"Sailing Blahs"

Today is one of those days where you feel like you would get further ahead if you were to slam your head into a brick wall successively. Where no matter what your efforts, the day just seems destined to be tallied in the “less than enjoyable” column. I am experiencing what I have coined the “sailing blahs.” It seems to be a rather common infliction that each sailor experiences at one time or another during an extended period of land deprivation. Its symptoms may include, but are not limited to, such things as an unexplainable discontent with one’s surroundings and fellow shipmates, difficulty sleeping or accepting one’s menial daily taskings, and loss of appetite or purpose. Sufferers are recognizable by their solemn demeanor and incessant complaining. In some extreme cases, infected individuals may be overcome by rage, the need to inflict pain on others, or uncontrollable sobbing. It is a strange experience, really. I think it is perhaps the closest my male counterparts will ever come to understanding the plight of a hormonal female. The shame of it is, the day started off with a collection of warm fuzzies. I had received a couple of kind words of encouragement from anonymous Moms of Sailors who have read my entries. I was feeling particularly optimistic and was eager to start on my next writing project when I encountered the last unopened email. There is no delicate way to say this, so I’m just going to say it: “I’m being CENSORED!” A senior member of the crew had read my Blog, shared that he enjoyed it, but reminded that I need to be very careful with what I tell the “world.” True, very true. However, I couldn’t help but be spun off course spinning towards an ugly, ill-fated destination. It felt like my one chance to write, my form of therapy, was being mutilated and stifled. That I could no longer paint a believable picture to all of you, for fear that what I wrote might be misconstrued in a plethora of possible interpretations. This left me to wonder, whose responsibility is that really? I have faith that the people who chose to read this will take it for face value – cause honestly, there isn’t much to pick up on between the lines, save what kind of a mood I was in when I typed it out… which, in case you were curious, is in a perpetual state of Gravol induced euphoria (me and sea states above one don’t see eye to eye). This might also explain the misuse of words or their spelling at times. My desire is to portray what life during this trip is like through my eyes and senses. It may not be the most interesting of accounts, but unfortunately, sailing isn’t always exciting – it’s mostly just a whole lot of waiting and if you’ve ever seen the movie “Groundhog Day” then you get the picture. The point is that I will continue to try to give you the stories without incriminating anyone or giving away all our “secrets” – not that I am privy to them anyway. I have calmed down since this morning… thanks to the sound of the keys clicking beneath my anxious fingers. I have decided to take the advice as a friendly reminder (as I am sure it was originally intended) and continue to write how I feel and what occurs during these next few months. Thank you for listening. Hopefully things will be brighter tomorrow :)

Two Candles. One Flame. PART THREE

The evening arrived and with it came the promise of serene relaxation and decadent pampering at the therapeutic hands of the Sereno Spa staff. My frazzled nerves we’re in desperate need of a calmer atmosphere and my “ship wrecked” body was crying out for some quality massage time. I indulged with a spa pedicure and full body massage. My toes have to be the cutest Engineering toes in the Navy, thanks to the primping and painting they received, and the massage border-lined a spiritual experience. This was no Singapore “are-you-sure-my-back-is-supposed-to-bend-that-way” massage. I was on the receiving end of a complete body harmonizing kneading of the palms. I’m thinking this is going to have to become a ritual for me, as I am finding myself getting used to this sort of extravagance… I finally understand why so many people make spa appointments as regularly as they visit their hair stylists. The only real problem with my Indian Experience, was that it all had to end with a return water taxi trip to my waiting place of employment. My tiny rack just doesn’t seem as inviting as it once did. And no amount of bounce sheet sniffing can relax me as much as that luxurious spa massage did. The silver lining though, lies just over those next few waves. As each Thursday Steak Night comes and passes, we near our next port; with all its own hidden secrets and adventures ready for the finding. Okay, so it looks like I didn’t manage to really break this telling into very even parts, but I can’t think of anything else to add.

Two Candles. One Flame PART TWO

An extravagant fountain and circle driveway invited us into the large, airy reception area where Kord & I were seated and served fresh squeezed orange juice. (Kord will be playing the part of India partner-in-crime and general bodyguard in this port. He is a Master Seaman Electrician onboard.) We were then escorted to our rooms, through a gorgeous courtyard past all sorts of ponds and fountains. My room was unbelievable! The bathroom was the same size as the bedroom and the patio viewed an enclosed pond dotted with fuchsia lily pad flowers and small fish. I unpacked my stuff and told Kord I’d meet him in about an hour to explore the resort grounds, but first I was having a bath. The bathtub was advertised as a “sunken tub with fitted rain shower.” There were two tiled steps down into a tiled floor area of about 3 feet by 3 feet and about 2 feet deep. There was a facet for the tub, a detachable showerhead by the steps and fitted to the ceiling was a large rain showerhead. As if this wasn’t extravagant enough, a large dish of rose petals was provided along with an assortment of spa line lotions and potions. I was positively giddy. The Goa Park Hyatt Resort & Spa was like nothing I have experienced before. The only way to describe it is to say it was akin to being privileged enough to be upgraded to first class when flying home from Ontario to Vancouver… once you know how the other half live, it’s terribly hard to go back. The grounds included an Enchanted Forest, 25 acres of private beach, 9 different restaurants and lounges, a four-tiered swimming pool surrounded by loungers, archery, and the best Spa facilities in India. If your curiosity is peaked I suggest you Google it – the pictures do not lie. That night we headed down to the beach to get photos of the sunset and then ate at one of the traditional Goan cuisine restaurants, where I enjoyed a rice and chicken dish that was served in an earthen ware bowl with a tortilla sealing it – very yummy. Unfortunately, shortly after dinner I became quite nauseous and had to retire to my cool, crisp king size sheets. As it turns out, I not only fall to the mercy of the seas, but am also prone to reverse motion sickness. In essence I was now “land sick.” But, pukey or not, I was in India and was going to make the most of it. Kord and I arranged to have a car take us on a tour of the sights for the following morning and booked ourselves pedicures and full body massages for the evening. The tour began with visiting the downtown Panaji markets, which were crowded and bursting at the seams with people. Due to my illness, the combination of humidity, noise, and pungent incenses it made for a less than fruitful shopping experience. But I was a trouper and managed to follow Kord into every little shop and alleyway vendor. We then went north from Panaji to visit the Basilica of Bom Jesus where the remains of St. Francis Xavier are displayed. He wasn’t much taller than me, displayed in an ornate glass case – kind of creepy really… he sort of looked like a mummy sans the wrappings. I did lay a wreath at the monument as an offering to St. Francis and lit two candles that burned a single flame for Opa Tony and my brother Nic. For the time I was there, my land-sickness left me. Coincidence? The tour continued, but I had to lay down in the back seat because I was not feeling the greatest. To be fair, I’m sure it wasn’t completely the driver’s fault, but the quick jerks of that steering wheel, and moments of sheer terror when faced with oncoming traffic and no way of merging back into our own lane due to either the free-roaming cattle or large trucks he was trying to pass, certainly didn’t help my tummy. We managed to make it in one piece, with my breakfast where it belonged, to a beautiful Hindu Temple hidden among the tree just off the main road. We didn’t venture inside, because we would have been required to remove our shoes and socks and enter barefoot – just trust me when I say this wasn’t the most tantalizing option. So we wandered around the temple snapping off photos and enjoying the sun on our faces. The strangest thing happened as we were returning to the car though… I was approached by a girl in her early teens dressed in traditional Indian attire complete with henna designs painted on her hands. She asked me repeatedly, “Picture? Picture?” I was confused, as we were having no problems taking photos on our own. After a few awkward moments it suddenly dawned on me, “You want to take a picture with ME?!” Sure enough, there was her parents holding a 35mm camera smiling away, telling their daughter to take off her hat so she would look nice for the picture – at least that’s what I took it to mean. We smiled and Kord managed to take one too, although I’m surprised it turned out considering he was laughing so hard. We thought about it after and decided it was maybe because I was the only white woman there, so maybe I was some sort of a novelty? To add to the jokes that ensued from Kord, prior to exiting the vehicle at the Temple, the driver explained that I shared my first name with a very famous Indian actress – you were right Mom, I was meant to be famous, just not in Canada! My head returned to the vinyl back seat as we weaved our way in and out of traffic to the Spice Farm. On our arrival we were wreathed with marigold flower leis and showered with tiny orange petals. We sipped on lemongrass tea and then promptly were whisked away on the start of our spice tour. We viewed such things as nutmeg, vanilla, saffron, bananas, coffee, curry, and cloves all growing amoungst the bamboo and palm jungle. I was feeling completely in tune with nature and all her beauty, even my upset stomach was starting to ease up. There is a saying that there is always a calm before the storm… well, I walked unknowingly right into a full onslaught, and it all started with someone shouting, “Whoa, check out the spider in the tree!” Now, this wasn’t a typical spider, nor was it “in the tree.” This evil little bastard was about the size of my face, without a single hair on its shiny black spindly body, and it’s long, segmented legs where outstretched on its huge web about 2 feet from my head – which I can assure you feels a whole lot closer when you are under it. And he had friends… MANY friends all perched along the path. Fitting really considering it was Halloween and I was now freaking out. Just when I thought my crawling skin had taken all that it could our path crossed with an elephant. Now I came to the Spice Farm with the original intention to ride an elephant, maybe even bathe one – like the brochure promised - but when I came face to face with that huge grey mass I started to cower. I’m not sure if my nerves were just fried from all the spider dodging, or if I really was intimidated by the elephant. But the first thought my active imagination conjured up was me perched atop the elephant, smiling and laughing in spite of myself, as we stomped through the jungle. When suddenly the elephant hears a twig snap, startles and starts trotting quickly down one of the paths. Now all I can think about is how if I was sitting on that elephant my face would be at the perfect height to smash into each one of those spiders dangling in their webs, me screaming bloody murder, only succeeding in further agitating the frightened beast, propelling him faster threw the spider maze. Perhaps this was a bit overboard, but you didn’t see the spiders – I couldn’t even bring myself to take a picture of them (that was Kord’s job). I didn’t want to be a spoilsport though so I volunteered to have my picture taken with the elephant at the last possible opportunity. Now, remember I said we were given flower leis when we first arrived at the spice farm? I figured out what purpose they served. It made the tourists that much more appealing as tasty sacrifices to one of the largest mammals in the animal kingdom. The elephant (which was apparently a female, and thus smaller in size – whatever!) was instantly intrigued by my flower garland and tried to snatch them from my chest with its trunk. To which the elephant boy began yelling commands and whacking it in the chest. I’m thinking, “Great! That’s it, really piss it off when I’m standing here helpless in front of it.” Well we got the picture, and I am contorting my body at an impossible angle trying to be close, but not close to the elephant with this cross between a pained and terrified “smile” on my face. The ever-sympathetic Kord was again laughing at me. I think I need new friends. The spice tour ended with local dishes for lunch, I stuck to the bread to try to calm my belly, but was persuaded to try a fresh picked banana – fantastic! And yes, I was neurotic enough to check it twice for spiders.

Two Candles, One Flame. PART ONE

I suppose I have kept you all in suspense for long enough, and since free time is a bit scarce lately, now is as good a time as any to try to recap my Goa, India experience. “Experience” was a word not chosen lightly… allow me to elaborate. Our ship came to anchor off the coast of Goa, known as the “Jewel of India” for a 4 day port visit, allowing for some much needed R & R time for the crew. We were not the only ship that felt safer anchoring out in the bay, versus tying up alongside at this particularly heavy industrial harbor. To give you a rough idea of just how many other vessels where bobbing around us; at night if you were to venture to the upper decks for some fresh air and star gazing, you’d think you were surrounded by the city lights of Goa. All travel from the ship to shore was via a shoddy looking water taxi, which I was informed moonlighted as a garbage barge, goat transport and grocery delivery boat. The water taxi ride was a comical and sometimes nerve-wracking shuttle of 45 minutes through the bays somewhat calm waters. We were whisked past such tourist-envious sites as the cargo embarkment jetties, fishing boat docks, and an offshore oil rig refurbishment project. Don’t worry, I got plenty of pictures. :) I decided to tag along with a number of my fellow Stokers to relax at their hotel and unwind from a long sail and its occasional rough seas. We caught the ship’s hired van into Panaji to hire a cab and make our way out to the hotel, which was about 20 minutes north of Panaji. The moment we got out of the van beggars and locals trying to sell us everything from knock-off Dolce & Gabbana handbags to peacock feather fans swarmed us. I was pretty much stunned and confused. I didn’t know how to react to all the arms and “Miss, Miss-es” that I was being bombarded with. Thankfully, one of the bigger sailors took this as a cue that I needed to be shoulder carried out of there and fast. I was asked by a number of the women hawkers which male one was my husband… apparently they figured they would have better results haggling with the “wallet.” I couldn’t resist the temptation of passing the buck and quickly nominated the stoker standing next to me. Whew, fresh air and room to move around and take in my surrounds a bit. Dirty, would only start to scratch the surface of the place. Lots of free roaming dogs and cows – which are believed to be sacred, thus are not required to follow street signs or proper defecating etiquette in their fenceless existence. The streets were lined with open fruit, fish & meat markets and peppered with wooden furniture and coconuts straight from the tree for sale by machete wielding sellers. This was going to be an experience to say the least. We shook off the open hands and merchandise-displaying bodies and managed to pile into a couple of taxis. The driving rules in India are deciphered with little less effort than trying to understand quantum physics. But I think I narrowed it down to these few key points: 1. Cows have the right of way, ALWAYS. 2. Try to spend the majority of your time on the left-hand side of the road. 3. The smaller and slower you are, the less rights you have. (Meaning: if you are in a truck everyone will move for you; if you are in a car, you win unless there is a truck; if you’re in a scooter, as long as you can squeeze past go for it; and if you are a pedestrian, God help you) Another interesting curve is the lack of legal enforcement for helmets on motorcycles and scooters. I watched a family of five zoom past us on a scooter, with only Dad wearing a helmet – yikes! My taxi excursions in New York paled in comparison to this bum-cheek squeezing adventure. I don’t think any of us breathed, or let our eyes wander too far from the windshield during that white knuckled ride. The key, I discovered, to truly experiencing India is to look at it through completely different eyes. Your North American eyes will deceive you into quickly judging and dismissing India and all her treasures. The eyes you use in Canada will only see dirt, disease, poverty and unbearable, crowded living conditions. But if you try to look through an Indian’s eyes you will discover that India simply moves to a rhythm all her own and the melody can be quite enticing. The people are friendly, the landscape is lush and filled with jungle vegetation and flowers, and rich colour is everywhere. Be it in the gorgeous worn silks, the exotic blossoms, or the reddish hued sunsets on the Arabian Sea. I booked a night’s stay at the Park Hyatt Goa Resort & Spa for the third night, which was located just south of Panaji. I was told by the High Commissionaire of Canada and the Military Defence Attaché, David and Garry, that I would love the hotel as that was where they were staying as well. It wasn’t until we were pulling up to the guarded gate though, that I truly allowed myself to believe this place would not be a faded version of the internet photos I had put so much stock into.

Gulf Of Aden

Last night was the start of our Persian Gulf encounter. OTTAWA has been tasked to locate and board numerous vessels of interest in the Gulf of Aden. Our ship is the only one in the task group we are operating with who is able to board under these conditions. We jumped right into the thick of things too, with our first boarding being a Red Operation, night boarding – the most dangerous flavour. I was a bundle of nerves awaiting that first pipe, “Port Watch to Boarding Stations.” I am not a part of the ship’s boarding party, the reason being rather obvious; I am not all that intimidating… in fact I would argue that I am perhaps the very definition of a ‘soft target.’ So no need to fret about my personal safety, Mom. It is evolutions like this boarding of potential hostile vessels that leave me wondering, “don’t we have professionals for things like this?” The scary thing is, we are the professionals. The people I live with here in this ever-shrinking tin can, that I interact with while we bob around in this vast sea, are the heroes of our country. We are no different than those young boys and girls fighting at the front lines in Afghanistan. It shakes you to the bone to know that these people with all their fears and dreams are dealing with situations the average Canadian will only experience through a watered down version retold in a high school history book. The world becomes a whole lot smaller when the faces you are seeing on TV during the six o’clock news’ “death watch” are the faces you’ve known through your time at basic training. I think what I am trying to convey is that “we” are no different then “you.” These are mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters who are carrying weapons and sneaking around in the dark places of the world trying to find the spark of humanity in amoungst the rubble of war. I know that we have been trained for this very purpose, but can a person ever truly feel prepared? It is hard not to feel small in the face of adversity. It is hard not feel intimidated by the strength of resistance. It is hard to stand strong when confronted with hate and the threat of violence. We took a detour two days ago to come alongside in Djibouti, Africa to embark more food supplies, as all our stores we took on in Goa, India were either contaminated or turned (I’ll write about India soon). It was exciting to leave the ship and stand on Africa soil, even if we were really only standing on a concrete jetty. The piers were skirted by concrete sea retaining walls that over time sailors have painted murals to leave their mark. Many ships were represented from all over the world – we even took the opportunity to claim our own piece of real estate painting a large Canadian flag with a Griffin replacing the maple leaf. The magnitude of our endeavor was felt though, when we spotted the graffiti of the USS Cole. She laid that eternal mark a few weeks before the bombs tore Her hull apart in Yemen, 12 October 2000. It is things like this that keep us safe. They serve as reminders of the true nature of this sail and speak loudly to those who might become complacent. For me, it invokes a promise that I make with my soul to strive to live each day to its fullest and take no thing, no matter how insignificant it may seem, for granted.May you all take the time this Remembrance Day to ponder those who are serving abroad for a global healing. Please remember that they are not heroes or extraordinary… they are simply men and women like you. We all can have an impact on this world, whether our actions are televised or not.

I've gone global!!

Ok, well maybe not exactly "global" but I have been informed that my reading audience is growing. Thank you to all who have been reading and enjoying my entries, your approval acts as a great motivator in writing more. Please don't be shy to leave your comments - I might even be able to reply to you, time permitting :) I am thrilled to hear that people onboard ship have taken the time to read my ramblings and have even passed the site on to friends and family. To those of you, like MS Stewart's Dad, a sailor to the fullest degree (he operates a tug out on the East Coast, where the seas are a bit rougher), I have been encouraging my fellow Stokers to start their own Blogs to keep in touch with loved ones. But until they go for it, I'll try to pass on their antics and well wishes as I experience them. Please stay tuned for my recap on Goa, India and (hopefully) some photos too. Love and Miss you all!

"My Chance To Shine"

I was given an opportunity to shine. I was lucky enough to be one of 5 people chosen to participate in a VIP Luncheon with the High Commissioner of Canada in New Delhi, Mr. David Malone, and the Canadian Defence Attaché to New Delhi, Col. Garry Reaume. When I was initially asked if I would like to partake in the lunch I hadn’t quite grasped the scope of the invitation. It later became apparent that only 4 other crewmembers were attending besides myself, and I was the only member a part of the junior ranks, the rest being officers and a PO1. This revelation rattled me a tad, as this was no longer seeming to be a mere friendly, social get-together with the well-humored Captain and some dignitaries, but more like a formal, political meeting of the minds. Let’s just say that I was quickly trying to do an inventory of my new “stoker vocabulary” making mental notes of what would be considered inappropriate dinner conversation, and which one was the salad fork again? Well, Mom and Dad, managed to instill in me all the necessary etiquette and dinner conversation skills for such an occasion, so I managed to calm my nerves to tackle the challenge head on – or maybe it was the glass of sherry the Captain offered me. Regardless, I was engaging both guests in spirited discussion and eating my shrimp cocktail with the best of them. The only disappointment came from the afternoon being too short for my liking. I had so many questions for these two gentlemen regarding everything from what was New Delhi like to how did you get into this line of work and likewise, how can I get into this line of work. Not to mention I became a captive audience once Garry mentioned he had spent a posting in Australia. I was unable to probe him for more information though, as David was one for the gab and continued to spur the conversation on to new topics. The food was by far the best I have yet experienced onboard, confirming my long suspicions that the officers are eating from their own menu. We were served a beautifully arranged shrimp cocktail after our Sherry. The main course was maple glazed salmon with rice pilaf and mixed fresh, steamed vegetables enjoyed with a chilled white wine. Our sweet tooth was then satisfied with cheesecake, minus the crust, drizzled with strawberry puree and sliced kiwi fruit and strawberries for garnish. Then came the fresh brewed coffee to cleanse the palates. The conversation was just as rich, providing morsels of Indian facts. For example I was amazed to learn that 75% of India’s population makes less than $2.00 per day, and yet the country is involved in supplying upwards of a billion dollars in relief funding to help rebuild Afghanistan’s infrastructure. I also managed to find out more information regarding the hotel I had booked to stay at for a night while in Goa, as both dignitaries were staying there as well. I was assured that I would enjoy it immensely and should I ever be traveling to India in the future, to look them up to enjoy their hospitality. It was a wonderful experience, one which I feel very privileged to have attended. I was truly humbled to hear from the Chief that I was a “natural choice, as you are so personable and seemed to really enjoy the last cocktail party. Think about the Blog entry you’ll get out of this one!”