I used to think of myself as a writer. I enjoyed writing these blog posts. And others told me how much they enjoyed reading them. Especially when it was leading up to and into my fabulous world travels. Why did I stop? I can't exactly say, though there were many personal reasons. None of them truly valid, I'm afraid to say. As with anything in life, if it is a true passion, it warrants diligence. In my case, though, somehow I lost the passion. Not a good excuse. Sometimes the hardest things in life are the ones that require the most effort. So, here I am, sitting down to my computer to bang out words on a screen and see if I can get the spark back. So much has transpired since my last blog. Travels around the world have taken a hiatus... for now. This last year, however, has not been without some adventures. I've realized that the best way to share is sometimes through photos, so let me go back through my files and see what I can share. Oh, there is so much to share, but I went back to the beginning of last year (2017). As I scrolled through my photos, going back too far into the fall of 2016, I realized there were so many postings from all my different ports of call that I still have yet to touch upon. They are each and every one their own story, to be saved for another time (be it visiting Kalambaca, Greece at the base of the monasteries of Meteora; walking the streets of Rome, Firenza (Florence), and Pisa in Italy; staying in Palma on Majorca, one of the Balearic Islands off the coast of Spain; admiring the majesty of Montserrat; trekking on camels in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco outside Marrakesh; visiting small tribal villages in Senegal; experiencing the grandeur of Iguazu Falls from the Brazilian side; sleeping on hammocks on a river boat in the rain forests of the Amazon; helping Habitat for Humanity in Trinidad; sailing through the Panama Canal; seeing the Sacred Valley and the sacredness of Machu Picchu in Peru; hiking up over 13,500 feet to the top of Pachatata on Amantani Island in Lake Titicaca; living amidst the wildlife of the Galapagos Islands; or helping sea turtles give birth on Ostional Beach in Costa Rica.
Whew! So many potential future blog postings. And just summarizing them has taken up all the space of this current blog... Haha. Just kidding. So, back to the above photos... My sister, Diana, and I hiked around on the Golden Gate Bridge and up in the Marin Headlands in January. Hiking to me is one of the best activities for freeing up the mind to focus on the moment and commune with nature. Has anybody ever come back from a hike and thought, "oh my, that was such a waste of time." Nobody to my knowledge. Perhaps that's one reason why I love travel so much - with travel, one is constantly hiking/walking around places. Places filled with newness and wonder for what comes next around this street corner or that twist in the path. The word exploring comes to mind. Humans are born to explore.
Nothing is impermanent when it is captured electronically. Think about Snapchat with the "dissolving" photos that teens would send one another. Thinking they are gone from permanent record 6 seconds later, many people found out that the nude selfie they snapped was later found somewhere on the web. Safe sexting? There's no such thing. And, so it was, that after we were back on the bus, I pulled up my albums folder on my iPhone to see "Recently Deleted Photos," and there were the pictures I had snapped. Perhaps I could find the woman who demanded I delete my photos in one of the paintings on the wall. Meteora is an incredibly magical place. Six Eastern Orthodox monasteries are built atop these stone pillars that jut upright out of the countryside in central Greece, above the town of Kalambaka. Apparently, caves within the area were inhabited continuously between 50,000 and 5,000 years ago. Monks came to occupy these caverns as early as the 11th century, but monasteries weren't built until the 14th century. According to Wikipedia, "The cave of Theopetra is located 4 kilometers from Kalambaka. Its uniqueness from an archeological perspective is that a single site contains records of two greatly significant cultural transformations: the replacement of Neanderthals by modern humans and later, the transition from hunting-gathering to farming after the end of the last Ice Age." To me, this is remarkable when thinking about the history of humanity on our planet Earth.
We had traveled by bus from Athens to Kalambaka - almost a full day's journey. But well worth the trip. Perhaps most interesting was the enormity of the wine casks that the monks would use for the fermentation of their spirits. Spirits for the spiritual. Music blaring over the loudspeaker. Complete disorientation. Where am I? What time is it? I'm in my cabin. It's 7:15 AM. Oh no, I forgot to set an alarm. I jump out of bed to throw back the curtains, on the morning of the last day on the World Odyssey. Have we already docked? Yes, we have. Darn (or perhaps some other profanity uttered at this moment). I missed being up on deck for our last port - San Diego, in the United States of America! How could that have happened? I awoke early for the ship coming into every other port on our trip - Piraeus, Greece; Civitavecchia, Italy; Livorno, Italy; Barcelona, Spain; Casablanca, Morocco; Dakar, Senegal; Salvador de Bahia, Brazil; Port of Spain, Trinidad & Tobago; Callou, Peru; Guayaquil, Ecuador; and Puntarenas, Costa Rica. That's right. 11 different ports in 10 countries. And, of course, I was often up on deck for our departures, too. It's so much fun watching all the activity, especially coming into a port just as the sun is rising, with the pilot jumping from the pilot boat to our ship and the movement of all the lines to get us secured on the dock. Yet, here in San Diego, it was raining. Perhaps no wonder I was sleeping. Tears from the sky, much like the tears in all our eyes for the ending of such an amazing voyage. Being in the tropics for many of our ports, the weather was often warm and sunny. Here it was cold and raining. Welcome back to the United States (I've learned not to say America since there are actually many countries within all the Americas - North, Central, and South - that it's a little bit imperious to say "America" as if the United States is the only American country that matters). Very befitting to miss us docking in the last port. Probably just as well. I didn't want to face the cold hard reality that the trip was over. I might have been an emotional wreck up on deck. Yes, in fact, I know I would have been an emotional wreck. Ever since my second open-heart surgery (another story for another day), I often get teary-eyed at the least possible thing (just like John Boehner). It can be from a sappy, romantic movie; watching two young lovers show their affection for each other; hearing some person's sad news about family; etc. It doesn't take much. Is it just that I'm more compassionate towards humanity these days? Perhaps. I don't know. After such a voyage, I know I am more compassionate about humanity. But the heart is a very strange muscle, and how it may have been affected by my surgery of almost ten years ago is a mystery. As it was, getting off the ship that day was very emotional anyway, and there were many times I just wanted to burst into tears. Just like the last few days before coming in to San Diego. Funny how it started raining a few days out. Just like the cloud of gloom hanging over everybody's emotions on the ship. I decided I might as well throw on some clothes and go for a walk around the ship. I missed breakfast since that was served from 5:30 - 7 AM. It was very early because of docking back in the United States and having to clear customs and all that. And, the crew had to prepare for the public healthcare inspection that would take place. Too bad I had decided to stay up late on our last night with a few other lifelong learners and a resident director in the Fritz Pub until almost 3 in the morning. No wonder I was in a deep sleep when the music came over the loudspeaker. "I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be..." Well, hello. Look. Here's somebody who came to greet the ship in our last port. Supposedly, there is no such bird as a sea gull. This was a new one to me. 56 years on this planet, living close to oceans on both coasts, I never knew that you shouldn't call them sea gulls, just gulls. This gull let me come within about two feet from him, allowing me to snap his photo. It reminded me of the wildlife in the Galapagos - how close we were able to get to sea lions, iguanas, birds (like the blue-footed booby - yes, indeed, one of my new favorite birds for how fun it is just to say the name), all kinds of marine life, etc. I guess this gull was used to cruise boats in the harbor. Perhaps the biggest "hard landing" coming back to the States was departing the ship, leaving behind so many good friendships that had developed over the last 100+ days. It was a bit of mayhem that day. Just waiting for the ship to clear. When word finally came over the loudspeaker, "the ship is now clear," everybody erupted into cheers. Many students had parents waiting at the end of the dock and they were anxious to see them and share all their stories. One of my friends, fellow lifelong learner John Shaw, had purchased "first off the ship" at Auction Night for $135. I was on the seventh deck by the forward stairwell, which had a view down to the fifth floor reception area where the gangway was located. Of course, nobody could get off the ship until John made his way off. An announcement then came over the loudspeaker, "John Shaw, please make your way to the fifth deck to disembark the ship." Crowds of people were huddled around the stairs, probably all the way up to the ninth deck, down to the fifth deck. Then, all of a sudden, a commotion arose with people applauding and cheering and saying John's name. He was slowly making his way down the stairs from above, passing us on the seventh deck, winding his way down to five. All the while, people kept cheering and chanting, "John Shaw, John Shaw, John Shaw." I never saw him again after I got off the ship. He told me later how this was all part of a plan - "make yourself memorable" - and sure enough, the memory of him descending the stairs, wearing a black fedora on his head, with people cheering and calling his name, will forever be seared in my memory. My flight wasn't until 5 PM and one of the other lifelong learners had invited me to have lunch with her at her hotel, where I could store my bags. I couldn't find her after we got of the ship. The process was surprisingly simple - the faculty, staff, and lifelong learners were part of the second group disembarking. Our bags had been sorted and stored in the big warehouse beside the World Odyssey. After I found my two bags, I made my way down to the end of the dock. I passed through security and saw various folks milling about, parents and friends greeting students with signs, and other adult passengers waiting for their rides. I was back on US soil, through customs and off the ship for good all before 11:30 in the morning! That was too fast. After all, I had only awakened 4 hours before. I decided I might as well just head to the airport and see if I could catch an earlier flight. After all, I was anxious to get home to see my loved ones, too. I made my final goodbyes with the few folks around and found a taxi that would take me with all my bags the short distance to the airport. I noticed the driver didn't put on the meter, but that didn't seem to bother me. He was chatting it up - in English! - the whole way to the airport. And when I got there, he helped me get my bags out. I asked him how much, and he said $20. I didn't complain. It had taken us extra time due to traffic, and he was nice. I handed him a $20 bill, figuring the tip was already included since I knew he was slightly overcharging me for the ride as it was. Besides, I didn't want to have to dig out any singles either. Much easier to hand him that one bill. All was good. I was in the country where traveling didn't present the same sort of challenges from the places I had been over the last 104 days. Since this was the "trip of a life-time," I decided early on to do it up right. After all, it was one of my dad's favorite sayings that, "it only costs a little more to travel first class." I found this to be true, booking a ticket about 6 months in advance, only from San Diego to San Francisco. Thus, I had my first-class ticket working for me. I walked up to the counter and talked with the agent about being on the 5 o'clock flight, but wondering if there was a possibility to get me out sooner. Perhaps the look in my eye told her how much I would love to be able to get home earlier. After all, it was December 22nd, and the holidays were upon us soon. She checked, with a lot of typing on the computer, and then told me she was able to get me on the 3:10 flight, and that she could get me on standby for the 1:25 flight, if I didn't mind not being in first class. Wouldn't that be great!?! That was fine by me, if I could get home several hours earlier. I checked my two heavy bags and proceeded through security. Everything seemed so much easier here in the States. After security, I found a sandwich shop, grabbed some lunch and walked out to gate 41 to see if I was lucky enough to have my name called for the 1:25 flight. There was a lot of commotion around the gate, with lots of people milling around. It appeared it would be a full flight. I didn't hold up too much hope. After all, I was already booked on an earlier flight at 3:10. This 1:25 flight was running a little late but then they started boarding everybody. After almost all the passengers had boarded, they made the announcement that all the overhead luggage was full and they would need to check any bags that didn't fit under the seat in front. This was probably just as well since I had a large back-pack. But, I was still waiting to hear if they called my name. I decided to pull my computer out and put it in a smaller bag I had with me, along with other stuff that I didn't want checked, in case I made this flight. As I was doing this, all of the sudden I heard my name called. Sure enough, they had gotten me on. I knew I wasn't going to be in first class but I just hoped I didn't have a middle seat - even though it's a short flight. I took my back-pack off for them to ticket it and then I checked in and proceeded to board the flight. At the end of the gangway were all the other bags that had been gate-checked, ready to be loaded on the plane. I left my bag with them and proceeded to get on the aircraft. As I looked at the rows, I realized I was in the first row behind first class on this A320 plane, which meant I had extra leg room plus there was still the ability to put my bag under the seat in front. And, I had the window seat! As soon as I settled in, I suddenly noticed that my leather wristband was missing. I was sad for a moment as I reflected on all the places this had been with me - starting at Burning Man in Black Rock City, Nevada. From there, it went to all those various countries around the world I had visited. I realized there was no way to get it back. I was on the plane and could not get off. Clearly it had fallen off my wrist when I had either taken my back-pack off, or put it on again... or when I took my back-pack off again. Some lucky soul would find this band on the floor, somewhere either near the gate or on the gangway. They would have no clue where it had been (such as piloting a boat off the island of Capri, as in this picture). It was a relic I had hoped to keep as a memory of my journey. Its absence was not a big deal in the overall scheme of things. Like my children would say, "first world problem." I actually chuckled a little and thought to myself, how appropriate. Welcome back to the States. The trip is now officially over! Except that it wasn't completely. The view out my window was amazing and I spent the whole plane ride looking out the window and reflecting on everything that had happened over the last 3 1/2 months. As we took off, we climbed above the clouds and eventually wound our way up the coast, getting ahead of the storm system that had caused all the rain the last few days. The channel islands were vivid off the coast. As was the basin of Monterey Bay. The Pacific Ocean seemed so calm and serene. I took a couple (more!) pictures. Despite not having my leather wrist-band, I knew nobody could take away all that I had experienced on this voyage. And what a joyous ending to see the coastline of my home state of California with the Pacific Ocean stretching off as far as the eye could see to the horizon.
I'm back. Back in the United States; back in the San Francisco Bay Area. Yes, I have been absent for awhile. And where are all my postings from my great world adventures of the last four months? Well, the Internet connectivity was sorely lacking where I was. So, I took lots of notes, and thousands of photos (and if one photo is worth a thousand words, then I have millions of words to share). No, don't worry, I won't data dump everything here, but perhaps it will be interesting to work backwards in sharing my amazing travel adventures as I methodically reflect upon the places I've been and the people I've met. One of my first reactions of readjusting to being back in the United States, and specifically northern California, was verbally expressed to my son when we were driving home, after he picked me up at the airport, "Ahh, back in the land of Tesla's and Beemers..." Actually, I think I said Porsche's instead of Beemers, but it might as well have been any of the high end automobiles that are so prevalent on the road today in the San Francisco Bay Area - Tesla's, Mercedes Benz's, Audi's, BMW's, Porsche's (literally, one cannot drive more than a few blocks in the neighborhood of Burlingame, California without seeing a Tesla Model S, or now their new Model X - and when the company launches their model 3 in another year or two, well Tesla, or more likely Elon, will snicker at seeing the world abundant in S3X). But kudos to Elon Musk - for all that he has done and all that he plans to do. I for one am a huge fan. After all, my daughter did a summer internship for the company in their R&D group in Palo Alto the summer before last, leveraging her materials science engineering degree along with her FSAE, formula car team project work. I hope Mr. Musk achieves all the success that he envisions for humanity, since he truly is one of the Thomas Edison's of our time (or, perhaps more likely, the Nicolas Tesla of our time). And great things can evolve from the "dents in the universe" that he is making (to borrow a phrase from one of the other great geniuses of our time, Steve Jobs, who left this world way too soon). The concentration of wealth, here in the United States of America, broadly, and in the Bay Area, specifically, is not the "real" world we live in. I for one should know after returning from 3 1/2 months abroad, experiencing the cultures of many third world nations in Africa, Central and South America. I've seen varying statistics about what percent of the world's population lives on less than $2 per day but, even if you believe the lower-end numbers provided by the World Bank that almost 11% live in extreme poverty, as defined by $1.90 or less per day, that percentage is still too high. Growing up, my children would often characterize a challenge one of them might face as, "Well, that's a first world problem." So many things in the day-to-day life of the average US citizen can be characterized this way. We often get caught up in issues that, at the end of the day, are rather trivial, especially when put in the context of something like trying to figure out from where one's next meal is coming. Perhaps the hardest part about adjusting back ("re-entry" as some call it) is wanting to ensure that I will be able to maintain that sense of compassion for humanity and not get caught up in little problems that just don't even matter in the bigger scheme of life. As human beings, we all should be concerned about our fellow human beings meeting their very basic needs on Maslow's hierarchy - i.e. at a minimum, meeting their physiological needs: food, water, shelter, and clothing; in addition to their safety needs: security and safety (and probably in the basic needs category falls healthcare). When one is focused on just attaining those very basic human needs, they become fully present in the moment - mindfulness as some call it. The Semester at Sea voyage provided many opportunities to be mindful. That is another concern of mine being back in the "real" world - losing that sense of being present and focused on the here and now. This brings up another related topic of discussion for me. Happiness. What is it? I asked myself that question a lot as I was going through my divorce. I think I know what the absence of happiness is. But what is true happiness? In a 2010 Princeton Study by Daniel Kahneman and Angus Deaton, they determined that, at the national level, making more than $75,000 per year "won't significantly improve your day-to-day happiness." I'm reminded of a quote I saw recently, "People aren't thankful because they are happy, people are happy because they are thankful." In many places around the world, people are quite content with their lives, despite the fact they have so little. I lived this with some of them, being welcome as a guest in their homes. And, you know what, there was a particular calm serenity to the lives they lived. It pervaded into my mood. I was present with their conditions in life, and yet despite the modest means within which they lived, they had food and water on their table, clothes on their backs, a roof over their heads and they simply seemed content (one might almost say happy). What a lesson in life. Be happy with what you have, especially if your basic needs are met. And be thankful for who you have in your life, such as how grateful I am of having Michelle by my side; she was the one making many sacrifices for me and yet was still so supportive of me pursuing all these travels for the last few months. I was aware of the Grateful Dead when in high school in the mid-late 1970's. It wasn't really until the beginning of my freshman year of college in the fall of 1978 that I became enamored with this band's live-jam musical melodies that could put one into an almost hypnotic trance-like state filled with warmth, love, and kindness. And so began my fascination with this band that already had a huge cult following (and still does, despite Jerry Garcia having passed away over twenty years ago on August 9, 1995 - a dark day for many people, including myself). After seeing them perform live the first time at the Providence Civic Center in the dead (pun intended) of winter on January 20, 1979, I was hooked. Here was a band that could go from the beginnings of a seemingly simple song with 3-4 verses out into some cosmic ether of notes and sounds, blending mellifluously, where one wondered how they could ever find their way back to the original song. And sometimes, they didn't. Or not until later in the show. I would love it when they would launch from one song into another in a seamless transition where it was hard to say where the first song ended and the second song began. And then, if they brought it back to the first song sometime later in the set, that was truly magical. I'm not even sure what it means to be considered a dead-head, but that is the descriptive term used to describe fans who are obsessed with the band. Some, indeed, are... truly obsessed. I guess you could call me a dead-head, to some degree. I never really thought of myself as one - just another fan who really loved their music and would "take what it takes" to see the band play live when they were coming through town. I wasn't the kind of dead-head, though, who fanatically followed the band on tour from one city to the next, surviving as best as one can on the road. And, if those folks didn't have enough money to buy a ticket for one of the shows, they would wander around the parking lots with their index finger extended up in the air pleading, "I need a miracle" (one of the Dead's songs). So much has been written about the Dead over the years that I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with all of this. Since this web-site is a journal of sorts of my adventures in life, particularly with upcoming travels on the sea aboard the World Odyssey (hence, world sea traveler), I thought it also can be used to record different, fun, or unusual happenings with life. Life is, after all, a series of happenings strung together. And, just as I was writing this last sentence, sitting in my parents' house on Cape Cod, I looked down on the desk and there was a wooden coaster with the following inscription on it, "Success is to have lived well, laughed often, and loved much." What a great quote - and it makes me realize that it's great to have a way to record, through these postings, of when I have lived well, or laughed often, or loved much (or any combination of all the above together!). Thus it is, back to the Grateful Dead. They have truly inspired hundreds of thousands of people over the course of time. For me, too, probably every time I saw the band, I had a feeling of inspiration and I was living well and laughing often. Therefore, it is fully appropriate to write about them in one of these blogs. It's good for me to have some personal chronicle of the band. Considering the band continued in some form or fashion for over 50 years, there may not be too many more occasions to see them play live. That is why I continue to catch them whenever I can. Fare Thee Well was announced last year - the final tour to see the four remaining members of the Grateful Dead together once again (Phil Lesh, Bob Weir, Mickey Hart, and Bill Kreutzmann). Three shows to be held in Chicago at Soldier's Field over the 4th of July weekend. Well, I just had to go. After all, I had other friends from the Bay Area planning to attend. So, I reached out to my house-mate from senior-year at college who lives in Chicago and asked if he wanted to go. Without a second of hesitation, Andy responded, "Count me in!" And now to get our tickets.... But, then, what's this? More shows are being added the weekend before at Levi's stadium in Santa Clara where the "Santa Clara", er, SF 49ers now play (Isn't this like the NY - or is it NJ? - Giants who play in New Jersey at the Meadowlands, right? At least the SF 49ers are still playing in the same state). Well, Santa Clara is downright close to home. Must go see a show there, too. Similar to a couple of the principles of Burning Man, the effort begins for "radical self reliance" (get tickets to be able to attend, and get ye to the show) and "radical inclusion" (invite friends to attend with you - other 'dead heads' or others who simply might appreciate the experience). My friend, Todd, was able to get tickets to the Chicago shows through mail-order, so he told me I was set for a ticket at least one night over the 4th of July weekend. But I still needed to secure a ticket for me and Andy one of the other nights. Thinking about the shows in Santa Clara, it dawned on me that my place of employment had a box at Levi's stadium and I doubted they had an interest in paying for it and using it either of the nights of the show (not the sort of event that's appropriate for entertaining your financial clients, probably). I contacted the CEO's assistant and asked her if she had heard anything yet about the event for box-owners. She had not, but a few weeks later she forwarded me an e-mail and told me the box was mine for the taking if I wanted to cough up 4 grand and invite along 19 friends to go with me. I think she thought I was nuts for doing so, but I made it a reunion of sorts with various friends from Semester at Sea. I had folks coming in from Walnut Creek (hey, that's a bit of a haul to Santa Clara), Southern California, Texas, Oklahoma, Colorado, and even London, England. We had a blast and what a memorable evening. What has dawned on me as I write this is that I am utilizing the "days between" to do so (another title of a Dead song). Besides being one of the last songs that Jerry Garcia and Robert Hunter collaborated on (the Annotated Dead lyrics web page has this to say about the song: "'Days Between' was the final battlefield where the Dead dared to face the elementary questions of existence, and refused to flinch. It has the same fated, tragic majesty that bears witness to the life force in all truly great art"), days between is also known as the time between the celebration of Jerry Garcia's life with his birthday on August 1st and the anniversary of the day of his death on August 9th. Yes. True. I've been only slowly adding comments to this post each day over the last nine days. I guess this is a harder one since the Dead have meant so much to me in so many different ways over the course of my life (or, at least, the last 37 years) and I'm not even sure of all of what to say. So let's conclude by returning to the photos at the beginning of this posting. They were taken at the two most recent shows of the band... the final two shows of the Dead & Company tour of 2016. Friday night, July 29th, Dead & Company played in Wheatland, California which is about 20 miles north of Sacramento, not far from Yuba City. Out in the middle of the Central Valley sits the Toyota Amphitheater. In the middle of this Godforsaken hell-hole (OK, that was the Hunter Thompson writer in me coming out) it was still 98 degrees at 6 pm. Todd and I discovered we were the only ones who didn't "get the message" that all men were required to wear shorts (yes, we actually wore long pants that night). Having heard tid-bits of shows from earlier in their tour, I knew we were in for a treat. I did not realize how special a treat it really would be. John Mayer played lead guitar for the band and he embraced the role in a fashion that almost seemed like he was channeling Jerry. He brought a certain sense of youthfulness and inspiration to the band. And this was just our warm-up show. How is that? Well, we already had tickets to the final show of the tour at Shoreline Amphitheater on Saturday, July 30th - 5th row, center section. It was on a whim, the week before, when I got an e-mail offering to buy tickets to Friday's show, that I decided to go ahead and do so. Before then, I had no clue Wheatland even existed (I still have to wonder why they decided to play in this place, other than to think it was for folks in Central California (Sacramento/Fresno), Northern California (Redding/Eureka), and Eastern California (Tahoe). Oh, and also for those of us who decided to come from the Bay Area to see an extra show. So, realizing it was only about 2 1/2 hours away, and I could get tickets in the second row of the middle 200's section for just $25 each, I thought, why not? Then on the final night of the tour, we had one of the special VIP packages (Golden Road), which included a VIP parking pass, admission to the Loose Lucy Lounge ahead of the concert, early admission to the event, a catered dinner, a number of memorabilia mementos, and, most importantly, great seating at the show. As I mentioned before, 5th row (Row CC) in the middle section (102), seats 1-4, right on the aisle (see us below enjoying a rocking version of Franklin's Tower to close the first set). These were the best seats I ever experienced to any of their shows... ever! What a treat. And Todd's bubbles floated up to the stage (until one of the roadies came out to tell him "no more bubbles"). Diving requires a special form of communication - using signals by hand. After all, we are underwater and there is not an easy way to communicate verbally. There are various universal signs that are understood around the world - such as the "OK?" sign, holding the thumb and index finger together in a circle (although we were taught before going to Brazil in 1984 that making this gesture in that country has an entirely different meaning on land, and not something pleasant - take note visitors to this year's Olympics). [Just as an aside, speaking of Brazil, why is it that, if it is a host country for a world event such as the Olympics, they make it so difficult to enter their country by requiring a visa stamped in your passport (at least, coming from America)? Of all the ten different countries in Europe, Africa, Central and South America that I will be visiting this fall, Brazil is the only country for which we were required to get a visa, before being permitted to enter the country. This involves time and money - and for the citizens in the Midwest, there were protests at the Brazilian embassy in Chicago earlier this summer, and that was the only facility at which people from that region of the United States could have their visa processed. Go figure.] Anyway, back to diving. Many dive masters have adopted their own signs for marine-life. Suffice it to say, it's like trying to interpret a foreign language when you are underwater if you are not familiar with all the different signals. Take for example the crown-of-thorns sea star, which is indigenous to Australia but now inhabits areas of the Hawaiian archipelago and preys upon coral formations. A simple hand on top of the head with the fingers spread out above will suffice for this. So, some words/phrases are easy to understand. Others, somewhat harder. But the important point about diving is ensuring safety and awareness of surroundings at all times. Here is where various life lessons can apply. To the divers who like to take photos.... Fine, that's cool. There are some amazing photos you might be able to capture underwater. But for some of us other folks who just like to live in the moment, experiencing things as they come and capturing that experience in our own minds, it can be frustrating to dive with people like you. OK, I'm not trying to generalize, but there are some divers who just don't get it! Just like some drivers, on the road.... but that's probably a whole topic for another day. Take, for example, the person who has a selfie stick extended out four feet in front of them with their underwater camera. Do they realize that with such an extension, they really are missing out on things up close and personal in their own worldview? Sticking that camera up close to the coral or marine-life to get just that perfect picture means that the diver is still four feet behind what it is they are actually trying to see. And, importantly, they are extending their "space" within this underwater environment by an extra four feet. Meaning, it is hard for others to get around or near to experience that frog fish, or nudibranch, or eel, in real time... up close. I now understand the rock-star who is frustrated with all the people holding up their cell-phones to record a picture or video of that moment for some future posterity. By the very nature of doing so, they are missing out on that full experience of the event in real time. The photos all attached here were purchased from one of the dive masters who was taking photos on our underwater excursions. I'd much prefer having it this way - enjoying the full experience of the dive in real time and then have something to reflect back upon later. It's like buying the CD of the concert after the show, where you can experience everything in its entirety at the moment, and then later listen to the music again, recorded in high-quality digital, with sound that really rocks in your Bose headphones, many times after. The frog fish pictured on the left above is the one we saw on our second dive off Lanai at a place labeled Knob Hill by Lahaina Divers (not to be confused with the posh section of San Francisco called Nob Hill). Knob Hill is so named for an igneous knob structure pushed up by volcanic activity right around the level of the safety stop at 15 feet. Our dive master was doing his own little happy dance underwater when he came upon this frog fish at a deeper level within this coral formation. He could not wait to share this experience by snapping his tank to make a pinging noise underwater to get the attention of all the others around him, including the other dive group. Christine was actually lucky enough to see the frog fish swimming freely in the ocean before landing on his perch in the coral. So, what are the life lessons learned from diving. Well, really no different from what your mom or dad may have taught you growing up. Sort of the following rules of life that apply in general:
Yesterday, Christine and I took a dive boat out of Lahaina Harbor, with Lahaina Divers, to head over to Molokai where there is a dive-site that often has hammerhead sharks. As we headed out, Captain Elliott advised us about the ride over, describing roughly the following (sourced from Wikipedia): "The Pailolo Channel separates the islands of Molokaʻi and Maui. Although the channel is only about 8.4 miles (13.5 km) at its shortest point, it is one of the windiest and roughest in the Hawaiian Islands. Pailolo translates to "crazy fisherman" referring to the typical sea surface conditions and who would attempt to navigate therein." Very true words. With the chop and the swells and the wind and the current, the boat was bobbing up and down, and side to side, never able to navigate a straight line. Captain Elliott wasn't originally scheduled to be our captain of the boat. Instead, Captain Buzz was the scheduled captain for the trip. In the morning, though, he got stung by a bee while getting the boat prepared for the day. He apparently had been stung many times before but, on this particular occasion, after initially feeling fine, he started feeling itchy all over. The other mates had to force feed him benadryl, which they were later told helped save his life from his body's reaction to the occurrence of anaphylactic shock. So, instead of Captain Buzz, we had Captain Elliott piloting our boat, along with Captain Dave, who was there to assist. As well, there were the two dive-masters, Joe (from Michigan) and Nick (from Florida). Sea-sickness can be just a horrible affliction. There is just not much you can do when feeling nauseous out on the water. You are, after all, stuck on a boat. Fortunately for me (and Christine) neither of us experienced such nausea (although Tine admitted later perhaps a little bit before our first dive), but one of the dive buddies in our group was definitely feeling queasy. And, it didn't help that we were in the second group of divers. He didn't throw up, although he did comment later that it was a scarier thought for him thinking about throwing up under water versus experiencing a hammerhead shark up close. Once under the water, though, the rocking motion and sea-sickness dissipates. Along on the trip was Bob. Bob has been diving for longer than I've been alive, having first started in 1959, a year before I was born. He has been coming on this particular dive every time with Lahaina Divers as a paying customer for the last 6 years (the dive boat goes out to Molokai every Tuesday and Friday, and costs $199 per person, although I'm sure Bob probably pays a kamaaina rate - meaning a "locals" rate). We were told he is the only customer of the dive shop who is invited to their Christmas party. Bob has his own special equipment with a rebreather that allows him to stay under water for up to several hours. He dropped in before the first group went in the water for our first dive, and he came up after the last group was out of the water after our second dive, which included a 45-minute surface interval between dives. So, his total down-time was about 2 1/2 - 3 hours. Bob is from an elite group of divers who would dive to great depths to harvest Black Coral in the Hawaiian Islands. We're talking about descending down a couple hundred feet. When you get below about 170-190 feet, the mixture of the air you are breathing becomes toxic and starts to impact the body in ways not healthy. Yet, somehow, there is this fascination with continuing to dive, often to great depths and for long periods of time. We were told by one of the dive masters that there is a new documentary entitled "Black Coral" and that we could do a search on YouTube for a short clip about it. I've attached the link here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mCgvXdUWZFU So, what happened with our dive? Well, on the first one, we actually ended up seeing about a half dozen hammerheads - not all at the same time, mind you (so a couple may have been the same ones who just had gone out of sight and then came back into view). On the second dive, we only saw one hammerhead, but he was a big one, probably measuring over 6-feet long. There was also a ton of marine wildlife with colorful fish, coral formations, eels, sea-stars (I almost typed star-fish and then recalled the politically correct term these days is sea-stars - yes, political correctness has even taken to the seas), a puffer fish, and even a sizeable barracuda. It's when you get out into the great wide blue, like the picture below, that things start to get a little surreal - just floating along, neutrally buoyant, as if flying like Peter Pan. And, then (out of the blue... haha) there comes along a great big shark with two eyes spread way apart on this unusual appendage at the front of their snout called a cephalofoil. The variety of hammerheads prevalent in Hawaii are called scalloped hammerheads, or sphyrna lewini. The closest any came to us was probably about 25-30 feet, so I never felt uneasy swimming freely in the water with them. I would, however, make sure I looked all around and knew where they were at all times. Whoops. I got caught up in other travels (this time to Maui for a week with my daughter) so I never made the time yesterday to post anything. I'm sure I'll be making up for it in the fall with all the postings of my extraordinary travel adventures. Even then, though, I may not have the ability to post something every single day since there is rather limited wi-fi aboard the ship. I'm told that passengers end up getting into port and go to the nearest Internet cafe to upload (and download, too, I guess) a bunch of stuff before heading off on their excursions within that particular country. While I do want to get in the habit of writing all the time, it's more about quality than quantity at the end of the day. Right? And I hope the photos will be a good log of my journey as well. What am I doing in Hawaii? Well, Christine came out here with a college friend about a week ago and, when her friend left yesterday, I came out to join her. Her friend, Alexandra (Alex), had never been to the Islands, despite being quite worldly, having grown up in Manhattan. Alex wanted to learn how to scuba dive; Christine got certified years ago when I introduced her and her brother to diving. Christine already logged five dives, including a night dive with Alex as Alex's first open-water dive. Diving is something we both look forward to doing this week with our time out here, and we hope to log about the same number of dives as Christine has done already. Being the more adventurous type, Christine would like to do some more advanced dives like a dive with the possibility of seeing hammerhead sharks off Molakai or drift-diving the back-side of Molokini. I'm looking forward to a nice relaxing time with Christine while here in the Islands. But I have to say... kids these days... She will have had the opportunity to get twice as many dives in as I will, and be here twice as long! And, her friend Alex is now on her way to Italy where she will be sailing the Amalfi coast with some other friends. Guess I shouldn't envy her too much; her world will be completely upside down, being twelve time zones away from Hawaii. How can you not love the ocean with its amazing marine wildlife? I learned tonight at dinner, with a representative from Semester at Sea, that the Semester at Sea program has about 65,000 living alumni. That is an impressive number. But when you consider that Harvard University has over 370,000 living alums, I guess it kinda pales in comparison. But what also really pales in comparison is the endowment for the Semester at Sea program, relative to Harvard's. Whereas Harvard has an endowment of over $36 billion (yes, that is billion with a "b"), Semester at Sea's endowment is only about $2-3 million. Not much for a rainy day. I went to Harvard (the business school), and I also went on Semester at Sea. I give to both institutions. I would like to think generously. And sure, for me, one was a two year program that taught me many skills for the business world whereas the other was simply a semester on board a ship, visiting about 10 different countries around the globe. However, when I think about the value I gained from both experiences, and the network of people and friendships retained, I'd almost have to say that they are roughly equivalent in terms of life experiences. After all, one is designed to make us all better global citizens in thinking about challenging problems around the world. Well, really, both are to some degree. But it is with the Semester at Sea program that one learns so much more about the world in such a short period of time - and all of this first hand. One also learns all this at such an impressionable age. And the bonding experience one gains is unparalleled. When one ponders on all this, it begins to make one think about what is the true purpose and role of education (and why is the growing cost of tuition so high)? One could ask a number of other different questions here. First might be, what does Harvard do with all that money? Over $36 billion! Of course, the answer is easy. Continue to improve upon the quality of its program and experience for its students. The same could be said about Semester at Sea. But this program doesn't have the same sort of money to spend on itself. So which is more worthy? Well, that's probably not the right question to ask. Both have their place and purpose. I would want both of them to have unlimited resources to spend on continuously improving program enhancements, and the overall quality of the experience. That's just not feasible. Now, though, when I think about where my dollars (and, really, all three t's - time, talent, and treasure) can have a greater impact, I realize which program is probably more deserving at this particular juncture. |
CONRAD B. HERRMANN
INVESTMENT PROFESSIONAL AND TRAVELER EXTRAORDINAIRE Archives
March 2020
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