with kids singing and dancing and a fifteen minute oration by our leader. The final act was to give each person in attendance, kids included, a couple of drops of oil in the palm of each hand so that we individually could anoint and bless the new building to its intended purpose. In the afternoon, our group divided into groups of three and four and took bags full of donated clothing (Linda’s contribution included) to the homes of needy families. The first home I visited seemed fairly stable. Although there was no electricity or running water, The walls and roof appeared that they could withstand any weather condition. The next two I visited were pretty poor. I have some pictures showing mud walls with tin roofs held in place by rocks or, in one case, by a metal cable slung across the roof with a big rock dangling just above the ground on either side. All the houses we visited had oodles of kids with one lady in charge. The last house had a grandmother caring for eight kids ranging in age from less than a year to about 10. Our gifts were gratefully received. Our interpreter forwarded the heart felt thanks expressed by the recipients. I think the operation was supposed to be a feel good affair for members of our group. Certainly there must be a number of different ways of providing the help we brought that didn’t require the recipient to entertain a handful of people at their doorstep offering goodies.
We finished our work at New Hope Center with a barbecue dinner with the staff and kids. I’m sure it was a big treat for the kids because their diet doesn’t feature much meat. Other than that, it wasn’t quite what you would expect under the title of “barbecue”.
I have had the privilege of rooming with a really interesting person, Blake Goodman. Blake is 35 years old and the owner of a helicopter service business that is just three years old. He had stories to tell about working the New Orleans Flood that gave me a whole new perspective of the disaster. His firm was hired to go to New Orleans but then told to “stand-off” for several days because people were firing guns at helicopters from roof tops. When they were finally authorized to fly into the city, no one could direct them to a person in charge or an area to be served. He was a part of the Atlanta, Georgia contingent that seemed to make up half of our group. Blake and I got along very well until we got into a discussion one night that involved homosexuals. I was asked my opinion before I knew his. Once he discovered he had a flaming liberal on his hands he dropped the discussion and was really quiet for the next couple of days.
I have learned the names of a few of the people I worked with through the week. About a third of the group have been on a Heart For Africa trip in the past. Most were recruited through presentations at their churches by Janine Maxwell, the co-founder, with her husband, of the organization. There is a significant group from Atlanta, Georgia and another group from Boston. The Boston people brought their pastor along; a young thirties something guy who was very easy to like. A third group from the Chicago area plus a half dozen or so unattached people like me rounded out the group. Although I asked a half dozen times during the first couple of days about the size of the group, I never got a definitive answer. I think there may be as many as thirty. I asked for a list of names and was told that privacy laws prohibit such a list. Interesting. I missed some kind of opening exercise that would allow people to introduce themselves so that names and associations could develop. A little team building would have been very helpful. Although we all wear name tags around our necks, one becomes a little tired at staring at people’s chests, and then to find out that the name tag has flipped.
Given my inability to get acquainted, everyone seems to know me by name. I kind of stand out as the oldest in the group. A white beard and mane kind of separates me from the rest as well, I guess. It is a little disconcerting, however, to have everyone calling me by name and not being able to respond in like fashion.
In general, the participants tend to be “Saved” Baptists. They are fond of speaking of the “God Moments” that occur each day. A lot of time is spent in recognizing “God’s Hand” in that which occurs each day. One lady fell and broke her leg. She was hospitalized for a couple of days and returned extolling the glory of the moment. She was sure that God had her leg broken so that she could meet a soul mate who was a nurse serving her. In the end, her friend was given the bible that she carried with her every where she went. The lady was sure that her gift was the first step in her new friend’s salvation and thus the real reason for her broken leg.
There has been a big push for participants to become financially involved with the New Hope program. The first step is to adopt one of the children by providing $60 US each month to support the child. A surprising number of our group, surprising to me at least, have become sponsor “Adopters”. There seems to be great joy is found in telling the rest of the group about the child that the person has adopted. I the rate of our group’s adoptions, I wouldn’t be surprised if many of the children have multiple sets of sponsors.
My observation, which is probably totally unfair, is that my fellow
group members are taking greater pleasure in “being Christian helpers” than they are in the service they have provided. Each day at four o’clock, we participate with the children in “giving thanks”. Divided into groups of 15 to 20, we go around the circle naming the things that happened during the day for which we are thankful. The children’s comments seem real while the adult contributions are revealing. Typically, we adults tend to be more thankful for the “good feelings” we picked up during the day rather than the productive contribution we made to the program.
The trek west to Pleasanton will begin with a bus ride back to Johannesburg, South Africa at 8:00 AM Friday, which is 11:00 PM Thursday California time. I am suppose to arrive in San Francisco at 8:00 PM on Saturday. Good friends Marty and Paul will be there to shovel me into the trunk of their car for the last leg of my adventurous journey.
I look forward to sharing my pictures with anyone who even hints that they are interested.
Love to all,
Grandpa / Dad
I found the monkeys frolicking around the fourth tee yesterday morning and have the photos to prove it. It has become obvious to me that the dozen or so monkeys move around the golf course to suit their fancy and rarely stay in the same spot very long. I spotted one little fella in the middle of the fairway where he sat all by his lonesome self for about five minutes. And then all of a sudden the rest of the group materialized from who knows where, seemingly with the purpose of posing for my photos. As soon as I put my camera back in my pocket they disappeared again. Really a weird experience.
Our time in Swaziland is quickly coming to its end. Wednesday we had our last work day at New Hope. This time I worked with the gardening group setting up drip irrigation and planting bedding plants of lettuce, beets, onions, bell peppers and cauliflower. The above amounted to a full day’s work for the six people in our crew. It was interesting working with a local Swazi foreman who spoke clear English but in a wee little voice that none in the group cold understand completely. In the end, the six of us stood around sharing notions about what we had just heard before we started what we believed to be our leader’s directive. The work was satisfying and we were all bushed when it became time to pick up our tools and call it a day.
Our last day at New Hoe Center included the dedication of a new senior girl’s dormitory that was completed only as far as the foundation. Since no other groups like ours are planned to be around in the next couple of months, it was decided to do the dedication now while a crowd of interest folks were available. The program was complete with kids singing and dancing and a fifteen minute oration by our leader. The final act was to give each person in attendance, kids included, a couple of drops of oil in the palm of each hand so that we individually could anoint and bless the new building to its intended purpose. In the afternoon, our group divided into groups of three and four and took bags full of donated clothing (Linda’s contribution included) to the homes of needy families. The first home I visited seemed fairly stable. Although there was no electricity or running water, The walls and roof appeared that they could withstand any weather condition. The next two I visited were pretty poor. I have some pictures showing mud walls with tin roofs held in place by rocks or, in one case, by a metal cable slung across the roof with a big rock dangling just above the ground on either side. All the houses we visited had oodles of kids with one lady in charge. The last house had a grandmother caring for eight kids ranging in age from less than a year to about 10. Our gifts were gratefully received. Our interpreter forwarded the heart felt thanks expressed by the recipients. I think the operation was supposed to be a feel good affair for members of our group. Certainly there must be a number of different ways of providing the help we brought that didn’t require the recipient to entertain a handful of people at their doorstep offering goodies.
We finished our work at New Hope Center with a barbecue dinner with the staff and kids. I’m sure it was a big treat for the kids because their diet doesn’t feature much meat. Other than that, it wasn’t quite what you would expect under the title of “barbecue”.
I have had the privilege of rooming with a really interesting person, Blake Goodman. Blake is 35 years old and the owner of a helicopter service business that is just three years old. He had stories to tell about working the New Orleans Flood that gave me a whole new perspective of the disaster. His firm was hired to go to New Orleans but then told to “stand-off” for several days because people were firing guns at helicopters from roof tops. When they were finally authorized to fly into the city, no one could direct them to a person in charge or an area to be served. He was a part of the Atlanta, Georgia contingent that seemed to make up half of our group. Blake and I got along very well until we got into a discussion one night that involved homosexuals. I was asked my opinion before I knew his. Once he discovered he had a flaming liberal on his hands he dropped the discussion and was really quiet for the next couple of days.
I have learned the names of a few of the people I worked with through the week. About a third of the group have been on a Heart For Africa trip in the past. Most were recruited through presentations at their churches by Janine Maxwell, the co-founder, with her husband, of the organization. There is a significant group from Atlanta, Georgia and another group from Boston. The Boston people brought their pastor along; a young thirties something guy who was very easy to like. A third group from the Chicago area plus a half dozen or so unattached people like me rounded out the group. Although I asked a half dozen times during the first couple of days about the size of the group, I never got a definitive answer. I think there may be as many as thirty. I asked for a list of names and was told that privacy laws prohibit such a list. Interesting. I missed some kind of opening exercise that would allow people to introduce themselves so that names and associations could develop. A little team building would have been very helpful. Although we all wear name tags around our necks, one becomes a little tired at staring at people’s chests, and then to find out that the name tag has flipped.
Given my inability to get acquainted, everyone seems to know me by name. I kind of stand out as the oldest in the group. A white beard and mane kind of separates me from the rest as well, I guess. It is a little disconcerting, however, to have everyone calling me by name and not being able to respond in like fashion.
In general, the participants tend to be “Saved” Baptists. They are fond of speaking of the “God Moments” that occur each day. A lot of time is spent in recognizing “God’s Hand” in that which occurs each day. One lady fell and broke her leg. She was hospitalized for a couple of days and returned extolling the glory of the moment. She was sure that God had her leg broken so that she could meet a soul mate who was a nurse serving her. In the end, her friend was given the bible that she carried with her every where she went. The lady was sure that her gift was the first step in her new friend’s salvation and thus the real reason for her broken leg.
There has been a big push for participants to become financially involved with the New Hope program. The first step is to adopt one of the children by providing $60 US each month to support the child. A surprising number of our group, surprising to me at least, have become sponsor “Adopters”. There seems to be great joy is found in telling the rest of the group about the child that the person has adopted. I the rate of our group’s adoptions, I wouldn’t be surprised if many of the children have multiple sets of sponsors.
My observation, which is probably totally unfair, is that my fellow
group members are taking greater pleasure in “being Christian helpers” than they are in the service they have provided. Each day at four o’clock, we participate with the children in “giving thanks”. Divided into groups of 15 to 20, we go around the circle naming the things that happened during the day for which we are thankful. The children’s comments seem real while the adult contributions are revealing. Typically, we adults tend to be more thankful for the “good feelings” we picked up during the day rather than the productive contribution we made to the program.
The trek west to Pleasanton will begin with a bus ride back to Johannesburg, South Africa at 8:00 AM Friday, which is 11:00 PM Thursday California time. I am suppose to arrive in San Francisco at 8:00 PM on Saturday. Good friends Marty and Paul will be there to shovel me into the trunk of their car for the last leg of my adventurous journey.
I look forward to sharing my pictures with anyone who even hints that they are interested.
Love to all,
Grandpa / Dad
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
6 November 2007
6 November 2007
Sonanibonani (Siswati for hello to more than one person) to all,
I’m still looking for those darn monkeys. I swear they were there the only day I didn’t take a camera along. They must be hiding from me.
My daily projects have changed a bit. I told you that I started out as a painter with a little dry wall installation on the side. Today I was switched to a gardening detail led by my roommate. At the last minute I was asked if I would mind working with a local plumber and his helper with the development of a spring as a water supply. That sounded very interesting and I eagerly agreed. I’d never had the experience of corralling a spring. I waited an inordinate amount of time for the project crew to arrive to begin whatever one does to make a spring into a water supply. After an hour’s wait, I was informed that the local chief, at the last minute, decided he wasn’t sure that he wanted to approve the project effectively canceling my plans for the day. I was given several options, including the gardening gig, and, because the day had warmed to a pleasant 100 degrees with promise of something higher, I elected to work with a different painting group. We worked on the beginning stages of decorating the young girl’s dormitory with murals of sky, mountains, trees and such. It made for a satisfying if not an exhausting day.
The local chief’s interference is a Swaziland thing. I’ve learned that the land that the orphanage occupies has been provided by the local community at the direction of the king. The local chief has a number of prerogatives to exercise because of the gift nature of the arrangement. The community and the king have lands to loan or give because of the situation when Swaziland became an independent nation in 1968. At the time of independence, A large portion of the country was “owned” by English farmers who had settled in the area during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. At the time of independence, these land owners had three options: 1) to continue in ownership of land that they occupied, 2) sell the land and leave the country, and 3) give their land to the king and leave the country. A surprising number elected to give their land to the king and return to England. One would guess that
there may have been something that we haven’t heard about that existed at the time to encourage so many folks to give up the family farm and go home. Maybe there weren’t any available buyers and maybe it wasn’t all that easy to buy or sell. I’ve asked the question a couple of times but no one so far has been able to fill in the blanks.
Swaziland has a unique view of property and property rights. Most of the land belongs to the King. However, if I wanted to build a house for my home, I would ask the Chief responsible for the area I wanted to give me a lot for my house. If I wanted a lot big enough to keep some animals and have a garden, I would ask for what I needed. Since the requested site is the King’s land, the Chief can grant my wish and the land is mine. No legal documents are required or issued in the transaction. Everyone knows that one should have at least two witnesses present when the Chief makes his grant. The word of the witnesses will hold up in court and, since the absence of a paper document, that is the only testimony that will turn the trick. Once granted, the owner would have to be a convicted murderer or worse to be evicted.
Sunday morning our group attended a local church service. The kids and staff from New Hope attended as well. The white staff members, our group (which included one African American) and a visiting pastor made up a fourth of the congregation. Some of our group commented that the service was “…the shortest three and half ours of their life times”. For this one hour Methodist service person, it was the longest church service I have ever attended and an experience I hope not to repeat in my lifetime. One of my new friends in the group suggested that some who weren’t accustomed to “charismatic worship” might have found it difficult. She was right. The service began with a lead singer, with 6 back ups (you know, like Do-da) and a keyboard / drums accompaniment, who belted out hymns for about an hour. Many in our group, specifically the Baptists from Georgia, sang along with their out stretched arms, palms up, pointed to the ceiling. The music was great, and loud, but I didn’t know any of the words. The latter case is not all that unusual because in my church I rarely recognize the hymns that folks sing today. They certainly aren’t the ones from my childhood.
After the singing, a lady from the front row who had been singing louder than the choir and acting as cheer leader for the arm waivers went to the podium and began the important stuff. By this time, the loud music and the sound system that bounced everything off of the metal roof and concrete walls of the high school gym we were using as a meeting place had thoroughly confused the electronics in my hearing aids. Actually, they refused to work for the next three hours. I couldn’t hear and thus understand much of anything beyond that point. I do know that after the lady from the front row, who happened to be the wife of the absent pastor, a succession of speakers graced the podium on any number of affairs; ie, the Bible reading for the day (I think it was a complete chapter, or maybe two), a few well chosen words from the visiting pastor ( I think he was raising funds for some worthwhile cause) and three or four others who had very important stuff to say but I haven’t the foggiest what it was all about. Mind you, the entire service was in English which is the commonly used language for public affairs.
At long last the featured speaker, a visiting preacher of note, addressed us. He could easily put Billy Graham and the like to shame with his sparkling oratory, or should I say dramatically and physically aggressive oratory. The crowd loved him. Since I couldn’t understand a word he was saying, I fought like crazy not to doze off……..and lost. At the completion of the sermon, the preacher called anyone who would like his blessing to come forward. One lady apparently asked to be healed of some infirmity. There was some loud praying and violent waving of arms and the lady passed out and was eased to the floor by those who brought her forward. A dozen or so others apparently just asked to be prayed for and prayers were offered. Then one of our group, one that my Baptist friends proudly declared was Jewish, asked to be saved. The savings took about 15 minutes but with a lot of tears and such the act was accomplished. Everybody was real happy about that.
I don’t think I’ll go back to that church for a while, or any other church that brags about it’s three hour church service. I thought they did away with that kind of thing when the pilgrims stopped wearing those funny clothes and shoes with big buckles.
In the process of the day, I had a chance to talk with Jabulani Tsabedze, the staff member who organized all of the tasks that our group attempted to complete. Jabulani is a 49 year old man who has nine children, five with his first wife and four with his second. He met his second wife, Lena, when he was working in the mines in South Africa. Lena is from South Africa. After his marriage he returned to Swaziland and became a pastor of a small church. Several years later, as the New Hope program was beginning, he took a position as Field Coordinator with New Hope and has been with the program for the past nine years. Jabulani seemed to enjoy explaining Swaziland’s government to me and I enjoyed learning from him.
Swaziland was once much larger containing what is now known as Mozambique. There were actually several kings in control of the area at that time. When the British decided to claim the territory, they redefined the borders of Swaziland creating the Kingdom / Colonies of Swaziland and Mozambique in the process. The first King of Swaziland recognized by the British had a vision that became a well known and repeated folk tail in the 1830’s. The King had a vision that a man with a “book” arrived and all the problems of the country were solved. Crop yields increased, men had more wives and the wives had more babies, and in general things became very good in Swaziland.
Soon after the British left in 1968, a white man who identified himself as a Methodist Preacher went to the King’s palace and asked for an audience with the King. When the King’s secretary told the King that the man was carrying a “book”, the King immediately set all business aside to greet the man with the “book”. The book turned out to a bible the preacher was carrying and his simple request was to be able to carry the message of the Bible throughout Swaziland. The King, knowing that this was certainly the fruition of the first King’s vision, gave the preacher all that he asked for. Additionally, he sent word out that the preacher and his group should have everyone’s cooperation and attention as he traveled and preached. Within a decade, Swaziland became known as the most “Christian” nation in Africa. Churches of all denominations continue to flourish in Swaziland. An interesting side note: In 2005, as the Parliament considered the final adoption of a new constitution they had been working on for as long as anyone could remember, the framers decided to include a clause that stated that Swaziland would be forever a “Christian” nation.
Now one needs to know that the King of Swaziland is the King. The Parliament may pass laws but if the King decides that a law would not be good for the country, he calls the leaders of the Parliament to a meeting with him to discuss his concerns. The King has never vetoed a bill but the great respect that everyone has for him leads to a reconsideration of something he does not like. As in all cases before, the Parliament reconvened and develop phrasing on the subject of religion to state that all religions would be respected. Everyone was pleased and the King is still the King.
It may be of interest, because it certainly interested me, that the Kingdom of Swaziland has two capitals; one for the government and one for the King. The official capital of Swaziland is Lobamba ( I know what you’re thinking…the song is La Bomba) and the home of the King, his Palace and a number of significant governmental buildings is Mbabane. When I asked if there would ever be a time when the two capitals became one, the quick answer was never. The reason, the two should always be separate powers and in separate cities. Maybe we should send “W” to Philly or someplace close (Mbbane and Lobamba are only twenty miles a part). It works in Swaziland.
Ladies…….attention! Swaziland has yet to recognize you all as real people. You don’t own anything and haven’t much to say about anything. The marriage act kind of says it all. First and foremost, your father will get 15 + 2 cattle from the man who wants to marry you. You may or may not know the gentleman before the cows arrive but that’s not important. The cows on the other hand are. The +2 cows are for something special but I’ve forgotten what it is. If your husband decides he doesn’t want you around any longer, he simply tells you to leave. You may not remarry although you may move in with another man. If you have children by another man, those children are your first husband’s, especially the girls who could bring in another 15 cattle. When your first husband dies, even though he may have married several others since your being sent away, it will be your responsibility as first wife to handle the burial. This is where you have a chance to get even but no spurned first wife ever does. My advice is not to get married in Swaziland.
Our group had a day off on Tuesday. Apparently New Hope had one of its annual meetings of the Board of Directors and our group would be in the way. So instead of working, we were bussed to the Hlane National Park and Game Reserve. We were loaded into Safari vehicles and roamed around the park for two and half hours. We saw a gazillion gazelles, a small pride of lions, a half dozen elephants grazing, a warthog doing what warthogs do, and (do I have your attention) a black rhinoceros. In fact we saw six black rhinoceros. Some will recall that when we went on Safari in Kenya a few years ago we saw four of the Big Five but not the rhino. The Big Five in Safari talk includes the Elephant, Tiger, Giraffe, Leopard and Rhinoceros. My life is now complete.
What else can there possibly be?
Love to all,
Mkhulu (you guessed it, Grandpa) Bill
Sonanibonani (Siswati for hello to more than one person) to all,
I’m still looking for those darn monkeys. I swear they were there the only day I didn’t take a camera along. They must be hiding from me.
My daily projects have changed a bit. I told you that I started out as a painter with a little dry wall installation on the side. Today I was switched to a gardening detail led by my roommate. At the last minute I was asked if I would mind working with a local plumber and his helper with the development of a spring as a water supply. That sounded very interesting and I eagerly agreed. I’d never had the experience of corralling a spring. I waited an inordinate amount of time for the project crew to arrive to begin whatever one does to make a spring into a water supply. After an hour’s wait, I was informed that the local chief, at the last minute, decided he wasn’t sure that he wanted to approve the project effectively canceling my plans for the day. I was given several options, including the gardening gig, and, because the day had warmed to a pleasant 100 degrees with promise of something higher, I elected to work with a different painting group. We worked on the beginning stages of decorating the young girl’s dormitory with murals of sky, mountains, trees and such. It made for a satisfying if not an exhausting day.
The local chief’s interference is a Swaziland thing. I’ve learned that the land that the orphanage occupies has been provided by the local community at the direction of the king. The local chief has a number of prerogatives to exercise because of the gift nature of the arrangement. The community and the king have lands to loan or give because of the situation when Swaziland became an independent nation in 1968. At the time of independence, A large portion of the country was “owned” by English farmers who had settled in the area during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. At the time of independence, these land owners had three options: 1) to continue in ownership of land that they occupied, 2) sell the land and leave the country, and 3) give their land to the king and leave the country. A surprising number elected to give their land to the king and return to England. One would guess that
there may have been something that we haven’t heard about that existed at the time to encourage so many folks to give up the family farm and go home. Maybe there weren’t any available buyers and maybe it wasn’t all that easy to buy or sell. I’ve asked the question a couple of times but no one so far has been able to fill in the blanks.
Swaziland has a unique view of property and property rights. Most of the land belongs to the King. However, if I wanted to build a house for my home, I would ask the Chief responsible for the area I wanted to give me a lot for my house. If I wanted a lot big enough to keep some animals and have a garden, I would ask for what I needed. Since the requested site is the King’s land, the Chief can grant my wish and the land is mine. No legal documents are required or issued in the transaction. Everyone knows that one should have at least two witnesses present when the Chief makes his grant. The word of the witnesses will hold up in court and, since the absence of a paper document, that is the only testimony that will turn the trick. Once granted, the owner would have to be a convicted murderer or worse to be evicted.
Sunday morning our group attended a local church service. The kids and staff from New Hope attended as well. The white staff members, our group (which included one African American) and a visiting pastor made up a fourth of the congregation. Some of our group commented that the service was “…the shortest three and half ours of their life times”. For this one hour Methodist service person, it was the longest church service I have ever attended and an experience I hope not to repeat in my lifetime. One of my new friends in the group suggested that some who weren’t accustomed to “charismatic worship” might have found it difficult. She was right. The service began with a lead singer, with 6 back ups (you know, like Do-da) and a keyboard / drums accompaniment, who belted out hymns for about an hour. Many in our group, specifically the Baptists from Georgia, sang along with their out stretched arms, palms up, pointed to the ceiling. The music was great, and loud, but I didn’t know any of the words. The latter case is not all that unusual because in my church I rarely recognize the hymns that folks sing today. They certainly aren’t the ones from my childhood.
After the singing, a lady from the front row who had been singing louder than the choir and acting as cheer leader for the arm waivers went to the podium and began the important stuff. By this time, the loud music and the sound system that bounced everything off of the metal roof and concrete walls of the high school gym we were using as a meeting place had thoroughly confused the electronics in my hearing aids. Actually, they refused to work for the next three hours. I couldn’t hear and thus understand much of anything beyond that point. I do know that after the lady from the front row, who happened to be the wife of the absent pastor, a succession of speakers graced the podium on any number of affairs; ie, the Bible reading for the day (I think it was a complete chapter, or maybe two), a few well chosen words from the visiting pastor ( I think he was raising funds for some worthwhile cause) and three or four others who had very important stuff to say but I haven’t the foggiest what it was all about. Mind you, the entire service was in English which is the commonly used language for public affairs.
At long last the featured speaker, a visiting preacher of note, addressed us. He could easily put Billy Graham and the like to shame with his sparkling oratory, or should I say dramatically and physically aggressive oratory. The crowd loved him. Since I couldn’t understand a word he was saying, I fought like crazy not to doze off……..and lost. At the completion of the sermon, the preacher called anyone who would like his blessing to come forward. One lady apparently asked to be healed of some infirmity. There was some loud praying and violent waving of arms and the lady passed out and was eased to the floor by those who brought her forward. A dozen or so others apparently just asked to be prayed for and prayers were offered. Then one of our group, one that my Baptist friends proudly declared was Jewish, asked to be saved. The savings took about 15 minutes but with a lot of tears and such the act was accomplished. Everybody was real happy about that.
I don’t think I’ll go back to that church for a while, or any other church that brags about it’s three hour church service. I thought they did away with that kind of thing when the pilgrims stopped wearing those funny clothes and shoes with big buckles.
In the process of the day, I had a chance to talk with Jabulani Tsabedze, the staff member who organized all of the tasks that our group attempted to complete. Jabulani is a 49 year old man who has nine children, five with his first wife and four with his second. He met his second wife, Lena, when he was working in the mines in South Africa. Lena is from South Africa. After his marriage he returned to Swaziland and became a pastor of a small church. Several years later, as the New Hope program was beginning, he took a position as Field Coordinator with New Hope and has been with the program for the past nine years. Jabulani seemed to enjoy explaining Swaziland’s government to me and I enjoyed learning from him.
Swaziland was once much larger containing what is now known as Mozambique. There were actually several kings in control of the area at that time. When the British decided to claim the territory, they redefined the borders of Swaziland creating the Kingdom / Colonies of Swaziland and Mozambique in the process. The first King of Swaziland recognized by the British had a vision that became a well known and repeated folk tail in the 1830’s. The King had a vision that a man with a “book” arrived and all the problems of the country were solved. Crop yields increased, men had more wives and the wives had more babies, and in general things became very good in Swaziland.
Soon after the British left in 1968, a white man who identified himself as a Methodist Preacher went to the King’s palace and asked for an audience with the King. When the King’s secretary told the King that the man was carrying a “book”, the King immediately set all business aside to greet the man with the “book”. The book turned out to a bible the preacher was carrying and his simple request was to be able to carry the message of the Bible throughout Swaziland. The King, knowing that this was certainly the fruition of the first King’s vision, gave the preacher all that he asked for. Additionally, he sent word out that the preacher and his group should have everyone’s cooperation and attention as he traveled and preached. Within a decade, Swaziland became known as the most “Christian” nation in Africa. Churches of all denominations continue to flourish in Swaziland. An interesting side note: In 2005, as the Parliament considered the final adoption of a new constitution they had been working on for as long as anyone could remember, the framers decided to include a clause that stated that Swaziland would be forever a “Christian” nation.
Now one needs to know that the King of Swaziland is the King. The Parliament may pass laws but if the King decides that a law would not be good for the country, he calls the leaders of the Parliament to a meeting with him to discuss his concerns. The King has never vetoed a bill but the great respect that everyone has for him leads to a reconsideration of something he does not like. As in all cases before, the Parliament reconvened and develop phrasing on the subject of religion to state that all religions would be respected. Everyone was pleased and the King is still the King.
It may be of interest, because it certainly interested me, that the Kingdom of Swaziland has two capitals; one for the government and one for the King. The official capital of Swaziland is Lobamba ( I know what you’re thinking…the song is La Bomba) and the home of the King, his Palace and a number of significant governmental buildings is Mbabane. When I asked if there would ever be a time when the two capitals became one, the quick answer was never. The reason, the two should always be separate powers and in separate cities. Maybe we should send “W” to Philly or someplace close (Mbbane and Lobamba are only twenty miles a part). It works in Swaziland.
Ladies…….attention! Swaziland has yet to recognize you all as real people. You don’t own anything and haven’t much to say about anything. The marriage act kind of says it all. First and foremost, your father will get 15 + 2 cattle from the man who wants to marry you. You may or may not know the gentleman before the cows arrive but that’s not important. The cows on the other hand are. The +2 cows are for something special but I’ve forgotten what it is. If your husband decides he doesn’t want you around any longer, he simply tells you to leave. You may not remarry although you may move in with another man. If you have children by another man, those children are your first husband’s, especially the girls who could bring in another 15 cattle. When your first husband dies, even though he may have married several others since your being sent away, it will be your responsibility as first wife to handle the burial. This is where you have a chance to get even but no spurned first wife ever does. My advice is not to get married in Swaziland.
Our group had a day off on Tuesday. Apparently New Hope had one of its annual meetings of the Board of Directors and our group would be in the way. So instead of working, we were bussed to the Hlane National Park and Game Reserve. We were loaded into Safari vehicles and roamed around the park for two and half hours. We saw a gazillion gazelles, a small pride of lions, a half dozen elephants grazing, a warthog doing what warthogs do, and (do I have your attention) a black rhinoceros. In fact we saw six black rhinoceros. Some will recall that when we went on Safari in Kenya a few years ago we saw four of the Big Five but not the rhino. The Big Five in Safari talk includes the Elephant, Tiger, Giraffe, Leopard and Rhinoceros. My life is now complete.
What else can there possibly be?
Love to all,
Mkhulu (you guessed it, Grandpa) Bill
Sunday, November 4, 2007
4 November 2007
4 November 2007
Swaziland
Hi everyone from Ezulwini, Swaziland,
The trip from Pleasanton to our home base at the Lugogo Sun Hotel at Ezlwini was uneventful but long. I left Pleasanton at 8:00 PM and arrived here after 10: PM almost two days later. Given that there is 12 hours different in time zones, that makes for a trip about 36 hours long. The 15.5 hour trip from Washington DC (Dulles) was the first time I really was uncomfortable sitting in an airliner seat. The good news is that the return flight will have one stop for gas and will take 18 hours 45 minutes with another couple of long layovers at Dulles and LAX. I leave Swaziland around noon on Thursday, catch my flight out of Johannesberg at 8:00 PM and arrive back at San Francisco at about 8:00 PM on Saturday. You figure the time, I don’t think I want to think about it.
Driving through the Johannesburg area was a bit of a shock to me. I have clear and vivid memories of driving around Cape Town, .South Africa. Those memories included driving English style on the wrong side of the road and, more importantly, scenes of buildings and businesses that were established in the nineteenth century. Additionally, the neighborhoods outside of Cape Town were typically shanty towns with tin roofed shacks and muddy dirt roads. The “freeway exposure” of Johannesburg offered no such picture. Instead, thousands of houses that looked like they had been built in the last twenty years with fenced yards and attached garages were everywhere. The tracts of houses could have been seen just as easily in Stockton or Tracy. This heavily industrialized city had hundred upon hundreds of large construction facilities surrounded by smaller supplier type businesses. Large parking lots at most business sites suggested that workers were making enough to own and drive cars, something often obviously missing in most third world countries. The upscale housing continued for at least twenty miles as our freeway headed out of town to the east. The experience certainly created a new image for South Africa in my mind.
Our drive from Johannesburg to the Swaziland border reminded me of driving across Wyoming several times in recent years. The low rolling hills broken up by relatively flat plains which were often devoted to some kind of agriculture; but nothing like Wyoming. I thought I should see a lot of cattle and sheep grazing but that wasn’t the case.
A storm was building as we drove east. The lightning lit up the sky at frequent intervals making our entrance into a different part of the world dramatic to say the least. The four lane divided highway out of Johannesburg allowed us to travel along at Greyhound bus speed passing a few trucks but being passed by an occasional passenger car. The highway was a toll road that required us to stop periodically to cough up some sort of fare before continuing eastward. We stopped at a large Shell Gas Station to use the well maintained large toilet facilities and to spend some of our newly acquired Rands on snacks. The Rand currently sells for about seventeen cents and the prices of things seemed reasonable and much less than we expect at our gas station convenience stores. While Swaziland has its own money system and bills, the system is based on the South African Rand and the two currencies are interchangeable.
Crossing the border into the “Kingdom of Swaziland” was an unusual experience. We off loaded from our bus to walk through the South Africa passport check and then we walked about thirty yards and did the same thing at the Swaziland station. Each dutifully stamped our passports for the record. There was a beautiful wall sized sign on the Swaziland side welcoming us to the Kingdom of Swaziland. I whipped out my trusty digital but was quickly reminded by one of the more knowledgeable fellow travelers that such was not allowed. In fact, had I taken a picture the king’s men would ask for my camera and not return it. I didn’t have the slightest idea such could occur and was more than happy with the timely reminder.
Once across the border, the terrain changed immediately. The low rolling hills and plains became hills with much more character and low rugged peaks in almost every direction. The showy lightning storm became a gentle rain with low lying clouds hanging on many of the low mountain peaks. The change was so sudden and dramatic that there was no question we had entered a new and different place.
Entering Swaziland, we left for a while the broad and often divided highways of South Africa. The roadways became narrower and more often not simple roads with a line down the middle separating the two lanes. We were, incidentally, still traveling British style, on the left (wrong) side of the road. As we approached our destination city of Ezulwini, a divided highway once again greeted us as we wound our way around the city to an area featuring several really nice hotels. Our hotel, the Lugogo Sun, was one of several related hotels featuring the sur name Sun. Our hotel bordered on a marvelous eighteen hotel golf course that was meticulously groomed as any I have seen. On the opposit side of the golf course was yet another hotel, the Swaziland Spa and Hotel. The Lugogo Sun rated at least four stars and could probably garner its fifth star if it added a concierge desk. Our room was every bit as nice as the nicer hotel chains across the US and seemed to cater to tour groups like ours. There were always three or more large tour busses parked in the parking lot.
On our first day, we set off at 8:00 AM to the New Hope facility. We were given an orientation to New Hope by Dr. Elizabeth Hynd, the developer of the program and current administrator. Dr. Hynd is a white native of Zwaziland and the daughter of a medical doctor who follows in his father’s footsteps as a medical doctor in Swaziland. She is a bright and capable lady who wears the grandest of smiles at all times. She is often seen carrying one of the younger children around on her hip. She is a slight little lady who radiants strength and vitality and intellect. In the story of the birth of her program, she tells of speaking directly to the King of Swaziland about the depth of the problem of orphaned children and how she could help. She gained the support she needed from the King to begin and has personally raised the funds necessary for the continuation of her work.
We were met at New Hope by students trained to guide visitors around the campus. We toured the preschool facility, a large meeting hall/classroom building called the Tabernacle, a dormitory facility where all of the school age children live, a farm area where much of what the children eat is grown and where a small dairy is planned for the future and a new dormitory facility under construction that will double the programs capacity for housing school age children. Considering that the program is less than ten years old, that which we saw was clearly remarkable. The New Hope fracility is perched near the top of a small mountain in the Pigg Mountain Peakarea in a township known as Bethany.
Each member of our group was assigned a task group and a specific assignment. My group of four men was assigned the task of repainting the dormitory that housedsthe younger school aged boys. The room had been decorated with walls painted yellow covered by large and small colored circles. The walls had suffered the natural use of up to twelve boys over a period of several years and was ready to have its painted freshened. Our task was to repaint the circles, that the boys refer to as their balloons, and the back ground yellow paint. In two days we completed the task that was assumed to be a week long task. As a result, we were asked to complete a project that another group had started but not finished. In both the older boy’s and the older girl’s dormitories, a small area had been walled off to provide the supervisor who slept with the kids a small amount of privacy. Studs had been installed and sheetrock installed on one side of the wall. Our task is to complete the second side of sheetrock, tape and prepare the walls for painting and paint the finished product. We have begun the project finding that the preceding team had not done a very good job with the studding installation. We will redo that which is necessary and continue with our effort over the next couple of days.
The work has been very satisfying and has satisfied the need that all of us came to Swaziland to fulfill; to do something meaningful and helpful where it is needed.
My reading of the history of Swaziland has been interesting. The country was a British Colony from early in the nineteenth century. The British allowed the King of Swaziland to exist but not as a king but rather as an unofficial governor. Swaziland became an independent nation in 1968. The British left behind a constitution that they had “helped” the country to adopt. The minute the British left, the King set aside the constitution and wrote his own laws. Swaziland is a bit of an anomaly for an African nation in that its people have never fought a war with a white or European power.
Swazilanders are peaceful accepting people who like their King and take offense of any disparaging remarks about his ruling. They abhor violence and it would difficult for anyone who knows the people to imagine a Swazilander hurting anyone. None the less, we are repeatedly told not to wander away from the hotel at night or go anywhere during the day by ourselves. Women are told that to wear slacks or jeans in public is to invite being raped. Nice ladies wear skirts and dresses and only the other kind of lady would ever appear in public in pants. Other than that, the Swazis are a peaceful and loving people.
Past kings of Swaziland have practiced polygamy as does anyone who currently can afford the price of multiple wives. The first King of Swaziland is believed to have had so many wives that he could actually have a different wife for each day of the year. The current King has only nine wives and doesn’t appear to be interested in setting any new records.
I have met some truly wonderful people in the last few days. I hope to get to know more of our team of 30 better as the week unfolds. My work team consists of a man of about my age who writes books and claims to have shared the authorship of a book with Peter Marshall (former chaplain of the House of Representatives). Another man from Atlanta is a former house painter who has become a popular radio host in the Atlanta, Georgia area. The forth in our team is a small time building contractor / landscape gardener who is in the process of being trained to become a full time Baptist minister. The writer, who writes books on religious topics, told our group at dinner tonight that he had a knock down drag out argument with God before dinner. He said he felt better about the encounter and God told him he forgave him. During dinner there was a tremendous clap of rolling thunder that made the lights blink and the walls shake. I told my new friend that perhaps God wasn’t really through with their conversation and things weren’t really as copasetic as he presumed. He assured me that after the thunder display he had committed to some more time on his knees.
I have been using the golf course next door for my morning walks. It takes me about fifty minutes to circle one of the nine hole segments of the course. The first morning out I came across two families of small monkeys cavorting on one of the fare ways. I looked for them the second day but couldn’t find them. The monkeys are probably what we call in our zoos Spider Monkeys. When I told one of my new friends about seeing the monkeys, every one wanted to hear all about it. I haven’t noticed anyone going out to commune with the monkeys on their own yet.
This has truly been an interesting few days……….so far.
My love to all,
GrandpaDad
Swaziland
Hi everyone from Ezulwini, Swaziland,
The trip from Pleasanton to our home base at the Lugogo Sun Hotel at Ezlwini was uneventful but long. I left Pleasanton at 8:00 PM and arrived here after 10: PM almost two days later. Given that there is 12 hours different in time zones, that makes for a trip about 36 hours long. The 15.5 hour trip from Washington DC (Dulles) was the first time I really was uncomfortable sitting in an airliner seat. The good news is that the return flight will have one stop for gas and will take 18 hours 45 minutes with another couple of long layovers at Dulles and LAX. I leave Swaziland around noon on Thursday, catch my flight out of Johannesberg at 8:00 PM and arrive back at San Francisco at about 8:00 PM on Saturday. You figure the time, I don’t think I want to think about it.
Driving through the Johannesburg area was a bit of a shock to me. I have clear and vivid memories of driving around Cape Town, .South Africa. Those memories included driving English style on the wrong side of the road and, more importantly, scenes of buildings and businesses that were established in the nineteenth century. Additionally, the neighborhoods outside of Cape Town were typically shanty towns with tin roofed shacks and muddy dirt roads. The “freeway exposure” of Johannesburg offered no such picture. Instead, thousands of houses that looked like they had been built in the last twenty years with fenced yards and attached garages were everywhere. The tracts of houses could have been seen just as easily in Stockton or Tracy. This heavily industrialized city had hundred upon hundreds of large construction facilities surrounded by smaller supplier type businesses. Large parking lots at most business sites suggested that workers were making enough to own and drive cars, something often obviously missing in most third world countries. The upscale housing continued for at least twenty miles as our freeway headed out of town to the east. The experience certainly created a new image for South Africa in my mind.
Our drive from Johannesburg to the Swaziland border reminded me of driving across Wyoming several times in recent years. The low rolling hills broken up by relatively flat plains which were often devoted to some kind of agriculture; but nothing like Wyoming. I thought I should see a lot of cattle and sheep grazing but that wasn’t the case.
A storm was building as we drove east. The lightning lit up the sky at frequent intervals making our entrance into a different part of the world dramatic to say the least. The four lane divided highway out of Johannesburg allowed us to travel along at Greyhound bus speed passing a few trucks but being passed by an occasional passenger car. The highway was a toll road that required us to stop periodically to cough up some sort of fare before continuing eastward. We stopped at a large Shell Gas Station to use the well maintained large toilet facilities and to spend some of our newly acquired Rands on snacks. The Rand currently sells for about seventeen cents and the prices of things seemed reasonable and much less than we expect at our gas station convenience stores. While Swaziland has its own money system and bills, the system is based on the South African Rand and the two currencies are interchangeable.
Crossing the border into the “Kingdom of Swaziland” was an unusual experience. We off loaded from our bus to walk through the South Africa passport check and then we walked about thirty yards and did the same thing at the Swaziland station. Each dutifully stamped our passports for the record. There was a beautiful wall sized sign on the Swaziland side welcoming us to the Kingdom of Swaziland. I whipped out my trusty digital but was quickly reminded by one of the more knowledgeable fellow travelers that such was not allowed. In fact, had I taken a picture the king’s men would ask for my camera and not return it. I didn’t have the slightest idea such could occur and was more than happy with the timely reminder.
Once across the border, the terrain changed immediately. The low rolling hills and plains became hills with much more character and low rugged peaks in almost every direction. The showy lightning storm became a gentle rain with low lying clouds hanging on many of the low mountain peaks. The change was so sudden and dramatic that there was no question we had entered a new and different place.
Entering Swaziland, we left for a while the broad and often divided highways of South Africa. The roadways became narrower and more often not simple roads with a line down the middle separating the two lanes. We were, incidentally, still traveling British style, on the left (wrong) side of the road. As we approached our destination city of Ezulwini, a divided highway once again greeted us as we wound our way around the city to an area featuring several really nice hotels. Our hotel, the Lugogo Sun, was one of several related hotels featuring the sur name Sun. Our hotel bordered on a marvelous eighteen hotel golf course that was meticulously groomed as any I have seen. On the opposit side of the golf course was yet another hotel, the Swaziland Spa and Hotel. The Lugogo Sun rated at least four stars and could probably garner its fifth star if it added a concierge desk. Our room was every bit as nice as the nicer hotel chains across the US and seemed to cater to tour groups like ours. There were always three or more large tour busses parked in the parking lot.
On our first day, we set off at 8:00 AM to the New Hope facility. We were given an orientation to New Hope by Dr. Elizabeth Hynd, the developer of the program and current administrator. Dr. Hynd is a white native of Zwaziland and the daughter of a medical doctor who follows in his father’s footsteps as a medical doctor in Swaziland. She is a bright and capable lady who wears the grandest of smiles at all times. She is often seen carrying one of the younger children around on her hip. She is a slight little lady who radiants strength and vitality and intellect. In the story of the birth of her program, she tells of speaking directly to the King of Swaziland about the depth of the problem of orphaned children and how she could help. She gained the support she needed from the King to begin and has personally raised the funds necessary for the continuation of her work.
We were met at New Hope by students trained to guide visitors around the campus. We toured the preschool facility, a large meeting hall/classroom building called the Tabernacle, a dormitory facility where all of the school age children live, a farm area where much of what the children eat is grown and where a small dairy is planned for the future and a new dormitory facility under construction that will double the programs capacity for housing school age children. Considering that the program is less than ten years old, that which we saw was clearly remarkable. The New Hope fracility is perched near the top of a small mountain in the Pigg Mountain Peakarea in a township known as Bethany.
Each member of our group was assigned a task group and a specific assignment. My group of four men was assigned the task of repainting the dormitory that housedsthe younger school aged boys. The room had been decorated with walls painted yellow covered by large and small colored circles. The walls had suffered the natural use of up to twelve boys over a period of several years and was ready to have its painted freshened. Our task was to repaint the circles, that the boys refer to as their balloons, and the back ground yellow paint. In two days we completed the task that was assumed to be a week long task. As a result, we were asked to complete a project that another group had started but not finished. In both the older boy’s and the older girl’s dormitories, a small area had been walled off to provide the supervisor who slept with the kids a small amount of privacy. Studs had been installed and sheetrock installed on one side of the wall. Our task is to complete the second side of sheetrock, tape and prepare the walls for painting and paint the finished product. We have begun the project finding that the preceding team had not done a very good job with the studding installation. We will redo that which is necessary and continue with our effort over the next couple of days.
The work has been very satisfying and has satisfied the need that all of us came to Swaziland to fulfill; to do something meaningful and helpful where it is needed.
My reading of the history of Swaziland has been interesting. The country was a British Colony from early in the nineteenth century. The British allowed the King of Swaziland to exist but not as a king but rather as an unofficial governor. Swaziland became an independent nation in 1968. The British left behind a constitution that they had “helped” the country to adopt. The minute the British left, the King set aside the constitution and wrote his own laws. Swaziland is a bit of an anomaly for an African nation in that its people have never fought a war with a white or European power.
Swazilanders are peaceful accepting people who like their King and take offense of any disparaging remarks about his ruling. They abhor violence and it would difficult for anyone who knows the people to imagine a Swazilander hurting anyone. None the less, we are repeatedly told not to wander away from the hotel at night or go anywhere during the day by ourselves. Women are told that to wear slacks or jeans in public is to invite being raped. Nice ladies wear skirts and dresses and only the other kind of lady would ever appear in public in pants. Other than that, the Swazis are a peaceful and loving people.
Past kings of Swaziland have practiced polygamy as does anyone who currently can afford the price of multiple wives. The first King of Swaziland is believed to have had so many wives that he could actually have a different wife for each day of the year. The current King has only nine wives and doesn’t appear to be interested in setting any new records.
I have met some truly wonderful people in the last few days. I hope to get to know more of our team of 30 better as the week unfolds. My work team consists of a man of about my age who writes books and claims to have shared the authorship of a book with Peter Marshall (former chaplain of the House of Representatives). Another man from Atlanta is a former house painter who has become a popular radio host in the Atlanta, Georgia area. The forth in our team is a small time building contractor / landscape gardener who is in the process of being trained to become a full time Baptist minister. The writer, who writes books on religious topics, told our group at dinner tonight that he had a knock down drag out argument with God before dinner. He said he felt better about the encounter and God told him he forgave him. During dinner there was a tremendous clap of rolling thunder that made the lights blink and the walls shake. I told my new friend that perhaps God wasn’t really through with their conversation and things weren’t really as copasetic as he presumed. He assured me that after the thunder display he had committed to some more time on his knees.
I have been using the golf course next door for my morning walks. It takes me about fifty minutes to circle one of the nine hole segments of the course. The first morning out I came across two families of small monkeys cavorting on one of the fare ways. I looked for them the second day but couldn’t find them. The monkeys are probably what we call in our zoos Spider Monkeys. When I told one of my new friends about seeing the monkeys, every one wanted to hear all about it. I haven’t noticed anyone going out to commune with the monkeys on their own yet.
This has truly been an interesting few days……….so far.
My love to all,
GrandpaDad
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
24 October 2007
24 October 2007
Swaziland, here I come.
I just received the final packet from Heart For Africa telling participants what to expect on our “mission”. We are going to be working at the New Hope Center located at Bethany,, Swaziland, located in the mountains of Piggs Peak, Swaziland. The center is currently the home for 36 children with a purpose “…to provide for multiple needs of children within the Swazi Nation. Children from pre-school to high school are provided and education and a “Biblical Foundation. The director’s aim is to make these children the “Godly leaders of African Nations in the years to come.
The length of stay has been changed so that now I will be leaving San Francisco on a red-eye (midnight) on October 30, flying from Dulles to Johannesburg (fifteen hours +) on the 31st, and arriving on November 1. We will be bussed four hours to our hotel, Lugo Sun, in Swaziland; telephone 011 268 416 4000, or if you are in the neighborhood, 268-416-4000.
The first four days we will be at the New Hope Center with the suggestions that we wear long sleeved shirts that will keep us cool. It sounds as though the work will be agricultural, like in the dirt and all. On the fifth day in Swaziland, we will visit the Hlane Game Park experiencing a “game drive” and a visit to a cultural village. The next two days we will back at the New Hope Center. On Friday November 9 we will catch an evening plane back to Dulles. My current plans will have me back at San Francisco sometime around 8:00 PM.
Our orientation, so far, has included a lot of don’ts and very little by way of dos. We did receive a 17 word vocabulary list in seSwati, just in case we become disconnected from our group, that we are never supposed to dod.
I now know that Swaziland has a population of 950,000 souls and dropping rapidly. The population growth rate is -4.5% with an average life expectancy of 27 years. The Swazilanders are 40% Zionist, 20% Roman Catholic, 10% Muslim and 30% other, which doesn’t leave very many Methodists.
Swaziland is almost surrounded by South Africa with a small border with Mozambique to the East. We are going to be visiting during the annual rainy season which runs from October through May, not unlike California. The country is totally land locked and about the size of New Jersey.
HIV/AIDS is rampant in the country. 42.6% of all adults have HIV/AIDS. There are 120,000 orphans due to AIDS with a new 8,000 children orphaned every month. Incidentally, one of our don’ts is to not use the word “orphan” because the English speakers use the word to denote incorrigible rascals.
The country has a king, King Mswati III. 69% of the population lives below the poverty line defined as less than $1.00 a day. The unemployment rate is 40%. Footnote: During the Great Depression in the US, unemployment peaked at 23%. Swaziland exports soft drink concentrates, sugar, wood pulp and cotton yarn.
Despite some of the comments I have made about this trip, I am really looking forward to experiencing Swaziland, really!
Love to all future travelers.
Sala Kahle (Siswati for Good Bye and StayWell)
Grandpa Dad
Swaziland, here I come.
I just received the final packet from Heart For Africa telling participants what to expect on our “mission”. We are going to be working at the New Hope Center located at Bethany,, Swaziland, located in the mountains of Piggs Peak, Swaziland. The center is currently the home for 36 children with a purpose “…to provide for multiple needs of children within the Swazi Nation. Children from pre-school to high school are provided and education and a “Biblical Foundation. The director’s aim is to make these children the “Godly leaders of African Nations in the years to come.
The length of stay has been changed so that now I will be leaving San Francisco on a red-eye (midnight) on October 30, flying from Dulles to Johannesburg (fifteen hours +) on the 31st, and arriving on November 1. We will be bussed four hours to our hotel, Lugo Sun, in Swaziland; telephone 011 268 416 4000, or if you are in the neighborhood, 268-416-4000.
The first four days we will be at the New Hope Center with the suggestions that we wear long sleeved shirts that will keep us cool. It sounds as though the work will be agricultural, like in the dirt and all. On the fifth day in Swaziland, we will visit the Hlane Game Park experiencing a “game drive” and a visit to a cultural village. The next two days we will back at the New Hope Center. On Friday November 9 we will catch an evening plane back to Dulles. My current plans will have me back at San Francisco sometime around 8:00 PM.
Our orientation, so far, has included a lot of don’ts and very little by way of dos. We did receive a 17 word vocabulary list in seSwati, just in case we become disconnected from our group, that we are never supposed to dod.
I now know that Swaziland has a population of 950,000 souls and dropping rapidly. The population growth rate is -4.5% with an average life expectancy of 27 years. The Swazilanders are 40% Zionist, 20% Roman Catholic, 10% Muslim and 30% other, which doesn’t leave very many Methodists.
Swaziland is almost surrounded by South Africa with a small border with Mozambique to the East. We are going to be visiting during the annual rainy season which runs from October through May, not unlike California. The country is totally land locked and about the size of New Jersey.
HIV/AIDS is rampant in the country. 42.6% of all adults have HIV/AIDS. There are 120,000 orphans due to AIDS with a new 8,000 children orphaned every month. Incidentally, one of our don’ts is to not use the word “orphan” because the English speakers use the word to denote incorrigible rascals.
The country has a king, King Mswati III. 69% of the population lives below the poverty line defined as less than $1.00 a day. The unemployment rate is 40%. Footnote: During the Great Depression in the US, unemployment peaked at 23%. Swaziland exports soft drink concentrates, sugar, wood pulp and cotton yarn.
Despite some of the comments I have made about this trip, I am really looking forward to experiencing Swaziland, really!
Love to all future travelers.
Sala Kahle (Siswati for Good Bye and StayWell)
Grandpa Dad
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