Happy April Fools’ Day

Day 86 at sea; April 1, 2011

This is the third day at sea since Oman. Today is Friday—at least that’s what the rug in the elevators say.  I don’t know how I will keep track of time without them.  The days are going by entirely too fast.

We are now sailing in the Red Sea and headed for Safaga, Egypt.  Because of the political unrest our captain determined we could not stop in Egypt. Now, however we have been given clearance to go there and will dock in Safaga tomorrow am. We’re excited to have this port back on the itinerary.

Yesterday I taught on Writing about Things and today the class will share what they have written. As for me, I shall work on my book as my presentations are ready for the next few sea days.

I  have been getting up around 5:30 in the morning and going to the Library/Explorers lounge. I confiscate one of five leather chairs with ottomans so I can keep my legs up.  

Would really like prayer in getting my book finished.  And for clarity and the ability to focus.

Love to all, Pat

Dangerous Waters

Day 85 at sea; March 31, 2011

We have been sailing off the coast of Yemen, where there is so much unrest. We are flanked by two navy ships, one US, one Dutch.  Today we will leave the Arabean Sea (the Gulf of Aden) and sail through a small opening with Yemen to the north and east and Djibouti to the west. This is the entrance to the Red Sea.

Yesterday was deemed Celebration Day to collectively celebrate life. We had a formal night and free wine with dinner.  Then at 9:30 in the evening, we had a dessert extravaganza.  The chefs created an amazing and delectable array of sculptures, ice and chocolate and everything imaginable. All edible. We had white and dark chocolate fountains, a chocolate palace and ship.  Wow.  And what took more than 24 hours to create was torn apart and eaten within an hour.  Thankfully, we had a time to take photos before the guests could start eating.

We have four sea days in a row and I am hoping to get a lot of writing done. We are having trouble with our internet so I haven’t been able to get on. 

Salalah, Oman—City of Palms and Beaches

Day 83 at sea; March 29, 2011

 

We hadn’t booked a tour here even though our tablemate, Barbara, insisted we couldn’t miss seeing Job’s tomb.  The day we docked I had planned to spend the day writing.  However, a friend came up and asked if I wanted to go with her as her hubby was not feeling well.  Of course, I said.

The countryside was arid and not to interesting, but as we headed inland, I was surprised by how high the mountains actually were. They were dry, but lovely and apparently very green and fertile when the monsoons come.

We saw boswellia trees which produce frankincense—one of their major exports. This area and a small area in N. Africa are  the only places these trees grow naturally. The frankincense comes from the bark, like sap. We saw lots of camels along the road roaming free.  Beautiful vistas greeted us as we made our way through the mountains and eventually to Job’s tomb.  So, yes, I did get to see it. Is it really Job’s tomb? And is the giant footprint encased in cement for real? I’m not convinced—especially not about the footprint. Just how does one preserve a footprint for that long. But, the site was lovely. It sits at the top of the hill and is a mosque and mausoleum and one must dress conservatively—and women must cover their heads arms and legs.

When impressed me most was the city itself. A very large area in town is dedicated to growing bananas and coconuts.  Many fruit stands lined the road and much of the fruit is exported. Amazing to see all that green in the middle of town.

We went to a square where one of three of the Sultan’s Palaces, a gorgeous beach and a large souk were all within two minutes walk.  We shopped—lots of clothing, perfume and incense. The beach—white sands and turquoise water made us wish we could stay for a while.  But alas, the bus awaited and we had to say goodbye to Salalah. 

Each day here in Arabia we had temperatures in the 90s so coming back home to the elegant and beautiful Amsterdam and the pool is a joy. 

 

Muscat, Oman—Largest City of the Sultanate of Oman

Day 81 at sea; March 27, 2011

Muscat and Mutrah, where we docked has been an important trading center between the east and west since the 1^st century. It is located on the Arabian Sea. Its current Sultan, Quaboos bin Sadi is said to be a benevolent dictator, who rules with an iron hand, but makes certain his people have everything they need. There are many beautiful mosques and the primary religion is Hindu.  The port here is beautiful and as we sailed in, we saw ancient forts  and lovely scultures. The sultan’s yacht is moored in the harbor and it looks like a small cruise ship. We took a shuttle from the port and were treated to a lovely waterfront with statues and gardens on one side and older buildings mostly restaurants and souks on the other. The shuttle dropped us off at the souk and we spent over an hour wandering around the maze of hundreds of cubbyhole shops with everything imaginable for sale.

 

Dubai—the Emerald City

Day 78 at sea, March 24, 2011

If Mumbai was the image of suffering, Dubai is the image of wealth and prosperity. The United Arab Emirates on the Persian Gulf. It is the most populated City in the UAE next to Abu Dhabi and continues to be one of the fastest growing cities in the world.  The construction and development of Dubai is stunning. Dubai is home to the world’s tallest building.  There is an amazing building that houses a mountain on which people can ski.  The malls here are very high end and it isn’t unusual to see women, who still wear black berkas and cover their hair and face, buying stilettos and fashions right off the runway.

High-rises abound. One resort was built in the shape of a ship’s mast. The architecture here is unique and breathtaking. Most of the city is less than forty years old. Still in this beautiful and clean city, there are touches of the old world. An ancient walled fort, once home to a sheik, is now a museum featuring life as it was centuries ago. There are old-time markets or souks with pushy venders. We visited a gold souk, a spice souk and saw all manner of souvenirs, clothing, fabric and the like.

Most of Dubai’s population is made up of expatriates, the majority immigrants from Asia, who act as the primary workforce.  Nationals are in the minority here.  Dubai is one of seven emirates (kingdoms) still ruled by seven sheiks who are among the wealthiest rulers in the world. They have servants for all of their many palaces and yachts--ready at all times to serve.  They are men who can afford many wives and children.  Oil has made them wealthy as has our dependence on oil, but these sheiks know the oil is finite and are diversified. Tourism, desalinization, commerce, and brokerage also provide an income as well. 

In fact we could learn from their desalinization process.  They have only seawater and desert springs and use desalinization of ocean water for irrigation and even for drinking. Most people, however, use bottled water for drinking as there is still a higher than desirable salt content. 

We took a tour in Dubai and enjoyed visiting the museum and art gallery, the beaches and seeing the buildings. All is not as shiny as it appears on the surface. Dubai is having financial problems and some of their most magnificent projects lay unfinished until such time the developers are once more able to get backing.

Mundai—Images of Suffering

 Day 75 at sea; March 21, 2011

There are some beautiful old buildings and new high-rises and lovely hotels in Mumbai—for tourists and people with money. A yacht belonging to Kingfisher Airlines and Kingfisher Beer rests in the harbor—pristine and glowing white amidst the gray naval ships, the dirty degrading row-boats, ferries and tankers. The lovely buildings are protected by armed guards. In front of the Taj Mahal Hotel are armed guards and a military tank. Visitors must pass through a security gate and be screened before being allowed to enter.  This is the hotel that fell victim to a terrorist attack about two years ago.  

It sits near the water’s edge, a jewel surrounded by run-down market places and slums.  Never have I seen such squalor.  Millions of people live on the streets, they have no toilets and you can guess where they squat.  Traffic? Think of the worst traffic you have ever driven in and multiply it by ten. I heard that Mumbai has the highest rate of traffic fatalities in the world. I believe it.

The first day I escorted the Panoramic Mundai tour.  We saw all the highlights—remnants of British royalty. Cricket fields, new highways. The Taj. We saw Mumbai’s elite district.  But woven through it all were hovels, people sleeping in the street, women—young girls really—holding babies and knocking on windows of cars, begging for rupees. No one stops to help.  Day two we went out to hire a cab driver—men who surround you--all talking at once.  We make a deal and off we go.  He is an older man, he speaks decent English, but he is not happy. Perhaps he has been doing this for too long. He hopes we will stop at several of the markets where he gets a cut and buy something. He drives too fast.  He argues that we have to buy something and tells us we have to go to one more shop. Ron is firm and tells him where we want to go, but the man stops at another market.  Finally, we arrive again at the Taj for refreshments.  He waits and guides us into another shop.  We do look here because a friend recommended it. I don’t buy. I can’t find what I want in a price range I can afford.  I don’t trust the quality.

Our driver is very unhappy with us because we have not made a purchase. We tell him we want to go back to the ship. It is nearly noon and we want to have lunch. He wants to know when the ship leaves. Ron tells him that if he hurries and gets us back right away he might be able to get another fare.

He takes a very long way around and mentions another shop.  Again Ron tells him to return to the ship. I have a headache from the heat and the bickering.  I think we have been driving in circles. Finally we reach one of the port gates.  The driver asks for and takes Ron’s stamped card (with copy of passport which we need to renter. We’re a bit nervous as he parks and goes over to a guard station. Apparently he must show that he has a ship passenger in order to enter the gate.  While we wait an old woman with a crutch knocks on the window.  My heart aches and I have to close my eyes.

He comes back and we breathe again as he takes us to the gate—we show our cards and are allowed through. He drives too fast again—like a horse heading for the barn. I leave the cab and hurry into the terminal where I have to show my ID and card again.  There are stalls in the terminal—jewelry, saris, tops, souvenirs.  I look again as I did the day before. There are necklaces I like, but I am quoted $1200 US dollars and reminded that the stones are real rubies and emeralds, etc.  I walk away and he tells me that he has one for $600.  How do I know the stones are real?  I don’t. I’m tired and hungry and sad.

Would I go back again to Mundai?  Perhaps, but I have to process what I have seen. The pictures of poverty on television do not compare to the reality. In truth, I am happy to leave India behind. 

Now we are off to Dubai where things are new. There is a mountain inside a building where one can ski for $60 an hour.  Dubai is home to the tallest building in the world. There are shops and I have made plans to go with friends from the ship. 

Kochi—a Near-Death Experience

Day 72 at sea; Mar 18, 2011

We were greeted by dancers and some rather interesting and colorful oversized plants.  Since we didn’t get clearance from the ship until 11 am we decided to eat lunch before heading out. We had planned to hook up with another couple to share a cab, but alas, everyone had already gone.  We finally decided to walk to the Taj Hotel which was 2 k away.  We got as far as the port gate and were swarmed by cab and Tuc-Tuc drivers.  One voice seemed to rise above the others and he offered to take us to the hotel for only one dollar.  He was a very handsome young man and his tuc-tuc looked fairly new. Think golf cart with three wheels and a little more power. 

Anyway we employed him for the ride and since we wanted to go the city to see a couple of sights, he insisted on being our driver. He waited for us at the Taj—a beautiful plush hotel on the water’s edge. Security guards and gates kept the poor of society out.  The driver stayed outside the gate.  We enjoyed the grounds and drinks in a lovely restaurant and eventually wandered back out. 

Defir, our driver jumped up from where he’d been waiting with a number of other drivers and ran to get his tuc-tuc. This is where the excitement or should I say, terror, began.  It took about forty minutes to get to St. Andrews church, our destination, and let’s just say that the worst you have heard about India is true.  Garbage everywhere—smells like you wouldn’t believe. While there was a line down the middle of the road to separate traffic, no one seemed to pay any attention to it. Bikes, tuc-tucs, buses cars and people shared the narrow streets narrowly missing each other.  We held on white knuckled as we passed hundreds of street vendors and beggars.  The poorest of the poor.  No wonder Mother Theresa had such a heart for India.  It is painful to see this. You want to help so much, but we were told not to give anything to any of them or we would be swarmed and basically trapped. We were also told that some will fake injury or main themselves and even their children so that people will take pity on them and buy their wares or give them money for whatever purpose.

Past all of this we went as Defir proudly showed us the area where he lives with his wife and two children.  He invited us to come to his place for tea, but we declined. (This is a ploy to get the tourist to give them more money. Our cab fare was whatever we wanted to pay.)  We finally reached the church and after looking around and taking photos, we asked Defir to take us back to the ship.  But first, he said, we had to stop at his brother’s shop—his uncle’s place, where his mother works and his wife and on and on.  Ron had to firmly tell him over and over, no shopping—go straight to the ship.  The “shops” lined the streets, where many of the people slept.  The traffic was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I had to close my eyes more than once, fearing we’d smash into something. It was terrifying at times as Defir honked his horn and came to with half an inch of a bike or bus or a person.  A harrowing experience to say the least.

We finally arrived home and Defir let us off at the gate. He was not allowed inside the port area. He gave us a card so we could tell people coming out to hire him. Unfortunately for Defir, people were coming back to the ship, not going out.  We paid him a little more than the going rate.

We are alive, have probably gained a few gray hairs, but I would hire a tuc-tuc again. I would spend a little more time seeing more of the sites—find a reputable market and not be so frightened.  I would take a boat ride and explore the shore and I would spend some time in the country and maybe not so much in the city.  

Now, we have another sea day before we dock in Mumbai (Bombay).  Will it be more of the same? Worse?  We shall see.