Just North of Puerto Rico

So here I am. I surmounted the Pacific Ocean, physically swam across the Equator, slept in the streets of Tahiti, Came into port under full sail and lived the dream as an able bodied seaman. So what does a young adventurer do now that he has tasted the sweet victory of a Trans-Pacific passage under sail using the stars as his only source of navigation? Of all the answers the worst and unfortunately true one is get on a cruise ship and go the rest of the way around the world.
Now that I am within range of the internet I intend to do weekly updates… however internet is pricy here and I only get so many free minutes to work with before I need to start selling my children into indentured servitude to pay for net time.

I will have to sit down and tell of my glorious adventures and trials across the Pacific soon, but for now the ineffably meager understatement of “the Seamans was amazing” will have to suffice. We successfully made our ocean passage (just under 4000 nautical miles) and came into port in Papette, Tahiti. After spending a mere three hours there a group of us went and stayed at a house on Moorea (The Island just to the North West of Tahiti) for a week. The time there could never be captured in words… some of the most powerful and serene memories of true peace in my life will come from that week there. As if in a dream all time slipped away and only a hazy glow of warmth was left. As people began to leave one by one I eventually was the only one left on Moorea and my time was up in the house. So I packed my bag and went to talk to the “groundskeeper” Jacque.
My plan at this point was to spend my remaining three days walking around the main island of Tahiti and sleeping in the jungle when I stopped at night. This sounded like a great idea seeing as how I am almost completely out of money and need to make what I have left last for the remainder of my adventure around the world. When Jacque pulled his car up he starts making small talk and tells me (right out of the box) that his American friend was mugged last night on Tahiti.
This is ironic. This is ironic both because I had just been planning to sleep in the streets and because his friend was the leading supplier of Mace in French Polynesia. Ha ha ha… I laugh to keep from crying…
As we drove towards the ferry dock we happened to pick up a hitchhiker, some lovely young French woman named “Veronica”. Jacque and I were discussing my plans when Veronica tells me about a friend she knows that rents out rooms to people in Tahiti. I figured… “Okay, I could give that a try…”
Once in Papette Veronica and her husband gave me a ride to “Château Lola”. Now this little homestead being the cheapest accommodations in all of Tahiti still cost me a ridiculous 50$, however I was told I could get a ride tomorrow to anywhere I wanted to go and free breakfast. What I awoke to was a muttering matriarch handing me half of a stale baguette and repeating “You go now” repeatedly as she drove me to the airport. As she sped off into the distance I stood there for a moment and ruminated upon this, stopping only to lament my pocket book’s new slim figure.
I stashed my pack at the locker facility for pennies and then tried to come up with a plan. Walking about 50 yards or so into town a garbage truck swerved over to the side of the rode in front of me and three garbage men leapt off the back and came towards me. I was running scenes from old mob movies through my head when the leader of the pack started trying to communicate to me in broken English (and I in bad French) that he wanted to trade for my cowboy hat. We went through an in depth process of me refusing both smokes and marijuana and they telling me that they had no money. Finally they told me that they would give me a ride into town if nothing else. Shrugging I jumped on the back and we were off.
We made it about a block before a car that I swear would have been dwarfed by the bulk of a Geo Metro turned onto the sidewalk in front of the truck and a man at least 300 lbs. lumbers out with a very unkind look upon his face. Turns out in Tahiti the labor forces sometimes just choose… to not work… so to prevent their employees from sauntering off most industries come parcel complete with a supervisor whose sole job is to follow the workers around and keep them on track. Apparently picking up young men on the street was not in the trash collector job description and he motioned for me to go before he began beating the driver and yelling what I assumed were obscene comments about his breeding.
About this time I decided it was time to leave Tahiti. Thinking about where I could go with what I had I sprung for the option of returning to the considerable less developed island of Moorea again and trying my luck there. I bought a ferry ticket and departed.
Upon my arrival I walked a good 9 kilometers just to pass time before I encountered a local church. I sat down there and passed the time until dark. About eight o’ clock the sun set and I started the long walk back to the ferry dock. Walking in the dark on Moorea was incredible. With the ocean on my right some ten yards away lapping playfully at the reef shrouded shores and the jungle on the other side of the rode taking labored breaths and wheezing ominously as I strode along its side. For the 9 kilometers that it took me to get back to the ferry dock I walked in the misty gloom of Moorea with the Ferrell dogs glowering in the shadows and disembodied calls coming from the heavy darkness of the jungle to my left.
I made it back to the Ferry dock and found an out of the way spot to lie down on the outskirts of the extended stay parking lot and broke out a book as I waited for dawn. It was about 2 and half hours before the security guard found me. Standing over me he tried to explain that I wasn’t welcome there. My understanding of French is minimal but I got the point pretty quickly. As I stood and made ready to walk for the remainder of the night he sighed and smiled a little bit. Motioning over to the edge of the pool of light cast by the parking lot lamp he said, “There okay… you there fine.” Thanking him I went to the edge of the beach front jungle that he had indicated.
Now you need to understand that on Moorea the ground is riddled with gapping holes from which crawl nocturnal crabs that skitter through the shadows on eight taloned legs with razored claws reaching skyward, ready for battle, making a rapid clicking sound as the tear as carrion in the brittle leaves of the shore. The spot that the security guard had indicated was a small beach and to sleep there I would have to lie atop a swarming brood of these very same crabs.
I declined.
Instead I found a near-by tropical tree with many low branches and climbed a few feet up. Finding a safe and relatively comfortable spot I lashed myself in with some spare line and a scarf and fell (ah word choice) into a fitful sleep. I passed several hours of the night in that fashion until about two in the morning. Needing to stretch I made my way over to the pier that rested not more than a few feet away from my tree. Within minutes the guard was back. I made ready to leave again when he stopped me. “You need sleep?” He finally managed while pantomiming sleep with pillow hands. I nodded and he beckoned for me to follow. Cautious but curious I followed at a distance, ready to disappear if the need arose. He lead me to a small pickup in the extended stay parking lot and indicated that I could sleep in the truck bed if I wanted and that I would be safe there.
I thanked him again and waited for him to go before I jumped in. I waited about an hour before I fell asleep again and then passed the remaining two hours before the ferry came at five.
That day I spent in Papette and then flew out that night; first to LA, then Ft. Lauderdale, and finally Nassau, the Bahamas a day later. I passed the next night in a hostel and that morning prepared to board the MV Explorer.

Little did I know what I was in for. I’m experiencing major culture shock. To have gone from a working vessel where I was the crew aboard a 134 ft. working tall ship conducting oceanographic research on the frontlines of the scientific world to this, a pampered luxury cruise is hard. The Explorer is a staggering 400 ft (I believe) and seven decks. You could fit 20 of my last ship on this one. The interior is plush and gaudy with a professional staff of servants and crew. All of whom are doing an excellent job of keeping aloof and separate from the student bad and making sure that we are aware that they are.
The whole program is some gross intertwining of Sesame Street and Love Boat. We students are talked down to and kept on a short leash, rather reminiscent of High School. I think hat is the most comparable medium. The only major draw is the countries we are planning on visiting. However those are each only for a ridiculously short period of time and most of the student body has opted to go on guided tours of the major sights in each one. To me it feels as if the majority of the country will be missed, both by the observation of only the selected sights and by limited time. So the once major draw is now only a faintly glimmering thought.
I intend to give the whole program more time but I am having trouble with the whole ordeal. To have gone from the independence and personal responsibility of a life as a crew member on a sailing vessel to a passive passenger onboard a cruise ship is painful. As is the distinctive difference in class, for the vast majority of students on this trip are in the upper upper crust of society, speaking mostly of getting laid, getting wasted, or getting off.
Patience now, later I will make a more pragmatic judgment. For now I find myself surrounded by some 1000+ people and have yet to find anyone that I can talk to & receive anything other than a blank stare. A few people have made a valiant effort and I thank them for their friendship but the feeling of being completely apart and distinctly different and foreign persists with everyone, both faculty and student body. I’m tired of being talked down to, I’m weary of being so utterly different from those who permeate my environment, I wonder when this change occurred in my soul that I should suddenly feel so apart from people I can see myself once being great companions with, and I tire of feeling like a dark figure or a cold draft being blown into a warm room. I’m not like the people on this ship and they have made that clear to me.