Istanbul Mosaic

I must be doing something right. The shore excursions office has blessed me with the opportunity to escort the perfect tour. At the bus I meet John, the Turkish tour guide, and off we go. First stop is the Hippodrome, inspired by Rome’s Circus Maximus. It was the most important place in the city, where all came to see the chariot races. We walk to the Blue Mosque where 21,403 azure colored tiles tint the atmosphere a translucent, iridescent blue. Next stop is Topkapi Palace, an exercise in extravagant excess. I have previously visited this palace, which is now a museum housing many of the most spectacular objects of art ever created. We have free time to view the different collections, many of them gifts to the sultans from around the world. The most famous is the sultan’s golden dagger with the three rock size emeralds set into the hilt. The great old film Topkapi thatakes place in the palace.
I rush across the gardens to the opposite side of the courtyard to visit the sacred objects collection. The rooms are packed with travelers, many Moslems from other countries, to see the possessions of the Prophet Mohammed. The atmosphere is hushed as a singer chants verses from the Koran. I am pushed along with the crowd, eventually coming to the exhibit I am curious to see. People are crushed up against a glassed-in display. They lean over the railing, peering inside. I finally make it to the front where I see a small round glass jar, maybe 2” in diameter, with a golden domed top. I am having difficulty seeing the contents and begin to think I just don’t have enough faith, that the object is hidden from my unbelieving eyes. Then I see what I think must be it. I was looking for something larger. Yes, there it is! I realize that’s it is only one tiny single short strand of hair, said to come from the beard of the Prophet Mohammed. Next to it is a tiny vial containing soil from Mecca.
I rush back to meet the group. We are going into the harem section. When I was here before, I was very disappointed that it was closed for renovation. For me, this area is full of fascination and fantasy. And indeed, walking through the entrance into rooms opulently decorated with tiles and stained glass windows, vaulted ceilings and gilded bathrooms, plush pillowed divans and rich patterned carpets, I realize that rather than the lavish life I imagined, this is a gilded cage. Women were brought into these rooms, against their will, to live out their lives among hundreds of other women, never to escape. All waited to catch the eye of the Sultan, to gain his favor. If they were lucky, their position might be improved if they became pregnant with one of his children. That was a mixed blessing though, as the jealousy among mothers of the sultan’s children was the source of much intrigue and many murders. In the enclosed courtyards, the only areas where the women could go out to enjoy the sunlight and fresh air, my fantasies come face to face with the reality of their complete lack of freedom. I once again am grateful for my life of choice and possibility.
We travel across town to have lunch at the Çirigan Palace, built by a sultan when he decided on more modern living quarters. It’s now a bright and shiny hotel. We eat in an upstairs restaurant looking out over the ships that sail up and down the Bosporus River. The buffet is luscious and I allow myself dessert. YUM!
Tour finishes inside Hagia Sophia, originally a church, the largest in the world for 1,000 years, then a mosque, and now a museum.
Well, that is only the beginning of an enchanted day in Istanbul. All guests on the ship have been invited by the President and Chief Executive Officer of Holland America Cruise line, who has flown in for the event, to a lavish reception in the historic Binbirdirek Cistern. The underground cisterns were built as reservoirs during the Byzantine era, this one in 330AD, to store water if the city was under siege. This one is now used as a venue for large events.
These folks really know how to throw a party. We arrive and walk down a red carpet into a vast cavern of a room. The vaulted ceiling is held up by 224 massive columns, as tall as trees. The pale stone of the floor, walls, ceiling and columns is awash in colored lights. Three movie screens are placed strategically around the room so those who can’t see the stage, in the center of the room, will be able to see the activities. We are lucky to get seats right next to the dignitaries, with a clear view of the platform. Tables and chairs are covered in white; flower arrangements add a touch of color. Waiters offer wines and all kinds of Turkish delicacies. A brightly costumed, strolling water bearer tips over and pours a luscious fruit drink from the container he carries on his back. I could go on and on about the fortune-tellers, the Turkish coffee carts, the flatbread baker rolling out her dough, the taffey-like ice cream makers, but the entertainment is about to begin.
A few acts, including various Turkish folkdances and a fire-eater, open the festivities. Among others, we are greeted by the U.S. Ambassador to Turkey and other local big-wigs. Then, of course, a bellydancer in a barely there, orange costume with a boa feather stole leaps onto the stage and steals the show. A Turkish Barbie, she is joined by other dancers, in equally tiny golden costumes, who move around the room inviting guests to dance. Soon the crowd is up and dancing. Again, I am so impressed by the go-for-it, joie de vivre of the mostly older, retired crowd of folks who have the time and finances to go on a trip like this. They dance like there is no tomorrow and are ready for more.
We are bussed back to the ship where the pool area on the Lido deck has been turned into a Turkish Dessert Extravaganza Bazaar. The ship’s bakers have been busy creating the most incredible spread of sugar confections in all shapes and sizes. Costumed waiters serve under tents surrounding the pool, which has a turbaned sultan on a flying carpet suspended a few feet above the water. Musicians play and a snake(not real) undulates up from a basket.
Wait! We’re not finished yet. Before we sail away from Istanbul at 11PM, we’re invited to the outside decks for a special sail-away event. Off the starboard side, a fireworks show begins. They are so close and so low and they burst into the air several at a time. It’s like the finale at most 4th of July shows and goes on for maybe 15 minutes. Spectacular! Then we push away from the dock and we’re on our way up the Bosporus on our way to the Black Sea and Sochi, Russia. How’s that for a fairytale?

Magical Istanbul

Istanbul is a magical mosaic of mosques, minarets, museums and myths. If I was a poet I might attempt to do justice to this magnificent city. Instead I will urge you to put it toward the top of your ‘must go’ list. Tomorrow I will visit these sites and report back.

Cairo, Egypt

We’re on the bus, pulling out of the port by 6am. Again, we have about a 3-hour ride. Our guide, Nancy, points out the sites as we travel through the outskirts of Alexandria on our way to the desert road to Cairo. This part of Egypt, once just desert, has been reclaimed to accommodate the rising population of Egypt. There is a baby born every 28 seconds and the population increases by a million every 8 1/2 months. Staggering statistics! How is Mother Earth supposed to feed and shelter all these people? Nancy tells us that uneducated couples, already living in poverty, have an average of 10 children, while educated couples have no more than two. What is to become of us?
We approach the city of Cairo, which has spread even further in the few years since I was here last. When we reach the pyramids, we see a huge city to the west, which used to be empty desert. But the sight in front of me takes my mind from survival in the future to these monuments to eternal survival. The pyramids rise out of the Giza plateau, as I said in my book, like sand dunes with an attitude. This is my third time here, and I’m as awestruck as the first time. Only seven people from our bus want to go inside the pyramid. I am one, though the Great Pyramid is closed and we can only enter a smaller one. Several yards in, crouched over in the tiny corridor, I decide that I don’t have to do this. I’ve been to the King’s Chamber in the Great Pyramid and also in this one, and we have such a short time to be here. This is not my pyramid! I want to go out and commune with the Great Pyramid. I turn around and join the exiting line. I run over the sand to my pyramid and decide to circumnavigate it. Here I can look to the top, which lifts my spirit beyond the Earth plane. I climb up a few steps and stand looking out on what was surely my homeland in another lifetime. As I walk down, I rub shoulders with a man on his way up. He is head honcho of a retinue of Saudi Arabian men surrounded by heavy security. He must be one of the princes if not the king himself. I finish my way around, completing my third pilgrimage to this great mystical monument to immortality.
On to pay homage to the Sphinx, then it’s off to cruise the Nile on a riverboat housing The Pharaohs, one of Cairo’s finest restaurants. The food is fabulous and the show, excellent. As we drift along the river, a lovely young bellydancer opens the show, dancing to three hot musicians. She does a full Egyptian style show and is really quite good. I’m glad that my onboard students see a good example of how truly beautiful this dance form can be. She’s followed by a whirling dervish, then comes back and does a Maleah Lef style dance with two male dancers backing her. I meet her as we leave. Her name is Outi and she comes from Finland. We travel back through the desert. In Alexandria we drive along the Corniche to see the sites before returning to the ship. Next stop, Istanbul.

Suez Canal

Yesterday we continued sailing up the Red Sea until about 3pm when we dropped anchor near the city of Suez at the entrance to the Suez Canal. There we wait for the other 36 ships that will travel north with us in a convoy. At the same time, a convoy is gathering at Port Said in the Mediterranean Sea to sail south. Since the canal is only wide enough for single file, we must reach the Great Bitter Lake at the same time. There, it is wide enough for us to cross and continue on our way. At 6am we enter the canal. We are second in line. Mainland Egypt is on our port side and the desert of the Sinai Peninsula is on our starboard side. I sit all day in the Crow’s Nest Lounge on deck 9. Floor to ceiling windows and my binoculars allow me to see Egyptian life along the canal right below me about 50 yards from the ship. Many military encampments and outposts guard this strategic waterway. Intermittently we pass towns, cities, and farms with families living along the embankment. From this vantage point, I can look right down into yards and houses with doors and windows open. I see life as it’s been lived from antiquity—mud block dwellings with thatched roofs, chickens in the yard, a man and woman tilling their field with an ox, children playing. Even right outside the doors of their homes, the women are veiled.
There are no locks here as there are on the Panama Canal. The Red Sea and the Mediterranean are on the same level. Eleven hours from when we began this morning, we pop from calm waters into the slightly blustery Mediterranean, and we’re on our way to Alexandria.

Bellydance at Sea

Teaching first bellydance class today in the Crow’s Nest, 9 decks up above the sea. About 36 women come, ages in their 50’s to 80’s. They bring their own scarves to tie around their hips and are as excited and shy as some of the teens who come to their first class at the studio. I teach a regular introductory beginner class with a few modifications. I know from experience that new students have so much fun that they need to be reminded often to not overdo. And they do have fun. They giggle and make comments to their friends. After the warm-up, isolations, hip work, and shimmies, I teach a short sequence so they really feel like they’re dancing. They love it and are so surprised at how well they did, and ask if I will teach another class.
If there are students, I will teach. This is my mission in life. They love my coin hip scarf, so I tell them they should be able to buy some in Cairo. They run off to tell the cruise director to schedule another class.

Luxor, Egypt

After three days at sea, sailing from Oman past Yemen, turning north between Asia and Africa into the Red Sea, it’s beyond exciting to dock at Safaga, Egypt. This is the closest seaport to Luxor. We take Luxor by storm. Twenty- one large tour buses, with over 600 passengers from our ship, travel through the desert in a convoy. We have a military escort all the way. We wind our way through barren mountains. Every now and then we see a Bedouin tent with a tethered camel, then a flock of sheep with young shepherd boys in their long galabiyas (caftans). As we begin to reach the more populated area, we see they have stopped traffic in both directions, and armed men hold back the traffic at every side street. In this way we go non-stop and are able to cover the distance in 3 1/2 hours. Everywhere we go, we are guarded and attended by men with rifles slung over their shoulders. Tourism is forty percent of Egypt’s annual income, so they do not want a recurrence of the massacre that happened a few years ago at the Temple of Hapshepsut, which we are going to visit today. In an act of terrorism, gunmen open-fired on a group of tourists, killing several. It took a few years of heavy advertising and assurances that the tourists safety if of primary concern, hence the heavy security, before travelers ventured back.
I can barely believe my eyes as we drive towards the Valley of the Kings, our first stop. I was here almost 25 years ago, right after I first began bellydancing (that whole journey is related in my book, DOORWAY TO ECSTASY.
Then, we flew into Luxor, checked into the Winter Palace Hotel, which was the only large hotel in a tiny town, and had to take a ferry across the Nile to get to the Valley of the Kings. Today, we drive across a large, modern bridge, along with throngs of traffic. Reaching the Valley, we board one of several trams that shuttles us to the tombs.
Did I forget to mention that it was 104 degrees in the shade? We stood among hundreds of people, our convoy plus so many other groups here during the Easter holidays, waiting to get into the tombs. There was momentary relief when we stepped in out of the blazing sun, but then it was just as hot inside. I think the mugginess came from the sweat of people dripping. But, the wall paintings and carvings were just as powerful as the first time I saw them. They have the power to lift one out of ordinary reality into a state of awe at their beauty and longevity.
On we went to the Luxor Temple, scene of one of the most profound experiences of my life. This time, I’m so happy to be sharing this with Richard. We move in and out of the different chambers, around the still standing columns, running our hands over the hieroglyphics carved in the walls. We find an out of the way, shady chamber, and I want to feel the energy of the place. I sit on a pedestal and lean against the column, as tall as the redwood trees at home. Once again, like the last time I sat here, the sweat is running down my brow as I fall into a deep, silent, meditative state. After a bit, my eyes open and I ask my higher self what I should remember and embody from this experience. At that moment, I hear a little splat and feel a wetness on my shoulder. A pigeon, sitting way up high on the top of the column, has decided to grace me with his dropping. I think it will take me quite a bit of soul searching to understand that answer from the Spirit.
After a ride through the almost unrecognizable city and an early dinner at one of the fancy modern hotels, we arrive for the Sound and Light Show at Karnak Temple, the largest ancient religious site in the world. We all gather at the entrance at sundown and the show begins. Dramatic music and powerful voices tell us the history of this complex, built over several centuries by over thirty different pharaohs. As we move further into the temple, different statues, columns, and obelisks are lighted and the pharaoh responsible for its creation tells us tales of his life and accomplishments. Then, we are ushered along a large square lake and take seats on bleachers overlooking the still body of water. A thousand people sit in the dark, but still uncomfortably hot evening, waiting for the show to continue. After such a long buildup and wait, we expect something spectacular. Well, the sound part was great— music and great dramatic voices continue to relate the history of this incredible temple. However, the light show part needs a lot of work. They need to get some pointers from Disney or Las Vegas. I don’t think I’m jaded, I can get off on some very minimal efforts, but this was less than that.
Then it was back on the bus to return to our floating hotel. This was an arduous journey, but a pilgrimage I am fortunate to have made again.

Frankincense Dreams

Thursday, March 20 Salalah, Oman

I’m walking the deck before sunrise. The sun pops out of the sea, shining like of a pot of cherry colored lip gloss. Three dolphins accompany us port side. And yes, I’m expecting to see Sinbad the Sailorman appear to guide us to the dock. But instead, ordinary looking tugboats run along side. The ship is cleared for disembarking by Oman security. I rush ashore, thinking I’m late to meet my tour bus. I’m escorting a tour called Panoramic Salalah. I grab my sign and hurry to bus #3 where the guide, Ali, introduces himself. I greet him in Arabic and he replies with raised eyebrows. He’s very dark and handsome in his long white disdasha (caftan) and intricately embroidered hat. He wonders at my few words of Arabic, but I sense I should not tell him I’m a bellydancer. Leaving the port, the landscape out the left side of the bus looks like central California, a dry and arid, flat plain leading to a low mountain ridge. Out the right side, the intense blue and crashing waves of the Arabian sea, makes me certain, though, that we’re not in Fresno anymore, Toto!

We travel a short distance to our first site. Pulling off the road, we see the source of Salalah’s most ancient and famous natural resource, two scraggly trees. Everyone off the bus. Ali leads us over rock and sand. He tells us how the tree is tapped and the sap harvested, then burned over charcoal to emit the fragrance that was so prized it was one of the gifts brought to baby Jesus by the Three Wise Men. This, of course, is frankincense. I ask if the trees are cultivated now. “Yes,” he says, “but the scent is not the same as from the trees found in the wild. They live to be 200 years old.”

We move on. Turning off the main road to Salalah we head up into the mountians. A half hour drive through twisting turns, past grazing camels, and small farmer’s dwellings, we see the tower of a mosque. We’ve arrived at Job’s Tomb.
Walking up a gentle incline lined with bright magenta bougainvillea bushes and an oasis of green bushes and trees, we come to a small concrete building with a domed top. Women must cover their heads and all must remove their shoes. I enter the tomb. A long rectangular black cloth with beautifully embroidered gold Arabic writing covers the grave which is marked by a raised stone on either end. An old man rises from a metal folding chair to place more frankincense on the coals. Heavy smoke rises in the air up to the modern crystal chandilier that hangs from the center of the dome. Though it’s crowded inside, I center myself and try to feel the quality of the energy that has made this a place of pilgrimage for centuries. Job’s life was recorded in the old testament, so we’re talking very ancient history. Remembering his story, I ask to be granted the patience of Job and leave the building to make room for the line waiting to come in. Right outside is a square hole in the ground. The metal lid is lifted and we gaze inside to see an impression in the earth. We’re told that this is Job’s footprint preserved through the centuries. Apparently he came from Palestine to Oman and lived out his life here.

On to the Sultan’s palace. I ask Ali about him. His family has been in power for 200 years. He is 68 years old and has two wives, but no children. He has no brothers and his sister has died. I ask who will take over when he dies, and Ali just shrugs his shoulders.

We travel through central Salalah to the frankincense souk.
The whole area has been unremarkable. I expected old villages and casbahs like in North Africa, but buildings are all relatively modern—many apartment buildings. All light colors and rather non-descript. In the souk, which is really a steet lined with stores, there is not much of interest to buy, mostly the frankincense and the burners in many sizes and materials and designs. The only thing that hints at antiquity, unfortunately, is the veiled women. They are completely covered in black burkas with only a slit open for their eyes. I won’t get into what I think about this custom, but I am reading an interesting book from the ship’s library. It’s the story of a woman who married one of the Bin Laden brothers and moved to Saudi Arabia. Fascinating and disheartening look at the world behind this modern day veil.

Oh Man, Oman!

Tuesday March 18, At sea.

Yikes! We’re sailing through the Arabian Sea on our way to Oman. Oh Man! The stuff of my fantasies from childhood. Oman is allegedly the birthplace of Sinbad the sailor from Scheherezade’s “1001 Nights”. My favorite books and movies were ones like Alladin, Thieves of Bagdad, Rider Haggard’s books about the Queen of Sheeba, anything and everything about Egypt. I also had a big thing about Afganistan. I loved the costumes, the jewelry. Every Halloween, I was dressed as a gypsy. And on those nights, once a year, I felt like I was in the right movie.

The Queen's Necklace

Monday, March 17, Day 2 Mumbai

Richard and I venture out alone. We grab a taxi (a take your life in your hands kind of ride) to the Taj Hotel, a good base, we’re told, for a walk. Right on the waterfront with great shops and restaurants. Spend a great day strolling and watching the people go about their work day. I can’t take too much on the street before I have to duck into a store to gather myself together. But in the stores the volume and variety of merchandise distracts me. I want one of each. My house is small and the décor very minimal, so I try to think of who I could give gifts to. Then it’s back on the streets. I would really be better in small villages, visiting temples and watching artisans working. But the size, volume, variey, and apparent chaos is the signature of India. I would like to experience it, though it’s not my cup of chai. We eat in a restaurant recommended by one of the passengers, and it is, indeed, fantastic. The sauces are the best I’ve ever tasted, but it’s the service that really impresses me. The attention with which the waiter puts the rice on my plate, and then spoons the lamb curry on top, is a dance in itself. It’s as if this is the most important moment and he wants to be totally present and willing to serve. I wish I could be this way always in my performing and knew a way to teach this to my students.
We finished our gormet Indian meal and paid all of $12. I’d be in real trouble if this restaurant was anywhere near my home.
Back to the ship for a short rest, and then Richard is escorting a short tour called “Mumbai By Night: The Queen’s
Necklace.” I pay to go along. This ends up being my favorite sightseeing tour. The long arc of buildings along the waterfront stretches for miles. Lit up from windows, streetlights, head and tail lights from vehicles, signs of stores ever open, it does look like a necklace of diamonds, rubies and precious stones fit for a queen. We travel for over two hours through the different areas of the city then down the road along the beach. It’s Monday night and the sidewalk along the sand is filled with people. Families, couples, groups of teenagers, and solitary souls, all seeking the coolness, space, and relaxation offered by the sea. The night softens the harshness of a city in constant motion, and I can see more clearly.

Rising Stars-Tribe From a Fabled Land

Monday, March 17, Day 2 Mumbai

Again I awaken early, even earlier than yesterday. It’s Sunday in California, and my other dance troupe the Rising Stars are scheduled to perform at Rakkasah at 4pm. They must all be in the dressing room putting on their costumes and makeup. Again, I try to train my psychic eye on them and make sure everything is all together and nerves are not getting the best of anyone. But they have been fine without me. I entrusted them to Athena. Reports from everyone has been that I couldn’t have chosen a better coach to ready them for this debut show. So, I remind myself to stay out of their way and just wish them well. I sent this letter to them a couple of days ago:

Hi Rising Stars

So I'm floating through the most serene seascape, watching the clouds drift one into the other.Feels heavenly. We're passing by Sri Lanka and rounding the tip of India on our way to Mumbai (used to be Bombay), where most of the Bollywood movies are made.

I get on the internet and see there's a message: dress rehearsal pics sent by Teresa. I click on the attachment and the photo is slowly revealed, starting from the top. Oh! I like their headdresses. Then the eyes, nose and mouth. Wow! I love the makeup; they sure clean up well. I examine the decorations they put on their bras and how the necklaces really enhance their beautiful faces. I wait to see how the bracelets and belts pull the whole look together. Now the whole photo is visible. What, I think, have they done with my students? This looks like a tribe of mysterious young maidens from a fabled land of exotic beauties.

Richard says, "They look amazing, don't you feel proud?"
I say, "I feel like I passed over to the other side and am looking through a window at my previous life, which is still going on without me." Odd feeling, but satisfying. My vision continues without me and will go out into the world this weekend on the wings of these high spirited nymphs. I wish that they have a most wonderful time bringing their beauty and joy to the world.
Love,
Sherry

Marvels of Mumbai

Sunday March 16 Mumbai (formerly Bombay)

Walking the deck at sunrise as we drift toward the dock. In the distance I see the rounded domes of mosques, tall pointy spires of churches, and sculptural temple tops, mixed among the more modern buildings of the Mumbai skyline. I try to imagine what 16-20 million people look like. Today I have been asked to escort a tour called the Marvels of Mumbai, a four  hour afternoon tour. We hit the trail in a modern air conditioned bus, thank God (must be 95 degrees outside). Crowds of people and wild crazy traffic. Our guide, Parveen, reminds us that this is very calm and quiet because it’s Sunday in Mumbai. First stop is Victoria Station, an absolutely beautiful, over the top with decoration, building. Turrets, spires, arches, flying buttresses, home to gargoyles of all persuasions—animals and mythical creatures. This is the central train station where a million and a half people pass through every day. 1080 trains move past 15 platforms daily, every 5 to 6 minutes. The sheer mass of people entering and exiting the gates is staggering.

We go to Mahatma Ghandi’s residence, a modest three story house. It’s rather humbling to stand in his library on the first floor and imagine a man of such intention and selflessness sitting and reading right here. The second floor, his living quarters, very modest and simple, holds a photo gallery of his life. I see his letter to Hitler. He asks pardon for bothering, but humbly implores Hitler to consider that as the only person on Earth who could keep from plunging the world into war, would he consider the alternatives. The third floor was filled with small dioramas of the significant events of his life. I walked back to the bus aware that my contribution to the state of the planet is very small, but ask to be strong in my intention.

 On to the Prince of Wales Museum, filled with the wonders, both natural and manmade. I was fidgitey—wanting to be out watching the present living reality. I normally wouldn’t be  going to these particular sites, but going from place to place allows me to see much more of India than I could in two days on my own. We stop at the huge Gateway to India Monument on the waterfront. I walk among the throngs, taking all this humanity in as they peer at this blonde woman walking around holding a big ‘Bus #16’ sign over her head. Then it’s back to our 5 star floating hotel. A dance company with eight musicians and ten dancers from Mumbai come aboard and entertain us with the dances from all over India. I love the ones from Rajastan the best. The costumes are so rich and patterned and the dance is one of the more complex in terms of folk style dances. 

Go Troupe Ala Nar

Sunday Morning March 16, Mumbai

I awaken abruptly at 5:30am and realize that one of my dance troupes, Troupe Ala Nar is probably gathered together back stage for their show at Rakkasah. It is 4:30 Saturday afternoon their time and they go on at 5pm. So I lay in bed and try make contact psychically to wish them well. I wish I was clairvoyant enough to actually watch them as they perform. Now it’s time to let them go to fly free. I’m sure they will email me and let me know how it went. Yesterday I emailed them this message:
Dear Troupe Ala Nar,
I hear you’re looking amazing. I will be in Mumbai, India when you hit the stage at Rakkasah, but my spirit will be there with you. Just turn around, I’m the one in the lavender skirt.

It feels very strange to create a show and not be there to see it’s debut. But, I know I have entrusted it to the hottest troupe out there. So, go out and have a blast. Pour your giant hearts and spirits into it. And remember to do it for the world. From what I’ve seen out here, it really needs it.

Much love,
Sherry

Last Dance

Thursday March 13, At sea.

“Bright Star, Cabin 2641, Cabin 2641. Bright Star, Cabin 2641, Cabin 2641.” I’m walking my 3 miles around the deck when I hear this announcement over the loud speaker. I turn to the man who has fallen into step with me——we’d been exchanging the usual plesantries—and say, “This does not sound like a good thing.” I know there is trouble in Cabin 2641. “Bright Star, interesting euphemism for an emergency, “ I say. My cabin is a few doors down from the infirmary, which usually has its door wide open. As I pass by to change, the doors are closed and a note says ‘Closed until further notice’. I feel that things are not going well inside. And indeed, later that day it gets around that the Bright Star event resulted in a death. I wonder where they keep the body until the next port, and I send blessings to the poor wife who’s dream, around-the-world, voyage with her husband is their last.

The Hood

Chennai, India

What can I say about Chennai? It had rained during the night, so we stepped off the ship into a muddy mess. Wearing sandals was a big mistake. No time to go back and change though; it was my first time as an escort so I had to be standing by my bus, holding up my sign for group #7, when the tour group came down. I met Gita, the local guide, an bright eyed older woman with a vivid orange sari, and the driver who introduced himself as Mohammed Ali. The group boarded, I waved goodbye to Richard who was escorting another bus to the same sites, and we were off.

Driving from the port, along the beach, I didn’t have a clue of what was in store for me. Gita was pointing out buildings on the right hand side of the bus, but I was on the beach side which was wide and inviting as the waves rolled in. I’m thinking, “How pleasant.” Over time, people would come back from India and tell me of the desperate poverty, and I would nod my head and say, “Yes, I know, I’ve been in Mexico and Latin America.” And they’d shake their head and say, “This is different.”

Well, they were right. I moved to the other side of the bus to check out the buildings. I was looking at what at first looked like a giant, jumbled haystack wedged between two large buildings. When people emerged from the slapdash construction, I realized this beaver’s den was actually shaped into small dwellings. With a narrow twisting walkway between them, they stretched all the way back to the next street. Like an exotic species of ants, the women wound their way through the chaotic maze in their colorful saris. People were living their lives in there, this was their hood! 

At Sea, Malacca Strait

First thing, I did not abandon ship as far as this blog goes. I’ve been writing all along, but for these last several days, the internet connection on board has been so slow that if I could get a connection, it might take 20 minutes to post to the blog. I did buy a crew card which costs a fraction of the passenger cards, but still it would cost a small fortune to post.

So, if you missed all the days between Hong Kong and Singapore, they are now posted below in backward order from today.  Don’t get confused with the time thing. On this side of the world, you are actually existing in my past. It’s Sunday here, but Saturday for you.

We’re sailing, as they say, full steam ahead through the Malacca Strait, between Malaysia and Sumatra, toward the Bay of Bengal. We’re on our way to Chennai, India which used to be called Madras. We will be three days at sea, so this might be a good time to tell you about a day at sea.  I don’t usually do mornings, but since time is upside down on this side of the world, I’ve been up early and have walked three miles around the promenade deck before 8am. Three and one half times around is one mile.  The one day it was raining, I went to the fitness center and walked on the treadmill while flipping channels on the indiviual tvs. Then I’m up to the 8^th floor Lido deck to the buffet breakfast for coffee and a light bite. I call my sister Lori who’s managing our studio (finally got a phone line out after several days) then back to the cabin to see Richard before he teaches his 9am tai chi class. I took photos of him teaching from the stage of the Queen’s Lounge where the big nightly shows take place. He needs to be above the large crowd (today 123) of students. They love him and have already mentioned some impressive benefits from just a few classes.

I take some time to write, though I could have attended one of several different activities offered at 10 and 11am. The ranks of people sceptical of our wild love of cruising, who think they would be bored on a ship, don’t have a clue. The actuality is that you don’t have time to do a fraction of the things you want to do. From all kinds of sports, to several different art and crafts, from computer classes to cooking classes, from lectures to interviews with the celebrities on board, from spa treatments to yoga and fitness classes, you really have to make the time to sit around and read or swim or just relax.

We lunch outside, watching the wake of the ship trail behind us, and then off to hear a lecture about upcoming ports. Barbara, the port lecturer is a hoot. She is interesting, exhuberant, amusing, and my model for learning to give readings for my book when I get back. We take a ballroom dance class then take a swim. Then it’s downstairs to our cabin to rest and get ready for the evening. We’ll eat in the dining room with elegant full service from our waiter, assistant waiter, and wine steward—all from Indonesia. While watiing for the big evening show in the Queen’s Lounge, we might sit and listen to a trio that plays the most exquisite and romantic music, dance to a band, listen to a solo piano entertainer, or read in the internet café. After the show, all of which have been excellent entertainers in their respective fields, we might take in a film at the movie theater. We walk a bit on the Promenade deck to check out the night sky, then it’s off to bed. If we haven’t had enough, we can watch the tv in our cabin or rent one of the 2000 dvds from the ship’s library.  Exhausted, the grateful little world cruisers lay their heads on the high thread count linens and close their sleepy little eyes. 

Singapore, Day 2

Saturday March 8, Singapore, day 2

Today we hop aboard the double-decker, open-air bus and spend the day getting on and off in the various ethnic sections of town. We stroll down streets in Little India, literally lined with gold—the shops are filled with opulent 22 karat jewelry and the most elaborately decorated saris. On Arab street we eat a sample plate of tasty kebabs, visit a bellydance costume shop where the saleswoman shows me a flyer of a show to be held that evening. Tito, an Egyptian male bellydancer, is performing that night. I tell her I’d just seen his show in the San Francisco area a couple of weeks ago. Small world! I saw a newly published bellydance book by Tamalyn Dallal,a dancer from Florida, and was sorry I hadn’t brought some of mine to leave at the store. I only brought two of my books to give to the onboard library in case I tell any of the passengers about it. Right now I am flying under the radar. Want to be anonymous. Also want to let Richard have the limelight to himself. He is enjoying his classes of 125 people and growing. He really is a master even though he won’t let his students call him that.

Singapore

Just returned from a solo round-trip, arial tram ride to Sentosa Island. Took an elevator 15 flights up and boarded the 4 person gondola which dangled above Singapore like a pendant on a necklace. Fun to see the city in miniature from a birds eye view. This afternoon we will swoop down and take a panoramic bus tour. As a teacher in the Life Enrichment Program, Richard is offered free tours in exchange for being an escort. His job is to assist the local tour guide by making sure all the people get on and off the bus safely. I do pay full fare, but they say that I will probably be offered escort positions as we go along. This is quite helpful, as the tours are quite expensive. In much of our travels, Richard and I go on our own, taking local transportation. In these large cities, it’s just too overwhelming, and since were only in places for a day or two, we can get an overview comfortably on the ship’s tours. Also, as small business owners, we are constantly making decisions and taking care of endless little details. On vacation we often don’t want to have to make even one more decision. We have put in to escort anytime they will have us. The only trip I was not willing to take a chance on not getting was the trip to Luxor, Egypt. We will be docking in Safaga on the Red Sea. Luxor is 4 hours overland and we have only one day. So, we paid $299 each to take the ship’s shore excursion. This is an extravagant expense for one day for us, but Luxor is one of my favorite places on Earth. A whole section of my book takes place in Luxor. I must make a pilgrimage back to this sacred place. 

At Sea

I had so many plans for this trip, but now they’ve ground to a stand still. I was going to publicise my book, send excerpts to magazines, send press releases to all kinds of publications. I was going to write a novel and a companion study book to DOORWAY TO ECSTASY. I’d work on organizing seminars, learn ballroom dance from the onboard teachers.  I’d even contemplated buying a new digital video camera to shoot some instructional dvds for Richard’s tai chi and my choreographies. I’d walk at least 3 miles around the decks, work out with weights in the spa, see as many sites as possible and study the top flight entertainers as they did their acts. And oh yes, post to this blog.

When I asked Richard what he planned to do besides teach his classes, he said, “Be on vacation.” I’ve been so full steam ahead for so long, that thought had never even occurred to me. I decided to give it a try.

 So, except for this blog, which finds me floundering around, I’ve come to a full stop. In my self-enforced leisure, my creative energy boils over and drips aimlessly onto the deck. New impressions come in with such force, that I actually feel them as a tangible substance, streaming into my eyes, hitting my brain and exploding with incomprehensible intensity. The natural wonders, the man made cities and art, the passengers and their stories—some are taking their 15^th world cruise, the people we watch as our bus passes throught the landsacpe of their lives, these experiences will all be the substance of my future creations. Can’t wait to see what they turn into. I’ve been pumping it out—the book, the dances, the teaching. It’s been one giant exhale. Now, my cup is empty and open to new impressions. Now, I inhale.

Phu My, Viet Nam

We dock here at the gateway to Ho Chi Minh City, formerly Saigon, formerly Prey Nokor, Cambodia. We opted instead to go to what was supposed to be a small fishing village 45 minutes south. Vung Tau is actually a busy little city with swarms of mopeds in the throws of one great improvizational dance—streaming through crowded streets, tumbling around traffic circles, and swerving around our bus. The driver leans on the horn and honks his way through town, never breaking.

In dance and art, contrast makes things interesting and dramatic. Here, less than a half block from the modern luxury hotels, people live and sell their wares in tin covered shacks while children beg. Here, contrast is heartbreaking. That’s all I have to say today.

Da Nang, Viet Nam

Docking at Da Nang, we’re off to visit the ancient town of Hoi An. We travel through bustling downtown Da Nang. I wonder that so many people are sick, and only the women. Their faces below the eyes are covered with cloths.  I know this is a Buddist country, so they are not veiling. The only people I’ve seen with masks like this are the Japanese who, when they are ill, thoughtfully keep their germs to themselves. I’m thinking this must be some kind of epidemic, when our guide tells us the women cover their faces to protect their skin from the sun. They prize women with lighter complexions,  because that means they are of an upper class and don’t have to work outside in the fields. “We always want what we don’t have,” Binh, our guide says. “Here, we want to have whiter skin; and in other places, white women put on lotion and sit in the sun to get a tan to show that they have a life of luxury with plenty of time to sit in the sun and get tan.”

In Hoi An, we wander the narrow streets, stopping in temples and commmunity buildings covered with ornate, colorful, carved and painted decorations. Inside, the elaborate altars are smokey and fragrant with billowing incense. Bowls are filled with offerings to the gods. I’m sure the gods were happy with the three packaged rolls of Oreo coookies stacked in a large red laquer plate.

Viet Nam is known for the most exquisite embroidery in the world. We look in on many workshops, where rows of young girls are bent over tables, their needles furiously poking in and out. They make the tiniest stitches with the finest guage silk thread. They are copying pictures from magazines. The work is so realistic looking, you’d swear they’re photographs. I have mixed feelings. In one sense, it’s a travesty to think this is what they’ve been doing with their childhoods and will probably continue throughout their lives. In another sense, as an artist, I often think about all the years I wasted staring out the school window waiting for the bell to ring. All that time, I could have been perfecting an art technique. Looking back, if I had a choice, I would have chosen to spend my time learning an art form that could support me. But then I think, the operative word is choice.

Halong Bay, Viet Nam

Richard calls the cabin to awaken me. He’s been out on deck since 5am practicing his tai chi. He says we’re floating through a mystical lancscape—I must come see. I step out onto the promenade deck as the sun rises out of the sea sending fingers of mist curling around some of the 3000 fantastical limestone islands. We’ve surely arrive on another planet. I’m thinking this must be the most beautiful, peaceful place in the universe. Suddenly, I’m seeing planes dropping bombs from high overhead and helicopters swooping low, long bursts of machine gun fire rat-tat-tat-tating. Jim Morrison howls, “Come on baby light my fire.” Am I seeing the past (I am very psychic) or just seeing through the memory screen of endless news reports and movies of the Viet Nam war that haunted my formative years.

We tender in to shore. It’s hard to reconcile the horrific visions with the warm and welcoming smiles of the local people—the men, soft spoken and kind, the women delicate with bell-like voices. You see a little piece of paradise like this and cringe at being a part of the human race that allows two super powers to play out a war they claim is ideology, but is always economic, using small poor countries as their warring fields.

Though Richard and I are not big time consumers, we can’t help supporting the local economy. The handicrafts are so fine and so inexpensive, we feel, instead, like we’re stealing.

Back onboard, we retrace our path through the rock islands, this time with the setting sun as backdrop. Legend has it that long ago the gods sent a family of dragons to help defend this land. They began spitting out jewels and jade, which turned into these islets, which then linked together to form a great wall against invaders.

Sitting down to a 5 course dinner with our priviliged shipmates, we try to reconcile this extravagant experience with the simple lives we leave ashore. Later, on our way to the ship’s Queen’s Lounge theater to see a London and Broadway star sing and entertain us, we remember to always be grateful for our blessings.

Whirlwind Life

Please bare with me while I try to find out what this blog is about. My life is changing so quickly that I can’t keep up with myself. In the last few months, I published my book, “DOORWAY TO ECSTASY: A Dancer’s Initiation” and set up this blog to give it a web presence and launch it out to the world. That was in November and my intention was to publicise my book and share my life in dance. By the time the blog was set up and I began to post it, it was Christmas time and I had to organize the performance workshops for my two dance troupes. Beginning January 2^nd I needed to finish choreographing four dances for each troupe, design the costumes, and begin teaching. In mid March we would debut two completely new shows at Rakkasah, the biggest bellydance festival in the world.

A few weeeks later Richard, my husband, was offered a job teaching Tai Chi on a 60 day around-the-world cruise, beginning February 28. We had less than six weeks to get out of our life at home and fly to Hong Kong to board the ship.

 The book was on hold, though I designed an announcement and wrote and sent press releases to local publications. The rehearsals and performance preparation could not be on hold. I pushed the troupes with double the classes and rehearsals so they would know the show before I left. Then I had to find a rehearsal master who could guide and inspire them, then take them to the performance.

I found teachers for my regular classes, arranged for my sister to stay in my house and take care of LingLing, treasured kitty, and manage the studio. Richard and I  worked nonstop for 6 weeks to take care of stuff that wouldn’t wait for our return.

 So here we are, 5 days into the cruise, and I don’t know what my blog is about now. The title is Inner Rhythm Dance and the intention states that it will be about dancing, teaching, choreographing, directing, writing and living dance. But all that seems to be on hold. I promised people I would continue the blog. Dancers wanted to hear about the dancing I saw around the world; others wanted to hear where we go and what we do and see. I want to catch up with myself and slow down enough to feel this suddenly wild non-stop whirlwind I’m on. Stay tuned.