Two Days, Two Countries

On Monday, March 29, we arrived in the harbor at Nagasaki, Japan. We sailed in under clear skies (although chilly) below a gorgeous suspension bridge. The cruise ship terminal was brand-new, in fact we may have been the first ship to use it as the normally efficient Japanese seemed a bit flummoxed by the new technology (and were determined to use each and every bit of it on us) and the lines to clear immigration were long and slow-moving. The city is tidy, tidy, tidy, with everyone seemingly focused on wherever they are going—no loitering or idleness in sight. We spent the morning marveling at the gardens and the shops. Lots of fantastic things to buy, but the prices were way beyond our willingness to pay. We ended up only buying a few tiny bottles of sake and some postcards and stamps.
In the afternoon we took a tour of the Peace Park and the Atomic Bomb Museum. As you know, Nagasaki was the second—and final—city destroyed by the allies using a nuclear bomb (Hiroshima’s bomb was uranium; Nagasaki’s was plutonium—but the effects were pretty much the same). I was hesitant about going to the atomic bomb site (they also call it “ground zero”) but I was glad I did. The images are horrifying, but it’s our history and I think it’s important to know what happened. The focus at the Peace Park and the Atomic Bomb Museum is to promote lasting world-wide peace. The timeline which shows the events leading up to the bombing of Nagasaki are heart-breaking. This beautiful city wasn’t even on the “short list” of targets until a day or two before the bomb was dropped—and in the end the allies missed their target of the Mitsubishi shipyards by a few miles—but over 150,000 people perished in the blast. Some 70,000 during the blast, and another 80,000 in the five months following (from radiation sickness, burns, hunger and thirst). It must have been hell on earth. The only saving grace is that Japan surrendered and WWII was over. One poignant marker in the Atomic Bomb Museum mentioned that “Japan had been at war for over 15 years prior to the atomic bombing of Nagasaki. Wars with China, Korea, and the Southern Expansion had taken a toll on the country—especially since nearly all able-bodied men were involved in military service. Since the bombing, Japan has enjoyed over five decades of peace” [the plaque was dedicated in 1995].
The entire experience at the Peace Park/Bomb Museum was sobering. You’d think if we can “put a man on the moon” we could find a better way to settle our differences than blast each other to kingdom come.

March 30
Okay, we woke up the next morning and we were in Pusan (or some say “Busan”) Korea. It’s another bustling port, with container ships and tankers everywhere. It’s the second largest city in the country (I noticed that the locals do not make any distinction between North Korea and South Korea—for them, it’s just “Korea”) and the city includes some 3,500,000 residents. We had a short stay here (only about six hours) so we had to hot-foot it off the ship and get into town. We were dismayed to find that the shops didn’t open until about 10am. We were in town just after 8am. So, we did what everyone around the world does when they’ve got to while away a few hours—we went to Starbucks! A few stores opened around nine, so we began wandering around. The shops are amazing. Every little (and I’m talking guest bedroom-size little) shop specializes in a certain type of merchandise (toys, kitchen wares, fabrics, pillows, stationery, backpacks, whatever). And they are all jumbled up. Not even Wal-Mart is this confusing. The shopping is all on tiny alleyways, with motor scooters and tiny trucks zooming up the middle, making us jump for our lives (I almost landed in a huge display of artificial flowers while fleeing a honking mini-truck) every two or three minutes. It’s nuts. We scored a few finds (socks bearing the likeness of President Obama and Tim Tam cookies from Australia) but we never found the truly “good” shopping area we were seeking (where they have the knock-off purses and fake Hermes scarves). Oh well. We’ve been told that U.S. Customs is cracking down on counterfeiting and might take them away anyway.
We are sailing out of the harbor as I write this. So far, the weather has been co-operating with clear, cold days and no rain. Now on to China. It will take a while to get there so you won’t hear from me for a few days. We are landing at Xingang and then we’re taking an overnight trip to Beijing to see the Great Wall and the Forbidden City. We’ll be back onboard on Saturday. I’ll check in then and let you know how well I held up hoofing it up the wall and around the huge squares. I think we are also going to buzz by the Olympic Village. Tom’s excited since they’ve promised us Peking Duck. I’m excited since they’ve promised us we’re staying in a Marriott Hotel. Hey—I’m a “go along to get along” girl, but I have my limits. And a hole in the floor does NOT strike me as a proper excuse for a toilet.

North by Northwest

March 27
Well, we went from hot summer to chilly spring—bam!—just like that. The northern Pacific is rockin’ and rollin.’ The last report from the bridge said we were experiencing 40mph headwinds and 15 ft. seas, but then they stopped giving updates when it got even worse. (Gloria, you wouldn’t like this AT ALL). It’s weird because just yesterday it was glorious—85 degrees and balmy with flat seas. We’re headed to Japan, then Korea, then China. After that we’ll be heading back south and I’m sure the warmer weather will return.

Since today is a sea day and I don’t have much to report, I’ll tell you about Tom and his “love stick.” In Chuuk, the courting of a wife was difficult, since they kept young men and women apart in most aspects of everyday life. So, the men came up with this idea of carving a long stick with their unique notches and designs and showing it to the woman they desired. She would memorize the shape of the stick and then in the night the man would come to her family’s hut and poke the stick through the thatch and tangle it in her hair. If she was interested, she’d sneak out of the hut to be with the man. Sometimes it didn’t work so well. It wasn’t unusual for the suitor to mistake the mother for the young woman (the women all have long hair and the family all slept together so things got kind of mixed up). That could be disaster—especially if Mom showed up outside! Anyway, we asked the taxi driver who told us about this quaint custom if they still use the love stick to “get the girl.” “Nah,” he said. “Now we got cell phones.”

March 28
Today was Palm Sunday. It’s only Saturday at home. They had a beautiful brunch this morning with ice sculptures and desserts that were works of art. The seas have calmed down quite a bit since yesterday because we have left the Philippine Sea and are now in the East China Sea where there are islands to block the huge rolling waves. Tomorrow we go through immigration into Nagasaki, Japan where we’ve been told we’ll get the “full meal deal”—including fingerprinting, retina scan, a photograph, and even thermal scanning of our entire body. The Japanese are going to make darn sure these cruising grandmas and grandpas aren’t packing heat. Some people are so put off by the whole rigmarole they aren’t getting off the ship. We are. We’re going to hoof it into the port area in the morning and then we’re taking in the Peace Park and the Atomic Bomb Memorial and Museum in the afternoon.

I’m going to only be able to post one photo per blog from now on. The upload on this wi-fi is so slow and fussy I’ve been burning through my minutes trying to post photos only to have the entire blog post kicked off before being published to the web. So—sadly, you’ll have to put up with more of my blah-blah and less of my visual talent (and Tom’s grinning mug). I’ll pick the “photo of the day” and put at least one picture on every post. Today’s photo is from our stop in Guam. It’s the gorgeous beach near Tumon.

I can’t tell you how much we miss you all. This is a grand adventure, but it’s darn lonely without our dear friends both at home and via Internet. Please feel free to leave a comment. It makes me feel connected to you all!

Guam Pics

Chuuk Pics

This is Tom with his "love stick" (there's a story there, believe me!) Notice the guy in the statue has a much BIGGER love stick....


This is the harbor at Chuuk

Guam, USA 1

March 24
Well Chuuk (which we discovered is pronounced “Chewk”) was a notch up from Papua New Guinea but just a notch. They had been pounded by driving rain for the previous three days (we seem to be just missing these bad storms) and the main street through Weno (the major town on Chuuk) was under two to three feet of water and mud. They have a storm system (we saw manholes) but it was woefully overrun by the amount of water. The buildings were in similar disrepair as those we saw at PNG but some—notably the government buildings and churches—were in fairly good condition. We took a shuttle out to “The Blue Lagoon” which was a fairly nice (by Chuuk standards, at least) divers’ resort. This island group is a diver’s paradise, with literally dozens of Japanese ships and planes submerged just offshore and now teeming with coral and fish. The Allies bombed the heck out of the place on Feb 17-18, 1944 and drove the Japanese from the island. I’m sure for the locals those were the worst days (bombs pounding them night and day) and the best days (liberating them from the Japanese who were rumored to have been brutal—beheadings were common—to folks who wouldn’t get with the program).

Today we’re sailing rough but do-able seas on our way to Guam. We are really looking forward to Guam. First of all, they have a K-Mart (ha!) and we need to stock up on toiletries and pretzels. And secondly, when our son Thom was in the Navy he was stationed on Guam for many years and Dad Tom was all set to go visit him (even had a plane ticket!) when 9/11 happened and then schedules got all messed up and before we knew it Thom was back in San Diego and the trip to Guam never happened. Anyway, we’ve heard a bunch about Guam and we want to see it.

March 25
Back in the good ol’ US of A! Say what you want about American Imperialism, the Yankee dollar is the only thing that makes Hawaii and Guam a hundred times more livable than Papua New Guinea and Chuuk. Guam is lovely, with genuinely warm and welcoming people and staggeringly beautiful pristine beaches. It’s not Hawaii—a bit scruffier than Hawaii, I suppose you might say—but it’s a lovely place even given the constant battle with salt air and typhoons, and tourists (especially huge numbers of Japanese tourists) tramping over this rather small island day-in and day-out.

Tom was disappointed in the lack of memorials and marked sites of the massive (and deadly, nearly 18,000 Japanese killed and 8,000 U.S. Marines) invasion of Guam that took place in the Spring of 1944. The ship showed the History Channel version of the story on TV and it was another D-Day type invasion (it was called “W-Day” but I don’t know why) where our troops came ashore while the enemy had dug in on hills overlooking the beach and slaughtered troops before they’d even managed to reach the land (supposedly some 11 large troop landing craft were blown up in the water, and just like Tom Hanks, the men had to step over their comrades and scramble up the beach to safety.) Anyway, it’s all “kumbaya” now—very little in the way of public displays of sacrifice and loss. On the way back to the ship it hit me—the number one country pouring tourist dollars (or, in this case, yen) into the local economy is Japan. They aren’t too keen on dwelling on WWII and especially on humiliating defeats like the battle for Guam. So, everything’s kept pretty low-key. I’m sure on the U.S. bases here (and Guam boasts the largest Naval base in the Pacific) and in the museums you’ll find plenty of remembrances, but public displays are kept to the bare minimum.

We took the local bus to the big K-Mart (whoo-hoo, it had everything we were looking for—hair gel, pretzels, American wine!) and then continued on a “hop-on, hop off” bus to the beach area of Tumon, where if you’d been dropped there by a UFO you would have sworn you were in some remote, tropical area of Japan. The Japanese tourists outnumbered U.S. five to one, and the signs and menus are printed, Japanese first, then English. But hey, we need to get our balance of trade numbers up, so “arigato” for your money—come on over.

Back on ship, the local indigenous people, the Chamorros, came aboard to do some native dancing and singing. They had met the ship as it docked so we were prepared for the rather scanty outfits (they’ve already taken a few cruisers off this ship for heart attacks and I figured these barely-dressed folks might cause a couple more to get hauled off). What we weren’t prepared for was how wonderful they were. They sang beautifully, and danced and danced—really vigorous hula-type dances with sticks and athletic moves—for over an hour! They invited us to join in one dance, so of course I had to do it. I danced with a very patient little 10-year old (I’m guessing her age but she was about 50 pounds or less) who hugged me and thanked me after the dance. (I felt it was truly sincere). They were amazingly polite and even stayed on dock for an hour after being booted off so we could sail. They sang and danced and waved good-bye until we had cleared the harbor. Unbelievable. I never saw money change hands, but I hope the ship gave their school a donation because they provided the most heart-felt “aloha” spirit I’ve ever seen.

I could go on and on, but you’ve been patient enough to read to this point and I don’t want to push it. Tonight we sail for Nagasaki. This port will be our opportunity to show respect and sorrow. Both Tom and I have endured giggling Japanese girls at the Pearl Harbor Memorial in Honolulu (why do they even bother to go out there?) so we’ll get to see what it feels like to be the “bad guy” at a war memorial. No matter what your politics, war memorials are always sad, always sacred ground.

I will post Chuuk and Guam photos on a following post. This website has limits with regard to amount of bits and bytes it will endure, and the bandwidth on this shipboard satellite wi-fi is less than puny. So, I’m going to play it safe and cut this post into two parts.

Miss you all. Thanks for checking in!

Chuuk, Chuuk, Bo-Buck, Banana Fanna…

Well, this morning we were walking on the lap track when we crossed the equator. We walked across the equator! The weather is as expected—hot and muggy. No islands in sight yet, but the sea is relatively calm so everything’s good. For the oldsters on this cruise (and there are a LOT of folks who fall into that category) this area of the world holds special meaning. There are WWII relics and battlefields everywhere. A bunch of poignant places where the Allies (especially the Americans) literally “stormed the bastions” of the Japanese strongholds, in many cases against all odds. We lost a lot of men here, and the very air seems to evoke memories of bravery and sacrifice.

Tomorrow’s destination—Chuuk—is one of those places. The Japanese held the islands of Micronesia in a firm grip, even forcing the locals into slave labor to build tunnels and infrastructure for their naval and air commands which were headquartered here. The island was known as ‘Truk’ then, but just as Peking has become Beijing, the island has taken back its more correct name—Chuuk.

March 23, 2010
We are pulling into Chuuk this morning at 11am. We were supposed to arrive at 1pm but the Chuukanese (or whatever they are called) authorities informed the captain that we had to be out of the harbor by nightfall (makes you wonder what happens after dark here) so we steamed like crazy through the night and arrived two hours early so we could depart two hours early and still get enough shore time to make the stop worthwhile. The whole reason for these stops in the middle of nowhere is a mystery. We pay ridiculous port fees (Papua New Guinea taxed each of us—including crew members--$40 US to stop in their “garden paradise”) and I’m sure Micronesia will do the same. If the money went to providing schools and infrastructure for the country I wouldn’t object, but we all know where the money goes. Nevertheless, our being here does provide some commerce for taxi drivers, dive operators and local craftspeople who lay out a blanket and ply their wares (mostly wood carvings and funky handmade jewelry) to the cruisers.

The weather can best be described as “eh.” It’s overcast and muggy. About 95 degree F. (We are used to saying “Fahrenheit” and “US dollars” now since half of the passengers come from places where Celsius and other forms of currency are the norm.) Our dinner table is made up of Canadians who originally came from the Philippines, Americans who now reside in Thailand, an Austrian couple, and German ladies who have emigrated to the U.S. They are not all there at the same time, of course, it’s sort of a chess game with pieces moving about the board.

Today’s photo is of a special crew member from the “Lotus Spa Salon”. One of my followers will recognize her. For the rest of you, may I introduce one of the many young people who take very good care of all of us old people onboard.

Whoa Nellie!

Friday, March 19
For the past two days we’ve had the worst seas so far this trip. It was pretty miserable. We had 8 to 10 ft. swells head-on with a stiff wind coming from starboard, which made this little ship (it’s only carrying about 650 passengers and 340 crew) buck and sway in a circular motion that felt like being on one of those merry-go-rounds that you used to find in public parks—the kind where the bully kid gets the thing going at break-neck speed until the little kids onboard start throwing up or falling off. Gee, I wonder why they don’t have those things in parks anymore…?

Saturday, March 20
Anyway, today—Saturday—it’s calm and flat as a lake. We turned the corner at the southeast point of the largest island of Papua New Guinea and we’re heading for New Britain (which is a part of PNG). So we’re out of the rough Coral Sea and into the calmer waters off the Solomon Islands. We’re not sure why we’re stopping at Rabaul, PNG. It seems like a most unlucky place (similar to Haiti, but south of the Equator). It’s been wrecked over and over again by volcanic eruptions, typhoons, tsunamis, and when the Japanese took it over in WWII they bombed the heck out of it and, once they invaded, they riddled the hillsides with tunnels to hide their weapons and assault troops. In other words, it’s not a garden spot. But we’re docking there, so I guess we’ll see what we see.

Sunday, March 21
Rabaul was one hot mama. Nearly ninety degrees and about 110% humidity. As promised, it provided the perfect backdrop for a Peace Corps recruiting poster. The town is pretty much rusted tins roofs (many of which had blown off), crumbling concrete and rotting debris. The roads are dirt (or mud). There are eight active volcanoes in the area (many are still smoking) and the last devastating volcanic flow which destroyed Rabaul for the umpteenth time was in 1994. The people chew a mild narcotic called betel nut which they spit everywhere. It’s a bright red color and the adults all had garish red mouths, stained from years of chewing the nut. We were greeted by a large phalanx of children in their school uniforms (a plain blue or pink cotton shirt and pants or skirt), which may be their only clothing (or perhaps it’s their Sunday best). The schools appear to be Christian-run, as the uniforms had crosses and St. This or That on the shirt pocket. The kids followed us everywhere, pointing us to the only open grocery store. The people who lined the road trying to sell stuff to people from the ship were friendly, but the poverty was staggering. We saw grizzled women with no teeth who are probably younger than I am. No fat people in sight (except from the ship). Most everyone was barefoot, but occasionally you see someone wearing worn rubber flip-flops. We wanted to buy some souvenirs but since it’s a Sunday the main market was closed. We settled for exchanging a few dollars for the local currency and buying Tom a little wooden mask and a simple coin necklace for me. We’re only here for six hours, leaving for Chu’uk in Micronesia right after lunch.

No Worries...

March 16
We are on the eastern shore of Australia, headed for Cairns—the gateway to the Great Barrier Reef. The seas have calmed considerably (and we’re getting our sea legs so I’ve stopped popping ginger pills like M & M’s) and it’s a beautiful night out on the balcony. It’s hard to believe that the stars we are seeing are not the same stars that we have back home. Here we see the Southern Cross rather than the Big Dipper (although to be truthful, they all look pretty much the same to me.) We went to a lecture this afternoon about the much-maligned Captain Bligh—the “chap” who was set out to sea in a tiny open boat with eighteen other officers and loyal crew members of the HMAV (not to be confused with an HMS—which is a true warship) Bounty and left to die somewhere off the shores of Tahiti by a mutinous crew that wanted to stay in Tahiti rather than return to England (I can’t really fault them for wanting that, but their methods were a bit over-the-top). Anyway, Bligh and his boys made it back to England—over 3500 sea miles without charts or sufficient food and water! Unbelievable. What’s really unbelievable is Bligh continued his naval career and even later served as Governor of Australia for a short while.

On Wednesday, (March 17) we entered the passage between Australia and the Whitsunday Islands. This is great for us because the islands are on the starboard (right) side of the ship and our cabin is on the starboard side so we get to see them as we glide by. The sea is absolutely calm and topaz blue, which is also great since we’ve had whitecaps and rolling seas for most of the last two days. Every day it gets warmer and warmer (wonderful!) and with the gorgeous blue water, calm seas and little bumps of islands stringing along the horizon it reminds me of the stretch from St. Thomas to the British Virgin Islands. Only eight of the Whitsundays are inhabited, but we think that’s because these islands are within the protected area of the Great Barrier Reef and probably development is prohibited to protect the reef. Only one more day at sea until we enter the port at Cairns.

March 18
We came into our first port today since Sydney. It is the town of Cairns (which the locals pronounce “Cans”) and it’s a very pretty, low-rise city of 50,000 people at the tip of NE Queensland. We were scheduled to go out to the Great Barrier Reef by catamaran, but alas, a cyclone has come in just south of here and the boats aren’t making the trip due to high winds and choppy seas. As the Aussies say, “no worries.” We instead took the Sky Rail (or Sky Rye-all) up to the ancient rainforest into the Aboriginal village of Kuranda. The Sky Rail is amazing. I had to really suck it up and not let on that the heights made my feet sweat—we were upwards of 350 ft in thin air swinging from a little gondola (it held six people) and zipping over the jungle canopy on a single cable. This rainforest was here when dinosaurs roamed the earth and when Australia was still connected to Antarctica and South America (in other words, a long time ago). We took the railroad back. What a contrast! The narrow-gauge railroad was built in the late 1800’s and it clattered and squealed down the mountains like it was hoping this was its last trip. But the views were spectacular—waterfalls, the reef out in the distance, and miles and miles (or as they say here—hectares and hectares) of sugar cane fields. We made it back to the ship just before the bad weather set in. We’re prepared for a rocky night at sea.

The pictures I’ve posted are of Tom in the Sky Rail gondola; a basket fern high in a tree in the rainforest; and a life-size model of a cassowary bird—which is vital to the survival of the forest.

The Ides of March

Today is our first full day at sea. I must tell you a little about our “sail away” from Sydney. Our ship, Pacific Princess, was docked smack dab between the Sydney Harbour (my computer is telling me I’m spelling that wrong, but that’s the way they spell it here in Oz) Bridge and the Sydney Opera House. An unbelievably beautiful view. Just after sunset we sailed out of the harbor (okay, I’ll spell it right and make the computer happy) and they light up the bridge and the opera house making for a stunning spectacle. I’m sure there are many things wrong with Sydney and Australia, but for visitors (Sydneysiders refer to us as “visitors” as they consider “tourist” a tacky word) it’s fabulous. Very spendy, but worth it.
The ship we’re on is much, much smaller than other Princess ships we’ve been on, but we are quickly learning to “downsize.” I’ve gone from a large laptop screen to a tiny netbook size; I’m adapting to shaving my legs in the “crane” position; and we are determined to make 200 sq. ft seem spacious enough for two people for 62 days. There’s a bit of a swell in the Pacific today so Tom and I are both wearing our “psi bands”—wrist bands with buttons that press on an acupressure spot that will supposedly deter seasickness. They seem to be working okay—now if only someone could come up with something to help us walk through the ship without looking like we’d fail a breathalyzer test.
This morning we had the ubiquitous “muster station drill.” I’ve been to a few of these since every passenger on every cruise must go through the motions of finding their “safe area” and putting on their life vest in the unlikely event of a water landing. I looked around the room and knew, without a doubt, that if there’s a Poseidon adventure in our future there will be few, if any, survivors. Not that there was a lack of cooperation or appropriate attention. Oh no. These folks were hanging on the crew’s every word. The problem is, these folks are also hanging onto oxygen canisters, walkers, and their Lipitor. We were greeted at the gangway as “honeymooners” (no lie). If we pass for honeymooners you can imagine the rest of the lot. Oh well. If we were allowed to choose our method of leaving this world, I’m sure more than a few would choose saying “sayonara” in Japan, or “arrivaderci” in Rome over fading away hooked up to a beeping vitals monitor in a pale green hospital room. And it probably would be cheaper too!
This morning we played trivia with a couple we met who live in our home town (Green Valley, AZ). They invited us to join their team, but we weren’t much help. One of the questions was, “Which jazz trumpeter was dubbed “The Prince of Darkness”? and I answered, “Ozzy Osbourne!” Obviously, an incorrect response. And so it went.
But they harbored no ill will and asked us to join them for lunch. We learned they have been around the world a number of times—mostly on freighter ships. Heaven forbid. Tom was pretty intrigued with that idea. Me? Not so much.
After lunch we went to a ballroom dance lesson. It’s kind of a trick to learn new dance steps while the ship is tossing you this way and that across the dance floor. I think some of us looked like we were “getting our groove on” when, in reality, we were just trying to remain upright.
We are now headed to Cairns (which is pronounced “Cans” by the Aussies) to see the Great Barrier Reef. We’ll arrive next Thursday (which will be Wednesday for those of you in North America) so we’ve got a few days at sea ahead of us. I promise not to bore you with our day-to-day adventures at sea (Bingo! Trivia! A lecture on Australian opals!) but I’ll be back with a new post when something of note happens (hopefully not the aforementioned Poseidon Adventure). In the meantime, here are a few photos of our sail away. Thanks for reading. We miss you all and look forward to reading any comments you care to add to this blog.

Oh Sydney!

Friday March 12, 2010

I’m posting this on Saturday because I couldn’t figure out how to access the Internet in our Sydney hotel room until today. So, I will recap the flight from Honolulu and try to catch up on the past 48 hours. The Qantas flight went pretty darn well, considering we were trapped in middle seats (on a wide-body jet) for ten hours. The Q people are smart—they feed you and feed you while distracting you with movie after movie (four in all). It’s a good thing we’re not big movie fans. I hadn’t seen any of the movies but I’m sure 99% of the rest of the world has. They were: Couple’s Retreat, Julie and Julia, The Invention of Lying, and Sherlock Holmes. I watched all but SH since my eyes were bleeding by the time we got to that one. And, again, the Q people are smart because you get two full meals (and not bad food, either) along with free wine, “spirits” and ice cream for dessert. Crossing the International Dateline is amusing. You simply stop saying “Wednesday” and start saying “Thursday”—just like that. No fuss, and very little jet lag involved.

We arrived in Sydney at about six p.m. and caught the shuttle to our hotel (we’re becoming rather adept at catching shuttles) and then just went to bed at about eight. Even though we were well entertained on the flight over, ten hours in a cramped seat takes a toll.

On Friday we got up and looked around our area. Wow! Our hotel is in the perfect place—Darling Harbor. And “darling” it is, with restaurants, bars, and our hotel room has a gorgeous view. We’ve inadvertently landed in “hip-ville” without even trying. We got this hotel on the Internet and had no idea what to expect. One the one hand, we’ve figured out this is an expensive area (five bucks for a yogurt? Really?) but we could stand to lose a few pounds so no biggie. We ate breakfast at a harborside restaurant that boasted a “$7 Breakfast Special” (the cheapest thing we’d seen so far) and we ambled in. The waiter came over and said something that sounded like, “Wid a spetchel you ged flah why coffee. Thad okay?” We stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Sorry?” we asked. Need I tell you he repeated the exact same thing he said before, at the same tempo. We looked at each other and did a little “tourist shrug” the worldwide gesture meaning “We have no idea what the h*ll you just said.” He (being used to tourists in this part of the city) slowed down his speech and said, “White coffee? You know that?” We gave him a tentative smile. “Like a latte? You know the word ‘latte’?” Well duh, we thought, we’re from the Pacific Northwest. We practically invented the latte (although we gave it an Italian name to make it seem more cool than calling it ‘milky strong coffee.’

Anyway, from there we took a sightseeing bus (one of the great things about being of retirement age is you have no need to pretend you’re not a tourist) and we went completely around the city of Sydney. We got off at “The Rocks”—another way-hip part of town (okay, so we’re old, but we’re not dead. We like seeing the hip stuff) where we ate at a local street fair and Tom bought a hat because the wind on the double-decker bus (see above where I mention we don’t mind acting like tourists) was pretty fierce. For dinner we bought pear hard cider and a chicken/mushroom pie for me and a craft multi-grain (we’ve heard it’s good to eat multi-grains) beer and a lamb/rosemary pot pie for Tom. We watched the lights go on in the harbor as we ate on our balcony. It was tres, tres chic even if we say so ourselves.

I’m adding some pics we took on the bus tour. The Sydney Harbour Bridge (kind of over-amped, we think. It’s a big old steel superstructure bridge. We weren’t that impressed) and the Opera House (way beyond expectation. Really gorgeous and much, much larger than we imagined.) We loved the entire city. It’s quaint and cosmopolitan at the same time. And it’s clean and seemingly very prosperous. It’s expensive, but we found out the minimum wage is over $14/hour so the locals can afford it. The unemployment rate is only 5.2% (half that of the U.S.) In other words, they are doing something right—or maybe everything right. We love it here. If we were forty years younger we’d be looking into immigrating!

The Other Side of the Story...

Today we took the bus (an experience in itself!) to Hawaii's Iolani Palace, the only royal residence on American soil. When we read the brochure about the palace tour it mentioned the U.S. had "illegally ended the Hawaiian monarchy in 1893." I thought, "Oh boy, here we go. We give them statehood and they still hold a grudge." Well, I can tell you that visiting the residence and royal headquarters of the Hawaiian monarchy and learning the story of the overthrow of the legitimate constitutional government of the sovereign nation of Hawaii (my words, not theirs) is a sobering experience. It's one of those head-hanging moments in education, where you feel like you should mumble an apology to each of the decendents working at the palace as you make your way through the rooms. First of all, the non-profit group that operates the palace does an excellent job of telling the story with very little finger pointing and blame-placing. They don't need to. The facts are pretty straight-forward. The government of Hawaii was a sovereign nation with a highly functioning and well-educated monarchy. The people of Hawaii were pretty much happy with the way things were (the end of the monarchy wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, an overthrow of an unpopular ruler). The islands were coveted (again, my words not theirs) by certain American interests that saw the potential for annexing the islands to the U.S. for personal and political gain. The overthrow was accomplished without bloodshed and without much resistence because Queen Liliuokalani was unwilling to risk lives in a losing bid to hold onto her power. Standing in the room in which she was held prisoner for over eight months after the overthrow is a humbling experience. Unlike Nelson Mandela of South Africa, her passive resistence was not only unsuccessful but tragically self-defeating.
Okay, enough historical downer. Today we also saw evidence of a revival along Waikiki's Beach Walk that bodes well for the area. As I mentioned yesterday, there are some contruction sites that look all but abandoned as everyone attempts to ride out the recession, but there are also new restaurants and new shops (esp. high-end designer shops that must certainly be catering to a clientele other than those of us who opt for the early-bird dinner special). We've seen a slew of Japanese tourists (the blessing and bane of Waikiki) and, oddly, we've met up with a whole new contingent--the Australians. Can't ride the elevator without getting a nodding "G'day" from at least one other rider. Good for them for traveling, and good for Hawaii to have the additional tourist dollars. Tomorrow, we head off to Sydney to return the favor.

A Good Person Brings Rain?

Okay, we made the shuttle drive from Tucson to Phoenix on Sunday in a driving rain that made it feel like we were heading to Portland, OR (our previous home). Then we left Phoenix this morning at oh-dark-thirty in temps that just kept the Oregon theme going. We landed in Honolulu in bright sunshine only to have it cloud over and start to sprinkle ("pineapple juice" they call it here) soon after we'd changed into shorts and made our way down to the beach. What gives with the rain? We went shopping (our version of shopping is a quick dash through the funky shops at Waikiki's International Market) where a Chinese shop clerk (she told me she was Chinese, I'm not making assumptions) advised me that I must be a "good person" because "a good person brings rain." (I also think in her world view a "good person" buys something, which I did.) So now I'm thinking I need to tap into my mean streak if I want some decent weather.
Waikiki seems to have just barely survived the economic downturn (a reported 33% drop in tourist business is inching back up month-by-month but is no where near what pre-2009 levels were). There are visible construction areas that appear to have been abandoned or maybe just postponed in hopes that Mickey and Minnie Mainlander will show up with their wallets open (and Jimmy and Judy Japanese are even more ardently anticipated). But nothing can dampen our joy at being here--not threats of rain, not faded construction tape flapping in the breeze, not getting guilt-tripped into buying stuff at the International Market. Hawaii remains our second home--even more than Oregon. And although Waikiki isn't West Maui (what is?) just being here feels so comfortable, so "old slippa," that we've promised ourselves we'll be back for a much longer visit as soon as humanly possible.

So, Just How Long is 75 Days?

I'm in the throes of "final packing" which is akin to a shuttle countdown, with me checking the booster rockets and o-rings and hoping I don't have some loose tiles that will fly off at the last moment and send the whole mission into freefall (i.e. scurrying to the ship's store to pay absurd prices for something as mundane as toothpaste). I got to thinking--I have two and a half months to pack for. Just how much time are we talking about here? I did some "reverse engineering" and discovered that 75 days ago both Tom and I were a year younger (it was before our December birthdays); we hadn't had Christmas yet; and Obama was still in rather good graces with most of the country (okay, maybe that's stretching it a bit, but at least it was before his first year in office was over). In other words, there's no way to pack a 50 lb. suitcase (or even a couple of them) and bring everything you need for 75 days. Without a doubt I will have to buy some mundane stuff enroute. And then I think about the people in Haiti (and now Chile) sleeping outside, losing all their worldly possesssions, and worrying whether the food aid truck will come to their neighborhood to feed their children and I say, "What the heck. I'm beyond fortunate if my biggest concern is paying six bucks for a tube of Colgate." Everything can be compared to something else. And, when it is, it will always be lacking in some respects and always a blessing in others.
Three days until liftoff.