Costa Rica

I am on vacation in Costa Rica and it is, well, amazing. I realize I used the adjective amazing far to often. But the truth is I have an amazing life. So most of the activities I do and the places I see are amazing, remarkable, incredible, marvelous, spectacular, fabulous.

My trip to Costa Rica was forced by my friend Jana telling me I was going, in an ordering fashion, like that of a friend who knows what is best for you. I said, “What the hell. Why not.” So Jana, from Sweden, has been my travel buddy, really a blessing. You should all be so fortunate as to travel with Jana.

I arrived in San Jose, Costa Rica after a diversion to Liberia…

The city in Costa Rica not the country in West Africa.

The diversion was due to fog which cleared. The incredibly friendly face of Adolfo from the Kabata Hostel was there to great me.

A shameless plug for Kabata Hostel: The Kabata Hostel has an incredibly luxurious feature. A very friendly host family that aims to please in every way. As a starting point, I really recommend it. There is all sorts of information available on Costa Rican possibilities, free internet, rich Costa Rican coffee, and a playful dog and cat. Mauricio, our host, was just that, a host, but a like a trusted friend known for years is a host. He is quite happy to help with plans and arrangements. He is the best. It was a very pleasant way to start and end the vacation. http://www.kabatahostel.com/

The second day, Sunday, Jana and I traveled up to Playa de Coco and found the worst hostel in the world, complete with pink ruffles. We moved across the street to find the perfect $7 a night spot, clean, but for the sand we keep tracking in, I can hear the ocean from my bed (along with a damn rooster which insists on waking me at 4:45 am). It’s fantastic all natural, lacquered wood interior gives it a cabin feel, except for the television.

Monday, I spent on the beach and enjoying the tidepools with sculpins, sea slugs and urchins while Jana took an advanced dive course.

Tuesday, I dove. Nothing eventful in either dive. The visibility was poor, but I wanted to dive. The previous day they had seen huge manta rays at the same location. Unfortnately the visibiliy just turned.

Dinner was all about the plantains. I love plantains. They were delicious.

Wednesday we dove. We even saw a shark which was the highlight. My bcd sprung a minor air leak (a little sand in the wrong place... common enough), and seeing as I have not dove for years, I was very proud of not freaking out. I stayed down until the boys went low on air. I still did not use up as much air as the boys, even with the leak.

The diving visibility wasn’t great so we decided we, Jana and I would use the next day to take a break from diving. It was too bad the visibility turned. All reports from all the divers we ran into raved about the previous week's diving.

This is a picture of some frisky turtles we came up Wednesday.


Wednesday night, we had the most incredible fresh swordfish, prepared beyond perfection, with a tantalizing red pepper sauce. Any swordfish I have from now until the day I die will no doubt be a disappointment in comparison. All together the food has been so good, I salivate at just the thought.

Today we went white water river rafting and then for a canopy tour of the upper elevations of forest. Or so I expected. Actually we went zipping through the canopy. This is the ludicrous act of wrapping some nylon around your legs, strapping it to a pulley and riding the pulley down along a cable strung 250 feet above a ravine at speeds around 30 miles per hour.

I lived.

And by the end, I was no longer terrified. I am glad Jana was with me. She went first. I would have been really sad to loose her.

Cable info:


Me over a ravine:


Me close up:


Jana upsidedown on a zip line.


Traveling with Jana has made the trip. She is so fun to hang out with and talk to. It is important to travel with a pal, mostly for company. But finding the right pal can be difficult. She comes up with great ideas, makes wonderful arrangements for activities, and is just a great pal. It is hard to find a travel partner who is willing to travel on the same budget, wants to do the same things, is willing to try new activities and can go with the flow.

After zipping through the canopy, we then went white water rafting, which had one hysterical element.

Here we are, in the middle of a Costa Rican jungle, an area frequented by white water rafters. There is no sign of any human touch, with one hilarious exception. Every kilometer or so, we would pass a rickety wooden sign on the side of the river, reading, “Emergency Exit.” We didn’t bring the camera, but boy I wish I had a picture of that scene.

The river was great. It was a great starter water set. It was a bit cool, but it was refreshing in the heat.

I lost my guide over one of the rapids. How funny is that! (By lost I mean he feel out of our little double kayak.)

My guide didn’t speak English at all, until we got to a spot with a bunch of iguanas enjoying the sun. He said, “Tastes like chicken.” I suppose that is an important three words of English to know.

And the one little thing I love about Jana, is this funny noise she makes when I bring her coffee in the morning. I can’t seem to sleep past the roosters. So I venture for coffee rather early and bring her back a cup. You would think I was bringing her back the most adorable puppy in the world. She gets so happy. She never expects it, she always appreciates it and that makes bringing it worthwhile.

A plug for Summer Salt Dive shop: We spent a lot of time at the Summer Salt dive. Asside from being a good dive shop, they were a great group of people. We went out for dinner with them a couple of times. I want to thank Lucia again for being a spectacular teacher, Doug for being a hysterical comedian and Juan Carlos for being so exceptionally helpful. They not only provided for safe dives, but a fun and friendly atmosphere. http://www.summer-salt.com/

This is a candid shot Juan Carlos, Doug and Lucia from Summer Salt dive shop:


And me on the dive boat:


Stupid: Leaving, and paying the departure tax to do it. (Yes, that is right, you have to pay tax to leave!) Despite being in Costa Rica, the tax was expected to be paid in American dollars. Don't have American dollars? Then there were atms dispensing American dollars, in Costa Rica, for your easy withdraw. American dollars are the currency of the world.

Cool: The great and friendly people we met. Thank you Lucia, Doug, Juan Carlos and Mauricio.

Cool: Costa Rica. If you are outdoorsy, try it. It was a blast.

It’s Lonely Being Unique

Cool: My amazing life
Stupid: The resulting isolation

Before I get started, I would like to emphasize my appreciation of my amazing life seeing the world. It is definitely my choice. I can’t imagine life any other way and I am thankful continuously.

But it is lonely.

I am not lonely on the ship, with 650 of my closest friends all of us seeing the world together.

But coming home is surprisingly lonely. It is not just the lack of twenty people at my breakfast, lunch and dinner table and constantly running into people in every city I go to in the world.

It is the fact that I have nothing to say to people now that I am home. People talk about TV shows and current affairs which I have no knowledge of. I can talk of cities, places and sites that they have no knowledge of. In some cases, my sharing a casual experience about the ten year old girl playing the accordion on the train going to Rome is treated as if I am bragging, instead of being what it actually is, at least for me, just a run of the mill story about being on the train the other day.

A while back a woman who worked aboard told me about this problem. She would go home and no one really wanted to hear about her travels nor could they relate. I thought she had the wrong circle of friends. But that was not it. When two of my friends are talking about their cars and repairs, I no longer can relate. I don’t have a car most of the year. I don’t think about repairs. They may talk about this awesome new restaurant they found and if I chime in with the awesome restaurant I recently discovered, the fact that it is in Venice seems to ruin the conversation. “Last month when I was in Croatia…” just seems to create glazed eyes.

Then there is the trickle away of friends. Out of sight, out of mind, slowly forgotten. It is not just that every time I return to Santa Barbara I have once less friend living in town. It is also that every time I return, people just aren’t as interested in seeing me after six months away.

I think for a lot of people it is hard. They ask me what I have done in the last five months. I say Croatia, Turkey, Greece, Italy, Monacco, etc. I ask them what they have done, and they say, “Same ol’ same ol’.” It is as if I am rubbing my life style in their face.

So, now I find it more comfortable to simply say, “Work as usual,” and down play the awe found in so many places all over the world.

If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?

If you lead an incredible life and no one wants to hear it, is it really incredible?

ABSOLUTELY.

Incredibly cool.

But not being able to relate in the usual casual conversations, is a bit, well, stupid, and lonely.

Tunis Had A Thing For Doors

One of the oddities you notice in traveling extensively is the existence of a cultural gradient.

Things change over distance. Except in extreme cases (such as along the German border during the cold war) cultures fuse from one to another rather than change abruptly at a line. Its akin to the geographic changes, mountains rarely border flat land; they border foothills, and then rolling hills, and then come the flatlands.

Take for example, I don’t know why, but a Brooklyn accent. A person who grew up outside the Brooklyn City line by thirty feet will still have a Brooklyn accent even though they did not technically grow up in Brooklyn. After all, it is just an arbitrary line.

All matters of culture are this way. In traveling extensively, I have had the privilege to see the strange mergers and transitions.

For example, Turkey despite being over ninety percent Islamic, uses Latin script not Arabic. There simply cannot be a line in the sand where European culture ends and Islamic begins. There must be a bridge, and that is Turkey, nestled between Europe and Middle East with cultural aspects taken from both.

I bring this up for Tunisia. This strange merging was clear in Tunisia. Tunisia is in North Africa and is very much culturally confused. It is for all intents and purposes a culturally Middle Eastern country. It has a traditional Middle Eastern medina, which is a twisted maze of narrow alleys serving as the market place with vendors in all its nooks. I was there during Ramadan so, in keeping with Islamic tradition, no eateries were open. On the other hand, the nooks sold Nikes and clothing like what you would find at any American shop targeted at teenage girls. The newspaper stands sold Cadbury chocolate. Little kids, both boys and girls ran around in school uniforms. And most striking, the county speaks French!

It is very strange to be in a middle-eastern style bazaar (shopping district)where you are being hostilely solicited to purchase things, in customary Middle Eastern fashion...

Except the solicition is IN FRENCH!!!

(It was a French protectorate for 75 years).

That is just so wrong in my mind I can hardly handle it. It is kind of like, if you can imagine, going to a baseball game where all the chanting and announcements are in German. The whole city was confused, with its European style streets and signs and cars driving through corridors where people are selling produce from boxes on the ground.

It was clearly a city with a split personality between European and Middle Eastern.

In the Middle Eastern/European blend also found in Turkey, women dressed conservatively. Shirts covered all the way to women’s wrists and very rarely did collar deviate from the neck line. But as in Turkey, I wore a knee length skirt and a t-shirt without any notice from the local people. One of the most endearing thing I noticed was the teenage girls. Remember how I said that the some clothing in the medina resembled any western style clothing store. Well western style teenage girl clothing has a ridiculous level of emphasis on cleavage and is remarkably revealing. This does not fall into the acceptable realm of Middle Eastern/European conservative blend. So the girls just layer up. They where all the crazy styles found in Wet Seal and other western clothing stores… but in layers such that they conform to Middle Eastern/European conservative dress standards. I found this to be endearing. Teenage girls are teenage girls. It is still all about the clothes.

Anyway, once of its amazing charms was its infatuation with ornate doors. I mean the door were out of control.



The small circular black points are rounded head bolts. Then you will notice two symetrical round knockers toward the top of the door. The lower looking asymmetrical knocker is a door knob. It will be clearer below.



This one has a couple mail slots.



This is a great illustration of how the doors were actually opened. All the doors in this shape had mini-doors. That is why there are offset knobs. This one also has a mail slot.



These two doors are kind of close up. The streets were so narrow; I could not get any further away. (I literally took these pictures by placing my camera against the opposing wall and myself standing beside the camera, not behind it.)

In this one you can kind of see the outline of the mini-door. The door is actually lopsided. It is a very old building. In this one, all the black accent points are rounded head bolts. (Having just painted my front door myself, perhaps inspired by these pictures, I cannot even begin to imagine what a pain in the ass painting a door around all those bolts in it is. It explains why in the photo above, the bolts are just painted over.)



Lastly, this door is a less common style because it is not rounded at the top. The similar tile work around the door though was fairly common.



And for reasons I never understood, they only came in blue and yellow.

There was also this stunning building. I have no idea what it was. Much like its schizophrenic linguistic cultural nature (French/Islamic), its buildings are likewise, with some very European and some very Islamic. This building in my mind is the perfect Middle Eastern building.



And finally mister swaby guy. He, and his friend who is not shown, were protecting some building. I know mister swaby did not grow up anywhere near the Punjabi region of India, but he none the less really reminded me of that guy, ‘Punjab,’ from the movie Anne.



So, I have some sort of fun homework for you. In your day ahead, consider the fusion of cultures you encounter. Traveling is fun, and I love it. But you don't have to go far to see the fusion of cultures. Traveling opens your eyes to it.

Personally, I am going to the California Pizza Kitchen for lunch where I can have a Kung Pao Pizza for lunch.

Cultural fusion is everywhere. Look in your own backyard and enjoy the charm.

Home, Contentedly

In traveling I often doubt my choice to stay in Santa Barbara with so many wonderful less expensive places in the world, closer to family and friends, such as my sister’s wonderful place in North Carolina.

But I needed only to board the plane to Santa Barbara to know that Santa Barbara is home.

It is not only the place, which is stunning, but the people. I boarded the plane with an exuberant band of strangers, all good humored about trading their last twenty-four hours of delightful vacation and dreadful air travel mishaps.

But just the noise of all the commingled voices said one thing, a mass of happy, laid-back, go-with-the-flow people.

As I sit here on the plan, I wonder and question whether I am projecting my happiness at going home on this random bunch of people.

But my neighbor, the passenger aside me just interrupted my ponderances with some friendly conversation about the people on the flight.

I have been on a lot of flights in the last week and a half.

Nice to Heathrow
Heathrow to Boston
Boston to Charlotte
Charlotte to Greenville (NC)
Greenville to Charlotte
Charlotte to Las Vegas

And at the moment, Las Vegas to Santa Barbara (for me twelve hours late).

Six flights, and the tone and feel of this flight is different. Not because I am going home, but because a little bit of home greeted me here.

I had more thoughts, but I spend the rest of the flight chatting with the lovely woman beside me.

Having been here a day now, I remember it is not just the 78 F (24 C) weather in November but the real Aloha feel of the people in Santa Barbara that I love. I have talked to my neighbors, my pharmacist and even the woman at the 7-11. They all know me and welcomed me home, after five months away. I have played with other people’s dogs running free and happy at the beach. I took a five mile walk along a stretch of beach where, in the entire five miles, I only saw six people. I have sat at a green light, quietly, patiently along with others, while the person ahead of us played with their radio unaware of the light change. I went to visit someone and walked through their wide open front door only to find they were not home and would not be for six hours.

"Mmmm," contentedly, "Home."

Off to enjoy the sun…

Here is a picture from yesterday:

Out The Window

My life is a strange one. I awoke the other day convinced I was in the Amazon (where I was in February) only to be surprised by the view out my window, which was of Sorrento Italy rather than Brazilian rain forest.

This morning dawn breaks over a large pond spotted by waking ducks and geese occasionally orating with an annoyed honk. It is a warm November morning, in North Carolina, over a glassy pond, lined with green grass, sprinkled with evergreen needles and small inconspicuous summer homes.

I have always had a weakness for the south, with its warm weather, warm light and year-round vegetation. The south has a charm I have always found appealing… but about 1 billion zillion inhabitants, of the small buzzing variety, that I don’t.

In America, we move. We move across town, across the state, across the country. Perhaps, unlike Europe, because it is so culturally similar, we find it easier to just pick up and go.

I remember when I was little my mom had friends all over the country, and that seemed very odd to me. How did all these people wind up all these places? And in my five year old mind, where friends were a dime a dozen, why bother keeping in touch with all these people so far away if long distance calls were soooooo expensive?

Between my sisters and I, just counting since we each turned eighteen, twelve years ago, we have lived in Santa Barbara, Philadelphia, Oklahoma, Mississippi, Miami, Hanover New Hampshire, New Bern North Carolina, London and Edinburgh Scotland.

In the past few days I have visited each my sisters, one in Hanover and now the other in North Carolina. I love them both incredibly. I see they are both lonely in the small towns they have been lured to.

I want one of those transporters from Star Trek where in a heart beat you can travel to the far regions of the world, Santa Barbara to Hanover, in a moment just for coffee.

I worry, and know, that my sisters and I are unlikely to live in the same state, time zone, or possibly even country ultimately.

I love to travel, but there is nothing like hanging out in front of the television with your sister.

So as I sit her enjoying dawn on the pond, cool are all the places I have been and stupid is being able to take my sisters with me.

Since I am on vacation, I plan on making up for lost entries. (The integral word in that sentence is 'plan'.)

Venice Erotic Art Museum

Before I entered the Venice Erotica Museum, a blog thought crossed my mind, namely as taboo as erotica is, I would never admit to having gone to the museum let alone publicize my trip in my blog.

What changed my mind? The quality and truly tasteful nature of the museum, the fascinating historical exhibit and the incredible intellectually stimulating art. (OK, maybe stimulating wasn’t the best word choice.)

A quarter of the museum was Venetian history beginning with the first anti-prostitution law in Venice on October 10th, 1266. It covered historical sexual topics in Venice from 1266 until now, topics such as the perception of homosexuality through various positive and negative phases and prostitution’s open and shadowy cycles.

In a lot of ways it illustrated the entrenched dichotomy of the city between staunch Catholicism on one side and the more gluttonous sinful nature of the citizenry in stories of madams, casinos, houses of ill-repute and their famous clientele.

I liked the history of Venetian homosexuality. I remember in ninth grade learning about the island of Lesbos, from which the word lesbian comes. The school I attended did not censor our young eyes. I changed schools after that year, and from Rome to modern times, it was as if, in my historical education, homosexuality vanished from the earth. The existence of homosexuals throughout history is overlooked in education and seen as inappropriate, perhaps with the exception of Oscar Wilde who we can hardly ignore.

Homosexuality existed throughout human history and had an impact on our history. The impact is sometimes bizarre though. Fearing that Venice was headed into moral disrepute due to a climb in homosexual preference, the city actually built bridges with gaps, so men could look up, when passing beneath the bridges, and see up woman’s skirts. During this same period, prostitution was actively civically encouraged in the belief that with access to women, men would not become homosexual.

Historical medical documents were also on display such as Ninomania (Nymphomania) published in 1775 which said one of the causes of nymphomania was a cold wife. Another book on display, Onanism published in 1758 was regarded as the first text to assert that masturbation was a disease that could cause homosexuality and various afflictions.

The museum had a number of pieces dedicated to famous love stories from history. All of which I found so poignant I quickly forgot them all. (Venice is romantic enough; you don’t need to read love stories.)

There were also pictures of all the ‘hidden in plain sight’ erotic art around the city of Venice. There are graphic placards and reliefs in the most religious artistic displays of the city which I would not describe as erotic, but just plan pornographic. It is amazing that St. Mark is depicted just a few feet to the right of one particular display. (Can’t get your teens interested in the artistic value of St. Mark’s, get them to go looking for the porn hidden in the art.)

This was my favorite piece in the museum. It is attractive to look out and in an instant conveys a modern, salient point with dramatic clarity. Much of Julian Murphy’s work was of this intellectual caliber.



This is another piece, selected at random, to give you a taste of some of the works of art.



Cool: A surprising fascinating museum of the beaten path in Venice.

30 in Monte Carlo

I turned 30 in Monte Carlo.

Work has been crazy hectic, so I have not written much.

But here are some pictures from the day before my birthday.

Me in front of the famous Monte Carlo Casino.



Monte Carlo Casino



Monte Carlo Harbor



This is my ship. The colorful pattern in the foreground is a helipad. As if to accentuate the money in Monte Carlo, not even a helipad can be regular concrete.



Helicopters are a recurring them in Monte Carlo. In case you need to get anywhere, it is good to have your trusty helicopter on your yacht. (This is not as uncommon as you think. We see this frequently in warmer ports.) The arrow points to a helicopter on the back of a yacht.



So where do you take the helicopter on the yacht too? Well to lunch of course. Check out the restaurant valet in front of this outdoor cafe.



(Ok, actually it is just a display helicopter for sale. Kind of like cars you see at malls sometimes.)

This is a harbor shot of Monte Carlo from the ship.



The day after my birthday I went to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I am a sucker for historical science and engineering. I don't really know why but I love this stuff. So the Leaning Tower of Pisa was a real highlight for me. It was built over a two hundred year process, and for the last 800 years everyone has been trying to fix the lean. I am very glad I got to go. There is also a Baptistery on the site. It, like the Leaning Tower and the adjacent cathedral, leans as well. The Baptistery is a round building with a dome ceiling. It is like the biggest and best shower in the world! The sound resonance strikes you dumb.

This woman walked into the center of the Baptistery and sang a single note. After she sang the note, the sound continued to resonate richly. She then harmonized with herself on another note. She did this for several notes. It sounded like a perfectly harmonized professional chorus of 140 people singing various pitches. It was if I was sitting in the best acoustical location in a major musical performance hall. I imagine a choir at the Sydney Opera House. Considering the extensive sophistication of acoustic architecture currently, this thirteenth century structure is a marvel.

Anyway, me at Pisa, to prove I was actually there....

Clues To Where You Are

Look around you and see the things. They hint to where you are. The shape of four walls, the color of carpet, or things on a shelf, they all give you clues to where you are.

I have an office, and many things in my office tell me that I am in my office. Unlike most rooms in the world, this tells me nothing of where I am on the planet. This same office can be virtually any where on 2/3s of the planet.

Likewise, as I wander through accounting and sales, rarely are there any clues to where in the world Mika is.

Then the other day, like something out of some strange commercial, these little bright yellow boxes seemed to pop up everywhere. They were on virtually every desk.

They were made of heavy-weight high-quality paper with beautiful gold script adorning the top. They were not a proper square box, but rather maybe eight inches by four inches and maybe three inches deep. The bottom was just slightly narrower than the top.

And they were scattered askew, on virtually every desk.

So I asked where they came from.

Apparently, these fine Belgium chocolates were being given out as people left the ship.

Had I known this, I would have left the ship, a lot. I mean many many times. And then again. And some more.

But, anyway, now I know; yellow boxes are the clue that I am in Belgium.

OK, end of that story.

Beginning of next.

So I am sitting on Deck 12, on the aft terrace enjoying a lovely dinner with my co-worker when the ship gets a fly by from an F-16. (I was told it was an F-16. I personally wouldnít know an F-16 if it was sitting in front of me with tall letters on the side saying, "Hi. I am an F-16.") This much I know for shore, um, I mean, sure. It was a jet, with a glass enclosure, wings (which I am sure the pilot appreciates) and it was amazingly fast.

(I mean, they were giving away chocolate in Belgium, of course I would have gotten off the ship!)

Apparently we were cause for some fun at the near by base because they circled us quite a few times. (There were two.) One fly by came amazingly close. The lag between the physical location of the jet and where our hearing would place it was exceptionally long given how close the jets were. The time lag emphasized, and indicated, their significant speed.


So let me recap my dinner. I had turkey, salmon, a lovely cucumber dill salad, a refreshing cold mandarin soup, in Scotland, on the terrace of a six-star cruise ship complete with F-16 air show.

I live an amazing life and am thankful for it everyday.

(And to provide the full genuine Scottish experience, it was 55 F, windy, gray and cloudy and started to rain.)

It was amazing.

End of story.

Brief interlude, who wouldnít get off a ship for Belgium chocolate?

Beginning next story, though, it is not really a story so much as a comment.

Shaving in the bow of a ship on moderate seas takes considerable talent. Just thought you would like to know.

End of comment

Next story.

I attended my sisters wedding this weekend, which was perfect. (In case you are unaware, I feel the specifics of my personal life are not for my blog, so no further details of her incredible wedding here, except for humorous story bits.)

So, as I live on a ship, shopping for the appropriate wedding wear is a bit difficult. (Though apparently all you have to do for chocolate is get off in Belgium.)

I sent an email home to my sister requesting black sandals, size seven and a half, with a 1.5 inch heal or more.

What I got was three inch stilettos, patent leather, and a style any dominatrix would appreciate.

Now, as a married woman, I somewhat expect that my sister will try to marry me off.

I thought she would at least wait until she was married. I had to walk up the aisle with those shoes on, and even the groom noticed them and comment on them. (You know something is up when a man notices shoes.)

It is not quite the image I would choose to give potential suitors.

I feel bad actually. My sister busy planning her wedding, ran out and got exactly what I said, "sandals, size seven and a half, with a 1.5 inch heal or more." I am sure they looked great in the box. (We are different sizes so she did not try them on.) Everyone laughed about the shoes, and I donít think she took it in the good humor way it was intended.

I got a great story out of it though, so I very much appreciate the dominatrix brideís maid shoes.

Stupid:
o 3 hour security lines at Heathrow, this is nothing like a free box of chocolates
o Lost luggage, especially when the actual suitcase was not yours
o The airline saying they have no record of your tickets and requiring you to pay again
o Your credit card getting mysteriously declined when forced to pay again for tickets you already paid for, twenty minutes after the plane was to leave.

Cool: Fortunately the second card was accepted, the plane was delayed an hour, and my luggage with my brideís maid dress made it on that plane. (It was the return journey the luggage was lost.)

And a recap:

Cool:
o A mysterious rash of yellow boxes which indicate we are in Belgium
o An F-16 dinner show
o My finely honed shaving skills
o My sisters amazing wedding and, the humorous dominatrix brideís maid shoes


This entry is dedicated to Kathy De La Cruz, who inspired me today, and also to all those bright yellow little boxes in the world, especially near Belgium.

Images Of A City

There are things in places one never expects. Here are images of a city; and I have a challenge for you, guess the city.

A beautiful pink building with incredible white accents and strong square white columns, I so wish I could name the shape of the windows. I love the combination of curves and straight lines.



This overly ornate building displays a consistent contrast of this city to say most modern cities. Rather than austere gray granite buildings decorated with equally ornate flourish, this one boasts vibrance, in blue brick.



And a close up in of the detail:



This building is just plain confused and yet surprisingly attractive. A bright dirty yellow, it could be in Santa Fe. The color is unexpectedly similar to the natural color of the stone in Athens, hence the relief seems fitting; it relief could easily be 2200 years old and in Athens. Yet the relief on the rounded structure is so contrary to the straight lines of Athens. The square flat windows and cheap black railing, kill an otherwise interesting fusion of designs. The flat roof is also an odd choice.



And another blue brick building, the color quite similar to the color found on Catherine’s Palace in St. Petersburg. In black and white, one would quickly assume was in New York. Imagine if it had a personality, it energetically rebelling against the austere nature of such conformity. This building too has the ridiculously elaborate facade.



The same building, close up. Notice the fantastic combination of a round window so seamlessly within straight lines. The curved balcony is such an easily over looked feature which is critical, or it would simply be too much. Just the window and balcony alone could be in any modern building, but found in such a crazy traditional building, and to be so well infused, it is just amazing.



Again, ornate beyond belief, with large faces and for a change wicked spires, the color seems contrary to what looks like a bit of a scary building. This building displays the city’s theme of animated color on a traditionally styled building, ornate facade, curved windows and straight lines.



The same building, the roof line up close. She looked like Lady Liberty. I can’t help but notice that all these building, unlike again New York, have perfectly maintained façades which are sparkling white!



Any guess of what city this is? What is most remarkable about the above buildings, is most are on the same block. The architecture is consistent throughout the city.

This next picture is taken of a stairwell looking up. Notice the asymmetry of the shape. If not for the beautiful paintings on the ceiling, I am not sure the asymmetry would be so beautiful. The stairs were a hard stone, contrary to the soft color of the ceiling. The brown is the banister and the gray design is actually the railing. I believe this was in the Rozental Architecture Museum.



I just plain liked the dragons standing guard of this entry way. It is such an unnecessary detail which adds such a rich flavor.



So what age do you think the city is?

I will change you beliefs now with this modern building standing like a sail beside a modern bridge. The bridge and modern building are walking distance from all the buildings shown above.



Think it is a modern city?

And I will shatter those beliefs with a 500 year old church, unusual for its open cupola.



This city has a benefit that most European city’s cannot boast. It was nearly untouched by either World War. This all the buildings above, late nineteen century early twentieth stood, unlike many of their likes built throughout Europe.

The city is Riga in Latvia. Latvia is again a country I never expected to see and I am glad I have. It has a surprising art community. Riga has a charming small canal lined by a part on either side running through the center of town. It is gorgeous. The buildings are surprisingly eclectic which I imagine in the ten below winters are the only warmth that can be found outside.

Latvia is a transition spot between Russia and Europe, and a member of the European Union. They note of their ancient to pre-soviet seafaring trading relations with all nations in the Baltic.

The country boasts its quiet peaceful transition from the Soviet era to current freedom. Perhaps its colors are a rebellion to Soviet discipline, perhaps it is a strive for the warmth of the Mediterranean, perhaps it is an aim to emulate the colors of Russian nobility.

It uses the Latin font as opposed to the Cyrillic found in Russia. The language is Latvian which does not resemble the Russian language. The two million inhabitants all learn English as part of their education. (I am so appreciative of the English Empire, the winning of the Second World War, and the invasion of Hollywood for getting the rest of the world to speak English so I can be a lazy and learn nothing.)

Its president is Canadian! How strange is that! But of course, she is of Latvia decent. Her parents were refuges and they were very involved in that ‘famous’ Canadian Latvia community.

Stuck on a Boat in Russia, Again

Well, I am back in St. Petersberg. Different ship, same parking spot. It is near eleven pm and I just watched the sunset from a deck 13 treadmill. I forgot how disorientating the late and early sun is. Luckily, though sarcastic, my room is very dark. I have a tunnel port hole. By this I mean I have a porthole that looks through three feet of hull before seeing the outside.

It is July 27th, and the high in St. Petersburg today was 63F or 18C. Damn that is cold after being in Mykonos Greece two days ago.

Being on a new ship, of roughly the same design is like being in a fun house. Everything is the same but different. The Officer's Bar, the most important reference, is still deck four midship, but the actual bar is on the aft side instead of forward. The crew office is deck four midship port, instead of starboard. (It is on the left side of the ship instead of the right side.)

The big difference in the ship is the size of the corridors. I know this is a random thing to mention, but that extra six inches makes the entire ship feel larger.

Perhaps most important upgrade is the wonderful cappuccino machine in the O-mess. This makes me very very very happy. For evidence, just talk to me at 7am, post cappuccino.

The strangest thing going on at the moment is the Russian authority's revocation of recognition of the Bahamian Seaman's Book.

To make the long story short, that mean there are over 550 of 650 crew members who are not permitted to enter Russia.

As seafarers we acquire what is internationally recognized as a transient visa, a seaman's book. This book is a formal document issued by the governing body of the ship's registry indicating service to a vessel. Since my first vessel of record was of Bahamian registry, my seaman book is Bahamian. (If I started on a ship of different registry, I would have a book of that registry, Norwegian for example.) The book, the size and shape of a passport, with identification information in the front and pages of contract service stamps, is generally accepted in lieu of a visa as long as the seaman enters as a worker on the vessel of his/her current contract and will leave by the same vessel in a short period of time.

Russia has turned around and simply decided not to recognize the Bahamian Seaman's Book as valid. Thus all crew members with Bahamian Seaman's books need visa. Visa's must be acquired out of Russia, and are a minimum of $100 if you apply six weeks in advance.

Hence, we are all stuck on the ship. It is funny in a cruel sort of way.

Anyway, because of the imprisonment, there is a big party starting in just a few.

Gotta run…

It's Midnight in Helsinki

And it is still light out.

I would blog more often if I had high speed internet access. It is much easier. (The ship is connected by low speed satelitte.)

So I was in Vienna today talking on the phone to my father. He told me to have some coffee, as Vienna is well known for its coffee. I laughed. I was standing across from a Starbuck's. Somehow I don't think that is what he has in mind. I had dinner at the Starbuck's. (Starbuck's is conquering the world.)I am all for trying the local flavor, but there was no place else to eat at the airport. I had a "New York Style Bagel," a bagel, cream cheese and lox. It was 4.90 euros. The fact that I paid in euros being the only distinction from home.

I left my home ship today, to switch to a different ship. It is very odd to me, to fly from one time zone, +3 Mykonos Greece, back one to Vienna +2, and then to Helsinki, +3. I have never flown through a different time zone just to return to my orginal one.

Anyway. It is the middle of the night and I should sleep... even though it is light out.

Love from Hel
sinki.

PS:
American businesses are invading the world.

I forgot to mention that I am staying at a Holiday Inn and watching CNN. I can buy a Newsweek downstairs. Add that to Starbuck's, McDonald's and all the other American influences.

On the other hand, half the people with cell phones in the world, have a Finnish Nokia. The world is just merging to one culture. (And I appreciate the fact that that culture speaks English. I took a flight from Greece to Austria and Austria to Finland today and both flights had announcements in English. Every person I needed to interact with at all airports spoke English, including the girl at Starbuck's. I realize "New York Style Bagel" does not require much translation, nonetheless our friendly conversation was in English.)

I should sleep... despite the fact it is still dusk at, at 12:40am.

Stromboli

So, I looked out my window today…

And…

There was an active volcano, wisping vapor.

Stromboli, Italy

Istanbul: A Strange Collision of East And West

With women in burkas or at very least conservatively dressed, Bath Houses, calls to prayer, mosque spires, and yellow, gleaming, perfectly maintained “TAKSi”s, Peugeots, The Body Shop, United Colors of Benneton, Coca Cola advertisements, and the showing of Rodin at the art museum, western style department stores like Mark and Sparkers, coble stone streets.

Roman aquaducts, dividing four lane bumper to bumper traffic.

Turkish delights everywhere...

Turkish rugs hanging from everything, waiting for a sale,

Arches adorned with deep color designs,

All in all, I did not like Istanbul. I think this is the result of one thing, sales tactics. I hate being sold too and invited in.

In Istanbul as with many of the eastern Mediterranean countries, it is customary for shop attendants and owners to stand outside their shops and verbally offer their wares and invite you in. “Hello Lady. I have beautiful silk for you. You must see. Finest around. Good price. You come in. Come in. Come in.” They can be quite aggressive. This drives me crazy. If I like your stuff I will buy your stuff. If you harass me, I go away, and buy no stuff.

My second trip to the Grand Bazaar, I dressed like a local, meaning black linen pants, sandles, a shirt that had a full closed collar and covered my shoulders. I also left my smile at the door. I walked around with an annoyed look on my face.

The result was mixed. On the one hand very few people approached me or tried to sell me anything. This made my shopping experience more enjoyable. On the other hand, my expression wore on me, I fell into character and I was actually annoyed by the end of the trip. I get annoyed like wandering around pretending to be annoyed. In the end, I didn’t like myself.

Turkey is secular, though 98% of the country is Muslim. They are Muslim the way most of America is Christian, some people go to the mosque, most don’t.

Amongst Istanbul’s claims to fame is being the only modern city on two continents, Asia and Europe. Given that, I guess it is most appropriate that it is a collision of worlds culturally.

OK, pictures:

The Blue Mosque is perhaps the most famous site in Istanbul. It is a central prayer location displaying the finest Islamic architecture and design for god.

Unlike Christianity, the Muslim religion forbids the attempted illustration of god and his profits. Thus mosques interiors are a display of lavish designs rather than picture books of biblical stories.

Me outside the Blue Mosque



The Blue Mosque ceiling:



And the inside of the Blue Mosque, unfortunately I did not get any good pictures of the interior. (In general, getting good pictures was difficult. The Istanbul is busy and snap shots without people crossing in front of you were difficult to get. Hence all the pictures of this entry aren't as good as I would like.) Imagine ornate swirls of vivid blue and red on tile.



The Blue Mosque, as with all Mosques has no seats. Worshipers worship on the ground. The floor is lined with elaborate Turkish rugs. Visitors must dress modestly and remove their shoes to enter. (The result is a mosque that smells like feet.)

Inside the Blue Mosque and everywhere in Istanbul are fountains. This is a fountain in the Grand Bazaar. People stop for water and wash their face.



And in detail



This is just a building I came upon. Many buildings in Istanbul are ornately decorated with blue tile and glass. It is ironic to me that the national flag is red, because the country clearly is illustrated in blue. All designs are blue. The only not blue are the Turkish rugs. They are red, with designs in blue. This is also a good example of the local architecture specifically in regards to the shape of the windows.



Everywhere there were small shops, there were coffee delivery men. They all had the exact same tray and similar shot glass sized coffee cups. They went from shop to shop delivering coffee. (When will Starbuck’s start delivering?)





The above is a standard street scene. The meat hanging on rotisserie skews is shaved for sandwiches on order. On the right is a man with a coffee tray.

My sister should go to Istanbul for a wedding dress. On this one street for literally miles, there was wedding dress store after wedding dress store, all ranging from typical western to more conservative Muslim, where though white and modern style, the woman’s arms, neck and hair are covered as well. Notice the woman in the full burke in the lower left



I wound up on a tour including an ancient church. What you can’t tell from this picture is that it is a mosaic of small tiles.



This is the nave of the same church.



I tried to get a picture of the train station that was the last stop on the Oriental Express. It is a decorative building, now a mauve pink. Unfortunately there is a big Shell Gas Station in front of it. Oh well.

The other item everywhere is the blue eye, an representation of the evil eye concept. It is really a dark blue circle on a lighter blue circle, on a white circle on a translucent blue circle. It comes in magnets, key chains and every imaginable item. I don’t really know the symbolism, but they are everywhere.



I got up at dawn and took pictures of the cityscape from the ship. The first picture is the tourist area which includes a large well maintained park which is why it is so green. The city is surrounded by water and literally cut in half, though link by bridge and ferry, by the straight from the Aegean Sea to the Black Sea. (This is the dividing line between continents.) Hence there are large waterways every where.



This second picture is a better representation of the city in general, packed with buildings, mosques, lined by water



I am not inclined to return to Istanbul, but I am glad I have been. It is a strange transition from European to Middle Eastern cultures.

I admit it; I hate cities. And Istanbul’s metropolitan area is amongst the largest in the world. Perhaps a trip to a smaller town would endear me more to the country. But, in truth I have been to smaller towns, and the damn sales people are just as aggressive. It is a pity this one aspect taints my view so dramatically. But it does.

As always, I am glad I have been.

Stupid: Aggressive sales people. This goes on my major annoyance list.

Cool: The beauty of the Turkish architecture and elaborate painted designs in every archway; the old world charm of a coffee delivery man who sits and chats for ten fifteen minutes in the afternoon as he delivers.