Sunday, April 23, 2006

Where your camera has been...

First, this is just the best picture of life onboard. Anna, a Swed (as if you couldn't tell by looking at her), is showing her viking roots.

She is so perfect; she looks like a beer commercial.



And then there are the other photographs....

If you leave a camera in the bar, it is traditional for the finders to try to get the worse possible shots with the abandoned camera.

I got my camera back, and I think the laugh is on those unfortunate souls who participated in this experiment.

First came the usual drunk photos:




Then it escalated:





You too can get drunk pictures like this... just follow Robb's simple instructions. Robb, an actor onboard coached people on full facial relaxation. Then, after a couple minutes, he had people shake their heads side to side as vigorously as possible.

And the results...





You be the judge.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Salvador, Brazil

Salvador was a magical place of colors, mosaics and churches. And amazing food.

So without further adu, pictures:

This building’s entry archways are decorated with a cachophony of brilliant color swatches.



This is a sample of the building architecture and color. The street are all irregular stone.



Showing clear Portuguese lineage, the many sidewalks are alternating waves of yellow and black stone, identical to the ones I saw in Lisbon last year.



This picture… just goes under my hysterical moments. This guy, in full native Amazon attire… is walking down a city street talking on his cell phone.



And the whole street without the close up because Mark did not believe it:



And this goes under the heading of artwork from what is at hand. This is a purse and pantsuit made entirely of soda can tabs.



And since you can’t really see it well, here is a close up

Salvadorsodatabscloseup

Salvador is a vertical city. By that I mean the topography is extreme. Parts are at sea level and parts are well over a hundred feet up. The difference between the two areas is one extreme cliff line. And if your walking, the way you get from one area to the other, is by elevator. This is a picture of the elevator.



This is a picture looking down to the roof tops below over the cliffs edge in another area of town.



And to put Isla Vista to shame… I found the best artwork from stuff at hand shop…

This is a windchime made of shot classes.



Full length ones are available as door drapes.

And lastly, proving I am a girl, I bought an awesome purse. The purse is a tight woven basket weeve.



The end. (in other words... I need zzzs.)

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Eastover

You have heard of Chrismakah, now welcome EastOver. And as all good Jewish girls, I dawned a pair of rabbit ears all day for Easter.

The ears extended my height from maybe 5’2 when wearing heels to, I don’t know, taller. How do you damn tall people walk around!? I got my ears caught on everything!!!!

Being 5’2 is way easier. Just for future reference.

Now here is a quiz:

Ship terms:

(For each term on the left there is at least one correct answer on the right.)
1. Swing
I swing.

2. Escort
I escorted in Rio.

3. Double-Up
You want to double-up next cruise?

4. Shower with a Friend
The Captain has asked us to shower with a friend.

5. Reefer Party
Are you going to the Reefer Party?

6. OooLaLah
Hey OoLaLah!

7. Ship’s Bicycle
She is one of the ship’s bicycles.
a) Water conservation efforts are in place.

b) The name of the Geisha onboard

c) Someone who switches between ships as part of their position.

d) A woman who gets around.

e) Someone who guides guest tours.

f) Share a room on a particularly busy cruise for monetary compensation.

g) A bicycle available for rent at the crew office.

h) Refrigeration Engineers Saturday Night Get-Together



 
 
Answers: 1c, 2e, 3f, 4a or f, 5h, 6b, 7d or g.

Monday, April 03, 2006

Back from Isolation

It was bound to happen at some point… I was isolated.

Now before all you people who know me come up with all your wacky theories on why I, humble and plain, would be isolated, I will tell you I was quarantined.

As reliable as the rising sun, large groups of people living in confined spaces, for days at a time, eating the same food will eventually fall ill of a stomach ailment.

Whether it is Norwalk Virus on a cruise ship or the stomach flu at a campus dorm, it is inevitable.

And as it was, after all, inevitable, I was woken, in calm seas with the sudden urge to get rid of last night’s dinner.

And then to make sure I got rid of it every hour, practically on the hour, for hours after that.

So after puking my brains out for several hours I was forced to go to the medical center or face the consequences of missing drill. Missing drill surely would result in something undesirable… though at that moment it hardly compared to the fever, chills, painful puking.

In very little time, some Swedish woman yanked my pants down and gave me a a shot in the ass. She promptly sent away with bottles and tablets. I was told not to leave my cabin until further notice.

For days afterward with every breath I took, I could feel my many taxed muscles I used to vomit.

My laugh was no where to be heard and silence prevailed throughout the ship. (The villagers may have rejoiced but I was passed out.) I was too sore to even laugh.

My cabin is the size of a large prison cell… which progressively shrank over the sentence period of two days.

Banished to my room, with a huge sign on my cabin warning any passers of the dangers within, I mostly slept the days away.

On a ship, where you can hardly spend a minute alone let alone a day, two days seems like an eternity.

And emerging into freedom is bizarre.

It starts with a knock on the door from the hazmat clean up team. She was garbed in plastic and her mouth and nose covered with a surgeon’s filter.

Everything that can be removed and thrown away is.

Everything that can be cleaned is.

And everything else… is just nuked. She comes in with this supersized, pill-shaped device about a foot long on a little stand.

Plug it in and it fumigates away, a thick dusty fog covering everything.

I no longer felt like a freed prisoner so much as a loose bio-terrorist threat.

And then there is just walking down the hall where everyone welcomes back knowing you were puking your brains out a couple days ago. That is a little weird.

I would tell people I was looking for someone else’s cabin sleep in cause I was fed up with mine.

My dad classifies the course of stomach afflictions as follows, first you worry that your are going to die, then you are worried you won’t.

I survived… til now.

Very rough seas are forecast….

Monday, March 20, 2006

Living with 568 People on a Ship

It makes for some interesting experiences. You have to be there for most of them, but I will try anyway.

We all are designated numbers. (This is something I think we are all grateful for. We represent forty-something nationalities… I don’t care how common a Serbo-Croatian name it is, I don’t know how to spell it. Three digits is much easier.)

Last night, over sushi and sake, I (235) was giving Rolf (005) a hard time for the way he drives (he was at the helm for the choppy leg of the previous day). We started talking about the first officers. We have three. I was having dinner with two of them, Rolf, 005 and Christofer 007. Double O Seven, that never gets old. Christofer actually is 007.

This morning in a different funny interchange, I had breakfast with 231, Nadja, and 501, Marcos. I was telling them about an instant message conversation I had with Ben Claydon. Ben was telling me about his Harley. I said, “He likes to drive it in the Nevada desert. He went on about the wide open spaces and how free you feel when you ride a Harley.”

Marcos, a real masculine guy sitting at our table for breakfast says, “Yeah, kind of like the tampons.”

Nadja and I look at him and explode laughing. “Kind of like the tampons? What the hell are you talking about?”

Since that moment, all day, Marcos has been trying to dig himself out by explaining that tampon commercials always go on and on about how free you feel, and there is even the brand stay-free.

But he made the leap from Harley to tampons. We won’t let him live it down. He is screwed.

Lastly, there are the mushed and mangled English phrases the non-native speakers come up with. Today’s was: “When the shit hit the shovel.”

This is “When the shit hit the fan.” + “When push comes to shove.” + an extra l at the end for effect.

“When the shit hit the shovel.”

All in all, it makes for a lot of fun and a lot of laughter. (And for those of you who have heard me laugh… a lot of noise too.)

We laugh and joke constantly in the most good-natured way. It is amongst the charms of ship-life.

Anyway, a picture of Rio for you: