I drink coffee.
I drink a lot of coffee.
On my Grand Voyage, I’ve had the opportunity to drink coffee from around the world – of course, I could do the very same thing by sitting at a Starbucks, I feel, my way was much more satisfying. Colombian, Italian, Egyptian; lattes, cappuccinos, espressos; black, with cream, with cream and sugar.
The best coffee I’ve had the pleasure of drinking comes from Ecuador. A small, homegrown coffee plantation called Café Bolivar. In Manta, Ecuador at one of the better indigenous markets in all of South America, the owner sets up a small booth with nothing but the aromatic dark roasted beans, an old foot pedal-powered grinder and an urn filled with free samples.
He often sells-out early in the day – one visit to the market brought me nothing but disappointment as I arrived only minutes after he’d packed up for the day. I was jonesin’ over six months to partake in the crack-laced Ecuadorian morning, afternoon and evening drink.
Arriving in Manta at 8:00 AM, I was off The Boat at 8:45 to make sure I’d get my fix. To me, it seemed the Bolivar’s had just finished setting up when I arrived at 9:00 AM.
“Hola, me amigo!” I shouted.
“Buenos dias, senor.” he responded.
“You probably don’t remember me, but I was here about six months ago. I bought a lot of coffee from you before that, but you weren’t here the last time we came. I’m very excited you’re here….”
“No comprendé, senor…lo siento.”
“Lo siento. Never mind, may I have sis pounds of cafe?”
“Sis?”
“Si, sis.”
“Five dollars for pound.”
“Si. Sis. Trenti dollores. Que bueno.”
“Okay.”
He started up the grinder and behind me formed a line of people from two cruise ships.
“It the best coffee I’ve ever had.” I said to no one in particular
“Really?”
“Yep, and it’ll be the best five buck you spend all day!”
By 11:30 AM, Café Bolivar had sold out.
They don’t have a website, but I got an email address. I was told shipping is quite reasonable…
The Baltic Adventure: a twelve day tour of Northern Europe. Including stops in Holland, Denmark, Germany, Estonia, Russia, Finland and Sweden. The first visit was magical; the second, fascinating; the third, well…and by the seventh, I’d’ve paid someone to shoot me in the head….
Over the course of the next seven weeks I’m going to give you my thoughts on the seven ports we visited along the way…
Rotterdam:
Our home port for the voyage was Rotterdam, our namesake city.
I enjoyed Holland’s second largest city. I learned and used it’s very dependable public transportation system of buses, trams and trains. I had regular haunts and made friends with the proprietors of local businesses. While the city of Rotterdam doesn’t compare to the debauchery of Amsterdam, it does have a certain charm all it’s own.
Canals...
It wasn’t a sightseeing kind of town, one harbor cruise and I’d seen it all. I got into a routine each time The Boat arrived home: disembark, tram into town, Burger King, the local Albert Heijn grocery store, coffee shop, cafe, tram to port, embark – rinse, repeat. Much of my downtime was spent at The White Ape Café, an awesome little café with good, strong coffee, free, fast internet and an owner who welcomed me as a regular, well as regular as one can be when you visit only once every twelve days.
“It’s the Yank!” he’d shout when I’d arrive and boot-up Keiko, my MacBook Pro. For the price of a cup of coffee and perhaps a ham and cheese toastie, I’d get hours of good internet and great company.
Holland has a lot to offer the traveler like me. I’m not saying I’d like to return, I’m telling you, right here and now, I will return, it’s just a matter of when.
Next Week: Copenhagen, Denmark
While I’m certainly not complaining, I miss the winter.
For the past sixteen months I lived a perpetual spring/summer. For most people on the planet that wouldn’t be a problem; temperatures ranging from the high sixties to the low nineties, a wardrobe filled with shorts, T-shirts, flip-flops and sandals. Frozen drinks on the bow….
But what I wouldn’t give for some snow.
Christmas just isn’t the same without it. Of course, I’ll make the best of it in Hawaii, but, know, Jew and Gentile Readers, it’s such a hardship.
Travel-lust, a condition I’ve suffered through my whole life.
It wasn’t until I was older I was able to do something about it. I was very lucky to book a hosting gig on the Travel Channel – 5 Takes: Latin America – I was flown around Central and South America for eight weeks. Now as I sail international waters aboard the elegant flagship of the fleet, I’ve seen places I’ve only dreamed of seeing. This go ‘round, eighteen months. I’ve been lucky enough to see about one-fourth of the world’s peoples. One-fourth.
But, here’s the thing, I don’t feel as if I’m done.
I still want to go, go, go.
China, India, Japan, Australia…they seem to be calling out to me. “Explore…” I hear them whispering into my ear.
My point, and I do have one, Jew and Gentile Readers is, if I ever want to set down roots, to make a home for myself, to perhaps find a partner who shares my interests, how do I go about that? I’m not getting any younger after all.
If I’m never home, can I ever really have one?
"HOPE"
“Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends.”
After almost 16 months sailing around the world, I’ve gone full circle and I’m ending my Grand Voyage where I started. The past six months were spent in Europe which were preceded by eight months in South America and the South Pacific which is where I’ll spend the next, and last, two and a half months. It’s been quite a ride and very different from what I’ve been used to on land.
On land, I always have my wallet on me, my calendar is chock full of appointments, engagements and commitments and when I’m out and about I always seem to need to pick something up.
Living on the Boat, not so much.
On the Boat, you’re controlled by the Boat’s itinerary not by what you want or need to do. Keeping a calendar for any reason other than to remember where you’ve been is moot. If you’re going to St. Petersburg every twelve days, you’re going to St. Petersburg every twelve days, why bother entering it into your iCal?
On land, iCal is a necessity for me. I keep my days organized down to the minute, if I didn’t, it’s more than possible I’d forget something, I am of that age after all…in order to get back in the habit, I’ve been trying to enter port days and show days I’ve even been trying to schedule gym visits, but after not doing it for so long – and not really needing to do it – I fear when I get home, I’m going to miss something important.
On the Boat, we don’t use cash. If you want a cup of coffee you sign for it, if you want a pack of cigarettes, you sign for it. If you want a beer, you sign for it. I’m so used to not carrying my wallet I’ve even left the ship without it. Trust me Jew and Gentile Readers, that is not a good habit to have…
On land, whenever I leave the house, I always have a list of things to pick up; coffee, toilet paper, paper towels, Backstage, bread, eggs, milk, whatever. I haven’t had to buy toilet paper is almost two years, when I’m back, I’m afraid I’ll find myself looking for a cabin steward to stock my bathroom and empty the trash; I may even go next door, unwittingly, knock on the door looking for the chief housekeeper to complain about all my towels being dirty.
On the Boat, there are people who do things for you; bartenders, dry cleaners, cabin stewards, tailors etc., and all those people need to be tipped…well, that’s the case on land too, isn’t it? Never mind.
Of course, there’s grocery shopping and cooking and banking and all the other real world things I haven’t done it what seems like forever. And what about the fact I’m sure NYC has changed; what if my favorite places are gone? What if…? What if…?
I’ll need to get reacclimatized to living on land, to living in the real world again. I’m afeared it’s going to take some getting used to. This experience has been otherworldly. One adventure after another, it’s as if I’ve been living in the ether for two years, floating just about reality
Once we finish our “Spanish Farewell” and cross the Atlantic in the other direction – leaving Europe in our wake – it’ll be voyages I’ve taken. Warm, far away places I’m lucky to visit again before heading back to the snow and cold of February in New York.
At lease, when I dive back into real life I’ll be tan and ready to go….
Now, to lose those extra ten pounds.
Poverty, is everyone's problem...
“People travel to faraway places to watch, in fascination, the kind of people they ignore at home.”
– Dagobert D. Runes
The Boat is making it’s last Transatlantic crossing, well, let me rephrase that, I’m making my last transatlantic crossing. My fourth; Ft. Lauderdale to Ireland, Holland to New York City, New York City to Holland and now, finally, Spain to Ft. Lauderdale. When looking at the schedule after extending, this crossing was the beginning of the end, when we hit Ft. Lauderdale, only three voyages left.
This crossing will take seven days. (Seven Seas Daze, get it?) I’m going to document the voyage, ‘cause, well, that’s what I do…. To get yourself in the mood; grab your laptop, find a pool, float in middle so you see nothing but water and after each day you read about, set you clock back an hour. Sit back, relax and enjoy.
Day One:
Day Two:
Day Three:
I found a note on my desk this morning, “Call me if you want to know what happened last night.”
What?
As I looked for my glasses, I tried to retrace my steps.
After the crew show, which was a blast, we all went to the OB to bask in our accolades. I was slightly intoxicated at that point, when someone handed me a bottle of Grey Goose from which I took a swig; a very big swig, well, more like a gulp, a big gulp from 7/11, but I digress…I rang the bell and bought everyone in the place a shot – I was drunk, I was feeling love in my heart, it’s very rare – that’s all I remember.
The rest of the day was spent piece together the rest.
“You fell…I think…I was drunk, I’m not sure.”
“You fell, twice in the OB…I saw it. It was awesome.”
“Ok, so, you didn’t fall. You tried to sit but there was no chair. You started laughing and blamed it on the rocking. Someone helped you onto a stool and mere seconds later, you and the stool were on the floor.”
“Now, the ship was rockin’ something fierce, right when you fell the second time the port holes looked like washing machines, we were really tipped over.”
“I’m not sure who it was, but you were swept away real fast.”
“I think the Second Officer took you to your cabin.”
“Well, I heard a thud and from your room and it sounded bad. First Officer used his master key and we found you in a heap, sitting in a pool of vomit. At least you tried to make it to the bathroom. We couldn’t leave you there, so he got you in the shower, washed and dried you and I cleaned up the mess. We put you into bed, tucked you in and I wrote the note…”
I won the Party-Girl crown. Two falls in public, puke in private and no memory of any of it. The moral of the story – don’t drink tequila. At least I was a happy drunk…
Day Four:
Day Five:
Day Six:
Day Seven:
Seven days at sea.
Six hour backs.
Miles of ocean with no land in sight.
I filled my days, to help the boredom pass. The week flew by and on day eight, after full crew immigration, fire drill, general drill, and coast guard drill, we were rewarded with soil, American soil to make matters even better.
I made it through.
The end is near.
Three voyages. Then it’s back to the real world; auditions, survival jobs, friends and family, until, that is, the next time.
The sun over Israel
“There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.”
– Robert Louis Stevenson
We were supposed to sail on to Ashdod, but due to the current fighting in the area we remained in Haifa.
Jerusalem is three hours away from Haifa…six hours of travel time for only four hours of sightseeing. It doesn’t seem like an even trade, but boy, was it.
Jerusalem was amazing.
A pilgrimage everyone should make.
I prayed at the wailing wall, I visited the Church of St. Joseph (Jesus’ earthly father), I stood on the actual stations of the cross. I stood where Jesus stood.
Where. He. Stood.
I was humbled.
Not something that happens very often…
For the first time in three days I understood what all the fuss was about.
The Blue Mosque from the window of the Teardrop Church
A vision I won’t soon forget.
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