We find the mythical southern Continent!

The distance a harbor pilot must travel onboard a ship depends on the difficulty of navigating the coastal waters. Approaching Brisbane, we inherit a very friendly pilot hours out because of the thrillingly complicated network of reefs and atolls. We soon find out that Aussie generosity is not a myth. Just before leaving the ship at noon, Graham the pilot tells us that he will return at 4 pm to start us on our way into the city. Sure enough he drives us from the shipyard to an ATM and then the railway station, buys(!) our tickets, and sends us off with advice for destinations in Brisbane.


Christmas celebrations are in full swing downtown, culminating in a spectacular fireworks show on the river. Even more stunning, at dusk as we wait for our dinner at an open-air restaurant, we look up to see a tremendous flock of large birds flying overhead. As we watch we realize that those birds are in reality hundreds of huge bats!

By the next morning we’re out at sea again, heading for Sydney. On Christmas Eve there’s quite a party with the officers and crew. A couple of jolly Japanese technicians who had boarded in Brisbane to fix an electronic malfunction sing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in Japanese!

We arrive in Sydney on Christmas Day. The entire dock is closed. Art and I leave to find a hotel for Christmas week – a tall order. We luck out, and the following day we bid a very nostalgic farewell to Captain and crew.


We spend a week exploring the city: the famous Sydney Opera House, the historic Harbour Bridge, the Royal Botanic Gardens, museums, docks, ferries, etc. On New Year's Eve we find ourselves in the biggest crush of people you can imagine for the wild fireworks show at midnight.


Other tidbits that impress us:

1. A substantial number of tourists having been knocked off in this
drive-on-the-left nation, all intersections provide a helpful hint on which way to look when crossing.

2. We are thrilled to find a large grocery store underground at the train station.

3. Most toilets offer a choice of flushes (half or full). What a concept! Why aren’t these standard in the US? 4. There are always buskers (street performers) on Circular Quay (Surprise– I’ve lost those photos).

5. Public restrooms are everywhere (again, why not in the US?) Also, in preparation for New Year’s Eve, hundreds of vault toilets are set up, but playing a practical joke on the desperate, they’re padlocked shut till the big day!

Pacific Islands

Whoa, already we’re destroying any reputation to which we may possibly aspire. Time and adventure march on, and we have left you in terrific suspense.


In mid-December our ship docks in the French islands of Tahiti and then New Caledonia. Volcanic in origin, these islands jut abruptly upwards at startling angles and in improbable shapes and spires, all swaddled in lush, verdant green. And it’s hot! We cover the islands as much as we can by foot and tiny rental car powered by chipmunks. Two young men are hitchhiking, so we pick them up and fold them into the back seat. When we greet them in English they look panic-stricken but quickly recover. They speak a little English, et nous parlons un peu de Francais, so we limp along fine.

We walk and sweat till we’re ready to drop and then return to the ship to catch some of the unloading/loading show. In Tahiti our ship is taking on 490 containers: 10 full and 480 empty! Similar in New Cal. Not too much is produced here. Pairs of dockworkers in bright yellow vests risk their lives clambering around, guiding the multi-storied containers into position by pushing, pulling, and gesturing to the crane operators. It’s a less streamlined process than at our other stops; they need two full days to unload and load. It’s well past dark by the time they finish and we chug away.

A few days later we cross the International Date Line, leaping effortlessly from Sunday straight to Tuesday. Now everything happens to us on a day you haven’t had yet!

Initiation to the Southern Hemisphere

12/5/06

Hey, I thought hazing was illegal!! Well, guess not. We first-time equator crossers—three passengers and five crew members—are roped together and marched to a large open deck at the bow of the ship. There a “doctor” examines us with his all-purpose toilet plunger stethoscope (dipped in heavy fuel oil for crew members), Blackbeard shaves us using grease and his pirate knife, and we are sprayed down with sea water from the fire hose—to the delight all aboard. Witnesses are King Neptune himself and several other unidentifiable characters. At least, we aren’t keel hauled!


After the ceremony and a brief but certainly dignified speech by the captain a festive barbecue awaited us. On the fantail of the ship two large cooking-fires blaze next to a sign that reads “No smoking, dangerous cargo on board.” The drinks and wine preceding the food erase all concerns. While the captain welcomes us as “able seamen,” he assures us we still aren’t on the payroll.

We are roughly halfway through our 10 days of open water before our next port, Tahiti. There is no way to understand the vastness of this ocean other than experiencing it, day after day, water in all directions. Imagine the early sailing vessels, dependent upon the wind, in deep – uh – water if it didn’t blow, deeper if a typhoon swept through. The sea gods grace us with sightings of dolphins, flocks of flying fish, and even a couple of whales breeching and carrying on as if they have no responsibilities.

Where the Atlantic and the Pacific meet

Dec. 1, 2006

After two days at sea out of Savannah, Georgia we arrive at Manzanillo, the eastern end of the legendary Panama Canal. Not scheduled to enter the canal until the next morning, we spend a crack-the-whip night at the end of an anchor chain in the Caribbean. By six a.m. we are motoring back through the breakwater, heading for the canal.

The US, under the blustery leadership of Teddy Roosevelt, completed the Panama Canal in the early 1900s after the French had failed in two previous building attempts in the late 1800s. What were the French thinking when they hired the confident hero-canal-builder of the Suez? The Suez is not much more than a long trench in the sand. Here in Panama there’s an 85-foot rise in elevation at one end and a similar drop at the other end, plus nearly 50 miles of jungles, mountains, bugs, crocodiles, yellow fever and much, much more to challenge the imagination.

Our history lesson on the canal comes from one the two pilots who guide us through. Winston, a native Panamanian, is named after his father who had been named for Winston Churchill! He’s a wildly enthusiastic encyclopedia, and all topics are instantly available for exposition. In case we think he’s not paying attention to his job, in the middle of a story he suddenly calls to the helmsman, “10 degrees starboard” and then finishes his sentence without breaking stride. By the time he leaves the ship we are out of breath and glad about it.

The ships that pass though here are immense, making our own freighter seem modestly proportioned. Panamax ships are built to the maximum size that will fit in the locks. They have only one foot on either side. We’re pretty sure there’s only space for about a quart of water in the lock after these behemoths squeeze in. We rise three levels at one end of the canal and drop three down at the other.

After about 12 hours, we emerge on the Pacific side at Panama City and head into the open ocean. Our next stop is Tahiti in 10 or 11 days. We’ll have plenty of time to read, relax and gab with the crew.