Monday, 31 August. 42° 24” N, 38° 44” W, Course = 096°, speed = 15 knots.
According to the noon announcement, the water temperature here is about 68°F, and air temp is in the low 70s. It’s much cloudier today than it has been since we left Norfolk a week ago, and the ocean is choppier. But the swells are coming from behind us (aft) rather than from the side, so the ship isn’t rolling quite as much as it did yesterday afternoon when a big roller tilted the ship at least 20 degrees in either direction, wiping out many glasses behind the bar in the faculty lounge and several bottles of what I hope is inexpensive wine. It certainly tastes inexpensive.
One of the advantages of being on a lower deck—I’m on deck 4; the top passenger-occupied deck is deck 7—is a reduced crack-the-whip effect. The lower the deck, the closer to the ship’s keel—the center of the whip—and therefore the less distance traveled in a swell. The farther from the ship’s keel—like the higher decks—the farther from the center and the greater the distance traveled. So the Chapels, for instance, saw their clock radio almost fly across their cabin in “the big one” (the steward was cleaning the cabin at the time and made a great one-handed save), and Jim & Shamim lost a ceramic mug they’d brought along when it tumbled off their dresser. Despite having many glasses and books on my desk, nothing moved. There are advantages to being in steerage.
For the sake of my grandkids (Nicholas and Sarah especially), and at the prompting of Haley, I should explain the cryptic location numbers, course indicators, and the term “knots.” Stop reading now if you know all this.
I’ll start with course indicators. Everything on the ocean—and in flying, something I’m more familiar with—is relative to a circle. A circle has 360 degrees—360 equal segments around the circumference. And if you think of a circle as a clock, 12:00 corresponds to 0 degrees, 3 o’clock to 90 degrees, 6 o’clock to 180 degrees (halfway around), 9 o’clock to 270 degrees, and back to 12:00, which is both 0 degrees and 360 degrees—the beginning and the end.
Now put that clock on its back, with 12:00 pointing to the North Pole, and you have a compass—a way of indicating direction. If 12:00 (0 degrees) is north, swinging around to 3 o’clock (90 degrees) is east. Six o’clock (180 degrees) is south, and 9 o’clock (270 degrees) is west. So when our course is 096°, we’re traveling slightly south of due east. When we head down toward South Africa, we’ll be heading close to due south (180°), toward India we’ll be heading north east (around 045°), then across the belly of Asia and back to the US (around 090° again).
Location. Location is measured in latitude and longitude. Latitude measures the distance—again in degrees—from the equator north toward the north pole, or south toward the south pole. And, again, the distance is measured in degrees because, of course, any line drawn around the world and passing through both poles is a circle. The distance from the equator to either pole along that line covers one quarter or 90 degrees of the circle—like going from 3 o’clock (the equator) to noon (the north pole). So when we’re at 45 degrees north (N) we’re exactly halfway to the North Pole from the equator. Today we’re at 42 degrees north latitude, not quite halfway.
Longitude measures the distance from what’s called the prime meridian, which is a circle that goes around the world perpendicular to the equator, passing through the two poles, and crossing, roughly, through London on one side (actually Greenwich, England), and a point in the Pacific Ocean just a little west of Hawaii. In England, that line is zero degrees longitude; in the Pacific, it’s 180 degrees. And all positions between those two parts of the circle—also called “longitude”—are measured in degrees along the equator, either west of the prime meridian (west longitude), or east (east longitude).
We’re now about 38 degrees west of the prime meridian, and as we sail toward Spain, that number will decrease until we cross the prime meridian between Morocco and Ghana. Then our position will increase in degrees of east longitude until we get to just west of Hawaii. From Hawaii to the west coast of the US, we start back down in west longitude as we move closer to Greenwich, England.
Finally, speed. Speed on water and in the air is measured in “knots,” which means nautical miles per hour. A nautical mile—measured as one minute of latitude at the equator (each degree is broken into 60 minutes, and each minute is broken into 60 seconds)—is just a little over 6,000 feet. A knot, then, measures time compared to nautical miles. One knot of speed will cover one nautical mile in one hour. We’re traveling about 15 knots, so we’re covering about 15 nautical miles (NM) per hour, or close to 20 miles/hour.
I’m tired and going to bed. We lose another hour tonight. Tuesday we’ll be EDT+4.
31 August 2009
30 August 2009
Terry, the trip sounds great. Wish I were there. I'm thinking I may get to Shanghai when you are there in November. I need to go back before the end of the year to work on an Anderson design center in Guanzhou. Love the blog. It is a great way to keep up with your travels. Marco Polo should have had one. Cousin Don.
Day 7--Enroute to Cadiz
30 August (Sunday). 42° 41”N, 47° 25”W, Course 089°, speed 15 knots.
At noon today (we’re now EDT+2 and, tomorrow, will be EDT+3), a voice from the bridge made the first of what I guess will be a daily information announcement answering the question on most voyagers’ minds: “where are we, and what are we doing?” The answer as of about 3 hours ago: 650 NM (nautical miles) east southeast of Halifax, about 1,300 NM west of Cadiz, Spain. We’re scheduled to get there Saturday morning.
It’s another beautiful day with hazy blue skies and deep blue water that’s rolling noticeably more than it was on the trip from Norfolk or on our first day out from Halifax. It’s as if Neptune were easing us into his kingdom, giving us all a chance to acquire some sea legs. So far, the students seem to be weathering their moving home and classroom fairly well. All of my assigned students showed up for my public speaking class this morning at 0800—all 5. Seems 8am isn’t a time that entices enrollment, especially (apparently) for a public speaking class. But I saw no green faces or sudden dashes to the bathroom.
I also had two additional students appear: a lifelong learner and the 15-year-old dependent niece of the ship’s doctor. “Lifelong learner” is the title given to the 30-or-so voyagers who are paying full-tariff-plus to take a portion or all of the trip with us not as students but simply as . . . what? . . . lifelong learners, I guess. Their fare for the entire voyage is a little more than the most expensive student fare, I understand. For that, they are assigned a cabin with a balcony. And they may attend whatever courses they want, but they receive no credits, not even audit credits. Some of them have been on multiple voyages, so the learning must be very enriching. The woman who attended my 8am class is beginning her 8th voyage around the world—one each year since 2002.
Last night, Ed and Julia Williams invited me to join them for a special dinner celebrating their 45th wedding anniversary. In coat and tie, I went to classroom 9, which doubles as a private dining room for special occasions. Ed is former chair of the University of Alabama’s theatre department, and the person who gave Bob Chapel his first job after earning his doctorate. This cruise is Bob’s way of returning the favor, but Ed isn’t on a free ride. Like the rest of us, he’s teaching 3 classes, including one on performance and one on world theatre and cinema. They’re both overenrolled.
The dinner was excellent: fine wine, delicious shrimp covered with a spicy cocktail-mixed-with-sweet-and-sour sauce, soup, fresh-greens salad, a perfectly done and extremely tender filet mignon, all topped off by cherries jubilee. I felt like I was on a real cruise. We shared the dining room with the ship’s upper crust, who were enjoying the same meal celebrating the captain’s birthday. We felt a little like the children at Thanksgiving relegated to a small table in the far corner of the dining room, where we watched, wondering if we’d be able to sit at the big people’s table some day. Actually, I think we had more fun . . . kinda like the children’s table at Thanksgiving.
I should say more about the stewards. This isn’t your typical college dorm. Every day, the steward assigned to one’s section—mine is Julius—comes in to clean, refresh the towels, resupply the bathroom accoutrements (shampoo, etc), and make the bed. Yes, our beds are made for us every day. The stewards also pick up our laundry and return it the next day or two either folded ($6) or on hangars ($8). I’m fine with folded underwear, so I’ve chosen the $6 route.
I’m attaching to this posting—or trying to—a photo or two of my cabin. The photos make the cabin look more spacious than it is. But, as I said earlier, it’s very comfortable, and everything that I need to fit does. Every cabin includes two twin-size beds, but, as you can see, when there’s only one person in the cabin, the steward can remake the bed into a large double or smallish king. It gives the room a little more space.
I’m spending the afternoon prepping for my two classes tomorrow, both closed to further enrollment—30 students each. One is “Introduction to Intercultural Communication,” the other is “Business Communication in a Global Context.” I’ve actually been prepping for all 3 classes for the past 6 months, but now it’s for real, and the fine tuning—and rehearsing—takes time. I’m sure, as we get farther into the voyage, the fine tuning will take less and less, but first impressions are lasting. People have been asking me for weeks, “Aren’t you excited?!” The truth is, I’ve been thinking of this trip as more “job” than “cruise.” Today and tomorrow are and will be the start of a full-semester’s teaching load: 65 students, with the resulting papers, exercises, journals, and presentations to watch, read, and evaluate. I’m not complaining! And, yes, I’m starting to realize the truth of what Bob Chapel has been saying to me for the past couple of weeks: “We’re going around the world!” But I’m also “going to work.”
Day
At noon today (we’re now EDT+2 and, tomorrow, will be EDT+3), a voice from the bridge made the first of what I guess will be a daily information announcement answering the question on most voyagers’ minds: “where are we, and what are we doing?” The answer as of about 3 hours ago: 650 NM (nautical miles) east southeast of Halifax, about 1,300 NM west of Cadiz, Spain. We’re scheduled to get there Saturday morning.
It’s another beautiful day with hazy blue skies and deep blue water that’s rolling noticeably more than it was on the trip from Norfolk or on our first day out from Halifax. It’s as if Neptune were easing us into his kingdom, giving us all a chance to acquire some sea legs. So far, the students seem to be weathering their moving home and classroom fairly well. All of my assigned students showed up for my public speaking class this morning at 0800—all 5. Seems 8am isn’t a time that entices enrollment, especially (apparently) for a public speaking class. But I saw no green faces or sudden dashes to the bathroom.
I also had two additional students appear: a lifelong learner and the 15-year-old dependent niece of the ship’s doctor. “Lifelong learner” is the title given to the 30-or-so voyagers who are paying full-tariff-plus to take a portion or all of the trip with us not as students but simply as . . . what? . . . lifelong learners, I guess. Their fare for the entire voyage is a little more than the most expensive student fare, I understand. For that, they are assigned a cabin with a balcony. And they may attend whatever courses they want, but they receive no credits, not even audit credits. Some of them have been on multiple voyages, so the learning must be very enriching. The woman who attended my 8am class is beginning her 8th voyage around the world—one each year since 2002.
Last night, Ed and Julia Williams invited me to join them for a special dinner celebrating their 45th wedding anniversary. In coat and tie, I went to classroom 9, which doubles as a private dining room for special occasions. Ed is former chair of the University of Alabama’s theatre department, and the person who gave Bob Chapel his first job after earning his doctorate. This cruise is Bob’s way of returning the favor, but Ed isn’t on a free ride. Like the rest of us, he’s teaching 3 classes, including one on performance and one on world theatre and cinema. They’re both overenrolled.
The dinner was excellent: fine wine, delicious shrimp covered with a spicy cocktail-mixed-with-sweet-and-sour sauce, soup, fresh-greens salad, a perfectly done and extremely tender filet mignon, all topped off by cherries jubilee. I felt like I was on a real cruise. We shared the dining room with the ship’s upper crust, who were enjoying the same meal celebrating the captain’s birthday. We felt a little like the children at Thanksgiving relegated to a small table in the far corner of the dining room, where we watched, wondering if we’d be able to sit at the big people’s table some day. Actually, I think we had more fun . . . kinda like the children’s table at Thanksgiving.
I should say more about the stewards. This isn’t your typical college dorm. Every day, the steward assigned to one’s section—mine is Julius—comes in to clean, refresh the towels, resupply the bathroom accoutrements (shampoo, etc), and make the bed. Yes, our beds are made for us every day. The stewards also pick up our laundry and return it the next day or two either folded ($6) or on hangars ($8). I’m fine with folded underwear, so I’ve chosen the $6 route.
I’m attaching to this posting—or trying to—a photo or two of my cabin. The photos make the cabin look more spacious than it is. But, as I said earlier, it’s very comfortable, and everything that I need to fit does. Every cabin includes two twin-size beds, but, as you can see, when there’s only one person in the cabin, the steward can remake the bed into a large double or smallish king. It gives the room a little more space.
I’m spending the afternoon prepping for my two classes tomorrow, both closed to further enrollment—30 students each. One is “Introduction to Intercultural Communication,” the other is “Business Communication in a Global Context.” I’ve actually been prepping for all 3 classes for the past 6 months, but now it’s for real, and the fine tuning—and rehearsing—takes time. I’m sure, as we get farther into the voyage, the fine tuning will take less and less, but first impressions are lasting. People have been asking me for weeks, “Aren’t you excited?!” The truth is, I’ve been thinking of this trip as more “job” than “cruise.” Today and tomorrow are and will be the start of a full-semester’s teaching load: 65 students, with the resulting papers, exercises, journals, and presentations to watch, read, and evaluate. I’m not complaining! And, yes, I’m starting to realize the truth of what Bob Chapel has been saying to me for the past couple of weeks: “We’re going around the world!” But I’m also “going to work.”
Day
28 August 2009
Day 5--Enroute to Cadiz
28 August. 43 degrees 48" N, 62 degrees 6" W, heading 116 degrees.
The madding crowd has arrived! Starting at 8am (0800) this morning, 550 students arrived onboard, lugging backpacks and bottled water up the long, long stairway to the 5th-deck entry. I was up at 0730 to shower and grab some breakfast in the last few moments of luxuriant living that we'll enjoy for the next 109 days or so. Then I took my laptop to the faculty lounge to navigate through the various servers and proxies where our teaching and studying resources are stored.
I ran into several walls trying to access course files, the UVA library files, and class rosters, so I went to the computer lab onboard to get help, and I watched the students parading by looking around like little kids visiting the Disney store for the first time. Of course, one of their first stops is the computer lab. They don't like to feel disconnected.
With the help of the IT experts, I solved my computer problems, then went back to the faculty lounge to organize class files and, again, watch students wander in, realize where they were (the sanctum sanctorum of the faculty), smile sheepishly, and walk out mumbling "whoops."
After lunch, I got off the ship to do some last-minute shopping in Halifax: essentials like a couple bottles of wine and a fresh lime for Friday G&Ts. But Halifax was in the middle of a major power outage. Seems a line serving the entire southern half of the city, where the ship docked, broke, putting half the city out of business. So my short trip became a true walking tour as I searched for an open wine store and market. I didn't find the wine store (wine onboard is vintage swill), but I did find a Java store, where I bought a coffee press and some fresh-ground coffee blend. The coffee, too, is swill-like. The ship desalinates sea water for drinking and bathing. It's ok but has a distinct chemical taste that doesn't enhance coffee's flavor.
At 1600 (4pm), we all donned our life preservers, long pants, jackets, and hats, and headed to our “muster stations” for the madatory safety drill. Not surprisingly, there were many mumbling remarks about “women and children first” and “I’ll never give up, Jack!” but, in the end, the captain complemented us over the ships’s PA, in his very British accent, that “this has been the best muster I’ve seen in my many years at sea.” I’m sure he says that to all voyages.
At 1700, the crew hauled the gangplank up onto its anchor atop the 7th deck, the refueling ship pulled away from our port side, the shoremen hauled the enormous ropes off their stanchions on the pier, and Explorer slowly inched away from Pier 21. On the narrow dock below were about 100 parents alternately wiping away tears and waving goodbye to their Janies and Johnnies. I didn’t see any tears among the kids. The ship backed away from the pier, turned itself around, pointing its bow ESE, and we slowly picked up speed, watching Halifax harbor glide by and eventually pass behind us.
We’re now making over 20 knots—not the max speed for the ship, but faster than we steamed out of Norfolk—across very calm seas again. I’m sure the captain is trying to get out of the way of Hurricane Danny. I’m looking out to the south from my cabin, and I don’t see any sign of clouds, much less storm. Only the ¾ moon reflecting off the ocean.
The madding crowd has arrived! Starting at 8am (0800) this morning, 550 students arrived onboard, lugging backpacks and bottled water up the long, long stairway to the 5th-deck entry. I was up at 0730 to shower and grab some breakfast in the last few moments of luxuriant living that we'll enjoy for the next 109 days or so. Then I took my laptop to the faculty lounge to navigate through the various servers and proxies where our teaching and studying resources are stored.
I ran into several walls trying to access course files, the UVA library files, and class rosters, so I went to the computer lab onboard to get help, and I watched the students parading by looking around like little kids visiting the Disney store for the first time. Of course, one of their first stops is the computer lab. They don't like to feel disconnected.
With the help of the IT experts, I solved my computer problems, then went back to the faculty lounge to organize class files and, again, watch students wander in, realize where they were (the sanctum sanctorum of the faculty), smile sheepishly, and walk out mumbling "whoops."
After lunch, I got off the ship to do some last-minute shopping in Halifax: essentials like a couple bottles of wine and a fresh lime for Friday G&Ts. But Halifax was in the middle of a major power outage. Seems a line serving the entire southern half of the city, where the ship docked, broke, putting half the city out of business. So my short trip became a true walking tour as I searched for an open wine store and market. I didn't find the wine store (wine onboard is vintage swill), but I did find a Java store, where I bought a coffee press and some fresh-ground coffee blend. The coffee, too, is swill-like. The ship desalinates sea water for drinking and bathing. It's ok but has a distinct chemical taste that doesn't enhance coffee's flavor.
At 1600 (4pm), we all donned our life preservers, long pants, jackets, and hats, and headed to our “muster stations” for the madatory safety drill. Not surprisingly, there were many mumbling remarks about “women and children first” and “I’ll never give up, Jack!” but, in the end, the captain complemented us over the ships’s PA, in his very British accent, that “this has been the best muster I’ve seen in my many years at sea.” I’m sure he says that to all voyages.
At 1700, the crew hauled the gangplank up onto its anchor atop the 7th deck, the refueling ship pulled away from our port side, the shoremen hauled the enormous ropes off their stanchions on the pier, and Explorer slowly inched away from Pier 21. On the narrow dock below were about 100 parents alternately wiping away tears and waving goodbye to their Janies and Johnnies. I didn’t see any tears among the kids. The ship backed away from the pier, turned itself around, pointing its bow ESE, and we slowly picked up speed, watching Halifax harbor glide by and eventually pass behind us.
We’re now making over 20 knots—not the max speed for the ship, but faster than we steamed out of Norfolk—across very calm seas again. I’m sure the captain is trying to get out of the way of Hurricane Danny. I’m looking out to the south from my cabin, and I don’t see any sign of clouds, much less storm. Only the ¾ moon reflecting off the ocean.
27 August 2009
Day 4--Halifax
I woke this morning as the sun was rising over, again, a very calm sea. It was about 6am (06:00), and the ship had slowed noticably--to about 9 knots--and we were now heading northeast, directly toward Nova Scotia. I rolled over to the window and pressed against the glass, looking forward, where I could make out the coastline of the island, very green even in the early morning sun.
I lay in bed for another half hour or so, then decided to get up and shower so I could watch the arrival process. A few minutes later, as I stepped out of the shower and walked to the window in my cabin, the pilot's boat, white and very gleaming in the early morning sun, slipped by no more than 25 yards off the starboard side. Nosy neighbors are no problem on the ship, but unexpected pilot boats can be.
I dressed and went up to the 7th deck, stepping outside into the very cool Northern Canadian air. After Norfolk, it was like natural air conditioning. The sky was blue with not a cloud in sight, and we were just entering Halifax harbor, a natural collar formed by pine-covered hills, with the city of Halifax sitting at the apex. To the left were a few homes on the hillsides moving slowly past; to the right, more hills, and a lone, white lighthouse sitting on a point of land jutting out into the bay. The view was spectacular.
I met Maria Chapel on the deck, and we decided to go to the 5th-deck aft Garden Room, where we could sit outside and watch the entry process. Maria got a call last night that her dad, Mike Dominguez, suffered an apparent stroke Wednesday afternoon and was in intensive care in Charlottesville. Mike is an alert, active, curmudgeonly 90-year-old whom we'd had dinner with Friday evening and who drove to the Chapel's house to see us off Sunday morning. He was full of stories about his life in Charlottesville--including his 3 girlfriends--and his WWII adventures and injuries in the Pacific theatre. By late afternoon Thursday, we'd heard that he was out of intensive care, and Maria's brother was in Charlottesville to be with him. For the moment Maria--on her dad's orders--is staying on the ship.
As Maria and I finished breakfast, we were pulling into Pier 21, Halifax harbor. We and others walked quickly back to the 7th deck to watch the docking process. And, as the shoremen grabbed the lead lines to pull up the heavy ropes lashing the ship to the pier, to our right came the sound of a bagpipe and drummer. There on the pier stood two Nova Scotian greeters in full Scottish regalia piping a greeting to the ship as we docked. It was quite a memorable greeting.
Halifax is a beautiful, quaint, old city, with centuries-old buildings lining very narrow streets. About 1/2 mile inland from the harbor is a citadel housing what looks like the remnants of an old fort. The buildings of the city aren't particularly tall, and the predominant features are the steeples of a couple old churches sitting on what looks like the flanks of the citadel. Surrounding one of the churches is a graveyard with headstones that look like they go back to the early 17th century.
I'd like to explore the city a little, and I may on Friday. But today, I spent the morning in the final briefings of the orientation. Then Jim Cooper and I rented a car and drove to a western suburb of the city to play golf on Lost Creek golf course--a course carved out of the north woods, complete with trout lakes, raging rivers, and very, very narrow fairways that claimed several of my golf balls. I didn't score well--hindered by the wind as much as the tight holes--but we had a fun time playing with two locals who played even worse. Jim was disgruntled at his "disgraceful" 82.
When we got back to the ship, a reception for parents was about to begin, so I hustled to the cabin to change my shirt, put on my name tag, and get up to the 6th deck for my faculty duties. The place was packed with parents (a sign of the affluence of our student body), eating heavy hors d'oevres, drinking wine, and heading off to explore where Johnny and Julie would be spending the next nearly 4 months. I talked to several parents, and they were all eager to find out about the course work and the nature of the faculty. I unabashedly tried to convince several parents to encourage their kids to add my 08:00 public speaking course to their schedules. I have only 5 enrollees so far. I don't know that I was successful, but the parents all said "I'll try." Of course.
Tonight, I joined Jim Cooper and Shamim for a late supper at a local restaurant, where I had a wonderful Nova Scotian halibut dinner--the last non-dorm dinner I'll have until we reach Cadiz, Spain.
Tomorrow, the madding crowds arrive: 550 students ascend the gangplank starting at 08:00. A fine excuse to get off and explore the city.
I lay in bed for another half hour or so, then decided to get up and shower so I could watch the arrival process. A few minutes later, as I stepped out of the shower and walked to the window in my cabin, the pilot's boat, white and very gleaming in the early morning sun, slipped by no more than 25 yards off the starboard side. Nosy neighbors are no problem on the ship, but unexpected pilot boats can be.
I dressed and went up to the 7th deck, stepping outside into the very cool Northern Canadian air. After Norfolk, it was like natural air conditioning. The sky was blue with not a cloud in sight, and we were just entering Halifax harbor, a natural collar formed by pine-covered hills, with the city of Halifax sitting at the apex. To the left were a few homes on the hillsides moving slowly past; to the right, more hills, and a lone, white lighthouse sitting on a point of land jutting out into the bay. The view was spectacular.
I met Maria Chapel on the deck, and we decided to go to the 5th-deck aft Garden Room, where we could sit outside and watch the entry process. Maria got a call last night that her dad, Mike Dominguez, suffered an apparent stroke Wednesday afternoon and was in intensive care in Charlottesville. Mike is an alert, active, curmudgeonly 90-year-old whom we'd had dinner with Friday evening and who drove to the Chapel's house to see us off Sunday morning. He was full of stories about his life in Charlottesville--including his 3 girlfriends--and his WWII adventures and injuries in the Pacific theatre. By late afternoon Thursday, we'd heard that he was out of intensive care, and Maria's brother was in Charlottesville to be with him. For the moment Maria--on her dad's orders--is staying on the ship.
As Maria and I finished breakfast, we were pulling into Pier 21, Halifax harbor. We and others walked quickly back to the 7th deck to watch the docking process. And, as the shoremen grabbed the lead lines to pull up the heavy ropes lashing the ship to the pier, to our right came the sound of a bagpipe and drummer. There on the pier stood two Nova Scotian greeters in full Scottish regalia piping a greeting to the ship as we docked. It was quite a memorable greeting.
Halifax is a beautiful, quaint, old city, with centuries-old buildings lining very narrow streets. About 1/2 mile inland from the harbor is a citadel housing what looks like the remnants of an old fort. The buildings of the city aren't particularly tall, and the predominant features are the steeples of a couple old churches sitting on what looks like the flanks of the citadel. Surrounding one of the churches is a graveyard with headstones that look like they go back to the early 17th century.
I'd like to explore the city a little, and I may on Friday. But today, I spent the morning in the final briefings of the orientation. Then Jim Cooper and I rented a car and drove to a western suburb of the city to play golf on Lost Creek golf course--a course carved out of the north woods, complete with trout lakes, raging rivers, and very, very narrow fairways that claimed several of my golf balls. I didn't score well--hindered by the wind as much as the tight holes--but we had a fun time playing with two locals who played even worse. Jim was disgruntled at his "disgraceful" 82.
When we got back to the ship, a reception for parents was about to begin, so I hustled to the cabin to change my shirt, put on my name tag, and get up to the 6th deck for my faculty duties. The place was packed with parents (a sign of the affluence of our student body), eating heavy hors d'oevres, drinking wine, and heading off to explore where Johnny and Julie would be spending the next nearly 4 months. I talked to several parents, and they were all eager to find out about the course work and the nature of the faculty. I unabashedly tried to convince several parents to encourage their kids to add my 08:00 public speaking course to their schedules. I have only 5 enrollees so far. I don't know that I was successful, but the parents all said "I'll try." Of course.
Tonight, I joined Jim Cooper and Shamim for a late supper at a local restaurant, where I had a wonderful Nova Scotian halibut dinner--the last non-dorm dinner I'll have until we reach Cadiz, Spain.
Tomorrow, the madding crowds arrive: 550 students ascend the gangplank starting at 08:00. A fine excuse to get off and explore the city.
26 August 2009
Day 3--Steaming to Halifax
After a wonderful night's sleep Monday--with the help of a little blue pill--I woke to a sunny morning, with the ship rolling very, very gently on calm seas. Waves aren't more than a foot or two.
My cellphone, which was connected to the ship's system, did its duty and woke me at 7am, plenty of time for a shower, a leisurely breakfast, and a few minutes to prep before the 08:30 orientation began . . . or so I thought. Seems the ship's cell service jumped back an hour overnight. No one knows why that happened, but I discovered it as I was buckling my belt at what I thought was 07:25, when the tones sounded over the ship's intercom, and a young female voice announced that "the 08:30 orientation would start in the union (former ballroom) in 5 minutes."
Minus orange juice, coffee, or so much as a dry english muffin, I finished my dressing and hustled to the union just as the meeting began. Then began a long 2-hour meeting in which we discussed he challenges of living and learning in the same very compact space, as well as the challenges of living next door to (literally, in a few cases) our students. We had a brief break, during which I was able to get to the coffee pot at the stern, then started another hour and a half session on the equally daunting challenges of integrating our course work with the experiences our students will have during the port visits.
Everyone on the faculty was required to design three "faculty directed practicas" (FDPs)--essentially field trips that are, in some way, related to our courses. I, for example, set up a trip to visit the South African Parliament for my public speaking course; a visit to an Indian customer service (call) center for my intercultural communication course; and a visit to a joint-venture business (where my cousin, Don, is CEO of one of the venturees) in Shanghai. But setting these up is one thing, getting students to sign up (we can't require attendance on specific FDPs) and ensuring the experience is, indeed, enriching, is another. These are the challenges we talked about until noon. There was no resolution . . . the wondrous ambiguities of academe.
Suffice to say that lunch didn't come soon enough. I joined some new friends out on the aft deck of the "Garden Room" lounge for a lunch of fish, salad, and a little pasta. Pretty decent food for what's generally considered to be not the voyage's strong suit. It'll be interesting to see if the quality stays high after the 550 students board on Friday. But the view out onto the green-blue Atlantic, with the boiling white-water wake trailing off to the horizon, is very rich food for the soul if not for the belly.
The afternoon was more orientation, with content getting a little more practical--how to connect to the ship's intranet, how to get into course and school resources, how to access the Univ. of Virginia library, and other tools that we'll be using every day.
Orientation ended about 4:30 (16:30), just in time for the bar in the faculty lounge to open. For my part, I joined Jim Cooper and Bob Chapel on Jim's massive balcony off his and Shamim's suite. Very nice digs. The three of us watched the waves and watched for leaping fish as we talked and toasted our good fortune at being where we are, doing what we're doing.
Today, more orientation, including talk about the global studies course all students are required to take--wonderful sounding stuff--the UVA honor code and how it's adjudicated (no tolerance clause), how to use the IT equipment in the classrooms, and (again) other information we'll use, or in the case of the honor code hope we don't have to use, every day.
We passed through a fog bank this morning because the air is very warm and the water is getting cold. The fog slowly wrapped around us until we couldn't see the water on either side of the ship. For the next 2 hours, Explorer sounded her low fog horn every couple of minutes, making the setting sound like the opening scene of "Jaws." Fair to say that few other working environments could compete.
My cellphone, which was connected to the ship's system, did its duty and woke me at 7am, plenty of time for a shower, a leisurely breakfast, and a few minutes to prep before the 08:30 orientation began . . . or so I thought. Seems the ship's cell service jumped back an hour overnight. No one knows why that happened, but I discovered it as I was buckling my belt at what I thought was 07:25, when the tones sounded over the ship's intercom, and a young female voice announced that "the 08:30 orientation would start in the union (former ballroom) in 5 minutes."
Minus orange juice, coffee, or so much as a dry english muffin, I finished my dressing and hustled to the union just as the meeting began. Then began a long 2-hour meeting in which we discussed he challenges of living and learning in the same very compact space, as well as the challenges of living next door to (literally, in a few cases) our students. We had a brief break, during which I was able to get to the coffee pot at the stern, then started another hour and a half session on the equally daunting challenges of integrating our course work with the experiences our students will have during the port visits.
Everyone on the faculty was required to design three "faculty directed practicas" (FDPs)--essentially field trips that are, in some way, related to our courses. I, for example, set up a trip to visit the South African Parliament for my public speaking course; a visit to an Indian customer service (call) center for my intercultural communication course; and a visit to a joint-venture business (where my cousin, Don, is CEO of one of the venturees) in Shanghai. But setting these up is one thing, getting students to sign up (we can't require attendance on specific FDPs) and ensuring the experience is, indeed, enriching, is another. These are the challenges we talked about until noon. There was no resolution . . . the wondrous ambiguities of academe.
Suffice to say that lunch didn't come soon enough. I joined some new friends out on the aft deck of the "Garden Room" lounge for a lunch of fish, salad, and a little pasta. Pretty decent food for what's generally considered to be not the voyage's strong suit. It'll be interesting to see if the quality stays high after the 550 students board on Friday. But the view out onto the green-blue Atlantic, with the boiling white-water wake trailing off to the horizon, is very rich food for the soul if not for the belly.
The afternoon was more orientation, with content getting a little more practical--how to connect to the ship's intranet, how to get into course and school resources, how to access the Univ. of Virginia library, and other tools that we'll be using every day.
Orientation ended about 4:30 (16:30), just in time for the bar in the faculty lounge to open. For my part, I joined Jim Cooper and Bob Chapel on Jim's massive balcony off his and Shamim's suite. Very nice digs. The three of us watched the waves and watched for leaping fish as we talked and toasted our good fortune at being where we are, doing what we're doing.
Today, more orientation, including talk about the global studies course all students are required to take--wonderful sounding stuff--the UVA honor code and how it's adjudicated (no tolerance clause), how to use the IT equipment in the classrooms, and (again) other information we'll use, or in the case of the honor code hope we don't have to use, every day.
We passed through a fog bank this morning because the air is very warm and the water is getting cold. The fog slowly wrapped around us until we couldn't see the water on either side of the ship. For the next 2 hours, Explorer sounded her low fog horn every couple of minutes, making the setting sound like the opening scene of "Jaws." Fair to say that few other working environments could compete.
24 August 2009
Day 1--24 August 09
I arrived at the MV Explorer yesterday around 4pm (16:00 EDT). We drove from Charlottesville VA to Norfolk in an extended caravan consisting of Bob and Maria Chapel (Bob is academic dean for the cruise); Jim Cooper and his wife Shamim Sisson (Jim is retired dean of the UVA school of education; Shamim is retired associate dean of students at UVA and registrar for the cruise); and Betsy and Tom Bloom and their son, Jacob (Betsy will be assistant librarian on the ship; Tom is current head of the UVA theatre department).
The ship was moored at a downtown Norfolk cruise center and adjacent to a large nautical museum featuring the mothballed USS Wisconsin, a WWII-vintage battle ship. Next to the Wisconsin, the Explorer looks small. But it's definitely a cruise ship: 590 feet long--almost 2 football fields--and 25,000 tons. The Wisconsin is battleship gray with massive 18-inch (or so) guns eternally aimed, now, at the heart of downtown Norfolk. The Explorer is Caribbean blue and white, with balconies off the 5th- and 7th-deck luxury suites overlooking the gray waters of Norfolk harbor. The sight does, indeed, get the heart beating faster as you catch the first glimpse coming out of the VA-164 tunnel.
So we arrived at 4pm, and, to all appearances, there was no way to board the ship. I tried all the doors in the cruise center with no luck. I walked through the nautical museum, and no one knew anything about boarding the ship. Bob (the dean!) had been given no information about boarding. So there we all were, cars loaded with duffel bags, book boxes, and golf clubs, with ship in sight, and no door to knock on or gangplank to cross.
Finally, Jim Cooper got in touch with a friend who was on-board, and he told us that a narrow drive between the Wisconsin and the museum was the access--a drive that was blocked by a RR crossing gate. As we approached the gate, a voice asked us who we were--would never have guessed to try that--the gate opened, and we drove up to the security area.
The misadventure didn't stop. The ship didn't have me on the manifest. But they also didn't have Bob and his wife on the manifest--the academic dean! After about 15 minutes of intercom calls, visits from the staff, and rummaging through different versions of passenger lists, they finally found us and cleared us aboard. According to Bob, the boarding process hasn't, from his experience, been one of SAS's strengths, and yesterday's experience added data to the observation.
After all the hassle of boarding, the ship is beautiful, and my room is very comfortable, if not ample. The main part of the cabin is about 11' X 14' with 2 twin beds, a narrow desk running the length of one wall, a small 2-person sitting area (think 1/4 of a corner booth in a cocktail lounge), and a fairly large (40" X 30" or so) window that looks out onto the water. The bathroom is cozy, but the shower stall is a nice size. And there's lots of drawer and closet space. All in all, the room is more than I expected. And I'm very happy I have it all to myself. I looked at some of the inside student rooms on the lower decks, and they're cell-like. But when I was a student, I would have thought they were the height of luxury, and I imagine most of today's students will think the same. I'll post poictures sometime in the next day or so.
Since I had a head start on boarding, I had time today to explore the ship while the rest of the faculty and staff went through their boarding process--from all observation, that process went more smoothly than mine. The ship is compact but very nice, and the faculty lounge--where only faculty and staff can venture--is on the top deck face the bow with a window wall that stretches a full 180 degrees from left (port) to right (starboard). I'm sure it'll be my refuge.
After a 90-minute orientation meeting, we all settled in to await the 11pm (23:00) sailing. At 10:45, I felt a slight shudder as the engines started up, so I went to the faculty lounge to join the group in bon voyage glasses of wine, which we all took out onto the deck to watch the ship pull away from the pier. Amazing how maneuverable the ship is. She backed up very, very slowly so the shoreman could take the mooring ropes off the massive posts that had held Explorer fast to the dock. Then she slowly pulled away, and we watched the lights of Norfolk and the nearby Navy ships start moving alongside us. As she moved away from the dock, she slowly picked up speed and made her way along the Elizabeth River to the James and finally out to sea through one of the cuts in the Chesapeake Bay bridge and tunnel. By the time we saw the lights of the bridge pass on the two sides of the ship, it was 12:30 (oo:30). The ship picked up speed, and we headed out to the open, very dark ocean.
Calm seas. I can only hope we'll be able to say the same for the rest of the voyage.
The ship was moored at a downtown Norfolk cruise center and adjacent to a large nautical museum featuring the mothballed USS Wisconsin, a WWII-vintage battle ship. Next to the Wisconsin, the Explorer looks small. But it's definitely a cruise ship: 590 feet long--almost 2 football fields--and 25,000 tons. The Wisconsin is battleship gray with massive 18-inch (or so) guns eternally aimed, now, at the heart of downtown Norfolk. The Explorer is Caribbean blue and white, with balconies off the 5th- and 7th-deck luxury suites overlooking the gray waters of Norfolk harbor. The sight does, indeed, get the heart beating faster as you catch the first glimpse coming out of the VA-164 tunnel.
So we arrived at 4pm, and, to all appearances, there was no way to board the ship. I tried all the doors in the cruise center with no luck. I walked through the nautical museum, and no one knew anything about boarding the ship. Bob (the dean!) had been given no information about boarding. So there we all were, cars loaded with duffel bags, book boxes, and golf clubs, with ship in sight, and no door to knock on or gangplank to cross.
Finally, Jim Cooper got in touch with a friend who was on-board, and he told us that a narrow drive between the Wisconsin and the museum was the access--a drive that was blocked by a RR crossing gate. As we approached the gate, a voice asked us who we were--would never have guessed to try that--the gate opened, and we drove up to the security area.
The misadventure didn't stop. The ship didn't have me on the manifest. But they also didn't have Bob and his wife on the manifest--the academic dean! After about 15 minutes of intercom calls, visits from the staff, and rummaging through different versions of passenger lists, they finally found us and cleared us aboard. According to Bob, the boarding process hasn't, from his experience, been one of SAS's strengths, and yesterday's experience added data to the observation.
After all the hassle of boarding, the ship is beautiful, and my room is very comfortable, if not ample. The main part of the cabin is about 11' X 14' with 2 twin beds, a narrow desk running the length of one wall, a small 2-person sitting area (think 1/4 of a corner booth in a cocktail lounge), and a fairly large (40" X 30" or so) window that looks out onto the water. The bathroom is cozy, but the shower stall is a nice size. And there's lots of drawer and closet space. All in all, the room is more than I expected. And I'm very happy I have it all to myself. I looked at some of the inside student rooms on the lower decks, and they're cell-like. But when I was a student, I would have thought they were the height of luxury, and I imagine most of today's students will think the same. I'll post poictures sometime in the next day or so.
Since I had a head start on boarding, I had time today to explore the ship while the rest of the faculty and staff went through their boarding process--from all observation, that process went more smoothly than mine. The ship is compact but very nice, and the faculty lounge--where only faculty and staff can venture--is on the top deck face the bow with a window wall that stretches a full 180 degrees from left (port) to right (starboard). I'm sure it'll be my refuge.
After a 90-minute orientation meeting, we all settled in to await the 11pm (23:00) sailing. At 10:45, I felt a slight shudder as the engines started up, so I went to the faculty lounge to join the group in bon voyage glasses of wine, which we all took out onto the deck to watch the ship pull away from the pier. Amazing how maneuverable the ship is. She backed up very, very slowly so the shoreman could take the mooring ropes off the massive posts that had held Explorer fast to the dock. Then she slowly pulled away, and we watched the lights of Norfolk and the nearby Navy ships start moving alongside us. As she moved away from the dock, she slowly picked up speed and made her way along the Elizabeth River to the James and finally out to sea through one of the cuts in the Chesapeake Bay bridge and tunnel. By the time we saw the lights of the bridge pass on the two sides of the ship, it was 12:30 (oo:30). The ship picked up speed, and we headed out to the open, very dark ocean.
Calm seas. I can only hope we'll be able to say the same for the rest of the voyage.
23 August 2009
08 August 2009
Welcome
This is the spot. I'll be posting my observations, musings, delights, and regrets here--along with a few pictures and short videos--as I sail east on the floating college: Semester at Sea (Fall '09).
We sail from Norfolk VA the evening of 24 August, so expect nothing here until then. For the next 4 days, I'll be aboard with only faculty and staff as we learn about the ship, the MV Explorer, and about the challenges of conducting college classes in classrooms that once were shipboard lounges, that roll with the 5- to 50-foot waves we're likely to encounter, and that include the annoying distraction of picture windows where, I assume, young men and women will occasionally stroll by wearing nothing but bikinis and speedos.
In Halifax, Nova Scotia, we board the student body, over 600 strong, then set sail the evening of 28 August for points east.
109 days and 11 countries later, we sail around Coronado into San Diego Harbor, where the trip ends and my life returns to normal. To see the complete itinerary, go to this link: http://www.semesteratsea.org/voyages/upcoming-voyages/fall-2009.php
Between 8/28 and 12/14, I'll try to post here regularly, and I invite your comments and questions. We'll have WiFi access onboard, but the speed and capacity may be limited, so many of the posts may be a little delayed and un-visual. Please be patient.
Feel free to share this blog with anyone you think may be interested. Or, if you doubt anyone you know would be interested in reading what I have to say, that's ok too. I've experienced both. In any event, thanks for your interest. And stay tuned.
We sail from Norfolk VA the evening of 24 August, so expect nothing here until then. For the next 4 days, I'll be aboard with only faculty and staff as we learn about the ship, the MV Explorer, and about the challenges of conducting college classes in classrooms that once were shipboard lounges, that roll with the 5- to 50-foot waves we're likely to encounter, and that include the annoying distraction of picture windows where, I assume, young men and women will occasionally stroll by wearing nothing but bikinis and speedos.
In Halifax, Nova Scotia, we board the student body, over 600 strong, then set sail the evening of 28 August for points east.
109 days and 11 countries later, we sail around Coronado into San Diego Harbor, where the trip ends and my life returns to normal. To see the complete itinerary, go to this link: http://www.semesteratsea.org/voyages/upcoming-voyages/fall-2009.php
Between 8/28 and 12/14, I'll try to post here regularly, and I invite your comments and questions. We'll have WiFi access onboard, but the speed and capacity may be limited, so many of the posts may be a little delayed and un-visual. Please be patient.
Feel free to share this blog with anyone you think may be interested. Or, if you doubt anyone you know would be interested in reading what I have to say, that's ok too. I've experienced both. In any event, thanks for your interest. And stay tuned.
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