Author Archives: Ginger

Cruise Day 8 (Puntarenas, Costa Rica): The Gift

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This morning, under unsettled skies, we docked in Puntarenas, Costa Rica. We booked no tour. We want only to walk around in Puntarenas, a town so small that the cruise ship’s destination guide does not bother to show a map of it and talks only of what the tourist might see in other places in Costa Rica.

Approaching Puntarenas

A walkway along the beach hosts several blocks of makeshift kiosks selling handicrafts and souvenirs to debarking tourists from the cruise ship, and, perhaps also to any local tourists who may have come to enjoy the wide, sandy beach. Already we can tell a difference between Puntarenas and our previous destinations. Smile and say, “No, gracias,” and the vendors here respond with a smile, “De nada.” Meet the eyes of a stranger, and smiles are exchanged.

vendors along the beach walkway

I photograph a rustic beach structure where a Costa Rican family watches their children play, while I also try to get the cruise ship in the background.

family in the beach structure

A little girl of the family maybe five or six years old meets my eye. She returns my wave. I continue down the walkway, and the girl runs up to me. She is offering me a small piece of prettily painted folk art. I don’t want the folk art; what I want is to take a picture of her. With gestures and use of the word “photografia” (I hope this might be understandable in Spanish, which I don’t speak), I ask her permission. “Si,” she says, posing prettily with her art object. I take the picture and offer her a dollar.

girl in Puntarenas

“No!” she says. She is vehement in her refusal. Instead, she offers me her art object again.

I think, “Okay, if it’s a sale she wants, I can do it that way.” I take the object, an apparent desk adornment of painted wooden flowers, and offer her the dollar for it.

“No!” she insists. “No, es un gado!” (or something that sounds like that… probably, my later research reveals, “regalo.”) She shakes her head and backs away from my money. “Regalo!” she repeats.

I don’t know Spanish, but I know a gift when one is thrust upon me. “Gracias,” I say.

“De nada.” It is a solemn moment. Then we smile at each other, and the girl returns to her family. I keep looking over there, catching the eye of the mother to make sure I’ve done no wrong. But all appears to be fine. When I walk back down the pathway, I wave, and the girl waves back.

I am now the proud owner of the most beautiful desk ornament ever.

There aren’t many beggars in Puntarenas, but there are a few. I keep coins in my pockets and give some to everyone who asks. I have received a gift from an angel, and I want to pass it along. Today, I feel blessed.

Cruise Day 6 (At Sea): A Man, a Plan, a Canal — Panama

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Today is the day. This is the reason why we are here on this cruise—we and about 2,500 other people. Fellow passengers who have been on this cruise before warn us: claim a good position, claim it early, and hold your own against the press of late arrivers. Some people, they tell us, actually sleep out overnight in the position of their choice.

sunrise approaching the canal

Naturally, we want to know, based on their experience: what is the best position on the boat from which to view the transit? Suddenly, we have become potential competitors, and they are reluctant to say. Forward on Deck 6, maybe. Or Deck 11 or 12. Or along the side of the boat or aft on Deck 5.

We claim a position looking forward but along the side of the ship inside the Solarium on Deck 11. It’s not a recommended spot, but the mothers will be able to sit in comfort and to see.

This doesn’t last. We are too restless.

I find I can “Excuse me” through the crowds anywhere, anytime, as long as it’s just to take a picture and not to squeeze people out of their closely-guarded premier locations.

Like the title of this post, the Panama Canal itself is a palindrome of sorts. Ignore the punctuation, and you have three lock-chambers going up and three lock-chambers going down. But the punctuation gives it meaning: one lock of three chambers, a wildly free-form lake, a narrow channel dredged right across the continental divide, a bridge, a lock of one chamber, a smaller lake, a lock of two chambers, and a bridge.

There are two parallel passages through the locks, but only one-way traffic is allowed. We are assigned the port passage, behind the freighter Freja Breeze. Alongside and slightly ahead of us, the container ship Zim Haifa is making the transit. Zim Haifa is about as big as we are. We are both “Panamax” ships: the largest ship that can transit the canal. Construction now under way to enlarge the canal’s capacity will be completed on the canal’s centennial, in 2014.

ships in 1st & 3rd chambers of Gatun Locks

Zim Haifa in the Gatun Lock

we are up gate is open; Aim Haifa is down in the next chamber

gates closing on Zim Haifa

Transiting the three chambers of the Gatun Locks takes most of the morning.

We burst into the glorious Gatun Lake shortly before lunch. Our 13-story oceangoing cruise vessel is now cruising an inland fresh-water lake some 85 feet above sea level.

last gates of Gatun Lock open; Zim Haifa in distance

Gatun Lake

I watch the passage of the strikingly narrow and long Culebra Cut, which includes one of only two bridges over the Canal, from a treadmill in the bow of the gym on Deck 12. The channel in the Cut is so narrow that two Panamax ships cannot pass; hence the need for one-way traffic.

Culebra bridge

By mid-afternoon, I have ensconced myself at the rail on Deck 6, one of those hotly contested premier positions earlier in the day and still crowded—but accessible. From here, my elbow-to-elbow neighbors—now my very good new friends—and I watch the transit of two more locks (Pedro Miguel and Miraflores) comprising three chambers in all. “This is a much friendlier crowd than up on Deck 11,” my neighbor to the left remarks. Maybe, I think, they’re friendlier up there too, now that we’ve been watching this canal for hours. “Oh yes,” says my neighbor to the right, “we’re not like them; we’re always willing to squeeze one more in.”

letting out the water from Pedro Miguel lock

Freja Breeze ahead of us on Miraflores Lake

freja breeze leaves 1st chamber of miraflores lock

gates opening for Freja Breeze to leave 2nd chamber of Miraflores lock

In addition to the impressive locks, we see strange and familiar birds, ice rainbows in the clouds, thunder and lightning, canal dredging and construction equipment, Miraflores Lake, and the Miraflores Visitors Center, a five-story building filled with tourists who are cheering us as we pass.

bird

pelican

dramatic weather

rainbow

As the sun sets, we exit the last chamber and ride beneath the second of the two bridges and into the Pacific.

last bridge

Cruise Day 5: Cartagena

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The captain has announced that the approach to Cartagena is spectacular, and so there are more people up on deck at 5:30am today than normal. A fiery sunrise to the east and a complementary rainbow to the west do their best to enhance an already beautiful approach to the city.

sunrise approaching Cartagena

rainbow over Boca Grande, Cartagena

madonna in Cartagena harbor

My cousin Stevie, an inveterate cruiser, has warned us about Cartagena. Someone he knows, he told us urgently, witnessed a murder from the window of his tour bus in Cartagena. It’s not safe, he insisted. He would not rest until he made me promise we would not go out on our own in Cartagena.

But we can’t resist. We are going out on our own in Cartagena.

Once we make it past the gauntlet of independent tour operators and negotiate a taxi fare to the city center of the old walled World Heritage city, things get easier. Our taxi driver Fernando talks his way past two guard posts, pointing out the elderly mothers in the rear of the taxi. He drops us off right at Bolivar Square, and we arrange to meet up again at the same place at an agreed time for the return trip.

Bolivar Square is not as pleasant as the guide descriptions make it sound. Yes, it is a beautiful park with a great statue of Simon Bolivar, but the tours all come here. And where there are tourists, there are hustlers. The place is not comfortable. We head out, Dan and me and our 90-year-old mothers.

I believe there may be unsafe areas in Cartagena. And I believe that the tour busses may drive through them. But the World Heritage walled city is—at least during the daylight hours we visit—as safe as any place we’ve ever been. True, there are police on almost every street corner where a tourist might wander, sweet-faced serious young men hardly more than boys. But once away from the hustlers at the tourist spots, the people are friendly, helpful, and courteous. The city is clean and beautiful. We wander until the mothers need to rest, which they do in a gracious old hotel, where a solicitous young man provides coffee and juice. And then Dan and I wander some more through narrow streets balconied with bougainvillea.

street scene w balconies

street scene

curved street w band playing

street scene

atrium

balconies w bougainvillea

narrow street w bougainvillea

We don’t see our taxi driver Fernando when we get back to the place he dropped us off. But strangers help us. “I’m the person who told you where to find a coffee shop, do you remember? If your driver doesn’t come, I can help you find another.” “I’m the person who helped you negotiate your return trip, do you remember? Your driver is just a little further up the block.”

And so he was.

Fernando leaves us at the port, clasping our hands warmly. Across the language barrier we wish each other the best, old friends who will never meet again.

Cruise Day 4 (At Sea): The Centrum

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A great open space called the Centrum dominates the middle of the ship, rising from Deck 4 through Deck 10. The “ground” level houses the Guest Relations desk, populated 24/7 by friendly staff dedicated to righting all wrongs and meeting all needs. It also houses the Excursions Desk whose staff shows up intermittently on a schedule that seems completely random. In addition, there is a bar, an Internet area, a place for a band, couches, chairs, tables, and a dance floor.

All the upper decks overlook this area with balconies, bars, Internet areas, and other social spaces. Glass elevators provide passengers with vertically shifting views into the Centrum. A rainbow-and-metal sculpture several levels deep swings from the ceiling of the Centrum in gentle rhythm with the slight swaying of the ship.

centrum bar

Centrum balcony

Visually, the Centrum is stunning.

But like the shops on Deck 5 when there’s a sale and a drawing, or the pool area on a sunny afternoon at sea, there are times when the crowds are so dense here that it brings out my claustrophobia. And yet, now more than ever, the space with its crowds is beautiful.

Centrum stairway

Centrum overview

Cruise Day 4 (At Sea): Alone on a Cruise Ship

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Now here is a challenge for anyone who likes some daylight time alone during a day at sea on a cruise ship: try to find a place to be alone in. There are times—5am, for example—when it is possible. There may also be places during the day, but I can’t find them. Even my own room won’t do: the man upwind of us and also the man upwind of him smoke cigars, and even when they’re not on their balconies, their—uh, perfume—lingers, and I can’t breathe.

I rule out in advance the dark places such as the theatre. There will be too much darkness all winter in Boston; I don’t need to start accumulating it now.

Certainly there’s not an alone inch in the pool area on Decks 11 and 12, the Calcutta of the ship.

For similar reasons, we can rule out the informal dining areas astern on Decks 11 and 12.

Last time I was on a cruise I was able to be alone in the Solarium on Deck 11, right next door to the pool but indoors. The pleasant sounds of water in a fountain and birdsong (probably recorded) were soothing; a glass ceiling let in plenty of natural light; and it’s filled with greenery. It’s not fresh air, but it will do. Or rather, it did do last time, but now it seems the solarium has been discovered. All day long there is not a single empty seat. Yesterday morning when I left the one I’d claimed early in the morning at the end of a row (well, hey, at least I was alone on *one* side!), someone was already waiting in line to grab it.

The helipad on Deck 6 is a possibility but (for obvious reasons) there are no chairs there.

The library—an indoor space on Deck 9—and the map room—same place but on Deck 8—do admit some natural light, but they are also right on the corridor to the main elevators in the center of the ship. Although few people linger, many constantly pass by.

As the day slips into late afternoon, I manage to get a chair at the end of a row in the Solarium with no one next to me. But people are still here, a fair number of them. And worse, they see me with my computer and come over and ask questions. They are all very nice. Let me be clear: I like everyone I’ve met on this cruise, staff and passengers alike. But they are driving me crazy. This ship has twelve decks (though many are purely residential—narrow corridors lined with cabin doors), but it isn’t enough.  I’m starting to get claustrophobic; I detect the initial impulses toward antisocial behavior.

I have ten days to go.

(Note written on Day 9, four days later: I talked with the wonderful people in Guest Services about the cigar problem. They have talked with the cigar smokers, who have been very kind and understanding in agreeing not to smoke cigars on their balconies, and I have been able to spend a wonderful day at sea on my balcony, breathing.)

Views near Golden Grove

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I am currently visiting seaboard locations far south of Block Island. This week’s Golden Grove sunset comes from the archives. The year is 2003, and judging from where the sun is setting, I’d say it’s maybe late April or early May.

Sunset with lighthouse, late April 2003

Sunset with lighthouse, late April 2003

Click here to see last week’s view.

Cruise Day 3: Oh, Jamaica!

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While my mom heads off on a tour, Dan, his mom, and I am off to see the “real” Jamaica: Sam Sharpe Square. It turns out that this is a holiday in Jamaica: National Heroes Day. Sam Sharpe, a preacher and a brave fighter against slavery, is one of the heroes we are celebrating today, along with five other men and a woman who fought against slavery, and all people on the island who have performed acts of heroism large and small. It is a happy holiday. Everywhere, people are smiling and friendly. Several military and marching bands parade across the square amid fine music. We listen respectfully to passionate speeches. The three of us are the only white faces in the square, and I feel privileged to witness, and in a small way to take part in, this fine Jamaican event.

Later, Dan sits with his mom in a local café while I check out the Harbour Street Crafts Market. Here, the people are hoping for tourist-visitors, and they practice the art of roping in passers-by. Please come into my shop! Feel free just to look! No need to buy! This way, my lady, this way! “No thank you,” I say again and again, smiling, still happy on this fine holiday. “Thank you, but no.” I do not want souvenir shirts, baskets, hats, jewelry, carvings, shells, or any souvenirs other than these fine memories.

Or… wait… maybe a picture or two. Three ladies sit together near the doors of their shops. Beautiful ladies, brightly painted shops, rich textures of wares. I ask if I might take their picture and offer to pay. A deal is struck that holds all over the crafts market. People would be happy to let me photograph them for free, but they do not turn down the money. They are not rich people, and I have received something of value in fair exchange.

Three ladies

“Hello, I am Roy,” says the painter of wooden carvings, “so you will know whose picture you have taken.” “I am Ginger,” I say. We shake hands and wish each other well.

Roy

“Where are you from?” asks another. “Boston,” I say. “I lived in Boston for a number of years,” he says. “Roxbury. Matapan.” “Which do you like better,” I ask, “Boston or Jamaica?” “Oh, Jamaica!” he says with a big grin. “Everyone is friendly here.”

And it’s true. Here are some of the friendly people at the crafts market.

Wood Carver

straw embroiderer

shopkeeper

I bargain hard for a taxi fare back to the cruise terminal. We argue. I almost walk away twice. But at last we come to an agreement, and any hard feelings vanish. The driver comes by to pick up Dan and his mother as soon as he sees that Dan’s mom can’t walk easily. We chat amiably all the way to the terminal. When we arrive, he introduces himself—Desmond—and we follow suit, shaking hands all around, wishing each other a good vacation and a happy holiday.

Oh, Jamaica, I’m glad to know you!

Cruise Day 2: Morning at sea; Dan’s birthday

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It’s our first day on a two-week cruise. I wake in the middle of the night and stumble by flashlight past the narrow space between the foot of the bed and the wall of the cabin, negotiating with difficulty the tight corner where the edge of the TV stand juts into the room leaving only inches for the sleepy nighttime passage to the (let’s use the nautical term here) head. My cell phone, left plugged in on the desk, displays the time: 5am. On the way back to bed, my groggy mind forms a dangerous thought:

I wonder what it’s like outside at five in the morning.

My side of the bed is less than one foot from the balcony door, and so it is not a long leap from thinking to doing. I open the door and go outside. The air is humid, warm, and very fresh—way better than the air-conditioned sterility inside.

The sky is black. Light spilling from the ship illuminates the water swirling rapidly by. There are distant lights on the horizon: I wonder what island. Stars shine overhead.  Stars! I bet if I could get out into a place with nothing overhead there’d be a gazillion stars. Deck 12, for example, with its running track.

This is ridiculous, I think. It’s five in the middle-of-the-night morning, for heaven’s sake! I go back to bed.

Ten minutes later, I’m up, dressed, and out of the cabin. I learn that the island sliding by to starboard is Cuba.

Deck 12 has a fine running track, and it is completely deserted. It’s also distressingly well lit. There are no visible stars. The warm, windy air is wonderful. Birds are everywhere. They seem somehow trapped in the ship’s gravity. They fly in front of me as I run, but they won’t—or can’t—fly aside.

The track is too short; it circles around only about halfway to the stern of the ship. Once or twice around, and I run down the seven flights of stairs to the track on deck 5, which I’ve heard is longer and I hope will be a little darker. The freedom of movement on the deserted ship feels great. As I run forward on the starboard side of the ship it gets a little too dark. Good thing I brought a flashlight (yes, I really did) because now I need it. There are no lights. The deck peters out into a staircase, which has been closed off with plastic netting, but the netting has been taken down on one side. Closed or open? Hard to tell. Open, I decide, and up I go.

The bow of Deck 6 is unlit, and it’s really something. Cuba is more rural now, with only a twinkling of occasional lights. Above, the black sky flaunts its promised gazillion stars. On the port side of the ship, distant lightning illuminates clouds in soundless fireworks. The port stairway from Deck 6 to Deck 5 is definitely closed, but the temporary netting is easy to step over. I’ve gotten good at this. I run the Deck 5-Deck 6 circuit several times, then head back up to Deck 12. Definitely not as good. Back to Deck 5.

And then back to Deck 12, where I head to the gym for a workout on the deserted machines. By the time I leave at 6:30 people have started to arrive.

I’ve been up for an hour and a half, and now it’s time to start my day. I feel great.

Day 2 Dan & Ginger

Happy birthday, Dan! And many happy returns of the day!

My life on standby

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My life has been on standby since we got in the standby line for the Block Island ferry at 7:30 this morning. The first ferry of the day left at 8:30, and there were already three cars ahead of us. Two of them got on.

I’ve gotten friendly with the Interstate Navigation employee, Joe Houlihan, who is running the standby lot today. “How’s your writing going?” he asks me. So I tell him the story of my writer’s block and getting past it. And he shares with me his story of a warm and personal rejection letter from an agent who read his manuscript. For, you see, Joe is a writer, too. We are both on standby today.

There are now five cars behind us in line. Two large trucks are waiting in the same lot for the 11 o’clock ferry, but they’re not on standby. They have reservations. At about ten minutes to the hour, Joe comes by on his bicycle and sends the trucks over to the ferry as we folks in the standby line watch hungrily, hopefully, despairingly. “Sorry,” he tells us.

Nine cars are waiting in line for the 1:30 ferry, seven behind us, one in front. Another truck has also shown up. “What happens,” I ask Joe, “if a car has a reservation on the 1:30 ferry but doesn’t get there in time?” “Oh, then he’s on standby just like anyone else.” “Back of the line?” “You bet.” Then Joe tells the story.

“They used to have a policy where there was a priority standby line for people like that,” he says. “You can imagine how well that went over with all the people like you who were waiting in line since 7:30 in the morning, and now this guy comes along at 1:35, and he’s first in line. I saw it almost come to blows a couple of times. People would be yelling at me—and it wasn’t my fault. I’d tell them, ‘Hey, I agree with you. Go complain to the company.’ Well, I can tell you, that priority standby didn’t even last two weeks.”

Another truck pulls up. This is a really big one, carrying major steel beams. I tense up, but then the driver tells Joe that he’s on the 5:15 ferry. Not a problem. Well, not yet.

“What are the beams for?” I ask one of the men with the truck. “Construction,” he says. Well, duh! Hey mister, I’m on standby here; I have all the time in the world. “What kind of construction? They’re too big for a house, aren’t they?” “I can’t say,” he says. “You don’t know?” “I don’t know if I’m supposed to say.” “They’re for a restaurant,” says the other man with the truck. “Oh, really?” I’m at my peak of no-hurry friendliness. “A new restaurant? Where?” “No, it’s for moving it.” “They’re moving a restaurant? Which one? Where?” And he tells me. The things you don’t learn.

An additional truck shows up last minute. Dismay replaces optimism in the standby line. Joe pedals around on his bicycle. I have learned: he’ll come to the drivers’ side of the cars if he’s going to board some of us, to the passenger side if he’s dealing with the trucks over there. It’s the drivers’ side—fantastic! But he crosses over. Rats! He’s on his walkie-talkie; he relays truck measurements and then bikes back again. Up and down the line, hearts sink. A moment later, he returns and sends the car ahead of us to the ferry.

But they take no more.

So now we’re number 1 in line, and we’re on standby for the 3:30 ferry. Time to recharge: lunch for us, an electric plug at the restaurant for the computer batteries.