You Can't Make Me Paint

The day is March 8, 2014.  It is possible for cruisers not to know what day it is, even the the Daily Schedule announces the day, the temperature and lists possible things to do.  To read the list was overwhelming.  I began to cross of choices I would not take.  One was Painting with Watercolours. 

“You can’t make me paint,” I said to Wyona.  “I tried that on two cruises.  I was so happy the choice wasn’t here on this trip.  And now they have it in the bulletin.  A big no from me.”

I was right about making a choice that was in my best interess and this morning I knew that choice was to get out and walk the deck, to catch up on that good feeling that only a brisk walk can bring.  I tried to sneak out the door, putting my exercise clothing on in the bathroom so as not to wake Wyona and Greg.

I was successful getting my first leg in the pants I was wearing.  The second I tried while leaning against the vanity.  The four foot waves outside gave the boat a lurch and I slid toward the shower.  No problem, I would just slide down the wall of the shower door.  No door there, unfortunately.  Only a shower curtain that gave way.  I made the fall as quietly as possible, no sound passing my lips but thinking, wow, that was a lot of weight to hit the ground just now.

The noise must have bolted sleeping Wyona right out of bed. Greg was also upright when I came out of the bathroom to tell them, no, I was still conscious, just embarrassed to have wakened them. I slipped right out the door. 

This is a different cruise.  Different people in the dining room, ones I have not noticed before in the lectures and now on deck at 8 am.   It is not the professional joggers on deck.  Only people like me.  Walking for good health. Someone doing tai chi stretches in one of the corners. All of us walking gingerly over the wet parts of the deck where the ship maintenance workers are keeping the windows and walks clean with their hoses and squeegies.  I try not to look at my watch, but to keep walking, stretching tall and tightening muscles in the back and front of my body – holding them, then giving them a soft relax as I walked.  The soft relax feels better than the real exercise.

An hours walk was up and I headed for the cabin, but saw some people already going to the Constellation Lounge.  Even though dressed in my exercise wear and with wind-blown hair, still I wanted to know what would be going on so early in the morning.  Which is the reason why I walked into the Painting with Watercolours class.  The teacher was starting in a class really for beginners.  I stopped to watch her pedagogue which was so artful.  The second time she said, “Now does anyone else need a kit?”, I raised my hand. 

Now I have a picture of a glacier.  Done by me.  Not a glacier that Greg could recognize, but Wyona got it on her first try.  I am prouder than punch.  Third time with water colours, the charm.

Puenta del Esta, Uruguay

I thought Greg was making a mistake, taking his rain jacket on his add-on trip when we were in Puenta del Esta.  We had enjoyed a 3 hour day trip on a coach – seen the Atlantic and the Rivera de la Plata on the side of the peninsula, driven to the Ralli Museum, gawked at the upscale neighbourhoods of the city, heard explanations about the poor neighbourhoods we had driven through and then gone over the iconic bridge of Puenta del Esta – its shape is like the curves of a woman’s body.  Imagine a group of 40 retiree’s being asked if they want to do the bridge again, this second time at high speed.  All had to agree which put a lot of pressure on the timid and those with pace makers. There was so much happiness among the old as the driver began to pick up speed. I suspected he would come to a full stop, but no – he hit the highway at full speed, the bus load of oldies screaming as though some could remember a time when they did this at the fair on holidays.

Greg walked around the island without us.  He was right to take his jacket.  The thunder clouds rolled in and poured rain.  The tender boat loaded up for the last trip back to the boat.  As Greg tells the story, the crew took in the last of the poles, the huge canisters of water and cool towels that they greet us with on the shore when we are returning to the boat. But as the fully loaded tender took off, a crew member slipped into the water, the boat moving up against him and crushing his leg against a tire.  The captain rushed to the back.  They took the crew member on top of the tender to look at the wound at which time he fainted.  So off the tender came all 160 passengers and the equipment and the tender went high speed to the hospital, the passengers waiting for the next boat.

That day, our tour guide had apologized for talking so much – she said that people only remember 10% of what they hear on tours.  That will be difficult to prove by Greg, Wyona and me.  We talked for a long while about the depth of the information we learned about Uruguay’s economy, politics, and government.  Did you know that there are 3.2 million people in Uruguay and 12 million cows.  Fewer sheep.  Only 3 per person.  Wyona and I were ready to buy leather, but it is exported for car seats and beautiful leather coats sold elsewhere.  “You are more likely to buy Uruguayan leather in another country than in ours,” she told us.

The Ralli Museum had many pieces by Salvador Dali.  Janet and Wyona spent a day in London looking at a Dali exhibit and Wyona could still  remember what to look for in a Dali painting.  I spent a day in Catalonia doing the same thing at the Dali Museum.  Now was a chance to see some of his travelling work.  Wyona took on my job –keeping the group (of two) moving.  I was in a linger longer space.  She knew that the bus was pulling out of the museum parking lot in 40 minutes and we had a lot of pieces to see.

A day to always remember.  Even though I have already forgotten to tell you about the Pablo Atchugarry work we saw.

Saving the Best to Last

Late Night Pizza

Two evening shows featuring songs from Broadway and two standing ovations later we were having four cheese pizza, salad or cookies in the Ocean View Cafe. Now that is cruising.

... packing is exhausting work ...

I was up again ... early, walking the halls, getting another couple of decks of cards for bridge, coming back to the room to alert Wyona that there was another watercolour class.

I have pretty well given up – another talent that I am going to pass on ... develop those art skills when I get to heaven, I thought to myself. I am working on being polite. 

... three point landing ...
a cruising talent

That is all. Like, instead of turning the lights on in the room when I come back from my walk, I go into a pitch black room and try to find the bathroom door by Braille. This is not easy. I could find an open door but I was blocked by wood from entering the room. I went back to the wall, ran my hand over it, trying to find a knob. No door handle anywhere. By now I was using large circling motions with both of my arms. I have been doing Zumba. They are flexible. Still no way to get into the bathroom so I am patting down every wall. I have forgotten that this room has a closet where Wyona and Greg keep their folded stuff. This is what I have been trying to enter in the dark. Cruising is hard work.

We are doing the inside passage today -- seeing for ourselves that the beauty we already know is British Columbia extends along this whole coast. We are out of the Alaska Panhandle and in the waters that separate Vancouver Island from the mainland. So beautiful.

But back to the morning – since Wyona wouldn’t get up and go to the art lesson, I went to check it out and one of those wonderful things happen where the student and the master connect. I might like painting after all. The pedagogy was just right for me: this is about having fun; take 30 minutes, do what you can and be out of there; use the same palette over and over (just let the paints dry and wet them down when you begin again). Now I have a new kit of paper, brushes and colours and tons of tips. ie there is a watermark on the paper, usually lower right hand side that will let you know which is the right side of the paper. During the lesson the teacher diverged a bit to answer a question and then said, “I don’t know where I was in the lesson, so I don’t know where to start again.” 

... one more peak at the water ...

“You were explaining the difference between negative a positive space.”

Whoops.

That voice was mine.

I must have been taking notes in my mind and not evening knowing it.


I would have broken out my paints and got busy, if I hadn’t been racing off to Zumba.

... a last night ... at least for a while ...

Everyone else is on the stage.

I stay at the back of the auditorium with the shy people, in the shadows, following the leader from far away.

I am not ready to be in the spotlight to do the cumbia until have it mastered in the dark.

Arta

Have I Done Any Good ...

Art 101 - Wyona
Scene from China

Some days I don’t feel as though I have done anything ... I mean really done anything. I did go for a one hour walk in the halls today – zero is too cold out on the deck when the wind is 35 mph and then boat is going 20 knots an hour as well.

I know this floor, the attendants on each quarter and what time most of the people come out of their rooms.

Art 101 - Wyona
Scene from Osaka Castle

The The Boutique Seminar was a video about how the Le Monde Travel Memory Globe is constructed and afterward some of the globes were on display. The idea of having a small (medium or large – depending on the body size of course) globe hanging from a chain around my neck, with a diamond, sapphire or emerald attached to each continent I have visited has never entered my mind. The sales person said that one person bought 7 extra jewels to put on the continents – one for each continent and then, since they have tickets for the first tourist travel voyage into space, they had another jewel placed in the ocean. I dream on such a small scale.

Art 101 - Wyona
Mt. Fuji

I slipped into a lecture called “The Wonders of Wallacea”. I didn’t make the connection between the lecture and the Wallace Collection that we used to frequent, the museum that was within walking distance of Greg’s flat. He brought that connection to my mind over lunch as six of us chatted over peanut satay – about places people at the table have travelled. I am still a “travel baby”.

The women from Kent, England talked about their lives at home. There is a programme with a name something like University for the Third Time – meant for older people. Retired professionals give the courses – anything from engineering to gardening. Their group has 1,000 members and sometimes they bus into London for the West End Shows – having just seen Top Hat and War Horse. Fun, that everyone at the table had seen War Horse. Even readers of this blog have seen it if they picked up on its transmission to a local theatre via National Theatre in HD. That seems to be a recurring theme among people who cruise this way. Many people have a story to tell that is constructed in the following form. “ I lived in rural village in northern Quebec when I was young.” I didn’t see an escalator or an elevator until I was 14. Another theme is “My parents were immigrants with a small business which went bankrupt. I had to make money for the family so I couldn’t go to high school.” People like this know how to have fun when they are old. Today I was trying to figure out what the world old means, since I am with a new cohort – the one I belong to, instead of being at the university, thinking I belong with people who carry books in knapsacks and are reading all of the time. The ones who think that turning an assignment in on time is having a good time.

Art 101 - Wyona
Free Form

This is a new group. They have their travel itineraries already set for 2015. They are out using the gym at 6 am, taking “Beyond the Podium” classes on board during the mornings and afternoons, Going to Elegant Teas in the mid afternoon, hitting the blues and jazz events in the evenings and dancing until the bands quit (at 1 am).

Art 101 by Arta
I gave it the title "Frustration"

I told Wyona that I don’t like going places where I am not the best at things, so I am quitting art. And I don’t have all of the Zumba moves down yet. I learned a new one with her a couple of days ago: left over right, light over left, slide, right under left, left under right. The move is so complicated there is not room for both of us to practise it in the same room without tripping each other. So I walk the halls in the morning, from forward to aft, where I stop at the back of the ship, catch my breath and do the move so my feet will remember it when I get onto the Zumba floor.

Wyona and I had split up for the morning.

She was at Water Colour Art 101.

I left lunch for Art Appreciation 101 (which is not doing art), and then off to a seminar on how to edit travel video photography. I am going to two shows again tonight – one show, really, two times – Dale Kristen who will be singing songs from old musicals.

Cruising along in happiness.

Arta

Vaikom, India

... velour ceilings and a fan ...

The most popular trip was sold out -- boat rides through the islands.

We were told that they were trying to arrange more excursions, but the problem was finding enough small boats.

Since that was out of the question, my second choice was to visit a village.

Because I live near a small village in the summer and am always interested in what is going on there, I thought a small hamlet in India would be of equal interest to me.

Greg, Wyona, Moiya and David felt the same way so we signed  up for the same trip.

... river crossing on the way to the village ...

The ride to the village would be an hour, we were told.

Greg said afterwards how surprised he was, since an hour ride to a village seemed to us to mean that we would be seeing the countryside.

Instead there were stores and houses along the road, almost until we arrived at the village.

People were walking along the streets, families drove by on bicycles, and trucks whose cabs were psychedelic works of art were parked by the sides of the road.

... drumming before getting into tuk-tuks ...

We were met by village drummers.

And then we transferred to a tuk-tuk (auto rickshaw) for the rest of the journey to the village.

The transfer did not happen without resistance.

I have been warned so many times not to engage in conversation with anyone approaching me with an offer of a local tour, that I walked by the first 6 tuk-tuks, thinking it was my job to walk to the village.

I would have never made it in the heat.

Afterwards someone said, "The bus tour guide should have explained to us that we were to get into those vehicles."

I didn't agree because no one could get enough explanations to take care of all of the vagaries that happen along the way of such a trip.

... Moiya's markings begin to melt ...

... three sisters pause in the heat ...

I do not know which was more surprising to me of the following three things.

First a small boy motioned to me that I should put down my head, 

and he put a flower lei around my neck.

Then a woman came by and made a red mark on my forehead.

Then a huge cocoanut with a straw extruding out of the top was thrust into my hands.  

I could just hear myself thinking ... boy, this is already a lot of fun and we haven't even entered the village, really.   Three more hours of this.  I am going to die from happiness.

... a candid in the jungle ...

The general theme was to show us the village: a woman making clay pots, another woman weaving baskets, and a third preparing herbs to cure headaches. We saw a  man doing silver smithing; we watched women preparing lunches for their families.

... Am I in the picture? ...

I am having some trouble with the text of this post, since one part of the tour felt like we were going from station to station, as we would if we were going to see a group of students displaying their science projects.

On the other hand, there was this amazing feeling of being in the jungle, hearing the sounds of the birds, being overwhelmed by the humid air, observing the details of the jungle growth, walking on the dirt paths and turning corners around trees and walking over planks that crossed tiny streams.

... now everyone make a funny face ...

The little boy who had put the wreath around my neck followed me along, asking my name, practising his English on me.  Finally I caught on and asked him his name.

I began taking pictures of the flora and fauna, but their little faces were far more interesting to me.

Wyona said to me, "Where are the girls?  We haven't seen any of the girls."

"I noticed that too," I said.

Wyona asked one of the women where the little girls were.

And soon the little girls appeared -- so sweet, hanging onto their mother's hands.

I was carrying a worry that I would not be able to fully experience everything around me.

I was taking pictures of clay vases by the side of the road, of the washing hanging by the houses.

Why am I always taking pictures of that, I thought.  Venice.  Rome.  Egypt.  Alexandria.  Now India.  Is it because I want to see that invisible work of how people really live.

 

... Greg pauses in the jungle shadows ...

But somehow it is more than that. 

I want to see how they hang the bananas by the side of the store, where the little stream runs to, ask why there is only one bucket by the well

I am charmed by the 3-person toilet that has been set up for us. 

"You aren't going to use that," a woman said to me.

"Are you kidding.  I am trying everything whether I need to or not," I reply.

I am working at taking in every moment of this adventure. The village is working hard to show us how they live.  I want to do my part to take enough in that I can work out the bits and pieces I don't understand when I get home.

... serenity by the stream ...

When I saw this quiet stream running beside one of the paths, I thought it captured what the village must feel like when it is quieter ... not on display.

So beautiful, the cottage on the other side, the well tended paths, the hedges carefully planted and trimmed.

... a complimentary snack ... 

Coke or coconut shell with straw

Complimentary snacks -- that is what the tour guide told us about the L-shaped table.

Coke or cocoanut milk.

Your culture or ours.

I have been running my set of photos from the village on my desktop since I got home.

I stop each day to take another look at the magic of a small Indian village in the province of Kerala.

Arta

Vaikom, Kerala

The most popular trip was sold out -- boat rides through the islands.

We were told that they were trying to arrange more excursions, but the problem was finding enough small boats.

Since that was out of the question, my second choice was to visit a village. Because I live near a small village in the summer and am always interested in what is going on there, I thought a small hamlet in India would be of equal interest to me.

Greg, Wyona, Moiya and David felt the same way so we signed  up for the same trip.

... on the way to the village ...

The ride to the village would be an hour, we were told.

Greg said afterwards how surprised he was, since an hour ride to a village seemed to us to mean that we would be seeing the countryside.

Instead there were stores and houses along the road, almost until we arrived at the village.

People were walking along the streets, families drove by on bicycles, and trucks whose cabs were psychedelic works of art were parked by the sides of the road.

... village drummers welcoming the tourists...

 We were met by village drummers.

And then we transferred to a tuk-tuk (auto rickshaw) for the rest of the journey to the village.

The transfer did not happen without resistance.

I have been warned so many times not to engage in conversation with anyone approaching me with an offer of a local tour, that I walked by the first 6 tuk-tuks, thinking it was my job to walk to the village.

... Moiya's head marking begins to wilt ...

I would have never made it in the heat.

Afterwards someone said, "The bus tour guide should have explained to us that we were to get into those vehicles."

I didn't agree because no one could get enough explanations to take care of all of the vagaries that happen along the way of such a trip.

... a moment together in the village ...

I do not know which was more surprising to me of the following three things.

First a small boy motioned to me that I should put down my head, and he put a flower lei around my neck.

Then a woman came by and made a red mark on my forehead.

Then a huge coconut with a straw extruding out of the top was thrust into my hands.  

I could just hear myself thinking ... boy, this is already a lot of fun and we haven't even entered the village, really. 

... a candid in an Indian village ...

The general theme was to show us the village: a woman making clay pots, another woman weaving baskets, and a third preparing herbs to cure headaches.

We saw a man doing silver smithing; we watched women preparing lunches for their families.

... am I in that picture? ...

I am having some trouble with the text of this post, since one part of the tour felt like we were going from station to station, as we would if we were going to see a group of students displaying their science projects.

On the other hand, there was this amazing feeling of being in the jungle, hearing the sounds of the birds, being overwhelmed by the humid air, observing the details of the jungle growth, walking on the dirt paths and turning corners around trees and walking over planks that crossed streams.

... everyone's turn for a funny face ... 

The little boy who had put the wreath around my neck followed me along, asking my name, practising his English on me.

I began taking pictures of the flora and fauna, but their little faces were far more interesting to me.

Wyona said to me, "Where are the girls?  We haven't seen any of the girls."

"I noticed that too," I said.

Wyona asked one of the women where the little girls were.

And soon the little girls appeared -- so sweet, hanging onto their mother's hands.

I was worrying that I would not be able to fully experience everything around me.

I was taking pictures of clay vases by the side of the road, of the washing hanging by the houses.

Why am I always taking pictures of that, I thought.  Venice.  Rome.  Egypt.  Alexandria.

Now India.

I want to see that invisible work of how people really live.

 

... Greg pauses in the jungle shadows ...

But somehow it is more than that. 

I want to see how they hang the bananas by the side of the store, where the little stream runs to, ask why there is only one bucket by the well

I am charmed by the 3-person toilet that has been set up for us. 

"You aren't going to use that," a woman said to me.

"Are you kidding.  I am trying everything whether I need to or not," I reply.

I am still working at making this whole experience complete.

The village is working hard to show us how they live.

I want to do my part to take enough in that I can work out the bits and pieces I don't understand when I get home.

... capturing the serenity of the village ...

When I saw this quiet stream running beside one of the paths, I thought it captured what the village must feel like when it is quieter ... not on display.

... a complimentary snack ...

So beautiful, the cottage on the other side, the well tended paths, the hedges carefully planted and trimmed.

Coke or coconut shell with straw

Complimentary snacks -- that is what the tour guide told us about the L-shaped table.

Coke or cocoanut milk.

Your culture or ours.

I have been running my set of photos from the village on my desktop since I got home.

I stop each day to take another look at the magic of a small Indian village in the province of Kerala.

Arta

Tourist Photography

 ... out of bus window on the way to Vaikom, India ...

The fact that I can take my handheld camera, sit on a bus and out of the window, photograph the world as it is going by means a lot to me.

I take pictures and have them run on my desktop; every ten second they change.

... bicycle parts and frame ...
 ... on the back of man walking down the street ...

I run my trip over and over again, often wondering, “Did I really see that?"

But here it is on my screen.”

I am pretty well aware that the pictures are only invested with meaning for me, but what a delicious way to bring back images that are fading so quickly for me.

The color is there, that moment when I was amazed to see this comes back, and I get to study the background which I probably didn’t see at all when I took the picture.

I learned how to do bad photography when I was with Wyona on the 16-day train trip up and down the coast of England, Wales and Scotland.

... woman preparing food on the other side of the stream ...

Now I have been doing it on bus excursions, and find myself studying the people who walk along the streets when the bus stops at red lights.

I try to capture a traffic jam, the sunset, small markets along the street, colourful bill boards, trying to figure out if their images are commercial or political.

When we were in Viakom, I noticed that when I took a picture, if there was a child in it, they wanted to come over and see themselves.

When I saw a woman weaving a mat I had to capture her toes, holding the reeds firmly to the ground. I saw a woman at the side of a stream, preparing food.

She was cutting the tops and the bottoms of vegetables, or little fish, I couldn’t tell which.

I wanted one of the small metal rings a man was making and I seemed to need two of the simple nesting baskets a woman sat cross-legged. I have no idea why I send Wyona off to do my bargaining.

She is fast.

... weaving a mat ...

A look from me to her, telling her I want that, and she will change directions and go do the negotiating.

Her method seems to be to find a guide close by and have him be the go-between – how much does she want for one basket?

How much does she want for two baskets?

 ... Wyona having purchased baskets ...
... the chain of flowers  on her neck smells like gardenias ...
... note the red decoration on her forehead ...

 

If she can’t find someone who can do that, she goes right to the merchant and somehow it is possible for her to make trades of money and goods without knowing much language.

Fun.

Arta