The best part of Crusin'
A tropic breeze, a good German beer and a Cuban cigar
How can it get better than that??
INTRODUCTION
Although not our preferred means of travel, we have taken a few cruises in our time.
The Yangtze River in China, French Polynesia, twice to Alaska, the Mexican Rivera, the West Indies, and through the Panama Canal, were all interesting, but I want to tell you in particular about three of the most memorable.
PANAMA CANAL
Following is a newsletter article about our Panama Canal cruise
In response to many requests, we are reporting this month on the recent Caribbean cruise taken by John and Pat, Betty, and Evelyn. This was a Princess cruise, going from Acapulco to San Juan, via the Panama Canal.
After arriving in Acapulco from Seattle, by way of Dallas, we paid a nice customs inspector five dollars not to inspect our bags and another nice man five dollars to get us a cab. We then had a couple of days in Acapulco to do the usual tourist things, but it seemed there was always a nice man hanging around, wanting five dollars to do something for us. Betty particularly liked the cliff divers, but John was disappointed that none of them crashed. Pat had an interesting time shopping for unmentionables that she had forgotten, but with the aid of a helpful cab driver we solved that crisis. By the way, don't try to use your Spanish (like in Spain) dictionary in Mexico. The words are different.
On the ship at last, we all relaxed, except for Pat, who got sick as the proverbial dog. The ship's doctor, however, soon put her right, which only proves that the love boat doctors can do something besides chase nice looking young ladies. John then got really sick, however, when he saw the doctor's bill. Fortunately Pat got well in time for a real celebration, occasioned by a radiogram John and Pat received, announcing the arrival of a new grandson.
On the ship, we all pursued different interests. Pat was the terror of the casino, winning $300. John was the denizen of the hot tubs, leering at the good looking young ladies. Betty gave the Bridge (as in cards) Director lessons in the finer points of the game, while Evelyn spent a lot of time in her cabin, thinking of her absent boyfriend. She didn't miss him enough though to pay the nine dollars a minute that a phone call would cost. To make up the eight at our table, we had two attractive, if mature, ladies. John thought they were cool, since they laughed at his jokes. Betty and Evelyn thought they were definitely uncool, perhaps bordering on uncouth, and wouldn't talk to them for three days, while Pat expressed no opinion. Most of the passengers thought John had a particularly good deal, having three charming ladies to escort. Even the Captain commented, wondering if John were paying the bill as well.
Shore excursions are a big part of cruising, and we enjoyed these thoroughly, after Betty and Evelyn got into the swing of things. At our first port, which was literally a tin shack on the edge of the jungle, Betty and Evelyn flatly refused to leave the dock, while John hopped a bus for San Jose (The capital of Costa Rica), and made it back just as the ship was pulling out. Thirty more seconds would have been too late. After that the ports were more interesting, and the shore excursions were really great. The best one, by far, was on St. John in the U.S. Virgin islands, where the native taxi driver turned out to be an old friend of John's from John's West Indies days. Needless to say, we had an excellent tour, spending so much time that we missed the great shopping in St. Thomas. Betty, however, did somehow find time to procure her tax free booze ration, and John again barely made it back to the ship, having gone out to the airport to try, in vain, to get Winair tickets. (Remember last month's story.)
Anyway, we had a wonderful ten days, and after we reached San Juan, our final port, Betty reluctantly headed for home while John, Evelyn, and Pat embarked on the great West Indies adventure you read about in the last issue.
ANNIVERSARY CRUISE
Jim and Jackie. The Honorees
This was Jim and Jackie’s 50th wedding anniversary cruise. And to the Mexican RIVIERA, no less. Looked to be a lot of fun.
So, everyone piled onto the boat, and took stock of the surroundings. The cabins were OK, with two of them being sumptuous suites, but not, unfortunately, with hot and cold running girls.
The ships crew was an interesting lot. All the backwaters of the third world were represented, from Bulgaria to Thailand, and beyond. Only prerequisite for employment, it seemed, was a rudimentary knowledge of English. As far as any meaningful conversation with them-forget it.
The first two days at sea were pretty well occupied by nonstop parties, as well as the usual cruise ship activities. There were a couple of bad comedians working the ship, but they disapeared, to be replaced by others at the first port. Rumor having it that they were lost overboard.
The cruise line, of course, was doing what they do best. Gouging the passengers. They give away the cabins, and then overcharge for everything else, the ship’s shops being a notable exception, while continually telling everyone what a good time they are having. Everything was charged, of course, so no one had any idea what he or she was spending.
After two days of this debauchery, everyone was ready to go ashore, with visions of the RIVIERA. (Bejeweled ladies, luxury casinos, world class restaurants, and a chance to mix with the rich and famous.)
Imagine our surprise when we opened the blinds next morning. The ship must have taken a wrong turn during the night, because instead of the Riviera, we beheld Puerto Vallarta, a crummy third world fishing village.
So, everybody piled ashore anyway, for tours and shopping. Turned out that ship tours, as usual, were overpriced, the local taxis being a far better choice.
Of course, as at every cruise ship destination, there were the ubiquitous jewelry stores, hawking unknown brand stuff to the crowd from the ship. I am always at a loss, incidentally, to understand why anyone would want to buy diamonds in a third world village.
Pat and I bypassed the frenzied activity in town, opting for a taxi ride down the coast to a neat little resort, where I drank two dollar Coronas.
The next day, in Mazitlan, it was pretty much the same thing all over again, except there was a pretty neat Mexican Mercado, which had a lot of interesting stuff, including Cuban cigars. . Pat and I toured the city in an oversized golf cart, which at least got one close to the people
The last stop was Cabo San Lucas, a real world class resort. Only problem here was that the stop was for six hours, and after one had stood in line on the ship, taken a lighter to shore, and walked two miles to find the town, there was no time to do anything else before one had to do it all over again, in reverse, to get back to the ship.
Then it was two overnights back to Los Angeles. All went well until the next morning, when the ship unexplainably broke down. Some doohickey in the propulsion system apparently failed, cutting the ships speed down considerably. While the Captain continually assured us that everything was OK, the ship went slower and slower, till in desperation, the ship’s officers asked for volunteers to man the oars. Some of our younger guys thought this might be good for bodybuilding, but opted out when it was explained that per cruise company policy, it was mandatory to tip the guy with the whip. Anyway, we finally drug into San Pedro only eight hours late, and nobody was much the worst for wear.
SOUTH SEAS ADVENTURE
This article is about a freighter trip through the Marquises Islands , a part of French Polynesia, in the South Pacific, It was published in TravlTips Magazine
Silva, a charming French lady, and one of our hostesses, led us to our cabin. Judy, our travel agent had done it right. We had the best (although not the most expensive) cabin on the ship. The cabin had 2 beds and a refrigerator and enough space to move around. It was also one of the few with a private bath. It turned out later that the air conditioning blew frigid air from 4 to 8 PM, and did not blow at all during the rest of the night. And yes, as a diversion, sometimes blew in sewer smells. Upon looking around, we immediately appropriated the deck space just outside our cabin as our private balcony, and furnished it with chairs "borrowed" from the lounge. It later turned out that this space was also used for storage of the bar garbage, but we managed to co-exist.
The operation was really informal, The entire crew, including the officers, wore shorts and tank tops. The sailors were mostly Marquesans, enormous guys who were really billboards for tattoo art. They also were strong enough to throw around full oil drums. There was a 24 hour lounge, a library stocked with books abandoned by previous passengers, and a bar which was open irregularly. Yo Yo, a big fat Tahitian who habitually wore a sarong, was the bartender. The drill to get a drink was to first find Yo Yo, then talk him into opening the bar. At night the bar was usually populated by the sailors and Tahitian steerage class folks, but they did manage to make some interesting music. Rounding out the staff was a doctor who spoke only French, but made house calls, Bob our resident Archeologist, and the two guide/hostesses. The food was great, although French, and there was unlimited wine. Laundry service was free, but tended to permanently dye your clothes strange colors.
The 60 passengers were an interesting mix. There were 14 Americans, about 20 Frenchmen, a few rich Tahitians, and the balance mostly European, with Swiss and Germans predominating. It was a sophisticated, well traveled bunch and the diverse nationalities mixed well. Although French was the official language of the ship, English became the language of choice after about the third day. Some of the most interesting folks were Lynn, the American investment banker who was wired on Predazone, and his Indonesian girlfriend, Warren, the 70 year old jock from New Zealand, who while consuming a couple of liters of wine per day, scuba dived, hiked, and on occasion, swan out to the ship. He and his charming Australian wife Wendy had made their way to the States via Hong Kong. Then there was Steve, a British subject who lived in Andorra, who translated the French TV news, and Klaus, a German drug salesman who regaled John with a new dog joke, in German of course, every morning.
The ship, which was named the Aranui, or Great Road in Marquesan, was basically a freighter, which made a monthly run from Papeete to the Marquises islands via the Tuamotus atolls, delivering 2000 tons of mixed freight and returning with 200 tons of copra. On our outbound trip, they also carried 500 barrels of JP4 jet fuel as deck cargo.
We did have some bad luck on the ship. The first in four years, they said. One heart attack requiring an evacuation, Pat getting really ill for three days, a passenger rolling down a 20 foot embankment, getting beat up in the process, and both hostesses coming up with sprained ankles. The general consensus of the crew was that this was the Marquesan gods getting even with the ship for carrying a body on the previous trip.
Pat's illness was not serious, but did have the doctor concerned. Since there was no one aboard ship with enough knowledge of both French and English medical terms to translate, we made do by Pat describing her symptoms to me, then me translating to German (Which the doctor knew, sort of) , and explaining to the doctor in that language. It was also interesting when the doctor and I would leaf through his PDR (Physicians Desk Reference) written in French, of course, to try and find an illness which matched Pat's symptoms. Anyway, to everyone’s relief, on about the forth day, Pat got much better, probably on her own, but in the meantime the doctor did make at least twice a day cabin calls, and prescribed lots of chicken soup.
Now for a short geography lesson. The Marquises Islands are about 850 miles north east of Tahiti and about 2400 miles south of Hawaii. They are rugged volcanic mountains, have a total population of about 8000 people on 15 islands, and are one of the most remote spots in the world.
Aside from our ship, they may see 1000 tourists per year. There is one hotel, on the biggest island, Nuku Hiva, which was totally taken over by the cast of the latest Survivor series. The only industries are copra, (dried coconut meat, which is used for a variety of products), Noni, a fruit with doubtful therapeutic properties, which is being exploited by the Mormon church, handicrafts, sold to our freighter passengers, and jobs with the French Colonial bureaucracy. Some of the islands have airstrips with weekly service to Papeete, but for many, the freighter is THE connection with the outside world.
It was two days steaming, with a stop at the atolls, to reach the Marquises. Due to the age and condition of the engines the chief engineer was loath to run wide open.
Our daily life, for the 12 days we were in the Marquises, generally went somewhat as follows:
The ship would pull into a bay with a village. Mostly this was once a day, but sometimes two or even three times. Since there was no dock large enough to moor to, and sometimes no dock at all, the ship anchored in the bay and passengers and freight were ferried to shore on the ship's own whaleboats. The whaleboats each carried up to 3 tons of freight or 25 passengers.
What with the ship rocking and the whaleboats rolling, loading would get kind of sporty. If the passengers were not fast enough in embarking or debarking, the Marquesan sailors manning the whaleboat would bodily lift them in or out.
Anyway, when the ship pulled in, the entire village would gather on the dock or the beach. Remember that in many cases this was their only outside contact, and regardless, was really the social event of the month. As the freight was offloaded, they would claim it and haul it away on their 4 wheel drive land Rover pickups.
When the passengers landed, there was an informal welcoming committee, often accompanied by a band, passing out flower or seashell lies. There also was always a handicrafts center somewhere nearby. This was stuff, of surprising good quality, that the villagers had produced for sale. Interestingly enough, US dollars were gladly accepted.
Next stop was usually a great feast of unknown delicacies, prepared by the islanders, sometimes with the help of the ship staff. Yo Yo's bar sometimes moved ashore for these occasions, doing a brisk business.
If time permitted there was then some kind of an excursion, maybe a 4 wheel drive trip to a view point, sometimes a visit to an archeological site hosted by Bob, our resident archeologist, a tour of the village, and maybe snorkeling or scuba diving. There were many warnings about how mosquitoes and an ubiquitous little critter called a no no would eat you alive if you displayed one square inch of skin while ashore. As a result, the passengers affected some really outlandish costumes to avoid showing skin. (In 85-90 degree weather, no less.) After seeing our Marquesan guide and the natives in tee shirts and shorts, John decided to dress like them. The result, not a single bite.
The natives seemed genuinely interested in seeing us and were generally friendly and helpful. I think that it pays to live in a French colony. We have been to many third world places and this was the cleanest and best organized we have seen. The villages were clean, the houses reasonably well built, and everyone had electricity and satellite TV courtesy of the French government.
All in all, it was really a great trip, although we would probably not want to repeat it next year. It was certainly not a luxury cruise, but the cast of characters, the villagers, the ships crew and the passengers combined to make it a memorable experience.
So, everyone piled onto the boat, and took stock of the surroundings. The cabins were OK, with two of them being sumptuous suites, but not, unfortunately, with hot and cold running girls.
The ships crew was an interesting lot. All the backwaters of the third world were represented, from Bulgaria to Thailand, and beyond. Only prerequisite for employment, it seemed, was a rudimentary knowledge of English. As far as any meaningful conversation with them-forget it.
The first two days at sea were pretty well occupied by nonstop parties, as well as the usual cruise ship activities. There were a couple of bad comedians working the ship, but they disapeared, to be replaced by others at the first port. Rumor having it that they were lost overboard.
The cruise line, of course, was doing what they do best. Gouging the passengers. They give away the cabins, and then overcharge for everything else, the ship’s shops being a notable exception, while continually telling everyone what a good time they are having. Everything was charged, of course, so no one had any idea what he or she was spending.
After two days of this debauchery, everyone was ready to go ashore, with visions of the RIVIERA. (Bejeweled ladies, luxury casinos, world class restaurants, and a chance to mix with the rich and famous.)
Imagine our surprise when we opened the blinds next morning. The ship must have taken a wrong turn during the night, because instead of the Riviera, we beheld Puerto Vallarta, a crummy third world fishing village.
So, everybody piled ashore anyway, for tours and shopping. Turned out that ship tours, as usual, were overpriced, the local taxis being a far better choice.
Of course, as at every cruise ship destination, there were the ubiquitous jewelry stores, hawking unknown brand stuff to the crowd from the ship. I am always at a loss, incidentally, to understand why anyone would want to buy diamonds in a third world village.
Pat and I bypassed the frenzied activity in town, opting for a taxi ride down the coast to a neat little resort, where I drank two dollar Coronas.
The next day, in Mazitlan, it was pretty much the same thing all over again, except there was a pretty neat Mexican Mercado, which had a lot of interesting stuff, including Cuban cigars. . Pat and I toured the city in an oversized golf cart, which at least got one close to the people
The last stop was Cabo San Lucas, a real world class resort. Only problem here was that the stop was for six hours, and after one had stood in line on the ship, taken a lighter to shore, and walked two miles to find the town, there was no time to do anything else before one had to do it all over again, in reverse, to get back to the ship.
Then it was two overnights back to Los Angeles. All went well until the next morning, when the ship unexplainably broke down. Some doohickey in the propulsion system apparently failed, cutting the ships speed down considerably. While the Captain continually assured us that everything was OK, the ship went slower and slower, till in desperation, the ship’s officers asked for volunteers to man the oars. Some of our younger guys thought this might be good for bodybuilding, but opted out when it was explained that per cruise company policy, it was mandatory to tip the guy with the whip. Anyway, we finally drug into San Pedro only eight hours late, and nobody was much the worst for wear.
AND HERE ARE SOME PICS OF THE CRUISE
Beautiful downtown Puerto Vallarta
Huffords's big reception
We took a taxi ride down the coast south of Puerto Vallarta
Mazitlan
Golf cart tour in Mazitlan
Actually a reboult VW bug
One table at dinner.
Looks like the "mature" folks
See the diver in mid flight
Pat and I bypassed the frenzied activity in town, opting for a taxi ride down the coast to a neat little resort, where I drank two dollar Coronas
The famous rocks of Cabo San Lucas
This article is about a freighter trip through the Marquises Islands , a part of French Polynesia, in the South Pacific, It was published in TravlTips Magazine
The tour company dropped us and our luggage off at this grubby dock in Papeete. Tied up to the dock was this total rust bucket of a ship. I mean it wasn't just rusty, it had great holes rusted in it. A 3000 ton cargo ship, the front two thirds cargo, and the aft one third passengers. This was to be home for us and 58 other passengers for the next 16 days.
Silva, a charming French lady, and one of our hostesses, led us to our cabin. Judy, our travel agent had done it right. We had the best (although not the most expensive) cabin on the ship. The cabin had 2 beds and a refrigerator and enough space to move around. It was also one of the few with a private bath. It turned out later that the air conditioning blew frigid air from 4 to 8 PM, and did not blow at all during the rest of the night. And yes, as a diversion, sometimes blew in sewer smells. Upon looking around, we immediately appropriated the deck space just outside our cabin as our private balcony, and furnished it with chairs "borrowed" from the lounge. It later turned out that this space was also used for storage of the bar garbage, but we managed to co-exist.
The operation was really informal, The entire crew, including the officers, wore shorts and tank tops. The sailors were mostly Marquesans, enormous guys who were really billboards for tattoo art. They also were strong enough to throw around full oil drums. There was a 24 hour lounge, a library stocked with books abandoned by previous passengers, and a bar which was open irregularly. Yo Yo, a big fat Tahitian who habitually wore a sarong, was the bartender. The drill to get a drink was to first find Yo Yo, then talk him into opening the bar. At night the bar was usually populated by the sailors and Tahitian steerage class folks, but they did manage to make some interesting music. Rounding out the staff was a doctor who spoke only French, but made house calls, Bob our resident Archeologist, and the two guide/hostesses. The food was great, although French, and there was unlimited wine. Laundry service was free, but tended to permanently dye your clothes strange colors.
The 60 passengers were an interesting mix. There were 14 Americans, about 20 Frenchmen, a few rich Tahitians, and the balance mostly European, with Swiss and Germans predominating. It was a sophisticated, well traveled bunch and the diverse nationalities mixed well. Although French was the official language of the ship, English became the language of choice after about the third day. Some of the most interesting folks were Lynn, the American investment banker who was wired on Predazone, and his Indonesian girlfriend, Warren, the 70 year old jock from New Zealand, who while consuming a couple of liters of wine per day, scuba dived, hiked, and on occasion, swan out to the ship. He and his charming Australian wife Wendy had made their way to the States via Hong Kong. Then there was Steve, a British subject who lived in Andorra, who translated the French TV news, and Klaus, a German drug salesman who regaled John with a new dog joke, in German of course, every morning.
The ship, which was named the Aranui, or Great Road in Marquesan, was basically a freighter, which made a monthly run from Papeete to the Marquises islands via the Tuamotus atolls, delivering 2000 tons of mixed freight and returning with 200 tons of copra. On our outbound trip, they also carried 500 barrels of JP4 jet fuel as deck cargo.
We did have some bad luck on the ship. The first in four years, they said. One heart attack requiring an evacuation, Pat getting really ill for three days, a passenger rolling down a 20 foot embankment, getting beat up in the process, and both hostesses coming up with sprained ankles. The general consensus of the crew was that this was the Marquesan gods getting even with the ship for carrying a body on the previous trip.
Pat's illness was not serious, but did have the doctor concerned. Since there was no one aboard ship with enough knowledge of both French and English medical terms to translate, we made do by Pat describing her symptoms to me, then me translating to German (Which the doctor knew, sort of) , and explaining to the doctor in that language. It was also interesting when the doctor and I would leaf through his PDR (Physicians Desk Reference) written in French, of course, to try and find an illness which matched Pat's symptoms. Anyway, to everyone’s relief, on about the forth day, Pat got much better, probably on her own, but in the meantime the doctor did make at least twice a day cabin calls, and prescribed lots of chicken soup.
Now for a short geography lesson. The Marquises Islands are about 850 miles north east of Tahiti and about 2400 miles south of Hawaii. They are rugged volcanic mountains, have a total population of about 8000 people on 15 islands, and are one of the most remote spots in the world.
Aside from our ship, they may see 1000 tourists per year. There is one hotel, on the biggest island, Nuku Hiva, which was totally taken over by the cast of the latest Survivor series. The only industries are copra, (dried coconut meat, which is used for a variety of products), Noni, a fruit with doubtful therapeutic properties, which is being exploited by the Mormon church, handicrafts, sold to our freighter passengers, and jobs with the French Colonial bureaucracy. Some of the islands have airstrips with weekly service to Papeete, but for many, the freighter is THE connection with the outside world.
It was two days steaming, with a stop at the atolls, to reach the Marquises. Due to the age and condition of the engines the chief engineer was loath to run wide open.
Our daily life, for the 12 days we were in the Marquises, generally went somewhat as follows:
The ship would pull into a bay with a village. Mostly this was once a day, but sometimes two or even three times. Since there was no dock large enough to moor to, and sometimes no dock at all, the ship anchored in the bay and passengers and freight were ferried to shore on the ship's own whaleboats. The whaleboats each carried up to 3 tons of freight or 25 passengers.
What with the ship rocking and the whaleboats rolling, loading would get kind of sporty. If the passengers were not fast enough in embarking or debarking, the Marquesan sailors manning the whaleboat would bodily lift them in or out.
Anyway, when the ship pulled in, the entire village would gather on the dock or the beach. Remember that in many cases this was their only outside contact, and regardless, was really the social event of the month. As the freight was offloaded, they would claim it and haul it away on their 4 wheel drive land Rover pickups.
When the passengers landed, there was an informal welcoming committee, often accompanied by a band, passing out flower or seashell lies. There also was always a handicrafts center somewhere nearby. This was stuff, of surprising good quality, that the villagers had produced for sale. Interestingly enough, US dollars were gladly accepted.
Next stop was usually a great feast of unknown delicacies, prepared by the islanders, sometimes with the help of the ship staff. Yo Yo's bar sometimes moved ashore for these occasions, doing a brisk business.
If time permitted there was then some kind of an excursion, maybe a 4 wheel drive trip to a view point, sometimes a visit to an archeological site hosted by Bob, our resident archeologist, a tour of the village, and maybe snorkeling or scuba diving. There were many warnings about how mosquitoes and an ubiquitous little critter called a no no would eat you alive if you displayed one square inch of skin while ashore. As a result, the passengers affected some really outlandish costumes to avoid showing skin. (In 85-90 degree weather, no less.) After seeing our Marquesan guide and the natives in tee shirts and shorts, John decided to dress like them. The result, not a single bite.
The natives seemed genuinely interested in seeing us and were generally friendly and helpful. I think that it pays to live in a French colony. We have been to many third world places and this was the cleanest and best organized we have seen. The villages were clean, the houses reasonably well built, and everyone had electricity and satellite TV courtesy of the French government.
All in all, it was really a great trip, although we would probably not want to repeat it next year. It was certainly not a luxury cruise, but the cast of characters, the villagers, the ships crew and the passengers combined to make it a memorable experience.
