Stark Naked

It was bound to happen before the trip ended and today was it. My ever-docile, kind-hearted, meek ship stewart, James is his name, walked in on me! James is a sweetie too. He cleans my cabin, makes my bed, restocks my towels, all while I'm in Geography Class every morning from 0900-1100. He speaks very little English other than the word "I'm sorry". For the past 6 days all clocks onboard have been set ahead by one hour at midnight so as to reach South Africa at the right time. Before going to bed last night I completely forgot to do this - hence missing my class. I jumped in the shower late, closed my bathroom door behind me and started lathering up. James, not hearing the shower water running, entered my room and started cleaning. My shower ended and I popped over to the sink to brush my teeth. Suddenly, the door opens and there I am - toothpaste dripping down my chin, blind from not yet putting in my contacts, dripping wet and Stark Naked from head to toe. James screams. I scream. The door slams. James runs from the room screaming "oh, I sorry Sony, I sorry, I sorry, I sorry, oh..... Yes, these are inevietably the dangers of close-quarter living but not to be taken too seriously. I collapse in laughter, having swallowed half my toothpaste during the scream. "James", I tell him after I dress, "Your the luckiest man on this ship today!". He smiles sheepishly and gives me a wink. Hhmmm, "like hell he didn't hear my water running!" I think to myself...

Neptune Day

Officially, the MV Explorer crossed the Equator on Sept.11th. Captain Jeremy, however, decided to wait until this past Monday for initiation to commence. And what an initiation it was! At 0800, the kitchen crew grabbed their pots, pans, whistles and woks and the banging crescendo began. Up and down each deck they paraded with Head Chef Gino leading the charge. Slamming on cabin doors, marching to the beat of their own cookware, dressed in crazy white aprons adored with ribbons and bows. "WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP!" Half-dressed disgruntled students, dazed and confused, stumble out of bed onto Deck 7. "What is this...the army?!" an angry pollywog yells. Captain Jeremy, head to toe in green paint, a crown upon his head, is holding a staff that declares himself King Neptune or Sargeant Neptune and tells the lot to "LINE UP YOU POLLYWOGS!". We do as we're told. One by one we step into a wading pool as trash cans filled with fresh fish guts and putrid spoiled milk is poured over our heads. "NOW JUMP!." Into the cold pool we go to wash off the yuck. It's not over yet though. Before we get out of the pool we have to repeat an oath of the sea and kiss a smelly fish. I think it was salmon. Finally, we bow to King Neptune, bade our forever loyalties, and kiss his huge gem of a ring on his middle finger. "Is it over?" you ask. Not quite. Lastly, we all get our hair cut off, even the girls! Did I do it? Hmmm, you'll have to wait until I can send pictures to find out!

Water, Water, Everywhere!

"There she blows!" students scream while dining outside on deck 6. I drop my spoonful of cereal flakes and dash out the door. What looks to be a Humpback whale hurls itself out of the water and straight into the air. Down she lands on her back - BOOM - just like a scene out of a wildlife film. She's beautiful, alone and anxious to show off for 8 early risers. I'm worried that in the precious time it takes to grab my camera I'll miss seeing her with my naked eye so I take in the show instead. The MV Explorer is running at 14 knots, slow enough for her to keep up but she likes to flirt on her own turf. Sommersaults, acrobatics and other happy marine behavior. In a blink of an eye, she's just a dot in the distance and a memory to cherish. The next morning I'm armed and ready. Several rainbows appear, fully visible to a camera lens, distinguishing colors of the entire prism. A gift from the heavens! I capture enough footage to make for a beautiful montage. Today's National Geographic moment came in the form of calm seas. At a latitude of 25 degrees - 44 minutes South, Longitude 013 degrees - 18 minutes west, dead center in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, a sheet of glass. Finally, a day of respite from bouncing off walls! Nautical miles to go before South Africa, 1,721.

Instruments for Change

Crossing the Atlantic has never been safer after several extremely special guests arrived to sail with us to South Africa today. First up, Excelsior Dr. Archbishop Desmont Tutu. The Archbishop last sailed with Semester at Sea in 1992. His presence is instrumental in preparing and addressing the needs of the people of Cape Town. Second up, a federal funded camera crew for NOAA or National Oceanic Atmospheric Agency. NOAA will be strategically placing several hundred instrument-measuring devices in the Atlantic during our voyage. Both parties are making headlines around the world, especially here in Brazil. The media hounded the airport for a glimpse of the Archbishop and then later the pier where we docked. My news gathering instincts promptly kicked in but Desi has already surreptitiously boarded hours earlier. No matter, I have him all to myself for the next 8 days as we cross the Atlantic, along with a premier weather experiment that my former CBS Meteorologist would die for. I smell another Weather Doc Emmy Mr. LaPointe...

Global Garage Sailing

"I think I'll wait till Vietnam to buy my silk shirts...I hear that South Africa sells the best ginger...I'm can't wait till China to buy my tea." "Are you girls listening to yourselves!" I blurt out during lunch today from a grass-roof hut off the coast of Brazil. "You're all deciding where to do your shopping based on countries!" Everyone erupts into laughter. Today was spent at Praia Do Forte at a marine turtle research and preservation sanctuary. Set up in 1980, it's now a national nesting center funded by the World Wildlife Fund. We saw dozens of Brazilian sea turtles in protected hatcheries and if we could have waited until midnight, the turtles would have returned to the ocean along a pristine coastline nicknamed "The Coconut Highway". Instead it's us who return to the ocean after devouring platefuls of fried plantain and finalizing our grocery list. The waves are the perfect height for body surfing and the temps are like bath water. Trying to make it to shore though is a chore. The under-toe keeps sweeping me back crashing sand and seaweed down my suit. No photos to upload due to time slow connection speeds but consider that a good thing. Nobody looks good drowning in surf.

A Troubled Giant

“ But, why should I pay a fee to shoot this dance performance when those tiny DV cameras the students are using is fine?"” I demand. "“You pay 20, you pay 20" is all the restaurant owner can come up with. Yes, even in Brazil, my misrepresented professional camera arouses suspicion and dirty looks. Clearly, this is going to be an ongoing setback so today's visit to a tobacco and sugar plantation, I came loaded with 2 of everything. 2 camera’s, 1 big, 1 small, 2 tripods, 1 big, 1 small, 2 tapes, 1 beta, 1 DV, etc... I'm not taking any chances not knowing Spanish or Portuguese. We're on our way to a town called Cachoeira, located in the heart of the oldest farmland in Brazil. There are 80 of us onboard 2 luxury liner buses attracting attention from hundreds of squatters walking along the dusty roads. "Watch out, a donkey on the loose!" I scream. The driver brakes hard and swerves to the right to avoid the stray animal. His master is running from behind hoping to catch his only possession. "“Look out, a runaway car!"” I follow up with. The old jalapee, for whatever reason, is right side up until 5 guys tip it back on its wheels and it takes off down a hill. "“Holy God, it'’s a fire!"” I screech. "“Not to worry” says our tour guide, “"Brazil'’s terrain is quite wet, it should be out in no time, probably just a cigarette butt from a passing car." Needless to say, this adventure is not without it'’s share of perils. The rapidly developing shanty settlements made of tin, wood and cardboard are most unsettling though. Progress has been made to improve the quality of life for these 15,000 people but clearly there's a reason this country is called "A Troubled Giant"”.

Bahia, Brazil

Who needs an alarm clock when four ship anchors do just as well. The nosy clamoring of two mammoth size anchors shot through my cabin at 5:45 this morning. I jumped from my bunk, grabbed my gear and sprang into action. Sure enough, there she was in all her glory, San Salvador or Bahia, Brazil in the distance. Before docking, the ship had to be cleared by immigration. Several inspectors boarded and checked all 750 passports while students were left chomping at the bit to get off. Brazil is the 5th most populous nation in the world and one of the richest in terms of natural resources. The gap between rich and poor is just as wide as it is in Venezuela. My first plan of attack included a walking tour of historic Salvador. Beauty and splendor prevails in the grand architecture but the begging and hocking of goods and wears by professional scam artists ruins the appeal. A desperate women with a pillow obviously stuffed under her shirt begged me for several minutes to buy a necklace to help feed her unborn child. Children learn to juggle in the streets between red lights, requesting reals (Brazilian currency) from drivers before they speed off. A vast shanty town or favela in Rocinha is the largest and most renowned in the world with a population of 150,000. Our bus tour was welcome there today but that's because the resident drug lord was in a good mood. Entrenched interests and corruption plaque this area but you can't tell from the photos I took today. 95 barefooted youths were overjoyed to carry my tripod and learn a little English. Their school was made up of 25 dilapitated desks, a small chalkboard and stacks of overused out-of-print books. We came bearing pens and paper and they seized them like scavengers. A pencil is a rare treat in this part of the world so you can imagine how difficult it was coming back to a laptop to blog tonight.

Separating Boys from Men

Tradition has it that crossing the Equator is a time to celebrate and inaugurate first timers, or pollywogs. Yesterday the MV Explorer crossed the invisible divide at 17:00 hrs and celebrate it did. The crew prepared a smorgasbord of greasy foods, pizza, hotdogs and burgers followed by a 30 foot table of desserts. Inauguration included treating your mop like blade of grass and mowing it all off, or simply sleeping under the stars. Sporting a Buddhist-look is brave and admirable but most girls agreed, it would be more borderline torture and haunt them for the rest of the trip. So instead, several of us gave up our comfortable mattresses and headed to Deck 7 for the night. 15 strong contestants stuck through past midnight but by 4:00 am there were only two survivors - yours truly and a Residence Director. Mother Nature was a bona-fide monster last night too. She kicked up the bottom half of everyone's sleeping bags, waving them in the air like a flag. Her seas were rough, unforgiving, and deafening at times. The ship's uncomfortable lounge chairs and intrusive deck lighting proved too much for most but not me. I wrapped myself up, tight as a cocoon, and drifted in and out of a state of pure reflection. I'm further away from home than I've ever been, watching clouds drift past a familiar moon, spotting a dolphin or two race the ship and surrounded by new friends How lucky I am? How lucky am I?

Kareoke Challenged

Work is perceived in Latin America as a necessary evil while leisure is a perfectly rationale goal. "Otium" is the word used to emphasis relaxation or well-employed leisure. With still 3 days left before we arrive in San Salvador, Brazil, a bunch of us decided to make use of "Otium" last night. The official Kareoke party kicked off in my teeny-weeny cabin with apertiff's for all. In Venezuela I bought a bottle of authentic chocolate apricot wine. I thought I might be able to save it until I got home. Was I ever sorrily mistaken. With a ship of 75% women who smell chocolate drifting from 7 decks above, saving anything sweet is challenge. And so the singing began. Jason did a great rendition of the B-52's, Katie had the voice of songbird, Amy's vocals could crack glass, all the while Rico, the native Brazilian, performed a downright hilarious tribal dance. The comedy reminded me of one of those clown cars at the circus -- revelers squeezing their way in to break a world record, The ship was rocking out of control and we bonded in song and dance and bitter sweet cacao. We coined ourselves the "Dead Sea" when we first arrived but Kareoke proved we still had some life in us. Suddenly someone yells "Oh No - there's the Security Officer! Turn down the machine! " The Amazonian-size women with a thick German accent and a scowl on her puss came charging into my cabin. "Vat are you people doing? You cauz too much commotion!" she barked. We had become the students! Our faces dropped as we scrambled to understand this double standard. They can party till dawn but, us, the hard-working adult staff, are told to break it up? What's wrong with this picture? Next time we'll invite her to the party with plenty of chocolate to spare.

Angel Falls, Venezuela

Angel Falls equals 20 Niagara's piled one on top of another. It's named after a maverick bush pilot who crashed his plane looking for gold in the Andes Mountains. After a short siesta onboard a prop plane I awake to this 8th wonder of the world surrounded by island shaped mountains kissing the clouds. These are tepuys or flat table-top plateau formations jutting upward; a rock-climbers paradise. My pilot dips to the far left to allow for a better shot of Angel Falls and it's 3200 foot vertical plunge. Having the vantage point of a bird is much safer than trekking through dense rain-forest rife with malaria-carrying mosquitoes. We land in the exclusive Canaima National Park and stay for the night at a eco-tourism camp called Waku Lodge. The 15 thatch-roofed charuatas or resort cabins offer a stunning view of El Hatcha and Sapo waterfalls. Howler monkeys and toucans, wild pink orchids, a tea-colored lagoon, colorful locals, waterfalls with hikes underneath, this is a videographers dream-come-true! Then suddenly reality shatters euphoria and my professional betacam is confiscated for the next 24 hours. I try to reason with them but no amount of logic or tears could stop the authorities from thinking I was a threat to their pristine environs. For many years they've forbidden commercial use of video for fear of exploitation. They think that because my camera is heavier and larger there's a difference between the students mini DV's and my Beta SP's. The language barrier is too thick to resolve the matter and I give up. I sign away rights to my baby as they put her in an undisclosed location for the next 24 hours. Never would this happen in the U.S. - confiscation of tapes sure, but an entire camera, no way. But hey, it's a challenge that doesn't deter me from seeking out a students camera and continuing my job. 19-year old Adam gladly volunteers up his parents JVS and I'm back in business!