‘Sydney is one of the 3 most beautiful ports in the world’, we were told by our eccentric cruise director Naosan. We docked in Clarke Quay, prime real estate. To my right was the Sydney Opera house, on the left the Sydney harbour bridge. The day was not entirely mine; I’d volunteered for the GET challenge tour, basically a day round Sydney with students. I made the most of a few free hours in the morning though, and saw the central sights with Risa. With the students, the idea was we cruise the city with a check list of things to do and find, and speak only in English. My lads did well and although it wasn’t free time, we made our own fun. We finished up in the late afternoon at Coojie beach and we had a bit of free time before beer and burgers with the others. I seized the chance to have a swim and was loving it for all of 30 seconds. I felt a sharp, stinging pain shoot through my left arm. I was shocked to see a blue bottle wrapped completely around it. I pulled the bugger’s tentacles off with my other hand and swam in. Some people say pee on it, others say ice. The ice didn’t work, but some gels that the restaurant had on hand cooled the burning feeling.

Fed and watered, we later headed back to the Opera House bar for a beer ‘on the Peace Boat’. Chibi Bonita, J, Aarif and I tried to make a night of it and headed into Kings Cross. I can’t say town was pumping on a Thursday night, but we did ok to find a few decent places to sample the night life.

Waving fairwell to Sydney

I did get up in the morning to have a fry up breakfast at a little café at the Rocks. My arm was swollen something awesome from the blue bottle sting. The Australian newspaper had interviewed the cruise director and featured an article plastered across the 3rd page. The headline read: ‘Japanese activists said in to back anti-whaling effort’. Reading on…’As Japanese ships continue to hunt for whales in the Southern Ocean, an ocean liner packed with Japanese activists opposed to “scientific” whaling has docked in Australia. The Peace Boat – a vessel carrying 1000 Japanese passengers on a 110-day voyage to promote human rights and environmental issues – is demanding the Japan ends its scientific whaling program…’ WHAT THE?? Activists? Demanding what? The story goes on to link our arrival with the departure of the activist boat Sea Shepherd and the anti whaling movement. On the boat I had heard little of this controversy in the media, let alone seen any anti whaling activists! I am personally opposed to the Japanese ‘scientific’ whaling program, but this story was a complete cook up by journalist Matthew Knot.

I wish I had the time to put together a jishukikaku (self planned event) about 1) Media reporting and 2) international whaling issues.

But I didn’t have the time. I was busy as a tanto (leader) organising the speech contest and, of course, writing my own speech in Japanese. It was a character building and emotional experience for many of our students who had never given a speech to an audience, let alone in a foreign language.

New Years - We had a stonking party on the boat, and muchos thanks goes to Sam and Kane for putting together a wicked slide show and DJ Sam for spinning the vinyl well into the morning

Here’s my speech in Japanese Romaji (so you can actually read it)
***

Kiwis are well represented on the 59th voyage. We rock! On the South Seas to Auckland, I noticed familiar changes: the sun’s light was sharper, the weather became changeable, and the Southern Cross appeared in the night sky.Risa, P and I woke early before dawn. The Peace Boat silently passed by Rangitoto and the first shards of morning light began to emanate over Auckland’s Eastern Suburbs. This was a special sunrise (ok, the only sunrise), that we woke for on the voyage. I was coming home for Christmas.

I’d organised for family to come on the boat, check it out and join me for a typical Peace Boat buffet breakfast on the deck. It’s hardly haute cuisine, but it does the job. We did a little tour of the floating village and then headed into town. Where were the all decorations? Only the famous Whicoulls Santa stood out. I picked up a few Christmas presents and then split my time for the rest of the day with family. It’s an easy feeling coming home. Nothing has changed as much as you have. It’s comfortable, familiar. My dog remembers me and doesn’t hold any grudges. We opened some Christmas presents together, and I announced that the money in my card is going towards my next diving trip in Papua New Guinea. Dinner was especially nice down on St Heliers beach. Before boarding I made sure I stocked up on assorted kiwi goodies - Jaffas, Pineapple lumps, Hubbards cereal, and a few bottles of Lindaur for Christmas and New Years. That was my day, but I knew I’d be back in a few weeks for my sisters wedding.

In Japan, Christmas Eve is celebrated more than Christmas day. For a first, I joined a carolling group led by the sweet voice of Bethan to bring out my Christmas spirit. We performed Come o ye Faithful, Joy to the World and The 12 days of Christmas at the Topaz restaurant on board. Then most of us partied into the late hours of the morning at Sports Bar. The GETs nursed hangovers together on Christmas day and enjoyed doing a whole lot of nothing, other than exchanging Secret Santa gifts, eating lollies and watching movies.

Classes have finished! The on board teaching program we’d set up was a great success, judged by feedback from students. Without a doubt, my students have grown in confidence, expanded their vocabularies and learned how to use new language structures. I’d say my Japanese has also improved along the way. But we’re far from finished - coming up is a GET challenge program around Sydney, a speech contest, graduation ceremony and of course a final party!

How cruel to sail across the vast Pacific Ocean to stop in tropical Tahiti for only one day. We ferried straight to Moorea Island, some 40 minutes from Papeete. Meg had sleuthed out a dive shop and they drove us around coast of the island. We gazed out to the intense teal colour of the shallow reef and craned our necks to marvel at Moorea’s cliffs, jagging vertically up from the dense tropical jungle. It might just be the most perfect tropical island I’ve seen in my life. It was about to get better.

French Polynesia is expensive. At $80 a pop we decided on just one dive. We quickly geared up, were given our briefing in a thick French accent and hummed 500 metres off shore to our dive location. From the boat, I caught sight of a menacing shadow. ‘Don’t panic’, we were assured, ‘they don’t bite’. Should I trust a Frenchman? Why not, he still had all his fingers! We descended to about 15 metres and looked out through fantastic visibility. And then the scene just unfolded. One blacktip reef shark became two, then five… until there were maybe 12 around us. We watched, mesmerised, suspended above the reef. Some weren’t interested in us, another swam straight at me before darting away at the last moment. Others passed over me and I touched their bellies. I glanced to my right and only an arms reach away was another, just cruising, like he was my brother. This was some mad-cool shit. And there was more to this dive than just sharks; large schools of surgeon fish, caves with lion fish and an aggressive trigger fish. I rued not being able to borrow an underwater camera case for this, my best and longest dive (56min). (see videos here)

Hez and Julia with Stingrays

Back on shore we had only 2 hours before the last ferry. Missing it would mean a costly private plane back to Papeete. Our gang were keen to check out Stingray Point so we ran down the road, rented some tandem kayaks and headed out to where the reef meets the channel. We dropped our kayak’s anchors on the shallow sandy bottom next to another boat and grabbed our snorkels. In seconds we were surrounded by a dozen curious Stingrays. Just getting out of the kayak, I had to check not to step on one. The friendly rays, about a metre in diameter, didn’t mind us touching their velvety wings. They were obviously used to people feeding them fishy snacks. Awesome snorkelling.

We cut it fine and just made the ferry. I wish we missed it. We’d only been on Moorea some 6 hours and there wasn’t a whole lot going on in downtown Papeete. I drank my beer and looked at the Hinano girl… Moorea would’ve been a great place to be stranded.

Oh, the sacred sight of land! The Peace Boat anchored a mile off the exposed coast of Rapa Nui, Easter Island. The weather and swells cooperated and tender boats shuttled tour groups to the island 8 at a time. I hoped I would be just as lucky the next day when I had my chance to get off. So, for a day I just hung out on board and watched the coast near Hanga Roa. A Rasta local came on board to teach the Japanese how to stone carve for $30. The day’s highlight (other than just relaxing beside the pool) was the stonking cultural performance that night by a Polynesian cultural group. It rates as one of the best I’ve seen.

Rapa Nui cultural performance

The next morning, the gods were smiling and the GET teachers were able to get off the Peace Boat at last. From the boat I had organised a dive with 3 Japanese friends. We prepared our gear and headed back out to a site in sight of the Peace Boat. The visibility was exceptionally good as major currents don’t flow to Easter Island carrying plankton. We saw some nice morays, big yellow fin tuna, a school of jackfish and a turtle amongst the hard coral on the volcanic sea floor. Down at 20 meters there was a surprise - an underwater Moai. It was, of course, a replica. How else would an ancient 6 meter Moai get out to sea? I read on the web it was made for Kevin Costner’s flop ‘Rapa Nui’, though the dive master told us it was dropped down there by a local as a remembrance.

Underwater Moai

On dry land our dive master turned guide and we headed off to Rano Raraku, a kind of quarry from which the original Moai were carved centuries ago. It’s a strange place and the remnant of an extinct volcano. Wild horses drink in its crater lake. Dozens of <a href=”http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moai” target=”blank”>Moai</a> are scattered in the vicinity; the ones that never made it to their intended resting places. Now, some stand half buried, others have fallen and many more remain unfinished, part carved from the mountainside. Most are about 6-8 metres tall, though the largest is unfinished and a whopping 21 metres. No metal tools were used to create the Moai, instead they were carved using stone on stone. How the Moai came to stand at their various resting places around the island remains a mystery, though 3 theories stand out: a) wooden rollers used for rolling the Moai down the mountainside b) a ‘V’ shaped sled to slide the Moai, and c) Aliens. All are theoretically possible

Moai being carved from the rock

The view from Rano Raraku’s perilous cliff top looked out across the barren land to the ocean and the 15 standing Moai of Ahu Tongariki. Standing at the foot of the ahu the Moai are impressive. Facing inland, the Moai are the “living faces” (aringa ora) and representations of chiefly, deified ancestors. Although many Moai are similar, few or none are the same.

From Ahu Tongariki we headed to the white sands and green palms of Anakena beach. Here 7 more Moai stand proudly on the shore. Behind their backs nice surf breaks near the shore where I had a bitofa body surf. The last group of Moai we visited were exceptions, facing out to see. Possibly they watch for islanders sent out to sea by the king in search for new lands.

Ahu Tongariki

***
Back on the Peace Boat, the joke is I look like a Moai. An honour, I think. It’s something about my ‘high’ nose and ‘longer than Japanese’ face. (Its funny in that many Japanese think foreigners all look alike just as kiwis think the opposite is true). Anyway to put this myth straight, or rather for a laugh, I organised a Moai Mitai (look-a-like) contest with CCC Yuko. We took some pics of willing passengers and juxtaposed them with Moai shots on the computer. There was a big vote and CCC Yuko and I tied for 3rd. Nakahara-san now has the honorific ‘Moai’ after his name and I nicknamed Yuko ‘CCC Moai’ too.

There are many events and happenings everyday. We held awareness events on AIDS day, and celebrated Human Rights day on December 10th with a number of different events, movies and discussions topped with a toast to freedom. I did my bit in the Culture Festival; Aotearoa represent! We demonstrated the Haka, Maori stick games, touch rugby and boat cricket. We had a manabi night raising money for reforestation projects in the Galapagos (think drag). We’ve just had the Summer Festival, Yukatta contest and a Polynesian night. At the Summer Festival participants could stand on the preverbial soap box and below anything they wished. There weren’t many takers, and most were just to wish for a boyfriend or say Happy Birthday to a friend. I got the crowd to bellow out a FREEDOM call, ala Mikey Havoc. Fleeeedooooooooooomu! Speech contests are coming up and mine is going to be in Japanese. And tomorrow is the ship soccer tournament. Christmas is a busy time of year, and the boat life is no exception. It feels like I’m coming down the home straight now to be with family for Christmas in Auckland. It’s a great feeling.

(For more photos click the ‘Photos’ link at the top of the page)

I was pumped for Peru. This was one of those all too rare overnight ports. Risa and I jumped off the Peace Boat at 7am and into a taxi. From the notoriously dodging port area we cruised into central Lima overtaking loaded people movers painted up like football team buses. Inconveniently there is no central bus terminal in Lima, so after getting it wrong once Risa fluently asked for the right directions. In no time we were charging down the dry and barren coastal desert watching a ripped DVD of Troy. After 4 1/2 hours we changed to a taxi in Ica, which took us to the doorstep of a little slice of paradise.

Huacachina Oasis

Huacachina is an oasis lying in a bowl of sand. Picaresque palm trees surround the small lake. With big smiles we pulled up a restaurant table beside the lake and ordered whatever we pleased…with cervecas of course. As we ate we watched a few dots inching up the surrounding dunes. We decided to rent snowboards and began our own climb of Mt Sanddune. It was hot and each step plugged into the sand. Maybe the more expensive idea of renting sand buggies would’ve been smarter. From the top of the dunes we looked down on one side to the oasis and on the other to a small town in the middle of the sandy nowhere. I wondered who on earth would want to live there. Then we strapped on our dodgy boards and went for it, laughing and riding on the soft sand. We couldn’t quite get the same speed as on snow, but the wipe-out sure was a lot softer!

On a tight schedule, we caught a bus up to Pisco. From the main road we caught a taxi into the dark streets to the door of our guesthouse. We sipped our Pisco Sours with our dinner and then waited for a guide to turn up to discuss the next day’s options. When he did, we booked in for a $35 trip to the Ballestos Islands next morning and private car around the Paracas national park. As we chatted to this friendly guy conversation turned to ‘the earthquake’.

Pisco Earthquake

What earthquake? Well, The one that knocked out the street lights, keeping us in the dark when we entered Pisco. On August 15 this year, Pisco was literally shaken to pieces by a 8.0 quake. Tragically, 430 people died in Pisco, 138 of them when the roof of the central San Clemente Cathedral of Pisco collapsed during mass. The clean up has been disaster for the survivors. Our guide told us $90 million was pledged by the international community but there is precious little to show for it. He is frustrated by the government response, and underneath I sensed a simmering anger. Turkey pledged some basic kit set houses to those who lost their home. He accuses the government of selling these back to the people - profiting from the disaster. Venezuela too offered food and housing but these were turned down by the Peruvian government. The reason? Charvez had put his face on the stickers of the fruit and in the corner of the houses. ‘The people don’t care who helps us’, our guide told us. ‘In a short time the fruit would be eaten and his face painted over anyway!’ The government of Peru did offer 20000 peso in compensation. Then the figure dropped to 10000 peso. Now, the people are still waiting for 2000 pesos ($600) in compensation. Significant amounts of international food and clothes aid also arrived. We were shocked to be told that when this arrives at ports in Lima the military have first pickings. What are left for the people who need it most are the scraps.

A car picked us up a 7:00am and in the beautiful morning light we saw the ugly extent of the damage. How lucky we were to have even slept with a roof over our heads last night. About 40% of the houses we passed were flat to the ground, another 40% had substantial visible damage. We passed the colonial style cathedral, a gaping hole where its roof had been. I saw one of the Turkish aid kitset shacks. Now, 4 months on from the day, we still saw people living in tents. There was no earth moving equipment. Rubble was stacked by hand in piles beside the road. Pisco, previously a thriving city of 400,000 was in ruin.

Ballestas Sea Lions

We arrived at the docks near the entrance of Paracas National Park. After a bit of hanging around, as is the Peruvian way, we boarded our small boat and were stunned to find… life jackets! (Now there’s something not easily found in Asia.) As we headed out to sea 3 pelicans swooped out from in front of the bow. A short way out we pulled up near the Paracas Peninsula to puzzle over El Candelabro, a giant geoglyph. Just like the famous Nasca lines further south, it is difficult to say much for certain about the Candelabra; who made it, when, why… I’m told that it isn’t even a depiction of a candelabrum, but a cactus. Nearing Las Islas Ballestas, ribbons of pelicans and boobies draped across the sky. Then we saw why the islands are known as the little Galapagos - these birds blanketed the islands and penguins dipped into the water. Before we could see them, we heard the roars of sea lions echoing from the caves. For much of the 19th and 20th centuries this delicate ecosystem was mined for guano, also known as bird shit, and valuable for its potassium and phosphorus. The taste of salt spray mixed with the pong of bird shit baked onto the rocks. Our boat gentled idled around rock stacks where throngs of sea lions sunbathed. In the water, sea lions lept and played close to our boat. Prohibited from landing, we kept a respectful distance from the colonies that lined the pebble beaches. These are their islands.

Paracas Red Beach

Back on shore we met our driver who would take us around Paracas National Park. He gave English his best shot but Risa needed to CC. The roads looked like tarmac but weren’t. We stopped to see that they were made only by compacting the salty earth. Risa couldn’t resist eating the road. The park’s landscape was unique; a dry, lunar surface, in places dusty white. We made a number of stops in the park including ‘The Cathedral’ a geographical sea cave feature destroyed in the earthquake (before pic). We walked the cliffs looking onto a red sand beach and stopped into the Laguna. Here too the famous seaside restaurants were destroyed and only 1 remained. We took our seafood platters and cervecas onto the idyllic and deserted beach and swam in the warm waters. Another little paradise. I asked our driver again about the flamingos that feed in the shallow waters of the park. They’re gone. The silt kicked up from the earthquake has muddied their feeding area.

Ever conscious of kisen limito we left the park, thanking our driver, and made for the bus station. For just shear fun, Peru was the best port so far and still I’m yet to experience the marvels of Machu Pichu and the Inca trail, the Nasca lines or the Andes!

For a day we were in the middle of the world and I was the center of attention. I had my 28th birthday on the equator in Ecuador! To think that for the past 5 years I have had my birthday in 5 different countries…Wow!

We headed into the port city of Guayaquil early Sunday morning and walked the new waterfront promenade known as Malecon 2000. Friends spontaneously jumped out from behind corners and sung ‘happy birthday!’ just so I couldn’t forget all day. No one was keen to eat Iguana empanadas but we all wanted to see iguanas. A few blocks away in Park Bolivar, we were astounded to see 20 or 30 big’ins roaming the park without cages, being fed, drinking from ponds, climbing trees and basking in the sun. Very cool.

Happy Birthday

Sarah, Hez and I continued up the beautifully restored hill at the end of the Malecon 2000 which which was well protected by security guards. From the lighthouse we looked over the city towards Raul’s family’s house. We headed there next to partiiieee. It had been 5 years since Raul had seen his family - what a home coming! There was a bit of salsa dancing, plenty of cervecas and lucky me - a birthday cake! The kids helped us get into the party games, piñata and face painting. What can I say but good times for all!

Rough seas delayed our passage down to Colon, Panama. Colon’s reputation for crime and muggings is infamous, driven by high unemployment, poverty and the easy pickings in a port city. Though no longer as dire as it used to be, we were barred from walking outside the port area. So, what to do? There was the option of taxiing to the Zona Libre, the world’s second largest tax free ‘island’ where the multinationals and banks of the world have a presence inside 4 metre high security walls. (By the looks of it, very little of that wealth ever reaches the city outside those walls.) We could’ve stayed confined in the port shopping centre, or hook up a taxi tour and head out for the afternoon. Phil, Gabi, Julia and I were the only ones game. Our drive out to Portobello village an hour away, was well worth it.

Portobello Fort

This was the world of pirates and Caribbean treasure and once the richest place in the world. From here gold plundered from the ‘New World’ of the Americas flowed back to the ‘Old World’ on Spanish Galleys. Forts, defended with cannons and made of strong cut coral (lighter yet just as strong as granite), protected the treasure. But this was little more than deterrence for the most determined plunderers.

Panama Canal, Gatun Docks

The town of Portobello was too small to say much about and the Black Christ was closed. But the forts were interesting and were set in a picturesque harbour. All around us was beautiful, lush rain forest. We moved on to a thatched restaurant hut looking out to nearby islands while we ate seafood selections, and drank coconuts and a few cevecas.

The next day we passed through the Panama Canal which was more exciting than you might imagine. It began with a 6:00am wakeup call over the intercom announcing our approach to the Gatun lochs. When the canal was cut in the 1850’s partly fueled by the Californian gold rush, the French had problems over sections of the 80km long canal cutting through 30+ metres deep of hard rock. Their solution was to build lochs to float vessels up to a different height removing the need to cut so deeply though the rock. The process of being raised in your vessel is fascinating, especially with other massive tankers being floated up and down all around you.

Rainforest

The interior of the Panama Canal was just as interesting, lined for miles by dense rainforest. And true to its name, it rained and it poured. We were refloated back down to sea level and exited the canal against the vista of Panama City. A salt water croc swam out of our course.

We’re now headed for Ecuador!

Two days after Cuba we arrived in Puerto Guaranao, Venezuala. Around the start of the voyage this port of call was changed from Maracaibo because, I heard, this area is more pro Chavez and because it suited the organised tours better. From a tourist perspective Guaranai town offered nothing. The shuttle buses were late and then dropped passengers off in a no-mans land at the port entrance at the mercy of extortionist taxi prices. Perhaps unsurprisingly there was a mugging there and so the drop off point was changed. We caught a cab off the road into town and 7 of us piled in. In town Gaby, with her native gift of Spanish, negotiated 2 wide arsed, 1960’s, pimpin American rides for us to Coro, an hour away. We pulled over on the highway and ate our first empanadas (savory, filled thingys).

Articola Beach

The drivers tried to change the price on arrival but there would be none of that. Coro, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, looked like something out of a movie set. The town centre was graced by some vibrant colored churches and architecture but was completely devoid of locals. Everyone apparently is at the beach on Sundays. So after a mission to find any restaurant that was open, we hooked up a MR T van to Villa Marina beach. The driver was a prick and dropped us a 20 minute walk to the nice part of the beach. The nice part was packed. Suped up cars lined the roads pumping out Regaeton beats and competing for attention. The water was refreshing and blue, but the girls found that it was crawling with unwanted male attention. At a waterfront restaurant we ate pretty well and found out the black market rate for dollars is nearly twice as good as the official rate. Come nightfall the beach streets didn’t look so safe, with groups of guys and a lot of alcohol, and I was the only guy with 7 Gringo girlies. A taxi finally arrived at the restaurant and we got at least halfway home before the gearbox failed. It might’ve been scary if Gaby hadn’t been listening in on their cellphone call for help to their company:
‘Yeah we have a car problem, but come quick! You won’t believe it. We have a car with 7 gringos and their paying us 40,000bs! We don’t want them to leave!’
Er, like, where would we go.. I guess $7 each was too much for a 1 hour taxi in an oil rich country. Rumour had it that petrol in Venezuala is only 5c a litre. We headed for a Peace Boat organised fiesta and conveniently missed the speeches. The band was good and we had a bit of a dance, but like the PB fiesta in Cuba it didn’t have much soul.

Drinking cervecas with a few friends

Day 2 and the port shuttle bus chaos happened all over again. Our plan was to do a bit of hiking in the hills, but the taxis would only lower their prices from ‘outrageous’ to ‘crazy’. We threw in the hiking idea and went to Aticola Beach which we’d heard was nice and found everything we needed - a shady tree, sand and clear water and of course cervacas (beer). A little walk down the end of the beach were brightly coloured boat sheds, a lighthouse and wild cacti. In a little restaurant on the beach front we enjoyed great food and also the surprise of an iguana in the doorway. Apparently iguana empanadas are on the menu in these parts.

Next stop? Panama!

Why couldn’t we dock in Santiago de Cuba? Finally, after a 4 hour wait, we had the all clear to enter disembark. Gaby, Adi and I walked up the hill from the port to the Parque Cespedes flanked by colonial architecture. Stalls lined the side streets waiting for Japanese passengers. The beautiful architecture here was in need of a lick of paint. We stumbled onto a cultural performance put on for Japanese passengers, but soon left to find the local cafes and live house scene. We had a beer in a few courtyards and saw 2 live bands in the afternoon. They were good. Really tight. Think Buena Vista Social Club. We met some guys who helped me cut a deal for some cigars on the black market. The price of cigars is regulated for tourists. Tourism is especially good for Cuba’s economy as tourists are obliged to use the special ‘CUC’ currency rather than the local Pesos. The high rate of this ‘tourist’ currency is controlled by the government and this makes it the most expensive country in Latin America for tourists.

A little bit of Salsa

There aren’t a whole lot of restaurants around town, nor convenience stores or other shops that I’m used to seeing in tourist friendly cities. I understand that it is in part due to state control of private enterprise and also availability of produce. Private home owners can apply for permission to cook meals for foreigners instead and they can also provide lodging. We visited one house, but didn’t stay as the price was a little high and instead ate lamb and chicken down the road.

The GET teachers volunteered to help out at the Peace Boat organised fiesta that night so we made our way back down the hill to the port and bussed off to the event. For the longest time it was all speeches, Japanese drumming and a Japanese juggler which wasn’t quite the salsa fiesta I’d come to see, so at 10pm a few of us headed back into town to check out some of the live music scene. The Casa de la Trova is one of Santiago de Cuba’s famous spots and inside its hallowed walls was spicy Cuban salsa. It was a great vibe and between Cervecas and Mohitos we all had our moments on the floor dancing with Cubans. We didn’t stop after close, but moved on to another club with a cabaret where we met up with some locals. More salsa, more Mohitos. We wrapped up the night in a surreal park with new friends, Cervecas in hand, singing ‘Guantanamela’. Everyone in Cuba, it seems, is born with the gift of music and dance.

Cuban street talent

3 hours sleep later J and I were back in town trying to spend the last of our CUC’s before midday kisen limito. Problem was we couldn’t get a coffee anywhere because, it seemed, the town had run out. It was an odd thing to us to walk into a large store with only a few different products and no choice. Or a bakery where people are buying bread with coupons. People weren’t starving in Cuba, but they weren’t wealthy either. In some countries like Egypt kids beg for pens, so it’s strange to hear in Cuba grown men asking for pens to write with. It’s difficult to say whether the lack of market freedom in the communist system is limiting wealth or if this is the effect of more than 50 years of trade embargos by America.

As we crossed the Atlantic we listened to guest lectures and watched videos on Cuba and learnt a bit of salsa while we were at it. Its true Cuba doesn’t get a fair rap in American media and there are many socialist successes that it can be proud of since the ‘59 revolution. It’s health care and educational programmes are free to everyone, and its life expectancy and literacy rates rival America’s. And of course it does this with significantly less resources. It’s been though major crises such as the ’special period’ in the early 90’s when the USSR collapsed and Cuba lost its main trading partner and oil supplier. It came through that and remains the only communist country outside East Asia. American blockades continue to beat up on Cuba 50 years on despite America’s liberal attitude to trading with other communist countries, that it’s no military threat, and despite the fact that in UN annual votes every country except 4 now backs the lifting of these sanctions. America of course doesn’t mind using Cuba for its own ends. Cuba views the infamous American military base Guantanamo Bay (its oldest base in the world) as an occupation. Any aggressive action Cuba takes to remove this base would likely be used as a pretext for an invasion.

We departed Santiago de Cuba in the afternoon and from the top deck I watched as we navigated the beautiful and narrow channel to the sea against the backdrop of lush mountains. Yesterday’s entry had been delayed, I heard, because we had been waiting for the tide to rise. The harbour wasn’t deep enough. We exited out past the Castillo del Morro that watches over harbour.
I wouldn’t say I’d choose to live under the system of communist Cuba, but I think that programmes of quality, free health care and education for all are ideals that every country should strive for. What I would love to live under in Cuba is the Latino passion for music and dance.

We’ve been cruisin! A week and half through the Med had us pulling into a new port every other day.

From Kusadasi we arrived in Pireaus the next day. Our little group caught the subway to the Acropolis which was dispairingly being renovated. The Parthenon, the 2500 year old ‘must see’ of Athens, was worthwhile for its sense of history and power and for the amazing dominating views it affords, but not really for its present condition. Stu and I spent little time walking the old lanes of Plaqa beneath the Acropolis and instead caught up with some Greek friends of his who drove us around the Aegean coast to a great little seafood restaurant near the temple of Poseidon. The day’s excursions were great and plenty of red wine gave it a nice after glow.

*

Inside Saint Johns cathedral

I knew nearly nothing of Malta before we docked there a day later. It’s a country only half the size of Awaji island near Kobe, but in the Middle Ages it was of prime importantance. The Knights of St John were an order tasked with protecting the interests of the Christian faith against the Ottamon’s. The church of St John is the most stunningly detailed church I have ever seen. Full stop. The church really defies description of the equisite craftsmanship in the marble floors, arched ceilings and lavishly decorated walls. But a few special bits of interest were the memento mouri skull imagery and Michaelangelo da Caravaggio’s famous ‘Beheading of St John’, the only work he ever signed.

The eerie medieval lanes of Medina

We took a yellow Bedford bus out to the Blue Grotto and bought tickets for a run-a-bout boat to take us into the caves. The boat ride was a bit of a rip, so I bought a snorkle and mask and had a swim. Steve, Kik, Sarah and I then made the call to head out to the Old City of Medina which was the site The Great Seige that nearly destroyed the order. It was easy to get lost in the maze of ghostly lanes draped in golden street light. We came upon Bachus restaurant and learned that it was the site of the amoury built by Grand Master Fra Martino de Redin in 1557. It was too good a chance to pass up and we dined in luxury and history. Steve-o and I insisted on been called Grand Master Roger and Grand Master Steve for the duration of the dinner.

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Pizza and Wine for breakfast with my roomy, J

Rome wasn’t built in a day but there we were trying to see it in one. From the Roma Terminus we stepped out of the heavily tagged Rome underground to the impact of the Colloseum right outside, the grand site of gladiator battles and hunting bloodbaths and my boyhood wonder. So, 5 of us started the morning here with great pizza and red wine (why not?) right under it. Only Gaby and I went inside and waited through an inefficient ticketing system and a disorientating audio guide. But inside the Colloseum itself is well worth the look if you bring your imagination, despite having being pillaged for building materials for more than 1000 years. From here Gabs and I made our way to The Vatican. Hundreds were lined up around St Peters square and so we joined them, eventually passing through the metal detectors and into the revered seat of Catholic power. I’m not really sure what to say.. The emotion of believers around you in St Peters Basilica was moving, but something about the size and scale was domineering. The beauty of St Johns in Malta was oddly richer than the Vatican, I thought. My feeling inside the Basilica was just that I was very small. Gaby and I had just enough time to visit the poorly signposted Trevi Fountain, grab one more delicious gelato, and finish off the day with an ordinary pasta. Then it was back on the boat to Barcelona.

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Japanese Barca fans at the Nou Camp

The Peace Boat soccer team talked me into joining them on their Barcelona tour. First stop, was the Nou Camp stadium, home of Barca FC. The 90000 seat stadium is impressive and it must really go off when a game is being played. Another time, I hope. We passed through the locker rooms, media center, pitch side, and Barca’s own museum. Thierry Henry, come back to Arsenal and bring back that 2006 Champions League trophy with you. We then headed to an astroturf pitch and played a full 90 minutes against a well drilled local team. We got our butts kicked. They were good lads though and we hung out together in a Tapas restaurant afterwards.

Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia, still under construction

Risa and I still had time in the day to catch the subway to Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia, his famous cathedral, still unfinished after more than 100 years. Unfortunately, it was near closing time so we couldn’t go to the upper levels, so instead we headed to the Gothic Quarter in the center of the city. It was Friday night and Barcelona was in thrawl of a 4 day weekend. We were swept along with the crowds, down the side streets and alleys, lost in the maze on our way to the gothic Cathedral. We passed street performers, ate well and met up with some of the other GET teachers before Kisen Limito. 2 had had their bags stolen from beside their feet that day. Zanen!

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Back on the boat we started classes again after the long layoff. But it was only 3 more days until we were docking again, this time off the coast of Africa. Our Peace Boat contracts don’t allow us to drive so we couldn’t scour the more remote parts of the island. But we headed an hour south by bus to Maspalomas which promised a natural reserve of sand dunes. As we neared Maspalomas we scrunched our noses at the resort developments that pushed kilometres back. The main beach was plastered with uniform umbrellas, like it was the Costa Del Sol or something. We had a swim here which was alright and then headed to the beautiful sand dune reserve we’d seen in the photos. The reality? A smutty haven for aging nudists. I guess if I come back it’ll be to open an off shore bank account.

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The carefree week we had in Europe was a fantastic break from classes. Now we’re heading across the Atlantic with new guests from Cuba and Venezuela lecturing about issues in their countries which seem misrepresented in western media. I’ll be able to see Cuba for myself in just a few days. We’ve had another Cuban salsa god onboard so my body is ready to move.

Our gang of GET teachers and CC’s are pretty close and the room parties have been kicking off recently. We brought out the Sheisha’s again for an Arab night, and in middle of it all went had a stonking Halloween party. The other day we had a sports day, which I can say is nothing like sports as you know it - think games with chopsticks, 3 legs, eggs and spoons. It was all very nice actually. Our team was the Lions, and so we had tails. Now in any other country the other teams wouldn’t be able to resist stealing your tails, but not here. Points to everyone for fair play, and big ups to my Lions Tug-of-war team who ate the other team. The mighty mighty yellow Lions won overall all and we were rewarded with a beer tower in Namihei.

I’m getting into the Latino spirit!