Wednesday, November 25, Walvis Bay, Namibia

Again today, I worked to keep my blog up to date. And stayed aboard. There isn’t much to see here except the desert and, although I would have preferred to go ashore on an excursion into the desert, I saw enough sand and dunes at our extravaganza last night. So I blogged. Chrissy showed me how to send photos and although it involves many steps – some of them unfamiliar and illogical, and like so many experts/teacher she took them very fast – I may try to do it again with some photographs from my small camera (the slow computers on the ship are not capable of handling the mass of information on the 8G cards in my bigger one.
Taking a break from all that typing, I went on deck for some fresh air. The ship was tied at both the stern and prow with turquoise lines, looped around the steel bollards on the pier and, of course, the color caught my attention. Even though the ship was tied securely at each end, it slowly rose and fell with the shifting water in the bay, tightening and loosening the lines, making it look like the ship was slowing breathing, in and out as the lines tightened and loosened, over and over, as perpetual as the sea itself.
We sailed at 2 PM and as always when I watch this procedure, I was amazed at the maneuvers needed to loose this huge ship from its moorings and return it to the sea. As we were leaving the harbor, I tried, unsuccessfully, to find some subject for a photograph but as I’ve already said, there isn’t much here but sand. I spent some time on deck while, Eric, my waiter, pestered me to have a drink. I finally had an iced tea, just to make him happy. It was nice to have a rest from being constantly “on” but a nap was even better. Then came dressing for cocktails, dinner and dancing.
Heinz and I were finally able to convince Donna and Nancy to join us for cocktails and dinner. He worked with Nancy – they seemed to be having a good time – while I chatted up Donna. She’s been married twice and has six children, there of her own and three of her husband’s. He died some years ago and now she travels. She’s lived in Libya and Turkey – her husband was in the oil business (Midland; what else?) – and told interesting stories about the people and her life in both places. As our conversation continued, I could see that she was becoming uncomfortable and she came out of her wrap, saying she was hot. Then she became even more agitated and finally excused herself, saying she was going to be sick and had to go back to her suite. Her friend, Nancy, said Donna was a depressed woman, often sick, chronically upset and really “just needed a man.” Her brief stay in the hospital on the ship had already cost her more than $900.00. I guess I wasn’t the right man. Which suited me just fine.
At dinner, I got stuck between Margot (with a T) and Patrick, both of whom love to talk, Margot mostly about how many cruises she’s been on and Patrick establishing his credentials as a bon vivant. Unfortunately, he began on his world tour again – I had heard that all a couple of nights ago – getting side-tracked once more in the manor house while his friends were in Barbados (bar-BAA-dos) for the winter. Finally, I just zoned out, remembering to nod my head once in a while and say, “Right,” occasionally. He spoke veddy softly and I could only catch a few words here and there and, as before, he mumbled and delivered his repartee with physical emphases, mostly eye blinks (like would you believe?) and licking of his lips, like a snake. It went something like this: “…well, in Kenya, I…” mumble, mumble, mumble, eye blink …”saying to my GOOOOD friend…” mumble, mumble, “…so I…” lick the lips, mumble, mumble, “It was hor-EFFF-ic, so I…” mumble, mumble, wink and then close the eyes for emphasis. I could only say, “How interesting!” Like when you see a new baby and don’t know what to say – they all look alike to me – “Now THERE’S a baby.”
Heinz chatted up Nancy on the other side of the table and I tried, between stifled yawns to listen to Margot (with a T) tell me about her many trips through the Panama Canal. “I think this next cruise will make it fourteen,” she said.
I was SO happy to escaped from dinner – we were the last in the dining room – and go to the show, which as shows go, was okay: mostly pretty, young girls and boys, leaning up against the proscenium at the edge of the stage, swinging a red boa or a tuxedo jacket over their shoulder and belting it. You know: NEW YORK, NEW YORK! Love and loss from kids who may not have experienced either. But it was entertaining.
Again, there were no Solos for dancing in the lounge. While the band played old favorites, including many of mine, a very fat young man entertained his group of six or seven with spurts of humor and wild gesticulations that kept them all in stitches. You know: the comic from the neighborhood who insists on putting on a show in his garage on Saturday afternoon. If you don’t come, he won’t invite you to his birthday party. When 11:45 came, I was happy to shuffle off to bed.