The year is coming to a close and here I am again in airport terminals. On the move again. Perpetual motion. Waiting for the pendulum to stop swinging. Waiting to live a quiet, predictable life. To do the things “normal” people take for granted. But, apparently, not quite yet for me . . .
It has been quite a year for me. It started with an international move and change in career, with a long wait in South Africa for it all to come together. I left my much loved little apartment in St Maarten, beach, sunshine and friends behind to go for the new opportunity that was offered. I had been given a full time position as a stewardess on a mega yacht that would now be based out of the Mediterranean.
Things where however taking their time to come together. I had to wait for the boat to complete a major refit that kept taking longer than expected. The upside was three wonderful months visiting my mom.
In May I finally boarded a plane and headed north to my new beginning. I joined the boat in Toulon, south of France. But on my very first day I received shocking news from home. Mom had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. My mom so full of youth and vitality? No, that just happens to other people . . .
But she’s a trooper, and a pillar of faith. She faced the unknown with great bravery. I could not compare my woes to hers, but I did have a difficult summer. Living on the job in close quarters with my fellow crew members was not always easy. One crew member in particular caused tremendous strife. The job was relentless. We worked long hours and seven days a week for months on end.
It was not all doom and gloom. We did see beautiful new places, even if often just through the porthole. And on the rare times we had off we often went out together and had memorable dinners and parties from Venice to Dubrovnik and Naples. My photo album records the laughs and fun moments . . .
We literally danced a jig when the guests left for the last time in the season. We where finally headed back to our home port, Palma Majorca. All the stress of summer fell away as a very quiet and peaceful winter season started. For us winter is our down time, just catching up with a little maintenance.
I was fortunate enough to go home for Christmas. When I just arrived in South Africa seeing mom was a shock. She had lost a tremendous amount of weight and was not feeling well. Her chemotherapy had recently ended. Walking hunched over she looked her age, and normally she looks ten years younger that she is! But, it was such a good feeling to see her reviving in the last month. To see the grace and miracle of God’s healing hands in her life. She regained her strength and by the time I left she was the busy little bee I have always known. I took her clothes shopping. Wearing clothes matching her much reduced size made her look good instead of like a drowning rat. And with her positive bearing and energy she regained her youthful appearance again. And just before I left, she had started growing a darker fuzz on her head - only a mm or so, but evidence of hair to come. Seeing her so much more her old self made the parting much easier.
Christmas day was spent quietly with cold meats and salads for lunch. Amazingly though, we ended up with a white Christmas! No, I am not going entirely batty. :-) The late afternoon thunderstorm became a hailstorm. I suddenly laughed when I saw the lawn covered in white, thinking they will never believe me when I get back to Spain, so I took pictures proving I really did have a white Christmas! This was the wettest December we could all remember. So coming back to winter here up North was not even a big shock. And the weather was kind to me. The week before was not only very cold in USA, also in Europe airports where closed all over the place. But this week, just in time for my travels, the weather eased up. Even my lay over in Zurich was mild and I walked in a T Shirt today here in Palma. Next week however, the cold should be back with a vengeance, but at least I'll have a little time to get used to it.
I was surprised to find myself looking forward to coming back to the boat and Spain. All December long my head has been spinning and I have been on a mental roller coaster ride as I tried to figure out my plans for the New Year. This is a pretty profound New Year for me. I have big decisions to make over the timing of my future plans. I am anxious to settle down, but for many reasons it may behoove me to commit to one more summer on the boat. This time I know exactly what I am in for. It seems a vast lonely stretch ahead. Naturally, I have been lifting this big issue up in prayer. God knows the desires of my heart, but He also knows the big picture that I cannot see.
A lot of people find being alone at Christmas depressing. Fortunately I was home for that. But to a degree I find New Years on my own far more daunting. It sort of really brings home that I am single and likely to remain so for a long time if I commit to summer. I am feeling a strange mix of dread, apprehension, and excitement at the prospect of taking the bull by the horns, whichever way it takes me . . .
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
return to earth . . .
Like a spaceship on course back to mother earth the boat is gliding along a flat sea back to Palma. I have for most of summer felt like I was far far away, on a different planet. Cut off from my friends all over the world. Perhaps, like ET, needing to stick my finger my finger out and wistfully say "ET call h . o . m . e . . ."
Life in this ulterior universe was also a little strange. Uniformed people living in small cave like cabins served the inhabitants of this planet. I am of course referring to the guests on the yacht. Sometimes, it could be as few as two or three, but other times we had as many as nine guests. There was a relentlessness to it. For most of the last three months we worked seven days a week, often ridiculously long hours. It seemed a never ending stretch of making beds, cleaning bathrooms, serving meals, laundry, ironing . . . All of course done with a smile.
Living in close proximity with your colleagues, never actually leaving the job, is a recipe for potential tension. And that cauldron certainly did bubble over many times. One crew member in particular caused unnecessary tension between all. But eventually, as we knew that there was an end in sight, tensions subsided and we all looked forward to our return to mother earth and normality.
I can't honestly say it was all bad. We certainly did get to travel to interesting places and had a good bit of fun in between. We left Palma for our first port, Brindisi, Italy. From there we took our first guests to Croatia. It was my first visit to the magical coastline of Croatia. It is a rugged, rocky coastline with many little island. The little village like ports had an old world charm with cobblestone streets and terra cotta tiled rooftops. As we where at anchor in isolated locations more often than not we cherished those rare opportunities of a few hours on shore. We would wander around the touristy little shops and buy little trinkets.
After two weeks we returned to Italy. Venice turned out to be everything I have always imagined. I think one can easily spend a month there exploring the little lanes and canals. Taking random bridges and making new discoveries. Enjoying the large well known plaza's and lesser know alleyways. Taking a million pictures. Unfortunately we only had half a day to explore the beautiful city. I used it well and walked miles on end. T
aking pictures, watching the gondoliers with their striped shirts, straw hats and beautiful boats navigating the canals. I popped into the stores and like a good tourist came home with small venetian glass ornaments and jewelry. I even bought watercolor paintings from an artist on the square. By sheer happy coincidence there was a fabulous fireworks display one evening during our stay in Venice. I saw enough to hope that I can go back and see more of Venice and Italy one day.
But all good things must come to an end. New guests arrived and we where back to serving mode, soon departing once again for Croatia. Another month and a half we sailed up and down the coastline from one remote anchorage to the next. Of course cel phones and internet did not work in these remote anchorages, and we seldom had the opportunity to get off the boat apart from the occasional afternoon swim. The water was however beautifully warm and crystal clear. It was a great release after feeling so cooped up on the boat.
My favorite time was early in the morning before the guests woke up. There was a general quietness on the boat and I could enjoy the morning air on the deck as I was setting out the silver for their breakfast with my little white glove. Their seems to be a special, different quality to the light that time of day in this part of the world. The sun already out, but the light soft, dancing on the still morning sea. The distant mountains would be a soft hazy blue. A lone fisherman would quietly throw his fishing net out rhythmically, plying the shoreline systematically and not seeming overly interested in the expensive yacht anchored nearby.
The rhythm of life on board continued relentlessly. The two little worlds operating separately but side by side. In one world the guests, with their luxurious cabins, and delicate care and service. Behind a door they where not welcome to go through, the other world. Our crammed little cabins. Much less formal meals around a u shaped table in the crew mess. An area where we could banter with one another, watch telly or just plain hang out. So, between these two worlds we would endlessly travel. The more mundane tasks like laundry and ironing of course being done in our world, and venturing often into theirs to make sure their every need and whim is being fulfilled. But outside these two worlds we seldom had the opportunity to venture. We where stuck. From this the sense of being cut off from the rest of the world.
The chef managed to break the routine in a humorous way one afternoon. I w
as on the aft deck, serving lunch to the guest when my eyes where drawn to a rather unusual sight. The guests turned too, and saw the chef, standing in his full uniform, hat included, on the boats surfboard. He was gracefully steering it like a gondolier. The guests actually abandoned the table to go and take pictures with their cellphones. I think even they found his hilarious stunt a welcome relief from the routines on board.
We saw off the guests in Croatia and returned this time to Naples, Italy. We stopped at Lepary islands and the crew got a much needed breather. We swam, some went diving, wake boarding, just generally relaxed in our own respective ways. Naples in many ways was disappointing to me. It is a city with an air of neglect. However, the deck hand and myself did take the opportunity to go and explore the ruins of Pompeii. The opportunity to get off the boat for the day was in itself worth a lot. But it was also truly interesting to explore the ruins of the village. Since we had taken the time to visit the museum that housed many of the discovered artifacts and art a few days earlier, we could imagine the buildings and temples in their full splendor. Occasionally we would end up behind an English speaking tour guide and get bits of fun info. The gentleman was describing the brothel he was about to show to the assembled tourists. Standing behind this group, the deck hand vocally pointed out the the brothel was apparently operating to this day as he pointed to a female tourist emerging from the building. He did get a few giggle's.
Alas the guest returned one last time. The last two weeks where the longest of all the summer. We had been resigned before that there remained a long summer ahead and plodded along. But, now, knowing the end was in sight, we chafed at the bit. We would return to "our world" and quietly murmur to one another how many days where left. The workload itself had decreased, but so had our communal energy reserves. Where where running on fumes.
And then, magically, the day came that we waved goodbye to the Mercedes taxi containing our last guests for the season . . . That evening we uncorked some champagne and did a happy dance on the deck of the boat. My quality of life improved instantly. I had permission from the captain to move to a guest cabin the moment they left. I took him very literally to his word. Their taxi had barely left the marina before I was carrying the first basket of my possessions from my cramped quarters to my new, more spacious abode for this winter. Right now, I am comfortably snuggled in my bed, laptop on my lap. Within a day, God willing, we will be back in Palma. And I can send greetings with this letter to my fellow earthlings to tell them, I'm back!
Life in this ulterior universe was also a little strange. Uniformed people living in small cave like cabins served the inhabitants of this planet. I am of course referring to the guests on the yacht. Sometimes, it could be as few as two or three, but other times we had as many as nine guests. There was a relentlessness to it. For most of the last three months we worked seven days a week, often ridiculously long hours. It seemed a never ending stretch of making beds, cleaning bathrooms, serving meals, laundry, ironing . . . All of course done with a smile.
Living in close proximity with your colleagues, never actually leaving the job, is a recipe for potential tension. And that cauldron certainly did bubble over many times. One crew member in particular caused unnecessary tension between all. But eventually, as we knew that there was an end in sight, tensions subsided and we all looked forward to our return to mother earth and normality.
I can't honestly say it was all bad. We certainly did get to travel to interesting places and had a good bit of fun in between. We left Palma for our first port, Brindisi, Italy. From there we took our first guests to Croatia. It was my first visit to the magical coastline of Croatia. It is a rugged, rocky coastline with many little island. The little village like ports had an old world charm with cobblestone streets and terra cotta tiled rooftops. As we where at anchor in isolated locations more often than not we cherished those rare opportunities of a few hours on shore. We would wander around the touristy little shops and buy little trinkets.
After two weeks we returned to Italy. Venice turned out to be everything I have always imagined. I think one can easily spend a month there exploring the little lanes and canals. Taking random bridges and making new discoveries. Enjoying the large well known plaza's and lesser know alleyways. Taking a million pictures. Unfortunately we only had half a day to explore the beautiful city. I used it well and walked miles on end. T
aking pictures, watching the gondoliers with their striped shirts, straw hats and beautiful boats navigating the canals. I popped into the stores and like a good tourist came home with small venetian glass ornaments and jewelry. I even bought watercolor paintings from an artist on the square. By sheer happy coincidence there was a fabulous fireworks display one evening during our stay in Venice. I saw enough to hope that I can go back and see more of Venice and Italy one day.
But all good things must come to an end. New guests arrived and we where back to serving mode, soon departing once again for Croatia. Another month and a half we sailed up and down the coastline from one remote anchorage to the next. Of course cel phones and internet did not work in these remote anchorages, and we seldom had the opportunity to get off the boat apart from the occasional afternoon swim. The water was however beautifully warm and crystal clear. It was a great release after feeling so cooped up on the boat.
My favorite time was early in the morning before the guests woke up. There was a general quietness on the boat and I could enjoy the morning air on the deck as I was setting out the silver for their breakfast with my little white glove. Their seems to be a special, different quality to the light that time of day in this part of the world. The sun already out, but the light soft, dancing on the still morning sea. The distant mountains would be a soft hazy blue. A lone fisherman would quietly throw his fishing net out rhythmically, plying the shoreline systematically and not seeming overly interested in the expensive yacht anchored nearby.
The rhythm of life on board continued relentlessly. The two little worlds operating separately but side by side. In one world the guests, with their luxurious cabins, and delicate care and service. Behind a door they where not welcome to go through, the other world. Our crammed little cabins. Much less formal meals around a u shaped table in the crew mess. An area where we could banter with one another, watch telly or just plain hang out. So, between these two worlds we would endlessly travel. The more mundane tasks like laundry and ironing of course being done in our world, and venturing often into theirs to make sure their every need and whim is being fulfilled. But outside these two worlds we seldom had the opportunity to venture. We where stuck. From this the sense of being cut off from the rest of the world.
The chef managed to break the routine in a humorous way one afternoon. I w
as on the aft deck, serving lunch to the guest when my eyes where drawn to a rather unusual sight. The guests turned too, and saw the chef, standing in his full uniform, hat included, on the boats surfboard. He was gracefully steering it like a gondolier. The guests actually abandoned the table to go and take pictures with their cellphones. I think even they found his hilarious stunt a welcome relief from the routines on board.We saw off the guests in Croatia and returned this time to Naples, Italy. We stopped at Lepary islands and the crew got a much needed breather. We swam, some went diving, wake boarding, just generally relaxed in our own respective ways. Naples in many ways was disappointing to me. It is a city with an air of neglect. However, the deck hand and myself did take the opportunity to go and explore the ruins of Pompeii. The opportunity to get off the boat for the day was in itself worth a lot. But it was also truly interesting to explore the ruins of the village. Since we had taken the time to visit the museum that housed many of the discovered artifacts and art a few days earlier, we could imagine the buildings and temples in their full splendor. Occasionally we would end up behind an English speaking tour guide and get bits of fun info. The gentleman was describing the brothel he was about to show to the assembled tourists. Standing behind this group, the deck hand vocally pointed out the the brothel was apparently operating to this day as he pointed to a female tourist emerging from the building. He did get a few giggle's.
Alas the guest returned one last time. The last two weeks where the longest of all the summer. We had been resigned before that there remained a long summer ahead and plodded along. But, now, knowing the end was in sight, we chafed at the bit. We would return to "our world" and quietly murmur to one another how many days where left. The workload itself had decreased, but so had our communal energy reserves. Where where running on fumes.
And then, magically, the day came that we waved goodbye to the Mercedes taxi containing our last guests for the season . . . That evening we uncorked some champagne and did a happy dance on the deck of the boat. My quality of life improved instantly. I had permission from the captain to move to a guest cabin the moment they left. I took him very literally to his word. Their taxi had barely left the marina before I was carrying the first basket of my possessions from my cramped quarters to my new, more spacious abode for this winter. Right now, I am comfortably snuggled in my bed, laptop on my lap. Within a day, God willing, we will be back in Palma. And I can send greetings with this letter to my fellow earthlings to tell them, I'm back!
Friday, June 26, 2009
Palma and beyond
From Nice I the captain picked me up and took me to Toulon where I joined the boat and crew. I only knew a few of them ahead of time - but immediately got a positive feeling from all. Later, I realized my first impression was spot on - I truly feel blessed to be working with this group. It is an unusual life where we all live on the job, so getting along is extra important.
We all went over to the ship that had transported our boat, and was on board to experience the amazing offloading. These ships are designed to only transport boats. When they are loaded, the ship is actually pumped full of water until it is under water and the boats simply motor on. Underwater divers weld cradles on the decks securing the boats. Water is then pumped out until the ship is above water. We witnessed the reverse procedure on the other end. We where standing on the boat, looking over the side rails at the ship below, as the ships decks gradually sank under the water being pumped in. The cradles had been removed ahead of time and just lines secured the boats. Finally all the boats where floating and motored off in organized sequence like little ducks. We where off to Palma . . .
As we approached Palma she was shrouded in mist. For early May day it was a little cold and dreary. It was hard to get an impression of my new home. While the weather cleared up the next week was a blur. We had one week to prepare for our first charter and it was pretty hectic. Fortunately the chef knew the island well, so he took me in tow as together we did the shopping in preparation of our charter. I gazed at tree lined streets and beautiful old buildings while trotting behind him at 100 miles per hour as we shopped for essentials such as fancy soaps and shampoos and designer coffee for the guests. After having lived on a small island with probably a population of around 120 000 people total, Palma was a little overwhelming at first. The city alone has a population of around half a million people.
Our first charter that included both owners went smoothly. As crew we got to know one another, the boat, and the owners. While it was hectic it was great preparation for the upcoming season.
Those ten days flew by and soon we where back in Palma. The weather obliged with beautiful sunshine for our return and I could clearly make out the now familiar outline of the cathedral. The pressure was off and we had a whole month to prepare for our next charter. And I had time to explore Palma and the rest of the island.
And explore I did! I drank in the sights sounds and smells of the island. On weekends I took our boat bicycle and cycled al
ong the beautiful bicycle road that stretches alongside the coast. I could not believe the incredible amount of boats of all sizes stretching for miles on end. Then after the marinas The bicycle path just stretched endlessly, and one Saturday I followed it for about twenty kilometers. Once out of downtown Palma and all the marina's I passed a long lonely stretch of rocky coastline with the salt air whipping me from the side. I continued through several little villages until I reached the touristy Playa de Palma. I often stopped to pop in the hundreds of little shops and finally found a nice little restaurant to have lunch at four in true Spanish style. After the lovely sole and my glass of white wine the way home seemed a lot longer. I do confess to being quite worn out when I finally reached the boat.
What ever spare time I had I would wander all over the city, taking random little streets just to see where you would end up. I found art galleries, lush gardens and parks. Old town alley ways with flower bedecked balconies. And yes, laundry proudly flapping from these same balconies. I wove in and out of shops of every imaginable kind. Sometimes incongruously, an expensive
designer shop would be flanked by a cheap little nick knack store. I sat in terasse cafe's sipping cappuccinos and people watched. I went to the fascinating aquarium. I went to a circus. Sometimes I did my exploring alone and on other days with a friend. We found a festival in one of the squares one day and I joined in and danced barefoot on the pavement until I had blisters on my feet.
On a different weekend I ended up renting a car with a friend and we set off to explore the west coast. We may as well have been in a totally different country. The rugged green hills stands in marked contrast to the touristly flat beaches of the east side. The little villages seem out of a picture book with their cobblestone s
treets and narrow allyways. Everywhere against the walls are colorful flowers in pots. We walked up and down winding lanes, and between the buildings the amazing vista's of the hills where visable. It felt like we where walking through a painting, ourselves being another little splash of color added by the artist. For this reason I was not surprised to find many delightful art galleries of local artists.
During the month in Palma we prepared the boat for our next charter, but slowly the hour glass ran empty and it was time to for us to leave. Right now every one is still rubbing their eyes and having coffee. Soon we will be leaving the dock and on our way to Italy. The leisurely pace of the last month will be replaced by working seven days a week and long hours as the owners join the boat. We will be cruising with them on the Italian and Croatian coast for a month and a half. We, however will not be the ones sightseeing. For us it will be heads down and working.
From Italy we will then depart to Turkey where the owners will once again join the boat. In three months from now we should be heading back here to Palma. So for now, I have to say goodbye as we prepare to leave . . .
We all went over to the ship that had transported our boat, and was on board to experience the amazing offloading. These ships are designed to only transport boats. When they are loaded, the ship is actually pumped full of water until it is under water and the boats simply motor on. Underwater divers weld cradles on the decks securing the boats. Water is then pumped out until the ship is above water. We witnessed the reverse procedure on the other end. We where standing on the boat, looking over the side rails at the ship below, as the ships decks gradually sank under the water being pumped in. The cradles had been removed ahead of time and just lines secured the boats. Finally all the boats where floating and motored off in organized sequence like little ducks. We where off to Palma . . .
As we approached Palma she was shrouded in mist. For early May day it was a little cold and dreary. It was hard to get an impression of my new home. While the weather cleared up the next week was a blur. We had one week to prepare for our first charter and it was pretty hectic. Fortunately the chef knew the island well, so he took me in tow as together we did the shopping in preparation of our charter. I gazed at tree lined streets and beautiful old buildings while trotting behind him at 100 miles per hour as we shopped for essentials such as fancy soaps and shampoos and designer coffee for the guests. After having lived on a small island with probably a population of around 120 000 people total, Palma was a little overwhelming at first. The city alone has a population of around half a million people.
Our first charter that included both owners went smoothly. As crew we got to know one another, the boat, and the owners. While it was hectic it was great preparation for the upcoming season.
Those ten days flew by and soon we where back in Palma. The weather obliged with beautiful sunshine for our return and I could clearly make out the now familiar outline of the cathedral. The pressure was off and we had a whole month to prepare for our next charter. And I had time to explore Palma and the rest of the island.
And explore I did! I drank in the sights sounds and smells of the island. On weekends I took our boat bicycle and cycled al
ong the beautiful bicycle road that stretches alongside the coast. I could not believe the incredible amount of boats of all sizes stretching for miles on end. Then after the marinas The bicycle path just stretched endlessly, and one Saturday I followed it for about twenty kilometers. Once out of downtown Palma and all the marina's I passed a long lonely stretch of rocky coastline with the salt air whipping me from the side. I continued through several little villages until I reached the touristy Playa de Palma. I often stopped to pop in the hundreds of little shops and finally found a nice little restaurant to have lunch at four in true Spanish style. After the lovely sole and my glass of white wine the way home seemed a lot longer. I do confess to being quite worn out when I finally reached the boat.What ever spare time I had I would wander all over the city, taking random little streets just to see where you would end up. I found art galleries, lush gardens and parks. Old town alley ways with flower bedecked balconies. And yes, laundry proudly flapping from these same balconies. I wove in and out of shops of every imaginable kind. Sometimes incongruously, an expensive
designer shop would be flanked by a cheap little nick knack store. I sat in terasse cafe's sipping cappuccinos and people watched. I went to the fascinating aquarium. I went to a circus. Sometimes I did my exploring alone and on other days with a friend. We found a festival in one of the squares one day and I joined in and danced barefoot on the pavement until I had blisters on my feet.
On a different weekend I ended up renting a car with a friend and we set off to explore the west coast. We may as well have been in a totally different country. The rugged green hills stands in marked contrast to the touristly flat beaches of the east side. The little villages seem out of a picture book with their cobblestone s
treets and narrow allyways. Everywhere against the walls are colorful flowers in pots. We walked up and down winding lanes, and between the buildings the amazing vista's of the hills where visable. It felt like we where walking through a painting, ourselves being another little splash of color added by the artist. For this reason I was not surprised to find many delightful art galleries of local artists.
During the month in Palma we prepared the boat for our next charter, but slowly the hour glass ran empty and it was time to for us to leave. Right now every one is still rubbing their eyes and having coffee. Soon we will be leaving the dock and on our way to Italy. The leisurely pace of the last month will be replaced by working seven days a week and long hours as the owners join the boat. We will be cruising with them on the Italian and Croatian coast for a month and a half. We, however will not be the ones sightseeing. For us it will be heads down and working.
From Italy we will then depart to Turkey where the owners will once again join the boat. In three months from now we should be heading back here to Palma. So for now, I have to say goodbye as we prepare to leave . . .
Monday, May 11, 2009
One day vacation
Due to the difference in dates being written in several countries, there was a mix up. Several people thought it was my birthday and sent congratulations. However yesterday was a special day. I finally arrived in Europe (with all my baggage) on Saturday afternoon. Today (Monday) the captain is coming to meet me and I will join the boat and crew.
So yesterday was my one day vacation in Nice. And I made the best of it. If I carefully planned it, it could not have worked out better. I had a leisurely start - sleeping in a little after my lengthy travels the day before. A cappuccino at a street side cafe got me started as I set off to explore. I walked along the promenade and smelt the sea air and smiled at strangers. I felt a little nostalgic when walking past a violin player on the waterfront. It seemed an experience meant to be shared.
I people watched as I strolled. I love the poise and finish of the French. They could wear rags and still look stylish. I played a game of trying to identify the tourists and guess their nationalities.
I walked along random side streets and poked into all kinds of little stores. In between I
played tourist and took pictures of the lovely old buildings. I found beautiful parks and stumbled on a flower market to my delight. I loved the bustle of the market and savored the fragrances and colors around me. Further on the fruit vendors loudly hawked their wares. Even the french fruit aims for perfection. Every one colorful, unblemished and beautifully displayed. The fishmonger had the most artistic display of fish and seafood. He probably carefully re arranges the composition if one is sold.
By now it was around one and I decided a one day vacation calls for a special meal. It was hard to choose between all the street side cafe's, but settled for a seafood restaurant. And who says the French are stingy with their portions? My starter was a mountain of mussels. Naturally I had to accompany this with a rose. Next my salmon arrived, and as in all French food the secret was in the delectable sauce. I took my time to savor everything, and finished it off with dark chocolate mousse. I felt thoroughly spoiled.
By the time I stepped out of the restaurant the market had all but disappeared. A few remaining rose leaves where being swept up. If I ventured here a different time I would have missed it all. I wondered off back in the direction of the park and discovered a carnival atmosphere. It seemed to be a celebration of the diverse cultures living in Nice. Young dancers and musicians represented Eastern, Brazilian and African cultures. I joined several people in climbing on a nearby statue to get a better view of the stage. The park itself had various displays and there was a festive atmosphere among the crowd. When the Brazilian drums died down, the orchestra in the center of the park started up. I stood enthralled at their pure artistry, and admired the youngster in the back row that expertly changed instruments.
From there I strolled off in a different direction and found the town squares filled with talented buskers. A piano player whose hands just flew over the keys, break dancers, musicians of every kind imaginable.
By the evening I just felt filled like a sponge with all the events of the day. It felt like the city held a celebration just for me. This day is my new start. And with a start like that it can only go well. I am excited about the unknown ahead of me. I might not have had someone holding my hand as I listened to the violin player. But I was never alone. And nor will I be in the future - for I know that no matter where I am in the world, God is with me. And He will guide me in the unknown ahead of me.
So yesterday was my one day vacation in Nice. And I made the best of it. If I carefully planned it, it could not have worked out better. I had a leisurely start - sleeping in a little after my lengthy travels the day before. A cappuccino at a street side cafe got me started as I set off to explore. I walked along the promenade and smelt the sea air and smiled at strangers. I felt a little nostalgic when walking past a violin player on the waterfront. It seemed an experience meant to be shared.
I people watched as I strolled. I love the poise and finish of the French. They could wear rags and still look stylish. I played a game of trying to identify the tourists and guess their nationalities.
I walked along random side streets and poked into all kinds of little stores. In between I
played tourist and took pictures of the lovely old buildings. I found beautiful parks and stumbled on a flower market to my delight. I loved the bustle of the market and savored the fragrances and colors around me. Further on the fruit vendors loudly hawked their wares. Even the french fruit aims for perfection. Every one colorful, unblemished and beautifully displayed. The fishmonger had the most artistic display of fish and seafood. He probably carefully re arranges the composition if one is sold.By now it was around one and I decided a one day vacation calls for a special meal. It was hard to choose between all the street side cafe's, but settled for a seafood restaurant. And who says the French are stingy with their portions? My starter was a mountain of mussels. Naturally I had to accompany this with a rose. Next my salmon arrived, and as in all French food the secret was in the delectable sauce. I took my time to savor everything, and finished it off with dark chocolate mousse. I felt thoroughly spoiled.
By the time I stepped out of the restaurant the market had all but disappeared. A few remaining rose leaves where being swept up. If I ventured here a different time I would have missed it all. I wondered off back in the direction of the park and discovered a carnival atmosphere. It seemed to be a celebration of the diverse cultures living in Nice. Young dancers and musicians represented Eastern, Brazilian and African cultures. I joined several people in climbing on a nearby statue to get a better view of the stage. The park itself had various displays and there was a festive atmosphere among the crowd. When the Brazilian drums died down, the orchestra in the center of the park started up. I stood enthralled at their pure artistry, and admired the youngster in the back row that expertly changed instruments.
From there I strolled off in a different direction and found the town squares filled with talented buskers. A piano player whose hands just flew over the keys, break dancers, musicians of every kind imaginable.
By the evening I just felt filled like a sponge with all the events of the day. It felt like the city held a celebration just for me. This day is my new start. And with a start like that it can only go well. I am excited about the unknown ahead of me. I might not have had someone holding my hand as I listened to the violin player. But I was never alone. And nor will I be in the future - for I know that no matter where I am in the world, God is with me. And He will guide me in the unknown ahead of me.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
The day finally arrived. I was strapped in with the large aircraft rolling down the runway and gently going up. The blue ocean and “my beach” was visible through the window. Familiar landmarks appeared below me. Yet the reality that I was truly leaving all this behind still did not sink in. It still feels that I will soon be waking up in my familiar bed, look at my bright yellow curtains. Go through my familiar morning routine of making my coffee and settling into my chair for my quiet time, while looking out to palm trees and blue sky.
But the truth is, this is now someone else's view. I have begun the journey of a major crossroad in my life. It is now time for new rituals and routines. It is a time of change. There is a time in life to leave behind that which is good to reach something better. It is a little scary and very exciting at the same time.
The last few weeks preparing for my departure has been very hectic. The fact that I felt disconnected from the reality that I am really leaving helped me cope. Funny enough my dear friends all felt that same disconnect with reality. Nobody really believed I was leaving. Even as I was doling out the contents of my apartment and shipping luggage home. It may have had something to do with the fact that I have been talking about my plans for so long that, well it seemed like some vague distant event related to some distant future time.
I have been quite a little diva the last few weeks – a lady with a full dance card. Between packing up my life I had my days mapped out around lunch with so and so, dinner with another. I have been trying to spend a little bit of time with all of those near and dear to me. And of course, I had to cram in all those touristy things one never get's around to when you live somewhere.
From St Maarten one can see five other islands if you drove around the island. Anguilla, Saba, Stacia, St Kitts, St Barts. It continues to amaze me that despite their close proximity each island is very different from the next. Some hilly and green, some flat and dry. Different languages, cultures, architecture and atmosphere. All just inviting you over to explore its unique characteristics.
So with a group of friends visiting St Maarten I sailed over to the anchorages aroun
d Prickley Pear with their kaleidoscope of blues and amazing beaches in Anguila. On another day we zipped over to Saba in the high speed ferry to savour the beauty of the mountains and rain forests. We started our day with a hike up the mountain, then lunch at the eco lodge nestled in the forest. Even the taxi ride there and back was a memorable. The hills are dotted with little villages, all with quaint red roofed homes and buildings. And naturally from that elevated position the ocean vistas are amazing. Saba stole my heart, and I hope to come back for a more extended visit some day.
Once I saw my friends off I was immediately immersed back in the reality of packing up and giving away – with the emphasis on the latter. I arrived with nothing but a backpack nearly two years ago. Now, I had gone as far as buying a set of suitcases on wheels. Growing up? Nahhh. Just too much stuff. Quite an unthinkable thing for a gypsy girl. Perhaps a sign of a desire to hang up those gypsy boots and put roots down? Certainly. But ironically a lot more travel is needed for that to be possible.
And being in my jet setting diva mode, I squeezed a down island sail in my busy calendar between all that packing. So off I set to Grenada and further island explorations. Over the
next few days I sailed through the Grenadines with a good friend. It felt good to take a break away from my hectic attempts at reducing my life to as little as possible. Maarten. I felt relaxed and slept well, finally shutting off the the milling thoughts of logistics still needed in wrapping things up before my departure. I woke up in a different anchorage every morning. We set about to explore the different islands with taxi rides in the country side, strolling through colorful markets and lunching and dining on local cuisine – often with fabulous views.
Naturally, all good things must come to an end, and in the blink of an eye I was back in my own little rat race. But little by little all the pieces of the puzzle came together. My apartment emptied out and my suitcases filled up. Reality slowly caught up, despite the fact that I still felt no connection to it. All to soon after the last kisses and hugs I was alone in my airplane seat, watching my island home disappear from view.
And now I am sitting in the transit lounge in Paris sipping an overpriced latte. Waiting on my connecting flight home. The next year in my life will be a transit lounge. An in between, a crossroad. I have plans of where I intend to head as I near the next junction. But I fully accept that life sometimes takes a different course from the one we planned. And sometimes, those deviations are far better than the plans we made . . . .
But the truth is, this is now someone else's view. I have begun the journey of a major crossroad in my life. It is now time for new rituals and routines. It is a time of change. There is a time in life to leave behind that which is good to reach something better. It is a little scary and very exciting at the same time.
The last few weeks preparing for my departure has been very hectic. The fact that I felt disconnected from the reality that I am really leaving helped me cope. Funny enough my dear friends all felt that same disconnect with reality. Nobody really believed I was leaving. Even as I was doling out the contents of my apartment and shipping luggage home. It may have had something to do with the fact that I have been talking about my plans for so long that, well it seemed like some vague distant event related to some distant future time.
I have been quite a little diva the last few weeks – a lady with a full dance card. Between packing up my life I had my days mapped out around lunch with so and so, dinner with another. I have been trying to spend a little bit of time with all of those near and dear to me. And of course, I had to cram in all those touristy things one never get's around to when you live somewhere.
From St Maarten one can see five other islands if you drove around the island. Anguilla, Saba, Stacia, St Kitts, St Barts. It continues to amaze me that despite their close proximity each island is very different from the next. Some hilly and green, some flat and dry. Different languages, cultures, architecture and atmosphere. All just inviting you over to explore its unique characteristics.
So with a group of friends visiting St Maarten I sailed over to the anchorages aroun
d Prickley Pear with their kaleidoscope of blues and amazing beaches in Anguila. On another day we zipped over to Saba in the high speed ferry to savour the beauty of the mountains and rain forests. We started our day with a hike up the mountain, then lunch at the eco lodge nestled in the forest. Even the taxi ride there and back was a memorable. The hills are dotted with little villages, all with quaint red roofed homes and buildings. And naturally from that elevated position the ocean vistas are amazing. Saba stole my heart, and I hope to come back for a more extended visit some day.Once I saw my friends off I was immediately immersed back in the reality of packing up and giving away – with the emphasis on the latter. I arrived with nothing but a backpack nearly two years ago. Now, I had gone as far as buying a set of suitcases on wheels. Growing up? Nahhh. Just too much stuff. Quite an unthinkable thing for a gypsy girl. Perhaps a sign of a desire to hang up those gypsy boots and put roots down? Certainly. But ironically a lot more travel is needed for that to be possible.
And being in my jet setting diva mode, I squeezed a down island sail in my busy calendar between all that packing. So off I set to Grenada and further island explorations. Over the
next few days I sailed through the Grenadines with a good friend. It felt good to take a break away from my hectic attempts at reducing my life to as little as possible. Maarten. I felt relaxed and slept well, finally shutting off the the milling thoughts of logistics still needed in wrapping things up before my departure. I woke up in a different anchorage every morning. We set about to explore the different islands with taxi rides in the country side, strolling through colorful markets and lunching and dining on local cuisine – often with fabulous views.
Naturally, all good things must come to an end, and in the blink of an eye I was back in my own little rat race. But little by little all the pieces of the puzzle came together. My apartment emptied out and my suitcases filled up. Reality slowly caught up, despite the fact that I still felt no connection to it. All to soon after the last kisses and hugs I was alone in my airplane seat, watching my island home disappear from view.
And now I am sitting in the transit lounge in Paris sipping an overpriced latte. Waiting on my connecting flight home. The next year in my life will be a transit lounge. An in between, a crossroad. I have plans of where I intend to head as I near the next junction. But I fully accept that life sometimes takes a different course from the one we planned. And sometimes, those deviations are far better than the plans we made . . . .
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Back home and day dreaming
Those long days running around cleaning ashtrays, serving drinks, making beds, ironing seemed to never end. While the owner was around I worked 16 hours on a good day, on a bad day 18 hours. I started feeling rather Cinderella like. Where was that fairy god mother?
Visions of sitting under a palm tree with a book and generally being very unproductive for at least two weeks kept me going. Maybe paint a little, listen to my French tapes . . .
We finally saw the owner off and headed back to St Maarten. The trip was quite restorative. I slept ridiculously long hours, and read a book cover to cover. My excitement grew as I started
seeing St Maarten get closer on the chart. Finally we where anchored in the bay, with the lights on shore beckoning me. Oh what mixed thoughts where going through my mind. Sheer joy at being home. But along came the realization just how much this has become home, and soon I will be giving it all up. But I do confess, along with a bit of melancholy feelings and apprehension about all the changes in progress, the Gypsy girl within me is excited about all the new unknown adventures ahead.
I started thinking back about the owner and his rather unsuccessful attempt to walk off the beaten track a little with his oil down on the beach. The truth is most of my travels over the past two decades have been off the beaten track.
My mind wandered to past travels with Gypsy Boy. A camp outside Chitwan National Park in Nepal. For ten dollars a night we had a basic room with mosquito nets and ceiling fans. The showers and bathroom where outside. In the day we went exploring on rented bicycles, surrounded by endless fields of yellow mustard flowers. We even had an elephant ride in the forest. Quite an experience. The animals in the forest are not aware of you as you are high above them. We came very close to a Rhino with a calf, and deer quietly lying under a bush. I would recommend bringing a pillow along though. At lunch we felt quite extravagant dining on water buffalo steaks that cost more than our room did. And back in the city of Katmandu we stared in awe at the beautifully preserved temples with their elaborate teak carvings. When Marco Polo saw them for the first time centuries ago, he described them as ancient.
Or Dahab in Egypt. The half moon bay is nestled on the Sinai Peninsula. The center of it a back packers haven, the edges for more upscale resorts. In the middle camps with modest rooms that consists of a cement slab with mattress on. Naturally we packed our own sleeping bags for such situations. Colorful paintings of sea critters decorated the walls, the rooms could certainly not be described as dull. And such a room set us back around $4 dollars. For breakfast we sauntered over to the restaurant in front of the camp. You simply sit on the floor on cushions covered with Egyptian weavings around a low table. Breakfast did not cost much more than the room. And unlike western culture, it was considered perfectly acceptable to stretch out with your book and spend the rest of the day there. Each restaurant has a section of beach that is considered part of it, complete with its low tables and woven kelim cusions to sit on. The waiter may even join you for the odd game of back gammon. And if you feel like cooling off, you can rent a pair of flippers and snorkel, wade in and immediately you are snorkeling on a coral reef. The little village is powered by two rather dilapidated generators. In anticipation of the nightly power failures, the restaurants start placing candles in sand filled cut off soda bottles around the beach. When the inevitable power failure does happen, the entire half moon of beach is lit by flickering candles. . .
Now my mind travels to the lofty mountains of North Pakistan. The worlds biggest mountain ranges all converge here. The Himalayas, the Hindu Kush , the Pamirs from Russia and of course the Karakurum mountains. The winding road that starts in Islamabad where it is only a few hundred meters above sea level just keep on creeping up and up. It may be called the great “Karakarum Highway” - but the engineer that was with us on the bus assured us that this narrow two lane road was not carefully engineered – it was simply blasted out of the mountain. He was proved right by the many landslides we came across. The local busses are the most colorful I have seen in the world, perhaps to distract you from their suicidal driving. Particularly disturbing as we race around hairpin bends is the sight of wrecked busses and trucks in the ravines.
But, o, the stunning scenery. First there where soft rolling hills in front of is. Heading around a mountain a village would suddenly be revealed with its beautifully cultivated green terraces. The road just kept on going up and up, and the hills turned into higher and higher mountains. The stark black basalt rock contrasting against the blue sky you now have to look up to to see. At this point they are not infertile, they are simply to steep, to shear for anything to grow on. Until you are once again surprised by a sprawling village. They carve channels out of the sides of the mountain, providing a constant flow of water to the villages from melting snow. Terraces are then carved out of the mountain sides that are intensively cultivated over summer. Because in winter the roads completely get covered by snow – leaving these high elevation villages isolated and needing to fend for themselves. To my amazement ancient apple and apricot trees flourished at these elevations. All the crops are dried and preserved for the harsh winter months.
Our second overnight stop was the village of Gilgit. By now we where more than 3000 meters above sea level. While Gypsy Boy went off the climb mount Abdigar, I sat of the roof terrace of the little guest house admiring the most beautiful view on earth I have ever seen. A grapevine and the overhanging branches of an apple tree provided both shade and delicious fruit. Occasionally a loud bang could be heard in the distance. The glaciers in this region are the biggest outside of the polar regions. Like a living creature they are always moving, sometimes a piece the size of the house would come crashing down. And here too, our room was a modest price. The food was mostly lentils and overcooked spinach, but at this elevation we where so ravenous we wolfed it down. We did try and buy a chicken in the village, but no one was prepared to sell one. Animals are hard to replace here as they, like humans have to get used to the elevation. And in a poor community the hen is needed for her eggs, the yak for its milk, curd and butter and the water buffalo is needed to plow the fields. So they just cannot afford to slaughter them.
I have never had the unlimited financial resources that the boat owner I have been working for has. I could count the times I have slept in a four star hotel on one hand, never been in a five star hotel. But I have am abundantly wealthy in experience and the ability to enjoy life. Weather in a poor village in the highest mountains of the world, bicycling through fields of yellow in Nepal or playing back gammon with a waiter on the Sinai Peninsula.
Visions of sitting under a palm tree with a book and generally being very unproductive for at least two weeks kept me going. Maybe paint a little, listen to my French tapes . . .
We finally saw the owner off and headed back to St Maarten. The trip was quite restorative. I slept ridiculously long hours, and read a book cover to cover. My excitement grew as I started
seeing St Maarten get closer on the chart. Finally we where anchored in the bay, with the lights on shore beckoning me. Oh what mixed thoughts where going through my mind. Sheer joy at being home. But along came the realization just how much this has become home, and soon I will be giving it all up. But I do confess, along with a bit of melancholy feelings and apprehension about all the changes in progress, the Gypsy girl within me is excited about all the new unknown adventures ahead.
I started thinking back about the owner and his rather unsuccessful attempt to walk off the beaten track a little with his oil down on the beach. The truth is most of my travels over the past two decades have been off the beaten track.
My mind wandered to past travels with Gypsy Boy. A camp outside Chitwan National Park in Nepal. For ten dollars a night we had a basic room with mosquito nets and ceiling fans. The showers and bathroom where outside. In the day we went exploring on rented bicycles, surrounded by endless fields of yellow mustard flowers. We even had an elephant ride in the forest. Quite an experience. The animals in the forest are not aware of you as you are high above them. We came very close to a Rhino with a calf, and deer quietly lying under a bush. I would recommend bringing a pillow along though. At lunch we felt quite extravagant dining on water buffalo steaks that cost more than our room did. And back in the city of Katmandu we stared in awe at the beautifully preserved temples with their elaborate teak carvings. When Marco Polo saw them for the first time centuries ago, he described them as ancient.
Or Dahab in Egypt. The half moon bay is nestled on the Sinai Peninsula. The center of it a back packers haven, the edges for more upscale resorts. In the middle camps with modest rooms that consists of a cement slab with mattress on. Naturally we packed our own sleeping bags for such situations. Colorful paintings of sea critters decorated the walls, the rooms could certainly not be described as dull. And such a room set us back around $4 dollars. For breakfast we sauntered over to the restaurant in front of the camp. You simply sit on the floor on cushions covered with Egyptian weavings around a low table. Breakfast did not cost much more than the room. And unlike western culture, it was considered perfectly acceptable to stretch out with your book and spend the rest of the day there. Each restaurant has a section of beach that is considered part of it, complete with its low tables and woven kelim cusions to sit on. The waiter may even join you for the odd game of back gammon. And if you feel like cooling off, you can rent a pair of flippers and snorkel, wade in and immediately you are snorkeling on a coral reef. The little village is powered by two rather dilapidated generators. In anticipation of the nightly power failures, the restaurants start placing candles in sand filled cut off soda bottles around the beach. When the inevitable power failure does happen, the entire half moon of beach is lit by flickering candles. . .
Now my mind travels to the lofty mountains of North Pakistan. The worlds biggest mountain ranges all converge here. The Himalayas, the Hindu Kush , the Pamirs from Russia and of course the Karakurum mountains. The winding road that starts in Islamabad where it is only a few hundred meters above sea level just keep on creeping up and up. It may be called the great “Karakarum Highway” - but the engineer that was with us on the bus assured us that this narrow two lane road was not carefully engineered – it was simply blasted out of the mountain. He was proved right by the many landslides we came across. The local busses are the most colorful I have seen in the world, perhaps to distract you from their suicidal driving. Particularly disturbing as we race around hairpin bends is the sight of wrecked busses and trucks in the ravines.
But, o, the stunning scenery. First there where soft rolling hills in front of is. Heading around a mountain a village would suddenly be revealed with its beautifully cultivated green terraces. The road just kept on going up and up, and the hills turned into higher and higher mountains. The stark black basalt rock contrasting against the blue sky you now have to look up to to see. At this point they are not infertile, they are simply to steep, to shear for anything to grow on. Until you are once again surprised by a sprawling village. They carve channels out of the sides of the mountain, providing a constant flow of water to the villages from melting snow. Terraces are then carved out of the mountain sides that are intensively cultivated over summer. Because in winter the roads completely get covered by snow – leaving these high elevation villages isolated and needing to fend for themselves. To my amazement ancient apple and apricot trees flourished at these elevations. All the crops are dried and preserved for the harsh winter months.
Our second overnight stop was the village of Gilgit. By now we where more than 3000 meters above sea level. While Gypsy Boy went off the climb mount Abdigar, I sat of the roof terrace of the little guest house admiring the most beautiful view on earth I have ever seen. A grapevine and the overhanging branches of an apple tree provided both shade and delicious fruit. Occasionally a loud bang could be heard in the distance. The glaciers in this region are the biggest outside of the polar regions. Like a living creature they are always moving, sometimes a piece the size of the house would come crashing down. And here too, our room was a modest price. The food was mostly lentils and overcooked spinach, but at this elevation we where so ravenous we wolfed it down. We did try and buy a chicken in the village, but no one was prepared to sell one. Animals are hard to replace here as they, like humans have to get used to the elevation. And in a poor community the hen is needed for her eggs, the yak for its milk, curd and butter and the water buffalo is needed to plow the fields. So they just cannot afford to slaughter them.
I have never had the unlimited financial resources that the boat owner I have been working for has. I could count the times I have slept in a four star hotel on one hand, never been in a five star hotel. But I have am abundantly wealthy in experience and the ability to enjoy life. Weather in a poor village in the highest mountains of the world, bicycling through fields of yellow in Nepal or playing back gammon with a waiter on the Sinai Peninsula.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
A billionare's beach party
In the taxi ride from the airport the owner listened to to the description of the local island tradition – an oil down.
Oil downs are basically beach parties where a large pot of food is cooked over the fire while revelers party the night away. Layers of local fruit and veggies, as well as a bewildering array
of meats are packed in the pot, and this is then cooked in coconut cream. It is a poor man's feast. Breadfruit, christophene's, green banana's and calaloo might seem exotic ingredients to the the outsider, but these and most of the other ingredients are staples that would be found in many islanders back garden.
The owner was most intrigued by the description and requested that arrangements be made for his family to have an oil down the next day. He was going to go off the beaten path a little and have a true taste of island life.
All of us where involved in preparation for this event. We carefully planned for all the things he might possibly need for his epic journey. Fine linen table cloth & cutlery and crockery, mosquito spray, all the beverages they might possibly need, candles, lamps, ice and such. And naturally we could not expect the family to be without servers to make sure that the necessary standards are upheld. The captain and myself, his stewardess, went ahead to make preparations.
The oil down was arranged at a spot where such events are regularly held – often for up to a hundred people. We sanitized the tables, created a little bar, and I did the formal table setting they are used to. The jovial if somewhat tipsy local prepared his pot and fire with gusto. He glanced longingly over to the J & B whiskey.
The owner arrived shortly after with his wife and son. They smiled and nodded as they stood around the fire and the chef explained his concoction. This did not hold their interest for long. A quick stride over to the beach for a glance at the view and a few photo ops. A light rain sprinkle sent them fleeing for the table setting that was under cover. We covered the wooden benches with towels, could not have their nice clothes ruined.
I poured everyone their desired drinks and realized this party was pretty stiff. Thus I encouraged
the taxi driver to move his car closer and turn up the volume on the local music he was playing. The volume of course in moderation, we would not want to overwhelm the owner . . .
I finally relented and poured the chef a J & B on the sly. I think he found the concept that the captain and I where working and not touching alcohol a little strange. And the fact that there was no table setting for us.
“You not eating?”
“No, not with the owner. If he invites us to eat now we will, but alternatively we will pack a little left overs for us to take back to the boat.”
I am sure the chef must have been thinking - “Dem rich white folks strange people”. He did become alarmingly well lubricated and to our horror came to chat with the owner waving around the glass of whiskey I poured him. He had no idea that the owner would be mortified to know he was sharing his glassware and whiskey. At least he provided humor to a rather formal occasion as
waved his arms and proudly discussed his prowess as island style chef.
As the captain and I sat on more modest chairs around the fire and tried the cuisine out we had a quiet snicker. We where imagining the same location with a hundred islanders dancing to blaring
music. Perhaps, if they saw the owner and his rather formal beach party, they would envy him his money. But in truth, they have far more quality of life and have a much better idea how to let their hair down and simply have fun.
In the end we asked the owner, did you enjoy you oil down sir?
His reply: “The location was great – the food disgusting.”
O well. I guess back to the five star dinner the chef prepares for him rather than a venture into the unknown for him.
Oil downs are basically beach parties where a large pot of food is cooked over the fire while revelers party the night away. Layers of local fruit and veggies, as well as a bewildering array
of meats are packed in the pot, and this is then cooked in coconut cream. It is a poor man's feast. Breadfruit, christophene's, green banana's and calaloo might seem exotic ingredients to the the outsider, but these and most of the other ingredients are staples that would be found in many islanders back garden.
The owner was most intrigued by the description and requested that arrangements be made for his family to have an oil down the next day. He was going to go off the beaten path a little and have a true taste of island life.
All of us where involved in preparation for this event. We carefully planned for all the things he might possibly need for his epic journey. Fine linen table cloth & cutlery and crockery, mosquito spray, all the beverages they might possibly need, candles, lamps, ice and such. And naturally we could not expect the family to be without servers to make sure that the necessary standards are upheld. The captain and myself, his stewardess, went ahead to make preparations.
The oil down was arranged at a spot where such events are regularly held – often for up to a hundred people. We sanitized the tables, created a little bar, and I did the formal table setting they are used to. The jovial if somewhat tipsy local prepared his pot and fire with gusto. He glanced longingly over to the J & B whiskey.
The owner arrived shortly after with his wife and son. They smiled and nodded as they stood around the fire and the chef explained his concoction. This did not hold their interest for long. A quick stride over to the beach for a glance at the view and a few photo ops. A light rain sprinkle sent them fleeing for the table setting that was under cover. We covered the wooden benches with towels, could not have their nice clothes ruined.
I poured everyone their desired drinks and realized this party was pretty stiff. Thus I encouraged
the taxi driver to move his car closer and turn up the volume on the local music he was playing. The volume of course in moderation, we would not want to overwhelm the owner . . .
I finally relented and poured the chef a J & B on the sly. I think he found the concept that the captain and I where working and not touching alcohol a little strange. And the fact that there was no table setting for us.
“You not eating?”
“No, not with the owner. If he invites us to eat now we will, but alternatively we will pack a little left overs for us to take back to the boat.”
I am sure the chef must have been thinking - “Dem rich white folks strange people”. He did become alarmingly well lubricated and to our horror came to chat with the owner waving around the glass of whiskey I poured him. He had no idea that the owner would be mortified to know he was sharing his glassware and whiskey. At least he provided humor to a rather formal occasion as
waved his arms and proudly discussed his prowess as island style chef.
As the captain and I sat on more modest chairs around the fire and tried the cuisine out we had a quiet snicker. We where imagining the same location with a hundred islanders dancing to blaring
music. Perhaps, if they saw the owner and his rather formal beach party, they would envy him his money. But in truth, they have far more quality of life and have a much better idea how to let their hair down and simply have fun.
In the end we asked the owner, did you enjoy you oil down sir?
His reply: “The location was great – the food disgusting.”
O well. I guess back to the five star dinner the chef prepares for him rather than a venture into the unknown for him.
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