Thursday, October 23, 2014

Iberia and Beyond 2: The Transatlantic Crossing--14 Days on the Norwegian Epic from Barcelona to Miami

Day 1-- October 26th
Barcelona
41° 27' N

I was not sorry to be leaving Barcelona. I was tired from a month of aggressive traveling and Barcelona...well... There were just too many people. Perhaps it was because it was the weekend or the fact that almost 10,000 people were in town simply to board one of the transatlantic cruise ships that would be leaving this day. Whatever the case, it was just too, too crowded and I was unable to make a connection to the city. Or maybe I was just jaded from having seen so much in the past month. I was ready to set sail.

By 1:00 pm Glenda and I were on board the SS Norwegian Epic. Four cruise chips were lined up at the port—three of which would arrive somewhere in Florida two weeks later. It's the time of year for ships that have plied European waters to head back to the Caribbean. Price drop, ships fill up, and, I dare say, the majority of us are simply out for the ride.

At 5:27 pm were were on deck. With a long blast from the ship's horn we pulled out of our berth and headed west. Shortly, the breeze freshened against our faces; hovering gulls swooped by as I flung kernels of popcorn overboard. I felt that particular tingle I always feel as I depart for uncertain territory.

For more than two hours the Epic paralleled Barcelona—first the city and then its suburbs and then the smaller towns that extended west. Because it was late on a warm Sunday afternoon, the waters all around us were thick with sailboats.

Shortly the sun set, but the horizon glowed pink and orange and the air had a soft chill to it. I was sitting on our balcony when I looked up and saw, in the eastern sky, a rising crescent of a cool silvered moon. The night was clear and a cool wind blew on my shoulders. All good omens, I thought.

We were on our way!

Day 2 – October 27th
Western Mediterranean
37° 50' N

By morning of our first full day we were firmly in the Western Mediterranean. The day was clear and a warm hazy sun and lack of wind made for a fine day at sea. For hours tankers passed us on both sides. Were we in some sort of middle passage, reserved only for ocean liners? I didn't know.

At times, the Spanish mainland was visible from our starboard cabin. I never did see Africa off Port. We passed the Balearic Islands of Ibiza and Mallorca and by early evening the land narrowed. Spain and Morocco were a short few miles apart. We'd arrived in the Straits of Gibraltar.

It was dark, but Gibraltar—the Rock—was clearly visible. Like some black shadow, it rose out of the sea. Ten miles away the lights of Tangiers twinkled. Africa/Europe—so close but so very, very far apart.

I'd been in these waters before, but under very different circumstances. In the summer of 1983 I was 33 and traveling through Portugal and Spain before setting sail from Algeciras, Spain heading to Tangiers.

There are many parts of that trip that are lost to memory . Indeed, Lisbon, Faro, Madrid and Barcelona were essentially new cities, even though I'd been to them all before. (I am grateful to my journal from that time to flesh out what I really did on that trip.)

But Morocco was not lost to memory. Perhaps because it was the first time I”d travelled to a locale deemed “exotic,” my memories of Morocco are still clear.

On the boat that day I left Southern Spain I met a young German couple. We became pen pals for awhile, long before the advent of email. It was they who introduced me to a recipe I still use—Norwegian Apple Cake, a cake that has sweetened many a Sunday autumn afternoon.

Somewhere on that short voyage between Europe and Africa I also met two recently graduated students from Long Island who'd majored in business. One of them wanted to work at the New York Stock Exchange.

“I'll be dead by 40,” I remember him telling me.

I do hope that's not the case, and that some common sense took over during the past thirty years. I hope he's alive and 50 and that somehow during the past 32 years he had an epiphany that stress can kill and that the Stock Exchange may not be the best place for him.

Such is youth that 40 is old!

The three of us bunked in together for our time in Tangiers. As is always the case with young travelers, there is an easy fluidity that enables them to connect and disconnect easily.

A few days later we did split. I traveled south to a series of Moroccan cities, connected then reconnected. I still remember the sights and sounds and the full beautiful sensual assault that North Africa afforded. I would like to have gone further south but my time in Europe was coming to an end. From Marrakesh I flew back to Tangiers, crossed the Straits again and caught a train to Madrid and flew home.

Almost all aspects of the European part of that trip are fuzzy, but not the passage past Gibraltar into Morocco and the journey south. I think it's been so well remembered because it was just so much different from anything I'd experienced prior.

There are still echoes of that world I lived in. I silently spoke to the specter of that young man crossing the Straight on a summer's afternoon so long ago.

“You'll have a wonderful life. You'll know love and deep friendships, a good career. You don't know that yet, but you will.”

“There'll be bumps, of course, and great sadnesses but still, in the end, it's going to be great.”

So all of these pleasant memories swirled around me that early evening as we passed the Straits of Gibraltar. I could still see the excited young man making that crossing more than half a lifetime ago.

I stood high on the deck of the Epic, camera ready. The “Rock” was nothing but a silhouette against a blue-black night. Electric lights girded the base of Gibraltar and stretched out along the Spanish and Moroccan sides.

“Goodbye young man,” I said to the young man who was now entering his Golden years. “The second half of your life is going to be extraordinary. Trust me!”

For a moment I felt enclosed in the amber of long ago, but by Odyssic nature took over and craned to see what lay ahead. I will always be a traveler, I thought. And that's not a bad thing to be.

Day 4 – October 29th
Madeira, Portugal
Latitude 32° 38' N

Ready to welcome the day?” Glenda said early on the morning of October 29th? She was about to open the draperies and let in Madeira sunshine.

And sun it was! After two cloudy days at sea it was good to know we'd enjoy a day on the island in full sun.

We were just off the coast of the island, 1,132 nautical miles from Barcelona. At first view, the island had an Aegean quality to it—white houses with terracotta roofs. Terraced gardens crept up hillsides. It was a good first impression.

Once off the boat we boarded the island's Hop-On bus which led to a huge disappointment in the end. All it did was skirt through Funchal, the island's principal city, rise a bit out of it to a high point which gave us ocean vistas. We circled once, and got off at the entrance to the cable car, slapped down 30 Euros and rode the teleferico to the island's tropical gardens a couple of thousand feet above sea level.

This wasn't a disappointment. Acres of tropical plants and flowers indigenous to this climate filled multiple gardens—all terraced downwards toward to sea. The views were spectacular. From this aerie we could see the Norwegian Epic—huge in comparison to the other cruise ships berthed nearby.

Once down in town again, I wandered the cobbled streets, reminding myself how nice it was to be back in Portugal. I checked email, stocked up on Coke and wended myself back to the boat with just enough time to spare before I'd miss it. This was no time to be left behind. From Madeira we'd be six days at sea.

As much as I enjoyed the island, it reminded me once again of how limiting cruises can be. There was so much more to see and do and eight hours was simply not enough time. But I'd resigned myself to this earlier. A transatlantic cruise really is about places. Instead it's all about the ride and the people one meets. And from this moment on it was all about the next six days when we'd be at sea. It was 2,642 nautical miles to St. Maarten and the best was yet to come.

Day 5 – October 30th
Off the Coast of Madeira
Latitude 32° 38' N

I awoke early. Glenda was still sleeping so I quietly left the stateroom and made my way to Deck 15 where I could read, grab a Danish and orange juice and let her sleep in a bit longer.

When I got off the elevator I was met by a great noise—a deafening whoop-whoop-whoop. Imagine my surprise, then, when I got on deck to see a military helicopter hovering above, its great blades announcing that something was very wrong.

It was well before 7:00 am, but more than 50 people were on deck. What was even more curious was that the island of Madeira, which we'd left more than 12 hours earlier, was clearly visible off port side.

I ran back to the room, grabbed my camera, told a startled Glenda about the unfolding drama then got back upstairs. Even in this short period of time numbers had increased. Who could sleep through all this noise?

I began to pray—almost urgently. What else could anyone do? This had to be a grave situation for the Epic to reverse course and call in an emergency helicopter. Someone, I thought, had to be seriously ill.

Fifteen minutes later a large team of EMT's raced by below us, all accompanying a woman on a stretcher, breathing through a tube. They whisked her up an elevator and almost immediately emerged under the aircraft. A long rope from the helicopter was attached to the stretcher. A moment later she was securely on board. Another rope dropped then lifted the woman's companion. Safely aboard, one of the crew signaled a long wave to the crowd. People aboard the Epic waved and cheered and shouted well wishes.

By 7:00 am the drama aboard the ship was over. The helicopter sped off towards Madeira, the boat slowly turned around and we headed west once again.

But it really wasn't over. During breakfast we wondered how the woman was faring. And who would pick up the tab for all this? Medical evacuation side, would this woman be slapped with an NCL fuel surcharge? Just how much extra fuel did it take to alter course? We were both glad that we'd picked up good travel insurance.

All day I continued to pray. “Be with her God.” What else could any of us do?

Day 8 – November 2nd
Mid-Voyage
Latitude 26° 13' N

We'd been aboard a week. If I'd not looked a calendar I'd have had no idea what day of the week it was. It could be Friday. It could be July. It could be winter somewhere else. We could be sailing on the Pacific or in the Indian Ocean. Here it's always summer.

Days were easing by like wind down my throat. Each day was a stumbling succession of sky, sea and sky joined together in a dancing stream of blue. The few clouds there were scudded by against a soft blue sky.

There were no landmarks that allowed us to take stock of our progress. Hour after hour, day after day, the Epic slowly pushed towards North America through gentle waves on an empty sea.

The days were a seemingly endless stretch of cloudless blue-white. It never rained. There was no air traffic above us. Somewhere in front of us or behind us were the two ships that set sail the same day from Barcelona, but we never saw them.

Three days earlier I'd seen a freighter far off starboard—the only other sign of humans since we'd left Madeira. Despite the Epic feeling like the streets of Calcutta as 4,000 passengers and 2,000 crew filled its halls, we really were alone—and quite vulnerable—in the middle passage of the Atlantic.

These were the best days of the transatlantic crossing, a voyage the majority of us take just for the experience of it. There was something quite wonderful about saying “I'm in the middle of the ocean.” Hour after hour it was nothing but the deep blue sea and a wide open sapphire blue sky.

It was a splendid feeling!

Day 10 – November 4th
Mid Atlantic
21° 10' N

We'd had six time changes in the past ten days. Each has been no more than an hour. Twice we've “rolled back” two nights in a row. All of this has made for some disruptive sleeping patterns.

Today I'm up at 5:40 am but have been awake long before that. I'm not the only person who's been sleeping badly. It's a buzz I've all over the ship.

I slip out of the room, head upstairs to the pool deck. I”m not alone. There are heaps of other early risers. NCL accommodates us with coffee and donuts. Even at this early hour, there are folks staking out their deck chairs for the day.

It's already warm. We've been steadily traveling southwest, towards warmer waters and a stronger sun. More than once I've seen flying fish while sitting on the balcony—always a sign of warmer climes.

According to the Navigation Channel we will travel 4,800 miles between Barcelona and Miami. At 16 miles an hour, that's 384 miles a day. This is our 6th day at sea, and save for a detour on day two for the sick passenger, we've slowly made our way from Madeira to the Eastern Atlantic.

Even the fish swim faster than we're sailing,” Glenda commented to me over breakfast. I chuckle.

I just love this life at 16 miles an hour.

I head to the gym. These are one of those places on board where I feel as if I'm stuck on a busy street at rush hour in a large Indian city. It's good sized, but there are 4,000 guests on board. Even at 7:30 am every treadmill is in use. There's no such thing as circuit training. When you get a machine you just sit there and finish your sets, otherwise another person will jump right in.

But I do manage two workouts a day—one in the morning and one later in the afternoon. My lifestyle aboard this ship, aside from too many food choices, is actually quite good. When I'm done I soak in the spa's massive hot tub. This is exclusive property. It's very luxurious, and well positioned at the back of the boat with phenomenal sea views. There are multiple saunas and steam rooms. I've paid $200.00 extra for this privilege and fully intend to get my money's worth.

By 10:30 I'm ready for the serious part of the day—doing nothing except lying on a lounge chair under the hot sun. Early on in the cruise I'd been clued in to the “adults only” sunbathing area high on Deck 19—securely protected by high walls and a windy staircase.

Adults only.” Read nude sunbathing. No tan-line-time-in-the-sun. Almost everyone there is crazy, but in a fun sort of way. No one wears clothes. Manolito, a bar steward who's obviously comfortable with nudity, pops up often. A core group of these folk drink way too much, from way too early in the day.

I have a lecture series I'm listening to, bu it's virtually impossible to pay attention because there's almost non-stop banter among these people. I finally give up trying to listen and just enjoy their company, the warm sun. Instead, I read, engage in conversation, toss ice cubes during one of the at-least-once-a-day ice cube wars.

No one here is under 35. Indeed, there aren't many people generally on this cruise under 35. This whole Deck 18 crowd is well educated, many retired, who have the funds and time to take a TA—a transatlantic cruise as I've come to learn the jargon. There's a doctor, several nurses, a lawyer, a retired postal worker as well as a retired Navy officer.

There's a core group of ten of these folks who do the TA on the Epic twice a year. Miami—Barcelona in April; Barcelona—Miami in October. Tough life! There's another 100 or so who do them at least once a year or year and a half. There's an organized group email of which I'm now a part, not that I'd do this particular cruise again. At least I'd know someone if I did a return trip.

By late afternoon the sun has sunk too low for tanning. I'm exhausted. The sun always does that to me. I want to shower, take a nap. Instead, I go back to the Spa. I've been on the boat long enough, and because this is an exclusive group (read...pay $200.00 to join) I've made a small circle of acquaintances. We're all on the same boat—literally--so people go out of their way to be friendlier than they might be on land. It's not likely I will ever keep in touch with any of these people, but they're pleasant at this juncture of the trip.

By 7:00 pm I'm back in the room, checking email on my iPad, laying on my bed in gym shorts and nothing else. The door opens. It's Melody, our super-friendly cabin steward. She's on her nightly round of turning down the beds.

Oh, Mr. Daniel. You're sleeping.”

No, I tell her. Just resting.”

I scramble to put on a shirt.

Each night she makes us a towel animal. She's very creative, and a good story teller. When we're in the room she weaves a tale as she winds the towel. Our stateroom is full of elephants, dogs, crabs and lobsters. Glenda saves them all. By Day 10 we're running out of room in the towel-animal museum.

Tonight's animal comes with a profound story.

In 2003 she was a steward on another ship when another crew member, a young Romanian woman, was afraid to return home because she was pregnant. One evening she just disappeared, but there are cameras all over the boat and a quick review indicated she'd jumped overboard. A very good form of suicide.

Melody contorts the towel, while she continues with the story.

The boat turns around. Hours pass, and just as the ship is about to give up, she's seen floating unconsciously on something.

By the now the animal has taken form. When Melody adds a head, she concludes by telling us that a giant sea turtle had rescued the woman.

I wonder two things. Is the story true, or by what Divine intervention did all this occur. What made this animal know to save this desperate woman? Or...had Melody divined a great story to tell while she made her nightly animals?

By now it's time for dinner. We usually eat late. Glenda and I have always gone in different directions on cruises, but we always join up for dinner. There is always too much food, and too many choices.

Each evening we have been dining with friends that Glenda made—Peachy from Tennessee and Florida and Lynn of Bristol, England. Peachy's fun. She's not afraid to tell a ribald joke and, as time's gone on, she and I banter back and forth is a fun, silly way.

There is absolutely nothing on the menu that looks appealing. It's been that way for days. I'm longing for simple food. Peachy and I often order together. Always a steak and something else, which we share. We still leave a pile of food behind.

I've always wanted to take the classic three-month-around-the-world cruise but this cruise has convinced me that 105 days would be overkill and that it would grow old very fast.

By 9:45 pm I'm tuckered out. I sit on the balcony looking out at the sea. An almost full moon shimmers off the surface.

All day it's been cloudy and grey, but by evening the sky has cleared. The air is very heavy. We're well within the Caribbean heading south west. Night clouds scurry by.

I turn to the gathering darkness and whisper deep thanks. I know I live in a privileged space and what I have is not lost to me.

Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

Day 11 – November 5th
St. Maarten, Netherland Antilles
18° 72' N

We're on one island but in two countries.”

We have two governments, two capitals, two currencies and two sets of license plates.”

We have a mosque and 192 nationalities living on 37 square miles.”

We had finally crossed the Atlantic and on this early November morning found ourselves in the Western Caribbean on the Dutch/French island of St. Maarten, 3,775 nautical miles from Barcelona.

Five cruise ships were in port this morning. People streamed out of boats and off the three piers. Frankly, I was astounded that there were vans and taxis still available to bring tourists around the island.

By 9:30 we'd found a slot on a tourist van and were on our way.

At best, it's a cheesy tour. The island was too densely populated. Cars jammed the roads. We stop two times for photos ops. I'd been to this part of the Caribbean before. St. Kitts and Antigua, neighboring islands, offered wide open spaces and sweeping island vistas.

But not St. Maarten. It seemed, at least to me, a mass of poor, over-crowded homes, complete with astronomically expensive gated communities and luxury hotels. I wasn't getting a good first impression.

Once on the French side, all English disappeared and French took over. Prices were marked in Euros and license plates showed the ten star circle of the EU. I wondered how a relatively small island could be divided into two with Paris dictating policy on one side and Rotterdam determining policy on the other. It was all very curious.

Frankly, though, the whole tour was a bit boring, so I got off at the last stope—Orient Beach—staked out a place on the sand and stayed until the sun got too hot. I was a sandy mess when I left to go shopping in town. I was in quest of Dutch goodies—stroopwaffel, Dutch cheese and good licorice.

But even the shopping was disappointing. I was back on the boat early. St. Maarten had made no good impression on me and I could not imagine vacationing in such an over-crowded island.

Or perhaps I just missed the security of the ship. We'd been comfortably cocooned on the Epic for more than a week and maybe the island was just too hectic after the relaxed life I'd come to know.

That night I begged off dinner. I simply could not be bothered to dress or even put on shoes, nor could I endure another another evening of rich food. I didn't even want to talk with anyone.

Instead, I slogged my way to the Garden Cafe—gym shorts, tee shirts and sands—sandals and ate alone.

It was wonderful.

I ate, didn't talk to anyone, moved once because I was too close to a table with children, found myself a quiet corner and wrote for three hours. By the time I left there was only a large handful of people in the restaurant.

It was a perfect way to end the day.

Day 15 – November 9th
Miami, Florida
Latitude 25° 73' N

All journeys come to an end. It just seemed we'd unpacked when it was time to pack up.

Early in the morning the sky was overcast and with occasional patches of blue. It had been this way the day before, but by early afternoon the skies cleared. And that is what happened today. Blue emerged into a glorious last day at sea. There was nothing I wanted to do except lay on a lounge chair and catch every last ray of Bahamian sun.

As the day progressed we were more and more reintroduced to civilization. Contrails of jets streaked the sky. A large cruise ship followed us from Saint Thomas. A few, smaller, pleasure craft plied the water. At one point I could see low-lying Bahamian islands. Miami and the end of the cruise were just hours away.

Both Glenda and I had slept fitfully that last night. I dreamt of the Epic sailing down Florida canals, past people's homes. At one point I dreamt my bedspread was made of mushrooms.

That morning I woke early, opened the drapes and found we'd arrived in the Port of Miami.

We had but a few hours—a last breakfast on the balcony, a final look around the room, and then we were off. By 10:00 am both of us had gone our separate ways—me to the airport to wait out a later flight to Mexico City and Glenda to Fort Lauderdale where she's wait out her flight back to Plattsburgh.

The TA had come to an end, but I just had a feeling that it wouldn't be the last. Cruises are too addicting, and too much fun.

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