Category: On a Slow Boat to China

2 November – North Pacific Ocean

Ed passes away peacefully this afternoon. We heard his chirp last night; he was sluggish this morning, and then just shuts down. Of course we knew his time was coming, but you’re never really ready.

His remains will accompany us for the rest of our trip; we are planning a Viking funeral – complete with floating flaming pyre – once we have returned to East Texas and settled in a bit.

His life was brief but remarkable (for a cricket). From presumably humble beginnings in Xi’an, China, he traveled to Nanjing, Beijing and Tianjin, then traversed the greater part of the Pacific Ocean. We like to think Ed’s spirit will continue on with us as we complete the adventure he was able to actively share only for a short while.

As if in tribute to his passage, the evening sky puts on a phenomenal show, the likes of which neither of us has ever seen. Not just a sunset, though that is part of it. Yes, to the west the sun reflects off multiple layers of long narrow clouds lying above the horizon, in shades from rich gold to bright salmon to smudges of purple. But the rest of the sky – from unbroken horizon to horizon in all directions – is clear and robin’s egg blue, with very high feathery cirrus clouds scattered all about, reflecting the only slightly fainter pinks and yellows of the light. And to the east, the moon, just a hair’s breadth short of full, rises to take its place in the sky. As if an enchantingly-painted bowl of unimaginable scale has been upended on this spot in the ocean, and we are the only witnesses to the display.

It lasts, as these things do, not much more than 15 minutes, during which time we circle the deck breathlessly, tipping our heads back and whirling around to take in the otherworldly panoramas. Then, of course, the colors fade away….. until the only illumination left in the universe is the silver of the moon, reflecting off the now black water tipped with occasional flecks of foam.

What a tribute from Mother Nature. Godspeed, Ed.

3 November – North Pacific Ocean

Just a quiet day – no chirping ever more.

We now have 11 birds following the boat. Captain claims they are living on board somewhere as stowaways, although it’s hard to imagine that many of them sharing quarters. He also says he has seen the little sparrow, who boarded in China.

Tonight’s sunset is a drab nothing compared to last night’s. This evening, however, a very full moon rises… and peeks out through heavy clouds.

4 November – North Pacific Ocean

The captain initiates a safety muster this morning. It’s a topic that is taken seriously, and everybody participates with complete attention. (We never had a safety meeting on the container ship, although the T’ird Officer showed us how to don an immersion suit, which was really cute.)

A barbecue party is held for the crew and passengers tonight.

Henry is relentlessly determined to find common ground and a friendly rapport with this crew, in spite of repeated snubs. We find a beaten-up Italian atlas in one of the unused lounges, which he works on painstakingly, repairing the binding and tagging pages of interest. Armed with the atlas, a highlighter and two computers – one with photos of travel and home, the other with his prodigious and eclectic collection of music – he holds court in the Blue Bar. His attempts with music fall flat pretty quickly – Hank Williams is abandoned in favor of the unidentifiable, mediocre soft-pop vocal renderings favored by the Filipinos. A core group clusters around the photos on display, with near-endless questions about Henry’s life in the piney woods of East Texas.

He scores a real hit, however, when he says, “Show me where you’re from!” while offering the open atlas and highlighter. All the crew come forward, with everything from a happy story to just a shy grin as each specifies his spot on the map. Even a couple of the Romanian officers (who have mostly isolated themselves on the outdoors deck) grudgingly make a mark in the book to signify where their homes and families await their return.

(Note about the officer group – no surprise that they are not particularly friendly. This is a solitary job, far from wives, kids and parents for many months on end. Good for loners – if they were gregarious and extroverted, they would be working on cruise ships.)

5 November – North Pacific Ocean

Sundays we get pancakes for breakfast and the crew (except for the officer-in-charge and galley staff) takes the day off. Not sure what they do – it’s spooky-quiet all over the ship. Fortunately for them (and probably essential on such a long trip), each crew member has a private room, very much like the cabins we inhabit.

BUT, the ever-weak internet service is not working at all…. we are supposedly in a satellite “blind spot.” So e-mail and catching up with the folks at home is not an option.

6 November – North Pacific Ocean

Everybody knows about jet lag. You would think that passing slowly from one time zone to another over the course of days would not take much of a toll, but it does so insidiously. The body clock shifts and is always a bit off. Some times you lie down at night and can’t sleep at all; other times you fall asleep at 9 pm and wake up at 3. Don’t even ask about gastro-intestinal habits! (If you must, ask Henry. It’s a subject near and dear to his – ahem – heart.)

7 November – North Pacific Ocean

Henry loses a tooth.

Well, it’s not actually lost – it’s right here. Just popped out between bites of bland and gristle-y food at lunch. And it’s actually an on-lay that fits over an implant that was installed a couple of years ago. He’ll survive.

And speaking of physical complaints, I have a rash on my back and my fingers are stiffer than usual in the morning.

All attributable to poor diet, which I will not carry on about further.

Speaking of inevitable decline, Ed’s body is not desiccating as we had hoped, but collapses slowly in on itself. May have to do a burial at sea after all.

8 November – North Pacific Ocean

Good news all around. The internet service is low-functioning again. And rumor has it that we may get bananas in Panama!

We still have the feeling of being out alone on the ocean. Since we entered the Pacific Ocean more than three weeks ago, we have personally seen a total of 3 other far-off ships. Even as we do so, it’s hard to fully fathom that this ship is trudging along at an average of 14 miles per hour, all day, every day, covering the 9,600 miles from our last port, Tianjin, to Panama. And won’t even re-fuel until we get to Houston!

Our bird population, now numbering about 13, includes some sort of frigate bird and albatrosses.

The poor, maligned albatross. Was it Samuel Taylor Coleridge in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner who doomed this magnificent bird? To be forever a synonym for an insufferable burden, draped around the neck of the unfortunate, bereft of all human succor and pity. How unfair.

The albatross is a big diving bird. He sails alongside the ship, scanning the water for some sign of prey on or around the surface. When he sees a fish, he executes a sharp and swift dive straight into the water, remains submerged for a short while, then pops to the surface, with or without a delicious prize. Then off he goes again. Little of his life is spent on land; he derives both food and water from the ocean, fish flesh filtering out the salinity of its water content. I guess he finds a niche on board to sleep in at night, or maybe he floats on the ocean’s surface.

To watch him soar is the best. He can glide without flapping his wings for up to 6 hours at a time, his body automatically making the small adjustments required to maintain his flight. Imagine such a pure sensation! He’s King of the World!

9 November – North Pacific Ocean

The crew has been scraping the rusty places on decks and railings and priming them with paint. They do not, however, feel the need to mark the freshly-painted spots, so the unwary passenger can and of course does get smeared.

The steward was very excited last night – he saw three splashes and a “big fish” off the starboard deck outside the galley…. maybe a whale! Oh, phooey – we missed it.

But then this afternoon, during a perambulation around the deck….. off to port appear a ripple and a shadow. A quick rush to the railing; the giant rolls over to show his tummy – a slick expanse of grey – and comes up again shortly after to expel a mushroom cloud of air from his blow hole!

It is so easy to forget the phenomenal quantity and variety of life that exists just beneath our feet…. and how vast that area is. The earth’s surface is something like 70 percent water, with an average depth of 5 kilometers, just over three miles. Unbelievable! Even at the greatest depths are exceedingly strange life forms of which scientists until recently were completely unaware.

But back on the surface, the officer on the bridge did not see the whale; as we describe the sighting to him, an area a bit larger than a full basketball court near the bow of the boat starts to shimmer……and suddenly a host of dolphins bursts from the water. There are easily a hundred of them in the group, executing smooth leaps and dives, one after another. An amazing display – they stay within a fairly consistent distance from each other, moving as a group further off to port. We follow their progress for a minute or two, then their number starts to dwindle until only one or two heads pop up, and then they are gone. It’s the finest moment at sea so far.

Several more viewings this afternoon – none quite so dazzling. A group of 3 or 4 dolphins play together, executing pirouettes in which they leap up, twist in the air, then hit the water flat on their backs. The loud “thwack” of the impact from each maneuver is audible on the deck. A couple of others rise up on their tails and seem to “surf” the wave that comes off the bow. And a mystery – twice “something” emerges from the water, shaped like a black and white triangle – almost like a ray had popped up. The captain guesses that it may have been a whale fin….

Wowie – today’s show was really worth the price of admission.

10 November – off the coast of Costa Rica

A few isolated dolphin sightings today, but very few. We must have sailed beyond their turf.

Two peregrine falcons – Wanda and Wes – join our floating menagerie today. They prey on small birds, hunting them in flight. We first become aware of their presence when we notice wispy feathers floating by. Investigation finds Wanda (the bigger one) hunching over a small dark body on top of one of the forward crane towers, tearing into fresh flesh. Wes (much smaller, a Mister Wimpet type) gazes at her fondly from a neighboring crane.

We figure this is the end of the stowaway sparrow, if she in fact lasted this long. Some swifts also started following the ship, and no doubt provide another source of food for the couple.

Wanda and Wes have no particular fear of humans. Wanda is in fact partial to perching on the railing of the pilot deck, not far from where we spend our time. At one point, she fluttered up to the railing with a newly-dispatched victim clutched in one of her claws. She gazed directly at us as though daring us to challenge her right to hunt and eat.

A third falcon stops by to check out the action, but does not stick around for long. These guys are monogamous; Wanda already has her Wes. And though he may not be much, he is definitely hers…….

11 November – Gulf of Panama
Hmmmm, what culinary outrage can we expect from the galley today? Wow – something green on the menu! Peas. Nobody can mess up peas!

Wrong. Here’s how you do it. Heat a small amount of vegetable oil in a big iron skillet over medium heat. Pull a large bag of frozen peas out of the freezer and dump them directly into the skillet. Stir for a minute or two, then turn off the heat and let them sit uncovered for no less than an hour.

The result – the skin of the peas is wrinkled and shriveled, and the flesh inside – while no longer frozen – is still not quite cooked. Tepid, mealy and flavorless. That’s how you screw up peas.

(Henry says they would work well in a pea-shooter. A better use, perhaps.)

Today we see land for the first time in almost 4 weeks. It’s still far off, but clearly mountainous and green. We question the crew about the timing for passing through the Canal, and have been told that we will begin somewhere between midnight and 5 am.

Since the Panama Canal is a highlight of this trip, we decide not to leave anything to chance.

After the sun sets, we put our loungers out on deck to admire the fine, starry night and have a beer.… When a light rain starts to fall, we head down below for a snooze, setting our alarm for midnight.

12 November – Panama Canal

12:01 am. The ship has anchored outside Panama City in an industrial area, and preparations begin for the Canal passage. It’s a cool and humid night; the lights of the city are far off behind some dark hills. Looking quite prehistoric, a giant brown pelican swoops around the ship, occasionally diving for the fish that are attracted to the ship’s lights.

Smaller boats approach to perform a variety of functions. One has some provisions for the ship – fresh veggies and bananas! Another brings an inspector who is lowered on a rickety swing over the side, possibly to check for parasites?

At some signal, the ship moves off across the bay toward the entrance to the first lock. On the way, we take on the pilot crew that will help guide us through. They climb one at a time from a moving tug boat up a rope ladder and swing over to a small platform that is extended from the cargo deck of the New Orleans.

About 3 am we are in line and ready to move into the first lock.

There are three sets of locks; from the Pacific where we are, the first lock is at the start of the canal. It lifts the ship through two or three stages up to the next level. It’s now 4:30 am, and we decide to take a little nap.

We arise just before 6 am as we enter the second lock, which takes us to the next level.

We are now in the jungle! The weather is perfect although it will get much warmer as the day continues. More of the huge pelicans fly overhead (their wing spans are up to 7 feet!), along with albatrosses, gulls and even some vultures.

After a false start by the French group which completed the Suez Canal some years earlier, the Panama Canal was completed by the US in 1914, an event that was almost completely overshadowed by the start of World War I. Many lives were lost during its construction – as many as 20,000 – mostly due to yellow fever and malaria, the vast majority of which could have been avoided with basic sanitary measures that are practiced today throughout the world.

Unlike Suez – which is basically just a big ditch, albeit one that was a real pain to dig – Panama is an extraordinary work of engineering and construction. The Canal has obviously been driven through the hills that lie on both sides of the passage here, overgrown with dark green tropical vegetation but clearly sculpted into deep terraces by the hand of mankind.

The Canal then opens into a broad but fairly shallow lake that has been dredged to accommodate the commercial vessels that pass back and forth. At the far end of the lake is the third lock, which returns us back to sea level on the Atlantic side. We have to wait a while here, but complete the process by about 1:30 pm.

We pass by the neglected-looking town of Colon, through its outer jetty with a gaggle of ships waiting their turn to go to the Pacific side, and on into the Caribbean Sea, which, protected as it is on all sides, appears startlingly calm and glassy.

13 November – Caribbean Sea

The water’s surface is a little choppy today; it’s cloudy and rains off and on.

Despite the weather, the crew has been assigned to continue the painting project on the deck around the Blue Bar, where we spend most of our waking hours. The Blue Bar is the only place on the ship with somewhat effective air conditioning, which was not a big issue until we arrived in the tropics.

We decide to take a short nap, and lie down on the plastic lounge chairs we have installed in the Blue Bar to take advantage of the coolness. As we start to drift off, it occurs to the more alert of us that the paint fumes are very thick, and we might have trouble waking up. We spend the rest of the afternoon in the less toxic but stickier discomfort of our cabins.

We are alone again for the most part. The falcons decided that the pickings were better on the Pacific side of Panama; the sparrows are gone; the dolphins have not popped up, and passing ships are few and far between. Just a few gulls wing their way around the bow.

Think I’ll have a banana.

14 November – Caribbean Sea, west of Grand Cayman

Some rain today, and the wind has picked up.

The falcons have not abandoned us after all! Two of them were zooming all around the ship at sunset. They were either engaging in very spirited play, or else they were fighting – banging into each other and squawking. We could hear them in spite of the strong wind.  Could be Wanda and Wes having a spat, or possibly the stranger, back to challenge Wes for Wanda’s claw…. Or possibly two completely different falcons.

15 November – Gulf of Mexico

Early this morning, we pass between Cancun and the tip of Cuba, and on into the Gulf of Mexico. We are on track for arriving in Corpus Christi the afternoon of the 17th. We’ll spend some time there with Henry’s sister Ann and husband Jerry while the windmill wings we’ve been carrying are unloaded and packed off to West Texas. Then we re-board the New Orleans for the final push on to Houston.

Drama in the galley (other than the day-to-day desecration of all that’s holy in nutrition) – Mark the cook, whose contract would otherwise be up in Houston, has been asked to stay on for two more months, thus missing Christmas with his family in the Philippines…. again. In a desperate move, he proposes promoting the steward to take his place as cook. For what it’s worth, the steward is the likely perpetrator of the Crime against Peas mentioned a few days ago.

Mark is a clever guy – hope it works out for him. He tells Henry that he deliberately makes the food unappetizing….. if it were good, the crew would chow down like hogs at the trough, and the galley would run out of provisions.

17 November – Gulf of Mexico
The New Orleans anchors in the bay outside Corpus Christi in the early afternoon…..and just sits. We are going nowhere.

Scuttlebutt in the galley has it that the winch is broken, we cannot pull the anchor back up, and we are marooned for who knows how long until the winch can be fixed. The captain, on the other hand, says that the pilot is delayed and we don’t know when he or she will arrive.

The pilot shows up around 8 pm to start the long process (3 to 4 hours) of guiding us into port. Those of us in the know just decide to go to bed.

18 and 19 November –

We arrive in the wee small hours of the morning in the port area of Corpus Christi. We are parked under the bridge near the downtown area, and from the pilot deck, we can see that very American landscape feature – a baseball field.

Henry’s sister Ann and her husband Jerry arrive at the port gate at 9 am; due to a series of administrative snafus and mis-direction, disembarkation is delayed for hours.

We are finally released around 1 pm, and spend a nice day and evening catching up with Ann and Jerry.

Unfortunately, our visit is shorter than anticipated. As noted, we arrived a day late due to delay in getting a pilot to guide the ship in. Apparently, however, things have fallen into place such that we will be able to leave Sunday afternoon instead of Monday.

After an expedited return to the ship, it does not in fact leave at 5 pm as planned; instead it is after 8 pm. No matter how much experience we have gained with cargo ship travel, we still just can’t fully appreciate that delay is the order of the day; promptness would be an anomaly.

20 November

It’s a short trip from Corpus Christi to Houston; the ship moves briskly, although the going is much rougher, as most cargo has been unloaded and it is much lighter as it moves across the water.

The Houston pilot is right on time and we move through the ship channel in full light of day, unlike our departure which was at night.

The New Orleans is at last alongside the dock, and we are home.

Unfortunately, it is 5 pm and the logistics for moving on at this point are complicated. We opt to stay on board overnight and disembark in the morning.

21 November

Our transfer agent is on time at 8 am and we are truly home! Back to the very same dock we left two weeks short of 6 months ago.

During that time, in addition to our land explorations, we have:

• Watched 32 movies (last night’s was Jerry Lewis in The Nutty Professor – not a fine moment for anyone).
• Viewed over 100 Great Courses lectures (and have retained just a smidge of knowledge).
• Henry has taken, edited and cataloged about 6,000 photos and videos.
• Henry has downloaded/transferred and cataloged about 18,000 family and previous travel photos.
• Henry has learned a lot about using his computer for photos and his iPhone for everything.
• Robbie has read over 32 books; working on the 33rd.
• Seven hats and 11 dishcloths have been knitted.

What have we learned? Henry says that the trip has stitched the world together for him; developing a better sense of the nations – what unites and separates them, but most especially the geographic wonders that are all around us.

We ponder sometimes the value of our having made this trip in the greater scheme of things – we have learned a lot and formed a sensitivity to what binds us together as human beings and what keeps us apart. But what the heck are we going to do with that?

If nothing else…… if only one person – friend, relative, child or stranger – is inspired to explore outside his or her sphere of existence because of our voyage of discovery, it is all worth it. And if he or she uses that new-found knowledge to connect with others, to understand our common ground and treasure what is left of our differences, then we can be happy that we have satisfied our own brand of wanderlust and passed it along.

We would like to thank all of you who have followed or checked on this blog from time to time, especially those of you who have taken time to post a comment or send an e-mail.   According to WordPress, we have had 2,575 views and 521 visitors from 20 countries! We don’t even know what that means! … but we are pleased.

Thank you sincerely. This is our last blog post from this trip.

We have a busy 2018 planned. In February we will be setting off for 6 weeks to Japan and Russia; then will spend the summer in Southern Africa – Namibia, Botswana, Zambia, South Africa, Mozambique… and November, on a ship again from the US to western Europe, returning via the windjammer Sea Cloud, following the route of Columbus’ voyage.

Happy trails!