Working Girl

So lately, I am working in one of the 40 something twin tower buildings in Century City, Los Angeles.

Today was Halloween... which was not actually the strangest part of the day.

Today, I waited twenty minutes to take an elevator down nine flights, from the NINTH FLOOR, so I could wait fifteen minutes to take an elevator up fourteen, to the FORTEENTH FLOOR. (For security reasons you can only take stairwells going down and for big building reasons, certain elevators only hit certain floors, meaning the elevator that stops at the ninth floor does not stop at the fourteenth.) This is why I hate cities.... it was a half an hour commute to effectively get up five stories. That is stupid.

The floors are emphasized because post ship life, I have been referring to them all day as DECK nine and DECK fourteen. (The guy in the elevator laughed at me saying, "So I am guessing you worked on the ships.")

In talking to my sister today about big city work life, I casually mentioned something which I actually wound up finding fascinating. You can tell the women assistants from the real career women by what they wear. The assistants flaunt their looks; the career women dress them down. It is an interesting psychological and sociological statement. I am sure this has been discussed by countless liberal arts women's studies programs across the country. I still find it fascinating.

The scariest part of the day was the mandatory evacuation. (Crammed with hundreds of people in a high rise stairwell made me wonder if that was what the World Trade Center stairwells were like. On a much less serious note, I also noticed stairwells on land only have handrails on one side. The random thoughts that go through one's mind.)

Strange was the people I saw who may or may not have been in costume. Is that woman supposed to look like Foxy Cleopatra or does she always dress like that? Who wears a red turtle neck under a blue shirt.... oh wait... he is supposed to look like Spiderman.

But one costume was clear. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, Moses was holding the door open...

Stupid: Spending a half hour to effectively go up five stories.
Cool: Situationally fitting costumes.

My mother, of course, will now worry about my saftey working high-rise.

(Last week it was the person who was arrested on my flight to JFK. I do my best to provide her with an unusual variety of things to worry about.)

An Image of Odessa

It is strange to wander into a cultural tradition, when you least expect it. I was mundanely crossing a bridge the other day in Odessa.

It did not pop into my mind, in flashing neon "Tradition Ahead." Of course not.

The thought was, "Oh, someone left their bike lock here." And there is another.

And there is another....

And I look up, across the length of the bridge and realize the entire bridge is lined with locks.



(The dark line 3/4ths the way up the fence is entirely locks.)

At this point, it is clear, people did not just leave these locks here accidentally. This is a statement.



So I began to study the locks. Some of them had no markings. Some of them had markings long worn bare. Some were ornately engraved with care and time.



The writing was mostly Cyrillic, which obscured the message initially.



But the presence of a date marking seemed consistent.

Then the prevelance of two words, unique on each lock.... not words, it dawned on me, names.

And then of course, the symbols, common with my culture, gave away much of the meaning.



These were symbols of love etched on steel symbolizing union, strength and unbreakable bond.

By the time I left the bridge, entriged by a tradition I had never known before, it was clear to me that the locks were engraved the names of those married and the date of their union.

The web later told me it is a common Russian wedding tradition followed by tossing the key into a river, so the bond is forever.

Cool: I stumbled on to a bridge, lined by railing, hung heavy with locks...How Romantic!

My Local Bar Gets Around

I mean, it is always on deck six mid-ship, but deck six mid-ship can be any where in the world.

Today we are outside Poland.

I walk into the local bar and it is the usual crowd, a mix of people I know extremely well and a few guests on for an eleven day cruise.

I get tapped on the shoulder by a guest, who says, “I know this is going to sound crazy, but what is your name?”

I reply in utter astonishment to a guy I went to high school with, “Not Scott Sterling.” Twelve thousand miles away from home, on a boat outside of Poland, I ran into Scott Sterling, someone I knew in high school and still have friends in common with.

The world really is a lot smaller the further you travel…

Are You A Real Traveler?

How can you tell a real traveler?


After 23 hours of traveling, 3 flights and five hours of sleep...


The first thing I did upon arriving in Bergen, Norway on July 6th, was drop the suitcase in the room, grab the camera, and go.


I have real affection for Norway. It is beautiful and charming in a European/High Rockies sort of way. The architecture is European and the scenery has the feel of the Rockies, if you are more familiar with America than Norway.


Norway's topography is extremely vertical. Between infamous Norwegian pines gracing quiet hills and strong granite cliffs, there is always something pleasing in the background of pictures.



Often there is serene water in the foreground.


First, my tiny and cute hotel room:





Then the beautiful harbor:








This was a cool fountain in the town center, water started at the highest point and flowed through this little maze.





And a sign, cause I love signs. I need some Gratis Cube Puff.





Bergen on July 6th, after traveling so far, is a time warp. Already you have no idea what time it is, cause your body is on one time and you are physically in another.


Add to it the fact that it never gets dark. They claim the sun sets. But it never gets dark. (It is extremely north.) It twists your mind and becomes completely surreal.


I looked outside my room at 1:30 am. The hotel was on a busy city intersection. Notice the word was. When I retired to my room that evening there were tons of cars going this way and that and people walking in all directions. It was noisy, like a city normally is.


At 1:30am, the view from my window had a completely different feel. With the lush green and warm light, it looked like maybe a mid-summer twilight. In the peace, though, there was a tang of the eerie. The streets were deserted and it was completely, ear ringingly, silent out. It was both beautiful and somewhat out of the aptly named Twilight Zone.


The next day we were in Eidfjord which practically defines picturesque. The Norwegian Fjords, very narrow sea inlets straddled by steep granite mountains, are a must see for the serious scenic traveler. It is cool, even at the peak of summer, but its beauty and the endless day make it an amazing destination.


I should let the pictures do the talking:




Unfortunately the low cloud cover masks the towering high of the mountains.





My home


I just love this picture. Somehow it define serenity.






(Though I don’t know who is jumping into that %$*^# cold water.)





There were ten mountain streams pouring into the fjords everywhere you looked. I took this picture for the guy fishing off the dock.


I see trolls and I just need to get my picture taken with them:





And lastly, modern art. This statue stood at the center of what could barely be called a town (a few restaurants, a market and a gas station). I love her. She might look strange to an American, but her features are definitively Scandinavian. Her brow is bent into a pronounced V. Her eyes are large with full upper lids, and that button nose is a tell tale sign.





This is my friend who is Swedish and female and therefore named Anna, like seemingly all other Swedish women. (She would kill me if she knew I did this.)


But look at her and then at the sculpture.




I think the similarity is striking.


At the moment we are sailing out of Russia and I reminded by the rocking ship that I must get some sleep…

Maybe I Should Travel With Another Airline?

Is it a bad sign when the airline asks you for your death certificate?