My time in Hong Kong was filled with contrasts. Remnants of British culture mix with the new Hong Kong that has given rise to the Chinese slogan “One China, two systems.” It is obvious that the economic and cultural power of this city will not be quickly subsumed into the communism and socialism of mainland China. I also experienced comparisons with my previous voyage here, a natural response I know, but one I try to guard against if I can, hoping to stay focused on the magic of this new voyage.
2002, when I was here before, was only five years after the handover and now it’s eight. Maybe it’s a bias created by the observer but I was struck by how few Westerners I saw either downtown or at tourist venues. The business people on the street were much more predominantly Chinese. I wondered if transitional personnel had finally gone home and left the Chinese in charge. Japanese tourists were even more in the majority than in most places, joined, I think, by Chinese who are being encouraged to travel within their country. I saw virtually no Americans.
The one place I did see Westerners was, of course, the venerable and delightful Peninsula Hotel. I wandered around its halls, evoking memories of a childhood visit there. The marvelous new performing arts and museum complex down on the waterfront unfortunately obscures the grand old dame’s previously spectacular view of the harbor. Nothing, however, can sully her classic ambiance and grandeur. I couldn’t resist afternoon high tea in the lobby, complete with a three-tiered silver tray of a wide assortment of goodies going way beyond the traditional cucumber finger sandwiches and scones with butter and jam. A corner of the mezzanine balcony held a quartet of piano, bass, violin and flute who wafted the Moonlight Sonata and Pacabel’s Canon down into the gilded lobby below. I thought about how nothing had changed in decades inside this room but that everything had changed outside. I’m usually uncomfortable in bastions of colonial power, with an old liberal’s fear of “come the revolution” being caught on the wrong side of town. But here a peaceful evolution has taken place and the Chinese are firmly in charge. This small remnant of Hong Kong’s British history will hopefully be allowed to coexist with her exciting future.
I felt disappointment that our ship was not here, not docked at the Ocean Terminal with the Star Ferry right outside. The kids who went up to Victoria Peak couldn’t feel the excitement of seeing her in the harbor far below. All 750 of us were at one huge convention hotel out in the New Territories, think suburbs without the grass. This arrangement, although sadly substituting for the ringside seat of the ship, was better than being scattered at as many as seven hotels in the other two ports we had to fly to. An enormously important aspect to the Semester at Sea experience is being a part of this diverse community, bonded by a love of learning and travel and, in our case, by the challenges of our experience in the North Pacific. I missed the ship terribly but more than that I missed our community being together.
I particularly enjoyed spending time with my new friends Linda and Tom Hunter. We had great fun striking out on the Metro or bus to explore various parts of the city. One day we went on a self-guided walking tour that included several specialized markets. We marveled at the variety and brilliance of the flowers in the Flower Market, everything imaginable from orchids in astounding abundance to bountiful pots of some small white flower I still can’t identify. We delighted in the dark bamboo, intricately carved cages in the Bird Market, complete with traditional blue and white porcelain water dishes. I once again marveled at the variety: small finch-like birds with green bodies and orange and yellow heads, black and white ones with brilliant hot pink beaks; dozens of small birds all crammed into one tiny cage or a single specimen of toucan regally watching us from his perch. Because the weather was quite nasty (what could we have done to offend the weather gods so egregiously?), only one man was out “walking” his cockatoo, as is the tradition here, drawing a crowd of admirers like a cute puppy in the park.
Tom, Linda and I had what I have to say was the very best of my lifetime of extraordinary dining experiences at a stunning restaurant called Hutong. Only two rows of tables lined a broad expanse of windows overlooking the harbor. My new best friend, the concierge at the Peninsula, had fixed us up with a fabulous table (note to self: if you want a truly memorable dinner, go to the nicest hotel in the city, even if you’re not staying there, ask the concierge for his recommendations and tip well). The food was unique with gourmet Asian flavors and presentations I’d never seen before: shrimp marinated in a special spice and smothered in fresh garlic; eggplant in thumb-sized pieces delicately steamed, seasoned and molded into a mound – it melted in your mouth; and so many more. Each dish was presented in a container that had never seen the inside of a commercial dishwasher: a red, wooden, narrow, rectangular platter with a 6” square carved box at one end, a sage green ceramic bowl shaped like a partially closed leaf, a large basket complete with handle and painted with orange figures, a hefty block of old, dark wood slightly scooped out to contain the sauce; and on and on. The service was just right, that unobtrusive presenting and sweeping away of dishes at just the right moment, not before or after you were ready. But with all this, the very best was the décor. You got the feeling of entering into an old Chinese farmhouse decorated for an architectural digest shoot. Dark wood and old rattan were everywhere, illuminated by candlelight and punctuated by blood red diaphanous muslin hangings swaying in doorways. Old farm tools contrasted with exquisitely simple porcelain candleholders on surfaces and even worked into one stone wall with chicken wire. Our eyes simply could not take it all in and it’s beyond my powers of description. Some very, very talented decorator had obviously gotten carte blanche and had created a masterpiece of a restaurant. But the crowning touch was the restroom. Tom had been to the men’s room and came back and said we HAD to see them. The door to the ladies room was an antique looking, ornately carved and arched gate. Inside, the sink stole the show: a long piece of white marble about the size of a small picnic table with a slight lip around the edges that had exquisite river stones and fresh flowers around the periphery and a very large, old wooden bucket suspended above it. To get water, you pulled on a small stick and water splashed out of a 4” bamboo spout in the side of the bucket. Luckily we were alone in the bathroom and we could ogle and giggle and take pictures like the awestruck tourists we were. All this for about a quarter of the price of such a dining experience in New York. Hutong in Hong Kong – write it down!
The last day I was there I went to see “The Big Buddha” and Po Lin Monastery on Lantau Island. After a very time-consuming mistake of going the wrong way on the subway line and then a long bus ride after the subway, I finally made it and was amazed by the size and majesty of the 35 meter bronze figure. This important Hong Kong landmark was not built until the early 1990’s when the handover was a certainty. I was interested to read that it faces mainland Communist China. I wonder if that slogan of “One China, two systems” will be stretched to encompass religion as well. Hopefully the economic success of the second system in Hong Kong will have a positive ripple effect on other aspects of Chinese culture and politics.
Thanks for stopping by to read about my adventures on Semester at Sea. I've sailed three times around the world and love sharing this passion with you. Enjoy - and please take a moment to leave your comments, questions, or suggestions.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Monday, February 21, 2005
A Strand of Shanghai Pearls
Here are a few gems from my time in Shanghai:
· Winding my way through the small passageways of Old Town Shanghai, passing colorful shops and restaurants advertising such delicacies as “dumpling stuffed with the ovary and digestive glands of crad (sic)” (thanks, I’ll pass, maybe another time), I came upon a huge tree filling a public courtyard. Large gold leaves were wired to its branches and a crowd of excited Shanghai citizens was gathered around to participate in a Chinese New Year’s ritual. They were buying bright red ribbons displaying gold Chinese characters and attached to metal coins. One by one they threw the ribbons up into the tree. Mostly they fell through to the ground but every once in a while, one would balance over a branch. The thrower would immediately scream with glee and jump up and down, old and young alike. It was not hard to figure out that the ribbons had been chosen for a particular wish for the new year and when they catching in the tree meant their wish would be coming true.
· Cyclists forced to commute in the rain have bright sapphire blue or emerald ponchos to protect not only them but their bike and its cargo. Each plastic covering has an opening for the face complete with a bill to keep the rain from your eyes. Then the poncho extends all the way down over the front of the bike, protecting the rider’s arms as well as the contents of the basket. A similar extension goes almost to the ground over the back fender. Motorbikes have a clear plastic square inserted in the front to let the headlight shine through. The gear reminded me of a custom-tailored expensive car cover.
· The PR person for the residential community we visited wryly responded to a question about the homeless we had seen on the street: “Oh course, technically in China there are no homeless people. Everyone is registered as a resident of his hometown. They have a home, they just aren’t in it.” He said that there were homeless support centers where, among other things, they called the person’s family back in the village and told them to come get him. Because this is a face-losing process for the person, the homeless people tended not to come to the centers. It wasn’t so much that they had left home in the first place but that the authorities were involved and called the family. Everything in China is based on where you are registered to live and work. I can only imagine what harsh rural conditions would force someone to place themself outside that system and come to the city. Shanghai has 17 million people!!! 14 million are Shanghaiese and 3 million are displaced people. Our guide readily admited that they are useful because they do jobs Shanghaiese don’t want to do “but we don’t need 3 million of them!” Sounds very similar to our immigrant labor force.
· Our time in Shanghai was extraordinarily wet and cold. Our vision of the city was hemmed in by the edges of our umbrellas and rain hoods. Bus windows were consistently fogged and each cityscape shrouded in mist and showers. Standing near the base of the Pearl Tower on Pudong, you could see only fog completely obscuring the top. Nevertheless, these intrepid travelers, our unstoppable SAS kids, plunged in and had myriad adventures. They explored, ate, shopped, clubbed, walked, rode every mode of transportation available and had a ball. One particularly miserable day, a group I was with did take warm refuge in the fragrant, bustling welcome of a Starbuck’s .Their stories are delightful and completely unmarred by the weather.
· A faculty member, Pat Curtin, and I spent a delightful morning at the Shanghai Art and Crafts Museum. Not only did they display exquisite examples of a wide array of crafts such as paper cutting, silk lantern making, embroidery and carving in every medium imaginable (some of the carving and drawing on ivory and bone was so small and intricate the curators had provided magnifying glasses to view it) but they also had a few artists demonstrating their skill. It was fun to admire their work in progress and see the real people behind the beauty. One woman was doing the kind of two-sided embroidery my family knows from the kitten screen in my parents’ house; her needle was at least half the diameter of a human hair. I am completely baffled by how they make the backside come out a different view – where are the knots?!?!
· A field trip about China’s one child policy was very enlightening. I had a lot of misconceptions that were cleared up. Many of the horror stories about this policy that we have heard about such as forced sterilization may have happened in the past and most certainly were worse in rural areas but the sanctions now are strictly financial if hefty. A family is penalized three times their annual income as a fine. However, the father does not get demoted, lose his job or get drummed out of the Communist party anymore. Formerly second children did not receive the free health care that first children did but that has been changed; they decided it wasn’t fair to penalize the child when it was the parents’ choice. They reported that the abortion rate was decreasing dramatically as people were embracing the policy. Of course, all this was from “official” spokespersons but I did get the sense that the Chinese approved the policy and were getting used to its effects, seeming to prefer those over the horrors of unchecked population growth. People reportedly even prefer girls because they are now more likely to take care of both their own parents and those of their husband.
· My favorite Shanghai experience was a feast prepared for us by a family in one of the modest residential blocks of which there are literally millions in the city. We were taken to the home of a retired chemical engineer and his wife. They were also babysitting an adorable six-year-old granddaughter because school was out for New Year or Spring Festival as they called it. The home was very small, much less than 1000 square feet but a large table with lazy susan had been set up in their living room. About 15 dishes were laid out on the table when we arrived: bright orange winter melon, sausages, sliced tomatoes, peanuts in a sauce with little bits of pork, roast duck, tiny boiled quail eggs and many more. Then from a minuscule kitchen paraded dish after dish of special delicacies such as stuffed mushrooms topped with a bright orange shriveled bean that we were told was Chinese medicine good for the heart, fabulously seasoned shrimp in a light batter, egg rolls, barbecued pork, small slices of baby eggplant with pork stuffing them lightly fried (my favorite), and so many more. We ate and ate and ate and just when we thought we would burst another tantalizing steaming dish would arrive. Our host and hostess did not sit with us but busied themselves attending to the serving and fussing over us. Our guide did sit down and told us fascinating stories. I asked if it was OK to talk about the Cultural Revolution and he said yes but that it was very complicated. He shared with us his views although he said it did not affect his family that much because they were rural uneducated people. He certainly advanced to a good career after it was over. I wish I could have questioned our host since he was of the professional class that was targeted. I saw him watching one of the girls and before we left he got up his courage to point to her blonde hair and ask “Is it real? Not dyed?” She said “Yes, it’s real” then under her breath, “Well a few streaks.”
My necklace of Chinese experience is much longer but I’ll stop here. Stay tuned for reports from Hong Kong, Viet Nam and Cambodia!
· Winding my way through the small passageways of Old Town Shanghai, passing colorful shops and restaurants advertising such delicacies as “dumpling stuffed with the ovary and digestive glands of crad (sic)” (thanks, I’ll pass, maybe another time), I came upon a huge tree filling a public courtyard. Large gold leaves were wired to its branches and a crowd of excited Shanghai citizens was gathered around to participate in a Chinese New Year’s ritual. They were buying bright red ribbons displaying gold Chinese characters and attached to metal coins. One by one they threw the ribbons up into the tree. Mostly they fell through to the ground but every once in a while, one would balance over a branch. The thrower would immediately scream with glee and jump up and down, old and young alike. It was not hard to figure out that the ribbons had been chosen for a particular wish for the new year and when they catching in the tree meant their wish would be coming true.
· Cyclists forced to commute in the rain have bright sapphire blue or emerald ponchos to protect not only them but their bike and its cargo. Each plastic covering has an opening for the face complete with a bill to keep the rain from your eyes. Then the poncho extends all the way down over the front of the bike, protecting the rider’s arms as well as the contents of the basket. A similar extension goes almost to the ground over the back fender. Motorbikes have a clear plastic square inserted in the front to let the headlight shine through. The gear reminded me of a custom-tailored expensive car cover.
· The PR person for the residential community we visited wryly responded to a question about the homeless we had seen on the street: “Oh course, technically in China there are no homeless people. Everyone is registered as a resident of his hometown. They have a home, they just aren’t in it.” He said that there were homeless support centers where, among other things, they called the person’s family back in the village and told them to come get him. Because this is a face-losing process for the person, the homeless people tended not to come to the centers. It wasn’t so much that they had left home in the first place but that the authorities were involved and called the family. Everything in China is based on where you are registered to live and work. I can only imagine what harsh rural conditions would force someone to place themself outside that system and come to the city. Shanghai has 17 million people!!! 14 million are Shanghaiese and 3 million are displaced people. Our guide readily admited that they are useful because they do jobs Shanghaiese don’t want to do “but we don’t need 3 million of them!” Sounds very similar to our immigrant labor force.
· Our time in Shanghai was extraordinarily wet and cold. Our vision of the city was hemmed in by the edges of our umbrellas and rain hoods. Bus windows were consistently fogged and each cityscape shrouded in mist and showers. Standing near the base of the Pearl Tower on Pudong, you could see only fog completely obscuring the top. Nevertheless, these intrepid travelers, our unstoppable SAS kids, plunged in and had myriad adventures. They explored, ate, shopped, clubbed, walked, rode every mode of transportation available and had a ball. One particularly miserable day, a group I was with did take warm refuge in the fragrant, bustling welcome of a Starbuck’s .Their stories are delightful and completely unmarred by the weather.
· A faculty member, Pat Curtin, and I spent a delightful morning at the Shanghai Art and Crafts Museum. Not only did they display exquisite examples of a wide array of crafts such as paper cutting, silk lantern making, embroidery and carving in every medium imaginable (some of the carving and drawing on ivory and bone was so small and intricate the curators had provided magnifying glasses to view it) but they also had a few artists demonstrating their skill. It was fun to admire their work in progress and see the real people behind the beauty. One woman was doing the kind of two-sided embroidery my family knows from the kitten screen in my parents’ house; her needle was at least half the diameter of a human hair. I am completely baffled by how they make the backside come out a different view – where are the knots?!?!
· A field trip about China’s one child policy was very enlightening. I had a lot of misconceptions that were cleared up. Many of the horror stories about this policy that we have heard about such as forced sterilization may have happened in the past and most certainly were worse in rural areas but the sanctions now are strictly financial if hefty. A family is penalized three times their annual income as a fine. However, the father does not get demoted, lose his job or get drummed out of the Communist party anymore. Formerly second children did not receive the free health care that first children did but that has been changed; they decided it wasn’t fair to penalize the child when it was the parents’ choice. They reported that the abortion rate was decreasing dramatically as people were embracing the policy. Of course, all this was from “official” spokespersons but I did get the sense that the Chinese approved the policy and were getting used to its effects, seeming to prefer those over the horrors of unchecked population growth. People reportedly even prefer girls because they are now more likely to take care of both their own parents and those of their husband.
· My favorite Shanghai experience was a feast prepared for us by a family in one of the modest residential blocks of which there are literally millions in the city. We were taken to the home of a retired chemical engineer and his wife. They were also babysitting an adorable six-year-old granddaughter because school was out for New Year or Spring Festival as they called it. The home was very small, much less than 1000 square feet but a large table with lazy susan had been set up in their living room. About 15 dishes were laid out on the table when we arrived: bright orange winter melon, sausages, sliced tomatoes, peanuts in a sauce with little bits of pork, roast duck, tiny boiled quail eggs and many more. Then from a minuscule kitchen paraded dish after dish of special delicacies such as stuffed mushrooms topped with a bright orange shriveled bean that we were told was Chinese medicine good for the heart, fabulously seasoned shrimp in a light batter, egg rolls, barbecued pork, small slices of baby eggplant with pork stuffing them lightly fried (my favorite), and so many more. We ate and ate and ate and just when we thought we would burst another tantalizing steaming dish would arrive. Our host and hostess did not sit with us but busied themselves attending to the serving and fussing over us. Our guide did sit down and told us fascinating stories. I asked if it was OK to talk about the Cultural Revolution and he said yes but that it was very complicated. He shared with us his views although he said it did not affect his family that much because they were rural uneducated people. He certainly advanced to a good career after it was over. I wish I could have questioned our host since he was of the professional class that was targeted. I saw him watching one of the girls and before we left he got up his courage to point to her blonde hair and ask “Is it real? Not dyed?” She said “Yes, it’s real” then under her breath, “Well a few streaks.”
My necklace of Chinese experience is much longer but I’ll stop here. Stay tuned for reports from Hong Kong, Viet Nam and Cambodia!
Friday, February 04, 2005
Kicking Back in Kauai
OK, Everyone. I want you all to go get a pen. I’ll wait…
Got it? Now take out your worry/prayer list. If my name’s on it, I want you to cross it out with a big, bold stroke. I’m FINE. A little soggy from a lot of rain but hey, I’m on the Garden Isle of Kauai. How bad can that be?
I flew here from Honolulu on Wednesday. I wanted to stay for the big luau Tuesday night. Never have I had so much fun at such a cheesy event. I’m normally allergic to touristy deals like this but it was exactly what we all needed – a party! The show was actually quite good and everyone seemed to get into the spirit of celebrating, being together and being in this beautiful state.
Kauai is my favorite Hawaiian island because of the variety of the geography, the lush abundance of flowers, and the ambiance, especially on the North Shore. You may have heard of the Na Pali coast, a strenuous but stunning hike that Buie, Scottie, Malcolm and I did about 30 years ago – yeah, they were little things then but what troopers they were. I also came here to rest after the 1996 election and came to really love it. Yes, the wonderful old Ching Young country store with the wide wooden porch has been replaced by a small shopping mall, but the people are still very laid back and the glitz of, say, Maui is at a minimum. I decided to stay at Princeville, a real treat of a luxury resort, and that turned out to be a great decision. The weather has been very rainy so I’ve been glad of the huge, gorgeous room overlooking the beach and all the amenities – a yummy, soft bed, cable TV, unlimited wireless Internet, room service on silver trays with an orchid and a huge green marble bathroom. Did I mention you could stop being worried about me now? I was planning on hiking, snorkeling, and maybe some golf but the trails are much too muddy to hike, the water too stirred up by all this weather, and the greens extremely soggy. Oh well, I’ll just have to suffer through.
Several people whom I do not know have written very complimentary emails in response to this blog and I very much appreciate their comments. It got posted on the message board even though I did not really mean for it to be public. I hope it has been helpful to family and friends of S05 voyagers. One person had a question about how we were all coping.
When I was a labor and delivery nurse, I got to see the large variety of ways that people cope when stressed. That wide spectrum has been evident in people’s reactions to this experience. I know I am not the only one that has learned something about herself, a somewhat more surprising revelation at 57 than at 20 I suppose. My reaction was a sort of freezing up for a while, just getting through it step by step. I can admit now that when everyone was told to go to the deck where the lifeboats were, I thought quickly about what I should take. My first and only thought of the possibility of death was that I should zip some ID into my coat pocket so my family wouldn’t have to go through what the tsunami victims did to identify bodies. That thought quickly gave way to the assumption that we would spend some time in the lifeboats, then be rescued by a ship, then land who knew where. I took a credit card and cash so I could function in whatever port we docked in. I took my asthma inhaler, popped a seasickness pill thinking those little boats were bound to get tossed around a lot, grabbed my water bottle and some almonds and left my room. I briefly considered taking my special family pictures taped to the mirror but by that time I was into assuming that this would last a while and then we’d be back in our rooms and I didn’t want the pictures to get messed up – and anyway I had tucked my love for you all safely away in my heart.
So that’s how I moved through it, very practically, step by step. I only cried once, the next day after I got off the satellite phone from finally reaching a member of my family, Dave, my loyal bon voyager in Vancouver. But that was very brief. What helped me cope was working in the clinic and focusing on my shipboard family, being of some use. I’ve posted their picture so you can see what a great group I have. We were having a little cookie party in my room. It wasn’t until I got to Kauai that I could check in with me and see what I needed. I’m happy to report that all this pampering and down time has done the trick. My memories have loosened up and I’m able to access how I’m feeling much better. It has really helped to have online chats with my kids and get all your wonderful emails. Please forgive me if I haven’t sent you a personal reply yet but I appreciate all your kind words of support. If it keeps raining I should get to them all by the end of the day.
For all you parents, family and friends of student voyagers who may be reading this, all I can say is to try to accept where your kids may be. Some moved quickly on, but may need to come back and process later. Others are heavy into the effects and will move through at their own pace. I’ve seen anger, blowing it off as nothing, jumpiness, persistent sadness, and anxiety, sometimes all in the same person. It’s such an individual experience. I know you will support them wherever they are in it. I know you’re offering your love and the time and space they need to heal themselves – and they will. Never have I seen such a resilient group.
We head back to the ship tomorrow and should know something soon. Whatever happens, this has already been the experience of a lifetime. Thanks again for all your love and support and for trying to be honest and positive at the same time. That’s all we really need.
Got it? Now take out your worry/prayer list. If my name’s on it, I want you to cross it out with a big, bold stroke. I’m FINE. A little soggy from a lot of rain but hey, I’m on the Garden Isle of Kauai. How bad can that be?
I flew here from Honolulu on Wednesday. I wanted to stay for the big luau Tuesday night. Never have I had so much fun at such a cheesy event. I’m normally allergic to touristy deals like this but it was exactly what we all needed – a party! The show was actually quite good and everyone seemed to get into the spirit of celebrating, being together and being in this beautiful state.
Kauai is my favorite Hawaiian island because of the variety of the geography, the lush abundance of flowers, and the ambiance, especially on the North Shore. You may have heard of the Na Pali coast, a strenuous but stunning hike that Buie, Scottie, Malcolm and I did about 30 years ago – yeah, they were little things then but what troopers they were. I also came here to rest after the 1996 election and came to really love it. Yes, the wonderful old Ching Young country store with the wide wooden porch has been replaced by a small shopping mall, but the people are still very laid back and the glitz of, say, Maui is at a minimum. I decided to stay at Princeville, a real treat of a luxury resort, and that turned out to be a great decision. The weather has been very rainy so I’ve been glad of the huge, gorgeous room overlooking the beach and all the amenities – a yummy, soft bed, cable TV, unlimited wireless Internet, room service on silver trays with an orchid and a huge green marble bathroom. Did I mention you could stop being worried about me now? I was planning on hiking, snorkeling, and maybe some golf but the trails are much too muddy to hike, the water too stirred up by all this weather, and the greens extremely soggy. Oh well, I’ll just have to suffer through.
Several people whom I do not know have written very complimentary emails in response to this blog and I very much appreciate their comments. It got posted on the message board even though I did not really mean for it to be public. I hope it has been helpful to family and friends of S05 voyagers. One person had a question about how we were all coping.
When I was a labor and delivery nurse, I got to see the large variety of ways that people cope when stressed. That wide spectrum has been evident in people’s reactions to this experience. I know I am not the only one that has learned something about herself, a somewhat more surprising revelation at 57 than at 20 I suppose. My reaction was a sort of freezing up for a while, just getting through it step by step. I can admit now that when everyone was told to go to the deck where the lifeboats were, I thought quickly about what I should take. My first and only thought of the possibility of death was that I should zip some ID into my coat pocket so my family wouldn’t have to go through what the tsunami victims did to identify bodies. That thought quickly gave way to the assumption that we would spend some time in the lifeboats, then be rescued by a ship, then land who knew where. I took a credit card and cash so I could function in whatever port we docked in. I took my asthma inhaler, popped a seasickness pill thinking those little boats were bound to get tossed around a lot, grabbed my water bottle and some almonds and left my room. I briefly considered taking my special family pictures taped to the mirror but by that time I was into assuming that this would last a while and then we’d be back in our rooms and I didn’t want the pictures to get messed up – and anyway I had tucked my love for you all safely away in my heart.
So that’s how I moved through it, very practically, step by step. I only cried once, the next day after I got off the satellite phone from finally reaching a member of my family, Dave, my loyal bon voyager in Vancouver. But that was very brief. What helped me cope was working in the clinic and focusing on my shipboard family, being of some use. I’ve posted their picture so you can see what a great group I have. We were having a little cookie party in my room. It wasn’t until I got to Kauai that I could check in with me and see what I needed. I’m happy to report that all this pampering and down time has done the trick. My memories have loosened up and I’m able to access how I’m feeling much better. It has really helped to have online chats with my kids and get all your wonderful emails. Please forgive me if I haven’t sent you a personal reply yet but I appreciate all your kind words of support. If it keeps raining I should get to them all by the end of the day.
For all you parents, family and friends of student voyagers who may be reading this, all I can say is to try to accept where your kids may be. Some moved quickly on, but may need to come back and process later. Others are heavy into the effects and will move through at their own pace. I’ve seen anger, blowing it off as nothing, jumpiness, persistent sadness, and anxiety, sometimes all in the same person. It’s such an individual experience. I know you will support them wherever they are in it. I know you’re offering your love and the time and space they need to heal themselves – and they will. Never have I seen such a resilient group.
We head back to the ship tomorrow and should know something soon. Whatever happens, this has already been the experience of a lifetime. Thanks again for all your love and support and for trying to be honest and positive at the same time. That’s all we really need.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
About "The Night"
I’ve put a huge pressure on myself about writing this piece. I’ve procrastinated in all the ways writers do: I’ve eaten chocolate, checked and rechecked to see that the batteries to my cameras are charged, and even resorted to doing my hand washing, taking a page out of my mentor Pam Houston’s book. I have written everything BUT this piece, laboring diligently over my laundry list, the wording for a note inviting my shipboard family for cookies in my cabin, my shopping list for Honolulu and a haiku I’ll share later. I’ve stared for hours at the now calm sapphire water and watched how the sun plays on its surface, a light I’ve missed as acutely for the past 10 days as any new resident of Seattle.
But tomorrow we dock in Honolulu and time is up. You who have offered me such support and love deserve swift word of how I am after our ordeal. The Internet has been down for reasons that will become clear but will be back up when we’re docked. I’m still waiting for balanced and profound insights, shining metaphors and a framework for an essay that includes all the carefully crafted elements of pace and tension I know should be there. Maybe it will come. For now I’m going to quote bits from my journal about “the night.” (I find it strange that the shipboard community hasn’t come up with a word or phrase to refer to the event we’ve heard has been all over the news from the ticker on CNN to a satellite phone interview with a student on the Today show. Maybe the answer is we have just been assuming for the past couple of days that it is the subject of most conversations so there’s no need yet to name it. I asked a waiter in the dining room what they called it and he said “The night.” Works for me.)
From my journal written two days later:
“No one was asleep from 1:00 am on as conditions worsened. How could it be worse? I thought my cabin had been well secured. All surfaces clean – possessions all in cabinets, nothing loose anywhere. I never thought of the furniture – tables, chairs, bed, TV, all mobile, all projectiles agitating around the space, bouncing off walls – huge heavy pieces leaving gouges in woodwork and walls. At some point before the first announcement, the electrical circuit serving the electronic latch to my balcony door went out and I had the sounds of the wind and sea loudly with me through the crack in the door, like a car on the highway with the window left a little open. I’d moved to the couch with padded arms I could use to wedge myself between. It’s a full-sized sleeper sofa that any burly and helpful friend of a new 3rd floor walk-up tenant regularly curses. With all that heft and me on top, it was still sliding across the carpet but not as much as the lighter bed which was then completely away from the wall by a few feet and catty-cornered in the room. The metal trashcan was the least dangerous but noisiest and I was glad when it finally stuck itself somewhere because it wasn’t safe to get up to try to secure it.
Wedged in the orange couch, my balcony door ajar, I heard the ship’s horn begin an unrelenting moan. We’d heard it in fog mode a few nights earlier – intermittent, on a 90 second cycle (you count these things in the middle of the night when the lurching motion of the ship prevents sleep.) But this was unmistakably different. Facing the 50 foot waves much higher than my window on the 5th deck, I knew for certain it was a distress call and we were in trouble. I tried to pull my mind up to the level of “Uh, that can’t be good” but it slipped my grasp plunging back to the surety that this was real trouble. And then the confirmation: “All passengers put on your life vests immediately and stay in your rooms.”
Like gears clicking into perfect synchrony, my soul put the truth of my instinct together with the sound of the phrase “put on your life vests.” The result was a certainly, a reality I’ve rarely felt. It wasn’t about death but it was about……what word to use that’s even close? Trouble, emergency, being at risk, vulnerability, a conviction of danger so pure it mocked all the times I’ve speculated about how I would feel if…
One young woman later said she took a picture of her parents and her little sister with her as she left for the lifeboats. She’d played slumber party games about what would you save if you had to quickly save one thing. Now she knew. The choice was so clear. The clarity gave her comfort. It wasn’t a game; she wasn’t confused about her values. And she seemed to feel both relief and pride in that. She had faced that decision feared by so many and she knew clearly what her choice would be. I say, lucky 20 year old to be able to live the rest of her life with a certainly that 80-somethings might not enjoy.”
Here my journal goes to a description of the water and light outside my balcony where I was writing this later I wrote right up to the core of it and then moved off to someone else’s story and then to the joy of what was in front of me. Two days was not enough distance to be able to write all the way through that feeling, and it still isn’t.
What had happened was a very large wave, probably about 50 feet, had hit the bridge, knocked out the big center window and flooded the room, frying all the equipment. Salt water is a very good conductor of electricity and it produced shorts in every instrument up there. (The Internet signal comes through an antenna tied to the gyroscope on the bridge to point it to the satellite; that’s why we won’t have Internet now.) Because they were no longer getting a signal from the bridge the engines shut down. I’ve since learned that we were in grave danger of a knock down, not being able to control the ship and head her into the waves. Ships with holes in the hull sink slowly giving adequate time to get off; we’ve all seen Titanic. This was different.
The next announcement was for everyone to move onto the fifth deck, the one where the life boats are. I was able to stay in my small hall on that deck with a few other adult passengers and faculty. But I’ve heard from others out in the big public areas that the crew had the men separate themselves from the women as they came onto the deck – “women and children first.” My friends Ann and Tom say the very worst part of it all for them was having to go through it separated. We sat in our heaviest coats and life jackets and sweated. One engine restarted. Doc Mike used a room on our hall to store emergency medical packs and I went back down to the clinic on deck 2 with him to fill a pillowcase with drugs to take into the boats with us. I stayed down there for awhile trying to secure the most important equipment – the contents of all the drawers and cabinets were on the floor, including some previously disposed of used “sharps” from a spilled bucket. It felt good to be useful. The other engine finally restarted. The crew sent around plastic bins of fruit and rolls. I passed nuts around my hall and my mother’s ever reliable emergency staple of peanut butter crackers. We talked a little, tried to sleep, coped in whatever way we could. I found I did best back in my cabin wedged into my couch even though the cold and noise from my partially open door was uncomfortable. I briefly thought of the possibility of one of those gigantic waves roaring across my small balcony and forcing my door open more, flooding my cabin. Somehow I was able to put that thought on a little cloud and let it float away – thank you, meditation practice!
I’ve always scored half way between introvert and extrovert on psych tests but I guess this experience decided it. I found it hard to be tolerant of other people’s coping methods. I had my hands full coping myself and did that better alone. About two in the afternoon when we could take our life jackets off and go back inside our cabins, the first thing I did was take off all the layers of my clothes, roll them in a ball and put them far back in a cabinet. I would have burned them if I could. Yes, I had been hot but there was something else. The sweat of fear has a different odor – and I don’t want to smell it ever again.
A couple of days later the sun came out and the seas calmed. We survived, learned about ourselves, bonded as a community, and so much more. I’ll leave you with my celebratory haiku:
Sunset flashing gold
Over Neptune’s placid face.
All is forgiven.
But tomorrow we dock in Honolulu and time is up. You who have offered me such support and love deserve swift word of how I am after our ordeal. The Internet has been down for reasons that will become clear but will be back up when we’re docked. I’m still waiting for balanced and profound insights, shining metaphors and a framework for an essay that includes all the carefully crafted elements of pace and tension I know should be there. Maybe it will come. For now I’m going to quote bits from my journal about “the night.” (I find it strange that the shipboard community hasn’t come up with a word or phrase to refer to the event we’ve heard has been all over the news from the ticker on CNN to a satellite phone interview with a student on the Today show. Maybe the answer is we have just been assuming for the past couple of days that it is the subject of most conversations so there’s no need yet to name it. I asked a waiter in the dining room what they called it and he said “The night.” Works for me.)
From my journal written two days later:
“No one was asleep from 1:00 am on as conditions worsened. How could it be worse? I thought my cabin had been well secured. All surfaces clean – possessions all in cabinets, nothing loose anywhere. I never thought of the furniture – tables, chairs, bed, TV, all mobile, all projectiles agitating around the space, bouncing off walls – huge heavy pieces leaving gouges in woodwork and walls. At some point before the first announcement, the electrical circuit serving the electronic latch to my balcony door went out and I had the sounds of the wind and sea loudly with me through the crack in the door, like a car on the highway with the window left a little open. I’d moved to the couch with padded arms I could use to wedge myself between. It’s a full-sized sleeper sofa that any burly and helpful friend of a new 3rd floor walk-up tenant regularly curses. With all that heft and me on top, it was still sliding across the carpet but not as much as the lighter bed which was then completely away from the wall by a few feet and catty-cornered in the room. The metal trashcan was the least dangerous but noisiest and I was glad when it finally stuck itself somewhere because it wasn’t safe to get up to try to secure it.
Wedged in the orange couch, my balcony door ajar, I heard the ship’s horn begin an unrelenting moan. We’d heard it in fog mode a few nights earlier – intermittent, on a 90 second cycle (you count these things in the middle of the night when the lurching motion of the ship prevents sleep.) But this was unmistakably different. Facing the 50 foot waves much higher than my window on the 5th deck, I knew for certain it was a distress call and we were in trouble. I tried to pull my mind up to the level of “Uh, that can’t be good” but it slipped my grasp plunging back to the surety that this was real trouble. And then the confirmation: “All passengers put on your life vests immediately and stay in your rooms.”
Like gears clicking into perfect synchrony, my soul put the truth of my instinct together with the sound of the phrase “put on your life vests.” The result was a certainly, a reality I’ve rarely felt. It wasn’t about death but it was about……what word to use that’s even close? Trouble, emergency, being at risk, vulnerability, a conviction of danger so pure it mocked all the times I’ve speculated about how I would feel if…
One young woman later said she took a picture of her parents and her little sister with her as she left for the lifeboats. She’d played slumber party games about what would you save if you had to quickly save one thing. Now she knew. The choice was so clear. The clarity gave her comfort. It wasn’t a game; she wasn’t confused about her values. And she seemed to feel both relief and pride in that. She had faced that decision feared by so many and she knew clearly what her choice would be. I say, lucky 20 year old to be able to live the rest of her life with a certainly that 80-somethings might not enjoy.”
Here my journal goes to a description of the water and light outside my balcony where I was writing this later I wrote right up to the core of it and then moved off to someone else’s story and then to the joy of what was in front of me. Two days was not enough distance to be able to write all the way through that feeling, and it still isn’t.
What had happened was a very large wave, probably about 50 feet, had hit the bridge, knocked out the big center window and flooded the room, frying all the equipment. Salt water is a very good conductor of electricity and it produced shorts in every instrument up there. (The Internet signal comes through an antenna tied to the gyroscope on the bridge to point it to the satellite; that’s why we won’t have Internet now.) Because they were no longer getting a signal from the bridge the engines shut down. I’ve since learned that we were in grave danger of a knock down, not being able to control the ship and head her into the waves. Ships with holes in the hull sink slowly giving adequate time to get off; we’ve all seen Titanic. This was different.
The next announcement was for everyone to move onto the fifth deck, the one where the life boats are. I was able to stay in my small hall on that deck with a few other adult passengers and faculty. But I’ve heard from others out in the big public areas that the crew had the men separate themselves from the women as they came onto the deck – “women and children first.” My friends Ann and Tom say the very worst part of it all for them was having to go through it separated. We sat in our heaviest coats and life jackets and sweated. One engine restarted. Doc Mike used a room on our hall to store emergency medical packs and I went back down to the clinic on deck 2 with him to fill a pillowcase with drugs to take into the boats with us. I stayed down there for awhile trying to secure the most important equipment – the contents of all the drawers and cabinets were on the floor, including some previously disposed of used “sharps” from a spilled bucket. It felt good to be useful. The other engine finally restarted. The crew sent around plastic bins of fruit and rolls. I passed nuts around my hall and my mother’s ever reliable emergency staple of peanut butter crackers. We talked a little, tried to sleep, coped in whatever way we could. I found I did best back in my cabin wedged into my couch even though the cold and noise from my partially open door was uncomfortable. I briefly thought of the possibility of one of those gigantic waves roaring across my small balcony and forcing my door open more, flooding my cabin. Somehow I was able to put that thought on a little cloud and let it float away – thank you, meditation practice!
I’ve always scored half way between introvert and extrovert on psych tests but I guess this experience decided it. I found it hard to be tolerant of other people’s coping methods. I had my hands full coping myself and did that better alone. About two in the afternoon when we could take our life jackets off and go back inside our cabins, the first thing I did was take off all the layers of my clothes, roll them in a ball and put them far back in a cabinet. I would have burned them if I could. Yes, I had been hot but there was something else. The sweat of fear has a different odor – and I don’t want to smell it ever again.
A couple of days later the sun came out and the seas calmed. We survived, learned about ourselves, bonded as a community, and so much more. I’ll leave you with my celebratory haiku:
Sunset flashing gold
Over Neptune’s placid face.
All is forgiven.
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