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My favorite thing to do in the whole world is to sit on the deck of a cruise ship, watching the waves crash and ebb, whiling the day away. The sun starting out in one corner of the sky, eventually traversing the landscape and ending in the other. In the old days, traveling as a passenger, there was nothing more relaxing to me. The music of the surf gently coaxing me into a brief daytime slumber.
These days, however, I always start the day up at the crack of dawn and, I admit, a little restless, wondering what the new day will hold in store. And whether it's after I come back from a tour in port, or even more specially, when I finish up a long successful day of classes, and I steal away to the deck, it's just these late afternoons that I so cherish, just as the sun is inching downward in the sky, burning even more intensely, much like last gasps of air, a deeper shade of gold, then orange, and ending in a crimson splendor. And so I always end the day with a genuine serenity and a swell of gratitude, knowing I have such special fortune to be able to experience these moments, the most special of all moments on the voyage.
And I stay until the sun is long gone from the sky, leaving only streaks of deep magenta and
orange across the horizon, and illuminating the entire sea with a surreal rosy glow, brilliant remnants of a day that has sadly ended all too soon. A quiet dinner on the aft deck terrace, a glass of wine, comfortable conversation with a crew member or a passenger who shares the same evening ritual. A travel magazine to peruse, or a journal to update, and stolen glances at the moon, the stars, and their reflection on the calm ripples of the dark evening sea beneath us. Then back to the Promenade Deck for my “nightcap”, a deck chair pulled close to the rails, so close to the sea, I can barely feel the faint spray of sea salt caress my cheeks.
But tonight, it would be different. Tonight I run into Daniel, the port lecturer on board, Bright and bubbly, dancing blue eyes. British, but raised in French Polynesia. He dashes out on deck, laser in hand, dragging along an unsuspecting passenger or two and a crew member, Dave, the magician, in tow. He reminds me of Peter Pan, childlike wonder tucked up neatly in a man’s body. Practically gushing over in excitement, he points out the stars in the night sky and offers up some anecdotal information about them.
The magnificent Southern Cross, the most famous in the southern hemisphere’s night sky. It actually has five stars, not four, the fifth faintly twinkling, so much further distant than the rest. It appears on the Australian flag. Alpha Centuri, the lowest star on the horizon, the closest one of all to earth (didn’t your fifth grade science teacher tell you that?), who, along with Beta Centuri, tagging beneath the Southern Cross, form what looks like the strings of a magnificent kite. Daniel has lost Dave, who tries to act interested but seems to be secretly trying to figure out how to make himself disappear. A magician’s trick he has not yet mastered.
Nevertheless, he has captivated me. He quotes to me passages from the journal of Joseph Banks, second in command to Captain Cook on the Endeavor, as they traversed these same waters, so long ago back in 1769: “A place cannot be dreamed any more beautiful than this!” It seems to be as true today as it was way back then.
I returned to my cabin later than usual to find a mess of chocolate hearts left on my pillows by my cabin steward Cristoph. Three on one pillow, four on the other. I am wondering if he just had a few extra left in his bag to get rid of, or if he has also spent some time with Daniel and is now recreating the constellations on my pillows.
Hugs,
Jeana
JAnd I stay until the sun is long gone from the sky, leaving only streaks of deep magenta and
orange across the horizon, and illuminating the entire sea with a surreal rosy glow, brilliant remnants of a day that has sadly ended all too soon. A quiet dinner on the aft deck terrace, a glass of wine, comfortable conversation with a crew member or a passenger who shares the same evening ritual. A travel magazine to peruse, or a journal to update, and stolen glances at the moon, the stars, and their reflection on the calm ripples of the dark evening sea beneath us. Then back to the Promenade Deck for my “nightcap”, a deck chair pulled close to the rails, so close to the sea, I can barely feel the faint spray of sea salt caress my cheeks.But tonight, it would be different. Tonight I run into Daniel, the port lecturer on board, Bright and bubbly, dancing blue eyes. British, but raised in French Polynesia. He dashes out on deck, laser in hand, dragging along an unsuspecting passenger or two and a crew member, Dave, the magician, in tow. He reminds me of Peter Pan, childlike wonder tucked up neatly in a man’s body. Practically gushing over in excitement, he points out the stars in the night sky and offers up some anecdotal information about them.
The magnificent Southern Cross, the most famous in the southern hemisphere’s night sky. It actually has five stars, not four, the fifth faintly twinkling, so much further distant than the rest. It appears on the Australian flag. Alpha Centuri, the lowest star on the horizon, the closest one of all to earth (didn’t your fifth grade science teacher tell you that?), who, along with Beta Centuri, tagging beneath the Southern Cross, form what looks like the strings of a magnificent kite. Daniel has lost Dave, who tries to act interested but seems to be secretly trying to figure out how to make himself disappear. A magician’s trick he has not yet mastered.
Nevertheless, he has captivated me. He quotes to me passages from the journal of Joseph Banks, second in command to Captain Cook on the Endeavor, as they traversed these same waters, so long ago back in 1769: “A place cannot be dreamed any more beautiful than this!” It seems to be as true today as it was way back then.
I returned to my cabin later than usual to find a mess of chocolate hearts left on my pillows by my cabin steward Cristoph. Three on one pillow, four on the other. I am wondering if he just had a few extra left in his bag to get rid of, or if he has also spent some time with Daniel and is now recreating the constellations on my pillows.Hugs,
Jeana
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