Sailing away from Akaroa

The view from my window as we leave the Banks Peninsula, departing our anchorage near Akaroa. Akaroa is our alternative port to Christchurch, since the big earthquakes.

Jumping Out of a Plane

Aboard the Dawn Princess, our primary itinerary is to New Zealand. This is the land of extreme sports, or at least that's the common conception in America.

So of course we went sky diving.

A group of us from the ship got together and signed up for the Bay of Islands' only sky diving trip. We met at 7am, bribed our way onto the first tender to shore, cajoled a shuttle driver into dropping us off at the office, and started our adventure. We were jumping from a tiny Cesna, with one seat (for the pilot) and some mats on the floor where two instructors and two increasingly nervous students could crouch as the plane struggled its way to 12,000 feet. One of the doors of the plane was courteously made of plexiglass, so you could see the ground (and the clouds) dwindle beneath you. Some lovely duct tape graced the interior, keeping everything together. At least we had parachutes strapped to our back. We were all in all probably more safe (or less helpless, at the very least) than a commercial jetliner, but the duct tape was a rustic touch. Very reassuring, that they're conscientious enough to patch leaks.

A cool 5 hours after starting on the adventure, it was my turn to get driven to the air strip (read: pasture), climb into a harness and jump out of a plane. The view was spectacular, showing the thousands of islands that lent the Bay of Islands its name. There were a few clouds, but nothing too solid by the time we got up there.

I was second out the door, so the guy I was jumping with disappears out the door and streaks past the back of the plane. Then it's my turn. I have to put my leg out of the plane, onto the platform, then get my other knee out into space, out of the way. All while holding my harness, so my hands don't get in the way. So, no hands, as I'm dangling out of a plane at 12,000 feet. Hey, that's not fair. But in for a penny, in for a pound. Now's not the time to start having trust issues.

Out goes the foot, and it immediately gets blown away by the wind. Hmm. That's strong. Out goes the foot again, and it makes the corner of the platform. Hmm, that wind really is strong. I edge it forward along the platform until it's where it's supposed to be. Check. Sigh. Oh, the instructor wants me to put my knee out the door. Umm, I don't have any hands... That would leave my dangling out of the plane... Umm, ok. Just don't make me jump...

And the instructor pushes us off, and we're falling. I get that sudden stomach-drops-out feeling from roller coasters (the one I don't really like but kinda do, and it grows on you, as long as you're safe, but it's always really nerve-wracking to get). Then it passes as the air streams by me.

And suddenly I'm weightless. It's exactly like scuba diving. I'm hovering in the middle of water, buoyed by the air around me. Cool. I'm in the arch position that they showed us, and my instructor is no doubt working hard in a highly-trained way to keep us stable, but I'm floating. I begin to experiment. How do I turn? Fishtail? Tilt? Then things get really wobbly, and I realize the instructor has reached around. Then everything slams into reorientation, and gravity reasserts itself in my frame of reference. Ah, that would be the parachute. And that is where that harness goes. Sigh. Oh.

But we're still falling fast, on the end of our parachute strings. We spiral down, building up g-forces, and the instructor guides us into the landing field. Even though the wind has picked up, we come in for a soft landing, touching down on our feet. Kudos to the instructor. What a day.

Then back to the ship for a full day of work. That's what I can do on my mornings off. Where do you work?

Real-Life Geography Lessons

During orientation at Heifer Ranch, on a cold, snowy February morning in Arkansas, we played an ice breaking game of people bingo. We had to circulate the room and find people to sign off on squares containing certain attributes. One of those attributes was "has been to Vanuatu," which was a curve ball, because I'm pretty sure no one in the room had actually been to Vanuatu. Eventually, we found someone to sign (I'm pretty sure she was just signing off on the square because no one else would) and the game went on. But it led to a general discussion of just where Vanuatu was. No one quite knew.

Well, I found out. It lies in the South Pacific (so much more South and Pacific than Hawaii, in that Rodgers & Hammerstein musical). It lies north and east of New Caledonia, which is itself north and east of Australia. It is near Tonga and Fiji, a bit far from Papeete and Tahiti.


It has an odd feel to it, feeling very Caribbean in some aspects, but very different in others. It has that same island ex-colony feel, since it was heavily colonized by the French. The local clothing is mostly bright colored and patterned, and the weather is hot and tropical, resulting in loose clothing and sandals. But there's an asian or oriental twist to the culture, in very subtle ways, that's hard to pinpoint and hard to explain. The landscape, setting and colors are right for the Caribbean, but it's not the Caribbean.


And the diving is spectacular.

Lunch on El Capitan

A scant few days before I was scheduled to head off to the land down under, I traveled to Yosemite National Park to get in my share of backpacking and hiking. I spent one night on the trail, then my brother joined me as we stayed in an entirely civilized cabin/tent/shack, followed by a day of hiking.

I did the North Rim trail on my own, taking the bus/train/bus to the park from San Francisco, then hitch hiking to the trail head (this took much longer than expected, and was my first attempt at hitch hiking. I will be much more likely to pick up hitchers in the future. At least, in national parks when they're dressed as hikers with full backpacks supporting their story...). I started at Oak Flat Road Trail, at the entrance to the valley, at 4pm.


I got as many miles as I could before full dark (and then a few more, by headlamp) before making my camp on a shoulder in the midst of a grueling three-mile climb.



I had myself a camp fire, and enjoyed myself immensely. The full moon was incredibly bright, but it didn't rise until I was settled in my tent, ready to sleep. Then it shown in my eyes. Brightly. But it was pretty cool to see how stark the shadows were, just from the moonlight.

The next day saw the completion of the grueling climb, then flat going through meadows and across granite domes.


I had lunch on the famous climber's mecca, El Capitan. With a commanding view of the entire valley, it was a great spot to absorb the grandeur of Yosemite.




Man, the valley is spectacular. Each rock formation by itself would be breathtaking. Them all together is just incredible...

The rest of the day saw me cursing at every incline in the trail (the map says this meadow is FLAT!) and heading to Yosemite Falls, the tallest waterfall on the continent.



I climbed down the Yosemite Falls trail, said to be the most strenuous trail in the park (ok, going up is the most strenuous. Down was just taxing).



I met a spaniard on the way down, and we got to talking. He was a bit jealous when he found out what I did ("I'm off to New Zealand and Vanuatu next week. Have a good rest of your visit to good ol' America"), but our conversation made short work of the hour-plus, 4-mile-downhill trail.

That night brought a blissful shower and a relaxing pizza dinner. My brother drove in and joined me much too late for my tastes, but I had a nice nap before he got there. We retired to our signature tent cabin shack, and I fell into an exhausted sleep.

Day 3 started with an excellent breakfast at the Curry Village buffet (that came with our rooms, very worth it!), then we hopped on the tour up to Glacier Point. An hour and a half of bad jokes and beautiful scenery later, we arrived at the top of the valley (south side this time) and admired the view. Half Dome dominated the landscape. Unfortunately the cables were down for the season, but that was probably a good thing, since I wasn't up to a 16-mile round trip hike with almost a vertical mile of elevation gain. So we took the Panorama Trail down to the valley floor.



It was a beautiful trail, in very diverse ecosystems. I hadn't seen the low mountain brush clinging to the hillside anywhere else in the park. It took us through forests, across rivers, past waterfalls, up steep granite hills (grumble grumble incline) and opposite Half Dome.



Even when hiking Half Dome, I didn't get those views of the granite monolith. The Panorama Trail gave great perspectives.


The Panorama Trail led into the Mist Trail, leading past Nevada and Vernal Falls. A grueling 4-plus-mile descent into the valley left our legs shaking and our knees aching. But we made excellent time, and we hit the valley floor just in time to leave with rush hour traffic.


An uneventful drive, punctuated by a dinner and gas stop, brought us back to San Francisco, where I dropped into an exhausted stuppor. 26 miles in a weekend will do that, I suppose. Kudos to marathoners.

Visits on a whim

After this year's Philadelphia Live Arts Festival, I had some free time. I was flying out of San Francisco in mid-October to join the Dawn Princess, and I had no commitments between mid-September and then.

So off to see the relatives. I have been derelict in my visits in the past few years, and all of a sudden it's been years since I've seen and been seen by family. And friends.

So off to Long Island, Boston, Maine, Rhode Island and New York City.  Time to reap the benefits of being a nomad and throw together a week-long road trip up the East Coast.

Fringe Season

I've worked at the Philadelphia Live Arts and Fringe Festival every year since 2006. When I started traveling, I kept returning to Philadelphia in the late summer to continue working at the festival. This year was no different. I spent a solid two months in Philadelphia, working for the festival on various shows and projects.

August was spent loading in various shows, setting up various venues, and generally sweating a year's worth of sweat. I hate hot weather. Especially on the tail end of a cold summer in Paris, then a quick vacation in Switzerland. From down vests to sweaty t-shirts. Ick. Sigh.

September saw a cooling of weather, the opening of all the shows, and the international touring shows rolling into town. The festival is such a draw for me because of the international element. Despite being in Philadelphia, where I have loosely lived for the past few years (not that I live anywhere), companies from all over the world are brought in. I worked with companies from France, England and Belgium in two weeks. Nice.

Then it's over, and it's off to find work elsewhere.

Switzerland, because why not?

I had a few days between my flight home and the end of the tour, so I was left in Europe with nothing to do. I jumped on skyscanner.net, searched for a cheap flight from Paris to anywhere, and settled on Switzerland. Basel it was.












A nice three-day vacation.

Paris

The second (and final) leg of our tour was to Paris, France.

We struck everything in St. Etienne, stuffed it into the van, and headed up to Paris. Between strike and load in we had one travel day, spent on the TGV, trying hard to sleep on the train as French children made our acquaintances. A seamless reception and pickup met us at the train station in Paris, and everything already looked better, smoother and easier than St. Etienne.


A visit to the space confirmed that everything was well underway, all of our communications had been heeded, and the crew was a jolly and good-natured bunch. Rock.


And then it was load in. Four days of frantic activity, punctuated by typical French meal breaks (although these were only one hour long) of civilized eating and relaxing, topped off with a coffee. We opened on Bastille Day, with a free performance that might have been considered a preview. It was packed, with many appreciative kids giggling at our gags. Shortly before we opened the doors, we learned that we had just sold out our entire run. With no press, no previews, no word of mouth. What? ...Awesome. We were that cool American show.



The run continued to be a smashing success, with huge and appreciative audiences each night. We ran solid shows, socialized with the incredibly-friendly house crew, and perused Paris during our free mornings.


A work day would start around 5pm for a casual preset, getting the million things ready for the start of the show, checking all the equipment and putting everything in its very peculiar place. After a couple hours of prep by the 5 of us, the set would be ready. Then it was actor warmup and fight call, then the familiar pressure of the house crew wanting to open the doors, and us wanting a quiet moment. Finally, we would arrive at an appropriate time to open the doors (maybe 5 minutes before show time... Oops), start the show a few minutes late (the French theater-going audience is not known for their punctuality), run a solid hour-and-a-quarter show, then clean up. We'd be out of there around 10pm every night, then usually head to get dinner. Very Parisien. And we'd be completely free until the next day at 5.



Which left me free for exploration of Paris. I had only visited the city once (see the very first post of this blog for elaboration of that adventure). I had three weeks in the city to better visit and tour and relax. Much better than 20 hours with no accommodations... I kept meaning to find the bush that I slept under. I never did...

I did make it to the Eifel Tower, the Basilica Sacre Coeur, the Louvre, Shakespeare and Co, the Bastille, la Defense, and the Champs-Elysees, among other sites. I became familiar with the extensive subway system, as well as proficient at avoiding getting flattened on its cobblestoned streets, filled with chaotic European traffic (we even rented scooters one day... What were we thinking?!).










All in all, it was an excellent sojourn in France, giving me another taste of the touring lifestyle, as well as another experience living in a foreign country. My French greatly improved, as it was the first time I had used the language outside of the classroom. Paris still has many attractions I didn't get to, so there's always room to go back, but until then, it's full-tilt in any other direction.