San Francisco

We had intended to sit on deck and watch while we sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge. Just as well we missed it by an hour as the entire Bay was shrouded in fog. Instead, we watched the sun come up through the Oakland Bridge while eating breakfast on our deck. Cormorants, seagulls and pelicans hovered, bobbed and squawked around the water our ship churned up, and little fast ferries took morning commuters into downtown a lot faster than the vehicles inching across the Bridge. The cool air took on that lovely round California warmth as the sun rose, and we readied ourselves for going ashore.

Our first land-based trip and I thought I might be a bit off balanced after several days at sea. No such worry as I took the land again as a duck to water. Except the other way round.

Our day was spent mostly aboard a large tour bus with a fairly large group of fairly elderly companions, three of whom were in wheel chairs, so we wondered just how stimulating it would be. But we had a lively senior tour guide who talked history and geography as we meandered through the streets of San Francisco and then over the Golden Gate Bridge (still shrouded). I didn’t realize that the Bay was not noticed by European explorers until 200 years after the rest of the coast had – no doubt due to that famous fog. Nor that the Golden Gate was so-called because the namer had been to, and seen a similarity to Istanbul’s Golden Horn and so chose a name of similar proportion.

The rest of the day was spent in an alcoholic haze. WE visited two Somona wineries: a relative newcomer to the Cline family (Jacuzzi) and the oldest quality winery, Buena Vista. Here’s another little factoid for you. The Jacuzzi family, Italian immigrants to the USA, made their name originally for building wooden propellors that galvanized their business as these were used in all American airplanes during the First World War. Their child, suffering from severe rheumatoid Arthritis, found respite in hot springs, and so the family figured out how to build a home-sized version so expensive and irregular travel for treatment could be avoided. Voila, the modern day Jacuzzi was born! Of course they also had to figure out how to ensure their child was not electrocuted by a plug connected to a large tub of water in which said child sat. Sitting on the bus and watching the scenery we mused at what might have been the outcome should the Jacuzzi and Zamboni families intermarried.

The scenery was lovely. Dry, golden hills with small dark green Scrub Oak and tall stately Eucalyptus with its silver bark in shreds and long-fingered green leaves. Small deserted farmhouses of 100 years ago intermingled with small vineyard bungalows of 50 years ago, such a treat to see after our extremely overbuilt homes in B.C.’s Okanagan valley. Some grapes still on the vine, but this year’s extremely hot dry summer meant most grapes were picked in July, instead of the usual September. What this will do to the vintage is anyone’s guess, as the skins were ripe before the fruit inside was, but if left even a few days, turned to raisins. The loss of Mexican immigrant labour also meant lost grapes left on the vine and there were mutterings by winery staff about the ridiculous decisions being made in the capital. I think the general way of thinking in California is very similar to that of my part of the world.

We stopped in the village of Sonoma for lunch, and Beazy and I lit out away from the crowd and headed to a little Bistro across the street from the square. We had salad and bread to line our stomach, and then each had a flight of 3 white, local wines, which of course meant we got to taste six wines (in addition to those on the tour). We were having a lovely time until we looked our watch and realized we were going to be late to board the bus!  That has got to the a first for both  of us, and even though it was only 5 minutes past the time we had been told, we felt like naughty schoolgirls getting on board to the sarcastic applause from the rest of the group. The best travel holds a series of firsts, some of them lasts, but novel experiences at least.

We bought two bottles of a decent Pinot Noir (in homage to the film we watched the evening before “Sideways”), and it truly was the only wine we tried today that we both liked. Sitting on our deck at the end of the day, the sun still high but the air cooling and the Oakland Bridge again snarled with traffic ended its work day. Three blasts to warn we were about to move backwards, and we moved away from clean, dynamic, lovely San Francisco. This time we did watch as we moved slowly under the Bridge, its red top already caught in the swirling fog. Alcatraz, the “Rock”, was bathed in light, two tiny police boats followed us out and intercepted small sailboats and paragliders zipping along in the strong wind, and we wrapped ourselves in blankets and stayed in the cold air until the fog insinuated itself around us again and we moved off into the grey of dusk. 

All in a Morning's work

My Mother is pretty awesome. I woke up to sunlight streaming in our portside window and joined her on our deck. She told me that she had just redecorated the entire ship.

For example, she (and everyone else) got confused every time when exiting the elevators. Which direction were we to go? What side of the boat did we want? So, why not help everyone while also subtly signal this is a ship and not a floating hotel?

The strip of anonymous carpet running along each corridor, the one that looked like a crate of blueberries and bleach had been spilled and then squashed into it, could be replaced with one on the port side that included red tones, and one on the starboard side could include green tones. Boats carry red lights on their port side and green lights on their starboard side, so why not educate and illuminate at the same time?

In the middle of each bank of elevators there could be a circular carpet in a compass design indicating which direction was to the bow and which pointed to the stern.

Glitzy staircase? Gone! Replaced with polished wood and brass railings from the golden age of travel. Fake floral still-life ho-hum posters? Why not blue Dutch tiles, with ship designs. It is Holland America, but Dutch trading vessels are so much more apropos than tulips.

And don’t get her started on the art! It is truly awful and has no connection with where we’ve come from and where we are going. Donald Duck watercolours and abstract cocktail parties in glow in the dark paint. Really? Why not even a hint of local art and artists? Perhaps indigenous art, which could also because a serious of lectures.

That was on our second morning. I can’t wait to see what she comes up with by day 42!

2 Days all at Sea

You couldn’t have two more different days that are exactly the same.

Each day I got in two workouts (one included an elliptical sweat and a yoga class; the other included back exercises in our cabin, walking the promenade deck and a pilates class). One day we attended two lectures: both of which were disappointing (one dynamic academic woman who got a few facts wrong and seemed ignorant of another country located between Alaska and Washington State, despite its direct relevance to her topic; the other a rambling academic man who knew his stuff but was so charmless and dull he put everyone to sleep); the other day we just sat on our deck and read. The first evening we dressed up in our finery, ate a four course dinner and attended an energetic song and dance revue; the other evening we ordered room service and watched a movie in our cabin.

Both days our boat moved sedately south through the Pacific Ocean, surrounded by dark velvet overlaid with white lace, land absent from view. We intercepted waves arriving directly from the Orient with a gentle soft rolling motion that cradled us at night and swayed us by day. We had a gin and tonic at 5pm and were in bed by 10pm. I got some writing in, and Beazy got some reading in. Conversations have been in public and confidences have been in private, all comfortable and engaging and as natural as breathing. I suspect our heartbeats are in synchronization.

 

Port One - Seattle

grey and damp. Seattle. Space Needle.

'nuff said

Westward - er - Southward Ho!

The ropes were slipped by two rope men who weren’t particularly ‘heave ho’ but rather ‘whatever’. The last two ropes took rather a lot of time to be released, but finally we slowly slid away from the Pan Pacific and its sails, and set sail (figuratively) placidly forward, westward and then southward. Ho.

Thank goodness for texting for we had been able to find our beloved family who were stationed on the upper level of the P.P. by the furthest sail, just as the cruise police moved us on to the mandatory safety drill. We had ducked out of the flow of dutiful passengers by going up to the top deck where we waved, shouted, texted and speaker-phoned the five bodies of genetic- and nuptial-shared material on the landward side. Ushered firmly onward by three uniformed men, who had seen it all before, to our muster station, we survived the drill to drift to our cabin and its balcony, where we waved and spoke to small dots of family members who told us what lucky numbers to bet on in the casino.

Our cabin is on the port side (so we are at least living the first part of POSH living; aka “port out”). Two single beds are divided by a small table, with a desk on the far side looking through a window out to sea. There is a sofa and two arm chairs, and a small oval table just large enough for the bouquet of flowers and the 2 enormous bottles of gin my father had ordered for us. He knows which side of the fence his girls play on!

The deck is large enough for a wee round table and two chairs as well as two larger armchairs with footstools, all in a fetching beige plastic. My husband had worked out that our gifted gin allotment allows us each about 23 ml each per day. We splashed twice that amount into a glass and ordered ice while we sat outside and watched the city of Vancouver slide past with soft sparkles of sun shimmering on the water between us and Stanley Park. Sunday night traffic was stopped on Lions Gate Bridge, and cyclists free wheeling along the seawall whooped at us and we waved back. Never ignore a hearty whoop, I’ve learned.

Fed up with waiting we added tonic, toasted our 42 days ahead and tucked in. Halfway through the ice finally arrived – enough for an ice bath in a medium-sized swimming pool. Life is good.

Packing like a Pachyderm

I have spent years trying to get my travel packing down to the smallest practical size and amount. My proudest achievement in this regard was spending a month travelling throughout Cuba carrying only a small day pack. Pride, I once read somewhere, goeth before a fall. (yes, I know it's actually

Pride Goes Before Destruction,
                                         a Haughty Spirit Before a Fall.
(Proverbs; the Bible).

Consider me, then, a fallen woman.

I laid out options for 6 weeks of travel on a boat and was aghast at how much there was. Do I really need to take so much stuff? My Mom then told me she laid out her options pertaining to the activities we will encounter so I thought, Mom always knows best, I'll give it a try.

So, there are clothes for a nice meal out, clothes for wandering around cities (museums and such), clothes for wandering around towns (markets and such), clothes for exercising, clothes for sleeping, and clothes for schlepping around in our cabin so that if someone came in, we would not be caught at 4pm in our clothes for sleeping. Clothes for hot weather and clothes for cool weather and clothes for rain.

And then there are the shoes. Shoes for the going out clothes, shoes for stomping around, shoes for exercising, shoes for wandering beaches with coral reefs and shoes for schlepping. The only activity I don't seem to need footwear for is sleeping!

A hat. Scarves. Sarong. Knickers and socks and bras.

Well, that didn't help one bit. In fact, even more vestments got added to the monstrous pile!

This is virgin territory for me. I don't have the perfect black skirt and lots of silky or spangly or elegant tops. I have a cupboard full of decades-old casual skirts and cheap tee-shirts, so there must be a decent dress or two added or mother will be embarrassed (not really, but perhaps yes really). I won't have to carry everything around with me all the time as I would for my usual trips. And it is for more than 6 weeks in a fairly wide variety of climates and environments.

So, I closed my judgement and threw everything into the case I have selected. And it all fit. And there's even room for a bottle of wine! So I think I will align myself more with the words of Renaissance philosopher Michel de Montaigne instead of those doom and gloom words of the Bible and feel:

One May be Humble Out of Pride.

Nothing could be finer, than to take an ocean liner, with my Mo----ther!

When I tell people I am about to embark on a 6 week cruise with my mother, I am always amused at the first response I get. It's either:

6 Weeks!?!?!

or

A Cruise?!?!?!

or

With Your Mother?!?!?!

Whichever their response choice tells me more about them than about the actual event.

My Mom did tell me that when she told some of her girlfriends, their first response was:

6 WEEKS STUCK ON A BOAT WITH YOUR DAUGHTER?!??!?!?!?!?!

I did not know quite how to respond to that as I have no idea what stories my Mother has been telling about me. I will take it as a compliment that she still wants to take the trip.

I have only taken one cruise before, a family trip for a week from Vancouver to Alaska, passing nature that would be impossible to see otherwise. We all did our own thing during the day and then met for dinner to explain and boast about what we had been doing. It was an awesome time.

But my kind of travel is a backpack slung over my shoulders and taking a bus with chickens and twice as many people as capacity in a third world country. Decoratively skimming the sea in luxury was never the plan. I remember staying in a hovel in Nuku-alofa in Tonga once, me, my boyfriend, and way too many enormous spiders, and watching the sleepy town transform, with merchandise laid out that I have never seen during my month there, all because a cruise ship was coming in and spilling tourists out for an hour or two. As soon as the ship swallowed them up again and moved off, the town I knew came back, like land after a flood abates.

It was a fascinating experience to witness, and one I decided then and there that I would never experience the other way round. These poor people on boats never saw or heard or tasted any of the things that make this town unique, but took away momentos that the locals did not make themselves or that had no bearing on the country's history or culture.  Smaller boats or historic boats did not get the same treatment, but people on shiny big cruise liners were treated as if from outer space.

So here I am, about to eat my words.

In my defense, it's all my Mother's fault.

Travelling my way is just not possible for her, as her knees hurt and she is a grown-up. Long flights are hard. Sleeping on mud floors is not desirable. How else are you going to get to see Oceania in comfort?

As it is a repositioning cruise, it is less expensive than 6 weeks afloat would normally be, and we will see a lot on our way to a destination she had always wanted to get to, but felt it would not be possible anymore: Australia and New Zealand. Along the way we stop at various north and south Pacific islands. We will cross the equator, both Tropics (Cancer and Capricorn), and the date line. Constellations will change. The Moon will wax and wane and wax again. We will read, and talk. I will work and she will nap. We will have gins and tonic at the end of the day. It will be a gift of time together that will produce memories that only we will share. I am really, really looking forward to it!