Tierra de Tortugas

Transatlantic 2011: Canary Islands and Madeira

Can. Canus. Canarius. The Canary Islands, the 'Dog Islands' – so named for the large breed of dogs that used to live here as sheep herding dogs with the original inhabitants. The name has nothing to do with canaries, much to my disappointment. I haven't seen nary a canary so far in the Canary Islands. In fact, there also seem to be few dogs around on the Dog Islands. I only saw three or four dogs taking their owners for a walk on Tenerife, and one dog in a backyard on Lanzarote. There are probably more than that – I just didn't see them. I like dogs a lot, especially some of the various notable mutts I've met in my travels. But it sure would be nice if these islands were filled with the more melodious sound of canaries. 

There are references to these islands (as every guide and guidebook assures us) in the writings of Homer, Plato, and Plutarch. I did not personally verify this, but it's not unbelievable as several of the islands are visible from the African coast on a clear day, and vice versa – Lanzarote stands only about 60 miles off the coast – so their existence was not unknown to the Old World. The original inhabitants, the Guanches, are said to have been "a white-skinned, blue-eyed, blonde-haired race related to North Africa's Cro-Magnon man" and they settled these islands in the 1st or 2nd century BCE.

The Italians and Portuguese settled the islands next, but the Spaniards took them over in the 1400s. And this is the place – the ancient world's most westerly charted lands – that were the last provisioning spot for Columbus before he sailed even further west, until he was finally discovered and rescued by natives in the present-day Caribbean. The rest is history, as it is usually written by the victors.

 

TENERIFE

The dawn breaks brilliantly as we near the harbor at Santa Cruz on the Island of Tenerife, our first port of call after 6 days spent crossing the Atlantic. We finish our coffee and go below to grab the backpack where we've stashed our jackets, binoculars and a water bottle. At 8am The Adventure of the Seas is tied to the dock, and most of the guests are more than ready to go ashore to experience a place that's not part of the usual traveler's itinerary. At least not where I come from.

One of the things that first attracted me to this cruise, aside from the experience of crossing the entire Atlantic Ocean, was that we'd make stops at three different Canary Islands and a stop at Madeira on the way. It seemed like the most economical way that we were ever going to see those places. And here we were, along with hundreds more, waiting onboard in the Lyric Theater to be assembled and sorted for our onshore excursions. We each received a numbered sticker for our shirt that corresponded to the bus we'd be on for the day. The cruise lines worry a lot about making sure all their guests are accounted for, as best they can. Those who get back to the dock late and miss the boat, literally, can sometimes fly to the next port of call – at their own considerable expense – to catch up with the ship. But the companies want to avoid that kind of bad publicity. Soon we are 'stickered' and down the gangway to locate our guide, who was holding a large paddle with our number on it and a brief description of our outing for the day. The paddle may also be handy to discipline any ill-mannered guests, but I didn't ask about that.

Our guide is Peter, a Dutchman who's lived on Tenerife for many years and who also speaks (at least) English, Spanish and German. Once we're all aboard our bus, Peter tells us of the volcanic origins of the islands and the 12,000 foot high Mt. Teide, which is Tenerife's dominant feature. On a clear day, from those heights, you can see the coastline of Africa lying more than 100 miles to the east. Today there's a cloud-cover along the coast of Tenerife and the seas around, and we have yet to glimpse this massive mountain that rises somewhere above us. Having grown up in the western US, I've seen many peaks of that height, but while standing at, say, 5000 feet. A 12,000 foot peak, as seen from sea level, is a sight which must be very impressive indeed. If the skies had been clear, we could have seen it from 100 miles, or more, out to sea. 

 Soon, we leave the dry coastal lands behind and rise into cloud-shrouded forests of indigenous Canary Island pines. The needles are about 8 inches long. After early colonists deforested much of the island, and created major erosion problems (a familiar story?), it was forbidden to harvest the pines. Today there are beautiful forests fringing the flanks of Mt. Teide. 

A short time later, we are through the clouds, into a clear sky, and looking down onto the soft, fluffy cloud layer far below. Ahead of us stands the impressive peak of Mt. Teide. Peter tells us of the recent geologic history of the island, including an eruption in the 1700s. He points out the more recent lava flows – only a few hundred years old – where no plants are yet growing. It takes a long time to turn lava into soil. He speaks with a charming Dutch accent in which a's become flat e's: "You can see thee bleck grevels een thee velley." 

The high country of Tenerife is dry and lava strewn – a familiar sight to a westerner, except for some of the unique and strange plant life that developed here in isolation over millennia. We pass the site where a movie crew has chosen this rocky, sandy 'moonscape' to film the next version of "Clash of the Titans." And Tenerife residents still claim that NASA faked the moon landing and just filmed it here. At a glance, that starts to sound believable. 

On the way back to town, we pass the Tenerife airport and someone asks about the airliner disaster that occurred here a few decades back. That's when two jumbo jets crashed into each other on the fog-shrouded runway, killing hundreds. Peter tells us there had already been plans to build another airport on the clear, dry, southern end of the island, and that facility was quickly completed after the tragedy. 

Carolyn and I spend the afternoon wandering the hilly streets of Santa Cruz and enjoy lunch at a small cafe. The narrow, clean, tree-lined streets and older buildings near the port area are very inviting. We find a good ice cream shop and slurp our way onward past a lady sweeping the streets with a long palm frond. For cleaning up trash and litter, it sure looks more effective than a broom. We walk over a traffic bridge that crosses a ravine and notice many small locks attached to the scrollwork, with brief messages written on them in marker. We didn't get an explanation, but it looked like a way for young lovers to lock their heart-felt message in a public place. It occurred to me that a young Lothario might not want to throw away the key, in case things change.

Maybe we'll have to return some day to probe this mystery and see more of the island, but it was time to return to our ship, for another good dinner. Then we retire to our cabin for the overnight passage to Gran Canaria, and whatever surprise towel-animal Komar, our cabin attendant, had dreamed up lately.

 

GRAN CANARIA

 We dock at dawn in Las Palmas, Gran Canaria, ready for a full-day tour. At first, it's easy to dismiss the lower-lying mountains of this island after experiencing the towering heights of Mt. Teide on Tenerife. But soon, we pass through dramatic canyons and small, beautiful white villages nestled into fertile valleys and it's easy to become enchanted. 

Isidro, our guide, tells us about "the Canary People(!)" and their unique ways of life here, surrounded by water, where it's always springtime. To him, it's a kind of paradise, and as we get to know it better I have to admit he has a point there.

The Canary Islands pride themselves on their wine, and our tour includes a stop at Bodega Las Tirajanas. It's a small, but award-winning winery and we enjoy some good white wine. But there's only one restroom, so we're very late getting away for our next stop.

I'm always interested in local building customs, and I notice a curious roof overhang detail. It involves 2 to 3 layers of tile filled with white chinking at the roof edge to create enough overhang so water doesn't dribble down the wall. It's a very nice detail that gives these homes a unique local identity.

We stop in the town of Teror for a 'typical' lunch. We're served an appetizer of salted small potatoes, yam sausages, goat's milk spread on bread and red wine. Then it's on to the main course, conejo. Yes, these are small islands with a limited amount of grazing land, and they eat a lot of rabbit here. It was delicious, and one lady was surprised to find out it was not chicken.

On our way back to the ship, there are more white villages in fertile volcanic valleys. There are plenty of beach towns in the Canary Islands that cater to Europeans seeking warm weather, but we avoided those tours because we've seen plenty of that before and we wanted to see how the local people live. These islands have also become a retirement destination, and that always brings change. So, no we really aren't seeing these islands in some unsullied, pastoral, pre-industrial state. Still, there are families who have lived here for generations and some of the old ways do remain unchanged.

Back at the ship I linger at the railing as we pull away from the dock, and I wish we had more time to fully explore each of these islands. I knew this trip would give us only a quick glance, but maybe we'll return some day for a longer look. Meanwhile, we have another overnight passage ahead of us to reach Lanzarote, our last stop in the Canary Islands.

 

LANZAROTE

 As our ship departs from Lanzarote, I look back at the strange, sere, denuded landscape and still marvel at the people who coax a living from this dry, volcanic land. The scene is accented by the more than one hundred small volcanoes that pierce the sky. There's just something compelling and mysterious about the place.

Vulcanism, its challenges and opportunities, dominates life here. In fact, that applies to all the Canary Islands, birthed as the area passed over a volcanic hot spot in the earth's crust in a process like that of the Hawaiian Islands. 

But it is in Lanzarote where life appears most difficult and challenging. Try coaxing food crops out of rocks, with little to work with that resembles soil. The closest thing on Lanzarote is deposited on the island whenever siroccos blow off the Sahara Desert carrying huge clouds of choking sand out onto the sea and the nearby islands. That's how all the sand for the many beaches of Lanzarote arrived here, as well as that which fills the valleys and other low spots. The Sahara Desert also provides all the sand for the resort beaches at the southwestern end of the island. 

And the wind blows nearly constantly onto the easterly coast of the island. For ages now, farmers at the windy edge of the island have cleared away the larger volcanic cinders and piled them into low walls to protect the few plantable areas available. Behind the walls, they build gardens by laying down a fertile layer of sand and fertilizer topped with a layer of black volcanic gravel. This top layer cools in the night and attracts moisture out of the humid air pouring over the island, and the water filters down into the ground. During the day, which is usually overcast, the black gravel absorbs heat and warms the ground so the plants can grow. These are black gardens with small, stunted plants. For those of us used to seeing humus-laden gardens as a lovely and paintable mixture of browns and greens, you kind of have to see this to believe it. Black gardens.

We visit Lanzaloe, an aloe farm that produces a number of organic products. We follow our host to the field nestled into a hollow, and watch as she shows us the proper way to 'filet' an aloe leaf. Then she invites us to taste it. After a few sidelong glances, several of us reach for a chunk and begin chewing. It has an okra-like texture and little taste, but it's supposed to be good for various things that I neglected to take note of.

'Wind avoidance' is a preoccupation for most life forms on Lanzarote. We trek down into an ancient lava tube and encounter a hidden oasis and a mirror-like pool of sea water that is home to a unique crab species. In addition, part of the extensive cavern has been constructed into a small concert hall. The natural ceiling of jagged overhanging lava seemed to dampen sound very effectively.

We stop at a 'mirador' to look from a high cliff out to the sea, but it is cloud-encased and we see almost nothing but the cliff disappearing into…what? There's something very eerie about even standing on the brink of the unseen abyss, and I'm glad to leave. At another mirador we look out over small windswept farms and volcanic lands. Brilliant red local poppies are some of the few plants that seem to enjoy living here. Our guide tells us they provide food for the hearty goats that live here. "But when they eat the purple ones," he laughs, "those are pure opium, and the goats stagger around for a while!"  

As we return to port, we can see our ship in the distance. Our guide jokes that it is "the largest building in Lanzarote." It looks bizarrely out of context. After the chastening experience of our Lanzarote tour, we welcome returning to the ship, yet there's something compelling and indescribable about this still volcanically-dynamic island. It demands much of its residents, yet it rewards its visitors with many surprises. In fact, the experience sums up the entire Canary Islands for me: there's still much here to see and feel about this strange land. I hope to return some day to these islands, and I watch from the railing of Deck 4 on the Adventure of the Seas with a strange sort of longing as Lanzarote disappears into the sea haze behind us. There is so much more I want to know about this place.

 

BACK ON BOARD

We are back aboard the ship for another overnight passage, to Madeira. This floating hotel is a stark contrast to the rough-hewn island we just left behind.

"More than…" Probably best describes the Adventure of the Seas. She is more than 1000 feet long, and more than 150 feet wide. She carries more than 3800 paying passengers plus a whole bunch of crew. She makes more than 22 knots through the water. And she cost more than $600,000,000 to build. 

She's a very large ship, very fast and very complex, with stabilizers that keep her steady enough in rough seas to serve drinks and dinner all day and all night, rarely spilling a drop. She's a technological marvel and yet she's already ten years old, so that puts her into some 'older' category these days. I can almost imagine what a 'modern' ship must be like, but we're too cheap to pay for the experience, so we'll see those ships and all their marvels in about another decade. Still, we'd like to thank the free-spending "early adopters" for paying for all those new technologies that we'll eventually enjoy.

 

Aboard ship, we've seen several good comedians, magicians, jugglers, impressionists, dance revues, and the like. They're not "A-List" performers, but the cost is included in the trip and they're generally good at what they do. Most evenings find us clapping along to some rousing music, watching some engaging choreography, or laughing at the 'latest' jokes. But even on a ship this advanced, there are a few things that never go out of style – like Vaudeville humor. 

Sample A

Woman #1: "My husband is such an angel!"

Woman #2: "You are so lucky! My husband's still alive!"

 

Sample B

Husband: "I love you so much."

Wife: "Is that you talking, or the beer?"

Husband: "That's me talking to the beer."

 

Hey, we all had to start somewhere and, lucky for the rest of us, other people were patient. The nightly show is a good way to get ready for dinner, and the price (free) is certainly right. After dinner, we might pick up the Daily Trivia Quiz (How did they finally stop The Blob? They froze it. A youthful Steve McQueen was in the movie!), hang out in the center promenade at level 5, or listen to a combo at one of the bars on level four. We might even dance on the crowded grand staircase while the 600 Puerto Ricans aboard sing along to "Mi Viejo San Juan." After that, we retire to our cabin for a good night's sleep to get ready for our next day exploring another exotic port – and to see the latest surprise animal that Komar, our Indonesian cabin attendant, has made out of towels. It's a very sweet life.

 

MADEIRA

After Lanzarote, we head westerly and a little to the north, losing much of the easting we had gained crossing the Atlantic. Our next landfall will be Funchal, Madeira. 

In the morning, Funchal appears through the haze as we finish a leisurely breakfast in fine style. After traveling like this, it's hard to envy the hardscrabble life of the early explorers. I have to admit, as I enjoy a second cup of coffee with a sweet roll and watch the deck hands scramble to tie off the ship, that what may have sounded romantic in my youth seems to have lost some of its luster.

As Funchal reels itself in through the mist, it's hard to imagine a more abrupt transition from the hard, burned, and stony island of Lanzarote. Funchal is a vision of red-tile roofs in a dripping-green landscape. Unlike our last Canary Island landfall, this is a place that exists in an entirely different weather regime. This verdant tree-covered place is used to lots of rainfall.

And unlike the Canaries, Madeira lay undiscovered in the Atlantic until it was happened upon by Portuguese explorers. They named it La Ilha da Madeira (The Isle of Wood) after all the trees, which quickly became useful in shipbuilding.  

We tie to the dock just off the town, and I finally envy those who paid extra for a balcony suite – even though it would have been largely wasted. We'll be spending most of the day ashore on what looks like an exciting tour that includes a madcap sliding ride down back streets in some sort of basket! We'd have little time to relax on a veranda and admire the picturesque view of Funchal.

Our bus whisks us to a high point where they load us into couch-like baskets for our ride down streets worn to a shine by the many who've gone before. We have two guys with us to 'steer' this thing by sheer muscle power, and to act as brakes – after a fashion. There are times when we're mostly sliding sideways toward some sort of impending doom. 

I wonder if we'll tip over and end up with a fine case of Madeira Road Rash to show our friends. It's definitely an exciting ride that resembles something your mother told you not to do, and that we should have had more sense than to sign up for. But we survived and walked away smiling. 

Next, we're on a cable car ride that gives us a glimpse into the gardens, backyards, and private lives of the residents. Everything seems to grow here, and leftover plots of land are put to good use as vegetable gardens. We look down at a street that is filled with the blue blossoms of jacaranda trees. In the harbor just below looms our cruise ship. It's hard to sneak one of those into harbor.

 Then there's plenty of time to wander the streets and watch workmen installing tiny marble sets in the sidewalks. The intricate handwork of their forebears is everywhere to be seen, as are beautiful gardens and fine architecture. The thought crosses our minds to jump ship here and rent an apartment for a while. But that's a little impetuous – even for us.

Back onboard the ship we have a few minutes to relax before dinner, so I lie down to catch a few winks. But then I hear a tapping at our window. I'm tempted to say "Nevermore!" or attribute it to "the wind and nothing more." But it's a workman on a scaffold recaulking our window to the world. I guess the maintenance on these ships never really stops.

 But on this night, we planned something special (as if the whole trip weren't special!). As we leave Madeira behind, we only have two more nights aboard the ship, so we reserved a table at Portofino, the fine dining restaurant located on the 11th deck. It will be nice to have a quiet night all to ourselves – among the throngs. And of course, it's delicious. And the Captain even joins us (well, several tables away) with his officers in full uniform. We feel sorta honored just hanging out with all that brass as we draw nearer by the minute to our destination.  

  

 

Transatlantic 2011: Crossing the Pond

 
About six months before our trip, we decided to take a 'Repositioning Ship' across the Atlantic. It looked like a good way to save money and see some interesting things along the way, so we'd give it a try. Herewith, a word about Repositioning Ships may be in order. 

This ship was being 'Repositioned' in early May from the winter Caribbean trade to work the summer season in the Mediterranean. May is not the peak season for crossing the Atlantic because families aren't on vacation yet, and you may be powering into 15-20 knot tradewinds at 17-18 knots of boat speed, giving you 30-40 knots of wind on the bow. That much wind makes it hard to use the outside exercise track, play putt-putt on the top deck, or relax around the open-air pools and hot tubs; the ride could even be uncomfortable if the sea gets lumpy. So they discount tickets to try to fill the ship and get some help buying enough gas to cross The Pond. But besides saving money and visiting interesting sites, another advantage of Repositioning is that you tend to meet adventurous and accomplished people aboard – the kind of people who have the time, resources, and inclination to do such a thing.

At the recommendation of our Kino friends Jeff Cobb and Marlayna MacKenzie, I went onto Vacations-To-Go (http://www.vacationstogo.com), rummaged around in the Repositionings section (choose the "90-Day Ticker" and then choose "Repositioning" from the page lists near the top), and got tickets for $799 each for an ocean view cabin (we had no interest in an inside room) on a 13-day crossing. That included a stop at Sint Maarten, followed by a 6-day crossing of the Atlantic, three stops in the Canary Islands, a stop at Madeira, a final sea-day, and a night cruising through the Straits of Gibraltar to our destination in Málaga, Spain. That's about $123/night for the two of us for transportation to Europe, with room and board, and even entertainment, thrown in. We'd really just have to pay for whatever booze we drink along the way, and any shore excursions we want to take. The basic price may be less than the cost of a cramped seat on a full flight to Europe, and I can't imagine what it would cost to see all those islands in between if we had to buy plane tickets to do it. 

Overall, it seemed like a pretty good deal. I bought our tickets about six months before departure so we wouldn't 'miss the boat,' but then I monitored the ticket prices to see what would have happened if we'd waited to buy. I found that if I'd waited until about two months before departure we could have gotten the same tickets for $650 each (or an inside cabin for $500 flat) – we could have saved another 300 bucks and brought our cost down to $100/night for two people. But when I checked for last minute deals, the price had gone back up to $769 for an ocean view room. Maybe next time we'll take our chances, wait a bit longer (but not too long), and maybe save even more. Or not get tickets at all. Oh well….

 

We had wanted to just drag our rolling bags about three blocks downhill  from our hotel in San Juan, Puerto Rico, to the pier where a big cruise ship was waiting – but that wasn't our ship. From the rooftop of the hotel we could see our ship, The Adventure of the Seas, at the Pan-American pier on the other side of the harbor. It was time for a taxi.

We boarded the ship at 2:00 p.m. – well, we got into a long line of people dragging luggage and trying to board the ship. The cruise companies check out all the luggage for weapons, explosives, suspicious items – the same as airlines. Your big bags are tagged and hauled off for delivery later to your cabin. To pass the time, we had a nice conversation with a Costa Rican couple we were standing next to in line. That old movie routine of waving to friends and relatives as you pull out of the harbor doesn't work so well, in this age of heightened security, where they'd have to wait for hours and they may not be allowed anywhere near the ship. It takes a bit of the romance out of it.

But soon enough we were on board, below decks, and checking out our modest yet ample cabin. Then there wasn't much else to do but get acquainted with the huge ship that would be our home for almost two weeks. There was too much to explore in a short period, and soon it was time to head to the top deck for the Sailaway Party.

When we cruised to South America on Holland America's Veendam there was a Sailaway Party on the top aft deck by the pool, with free margaritas for all. As we pulled out of San Diego Harbor, there was a spectacular sunset, all the downtown buildings glowed in the reflected evening light, and the sway of the ship sloshed great quantities of water out of the pool and cascading down the steps while we rounded Point Loma and headed south toward México into the broad Pacific Ocean. It was a great way to start our first cruise. 

This time, leaving San Juan, it was drizzling a bit, and the Sailaway Party never really seemed to materialize. But it wasn't a big deal because we were tired from all the boarding procedures, and ready for dinner. And we wanted to get a good night's sleep, because the next morning we'd be in Sint Maarten, where (in a moment of over-exuberance) we had signed up for a ropes course through the jungle!

 

SINT MAARTEN/SAINT MARTIN

A wake-up call roused us at 6:00 a.m. and we made our way to the 11th floor deck for a bite to eat. The ship arrived in Sint Maarten at 8:00 a.m. and we were soon standing on the dock, with about twenty other folk, gathered around our guide who was holding a sign reading "Loterie Farm Treetop Adventure." A small bus whisked us off to our scheduled morning excursion as our affable guide told us that the island of Sint Maarten/Saint Martin is "the smallest island in the world that is governed by two countries." Our ship had arrived in Phillipsburg, on the Dutch half of the island. A short while later we blew past the unguarded 'border' and entered the French side of the island. Actually, the two left wheels of the bus and half the passengers, were still in the Dutch half of the island, since the border runs down the middle of the road for a ways at this point. 

The differences in people, style and architecture are stark – if you're a native of the island, like our guide, who waxed eloquently about the differences. The rest of us might describe them as 'subtle.' There are signs in French, the license plates are elongated, and the Gendarmerie had stopped a car to question the occupant. Much of the rest looks similar to the Dutch side. Soon we're at the farm, which was established in 1721 and is now functioning as an eco-center and wildlife sanctuary. We were glad to see that our money was going for a good cause.

 

A very large fellow, who looked and sounded like a former drill instructor, gave us an orientation and safety lecture. We paid attention as none of us wanted to fall out of a tree and bounce to a stop on the rocky ground below. He told us to always have at least one safety carabiner hooked up at all times before relocating to the next position, and he showed us the proper way to rig the roller gadget for 'flying' through the trees. It looked like it would be fun. Sort of. I was reassured that the small platforms held his considerable weight, since he well out-weighed any of the guests. He's wasn't actually fat, he's just a really big guy.

Soon, we're flying off wildly through the trees like a group of Medicaid-ready Techno-Tarzans and having a hell of a good time. We're thankful that the landing zone at each platform is heavily padded so we don't just run smack into a tree. Our Instructor told us the record run for this course was six minutes flat. We're lucky to finish in an hour. Afterward, there's cold punch available, with a bottle of fine Caribbean rum standing by for those in need of a bracer to aid their recovery. Overall, it was a good exercise in agility and upper body strength, with a large "wheeeee…." factor thrown in.

I ask about all the chickens wandering around everywhere on the island – they reminded me of all those wandering chickens we saw in the USVI and the BVI. Our guide jokes with his buddy about how his neighbors moved away and left a bunch of chickens to fend for themselves. He took pity on them and fed them a few times. They apparently spread the word, and now he has about sixty chickens to care for. I guess there's really no reason for most people to buy eggs in these Caribbean islands since all those chickens must lay a lot of eggs.. But I'm not sure if anybody eats the chickens since they're probably fairly tough, and it's cheap to buy chicken at the local market. Maybe the Caribbean is where chickens go to retire.

The bus dropped us back at the center of Phillipsburg with ample time to wander the many shops, bars, and boutiques. Then we walked back to the ship past a marina filled with visiting yachts, large and small, from various parts of the world – one of them named "Sail La Vie." That evening as the sun set, our ship departed Sint Maarten, her bow pointed to the east. We had just left the last vestige of the New World as we steamed onward into the broad Atlantic toward the European continent with all her attendant adventures.

 

MID-OCEAN IDYLL

On the afternoon of Day 3, the wind died, Sint Maarten lay more than 300 miles astern, and the sea became as flat as a lake. This was our second 'At Sea' day. Our next port of call, Tenerife in the Canary Islands, still lay about 2,300 miles ahead. At our current speed of 17 1/2 knots, we'd be there in about four more days. 

 

 

We generally think of the Atlantic as perpetually storm-tossed; but as the day faded into evening and we dressed for the first Formal Night of the cruise, the water was completely flat. That evening, in his 'Captain's Address and Welcome' to the well-attired guests assembled on the Promenade, Captain Ron said he'd never seen this part of the Atlantic so calm and we should enjoy it while we can. He also said this ship, commissioned in 2001, was one of the larger cruise ships afloat and could carry around 3,700 passengers, plus crew. Currently, there were about 2,700 guests aboard. As we milled about bumping into other people, who were also there for the free champagne, I couldn't imagine dealing with another thousand people aboard! 

Captain Ron, a robust Canadian, who's built like a stevedore and who more resembles the Captain on "Gilligan's Island" than the suave Captain of "The Love Boat," mentioned we had guests of 40 different nationalities aboard. But that was less impressive than the Crew who hailed from 67 different countries. So far, we had met crewmembers from Mauritius, Jamaica, Indonesia, the Philippines, and Romania, and fellow guests from Costa Rica, Canada, the former East Germany, and many from Puerto Rico, while overhearing several other conversations in French. It was a fine cultural mix. The Captain also mentioned there were 47 honeymooning couples aboard, and since the seas outside were flat, any odd ship movements should probably be attributed to them!      

We spoke to a couple from Puerto Rico that evening who said they happened to be on a cruise when the 9/11 attacks occurred and Americans were told to avoid travel. Now here they were again, just a day after Osama bin Laden took 'early retirement,' and again they were being told to avoid travel!

Somehow the entire scene – the formal attire, the Captain's Address, the flat seas – reminded me of that fateful evening in the movie "Titanic." Sorry, I couldn't help it – although the Captain made no mention of the striking(!) similarity. But I was sure we were well south of the iceberg zone (at least I hoped). And this wasn't even iceberg season (I thought). And surely there are people up there on The Bridge watching out for that sort of thing (they are, aren't they?). Soon, I did the only rational thing I could do under the circumstances: I ordered a Double Martini and forgot about it.

 

LIFE ABOARD SHIP

And so we plow onward, day after day, across the broad Atlantic, and we go on faith alone that, someday, we will indeed sight land again. It is, truly, an odd feeling to be crossing so much water without seeing anything else. Not another ship. Not a plane. Nothing. It's a bit like being in a Kafka novel, or an extra in a Fellini movie, as we hurtle onward towards…what? Some mythic Bethlehem, to be reborn? It's not hard to imagine why Columbus' crew was on the verge of mutiny after so many weeks (or months?) away from land.  

But we're crossing the ocean very quickly, and certainly in the lap of luxury – compared to seafarers of old. The Adventure of the Seas is 14 stories tall, with a four story Promenade (from deck 5 through deck 8) carved out of the center of the ship. There are more amenities packed into a small area than one might expect. And there's always something to do, from Spanish and art classes, to Zumba and familiarization lectures on the next port of call. On the 11th deck, there are three pools, six hot tubs, and two restaurants. Up on the 12th deck there's a gym, a basketball court, a climbing wall, a golfing area, a running track, and a nightclub.

There's a very nice theater with live entertainment each night. So far, we've seen a comedian/magician, two juggler/comedians, a violinist whose instrument was encrusted with more than 10,000 Swarovski crystals, and a very good revue called "Can't Stop the Rock." In addition, every night there's a pianist in the Schooner Bar, a string and keyboard group on the Promenade, and a rock guitarist at the Duck and Dog pub. The list goes on and on…(did I mention there's also an ice skating rink?).

Taking the stairs can be a good way to get some exercise or to while away the time if the weather outside is windy or rainy. I ran into a very talkative fellow on the stairs who noticed I was not touching the railings. I mentioned that on Holland America they had people constantly wiping the railings, but that was when the H1N1 flu virus was in the news. "Yeah," he said, "those guys on Holland America are real Nazis about cleanliness. We were on one of their ships last year and they had hand disinfectant on every floor at every stairwell." On this ship, there are disinfectant stations only at the entry to each restaurant. But I haven't noticed passengers dropping like flies, so maybe that's enough. In fact, all the eateries are always well patronized, and later I saw a regular crew wiping the railings.

So how's the chow? We've noticed that among 'cruisers' that's usually one of the most popular topics of discussion. We've found the food to be very good, diverse, and plentiful. We usually begin our day with breakfast at the Windjammer cafeteria on the 11th deck, because that's an easy way to avoid important pre-coffee decisions while wearing ultra-casual t-shirts and flip-flops, but there are several other choices aboard. Lunch often finds us back at the Windjammer (same basic reason), although the Promenade features a nice little Seattle's Best coffee shop with sandwiches, a nearby sports bar, and The Duck and Dog English-style pub. There's also food available at stands around the 11th-floor pools and hot tubs. The food at these places is generally included in the cruise price, and there's a Johnny Rockets on an upper deck with lots of choices – all you can eat – for a nominal fee.   

Dinner finds us wanting to shower up and wear a nice shirt (or even a sport coat) while enjoying a decent glass of wine and some of the rather impressive food – ranging from vegetarian dishes to steak – that they manage to conjure up every evening. You can order a "Wine Package" of five or seven (or more) bottles that they'll re-cork each evening for dinner the following night, so you don't have to finish the whole bottle at one sitting. These Wine Packages come at three different price levels, but we were happy with the bottom level which included many good selections. And if we want to get really fancy, there's also the Portofino restaurant with all kinds of ultra-gourmet fare in an intimate setting for an extra 20 bucks per person. We plan to do that one evening, when we want to feel all elegant and stuff. 

Really, if you can't find something good to eat on this ship, or the Holland America ship we were on, you are one very particular individual indeed. Our friend, Ted Reed, warned us to "take stretch pants" along on our first cruise. We took that warning to heart and have tried to get some reasonable measure of regular exercise, when we're not feeling like lazy bums.

As for booze, that's an extra cost item, but the price per drink is reasonable and they pour good stuff. In fact, I doubt there's a bottle of discount hooch about this vessel. All we have to do is flash our SeaPass card, and it goes on the bill. There's even a bar that opens at 7:00 a.m., if that's your primary avocation. We were never tempted! And most of the other bars stay open until the wee hours, with dance music aplenty. 

As we crossed the middle of the Atlantic, the winds increased, the seas got lumpy, and the ship listed a bit more from port to starboard. As a result, we were able to save on our 'liquor dollar,' with much the same effect. Returning to the cabin after evening festivities, we were able to stagger drunkenly from side to side down the corridor without actually being drunk!

 

 At regular intervals during the day the intercom crackles to life with announcements from Anna Bass, our ultra-bubbly British Cruise Director, encouraging us to enjoy the day's scheduled activities. Her heavily accented English makes it all appear, somehow, more important. She does the intros for each night's main show in the Lyric Theater, while dressed in spangled gowns, and she even led us all in 70s disco dancing on the promenade the other night. She starts off each morning with her own on-board TV show (which she records at 5:30 a.m.!), featuring crew interviews, video boat tours, and other 'delights.' 

This morning Anna shared a "Strange Fact" with her attentive audience: Most people eat about 60,000 pounds of food during their lifetimes. That's equivalent to about six elephants. Judging by a quick glance around, a few of the folks aboard may have already consumed more than their allotment of elephants. Anna always signs off with a cheery "Good day, my luuvlies." That would be us.

 

That's a capsule look at the hale, hearty, and robust Life at Sea that we've been living so far. We'll have to admit it's not really for everyone; and while we'll be quite ready to hit solid ground running, we've managed to adapt to the sea-going life reasonably well up to this point. 

And so for now, "Good day, my luuvlies."

 

Transatlantic 2011: Puerto Rico

 Our twin-engine propeller-driven Cape Air flight sat on the runway in the gathering darkness of St. Thomas looking very small, compared to the jets looming nearby. The very friendly lady at the ticket counter had carefully weighed each of the four pieces of baggage we carried, and asked our individual weights. As we filed out onto the tarmac, two women were negotiating which carry-on bag got stuffed into which compartment just aft of each engine so the plane would be properly balanced. Our heavy bags, we assumed, had already been stuffed into the belly of the plane. Then they seated the passengers according to weight and height. I was the last one aboard and I sat by the door. 

Captain Ryan, a pleasant young man who couldn't have been more than 35 years old, turned in his seat to give us our Safety Briefing and tell us where the lifejackets were. Most of this flight would be over open water, and I was glad the water was warm this time of year. He swiveled back to the instrument panel, flipped several switches, and the starboard engine started to crank. The propeller turned several times, the engine fired up and revved strongly – much to everyone's relief. Then the port propeller began to turn. With both engines sounding sufficiently robust, he coasted us to the takeoff, put the throttle forward, and we wobbled down the runway, lifting into the evening sky and banking toward the west as a fiery sun set in the distance. Next stop: San Juan, Puerto Rico.

During the flight we struck up a conversation with Andre, a young man stationed in Puerto Rico with the Coast Guard, and now returning from St. Thomas after servicing several buoys. He was from Louisiana, and this was his most exotic posting so far. He mentioned that English was the second language on the island, the police always rode around with their lights flashing, and people here called orange juice "china (pronounced 'cheena')." On the ground we waited with Andre for our luggage and found that our second heavy bag had been put on the next plane, scheduled to leave St. Thomas at 9:00 p.m., due to the additional weight. That meant we had another hour and a half to wait in the airport. One of Andre's bags was also delayed. Those are the breaks when you have two big rolling bags that fall into the 'Heavy' category. We were tired and ready for some dinner and a good bed, but at least our bag wasn't on the next day's flight. The bags finally arrived, and Andre said to stop by the Coast Guard station and he'd give us a tour of the facility. "Just ask anybody for Andre!" It was a kind offer, but there was much to do in San Juan and we never got around to it.

 

 Our taxi driver pulled up in front of 405 Calle San Francisco in Old San Juan, and we retrieved our bags while looking for any sign of the Hostel San Francisco. A waitress at the next door Café Berlin pointed to a heavy door beneath the address and assured us this was the place. 

We found our way into the lobby – really just an access hallway for the whole building – and looked for any indication that we were in the right place. In our travels we have noticed that, in certain cultures, decent signage is considered an unimportant nuisance. We knew the hostel was supposed to be on the fifth floor, so we pressed the elevator button and waited. When there was no movement, we tried pressing it again, a little harder. After nothing happened we read a small notice, among several taped to the door. It said the elevator was out of service for now, and we needed to use the stairs. The other notices contained elaborate instructions on the proper way to use the old elevator so as 'to avoid serious injury!' We took note of it and planned to read it carefully before pressing any more buttons.

Ordinarily, a broken elevator would not be a big problem. We could do five flights of stairs, if we really needed to, and the exercise would be good for us, although we were now very tired and still hadn't had dinner. But for this long trip, we each had a full backpack and a Heavy rolling bag. We agreed that I would wait in the 'lobby' with the bags while Carolyn scampered up the steps to see what could be done about the elevator. If necessary we could each grab an end of a Heavy bag to walk it up a flight of stairs, and then return for the other one, arriving at the hostel floor by 'successive approximation.' We were tired but, in our own strange way, we had to admit it would be good exercise and we could sleep it off later.

Then Carolyn came bounding down the stairs with two husky young men who each just threw a bag over his shoulder and disappeared back up the stairs. Ah, youth! We followed, huffing and panting the whole way, with a few stops at intermediate landings. By the time we arrived at the fifth floor, our bags were waiting and the young men – fellow guests at the hostel – had returned to their rooms.

 After a bite to eat, back downstairs under the street umbrellas at the Café Berlin, with an occasional rain shower overhead to cool the evening, it was finally time to head upstairs for the night. From the balcony in the hostel's common area, Old San Juan glowed in the night. Carolyn had told me much about the place, and the sounds of that voluptuous old song, "Mi Viejo San Juan," were ringing in my ears as I gazed from the balcony out over our next exotic landfall. I was ready for morning and a chance to see it for myself.

For breakfast, there were two strong recommendations from various people for the real Puerto Rican experience: either The Mallorca Cafeteria, or La Bombonera – both of them close by and close together, just a few blocks down the street. La Bombonera was dark inside with a sign on the door saying they were experiencing "electrical problems." Not a good sign. So we headed for the packed and bustling Mallorca.

 The Mallorca is a San Juan institution where the waiter is literally running from table to table to deal with the hungry crowd. We stumble over making our breakfast choices and he's off to take care of another table. We're rehearsed and ready when he returns, and we order Revoltillo, Café, una Mallorca, and a small glass of China. That translates to scrambled eggs, coffee, a kind of flat bread dusted with powdered sugar, and orange juice. It's good, and we find ourselves ordering some version of the same thing most mornings in Puerto Rico.

 The day after our arrival, we're joined by Carolyn's daughter C. The Puerto Rican part of our extended trip is a homecoming of sorts, for both Carolyn and C. Carolyn lived in the rainforests near Arecibo for two years as a Peace Corps trainer after her two year stint in the Andes of Péru. And C and her brother were born in the hospital at Arecibo. C hasn't been back to Puerto Rico since she was less than two years old.

 As soon as C arrives we're on foot to explore most of the long peninsula occupied by the walled city of Viejo San Juan. Narrow streets lined with colorfully painted houses climb the spine of the hill that forms the peninsula, sheltering one of the best natural harbors in the Caribbean. Picturesque balconies filled with plants hang over cobblestone streets. Music emanates from heavy wooden doorways standing slightly ajar. 

It's clear why this natural port was attacked by Sir Francis Drake in the 1600s – as it sits in a very strategic position astride important trade routes from the Americas to Europe – and why he was repulsed by the Spanish, who had every intention of hanging onto it. They built a formidable fort with its iconic corner turrets (seen on everything around here, from t-shirts to license plates to postage stamps), with heavy cannons guarding the harbor. As with much of the armament of yesteryear, it's now a National Park swarming with tourists. 

After a strenuous walk up and down the hilly, winding, brick-paved streets we're ready for dinner. We find our way to El Jibarito, another of San Juan's famous restaurants, where locals go to get food like mama used to make – before she went on a health kick and started cooking more vegetables. The food is delicious, but we're used to more 'organic' fare and feel better when we eat that way. So far, we haven't seen much of that 'West Coast' food in San Juan.

----------------------

 After a few days in San Juan, we're off in search of C's 'raices' (her roots) in her birthplace of Arecibo. Normally Carolyn and I would prefer to travel by public transportation; it's usually cheaper, we meet local people, and we don't have to worry about what to do with the car in large cities. But that's not easy in Puerto Rico where even the residents say, "there are too many cars." There don't appear to be any of the famous 'gua-guas' (small private buses) still in business and the streets are jammed with cars parked in any little slot in a kind of motorized anarchy that doesn't impede traffic enough to draw the attention of the cops. Still, it demands the driver's full attention.

 Using the main toll road, we're in Arecibo in less than an hour – it really doesn't take long to get much of anywhere on this compact little island – and we're soon driving through the rather unimpressive, traffic-jammed, streets of C's birthplace. After slowly making our way past dreary buildings to the very modest plaza and then back out on another busy road, we pick an unassuming place for lunch called Restaurant 'El Farol.' It just looks like the kind of place where locals would hang out. Soon, we're in a long conversation in Spanish with the lady who owns the place. She asks where we're from, and why we happened to be in Arecibo – not exactly a tourist destination.

 The fact that we live in México surprises her, and a very nice gentleman seated at the counter, and it explains why we speak Spanish. But it's not exactly the same Spanish they speak in Puerto Rico, where they are famous for dropping the "s" off most words. "Mas o menos." becomes "Ma o meno." in Puerto Rico. I find it very challenging to keep up with the conversation. We share the fact that C was born in the old hospital here and we're back for a sort of homecoming, and it quickly makes us something akin to family. As we enjoy another traditional, and heavy, Puerto Rican meal of mafongo, the man at the counter recalls the location of the old hospital and offers to guide us there, as well as to the highway we'll be taking into the mountains to see what we can of Camps Radley and Crozier, where Carolyn lived for two years back in the 1960s, almost 50 years ago.

After lunch we follow our 'guide's' car, in a light drizzle, down various streets and turns past an old building that Carolyn thinks might have been the hospital. But our guide doesn't stop his car, and he doesn't point out the window to signal that this might be the place so we follow him onward. Soon, we're back on the tollway and headed for the exit to Hwy 10, which we know is the one we'll be taking into the central mountains. He does a U-turn back to Arecibo and we continue on, after deciding not to double back and get lost again in the jumble of traffic we've just escaped. C had wanted a picture of the old hospital, but she's content with just a fleeting image.

 

 Carolyn mentions that Hwy 10 is much improved, and has been somewhat straightened since she lived here. Now, the road is only very curvy, as opposed to the old road which was extremely curvy. Over the next few days, I'll come to realize that the older mountain roads of Puerto Rico are mostly extremely curvy, very narrow, and heavily trafficked. On a map, the roads look like long snakes draped loosely over this snakeless land. If you hear the blast of a large horn as you approach a blind curve, it means there's a very large truck coming around from the other direction and giving you fair warning that he'll be using most of your side of the narrow right-of-way to do so. Driving in Puerto Rico is truly an adventure.

We pass Río Abajo and the land looks very familiar to Carolyn. We turn onto a small and very curvy side road just to look around, and Carolyn seems to remember parts of it, but she's not entirely sure. There is no mention of the Camps on the maps or in the guidebooks, and Carolyn knows that the Peace Corps switched to "in-country" training sometime after her stint here, so there's little likelihood the Camps are still in existence. I ask if we should continue down this contorted little road and Carolyn says she's satisfied just to revisit the general area. Just being here brings the memories flooding back. We continue on up and through Utuado to the Hacienda Gripiñas, a former coffee plantation high in the jungle-covered hills, where we've booked a room for the night.

 Another long winding passage on narrow roads leads through small mountain cities to the Hacienda, where the damp and misty evening hangs on the lush foliage-covered mountains. The air rings with the song of 'coquís,' a very vocal local tree frog and another distinctive symbol for the island. It's the sort of natural background cacophony you hear in the sound track for night scenes of generic 'jungle movies,' as the males try to out-sing each other for female attention. Kind of like teenage rock bands. Carolyn fondly recalls being sung to sleep each night by the romantic little frogs. The distinctive sound even awakens latent recollections in C. These little frogs were her nightly lullaby until she left the island before her second birthday.

The next day we're off again, down more winding roads to catch the highway that will lead us to Ponce, on the southern coast. Ponce is a clean, and reasonably orderly city with a famous, brilliantly-colored, red and black fire station that (according to guidebooks) is the most photographed sight in Puerto Rico. We wandered the streets, checked out some officially-sanctioned graffiti art displayed on canvases, and found a suitable place for a cheap lunch.

Back on the plaza, we were reminded that Oscar Wilde famously said, "I can resist anything but temptation." And there just happened to be an ice cream place on the plaza in Ponce, with all kinds of exotic flavors, that proved impossible to resist. After that, we were back in the car and heading east for Ceiba, and the room we'd booked at the Ceiba Country Inn.

 This would be a whirlwind tour of Puerto Rico. When C arrived, she mentioned that a friend had highly recommended a trip out to the nearby small island of Culebra. Carolyn and I had not considered that possibility due to time and budget constraints – it would cost us each $105 for the flight to Culebra and guidebooks discouraged taking the ferry because of the time involved just getting to to the departure port of Fajardo. But C really wanted to see it, and as we looked at the map one more time, we realized we'd be driving right through Fajardo on the way back to San Juan. Suddenly, a $4.50 ferry ride to Culebra began to look feasible. 

The Ceiba Country Inn is a simple, quiet B&B set in the rainforest, also with a constant concert of coquís filling the jungle air. Although I never saw one of the little frogs during our stay, they are impossible to ignore if you spend time in the forest. The young resident dog, a beautiful and friendly golden mutt (the best kind) named Shakira, welcomed us and followed us everywhere. Dinner was not included in the price, so we stopped at a local grocery and returned with bags of vegetables, cheese, some good crackers, and a decent bottle of wine for a delicious repast overlooking the forest full of singing frogs.

In the morning I noticed a sign reading, "Dinner choices: 1) Take it, 2) Leave it." It brought back fond memories of my own childhood, where we had similar dinner choices. Maybe that's why I've never been a particularly finicky eater. Dinner at our house was certainly good, and I had no real complaints. It was also good preparation for Boot Camp.

------------------------- 

Although we saw no evidence of it in our brief stay, the newspaper, El Nuevo Dia, reports that the Drug War is in full swing in Puerto Rico. That's not surprising since the island lies in the path of the traditional trans-Caribbean smuggling route, and smuggling is an age-old tradition here. Also, it's the kind of news that sells a lot of newspapers. Of the 356 murders reported so far this year, 124 (35%) were the result of gang turf wars. A separate account described how the Policia maintain an intelligence base on the activities of the various drug gangs. There was no report on whether all this directly affects the average Puerto Rican, but it did not appear to be a compelling topic to anyone we encountered.

In the same issue, and as an example of the seamless way the local language flows from Spanish to English, a local bank advertises, "Estás a solo pasos de estar 'relax.'" (You're only steps away from 'relax'). And two prison guards were caught holding up a local Sears store – one of them was wearing an Abraham Lincoln mask(!).

------------------- 

 In the early morning, we headed for the ferry at Fajardo with plenty of time allowed beforehand to buy tickets, line up, etc. But the morning ferry was already sold out by the time we arrived. We had already made reservations on Culebra and decided to hope for the best with the afternoon ferry. We were assured that it wouldn't be full, since there's always a big rush for the morning ride by people with limited time to enjoy the beaches. We decided it was a good time to punt. 

We'd spend the day instead visiting the nearby rainforest of El Yunque – the only tropical rainforest in the US Forest Service system. We had already seen a considerable amount of rainforest on this trip – a large chunk of the Puerto Rican population lives in the rainforest – but this was the Big One, the Mother of all Puerto Rican Rainforests. Maybe most people here don't live in El Yunque because it receives something like 100 billion gallons of rain per year, and that's why they set it aside as a National Forest.

But it has numerous spectacular waterfalls and educational trails through the woods accompanied by, yes, the sound of coquís. Colorful small lizards also scamper over lush tropical leaves, and bird song fills the air. We took a walk down one of the trails through the foliage and followed a small stream tumbling through the jungle. A trek in El Yunque was a very good and rewarding exercise, it's free, and it's well worth the visit.

Back at the ferry we got tickets and were pleasantly surprised that the already reasonable fare was reduced to $1 each per Carolyn and myself because we were considered 'elderly,' or something like that. And C only had to pay $2 because she was 'caring for us.' In Puerto Rico, as in México, we are in our 'tercera edad' (third age). That's when you've turned 65 years of age. At least if they're going to insult you, they give you cheap tickets. So we settled in for a rough – but cheap – ride to Culebra. A Culebra resident told us the ride back would be calmer because we'd be going with, instead of against, the trade winds. It buoyed our spirits, but none of us noticed much difference on the return trip.

-------------------------- 

Culebra was a wonderful choice. The Culebra Beach Villas on Flamenco Beach could be described as the epitome of quiet laid-back Caribbean life. It would easy to return for a much longer period simply to write, or paint, or whatever the time would suggest. Each simple villa is equipped with a minimal kitchenette facility and no place to dine inside, as it's assumed you'll do that in fine style on the broad veranda. We were visited by tame deer in the evening, and at breakfast, the ever-present Caribbean chickens along with local birds hoping a few scraps would be left unnoticed on or under the table. 

 


 The beach is a broad expanse of soft coral sand with a gentle surf. Both the water and the villas were well occupied by families enjoying the best of spring time in the Trade Winds. We were sorry we only had a limited time to enjoy the Culebra Beach Villas, but we had a schedule to keep and it was time for us to return to San Juan.

-------------------------- 

We had booked a room at the Da House – odd name, but a very artistic and laid back place in the heart of Old San Juan. It's an old 'art space' converted to a hotel, with a hot tub and occasional bar on the roof where you can listen to the street music below or watch the cruise ships arrive and depart.

If you're into art and music, you're in luck at Da House. The halls and rooms are hung with very large original art pieces, and it's located right in the center of a happening musical scene. In fact, if you choose the wrong room, all-night music can be hard to avoid. We were lucky, made a good choice (Room 402, on the top floor), and had a quiet restful night.

On our last night meandering the streets of Old San Juan, we encountered a 'Bohemia' in progress in one of the larger public squares. That's a kind of song-fest of traditional and popular tunes that the entire local crowd can relate to, and sing along with.

 

The main singer was a woman who was clearly a well-known crowd favorite. We asked several people her name, but could not hear well enough over the music to catch their answer. As we enjoyed the music, a huge, brightly-lit cruise ship blasted its horn and pulled out of the harbor from the nearby pier, with revelers crowding the top deck. Carolyn and I danced in the street while C recorded the music and video on her iPhone. We're very much behind the techno-curve, but C lives in Oakland and that techie stuff is very contagious in the Bay Area. I had to admit, she was coming up with some way cool stuff to take back home on her iPhone. It might be worth buying one just to use as a camera, and audio/video recorder. 

Later, after wandering through a street fair with rows of handicraft and jewelry stands, we were ready for dinner – our last dinner together in San Juan. We chose a leafy outdoor restaurant backed up to the massive old stone walls that used to surround the entire town, and we enjoyed some truly excellent fare as music played in the distance. C was leaving very early in the morning, and she'd be spending the night at a nearby hostel while we'd return to the Da House. It was a sad ending to an excellent week of exploring Puerto Rico.

That evening, I went up to the rooftop for a last quiet look over the buildings of Old San Juan, and to experience another taste of the music that fills the air on a Saturday night. As I leaned on the railing, I could see our ship, Royal Caribbean's Adventure of the Seas, at the Pan American Pier on the far side of the harbor. While C would be long airborne on her way back home, we would board at 2:00 p.m. the following day for the next leg of our own adventure.

-----------------

 

Transatlantic 2011: Sailing in the BVI

And so another adventure begins, in the summer of 2011.

During the winter of 2009 – 2010 we boarded a cruise ship (our first) in San Diego and debarked in Lima. For the next 5 1/2 months we wandered our way through Perú, Chile, Argentina and Uruguay, and we wrote around 20 blogs describing the experience as best we could. Our friend, Jerry Heald, even accused us of having "diarrhea of the keyboard," but then encouraged his kids to follow our example and write more as they traveled. That was indeed an amazing experience and there was no way to give the Readers' Digest version of it.

This time we're going Trans-Atlantic, beginning in the Caribbean and we plan to write about it as best we can, as the inspiration strikes and time permits. Sartre once said "Every writer promises the moon for a gold piece, and ends up showing his backside for a centime." We'll try to do better than that.

 I'm writing this first segment in a fifth-floor walkup hostel (the elevator's currently not working) called Posada San Francisco, in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico. The view from the balcony across the night-lit city is luminous, with Plaza Colón right below us, and a massive cruise ship (not ours) tied to the docks about three blocks away and lit up like a circus with strobe lights throbbing for the top deck Sailaway Party. It's a definite Caribbean vibe. I go to get my camera to capture the image, but get sidetracked. When I return to the balcony, the cruise ship is gone, but there's plenty else happening in the streets below. 

But that's getting ahead of the story. We actually began this trip with a visit to see our families in Albuquerque and visit Carson John, our new Grandson from Korea. Then we flew to the Virgin Islands for a sailing charter that we enjoyed so much that there really wasn't time for writing. And with four of us aboard, there wasn't much quiet time for contemplation. But again, let me back up a bit and start at the beginning. 

The genesis of this trip came when I expressed a desire to see Puerto Rico, where Carolyn had spent two years as a Trainer for the Peace Corps back in the 1960s after her two-year stint in the mountains of Perú. Last year, we visited the city of Ayacucho, Perú for two months, and this year it was time to see Puerto Rico, that fabled island Carolyn had told me so much about. I searched around and happened upon a 'Repositioning' cruise ship leaving San Juan for Málaga, Spain, on May 1, 2011 (We'll have more on Repositioning when we get to that part of the trip). The price was right, so we booked it. Now we just had to figure out all the rest of the trip – at least until we arrived in Spain. We'd sort out the minor details of how to get back across the Atlantic at a later time. 

We planned to spend some time looking around the island of Puerto Rico before boarding the big ship to cross the Pond, and Carolyn's daughter, who was born in Puerto Rico, would join us for the adventure. And, by the way, we'd be only a couple of islands away from the world-class sailing grounds of the British Virgin Islands, so I found a way to save $1000 chartering a 'bareboat' (the boat, not us!) 40-footer through Footloose Charters. 

All the stars were clearly aligned. In a second-hand bookstore, I even found copies of Pirate Latitudes by Michael Crichton, and Tales from Margaritaville by Jimmie Buffett. What could be clearer than that?

As we get older the adage "Time is money" takes on new meaning. If you can be flexible – a blessing granted by retirement – you can save a lot of money on travel. Specifically, if you can travel on an open-ended 'non-schedule' without reservations, you can take public transportation, really get to know the area first-hand, and look for deals the locals know about. Long cruises and vagabonding become a more rational way to travel if job hassles aren't a concern. And you can rent an apartment in a large city for an extended stay instead of living in costly hotel rooms. Your cost per day can be much less if you don't have to fly back home after just two weeks of fun.

We knew that Europe was going to be far more expensive than South America, but I had a hunch that there are actual Europeans living in Europe, the great majority of whom are not wealthy. If they can live and travel there, we can too. We allowed for about three to four months of travel and hoped our cash would last that long. If it didn't, and we got whipped badly by the 'Euro-Economy,' we'd be limping home sooner with our tails between our legs. That's how life goes.

-----------------------------

Last summer our friends, Jerry Blakely and Deb Green, asked us to join them for a memorable cruise through the stunning isolation and majestic landscapes of Desolation Sound north of Vancouver, BC. It was a very special time, spending ten days aboard "Kagán," their beautiful and well-found Island Packet 350 cutter experiencing the wildlife and grandeur, surrounded by snow-capped peaks, of one of the more impressive sailing grounds on the planet. 

This year we thought we'd try ten days in warmer water, in the BVI, splitting the cost with Jerry and Deb. I had read about the BVI for years in sailing magazines, and I'd seen those ads filled with beautiful people diving from elegant boats into turquoise waters. With further insights from Kino Bay sailing friends, Bill and Anne Stern, and Bill and Nancy Berg, who'd each chartered in the BVI numerous times, we were more than ready to 'go Caribbean.' Now it was our turn to be those beautiful people – as beautiful as we could muster – with little likelihood we'd be annoyed by fashion photographers on our cut-rate version of the BVI.

We boarded "Sweet Wind," a three-cabin Footloose 403, on Thursday night in Roadtown, Tortola. Carolyn and I had chartered a 403 a few years back from The Moorings base in La Paz, Baja California, so we were familiar with the 403. We'd shared it with my cousin Gary and his wife Renee, and found that the third cabin gave us plenty of room to stow everyone's gear, plus extra food and a stash of good wine. But since that charter, the 403s had been replaced by fancier models, retired from the Moorings fleet, and moved down to the less costly Footloose fleet. We sure didn't need a fancy new boat with a flat-screen TV and other gadgets since we planned to be very active all day and enjoy quiet evenings at anchor before retiring with a good book. That meant we could now get a ten-day charter with Footloose for about $1000 less than seven days on a new boat with The Moorings. Then Carolyn found that it was cheaper to fly into St. Thomas, in the USVI, and take the Roadtown Fast Ferry directly to the Moorings/Sunsail/Footloose base. It was all just meant to be.

We stowed our gear aboard, and then spent Friday going to the local clinic for antibiotics, cough suppressants, and other needed items to recover from our two weeks visit with Carolyn's son, Jay, wife Ann, and 21-month-old Carson John in Albuquerque. Those April 'kid colds' get tougher to shake as the years wear on, and we were well-inoculated with the latest strain after our visit; but the excellent Grandparent's Time with cheerful 'CJ' was worth the ordeal. 

After another night on the dock – Friday was drizzly and overcast anyway – and after a few antibiotics, we both felt much better and we set sail on Saturday morning in a freshening breeze with a single reef in the main. Destination: around the western end of Tortola to Diamond Cay on the island of Jost Van Dyke.

Most people seem to cruise east-about from Roadtown to avoid sailing hard on the wind along the north side of Tortola. They visit Norman Island, the Baths, and other attractions south of Tortola along the way, then clear the eastern end of the island to enjoy a long downwind sail to Jost Van Dyke and Cane Garden Bay before rounding the west end of Tortola and returning to Roadtown. 

Our plan was to avoid the crowd by doing the opposite, figuring that we'd only be bunched up at one or two anchorages along the way. Whether it was due to our sailing plan, or the fact that we'd chartered in the 'shoulder season' to get a better rate, we usually found a good mooring location for the night and slept like Morpheus till dawn. Although we feel comfortable anchoring, it was rarely necessary since there are lots of moorings available to keep people from anchoring in, and damaging, the coral.

Diamond Cay was a quiet spot, even though Foxy's Taboo Bar and Restaurant was sitting just over there on the beach, a short dinghy ride away. We had avoided the crowds and noise of Foxy's famous main location at Great Harbor, and we enjoyed a quiet anchorage shared with a modest number of boats. After swimming in turquoise waters over shimmering white sands, we enjoyed a delicious dinner aboard with a bottle of good Argentine wine as the sun faded from the sky.

 

The next day we went ashore and passed a beautiful tan-speckled sea turtle fishing the shallow waters – and I had forgotten to bring my camera. We tied the dinghy to the dock and took the requisite hike past the "poisonous trees" – there were warning signs in blue spray paint on several rocks along the way – to arrive at the "Bubbly Pool" where water surges through a gap in the rocks and forms a sort of natural Jaccuzzi. Being engulfed in freshets of bubbly saltwater was a special experience. I mentioned that, in a Male Fantasy, we'd fill this wonderful basin with naked women and call it "The Boobly Pool," but that remark was not well received and I decided not to mention it again. 

After wandering back to Foxy's Taboo, we enjoyed the quintessential leisurely tropical lunch, enlivened with a round of Painkillers  – basically, a bunch of booze with a splash of pineapple juice tossed in. It's the signature drink of the BVI, and it's very effective. We vowed to avoid hugging, fondling, or licking any "poisonous trees" whenever we found them on the islands – or any other local trees for that matter, just in case. It was good for a few yucks over Painkillers. Later on, we actually read that the local 'manchioneel trees' really do drip poisonous sap after the frequent rains. You really don't want to huddle under them during a rainstorm, or brush against their leaves. 

Warm, gentle trade winds drifted through Foxy's broad porch, and coconut palms swayed in the breeze as we gazed down the pier at sailing boats moored in turquoise waters with white sand beaches fringing the cove. I thought to myself that it would be nigh onto impossible to create a more tropical scene than this. We had gotten a bargain price on a decent, if slightly older boat, and were living life to the fullest. Once again, we'd figured out a way to live well above our pay grade. 

On leaving Diamond Cay, it was a short hop over to the small island of Sandy Cay for an afternoon of snorkeling and frolicking in the surf. In his novel, "Islands in the Stream," set in the Bahamas, Hemingway described the Caribbean waters as "gin clear" and the soft coral sand of the beaches as "floury." That applies to the BVI. Leaving the beautiful beach, we took a quiet walk on a winding pathway through the mangrove-palm woods that fill the center of the island. We couldn't take more than a step or two without hearing the rustle of small lizards in the dry leaves beneath the trees. Slight zephyrs brushed through the trees and rattled palm fronds overhead. Inside the tree line there was barely a sound of the nearby surf.  

 That evening we motored over to legendary Cane Garden Bay, where it is said that Jimmie Buffet wrote "Cheeseburger in Paradise" at Stanley's on the beach. Accordingly, we ordered a round of cheeseburgers and (lucky us!) there was a 2-for-1 Happy Hour Special on Painkillers. We kicked back for the duration and listened to the guy next door at Myett's singing Jimmie Buffett and Bob Marley songs while chickens wandered under our table and the fiery sun set over Jost Van Dyke. Life in the islands is definitely good! Later, I wandered over to Myett's to slide a ten-spot onto the table in front of the entertainer who'd filled our evening with song. He glanced up to give me a smile and a wink as he continued singing. Carolyn and I then walked along the beach and danced on silken sands at the edge of a gentle surf as the music faded softly behind us. 

--------------------

After the original native population of these islands was obliterated by Europeans, the next tragic phase of BVI history was dominated by slavery. But these African people were not always subservient. There was a massive slave rebellion in 1733 that ultimately failed because the dominant tribe simply intended to become the new slave masters. The rebellion collapsed after the return of European forces. Later, when the BVI plantation economy collapsed, the population of these islands became almost completely black for about a hundred years. According to the Moon Handbook on the Virgin Islands, written by a Tortola resident, 83% of the current population of the BVI is black. 

And these are very large people. While wandering the islands, I couldn't help wondering if this is where the NFL recruits most of their largest linemen. They are a proud people, but they can also be a friendly, courtly, and welcoming population who know that tourism is their lifeblood. They generally do their best to be helpful. One of the oddest things, that takes a bit of getting used to, is that they drive on the 'wrong' side of the road through all the Virgin Islands – but in standard, US-version, left-hand-drive cars. When I asked our taxi driver about it, he explained that it was safer for the driver since he's not sitting where the two cars are most likely to collide. This may be true, but what about the passenger (i.e., me)? Ah well, we can't live forever, right?

Various local news items were reported by The BVI Beacon for April 14, 2011: 

Three new political parties plan to challenge the current 2-party system now dominated by the Virgin Islands Party and the National Democratic Party, although none has yet found candidates to run. Conrad Maduro, of the United Party, said that funds currently spent on housing, travel and entertainment for representatives could have been better spent on "meaningful projects" like roads, and needed sewerage improvements.  And Allen Wheatly, who in 2003 was convicted of "using his position as financial secretary to secure contracts for businesses he was part owner of," said The People's Party will run representatives of "all the ethnic groups" as well as at least one female candidate. Justice Indra Hariprashad-Charles told Laren Turnbull, 41, to "quit smoking marijuana and stop stealing" before sentencing him to 2 1/2 years in prison for stealing an iPhone, charger and sunglasses. He was caught while rummaging through a tourist's luggage. Mr. Turnbull said that he is a Rastafarian who regularly smokes marijuana, which his religion does not consider to be a drug. He also claimed that he has been a "victim of the system" since he returned to the BVI in 2005. And Clive Petrovic, who holds "reef chats" for primary schoolers on Virgin Gorda says that sea cucumbers eat the sand that become beaches every day and clean it of organic materials. So when the children are enjoying the beach they should be thankful and remember they're "walking on sea cucumber poop."

------------------------------- 

 The rest of our 10 days went too quickly as we navigated around the eastern end of Tortola to Marina Cay, then to The Baths, and then a long perfect day under full canvas to The Bight on Norman Island. We spent as much time as possible snorkeling the BVI's magnificent underwater gardens, swimming among waving fan corals, and throngs of yellow-striped and iridescent blue fish in various coves and at a striking offshore rock formation called The Indians. Deb was a scientific support diver in St. Croix in her twenties, and is completely at home in the water. On this trip she was naming all the colorful fish and coral we found. She's also a geologist, so we got a running analysis of the geological origins of these mountainous, and surprisingly arid, islands – basically a submerged mountain range that forms a protected bowl making for good winds, moderate seas, and excellent line-of-sight sailing from island to island.

Jerry is strong on maintenance and keeps his own boat in top condition, often improving on the boat's original design. He made sure all our systems were running correctly at all times. So Carolyn and I had the great good fortune of not having much else to worry about. It was a fortunate situation since the clean warm waters of these islands truly bring out the 'inner ten-year-old' in us. My wardrobe for the week consisted of one pair of swim trunks and two T-shirts that received a daily salt-water rinse while snorkeling, and a Sea Soap scrub-down every few days. The boat was well ventilated and nobody else seemed to notice, or to mind.

----------------------------

Our time in the BVI came to an end; soon we were back on the Ferry to St. Thomas, and then a taxi to the airport for a quick flight to San Juan, Puerto Rico on a small Cape Air ten-passenger plane. Chickens wandered loose on St. Thomas – just like on Tortola – so I asked our taxi driver about them. According to him, nobody owns them and they're available for the taking. "You want to take a couple wit' you?" he asked, with a grin. What, as carry-on luggage? No, I think we'll just come back another day to visit them again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

------------------------------

Soon we will post a photo album with more pictures from the sailing trip. Will let you know!