Pape'ete, Tahiti Sunset

This is the sunset as we left Pape'ete, Tahiti. The waves are breaking on the reef.  Moorea, our next stop, is the island in the distance, just 12 miles from Pape'ete.

A longer post is coming, but for now here is a photo of a Tahitian sunset.

Pacific Sunset

I went out last night to take a sunset picture but it was too hazy along the horizon line. Then I looked to my right (north?) and saw beautiful pinky-peach clouds and the moon already up. We'll be in Papeete by morning. It's much warmer and more tropical now.

Pitcairn Island: Going, Going, Gone

Me with Pitcairn Island in the background. The long white building near the shoreline on the left is the long boat house

Pitcairn Island
ms Amsterdam
January 24, 2013

Well, pooh.

The Pitcairn islanders will not be coming aboard after all. It seems that over 20 of them
(35% of the island population) have the H2N3 flu virus, a gift from a cruise ship that
passed through two weeks ago. Canceling this was not a decision made lightly; not only
do the islanders enjoy visiting on board but they also receive medical, dental and beauty
(haircuts, etc in the spa) attention as well as some hard currency from the souvenirs
they sell to the passengers. So the captain consulted with the medical team and the
HAL corporate poobahs and the conclusion was that for the safety of the passengers
and crew no islander would be permitted to board the Amsterdam.

Well, pooh.

Instead we headed straight towards the island, arriving off Bounty Bay around 9 am or
so. Once again, it was not at all as I had expected. Pitcairn is mountainous with no real
harbor but it is also lush and green and quite beautiful and a welcome sight after days at
sea.

Archaeologists believe that Polynesians were living on Pitcairn as late as the 15th
century, but the islands (there are four in the group) were uninhabited when they were
discovered in 1767 by the crew of the British sloop, HMS Swallow. Pitcairn was named
for the fifteen-year-old midshipman, Robert Pitcairn, who was the first to sight it. In 1790
the mutineers of the HMS Bounty and their Tahitian companions settled on Pitcairn,
burning the Bounty, still visible underwater in Bounty Bay.

Today the island is inhabited by fewer than 60 people, from nine families, making it
the least populated jurisdiction in the world. It is not a sovereign nation; its residents
hold New Zealand passports. The United Nations classifies it as a Non-Self-Governing
Territory.

Although the people couldn't come aboard, they did come out in their long boat to pick
up supplies. Jim went to the daily "Good Morning, Amsterdam" production (it's a thirty-
minute Today-ish show that tells a bit about the day's agenda as well as interviewing
different members of the crew about their jobs, life, etc) and said that Bruce, the Cruise
Director and host, read aloud the "shopping" list of items the islanders had requested
the Amsterdam bring to them from the mainland. There was everything from toilet paper to chocolate milk and chicken wings to shoes, school supplies and 12-year-old scotch.
Because the islanders would miss out on earning money aboard the Amsterdam, the
captain refused payment for the goods ordered and gifted them as well with other stores
they might need or just plain enjoy.

After everything was transferred to the long boat, we circumnavigated the small island.
It has rich soil and water so the residents are able to grow a variety of fruits and
vegetables. There is a doctor in residence for half of the year. There is also a primary
school for the children. They are sent to New Zealand for high school and college.
One of the issues now is to convince the young people to come back to the island if
only to have able-bodied people to help with the physical labor of launching the long
boat (it lives in a boat house up a ramp from the water's edge) to load and then unload
supplies.

The houses are on the hillside above Bounty Bay. The residents use ATVs to get
around but the dirt roads regularly wash out from heavy rains. It's another strange and
beautiful dot in the South Pacific.

And with Pitcairn Island in the rear view mirror we headed towards Tahiti. But out of
sight was not necessarily out of mind. It seemed that everyone was wondering the same
thing, "Could I live on that little rock with 57 people and no way off?" And didn't that put
living in a 350 square foot stateroom with one other person for 40 days into perspective.

Easter Island, Part 2

Moai at Tongari Kim

Easter Island
ms Amsterdam
January 21, 2013

Easter Island (officially Rapa Nui) is a province of Chile. It is one of the most isolated
inhabited islands in the world. It lies 2237 miles west of Chile and 1290 miles east of
Pitcairn Island. It's five hours by air from Santiago or five days by sea from Peru. It was
discovered on Easter Sunday in 1722 by the Dutch.

And that is about all the "experts" can agree upon. Some say the island was settled by
Hawaiians in 300 to 400 AD, others say it was not inhabited until 700-800 AD with a
recent study claiming it wasn't until 1200 AD. Easter Islanders (population 3,000) say
they are Polynesian and arrived during the early period.

Today many of the 3,000 residents hold military or government jobs but tourism is
growing and there is a sporadic scientific research industry. Our guide's mother is head
of the research department on the island, so he was especially well-informed on both the
traditional stories and recent theories.

Rapu Nui is just 45 square miles, a triangular island spawned by ancient, now extinct
volcanoes. There are three "major" villages, the largest being Hanga Roa where we
landed. It's lush and tropical but not manicured like Hawaii. It rather looks like a scruffy,
Polynesian Mayberry. There is one main, paved two-lane road across the island, but
most "roads" are dirt, some smooth but most rocky with impressive pot holes. Horses
easily out number the cars. They are everywhere grazing in fields, pastures or front
yards. Lots of dogs, too. We saw cows and cattle as we drove across the island, as well
as small farms.

But the moai are the main draw. These are the enormous statues carved from soft
volcanic rock at the Rano Raraku quarry and then moved miles to the coastline. Their
backs are always to the sea so they can look upon the land and villages. Some 600 of
these statues have been resurrected, some as tall as 18 feet weighing several tons.

But how was it possible to carve hundreds of statues with no metal implements and
then move them several miles from the quarry to the coast with no modern equipment?
Theories abound. The natives say the moai "walked" to the sea. Period. Scientists are
continually trying to prove that they were transported by rocking them on their bases as
we would move a heavy piece of furniture or rolled on logs, thus the deforestation of the
island. There is no recorded history, so theories abound.

Some of the moai have been restored. All had eventually been knocked over by man
or nature. Those along the coast have been tipped upright onto their platforms, some
with their red rock top knots on their heads. One has even had its black and white eyes
restored. Many have been eroded over the years. Nicholas, our guide, told us that the
natives understand that nothing is forever and the moai were expected to eventually
disappear. Of course they also understand that "no moai, no tourists", so they aren't going
to protest the restoration work.

The Quarry on Easter Island

The quarry is quite something. It is the side of an extinct volcano. There are statues
everywhere; some standing, many fallen (always face down) and half buried and others
still partly carved and attached to the rock. There are walking trails along the face of the
quarry so visitors can get quite close to the moai (but no touching; very bad ju-ju). Some
are short-eared, some long-eared representing two tribes, for lack of a better word, from
long ago. Supposedly these two groups were the Hatfields and McCoys of Rapa Nui,
killing each other (And eating each other? Cannabalism is strongly suspected.) in feudal
wars. The faces are not all the same. It's believed (there is a theory for everything!) that
the faces were carved to look like the king at the time. It's also thought that the statues
lying face down, some broken apart, fell over when they were walking to the coast and
simply left where they fell.

The statues were carved with a stone harder than the volcanic rock. They were carved
lying on their backs, the statues not the carvers. The earth was excavated around the
statue as they carved until the figure was attached only by a "keel" of rock like a spine
on its back side. Then a deep hole was dug at the base, the figure was separated from
the mountain and tipped, upright into the hole. Tons of rock, tipped up by men holding
ropes. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. Thus the broken moai scattered all
over the side of the quarry and down to the flat plain below. It's almost more interesting
that no one is quite sure how this was all done. You find yourself just standing and
staring at these things wondering how? why? and why here? and why did they stop,
leaving so many unfinished?

The shoreline of the island is mostly rocky. The color of the sea is just breathtaking
and the sky so very blue. There are numerous pebbly coves that reminded me of the
tide pools along the Pacific coast. As we walked up the side of the quarry, suddenly
you round a corner and there, way below in the distance is a line of moai at the water
line. Fifteen statues of varying sizes in a row at Tongari Ki facing towards the back
of the quarry mountain in the distance. Nicholas told us that in the 60s a tremendous
tsunami wave resulting from a tremendous earthquake (Note to self: Google this when
it doesn't cost 25 cents a minute to do so) hit that spot, knocking down all the statues
and scattering them across the plain. The water rushed up the side of the mountain and filled the crater of the volcano. The villages on the other side of the island were
unaffected by this calamity. I believe Nicholas said that the restoration of the statues
was funded by the Japanese. We drove around to the spot to see them up close and
take pictures. Lots of pictures. Thank heavens for digital cameras!

Our last stop was the beach of Anakena on the north east side of the island. It's a small
cove with a white, fine sandy beach that stretches a few hundred yards inland. It's the
swimming beach on the island and is quite popular and well-used by native and tourist
alike. There were several little food shacks selling empenadas (the Chilean influence),
grilled chicken, soft drinks, etc. It's also the equivalent of a national park, so we spotted
a couple of park rangers sporting hard hats as protection from coconuts falling from the
trees. (That was our only warning as we left our little bus to explore: Don't sit under a
coconut tree.) A row of seven figures at the top of the beach guards the cove.

Because of our delayed arrival, our tour began two hours late (although one gets the
feeling that the place runs on Island Time, whatever that might be at the moment) so we
didn't have time to explore the town. However, the islanders had set up souvenir tables
at every stop so shopping opportunities abounded. We have been warned that anything
made of wood, stone or food will be confiscated when we disembark in Sydney which
eliminates a lot of fun stuff. Jim got a T-shirt and I a couple of post cards. We haven't
been leaving many Yankee dollars behind. Maybe in Tahiti, our next stop. We'll have all
morning in Papeete, or as Jim calls it, Pah-pete.

Easter Island. Chalk up another once-in-a-lifetime experience. I keep looking through
the pictures taken that day to confirm that I was really there. And I have a list of books
to read and re-read about Easter Island when back in the US of A.

And now we head towards French Polynesia, setting our clocks back an hour every
night as we finally leave the Eastern Time Zone. Adios Rapa Nui and Bon Jour Tahiti.

All Ashore? (Easter Island, Part 1)

Easter Island
ms Amsterdam
January 21, 2013

I was just looking through the pictures I took on Easter Island and had one of those "Did
that really happen?" moments. Visiting Easter Island has long been at the top of my
travel list. It was why I took this trip. I'm verklempt (sp?) just sitting here thinking about it.

Ah, but unless one takes the five hour flight from Santiago, Chile (the terminal is very
tiny; makes the air terminal on Molokai look like LAX, but the runway goes on forever.
It was improved and extended to be used as an emergency landing strip for the space
shuttle and in fact the Concorde did make a trip to Easter Island. Who knew?) getting
onto Easter Island is not a slam-dunk given.

This blog will be about getting from Point A, the ms Amsterdam, to Point B, a tender,
and then to Point C, the "dock" on Easter Island. Talk about getting your money's worth!
I'm terrified of roller coasters and thrill rides so give them a wide berth but I was so
excited to visit this wind-swept rock that I gladly handed over my E Ticket for this ride.

Easter Island has no natural harbor or port. Everyone seems to have a story of arriving
on a cruise ship only to be unable to go ashore. On the windward, north side of the
island there is a cement block on the edge of the swimming beach that is a possible
landing spot but it is too small for the ship's tenders (aka the life boats) so the crew
has to install a temporary dock on pontoons to get people on the island. The winds and
seas are coming straight ashore at that point so the swells make this a bad choice. We
visited that beach (absolutely gorgeous white sands, coconut palms, turquoise water
that deepens to darkest blue), saw that cement block and thought, there but for the
grace of God.

We anchored about a mile off of the city (and only city on the island) of Hanga Roa on
the southwest corner of the triangular-shaped island. And then the dance began.

I'm going to attempt to send a picture along with this so you can have a visual to
accompany my words. You can see the stairway on the side of the ship that leads down
to the tenders.

You can see the steps leading down to the tender boarding area on the side of the ship. The damaged tender is being hauled back up.

The basic procedure for taking a tender from the ship to shore is you go down to deck
A which is "one floor" up from the water level, pass through the checkpoint where your
cruise card (all-purpose credit card sized that is your ID, credit card -- no cash used on
board anywhere, room key) is scanned to record that you have left the ship and then

walk the few steps to the doorway. Next you go through the doorway to a small platform
that is suspended off the side of the ship and over the water and then walk down a flight
of metal stairs (think fire escape on the outside of a building) to another platform that
is actually a temporary, floating dock. The tender is at this dock waiting for you to step
off and over a threshold into the tender. It has 100+ seats with not much room to move
once you're in your place.

That is the basic procedure and if the seas are calm, the planets are in line and all is
right in the world, it's a piece of cake. However, that is rarely the case at Easter Island
so the captain and crew get to strut their stuff and prove their seamanship.

The seas were running two to three meters with a 20 knot wind causing quite a chop.
The captain had the port anchor set and used the thrusters on the starboard side to
keep the ship as steady as possible. Every one on the staff from busboy to deckhands
to officers to the guys in the house band had a job to get the passengers off the ship
and onto the tenders. You have to just surrender yourself to the helping hands all the
way and let them put you on the little boat rather than do it yourself.

Your card is scanned and then you step out of the ship into the raging wind onto that
little platform about a meter square and gingerly walk down that flight of wet metal
steps with a death grip on both railings. (In my case, the man in front of me was also
juggling his camera, backpack and CANE!!!) Then one at a time you step onto the
floating dock which is going up and down that two to three meters and is sloshing with
sea water and then you do the surrender bit. There are deck hands and officers on
either side of you to grab your upper arms and get you onto the dock, pivot and a big
step to the edge where the tender is also going up and down that two to three meters.
There is a threshold that you must step over to reach the cabin floor which is also
awash with sea water. (I really, really wanted to go to Easter Island!) You stand on that
bobbing deck, held by at least two men and when the dock and tender are bobbing in
unison you're lifted and practically catapulted from the dock, over the threshold and into
the hands of another set of boatmen.

At this point you think, ah, made it! Then you realize that the little boat rocks a LOT
more than the big ship and grab ahold of anything that looks stationary and take little
mincing steps to your seat where you sit down with a thud and start to think, are my
affairs in order?

And this is repeated 80 times until the tender is deemed full and ready to go. The cabin
is enclosed but the doorway is "sealed" with a plastic door that zips all around. The ride
was only ten minutes or so but it was rough with lots of crashing through waves, water
splashing around inside and out. Then you round a point and head for the "harbor"

which is an itty bitty area barely protected by an itty bitty rock jetty so we got to do the
same dance getting off except this time the boat was bouncing and the landing area
was not. But the landing area was a small cement area with two very steep stairs and
no railings up to terra firma so once again you relied on the kindness of strangers to lift
you off the boat, onto the platform and then up the stairs.

It took approximately 2-1/2 hours to get the 210 people who had booked shore
excursions from ship to shore. Because the conditions were so arduous, only two
tenders were launched so there would be enough crew to take care of business. I
learned when we got back to the ship that afternoon (and THAT was really a rough
ride!) that the captain had ordered the tenders to cease taking passengers ashore after
our lot had been transferred. This meant a lot of people never made it onto the island.
Going back to the ship in the afternoon the tenders were loaded with just 37 passengers
in the aft section only so the driver could keep the nose up as much as possible but the
boat was still riding up and down the waves with one of the crew bailing in the back of
the bus!

And then we still had to get from tender to ship. Obviously we made it with just a few
bruises as souvenirs. The captain provided oceans of champagne at dinner both to
celebrate the safe return of those who went ashore and to apologize to those who
couldn't go. The wine should have gone to the crew.

Whadya mean no football?

ms Amsterdam
January 20, 2013
The lead story in today's shipboard newsletter/activity summary is by the
communications officer and attempts to explain why there will be no football on our TV
system today. Satellite position, blah, blah, between continents, blah, blah, satellite dish
location on ship, blah, blah, legal restrictions, blah, blah and blah. And then the chilling
last line, "Satellite reception is expected to return on or around February 3, 2013." (Love
that he included the year.) Yes, Super Bowl Sunday when they turn the main showroom
into a big tailgate party. Probably half the people on board couldn't care less about the
Super Bowl, but they do care very much about free cocktails!

Easter Island tomorrow, weather permitting. It's noon now and the seas and winds are
increasing slightly. 370 nautical miles to go by morning.

Out of Sight, Out of Mind, Out of Touch

ms Amsterdam
July 19, 2013

We are now officially in the middle of nowhere.

Each day about 12:45 pm the captain gives a position and weather report. Yesterday
afternoon he confirmed what we had suspected: no satellite. Period. Can you hear me
now? Uh, no. Good heavens, we've even lost Fox News!

The captain explained that all communication is now by radio. We, along with 14,000
other ships at sea, are being monitored by an agency based in West Virginia of all
places. Should any vessel have an emergency, all other ships in that vicinity are alerted
and will provide assistance. It's sort of a sea-going AAA Roadside Emergency service.

So now we are traveling old school: no Internet, email, CNN or (gasp) ESPN. By
tomorrow we should be close enough to Easter Island to pick up the NFL playoff games
and the Australian Open tennis, and those poor souls who keep wandering around with
iPads or laptops looking for a (non-existent) wifi hot spot can finally get on line.

We do still receive an eight-letter page size New York Times each morning. It contains
summaries of the latest international and national news, stock market numbers, some
sports and a few editorial and opinion pieces and the daily crossword. I don't miss the
TV except for the network evening news but I really miss radio and the local news.
Not quite enough to spend 25 cents a minute to read the Marietta Daily Journal online
though.

It's noon as I type this. We're still sailing on a course of 249 degrees at nearly 19
knots so we can reach Easter Island early Monday morning. (Quick check to confirm
it is indeed Saturday today.) The seas are remarkably calm; the temperature a steady
72 degrees with an apparent wind of 19 knots. It's pretty near perfect in the middle of
nowhere with just enough puffy clouds for spectacular sunsets.

Today's quirky fact: Easter Island is Chilean and stays on Chilean time. So here, in the
middle of nowhere, nearly 1300 nautical miles from General San Martin, Peru, it is still
EST, so sunrise and sunset times get a bit later every day. I'm assuming that as soon
as we leave Easter Island we will be changing time every day until we catch up with the
rest of the world.

In between Easter Island and Tahiti we spend a few hours offshore of Pitcairn Island.
All the veteran travelers say this is so the 40 or 50 citizens of PI can come out in their long boat (note singular) with "stuff" to sell. The pool deck is closed to sunning and
swimming so the islanders can set up a market to sell "stuff." A lot of stuff. Each family
has their own table. I'm imagining the world's oddest flea market.There is no air service
to Pitcairn (it's only 1 x 2 miles) so supplies come by boat four times a year. About 20 or
so cruise ships will stop during the year so this occasion is a Big Deal for the islanders
and from what I hear great fun for everyone.

It's Formal Night #3 tonight so Jim is trying to choose which of his two ties he will wear.
He leads such a complicated life...