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)
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