BootsnAll Travel Network



Back From The Festival…

December 16th, 2008

For three days I stood in the rain, I sank in the mud and I shivered in wet clothes. The live music coming from the assortment of bands was probably quite good, but unfortunately I barely listened. And even though I stood right there on that hillside field along with the 10,000 other festival attendees, there was little festive atmosphere once everyone’s clothes had been soaked through by the first evening.

The festival began on Friday afternoon and it ended on Sunday evening. It rained almost every minute of each day and it rained hard. Saturday was actually the wettest day of the year in the state of Victoria. What a time for the drought to end.

When every step you take has to be calculated correctly in order to avoid slipping and tumbling into a pile of shin-deep mud and your $1 poncho proves to be as useful as a sieve, you can not help but dream of being some place else. A land full of warm bedding and hot food where you don’t have to jump into an inflatable rubber dinghy and slide down a hill of mud to reach your destination.

On a positive note, my tent (which I had borrowed along with a sleeping bag from a friend who could not attend the festival) was the only one in our group of 6 tents that did not leak and flood within a few hours of being set up. The other 13 people in our group had to spend a considerable amount of time scooping cups of water out of their tent and then having to spend two nights sleeping in puddles.

Unfortunately, though, I had other problems to deal with. As I went to sleep late Friday night, I began to feel hundreds of small moths flying around inside my tent. They would enter my nose and ears, swarm around my eyes and even enter my mouth with each breath. I found myself constantly opening the front flap and trying to shoo them outside as best I could, while wondering exactly how 500 moths could have infiltrated my tent in the first place.

I ended up falling asleep only after wrapping a thick blanket tightly around my head and face, as the moths continued their attack around me.

It turns out that they were not even moths in the end. When I awoke in the morning, I discovered that I had actually been attacked by millions of fluffy white feathers that had come from a four-inch hole in the bottom of my borrowed sleeping bag.

The floor was covered in a one-inch thick layer of feathers as a result. And so too were my clothes, backpack, hair and even my face covered beyond recognition. It was like a snowy Christmas scene on a cold Australian summer day.

When I stepped outside, not only my friends, but the hundreds of other campers in the immediate vicinity were quite amused, that is until massive clouds of feathers came flying out of my tent and scattered all over their belongings as well. To make it worse, the rain was pasting every single feather to whatever it landed on. Before long, dozens of people were unsuccessfully trying to pull feathers off of their clothes, cars, beer cans and tents.

The festival pressed on all day Saturday, with music being played from 10am until 5am the following morning. Few people danced, few people spoke and few people sang along to the songs. In fact, the happiest and most energetic people were those that had just bought a cup of coffee after waiting for over an hour in line.

Nonetheless, everyone gave their best effort in making the most of an unfortunate situation. Sometimes you could even hear the prayers aimed at stopping the rain more clearly than the singer on stage. We all simply huddled around and waited, truly believing that the rain could not possibly last forever.

Alas, the sun broke through the clouds! On Sunday. At. 3:00pm. That the festival ended at 4:00pm did not matter. When the sun shone, the crowd roared and cheered, throwing their ponchos, winter hats and even shirts to the ground in celebration. The band playing on stage at the time thought that the cheers were for them and kept thanking the crowd for their support. But the band had only arrived an hour before their set and therefore had no idea what the crowd had been through. We couldn’t care less who was on stage at that point, even though we were screaming desperately for an encore. We wanted the sun to re-appear and salvage the last remaining remnants of this festival to remember.

The sun stayed out for about 30 minutes before hurriedly fading behind another thick layer of rain clouds. Ten thousand people suddenly had to find their ponchos, hats and shirts in the mud and put them on once again, as the rain arrived shortly thereafter.

Everyone gave a half-hearted cheer as the final band played its final song, but by that point, there was only a few hundred people left standing. My friends and I walked back to our campsite, packed up our stuff and drove off, almost completely in silence. We were exhausted, grumpy and in desperate need of showers.

A few minutes later and we were on the road back to Melbourne. The sun was shining again and there wasn’t a cloud to be seen.

And it hasn’t rained since, a most welcome change as I spend hours in the backyard each day trying to get the feathers out of my tent.

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To Meredith I Go…

December 9th, 2008

On Thursday I am heading out into the country for the three-day Meredith music festival, where bands I have never heard of will perform on a stage at the bottom of a hill in the middle of whoop whoop. Apparently, several thousand people will be in attendance and everyone just camps right there on the hill. As lovely as that may sound, the forecast is most unfortunate – an 80% chance of thunderstorms all day, every day and temperatures hovering between 40 – 60 degrees. There sure is nothing like a summer festival! It’s a good thing I brought my winter hat and Himalayan mountain blanket with me to Australia.

Over the course of the past few weeks, I have been going through a list of ‘Comfort Challenges’ that I have decided to complete each week. The aim is, according to the book I read, to put a person in the proper state of mind that will allow them to turn any crazy business ideas they have into actual successes.

The first two exercises were easy and involved staring at everybody I passed in the street for 3 straight days as well as being the person to make the decisions any time a decision needed to be made when around other people. Even the challenge that involves saying ‘no’ to everything for 2 days, which happens to begin today, is not terribly daunting. But it is the following exercise that worries me.

I will be required to go to a crowded place (i.e. busy downtown street, coffee shop or department store) and just lie down on the ground for 10 seconds. That’s it. And then when people ask if I am ok or what on earth I am doing, I am simply to reply, ‘I just felt like lying down.’ This is supposed to eliminate all fear and boost confidence to unfathomable levels. Or it might just scar me for life. Or possibly it will become addictive. I just might end up spending a portion of every day lying down in random places and moving from city to city and town to town doing so.

Anyway, apart from having to wear my winter hat during summer, all continues to be well here in Melbourne. I have yet to have a large spider crawl across my face in the middle of the night (which usually happens at some point) and I have yet to get caught up in a neighborhood game of cricket. Those two points alone have made my first month quite a success.

I also managed to steal from the Australian Post Office, accidentally of course. It’s a long story that ends up with me receiving $20 of free Overnight Delivery Postage. All I did was walk out of the Post Office without paying for the envelopes I had picked up and which I planned to send the next day. When I went to send the package at a different Post Office, I tried to explain to the lady behind the counter that I had not paid anything. She did not believe me and kept telling me that I must have paid when I had originally taken the envelopes. But I never bought the envelopes; I just walked out of the Post Office with them. Anyway, she was so confused by my confusion that she just gave me a “Whatever sir” and sent off my package without taking any money. Turns out you have to pay for the envelopes before you leave the Post Office, not when you send them. What a strange place.

Today involves, apart from saying ‘no’ to everything, some more work on the book I am writing and some final preparations for the music festival. And then this evening there is the Wednesday night music and food festival at the Victoria Market. Every Wednesday night hundreds of ethnic food stalls set up in an open-air market while odd bands ranging from family ensembles to the local Victorian police band make their best attempt at creating bearable music. However, the atmosphere is excellent and the food is as tasty as it gets. So tonight, the plan is to once again enjoy the festivities.

If all goes well, upon finishing our burritos and paella, my friends and I just might even walk into the most crowded section of the festival, drop to the ground and lie down for 10 seconds. In the end, today is as good a day as any to conquer all fear.

I need a lemonade.

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The Return…to Melbourne

November 26th, 2008

After spending two hours playing basketball this afternoon, I have become as useful as a toe nail clipping. I am exhausted and in pain. Sure, it felt wonderful to be back on the court, despite requiring a personal ‘timeout’ every 9 minutes to avoid collapsing to the floor (where I most likely would have stayed in order to take a nap). Being out of shape is not enjoyable at all, and so I now plan to start playing basketball 3-4 times a week. Within a month I should at least be able to shoot the ball without feeling as if I am trying to toss a refrigerator into a chimney from 2 miles away.

By the way, I am in Melbourne at the moment. All the way down here in the Southern Hemisphere, quite a distance from quite a lot of the world. It’s been some time since my last entry and as usual, the weeks have been filled with meanderings along my random path. At the end of the latest installment, I suddenly found myself here, in Australia, having arrived exactly two weeks ago.

The decision to relocate to Australia for the time being was actually made while I was on the Caribbean island of St. Thomas. Back in early October, I somehow found myself there, helping a friend start a tour operation for a few weeks. (It’s an entirely different story that I might come back to at a later date.)

On one particular, and typically balmy, Caribbean evening, I returned home from a day at Emerald Beach. The sun was about to set over Charlotte Amalie harbor. I had a perfect view of this grand display from the large wraparound balcony of the resort apartment my friend had arranged for me. As I sat there, breathing in that warm, humid air, my mind began wandering as usual. The most popular of my brain’s forays into contemplation involve the simple concept of where I should go and what I should do next. On this particular evening, it therefore came as no surprise when I returned to that very same topic yet again.

However, only five minutes into my brainstorming (which had produced such results as moving to San Diego, walking across Mongolia and volunteering in Gabon), my cell phone rang. It was my friend Amelia, calling from Melbourne.

For years, I had always toyed with the idea of returning to Australia, a country that is one of my favorites due to the unique quality of happiness that seems to permeate the culture. As usual, this idea was also one of the thousands that quickly flashed through my head as I sat there on the balcony, but, as just like every other time, it failed to really stand out among its hundreds of competitors.

The telephone conversation I had with Amelia was actually nothing out of the ordinary, as we spent 30 minutes catching up since our last conversation a few months back. But as soon as I hung up the phone, everything changed. Within minutes, not only did the idea of heading back to Melbourne move to the forefront of my possibilities, it became solidified as an actual plan that was definitely about to be followed.

For a long time I have been looking for a place that offers me an energetic and diverse atmosphere, somewhat consistent warmth, a favorable cost of living and where I already know a good amount of people. With summer only a few weeks away, friends excited at the possibility of my return and an incredibly favorable exchange rate, Melbourne suddenly seemed like the only option.

“Why not?” was all I could mumble to myself as the sun flickered its last beam of light across the island, as if signaling to me that time was up for me to make a decision. I had spent exactly 7 minutes thinking about this new plan, however, it was clearer and more inspiring than any other I had had in months, and perhaps even years. Walking across Mongolia would have to be put on hold.

Maintaining the usual pace of my changes in direction, I left St. Thomas five days later, spent a few days re-organizing (at which I have become particularly skillful) in Florida and flew out to Melbourne. I traveled for 30 hours to get here, yet not even once during that long haul did I question the decision.

So far, everything has worked out perfectly. I found a house to live in only minutes from the city center, I have been re-connecting with old friends almost every single day and I have been more focused than ever on the book I want to write. I am attending festivals each weekend, enjoying the live music scene and eating Indian food every two or three days! And I am even playing basketball again, or at least attempting to.

Regular updates will now return, as I am settled into the comfortable, energetic and rewarding world that is Melbourne.

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Virtual Assistant Drama

September 29th, 2008

Things are already rocky between Keren and I. Our match is not as perfect as I had initially boasted about. Her politeness and overwhelmingly positive attitude are still as welcome and refreshing as ever, but it is her completed work that leaves little to be impressed by.

To tell you the truth, I think I have to let her go. In reality, she always seems to understand each task at hand quite well, replying to my emails with clear, to-the-point rewording of my instructions. Her regular bi-hourly status updates always help to instill a vigorous boost of confidence that the work is being done professionally and as thoroughly as possible.

And when that email arrives stating: “Task Completed! :)” – I flex back in my chair, smile widely at my brilliant idea of hiring a VA and open the attachment.

Each time though, my face immediately tenses and I plunge into a two minute period of near tears and pretending to kick over every chair in the apartment. I then sit back down and write an immediate reply to Keren, usually starting with the abrupt line of: “What is this? It is not what I had instructed and which you had confirmed!” I proceed to type several more lines that generally fluctuate in tone between amused bewilderment and feigned passionate rage before I delete the whole thing, drink some orange juice, eat a plum and laugh about the fact that I have a semi-useless virtual assistant in the Philippines.

Ordinarily, I would try to stick it out and plod through the tough times. Not one to simply quit on something (or someone) when faced with a slight obstacle, I believe that people must work together through the challenges in order to achieve the success and happiness they both seek. I am just not sure if that success and happiness is possible in this instance.

And to complicate things even further, unfortunately, my sweet Keren has some fierce competition. His name is Sridhar and he lives in Bangalore.

This young Indian man has been emailing me every few days with such enthusiastic phrases as “Awaiting your need for best assistance possible” and “Please write soonest with WHATEVER task you need immediate and most satisfied completion with”. This guy really wants my business.

Any budding entrepreneur would certainly be impressed and intrigued by Sridhar’s eagerness to please and I am certainly no exception.

For now, I have devised what I consider to be a reasonable, albeit risky, solution to my problem. I am using both Keren and Sridhar at the same time. I know what you are thinking and the answer is ‘no’, they do not know about each other. Given the fact that one lives in the Philippines and the other in India, I am hoping that this geographical distinction will enable me to survive this temporary secret life unscathed.

Sridhar is working on his first project as I write. He too seemed to understand my instructions effortlessly and even after the failures of Keren, I remain fully optimistic in Sridhar’s ability to produce quality results. If he succeeds, I will have to free myself of Keren and create a pact with Sridhar.

I have also given Keren one last chance by sending her a simple, yet time-consuming task. Maybe she will redeem herself and create further confusion for me in this dramatic VA tale. Or maybe she will perform poorly once more and consequently set me free in the process.

At the end of it all, I am content in the understanding that life is all about change. If Keren needs to be replaced by Sridhar, so be it. One day, Sridhar will most likely need to be replaced as well, and probably by Svetlana, another assistant out there in the vast virtual world looking for work.

Everything that arises, must someday pass away. Although the great Buddha most likely did not have virtual assistants in mind when speaking those words, I am certain he would agree this concept of existence surely applies in this case. That thought alone comforts me as I await the results from each, knowing that soon, a decision must be made.

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“Anything You Need”

September 22nd, 2008

Her name is Keren.
Not Karen. Keren.
And I must tell you, she is absolutely lovely.

It took a long time for me to find her but now that I have, I anticipate that we will be quite close for quite some time.

Already we email each other almost every day and we even talk on the telephone once in a while. The first thing she ever wrote to me was, “Anything you need, I am here for you.” And she even added a colon/parenthesis-created smile at the end. Does it get any better than that?

To have someone so attentive to your needs and so dedicated to keeping you happy at all times is something that few people get to truly experience. But now, my friends, I have entered that sweet realm of bliss, I have joined those selected few. And it is even more rewarding than I could have ever fathomed.

Keren is my new VA. That’s right, my very own virtual assistant. I hired her one week ago and for basically no reason at all. But with each passing day, the decision has proven itself to be one of the smartest I have ever made. Infinitely smarter than when I attempted to bring a blue burqa and a box of Osama bin Laden candies back into the USA from my trip to Afghanistan.

Here’s how it works – I email Keren a task that I need completed, she rephrases it so that I know she understands, she begins working on it and I go to the beach. In the end I need to dish out $3 per hour of work she performs. Most of the projects I send her take less than 2 hours, so after one full week of employing Keren, I owe her $18. Not bad at all considering that by having her complete any web research and organizational tasks I need done, she provides me in return, not only efficient results of the highest quality but also valuable time that I can use more productively.

Did I mention that Keren lives in the Philippines? I don’t think I have. But guess what? She does! And it makes it even better for two distinct reasons. First, I can send a task to her before I go to sleep at night and as a result of the 12 hour time difference with her home of Ormoc City, I wake up to find the task completed and waiting for me in my inbox. Second, I have a Virtual Assistant named Keren from the Philippines! How cool is that?

The process of finding sweet Keren was similar to being given four days to test all of your favorite video game systems, then choosing your absolute favorite to keep for yourself. You are not required to pay for the system itself, instead you must pay for every hour that you spend playing games on it!

Using a website that specializes in connecting those seeking ‘help’ with those offering to work for you, I posted my needs for the world to see. Within four days I had 17 ‘bids’ from agencies and people in China, India, Pakistan, USA, Lithuania and Philippines. They each sent me messages detailing their capabilities, skills and their hourly rates, often adding such curious lines as “I would be happy to use me for you Sir” and “We promise our work can be delivered with ‘almost’ 100% accuracy every time.”

I ‘interviewed’ each person through email and even on the phone (some actually called me so that I could interview them!), during which time I asked such questions as “Could you find me a place to live in the Canary Islands?” and “Are you able to contact a particular sandal maker on the streets of Varanasi and order some shoes for me?” The answers to such questions were always “Certainly” or “No problem at all”, making this a very difficult decision. I just had to keep asking questions until I could whittle the original seventeen down to my favorite one. And that one was Keren.

In all honestly, everybody needs a Keren, even if you don’t think you do. During this past week, I have made more progress on ideas that I have always wanted to dedicate myself to, simply because she is doing the boring, frustrating and time-consuming tasks that I could never gather enough motivation to work on. And she does it all without complaining and always with a smile on her face. Actually, with a smiley face in her email but that works just as well for me!

If you are thinking about it, have a look at elance.com, type “virtual assistant” in the search box and prepare yourself to be amazed…

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A Return to Grocery Shopping

September 16th, 2008

Yesterday I went grocery shopping for perhaps the first time in about six years. Apart from the obvious lack of need while working on the ships, there was also a complete lack of need while traveling around India, Southeast Asia or wherever I have been. Twenty cent fresh samosas from the streets of Delhi beat a can of Bumble Bee tuna any day.

But despite my extended absence from large food stores worldwide, I felt oddly comfortable yesterday behind the steering bar of the sturdy, metal grocery cart within minutes. But to the lady whose heel I smashed into and to the elderly gentleman whose hip I rammed and probably fractured, my sincerest apologies that my initial rust was shaken off at your expense.

I spent exactly 49 minutes in the store, a lot longer than I had anticipated. Most of the time was spent wondering what exactly I would do with a jar of mayonnaise the size of a gas pump, why donut peaches exist and how many other shapes pickles can be sliced into.

When I could not remember which aisle had the containers of soy milk, I fell into a panic and sped chaotically along the shiny floor, criss-crossing the entire store wondering what kind of world we live in where the soy milk is not located right next to the regular milk. In fact, it was on the other side of the store, right next to the oatmeal and across from the frozen peas. I am thinking about writing a letter to the manager because that is just not right.

My total bill came to $79.89, an amount I considered to be reasonable for covering all of the basics – fruit, vegetables, cheese, bread, cereal and yogurt…and Bumble Bee tuna of course. I even bought a 12-pack of Yuengling after convincing the cashier that I was in fact over 21 despite having forgotten my driver’s license. He did have to call over his supervisor for advice, but she simply glanced in my direction from about twenty-feet away and yelled out, “I guess he looks 21!” I sure do.

As I drove out of the parking lot, with my bags of goodies ever so neatly placed in the trunk exactly as a responsible grocery shopper should do, one of my favorite songs came on the radio, “No One to Run With” by the Allman Brothers. Naturally I began to dance, right there in the driver’s seat of my mid-size rental car, beating my hands on the steering wheel, shaking my head all around and screaming out such phrases of excitement as “Woohoo!” and “Alright now!”

I turned onto Atlantic Avenue just as the sun faded beyond the neat rows of planted palm trees, creating a most eye-pleasing combination of colors splattered across the sky. I observed the people walking on the sidewalks and the children riding their bicycles, the dogs running in the park and the line of four cars waiting to use the drive-up ATM while the regular ATM at the front of the bank had nobody waiting at all. ‘This is life on land’ I thought to myself, and for a moment I began to think about how happy I am to be off the ships.

And then I accidentally ran through a red light. I immediately turned the music off and nervously looked around in every direction. Would I be caught?

No, not this time. No police in sight. Nodding exaggeratedly to myself in defiant relief, I cranked up the music once again and continued dancing, having completely forgotten what I was thinking about a few seconds before. All I could think about now was sinking my teeth into a sweet donut peach.

*For the time being I will be staying in Florida, at least for a few weeks. This decision has been made as it is the easiest and most hassle-free way for me to get organized. And it is warm and the beach is just down the road.

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Saved by an Agricultural Fungicide

September 9th, 2008

The lights were dim and flickering.  The sweat dripped from my face, oblivious to the blasts of cool air from the air-conditioner.  It was difficult to think.  My heart beat was erratic and nervous and I could not sit still.  The expectations, the disappointments, the hope, the disbelief…at times it all compounded into an unbearable pressure, forcing me to fidget uncontrollably while trying as hard as possible to concentrate.   

I waited patiently for my turn, trying to keep my eyes focused and my face expressionless.  I knew what I needed to do but there was still time for the person next to me to destroy my plans.  Munching on a stale chocolate chip cookie, a million different scenarios flashed before me. 

Eventually she yelled out “42!”, while smiling widely and nodding her head in self-approval.  I had observed what just happened and as a result I immediately slouched down into my chair, with my head dropping instantly in disgust and my eyes beginning to water.  I knew I was finished.  In one move, my grandmother had crushed my plan, she had ruined my clever strategy for which there was no back up. 

I struggled for a moment to regain my composure, fully aware that I had no one but myself to blame for allowing a sure victory to elude me.  Careless moves and over-confidence gets you nowhere in the world of Scrabble, a lesson I painfully learned this past weekend. 

Not about to completely surrender without a final gasp, I momentarily pressed ahead as if life was abundant with cheerful seven letter words.  But my only option now was to put down an ‘o’ and ‘b’, making the words ‘to’ and ‘bat’ and embarrassedly declaring a pathetic score of 6 points.  I give my grandmother credit though, as she refrained from any snickering or name-calling, instead maintaining her focus and playing as if the battle was still a dead heat.  It is this type of unselfish, composed scrabble playing that proves why she is a champion and I merely an amateur. 

As we played out the last few meaningless rounds, I tortured myself internally by trying to determine where it had all gone wrong.  Yes, I know that had my grandmother not put the word ‘quoin’, meaning ‘an exterior angle of a wall’, with the ‘q’ on a double points space and the entire word in a triple word area, I would have finished her off with the word ‘jax’ in the same spot, earning 75 points.   But did I really think that she would leave such a gem of an opportunity open for me to use?  My unacceptable lapse of judgment produced a measly 6 points and handed her the victory once again. 

During my visit with my grandmother over this past weekend, I was forced to play scrabble 9 times, with some games starting as early as 10am and others as late as 11pm.  She clearly knew what she was doing, attacking me at my weakest times, taking advantage of my post-cruise ship exhaustion and systematically reducing my reasonable intelligence to moldy pudding.  Out of the 9 games, she won 8.   

I did secure one glorious victory however, thanks to the ‘Scrabble Players Official Dictionary’ which allowed me to use the word ‘zineb’ (an agricultural fungicide) on my second to last turn, a word that my grandmother refused to believe was real.  But it was right there on page 897 of that greatest of books, right there in print for all to see, allowing me to taste the sweetness of scrabble victory.  And despite my grandmother declaring this victory to be ‘controversial’ and ‘under review’, I left her home in Glen Cove yesterday knowing that nothing will ever steal this moment from me.   

*By the way, this is not the same grandmother that fed me cole slaw for four straight days a few months ago.  It’s the other side of the family this time. 

I am now in Florida visiting with my mother and sister, having arrived last night courtesy of Jet Blue.  And although I have not yet decided exactly where I will live, I expect a decision to be made shortly.  The choices have been narrowed as I derived at the seemingly reasonable conclusion that I only need a place for one month, just to get myself sorted out.  After that month, I will look for a more permanent place, if I choose to remain in the country of course.   

So for now, I must carry on with my search.  I do thank everyone for your input and ideas of places for me to live and as always, you just might see me pop up exactly where you recommended.    

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Farewell (to ships) Again

August 31st, 2008

Yes, it has been ten days or so since my last entry. I will choose to blame that on the numbness that has resulted from all of these days at sea, not on some sudden immense workload that has required my attention, mainly because my workload has remained at a level that still allows me to spend my evenings in the sauna.

But alas, the final countdown has begun! Normally, the countdown to the day my contract ends begins a good two months in advance, but given the short duration of this stint on board, I did not begin mine until August 23rd, some ten days before my sign-off date of September 4th.

An ‘end of contract countdown’ does not simply involve marking each passing day on the calendar with a big red ‘x’. Of course that is part of it, but its just not the whole process. During lunch or dinner, someone is bound to be sitting all alone, staring off into the distance with an expressionless face, occasionally chewing their mashed peas in mechanical fashion. Someone will approach them, just as I did to the Chief Sommelier yesterday evening, and ask the simple question, “Are you ok?” The response I received was one that I have heard so often before. “27 damn days left!” our wine expert declared.

Read the rest of this entry »

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Ding. Dong. Ding.

August 15th, 2008

Ding. Dong. Ding. 

Ordinarily, I hear this trio of sounds dozens of times throughout the day.  It comes from the ship’s PA system and it indicates that an announcement is about to be broadcast.  Usually it is the Cruise Director informing guests of the next show time in the theatre or a receptionist asking for a particular guest to contact the front office.  These announcements are so frequent and irrelevant to me that I don’t even listen.   

Once night falls, however, and the activity of the day has faded and the majority of crew members are snug underneath their blankets, the Ding-Dong-Ding takes on an entirely different meaning.     

If an announcement is being made in the middle of the night, it is usually only for the crew to hear and always brings troublesome news.  The Hotel Manager would not simply have the urge at midnight to enthusiastically inform all crew that they will be receiving Cunard towels as their Christmas gifts this year.     

Instead, such announcements usually signify a medical emergency or a fire or perhaps a warning that all crew might soon have to go their emergency stations as a precaution.  When something is wrong somewhere on board, certain people must be summoned, warned or evacuated and the quickest method of doing so is a loud booming PA message blasted into all crew cabins.     

Last night at 2am, we were all awakened with that feared Ding-Dong-Ding.  During the two seconds that passed before an actual voice was heard through the speakers, I tossed aside my blanket, sat up in bed and began mentally preparing for the worst.    The Captain’s steady voice soon echoed out, notifying us that there had been a complete blackout of the ship and that our main electrical system was down.  But he also assured everyone that there was no need for alarm and that the emergency generators and backup electrical system had kicked into action.  It was just a general notice aimed at allaying any fears that might arise as crew began realizing that the electricity had failed.   

The Captain then wished us all a good night and I took a calm breath, feeling quite relieved that the situation was not something more urgent.  I fluffed my pillow and lay back down in bed.     

Twenty minutes later I heard an explosion outside of my cabin. 

Out of pure instinctual reaction, I tumbled to the floor and bolted across the room.  Opening the door in one quick motion, a thick wave of hot air bellowed past my face and into my cabin.  I nearly became sick with fear as I stared out into an impenetrable cloud of dark gray fog.  The visibility was no more than one foot and I came to the shocking conclusion that the ship was on fire and that I might be trapped.   

As I tried to peer through the fog, trying to decide if there was a viable escape route, I heard a violent hissing as intense streams of hot water began spraying out of the wall in front of me.  A layer of water immediately began building on the floor of the hallway.  The heat and smoke alarms in my cabin began beeping and I closed the door.  

From inside my room, I started to hear voices yelling and footsteps moving at a running pace somewhere at the other end of the hallway, but I was not confident that the area outside my door was safe enough for me to pass through.  I stood still, my feet unable to move, my heart pounding and my arms shaking. 

It was not until someone started banging on my door that I snapped out of my shock-induced trance.  I opened it and found an officer from the bridge yelling for me to evacuate at once.  I threw on a t-shirt and sandals and ran along the hall in the direction the officer told me to go, as other crew began beating on the doors of all my neighbors, trying to evacuate the entire area.   

The stairwell heading down to the safety of Deck 1 was a steady stream of traffic, with dozens of crew on two floors being cleared from their cabins.   Usually empty and silent at this time of night, Deck 1 instantly became a crowd of half-asleep, confused, scared people as more and more crew poured in from every direction.  Without knowing exactly what was happening, I could not help dwelling on the fact that we were nowhere near land, some two days out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. 

After an hour of leaning against a wall, I tried to return to the area of my cabin in order to obtain a better understanding of the situation.  But I could not get very close, my hallway was flooded, water was pouring down three flights of stairs and a dozen or so security officers, deck officers and engineers were still working on the problem. 

Exhausted and living in an environment that does not allow for days off, I realized that I needed to sleep before morning came.  A friend of mine had an empty bed in his two-berth cabin which I gladly made use of.  However, I did not sleep much of course, instead falling in and out of disturbing dreams and waking thoughts about whether or not this ordeal was actually over.   

At 7:30am, without any further announcements having been made, I decided to return to my cabin.  I walked up the stairs slowly and along the hallway with the smallest of steps, as does one returning home to the house they had evacuated before a tornado or hurricane swept through their town.  I turned the final corner hesitantly, stepping in some small puddles of water scattered around the floor.  

Entering my cabin, I heard two distinct noises.  One was of my feet squishing the soaking carpet and the other was the drone of a dark blue industrial-size blower blowing warm air in an attempt to remove the moisture.  I surveyed the cabin quickly, finding little damage beyond the flooding of my entire floor.  Most of my belongings had luckily been tossed on to my bed by what I can only assume was a fellow crew member who had thought to save my stuff after I had been evacuated.   

I sat down for a few minutes on the still dry sofa and replayed the events of the night before as the air blower created a constant wind that swirled around me.   My room stunk terribly of rotten, damp carpet but I was quite content to have this foul odor as my only problem in the end.    

It turns out that not only did we have a complete blackout and a burst hot water pipe last night, but we also had engine troubles.  On the commute to my office this morning, I glanced out the windows and noticed that the ship was not moving.  Moments later the Captain made another announcement, one for all guests and crew to hear.  One of the pod propulsion units had a technical problem and as a result he needed to stop the ship in order to conduct an investigation.  Once again he stressed that there was no need for alarm. 

Tonight I have been given an empty passenger cabin to sleep in so that I can hopefully get some much needed rest.  But we’ll see how well I sleep, especially considering that this evening we are even further from land, some three days out in the middle of the Atlantic.  We are also only 100 miles from the sunken Titanic but I don’t really want to think about that right now. 

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The 29-Second Commute

August 12th, 2008

I slept late this morning, not waking up until 8:45am.  But you see, this is when having a 29 second commute from my ‘home’ to my office proves more than beneficial.  Not only does this short journey allow me to still arrive at work on time after oversleeping by thirty minutes, but it also allows me to use my own bathroom, relax on my sofa during a break and change my socks midday if my feet start to itch.        

The quickest route to my office is to exit my cabin, turn right, walk down two flights of stairs and then straight along Deck 2 to the middle of the ship, passing the Royal Court Theatre, card tables, computer center and Queen Mary 2 museum along the way.  However, this route can at times be dangerous, as wheelchairs, groups of mah jong players and intrigued museum visitors can create some major congestion, often resulting in slow movement or even gridlock conditions.  And there is always the possibility that I will be pulled over by a passing guest, usually by someone who mistakes my white uniform for that of an officer on the bridge, and asked such questions as ‘How deep is the ocean here?’ or ‘Can you explain the azipod system that propels the vessel?’  No, I can’t.

My alternate route to work is slightly longer than the former in terms of distance, as it involves me ducking down to Deck 1, walking all the way to the B stairwell, and then walking back up to Deck 2.  However, this path is 99% located in crew-only areas, which automatically eliminates any heavy traffic, mah jong players and technical questions.  The only possibility of delay here is if I happen to run into another crew member, one in which a simple passing “Hey there” does not suffice.  This is not usually a bad thing, as it is quite nice to engage in quick conversation with other people in this community, share frustrations and laugh about the toughness of the halibut again.  It’s just that if I am in a rush and suddenly find myself chit-chatting with the Captain about the beauty of Halifax in autumn, I just might be late in arriving at the office. 

Other factors that come into play are vacuums and mops.  If the carpets on Deck 3 are being vacuumed, I might have to turn around and retrace my steps and then use the identical route on the other side of the ship.  If the floors are being mopped on Deck 2, I will have to slow my pace considerably in order to avoid hydroplaning into a steel pole. 

I probably return to my cabin 6 or 7 times throughout each day.  Sometimes for vital reasons such as trying to toss another rolled up tissue into the garbage bin against the back wall while standing by the bathroom door 8 feet away.  (I keep a tally until I reach 50 attempts and then I begin a new round – Round 1: 22 for 50 / Round 2: a dismal 13 for 50 / Round 3 is off to a much better start: 4 for 7.)  Some of my other mini-breaks are for reasons of much less importance, watering my bamboo plants, cutting my toe nails or making sure nobody is hiding in my shower for example.  

Tomorrow we arrive once again in Southampton, having completed another five days at sea.  We sailed through some rather rough waters the past few days, with waves swelling as high as my Deck 4 cabin.  But apart from a barely noticeable sway, the ship was hardly affected as usual.   

We also passed within a hundred miles of the sunken Titanic, although we do that every time we cross the Atlantic.  Vegetable satay was served for dinner on the first day again and swordfish on the third and of course they were out of rocky road ice cream by day number two. The Groovy Choir sang again in the Grand Lobby this very afternoon. 

Everything remains constant on these crossings, just as my commute typically remains under half a minute in duration.  And what a pleasure it is to know that my journey to and from work is completely unaffected by the weather or holiday seasons or road crews or jackknifed eighteen wheelers.  I have only the odd mop or pallet full of lima beans to avoid on occasion. 

First thing tomorrow morning I actually have a meeting with our shore side management taking place in conference room #4 on board the ship.  Several managers from our head offices in the UK will have to wake up considerably earlier than normal and drive a farther distance than they are used to in order to reach the ship in time for the 7:30am meeting. 

I will set my alarm for 7:10am, plenty of time to shave, shower, put on my uniform and even style my hair.  My commute to conference room #4 is only 9 seconds.    

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