We’re leaving Shanghai behind us. From our vantage on the river it looked like a recently abandoned ghost city with the greenery still thriving. We’ve been slipping down the river- the Yangtze River, no less! - for over an hour passing docks, shipyards, mountainous stacks of containers, oil tankers, enormous ships for cargo, grain, coal, sand, one after another after another. Occasional welding sparks, laundry hanging to dry on the decks. A fellow LLL said at lunch she’s glad she won’t have to witness what lies ahead for our children and their children in this globalization process. I just pray that all over the world the young people will see that they MUST cooperate with each other, that there must be efforts made to equalize the wealth, that the beauty of this earth must somehow be preserved. It makes me so sad to think of all the people who never get to eat a tomato from their own back yard, or sit in tranquility on an empty beach or hike in the places of worship that are the earth’s forests.
“Elizabeth Ann, go down to Mr. Brock’s store down at the end of the alley tell him you need a package of Velveeta Cheese and tell him to charge it to Mrs. Williams.”
Five or six years old and Elizabeth Ann was thrilled to go to the store for her Grandma and to say ”Charge it”. Her grandma loved this new, soft orange cheese in its yellow box. It was so much better than the old fashioned kind her momma made. Progress.
Will we ever get back to the ocean? It’s almost 4 pm: two hours of river and port and shipbuilding and boats and barges and cranes and tankers and…and…and. No lights to be seen anywhere on this dreary afternoon. The apartment buildings have no lights showing…or the office buildings or the cabs or whatever you call the living quarters of the barges. This is a Communist country; maybe the lights can’t be turned on until a certain time of day.
Where is the garbage? How do they deal with sewage? Is there such a thing as leisure for the people who live here? Population statistics are staggering. To move from one town to another a person must have the permission of the government. The government owns the land. The government owns everything ...or does it. What's all this capitalism? What about all the companies and fancy retail stores and up scale malls?
I wish I had the vocabulary and an understanding of economics, commerce and trade and foreign relations and politics and international business to be able to describe this experience…to access what it means when people say China will be the next super power.
The hulls of some of these barges look as though they were hand carved. Most of the others are new and shining.
What is it like inland from all these seaports we’re visiting? How bad or good is life for all those people? It is impossible to even imagine what lies ahead for Greg and Emily, Lindsey, Grace, Annabel, Cole, Elle, Leo, Luca and Elia and the new little one; for Michael and Michelle and Matt and Brian and Taylor, for Ben and Loren and Connor; for Sean and Joey and Sarah and Kelly Ann and Devon and Delaney. Goodness. God, please guide them and protect them so they can help to make this world a better place.
I went up to the Lounge for a little while. Lots of folks standing around as we sailed down the river, leaving China behind us. I chatted with Forest for a while about his trip to Beijing and the Great Wall where it was icy and freezing. I felt an arm around my back giving me a little squeeze. It was another LLL just returned from some other big trip to the north. That little hug felt so good. Made me miss John.
What’s the difference between mourning, and self pity? Sadness and self-pity, Loneliness and self pity?
I moved the little round glass top table over near the balcony door so I can type and look out at the watery world going by. I have to remember when looking for a place to live to have a room with a window where I can set up my desk so I can type and look out at something beautiful. Things are gradually becoming more beautiful here. The tall buildings are gone and the cranes. There’s the shell of an old one from another era. The sky is low, the land appears undisturbed – with trees and green bushes near the riverbank – but off in the misty distance: more scattered buildings.
I just noticed that my little table and the two chairs on my balcony are tied down again. I wonder how rough the sea will be ahead? Our departure from Shanghai yesterday was delayed almost 24 hours because of weather between here and Japan. Obama was in Shanghai yesterday. Too bad he couldn’t have just paid us a little visit. Security. Schedule. There were people who were convinced that our delayed departure had nothing to do with weather and that the president was in fact going to surprise us. But then the naysayers pontificated that if he were coming aboard the Secret Service would have been crawling all over this ship way back in Halifax. Besides he couldn’t do it because it would be a slap in the face to the Chinese. Oh nuts, but wouldn’t it have been fun? We’re slowing down right this minute. Maybe it’s not too late and he’ll come in a helicopter or a speed- boat and say hi to all of us. Hot damn that would be GREAT!! Come on Barak!!!!! Surprise us! Poor presidents: robbed of spontenaiety, poor guys.
The river widens and the shore looks like forest…but… yet again, there in the distance in the mist: more buildings. Oh well. The waves pick up. We're on our way to Japan!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Vietnam
GOOD MORNIN' VIET-NAAAMMMM!
I thought I'd post a wee little blog entry just to let you all know where I am: cruising up the Saigon River towards Ho Chi Minh City and I cannot believe it! over the last few days it feels as though I've begun to wake up and am beginning to realize the magnitude of what it means to GO AROUND THE WORLD ...at least for a 73 year old woman who can remember her father cranking a car to turn it on!
That's about it...just wanted to connect. Hope you all are well. More in a few days. Love, Liz xo
I thought I'd post a wee little blog entry just to let you all know where I am: cruising up the Saigon River towards Ho Chi Minh City and I cannot believe it! over the last few days it feels as though I've begun to wake up and am beginning to realize the magnitude of what it means to GO AROUND THE WORLD ...at least for a 73 year old woman who can remember her father cranking a car to turn it on!
That's about it...just wanted to connect. Hope you all are well. More in a few days. Love, Liz xo
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
India
October 25, 2009 Sunday
This city, Chennai, India, should be called Papillon City. Can anyone tell me why? Who’s taking French? New Orleans girls?
Last week we passed the half way mark on our voyage. Before I know it, we will be sailing into San Diego! So, I’m trying to be in the moment and take full advantage of being here and paying close attention to everything around me. Right now I’m sitting in the deck 7 Lounge, a large circular room with a dance floor in the center, chairs and cocktail tables all around and large windows ¾ of the way around the perimeter. The bar behind me completes the circle. Outside deckhands in white jump suits are working with hoses and brushes and brooms and mops. One of the guys shook out a t-shirt after wetting it thoroughly with the hose. I thought he was going to put the t-shirt on but no, he only pulled it onto his head and then pulled the neck opening down to his eyes and then he draped the rest of the shirt around his neck and shoulders and tied the sleeves at the back of his head. Voila, a masque or a hood! He put on his hat and his sunglasses and went back to work. It’s very, very hot and humid here so I imagine the shirt serves a couple of purposes: sun protection, air filter and cooling.
There are lots of ships around, some way out past the breakwater, waiting to unload cargo. Nearby are cranes and more cranes and port buildings, offices etc, tired looking with dirty streaks graying their white walls and smudging the blue trim. There’s a large parking lot where we board the buses for our various field trips. Beyond the port is a skyline (nothing very tall) of all kinds of architectural shapes from modern and boxy to ornate brick with domes and stately Victorian structures, all softened here and there by trees.
“India is so filthy.” That’s one of the things I’ve always heard. Clearly Chennai needs a good sweeping and a bath. Yes it’s dirty. Yes there are places where the smells are pretty bad. Traffic is crazy. To expect the Indian immigrant cab drivers in New York to stop honking their horns would be like asking them to cut off their right hand. It’s heart wrenching to see the poor people and to see their shacks and to have a young mother with a baby on her hip beg so she can get something to eat. It’s disgusting to come back to the ship, to take off your shoes and socks and see the black dirt on your skin above the sock line. The heat and humidity are oppressive and the pollution makes it difficult to breathe. But what good would it do for me to expound any further on all that? The thing for me to do is find a way, a small way to make a contribution where I can and to encourage others to do the same. If only we could solve the gargantuan problems of the world! Well guess what? The kids on this ship…so many of them that I’ve talked to…are positive and are not afraid for the future. I ask them that very question: “Are you afraid? There’s so much for your generation to take on!” And they tell me no, they’re not afraid. (OK, cynics, kids can be naïve. We were.) I’ve asked some Indians I’ve met about the caste system and they tell me that it’s illegal now and not what it was in the past. So the clichés come out of the woodwork when I think about some of these huge challenges that face the world and I have to remember that Rome wasn’t built in a day etc., etc. That’s true for world issues and for personal issues. That’s the best I can do for the moment. If we do our own work we’ll be better equipped to do the work of the world.
Stop it, Liz. Enough.
Friday, the day we arrived I went to a reception at a women’s university where they were celebrating United Nations of Students and Travelers – something or other. We could hear the music before we exited the bus and
were greeted at the gates by musicians and dancers. The dancers wore very colorful, ornate costumes and lots of exotic makeup: one was a horse, one a chicken and one a gorgeous peacock with huge tail feathers. Several were on short stilts. They were dancing all around us as we entered the grounds and escorted us to the auditorium. Once inside I found myself sitting next to an American, a nice looking young guy casually dressed. “So, are you a journalist?”, I asked. “No, I’m the Counsel General from the States.”, he replied. “Oh my Lord, I’m sitting next to a dignitary! What shall I call you, sir?” “Oh how about ‘Andy’?” “Not ‘your majesty’or something?” “No, Andy will be fine.” I give thanks to Barney Williams for bestowing on me the gene that allows me to occasionally make people laugh.
Once all the other dignitaries – very serious looking Indian gentlemen dressed in suits and ties or khaki safari outfits, a few in those Indian dresses the men wear – filed in and took their seats in the front row (to my right, ahem) we were treated to an hour of entertainment. Five or six different groups of students gave dance performances to music that ranged from traditional Indian to more modern, even hip-hop kinds of music. At the end the MC announced that now the Americans would perform. What??? This was news to the Americans, but Terrence, a very popular young man saved the day. He happened to have music on a thumb drive with him and, with only a moment’s hesitation, he moved forward, took the stage and started to dance, solo! In a flash and one-by-one other students joined him and then some of the Indian dancers returned to the stage. Of course the place went wild. It was wonderful.
Some of us had another field trip in the afternoon so had to leave during the lull between the dances and the speeches – a major stroke of luck since some of the speeches were interminable we were told later.
A bus took us back to the ship for lunch and another bus then took us to an orphanage. Not the Mother Theresa orphanage – that field trip was full – but another that was, well, indescribably sad and yet full of the joy of all those smiling, laughing, delighted, delightful children. They were SO HAPPY to see us, some running down the drive towards us, grabbing our hands, others waving shyly at us from second floor windows. I chose this trip over the one to the orphanage for disabled children. It seemed that would be a little more than I could take. The kids tugged at us, held our hands, patted us, guided us to come upstairs to see where they sleep: a large room with aluminum trunks and other items on shelves – small stacks of books, rolled up grass mats. There was a single metal bed frame in the middle of the floor with a pillow and light quilt on it – for the…what would you call her, the person who stays with the kids at night? She gets the bed; the kids get to roll out their grass mats. I had so many questions but there was no one who spoke enough English for us to have a conversation.
The little kids all had very short hair – girls and boys alike. The girls all wore matching or similar little cotton dresses and the boys madras plaid shirts – all made by hand…you could see the stitches. The older girls had beautiful long black hair in braids or ponytails and wore saris. They all appeared to be fairly clean – their clothes, their hair but all were bare footed so their feet were grimy. Their skin is dark, one little girl in particular, had very dark skin and a dazzling smile. They vied for attention but I saw no squabbles. Our cameras were their big fascination. They LOVED seeing pictures of themselves and they loved it if you let them take pictures of you. They took us to their little playground. I went on the swing. I played ball with them. A couple of our boys were throwing balls way, way up in the sky, the little kids scrambling to catch them. Such simple fun. There was no pushing or pulling, no fussing amongst them. This I thought was remarkable. They were just kids, in so many ways, the same as kids anywhere. We walked down a lane to visit the older boys …maybe from age 11 to 18. We never saw any infants but the toddlers came to the playground after their naps and were adorable. You look at those huge dark eyes and make up stories about their little lives. At least they were here and were cared for rather than living along the side of the filthy road next to railroad tracks and piles of garbage.
This was an indescribable experience. The faces of several individuals will always remain in my memory, especially Jessica’s – a thirteen year old leader type in her best white sari who was beautiful, bossy, bold as brass. She knew I had her number and we laughed a lot together.
After the orphans performed some songs for us, a bunch of us got up and did the Hokey Pokey and a couple of other songs. Then it was time to board the bus and return to the ship and that was our trip to the orphanage. What can one say? Does one weep? One tries to be grateful.
Yesterday I went to Spencer Plaza., one of the ‘upscale’ shopping plazas. My taxi driver left me at the end of an alley with hundreds of motor scooters parked along the fence. We had agreed that I would pay him 500 rupees when he picked me up and return me to the ship two and a half hours later…that’s less than $10.00 As I walked towards the entrance several dragon flies came fluttering overhead. Aunt Kathy? Carolyn? G’ma Lucy? Saying,” Go ahead, you’ll be able to finish your shopping in this mall. Just keep walking, follow your nose. We’ll lead you to the store.” And they did! I got:________ and __________and__________. Nope, you'll have to wait til Christmas. It was fun sitting in one of the shops chatting with Hamza, a lovely 22 year old young man who, with his sister, inherited the business from their father 6 years ago. This kid’s English was great. He travels to Germany every year on sales trips. He’s originally from Kashmir where he has several workshops where all the embroidery is done by hand! Amazing.
Spencer Plaza reminded me a lot of New York subway stations as they were years ago…all grimy and crowded… but worse. There was an escalator that seemed out of place. Everything just felt grimy and yet is was bustling on a Sunday afternoon. The contrasts here are indescribable. I guess you’ve got to come see for yourselves. You’re shocked at all the terrible cruelties you see and want to scream; and yet, the people are so beautiful and those I’ve met have been so gracious and welcoming. Chennai is the 3rd or 4th largest city in India with 7 million people. That is mind boggling! Our sensibilities say, “Why the hell don’t they clean this place up?” We Americans simply have no idea of what the whole picture is. I’m simply trying to take in as much as I can.
October 27, 2009 Tuesday
Yesterday I ditched a field trip I was supposed to go on and I’m glad I did because reports were that all kinds of things went wrong – mainly transportation things. People were exhausted when they returned to the shop. Good for me. I wrote blog, did some laundry, read my book, took a nap, read my book some more, enjoyed visiting with some of the students and went to bed early. No Chennai and that was a relief.
But today I went on another field trip to an engineering college. It was OK. We listened to some speeches went on little campus tours with Indian students, enjoyed a delicious lunch which we ate with the fingers of our right hands…the food having been served by students who dished it out onto banana leaves the size of large place mats. I have to confess I didn’t love eating with my fingers. It’s sloppy and let’s face it: it seems you can’t really get your hands clean in this city. I am NOT known to be a clean freak, but Chennai, India? I think I’ve had my first regret of this voyage: that I didn’t know to go to Pondicherry (or Karaikal), an old French colonial city not far from here that is reportedly lovely. I certainly don’t want to judge India on the basis of my miniscule introduction to it. The contrasts, the sensory challenges are too numerous to mention. Suffice it to say I’d like to give India another chance and I have no regrets for having missed the trip to the Taj. Reports are that it was a very tough trip.
The ship was so quiet this week with most of the kids and adults off on overnight trips. But the buzz began last night as some of the kids returned and tonight at dinner, the place was jumping. Friends have been made, we all know the routine, the ship is home sweet home, and everyone was happy to be back again with ‘family’. It’s simply wonderful.
I just felt a little tremor ripple through the ship and the light just dimmed. I guess they’ve started the engines and that the pilot is aboard. So off we’ll be going again, headed for Vietnam.
OMG this is all so awesome, like, really awesome, dude! Lol and all that stuff.
This city, Chennai, India, should be called Papillon City. Can anyone tell me why? Who’s taking French? New Orleans girls?
Last week we passed the half way mark on our voyage. Before I know it, we will be sailing into San Diego! So, I’m trying to be in the moment and take full advantage of being here and paying close attention to everything around me. Right now I’m sitting in the deck 7 Lounge, a large circular room with a dance floor in the center, chairs and cocktail tables all around and large windows ¾ of the way around the perimeter. The bar behind me completes the circle. Outside deckhands in white jump suits are working with hoses and brushes and brooms and mops. One of the guys shook out a t-shirt after wetting it thoroughly with the hose. I thought he was going to put the t-shirt on but no, he only pulled it onto his head and then pulled the neck opening down to his eyes and then he draped the rest of the shirt around his neck and shoulders and tied the sleeves at the back of his head. Voila, a masque or a hood! He put on his hat and his sunglasses and went back to work. It’s very, very hot and humid here so I imagine the shirt serves a couple of purposes: sun protection, air filter and cooling.
There are lots of ships around, some way out past the breakwater, waiting to unload cargo. Nearby are cranes and more cranes and port buildings, offices etc, tired looking with dirty streaks graying their white walls and smudging the blue trim. There’s a large parking lot where we board the buses for our various field trips. Beyond the port is a skyline (nothing very tall) of all kinds of architectural shapes from modern and boxy to ornate brick with domes and stately Victorian structures, all softened here and there by trees.
“India is so filthy.” That’s one of the things I’ve always heard. Clearly Chennai needs a good sweeping and a bath. Yes it’s dirty. Yes there are places where the smells are pretty bad. Traffic is crazy. To expect the Indian immigrant cab drivers in New York to stop honking their horns would be like asking them to cut off their right hand. It’s heart wrenching to see the poor people and to see their shacks and to have a young mother with a baby on her hip beg so she can get something to eat. It’s disgusting to come back to the ship, to take off your shoes and socks and see the black dirt on your skin above the sock line. The heat and humidity are oppressive and the pollution makes it difficult to breathe. But what good would it do for me to expound any further on all that? The thing for me to do is find a way, a small way to make a contribution where I can and to encourage others to do the same. If only we could solve the gargantuan problems of the world! Well guess what? The kids on this ship…so many of them that I’ve talked to…are positive and are not afraid for the future. I ask them that very question: “Are you afraid? There’s so much for your generation to take on!” And they tell me no, they’re not afraid. (OK, cynics, kids can be naïve. We were.) I’ve asked some Indians I’ve met about the caste system and they tell me that it’s illegal now and not what it was in the past. So the clichés come out of the woodwork when I think about some of these huge challenges that face the world and I have to remember that Rome wasn’t built in a day etc., etc. That’s true for world issues and for personal issues. That’s the best I can do for the moment. If we do our own work we’ll be better equipped to do the work of the world.
Stop it, Liz. Enough.
Friday, the day we arrived I went to a reception at a women’s university where they were celebrating United Nations of Students and Travelers – something or other. We could hear the music before we exited the bus and
were greeted at the gates by musicians and dancers. The dancers wore very colorful, ornate costumes and lots of exotic makeup: one was a horse, one a chicken and one a gorgeous peacock with huge tail feathers. Several were on short stilts. They were dancing all around us as we entered the grounds and escorted us to the auditorium. Once inside I found myself sitting next to an American, a nice looking young guy casually dressed. “So, are you a journalist?”, I asked. “No, I’m the Counsel General from the States.”, he replied. “Oh my Lord, I’m sitting next to a dignitary! What shall I call you, sir?” “Oh how about ‘Andy’?” “Not ‘your majesty’or something?” “No, Andy will be fine.” I give thanks to Barney Williams for bestowing on me the gene that allows me to occasionally make people laugh.
Once all the other dignitaries – very serious looking Indian gentlemen dressed in suits and ties or khaki safari outfits, a few in those Indian dresses the men wear – filed in and took their seats in the front row (to my right, ahem) we were treated to an hour of entertainment. Five or six different groups of students gave dance performances to music that ranged from traditional Indian to more modern, even hip-hop kinds of music. At the end the MC announced that now the Americans would perform. What??? This was news to the Americans, but Terrence, a very popular young man saved the day. He happened to have music on a thumb drive with him and, with only a moment’s hesitation, he moved forward, took the stage and started to dance, solo! In a flash and one-by-one other students joined him and then some of the Indian dancers returned to the stage. Of course the place went wild. It was wonderful.
Some of us had another field trip in the afternoon so had to leave during the lull between the dances and the speeches – a major stroke of luck since some of the speeches were interminable we were told later.
A bus took us back to the ship for lunch and another bus then took us to an orphanage. Not the Mother Theresa orphanage – that field trip was full – but another that was, well, indescribably sad and yet full of the joy of all those smiling, laughing, delighted, delightful children. They were SO HAPPY to see us, some running down the drive towards us, grabbing our hands, others waving shyly at us from second floor windows. I chose this trip over the one to the orphanage for disabled children. It seemed that would be a little more than I could take. The kids tugged at us, held our hands, patted us, guided us to come upstairs to see where they sleep: a large room with aluminum trunks and other items on shelves – small stacks of books, rolled up grass mats. There was a single metal bed frame in the middle of the floor with a pillow and light quilt on it – for the…what would you call her, the person who stays with the kids at night? She gets the bed; the kids get to roll out their grass mats. I had so many questions but there was no one who spoke enough English for us to have a conversation.
The little kids all had very short hair – girls and boys alike. The girls all wore matching or similar little cotton dresses and the boys madras plaid shirts – all made by hand…you could see the stitches. The older girls had beautiful long black hair in braids or ponytails and wore saris. They all appeared to be fairly clean – their clothes, their hair but all were bare footed so their feet were grimy. Their skin is dark, one little girl in particular, had very dark skin and a dazzling smile. They vied for attention but I saw no squabbles. Our cameras were their big fascination. They LOVED seeing pictures of themselves and they loved it if you let them take pictures of you. They took us to their little playground. I went on the swing. I played ball with them. A couple of our boys were throwing balls way, way up in the sky, the little kids scrambling to catch them. Such simple fun. There was no pushing or pulling, no fussing amongst them. This I thought was remarkable. They were just kids, in so many ways, the same as kids anywhere. We walked down a lane to visit the older boys …maybe from age 11 to 18. We never saw any infants but the toddlers came to the playground after their naps and were adorable. You look at those huge dark eyes and make up stories about their little lives. At least they were here and were cared for rather than living along the side of the filthy road next to railroad tracks and piles of garbage.
This was an indescribable experience. The faces of several individuals will always remain in my memory, especially Jessica’s – a thirteen year old leader type in her best white sari who was beautiful, bossy, bold as brass. She knew I had her number and we laughed a lot together.
After the orphans performed some songs for us, a bunch of us got up and did the Hokey Pokey and a couple of other songs. Then it was time to board the bus and return to the ship and that was our trip to the orphanage. What can one say? Does one weep? One tries to be grateful.
Yesterday I went to Spencer Plaza., one of the ‘upscale’ shopping plazas. My taxi driver left me at the end of an alley with hundreds of motor scooters parked along the fence. We had agreed that I would pay him 500 rupees when he picked me up and return me to the ship two and a half hours later…that’s less than $10.00 As I walked towards the entrance several dragon flies came fluttering overhead. Aunt Kathy? Carolyn? G’ma Lucy? Saying,” Go ahead, you’ll be able to finish your shopping in this mall. Just keep walking, follow your nose. We’ll lead you to the store.” And they did! I got:________ and __________and__________. Nope, you'll have to wait til Christmas. It was fun sitting in one of the shops chatting with Hamza, a lovely 22 year old young man who, with his sister, inherited the business from their father 6 years ago. This kid’s English was great. He travels to Germany every year on sales trips. He’s originally from Kashmir where he has several workshops where all the embroidery is done by hand! Amazing.
Spencer Plaza reminded me a lot of New York subway stations as they were years ago…all grimy and crowded… but worse. There was an escalator that seemed out of place. Everything just felt grimy and yet is was bustling on a Sunday afternoon. The contrasts here are indescribable. I guess you’ve got to come see for yourselves. You’re shocked at all the terrible cruelties you see and want to scream; and yet, the people are so beautiful and those I’ve met have been so gracious and welcoming. Chennai is the 3rd or 4th largest city in India with 7 million people. That is mind boggling! Our sensibilities say, “Why the hell don’t they clean this place up?” We Americans simply have no idea of what the whole picture is. I’m simply trying to take in as much as I can.
October 27, 2009 Tuesday
Yesterday I ditched a field trip I was supposed to go on and I’m glad I did because reports were that all kinds of things went wrong – mainly transportation things. People were exhausted when they returned to the shop. Good for me. I wrote blog, did some laundry, read my book, took a nap, read my book some more, enjoyed visiting with some of the students and went to bed early. No Chennai and that was a relief.
But today I went on another field trip to an engineering college. It was OK. We listened to some speeches went on little campus tours with Indian students, enjoyed a delicious lunch which we ate with the fingers of our right hands…the food having been served by students who dished it out onto banana leaves the size of large place mats. I have to confess I didn’t love eating with my fingers. It’s sloppy and let’s face it: it seems you can’t really get your hands clean in this city. I am NOT known to be a clean freak, but Chennai, India? I think I’ve had my first regret of this voyage: that I didn’t know to go to Pondicherry (or Karaikal), an old French colonial city not far from here that is reportedly lovely. I certainly don’t want to judge India on the basis of my miniscule introduction to it. The contrasts, the sensory challenges are too numerous to mention. Suffice it to say I’d like to give India another chance and I have no regrets for having missed the trip to the Taj. Reports are that it was a very tough trip.
The ship was so quiet this week with most of the kids and adults off on overnight trips. But the buzz began last night as some of the kids returned and tonight at dinner, the place was jumping. Friends have been made, we all know the routine, the ship is home sweet home, and everyone was happy to be back again with ‘family’. It’s simply wonderful.
I just felt a little tremor ripple through the ship and the light just dimmed. I guess they’ve started the engines and that the pilot is aboard. So off we’ll be going again, headed for Vietnam.
OMG this is all so awesome, like, really awesome, dude! Lol and all that stuff.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
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