Sail Away

I awakened the following morning to a sundrenched, cloudless day. The air was crisp and crystalline. It seemed to match my internal excitement. Today was the beginning of the new phase of my life!  Up to now, everything had been preparation and anticipation.  Now it was real.

               I grabbed a quick bite and hurried outside.  I looked around, stunned.  Everything and everyone seemed utterly unchanged!  No one walked with a livelier step!  No one seemed to notice a child’s lilting skip!  Nobody smiled at strangers in passing!  Everyone was going about their business as usual!  I wanted to shout!  “Wake up!  Wake up!  Don’t you feel the electricity in the air?  Don’t you realize that today is not just another humdrum day of existence?”   But I didn’t.  The excitement was within me.  I was the one whose life was about to change.  I was the one whose steps should have a lilt!  Time passed quickly as I absorbed it all.  Then, it was time to head for the ship. I returned to the hotel and called a cab. 

               Embarkation was a leisurely, casual experience.  I boarded early in case all the baggage I had shipped on ahead had been delayed, or, “Heaven Help Me”, LOST, and I would have to locate it!  Fortunately, when I arrived in my cabin, everything was neatly stowed under my bunk, so I took a tour of the upper decks.  At the main lounge, I was taken aback – it was set up for a large sail away party with a big “Reserved” sign at the entrance. I moved on only to find the next lounge was similarly set up.  As I moved around, I discovered that every available space, even small ones in corners, was reserved for a gala send off for carefree vacationers, shunning the routines of their work-a-day world!  By the time I arrived back to where I had started my tour, the champagne celebrations were well underway, and the joyousness of the occasion had begun to permeate the whole ship.  I retreated to the upper aft deck, which was singularly quiet, and where I could watch the proceedings.  What an anomaly I was. I was coming from a world apart!

               (I should mention that, in those days, it was legitimate for visitors to accompany passengers aboard ship and remain until just before departure, so most of the party goers would be leaving before the ship sailed.)

                Gradually, revelry oozed out onto the deck next to the pier where the ship was moored. The ship’s orchestra arrived with music, and excitement intensified as the hour of departure neared.  Then the clang of bells and a booming “ALL ASHORE” resounded across the deck. There were hugs and kisses all around, and a surge of well-wishers moved down the gangway.  A second “ALL ASHORE” boomed, and laggards straggled onto the pier. Stewards appeared with confetti, streamers and noise makers!  Passengers at the rail threw streamers and confetti, and shouted goodbyes, bon voyages and last minute instructions to the friends on shore as the ship slowly inched away from the pier.  My feeling of distance from the crowd intensified, the further we drifted away.

               I stood, immobile, on the upper aft deck, watching the departure.  The ship’s mournful ‘good bye’ blasts echoed across the water.  The crowd gradually disappeared into the ship.  I was alone. Tears flooded down my cheeks.  Still ringing in my ears were the admonitions of the naysayers, “If you do what you plan to do, you may never get home.” Were the skeptics right?   Were the decisions made so easily in the security of my job and friends ill-considered? Had I been blind wiser counsel?  Doubts flooded over me.  Here I was, about travel an uncharted path, subjecting myself to challenges that were deeply subconscious.   Was I overextending myself, cutting myself off from what was known and familiar in my life?   As the Golden Gate Bridge retreated into the brilliantly lit skyline, I wondered if I would ever see my country, my friends, or my beloved family, again.  I couldn’t stop the tears. 

                A swarm of stewards pushing brooms appeared and skated gracefully around the deck, pushing the celebratory debris ahead of them until the deck was cleared and there was no evidence of the previous events. It was as if my own memory was also being erased.  I could feel the lurching and twisting of the ship beneath me as it traversed the conflicting currents of the channel of the bay. The motion seemed to mirror the turmoil within me.  I tried, unsuccessfully, to quell my fears and reassure myself……

I couldn’t pull myself away from the disappearing horizon….  

Then abruptly, the ship fell into the rhythmic rise and fall of the open ocean swells.  Just as abruptly, all my anxiety subsided! There was rhyme and reason in the universe!  I had made well considered decisions!  The world would not desert me!   My tears stopped, and as I turned to go below, I noticed a woman and her son standing at the far rail.  I meandered over to them, and what turned out to be a long friendship, began!

               I returned below to learn that I was sharing my cabin with two of five lady lawyers from Boston, who vacationed together each year.  They were lively, spirited professionals. Each worked for a different law firm and specialized in a different aspect of the law.  When I accepted their invitation to join them at dinner in the evenings, I did not realize what witty, wide ranging discussions awaited me.  There was never a dull moment and I looked forward each night to a challenging conversation.  I also didn’t think much about it at the time, but in retrospect, I see what exceptional women they really were and how fortunate I was to have been included in their lives. In 1960, women with simple advanced degrees were a minority, let alone worldly women with law degrees who had passed the bar and were practicing lawyers!

               The days aboard ship flew by until, seemingly overnight, we would be arriving in port tomorrow!

              

              

              

Exporing the Surface of San Francisco

San Francisco

     I looked forward to my visit in San Francisco – the storied city of the exciting hectic gold rush days, raucous wild west saloons and cancan girls, morphing into a vibrant cultural center in the gay nineties, and  the horrific devastation and fire that followed the 1906 earthquake!  Somehow, San Francisco had survived and been rebuilt and was, once again, at the beginning of the sixties,  California’s ”The Beautiful City on the Bay” -  replete with fabled cable cars, the Fisherman’s Wharf, The Golden Gate Bridge and magnificent historic landmarks.  Among these was the glamorous and elegant Sir Francis Drake Hotel, home to visiting dignitaries, celebrities, socialites and Royalty from around the world.

     During my European travels, I usually stayed in quaint little inns or ‘bed and breakfasts’ in small villages on the outskirts of town.  But occasionally I would splurge to stay in one of the famous, historic hotels.  There was no way I could resist the lure of “The Frances Drake” and surprisingly, it was not terribly expensive!  Even with my limited budget, I could easily afford to stay there!  And stay there I did!  Equally surprising, although the accommodations must have been luxurious, the towels soft, the toiletries deluxe, and the service impeccable, I have absolutely no memory of my time there.  

     I explored the city, rode the cable cars, sampled delicacies as I wandered around fisherman’s wharf and had a drink at sundown at the ”Top of the Mark”.  San Francisco lived up to all expectations, but it was standing in the presence of those towering, giant redwoods in Muir Woods that left me with my most vivid memory.  I don’t know whether it was the massive girth or height of the trees, the realization that they had withstood the vicissitudes of eons of existence, or the tight canopy of leaves so far above me that was so overpowering, but never before, or since, have I felt so utterly insignificant and inconsequential!  

     I fell asleep quickly.  I was ready for tomorrow.

A Seat With A View

The week before I left was really hectic!  At work, I edited and signed off on all my reports, wrote notes re “hot spots” and unfinished activities in the schools where I had worked for the psychologists who would take over in my absence, said goodbye to the secretaries, deposited my last check, waved to the banker who would follow my finances and finally headed home.   I had cancelled the telephone, dealt with the mail, dumped the trash, emptied the refrigerator, etc. etc. etc.  My landlord had made four little horses to jack up my car to protect the tires as soon as I left.  I had carefully packed my luggage. My to-do list was blank.  I watched TV for a while, took my shower and laid out my clothes for the morrow.   I was ready to go.

I awoke before the alarm went off and idled time until it was time to call a cab.   I made the millionth check of my passport, tickets and miscellany of documents, then trundled my bags out to the curb to the waiting cab and a champagne send off at the airport.  There, I was dismayed when friends and co-workers began arriving with little “departure” gifts in hand - a second lipstick, a small tube of hand cream, body lotion, an atomizer of deodorant for a time when I ran into an unwelcome stench, towelettes, etc.  They were all well thought out, useful gifts.  But I already had my 30 kilos of baggage!  I stuffed as many as possible into my pockets and purse until there was no more room.  Then, sadly, I had to refuse the rest.

The champagne came and we toasted each other, the trip, our supervisors, the world, the future, and ourselves once again. Then came departure time.  I gathered together my cameras, the binoculars, my coat and purse and struggled like a loaded (in more ways than one) coat rack up the steps onto the plane and into my seat!   As I felt the air under the wings, I heaved a big sigh of relief!  I was free! 

I still had a few bridges to cross!    There was a change of planes in Chicago—no problem.  My  plane was on time and I checked in promptly to avoid any last minute crowds.  As I did so, I noticed a large mock-up of the plane beside the ticket counter.  It had little red tags on each seat number.  No one said anything to me about removing my tag, and naturally, I wouldn’t have considered defacing an airport display on my own!  Who would have thought that such a decision would be my undoing - that leaving the tag indicated that that seat was unccupied! 

I didn’t hurry to be first on the plane, and when I got to my seat—there sat a US sailor!  I turned to the stewardess who told me to return to the counter to resolve the issue, but I refused, saying that I had checked in on time, was assigned the seat and that she would have to find me a place to sit. (I hesitated to move a serviceman.) I wasn’t getting off of that plane!

The plane was full!  Again the stewardess suggested I get off, and again I refused.  She had to do something with me, so she led me up through the first class cabin to a small lounge area next to the galley. The seat was not designed for comfort and there was no seat belt. but I sat down gratefully. (Today, of course, such a procedure would be off limits.)

The seat was a narrow, “L” shaped board around a small table,  but it had an unexpected positive.  Along side was a large, expanded, picture window!  I have failed to mention that although I had driven, alone, throughout Europe and travelled extensively around South America, this was the first time I had ever been west of the Mississippi!  It was a beautiful day and this window provided me with a “first class” view of the western USA.  I don’t think planes flew as high in those days, because I had a marvelously close view of the mountains all the way across to the Pacific, and down along the coast to San Francisco!   After all my travels, I was spellbound by my own country!                                                                                 

60’s Photography Meets The Electronic Age

It is almost incomprehensible how much digital photography and electronic media have changed picture taking for even the most experienced photographers! I had been taking pictures for years and lived in Rochester, New York, the main headquarters of “Kodak”, the patriarch of the industry. Kodak regularly had seminars to help nonprofessionals improve not only their skills at organization, exposure, etc. but also their ability to convey ideas and emotional toning in presentations.

For the uninitiated, there were many types of film with different qualitative strengths, and choosing the type best suited to one’s needs was very important. Fortunately, I had friends in high places at Kodak to help me make such decisions. They recommended that since I might want to compare paintings from child to child or country to country, all of my film should come from the same processing run, and as I would be away for such a long time, the film should come from the latest run available to avoid its becoming “out dated”.
Kodak processed all its own film. When you bought a roll of film, you also received a return “mailer” with a removable tab for verification. After processing, slides were returned to the return address noted on the mailer. Normally this posed no problems, but for me it was a huge one! I would be gone for months and out of touch. There was no way I could check my photos! I just had to trust to luck. I also realized that even if I took only ten pictures each day for the 15 months, I would have about 4500 unidentified slides when got home! Unlike today’s photos, a photo carried no date or GPS notation to clue one in about where or when it had been taken! The removable tab on the mailer was my savior! Each time I sent off a roll of film, I recorded the time and place I had taken the pictures and the camera I had used on the tab! When I arrived home, there was only one picture that I could not immediately identify! Then I remembered! One day, I was in a place that seemed to have nothing to classify it as being in any specific place in the world and I had taken a picture. The photo I could not identify was that picture! It could have been taken anywhere!
35mm film is perishable and fades with time - especially under conditions of improper light, heat and moisture. Since my pictures were such an integral part of my research and notes, verifying the venues where I worked and the reaction of the children and villagers, it was imperative that they be preserved as effectively as possible. Each slide was labeled, numbered and dated, then remounted in sterile glass, placed in cassettes that fit into the cartridges that went into my projector, and stored in a dark, air conditioned closet.

Fast forward to 2011! The pictures, despite their age, are in remarkably good condition, but in today’s electronic world are useless without being digitized. This has proved to be an almost insurmountable task! I located a company with a great website on the internet, Discount Digital Art, that agreed to test scan ten of my slides. After they were returned, with information re cost of doing future slides, I called the owner, who said he would have to “bring the photos up on his computer” and would call me back. He did not. Nor did he return a second phone call or e-mails. He obviously did not want my business.I returned to the internet and contacted other businesses. Some w(c)ould not process slides in glass mounts. Others could not assure me that the slides would be processed in the US., (I did not want to risk the possibility of loss.) Still others did not return my phone calls at all!. I was distraught! At last, after at least two more months of struggle, I found “Fred” at “Affordable Scanning” in Wisconsin, who not only listened to my problem and treated me with respect, but offered to test scan do ten slides “pro bono”. The scans were returned in good time, and the quality was of the digitized pictures was excellent. “Affordable” will have my business from now on! And I can proceed with my research!

Why did I wait so long to begin to work on my research? That’s a great question and the response is worthy of a later blog!

The Elegant Coat

Baggage.
At this point, talking about baggage seems a little insignificant, but, in reality, baggage was a big deal. Often, when I passed thru customs I had to answer a lot of questions about mine.
At the time, the baggage limit for international travelers was maxed at 30 kilos—yes, 66 pounds! To start with, I had 22 pounds of film, 12 pounds of first aid and medical supplies, and 16 pounds of paint and brushes! I had searched all the luggage supply houses and finally located two suitcases that weighed a mere eight pounds. They were not of the best quality, but they would have to do. That left me with only 12 pounds for clothes and shoes! Needless to say, whenever I went anywhere by air, I wore my heaviest shoes and layered all my heaviest clothes! Fortunately, I had planned to stay in warm climates so I didn’t need sweaters and long johns.
I made two great purchases in the months before I left. The first was the result of an error. I had found a light weight cotton skirt and blouse outfit that “would do”, but was not particularly attractive. I didn’t buy it. Then later, I decided it was the best available, so I called the store to have it delivered. What came was not what I had ordered, but something similar – and - much more expensive! It cost $25! Today that seems insignificant, but when you realize that my entire trip, including all transport cost, in toto, less than $5700, you can imagine just how much $25 was! However, the dress weighed less than 3 ounces, so how could I say no? And, it turned out to be a great bargain. I wore the dress until it literally fell apart.
The second seeming lapse of judgment was in Florida. I was visiting my parents and my mother dragged me to a fashion show at an elegant high end boutique in Fort Lauderdale. I was not in the market for high fashion! But when they brought out a rain coat in a stunning mélange of yellow flowers, featuring a new process of waterproofing light weight fabrics, I was mush. It could double as a coat as well as a rain coat! Little did I know that that elegant coat and I had date with destiny!
It was Hong Kong. I was living in Kowloon and had been invited for a posh dinner at one of the magnificent private homes on the crest of the mountain in Hong Kong. I dressed in what little finery I had, donned the coat, proceded to the ferry, and took a seat on one side of the aisle. Shortly thereafter, two obviously well bred, very beautifully dressed young Chinese girls took seats on the other side of the aisle a few rows ahead of me. Then, just before we took off, three inebriated young American sailors came in, eyed the young women and sat down a couple of rows behind them. They immediately began uttering loud, crude, suggestive comments in the girls’ direction. The girls became visibly upset and uncomfortable. Passengers turned around to see what was going on and became agitated. I sensed the possibility of an emerging confrontation. I summoned as much dignity as I could muster and rose in all my finery. I greeted the sailors and ceremoniously sat down directly behind the ladies. Equilibrium returned. When the ferry docked, the girls graciously turned to thank me!
As I disembarked, there, at the end of the gangway, stood the three penitent sailors! They apologized profusely. I reminded them that whenever they were in uniform, they were representing the United States of America and when their behavior was objectionable, it was a reflection on all Americans, as well as themselves. Being inebriated, was no excuse for bad manners! I owed my courage to the elegant coat!
My purse was my final great design. Tourists in Italy were being troubled by robbers who slashed at their bags with sharp knives so that everything fell out, so I bought a heavy leather bag with a long zipper with a lock on the end. Then I had straps with buckles added over the top so that opening was well protected. Nobody was getting into my purse uninvited! The inside was spacious and since it did not have to be weighed, it became a repository for the Polaroid camera and all my valuables. In addition, friends had given me several passport cases in a variety of colors. I turned these into a filing system so that I all my papers and documents could be readily accessible! Except for the photography, I was organized.

Pincushion and Hot Babe

Planning the trip was an extensive process.  In addition to contacting co-workers, friends, and acquaintances who had contacts in other parts of the world, I had to think of the health problems and other issues I would encounter en route.  In many of the areas where I planned to go, medical services and supplies would not be available.  I would have to carry first aid equipment with me.  I had to beprepared should I have an accident and be unconscious,  if I were bitten by a poisonous snake or eat spoiled food or be bitten by some insect that carried a noxious disease.  I even had to write a will and arrange for my body to be returned to the US should I die in some unexpected disaster.  I developed a close relationship with my personal physician and lawyer, preparing for untold emergencies. Six months before I left, my arms felt like pin cushions. I had had every shot in the book so that if I had a bad reaction I would have time to recover.  Then, just before I actually left I had a round of “boosters”.  The doctor had also suggested that during the weeks before my departure, I not be too careful about washing my hands too much or eating with silverware that had dropped on the floor so that my immunity to the common germs would be well developed.

Arranging financing for the trip was another major undertaking!  There was no such thing as a credit card or an “ ATM”.  There were traveller’s checks, but no one was sure they would be accepted out of the mainstream of tourist travel and anyway, you had to purchase them to begin with.  Although I had some savings, my checks would be arriving on a biweekly basis throughout the year, and I didn’t have the reserves to make such a large outlay.  The president of the bank where I had my checking account came to my rescue, suggesting that he prepare a “letter of credit” that would allow me to go any international bank and get money in the currency of that country.  He would attach it to my checking account so that I could have a ready source of money, and my secretary would deposit my checks each pay period.  He then arranged for me sign two notes, so that if I needed additional money, or my bank account ran low, additional funds would be available.   And, he would not initiate a loan until I needed it.  The idea of two loans was so that I would not have to borrow more money than necessary at any one time.  He would not date the second note until I needed money.  That way, interest payments could be minimized.   I will be forever grateful to that bank executive!  He watched over my finances the whole three years, always keeping me financially solvent! 

I also needed to carry a sizable amount of “emergency” cash on me.  Common knowledge said that thieves were too well aware of carrying cash in a pouch between the breasts for that to be a viable alternative.   Instead, I made two little pouches to snap into the cups of my bra, and carried $1000 in hundred dollar bills as breast supports!  Great idea?  Yes, but  American currency doesn’t breathe – and I was often one “hot babe”!

This whole process was quite exhausting!  Never before had I been forced to think of all the eventualities that might befall me in the process of daily life, and come up with possible responses.   I have to admit that, at times, it was a little intimidating!  And I haven’t even mentioned determining my itinerary or getting visas, etc!

Adventuring!

I am a 93 year old woman who has lived an unusual and adventurous life!  One of the more exciting periods began in 1960, when I started travelling in remote, isolated areas of the third world.  I was a clinical psychologist in the Mental Health Clinical Services of the City School District in Rochester, New York, and was due to have a sabbatical year.  I had travelled extensively throughout Europe and South America and wanted to go to Asia and Africa.  A requisite for a travel leave was a purposeful study.  I had always been interested in the dynamics of human interaction in families, so I decided to explore family dynamics in remote areas of the world, very different from western culture, where I had no verbal language in common and where children had had little, if any, access to education, paper or pencils.  I would introduce young children 3-8 or 9 years of age to tempura painting as my modus operandi.

   In 1960, the world was a very different place from today.  The Peace Corps had not yet been created.  Instant information was not at one’s fingertips.  IBM would not introduce the personal computer for twenty years.  The internet wouldn’t arrive for still another ten years, and wireless communication, cell phones, and digital cameras yet another five!  There was no “Wikipedia” or “Facebook” or “GPS”.   The “global” world as we know it today did not exist.

            Air travel in the US was well developed, and plane travel to Europe was beginning to replace ships, but travel to the Orient was still in its infancy.  Flights were infrequent and long.  Jet planes were not standard fare!  I remember reassuring my mother, who was elderly and afraid something dire might happen to her while I was away, that “There are three planes to Africa every week and I could be home in a two days!”  Of course, I neglected to inform her that I might be a thousand miles from the nearest international airport!  Travel to famous historical sites and international cities was well established, but outside the mainstream, where I planned to go, travel was primitive and unpredictable.  A white woman travelling alone into the hinterlands of Asia and Africa was a rarity!  Often I was one of the first white persons to interact in a personal way with the children, and almost always the first American!  I was a curiosity!

            I had no set itinerary as I traveled.   What I did and where I went was dependent on friends of friends, non- governmental organizations (NGOs) that had projects in isolated areas, or someone I met along the way who would offer suggestions and assistance.  In time, each day became an unexpected adventure,  and I shall be eternally grateful to all of the individuals who made the journey possible! 

If , in the ensuing blogs, I can  give you even a tingle of the excitement I felt as I met each new venture, reflect even a fraction of the response and warmth I found waiting around each new corner, or if I can get  you to laugh with me at some of the ridiculous situations I got myself into,  I will  have been successful.