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LET THE ADVENTURE BEGIN
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
March 14- April 15, 2007
Aboard the MV Discovery
    Shipboard life has begun to go routine like reading the cereal box or clearing your butt off a sticky plastic seat.  After 5 days aboard I only miss the pointy end about every second trip up  the stairs.  Our cabin is on deck 5 and it's up to 9 for breakfast.  The gym is on 8 but at the opposite end with views over the stern.  Early this morning, before the mind fog had cleared, I found myself peering both ways down the long corridor of deck 6 debating which way to turn.  The mind fog has improved daily since we gained back two of the three hours we lost in French  Polynesia.  Tomorrow I expect to be surprised by my own alertness.

   This boat is a dinky toy by today's standards.  It's only slightly bigger than a spirit class BC ferry.  Our cabin is very plain Jane with bunks for 3 should we decide to take in a boarder.  I know about the extra bunk because the long shelf that supports it, runs along the side of my bed and has met with my head several times when I'd rather be asleep.  The mattresses are firm enough to support a full wine glass.  There was an adjustment period but we seem to be sleeping like old folks who have had a dose of fresh air. Our cabin boy is a sweet young fellow from the Philipines named Angel.  We're pleased to be under the care of such a protective body.  I'm trying to remember the words to "Blue Angel" or similar song from my rocking  past.  Perhaps I'll take a listen on Itunes.

   The internet reaches us with varying degrees of strength depending on the ship's position and our position on the ship.  Some locations have been designated as better reception spots.  Many folks are scattered about with their laptops keeping in touch with their world.  Yesterday I helped a Brit who was trying to make a screen shot of his stock market page.  We paid $40 for 12 hours.  One would expect this to be  plenty for 30 days but most of the time will be used up waiting.  The signal is very like "dial up".  A key is pressed and you wait several seconds or longer for something to happen.  If nothing happens you get nervous and press keys with unpredictable consequences.  There might be some frustration here.  Our first session was about an hour for 10 minutes work.

   The passengers on here are a different breed than the cruisers we've met before.  Many might be called travellers rather than tourists.  They're looking for that special, unusual experience but have reached an age when mobility has become an issue.  Sound famiiar?  This ship goes amazing places like Machu Picchu, Galapagos, Panama Canal, Amazon River.  It's an opportunity for gray tops like us to enjoy such destinations and still sleep in a comfortable bed near a bathroom. There's a full slate of lectures and movies on board.  Today the "Bounty" is on in the theatre.  We listened to a lecture by a 60ish married couple who spent 9 years circling the globe in a sailboat.  This afternoon is an in depth study of Chile and Easter Island given by a geologist. I was talking to a retired airline pilot this morning who is taking his second trip with this ship: at the end of this cruise he will have been on board more than 90 days.  Many of the people here won't get off until England!

   Food!  What can I say?  The dining room is on a lower deck, very different from other ships we've been on.  No view!  The food isn't so-called 5 star.  Yesterday I had a burger for lunch... very plain, which wouldn't have passed muster at the big M and would have been an embarassment at Naughty Nellies.  The presentation at dinner is stunning, especially for dessert plates.  Joan's been forgetting her camera and kicking herself.  I'm sure we'll have a full portfolio of food "art" before we're done. I've been trying the "Chef's Recommendation" each night.  Last night the main course was pork roast, the night before is already forgotten.  Such is a life with too much food.  One thing I love beyond all else aboard is the wonderful teapot I'm given at breakfast lunch and dinner.  They're English here, you see!

  Because we stop at small ports, often without docks, this ship is well equipped to run "tenders", holding about 70 people.  We've used these twice already to go ashore at Bora Bora and the atoll, Rangiroa.  These boats run constantly between the anchored ship and whatever dock is found on shore.  It's easy to go ashore in the morning, return for lunch, and then take off again in the afternoon.  

  The ship has its company of entertainers who double as activity organizers.  This is not unusual.  The cruise director is a pom called Simon who comes out singing.  His second in command is also a vocalist.  We've already been entertained by these folks twice and I think we missed a third performance.  The one that comes to mind was catering to the older crowd, which is most of the  passengers, by performing 40s tunes from Glenn Miller and the like.  They wore costumes of WWII soldiers for one number.  You get the idea!

  Oh yes! One more thing.  Because this is an older ship (1975) it doesn't have the famous vacuum toilets that suck anything and everything down.  The toilets here use running water, sewage holdig tanks and treatment equipment.  It's nicely familiar and I don't miss the sucking noise.  We've been cautioned to conserve water because it's a long run between fillups.  (5 days on this stretch)  I'm sure most passengers will respect the request.  Angel, our cabin steward, always makes sure we have two huge bottles of water on our table.  I suspect we're drinking about one a day at $3 a pop.

  Will this ship rock?  Apparently so!  I talked to a fellow who was aboard on the last crossing from Valparaiso to Robinson Crusoe Is.  He was violently sick as was his wife.  Cupboards fell open and stuff slid off the cabin shelves. We shall see!  Chris, from Ontario, sits at our table.  He's already on gravol and had to miss a meal.

Rangiroa Sunburn
   Although the atoll of Rangiroa is one of the world's biggest, we could still see down the road to the other side as we stepped off the dock inside the lagoon.   The water is strikingly calm and a wonderful blue.  We followed a shoreline trail through scrub and backyards to a small, shaded beach with a white sandy bottom that stretched seemingly forever.  I immediately donned my flippers and mask and set off for deeper water.  Visibility was excellent and I was soon engrossed watching the myriad of colourful fish feeding around small, scattered patches of coral.  I rarely had to dive and was content to paddle along the surface with my bare back cooled by the lapping water.  Joan soon joined me and used the mask from a standing position.
   Some hours later, back on board the ship, we faced the consequences of our exposed hour in the tropical sun. From my neck to my bathing suit line was crimson red.  Joan sported a similar colour across her shoulders.  I was intrigued to discover the back of my lower legs were also red.  I was picturing my floating body, back exposed, with a few inches of lower leg flashing while I wasn't kicking.  Some days later, after the stinging and itching had become history, I faced several days of picking up my own shredded skin from the carpet of our cabin whenever I removed my shirt.  It was about this time when I realized another area of my anatomy was also flaking.  Each time I brushed my thinning hair a shower of translucent flakes would fall before the mirror!   I still wonder how I didn't know better but perhaps another twenty years will make me wiser... or not.

 
 
IHOP: House of Pancakes
   Got a nice ring if you're with the over 60 nannie's bowling league from backwater Florida.  We found it directly across from our Best Western in Everett and headed there as a convenience.  I'd already downed a bag of Jo-Jo fries from the supermarket because our first plan had been to buy something to take back to our hotel.  IHOP simply became convenient and by then the bag of Jo-Jos were down the hatch.  The outside was a little tired and the location, at the junction of two busy highways, was madness.  Noisy, rushing and unsettling. It was early, only about 5 oclock, so no surprise that the place was quite empty.  A sign requested we wait to be seated.  I remember thinking, "Ah, fine dining places ask folks to wait and be led to their seats".  Joan was immediately happy when the menu presented dinners other than pancakes.  The few customers tucked in corners flashed grey and "raisin" complexions.  I commented.  "A few seniors here, must be good!"  The omelette section attracted us.  There was a wide selection including the special of the day with mushrooms and bacon.  Very soon, after consulting with the waitress, we settled on "Senior" portions which came with two pancakes.  Looked like a deal for only $5.95.  We drank ice water and watched people begin to arrive in numbers.  Most everyone was a raisin head.  "We're in good company." was Joan's comment.  Our order arrived.  The omelettes were near perfect.  Maple syrup went onto the pancakes.  We thoroughly enjoyed the meal and couldn't believe the bill of $14.80 or there abouts. I walked to the till feeling full and magnanimous.  I thought I'd give our girl a generous tip.  "With your discount that will be $7.40."  My ears perked up.  Had I heard that right?  I handed her my card and waited.  Yes!  "Wow," I thought, "must be some kind of special deal today."  I caught Joan at the door and told her.  We left shaking our heads with disbelief.  As we climbed into the car we looked more closely at the sign above the doorway.  "Seniors, 2 for 1 Thursdays"  Lucky or what?  

How Big is Boeing?
Our whole reason for stopping at the Boeing factory in Everett was to see "BIG" and we weren't disappointed.  A little history we read said more fill was used to build the factory than all that hauled to raise the Grand Coulee Dam.  The area around is swampy and wooded.  The building is all about superlatives.  The biggest air volume in the world.  Containment for 900 plus basketball courts.  Doors as big as football fields.  1600 bicycles for employees to get around.  Hundreds of miles of rails fastened to the ceiling to move plane parts from place to place.  Mile long tunnels under the floor carrying cables, pipes and people.  Employees use the tunnels for lunch hour running.  The annual power consumption costs in the millions so one measure to cut costs was to take out florescent tubes in every second fixture. Drastic but effective and the tunnels still seemed bright.

Sleepy Lecture
    A retired, English diplomat was aboard to lecture on South America.  Today's topic was "Chile including Easter Island". 
    "We better go, we may learn something," Joan said.
His pictures were superb.  He'd travelled the length and breadth of the country many times. 
    "Notice how often he says 'lovely', I whispered. 
    "Wonderful too", Joan answered. 
    Another incredible view of snow-capped mountains filled the screen.  Most of us soon knew Chile was a beautiful place.  A gray head in the row in front was lolling over the back of the seat. 
    "Wow, someone's asleep I whispered," nudging Joan to look.
    It soon became apparent others were following suit.  We found ourselves squinting in the darkened room trying to detect the sleeping heads.  Many sets of eyes around us were shutting momentariy as the head drooped and then jerked upright again.  We found ourselves stifling laughter as we watched.  Perhaps it was the "Sound of Music" syndrome?  Lovely!

Moorea Waterfall
   I had one special destination chosen on Moorea.  A cache was located at the base of an inland waterfall.  I had illusions of a tropical paradise with naked "wahines" splashing in a crystal pool below a fall of warm azure water.  Rick said, "I'm sure the nymphs will be there!"
   An elderly lady weaving along the road edge on an ancient bicycle gave Joan very long directions in French.  Apparently there is more than one waterfall on Moorea.  Our GPS was little help, simply directing us about a kilometer towards the mountainous centre of the island.  We tried the old ladies first suggestion, bouncing up a dirt track with small hope of turning around and praying no one would  come down toward us.  A tiny waterfall flashed through some foliage.  We could hear it more than see it.  We were still a kilometre from our falls.
  The second road wound behind the local school and soon became a narrow dirt track with mud and holes deeper than the wheels of our little car.  Only 500 meters remained when the road ended.  We were hopeful.  Some other walkers were visible up ahead.  The flat soon became a climb.  We hopped a fast moving creek and stepped high over fallen trees.  The track was slick with the night's rain.  Annie persevered but was suffering.  All of us were bathed in sweat from 30º and steam.  We were within 250 metres when Annie decided to pack it in.  The trail had become slick with mud. 
   "You want to keep going?" I asked Joan. 
   "I'm OK"
   Another crossing of the creek looked tougher than the first.  We carefully stepped from one wet rock to the next with a pause for balance on a large flat one in the middle.  Joan took the arm I offered. After a scramble out of the creek bed the falls flashed through the foliage.  Their height was awesome. Several stories of bare stone rose to the sky.  A small pool of silted water collected below.  Trickles of water sprayed over the rock surface giving the impression of a huge falls although the volume of water was small.  A party of young folks had just finished bathing.  We were drenched in our own sweat, but in no mood for bathing.  The cache was another few metres up the hillside on one side of the falls.
   The climb down was more precarious because of the slippery footing.  Joan brought back gooey samples of the local mud on her derriere.  We all looked very "rung out" from the heat but everyone was a little smug from the accomplishment.

Machu Picchu Stories
The plane from the port of Arica in Chile to the mountain city of Cusco, near Machu Picchu, was a Fokker, twin prop, sloth.  We whined like ugly tourists as we crossed the tarmac to board this antique.  The larger group of about 100 boarded a fancy jet and got to the destination first, although they left after us.  Turned out we had the last laugh.  Our pilot gave us all a turn in the cockpit to snap pictures of the Peruvian Alps.  Amazing views.

Our 5 star hotel in Cusco had the inspiring name, Libertador.  Our window looked over a strange passage between buildings.  The wall of the building next door  (perhaps being slowly renovated) was threatening to collapse and had been shored up with long, heavy tree trunks.  In spite of the awkwardness of the route, it sounded like half the city's population of 400,000 passed by through the night.  If we had leaned out we could have shaken hands as they clambered through the maze.  Joan watched in fascination while a couple of women squatted to add to the ditch water.

 It's hard to relay a sense of the steepness of the sidehill around Machu Picchu.  One could literally dive off the edge in many places.  A river winds through the valley far below.  Everyone wonders why?  Why build such a place so high on the hill?  Must have had some nasty neighbours. 

  Walking the streets meant dodging an endless stream of street vendors selling original paintings, sweaters and scarves, dolls, bags, jewelry, personal pictures.  A pleasant old gentleman said, "I'm too old to buy anything new so I shut my eyes as I pass them by"  In front of the hotel three middle-aged ladies dressed in clashing bright colours stood side by side spinning alpaca wool on hand bobbins as they attracted their customers.  Their brown, weathered faces smiled through blackened teeth.  Each carried their wares slung over a shoulder in a large bag made of fabric.  Twice we were approached by a young man flashing a post card of us in the square.  I watched him constantly comparing real faces with those on his cards.  "Sir, sir, post card?" Rick had to politely explain to one fellow that he had he wrong tourist.  I suppose in many ways we all look alike; hats, cameras, bags etc.  The artists carried around a portfolio of their work.  Pages got flipped as they walked along side the potential customer. 

Seattle Bus Tour
We made a last minute decision to take a Seattle bus tour.  We'd already wandered a couple of hours along the waterfront and through Pike Street Market.  The noise, crowds and hills were wearing us down.  "We should have had a special destination today." I said as we sat in front of the Crumpet Cafe drinking Earl Grey and Chai.  Back at the hotel they got us into a  3 hour tour that  would make the pickup in 15 minutes for the last tour of the day.  Sounded perfect since neither of us had toured Seattle before and we had already decided to take relax in the evening.

As scheduled, Fran the driver, picked us up at 1:45 in a small 18 passenger bus.  Only three others were on board.  "Nice intimate group. We'll be talking close today." she said.  Two passengers were an elderly couple, probably early 80s from Louisiana.  Accents were thick for cutting.  The other was a New Yorker with attitude.  A late 40s fellow with an eastern look and a belly to match his mouth.  He was determined to press Fran for her opinion, especially on ethnic groups like "blacks" or "Indians".  He managed a grunt during a washroom visit.  I smiled as I walked past him at a lookout stop.  He managed another grunt.  He sat alone and went off alone at all the stops. The wife from Louisiana had her own quirks.  At every stop, she attempted to get up before she undid her seatbelt.  She was always last off.

Moving around the city by bus made us very aware of the traffic issues faced by Seattle.  All the streets are one way. Every intersection held us for a second light.  Often the whole block was filled with idling cars.  As the bus retraced our earlier route through Pike Street, pedestrians flowed around us as we sat waiting  for the traffic. Two major freeways wind through the city.  They are a convenience for getting in and out but much is sacrificed with excessive noise and endless automobiles.  A new monorail is being built from the airport into town but will it get many people out of cars?  Probably not.  In Los Angeles, which has the distinction of being second in rates of citizens using public transit, only a tiny 6.6 % of the people use it. North Americans love their cars.  The problem won't be easily solved.

Lost Cable
   We were using an entire drawer of our small cabin to store all the backup wires, batteries and transformers for our cameras and computer.  I reached in to retreive the cable for downloading my pictures of Pitcairn and came up empty.
   "My camera cable isn't here," I said to an exhausted Joan who was determined at that moment to have a lie down.
   "It must be around," she said.  I could detect that I'm not getting-up-to-help tone.
   I searched another drawer and looked across to my cluttered shelf.  My memory was frantically searching for some clue to this mystery.  Had I taken it somewhere?  My mind drew a complete blank.  My normally peaceful disposition became agitated.  I scraped through the drawer again. 
   "It should be here!" was all I could think to say.
   "Have you checked your bag?"  Joan was trying to be helpful but stirring the pot of my anguish.
   I don't do well when I lose things.  I'm a person who can walk into my workshop of a thousand bits and pieces and pull out an item on demand.  If something is missing I'm lost.  Joan, on the other hand, considers herself more 'normal' since she almost daily says 'Where are my keys?' or 'Have you seen my glasses?'  She must often bear the brunt of my agony.  'Blame' is how she interprets my looks and questions.
   "I think I've looked everywhere.  I mean where could it be?  It's just a small cabin for heaven's sake!"
   "Just trying to be helpful.  Take it easy!  It has to be here somewhere." 
   I notice she continues to lie prone.  I'm going through the drawer for a second time.  Fumbling now, unbelieving.  I'm already beginning to visualize my life without my wire.  Eventually Joan joins the hunt and we lift and poke through the packs, the cases and the drawers.  The drawers are removed.  Joan eases one of our cabinets forward to check behind.
   During the card game Rick takes great delight in chiding me about my 'missing wire'.  I took solace knowing it is 'somewhere on the ship'.  I reported the loss to the purser's office but nothing had been turned in.  "Come back and check tomorrow." was the encouraging edict. 
   A theory developed that Angel probably swept up the cable when he was cleaning up our desk top.  It seems that in the middle of the previous night when I was pouring myself a glass or water in the dark, I missed the glass!  Water seeped under the glass cover and puddled under all the items left on top, including my camera.  No wonder I found myself  a little chippy.  Angel looks offended that I should even ask about such a thing.  Now another worry!  I've alienated our cabin steward.  Can things go any more wrong?
   "I'm depressed and miserable." I told the card players. "Deal and shut up!"
   The next morning, after a restless sleep wrestling with stangling wires, I was handed my lost wire across the purser's desk. The record shows it had been turned in by the photographer's desk, a place I frequent often.  Still no memory!  Had I been drinking?  Was my brain of 65 years "losing cells" as Rick suggested?  Immediately I reflected that twice already I'd slipped two cabin keys into my pocket.  That would be my own and of course Joan's.  This saga of the wire is an incident that may never die.   

Discovery Characters
Two things the Discovery folks have in common are their a sense of adventure and advanced middle to old age.  They chose this ship because of the unusual ports it finds: Easter Island, Pitcairn Island, Robinson Crusoe Island, Galapagos, Antarctica, Amazon River.  The list of the exotic locations seems endless and there's no going back.  It's not get on in Vancouver and return to Vancouver.  It's join in Tahiti and disembark in Ecuador or Cuba!  Some trippers are on until Harwich, England, a journey of about 90 days!

Where are you from?  Is this your first time aboard?  When did you get on?  Where are you getting off?  These must be the top four questions we deliver or answer.  Gradually more and more people stories sift in our heads. 
  "You know who I mean, the guy who lives in China."
  "He's a kiwi from Tauranga."
  "That Englishman is 66 and runs these 100 mile cross-country races."
  "She's alone on board.  Remember, she was raised in Northern Ireland."
  "Those Aussies have been on three times before and they're staying on 'til England."
  "She's one of the eight women from Montreal.  They're on until Cuba."
  "She came on with her fiancee but they had a blow up and aren't speaking."
  "The people who had the wild argument are Australian."
   "That witch who tried to take over the window seat by force is from South Africa." 

Machu Runner
The final 1000 feet to Machu Picchu is along a switch back road much like a typical Canadian logging road.  3500 people per day pass over this banging, crunching gravel track aboard small buses that run every half hour all day long.  Road repairs are done by a crew of rough looking fellows with picks and shovels.  The buses play a stop and go game as they pass, often at the hairpin turns.  A stairway takes a more direct route straight up, and cuts across the switch backs about midway along each straight stretch.  Coming down is a highlight. A  young 7 year old boy dressed in a colourful costume and wearing sandals, races the bus by running down the stairs.  At each crossing point passengers catch a glimpse of him crossing in front of the bus.  As the bus goes by he calls out a greeting in Quezchua or Spanish in a high-pitched child's scream and passengers see him clearly, panting at the top of the next flight.  Finally, at the bottom, he races ahead of the bus as it crosses a bridge over the wild river and on the far bank before the bus enters the town, he's invited onboard and walks up the aisle, sweaty forehead, dirty legs and all, with a small woven bag looking for dollars.  Hell of a way to earn a living!