THE TALES OF
“SHINBAD” THE SAILOR
My “Tales of Shinbad
the Sailor” are not to
be confused with “The
Adventures of Sinbad the Sailor.”
The only similarity is that our tales
occurred while we both voyaged
the Indian Ocean. His stories were
written 13 centuries ago and I feel
13 centuries old. Sinbad’s stories are
about exciting adventures, mine are
stories of surviving a challenging
excursion. That’s it.
Now that I’m home there are
two things that I have to do. One,
pull out my map of the world and
mark an “X” on the recent places
that I visited and two, pull out my
map of the human body to mark
off another place I need to see a
specialist about. Yes, the countries
I had been to this time are truly
out of a dream and the parts of my
body I banged up are a nightmare.
Is there anything left to explore?
Is there any part of my body left
to challenge? The answers are yes
and yes.
As expected, our trip to the
“Pearls of Arabia” (Dubai, Oman,
India, Sri Lanka, Indonesia,
Malaysia and Singapore) was amazing.
The four of us, Carol, Vicki,
Harriet and myself were dubbed
by staff and shipmates “The Four
Girls from NY” and thought we
were prepared for everything. Well
almost!
We were quasi-historians based
on the information we gathered
from friends and research, and
based on medical “suggestions/
sources” became a traveling dispensary.
We accumulated a wealth
of “medical symptoms” for our
“lay” diagnoses and thus brought
along bandages, ointments, canes,
prescription medicines and overthe
counter medications and I think
a tourniquet in case we needed one.
(The tourniquet could always be
a good support for my back.) We
thought that was enough. What
more could we do to prepare for
this trip of a lifetime?
As this story unfolds, and with
20/20 hindsight vision, maybe we
could have done more. Advice from
the Infectious Disease Center and
shots and anti-malarial meds didn’t
do much to relieve some anxiety,
but we were determined to “move
or limp” forward. On our return to
the ship each day, my step was getting
much slower and the music to
“The Bridge Over the River Kwai”
was definitely there in the back of
my mind, but somehow at the start
of each new day I was ready to torture—
sorry--I mean, enjoy myself
again with another land tour.
We all resumed our jobs from
our previous excursions. As usual,
Carol planned the trip; Vicki
kept on finding bathrooms (or in
some of the countries things that
were supposed to be bathrooms);
Harriet, our newest travel mate,
was our caterer/health and welfare
person who supplied snacks and
provided medical advice – mostly
my sea sickness; and I provided the
levity when I wasn’t green.
What better combination could
you ask for? We were great until we
encountered the humidity which
was natural to these places. 80-90
percent humidity makes you feel
like a wrung-out schmatta. We
learned through experience that
two to three showers a day made
you feel some semblance of comfort.
You woke up with your hair
plastered to your head, walked
around during the day that way and
then went to bed that way. Because
of the humidity I was able to more
clearly count all those advertised
“light” wrinkles I brought with me
from NY and the additional ones
I developed during the trip. Even
my hair was wrinkled. I can honestly
say I was one big wrinkle. I
thought of offering myself as part
of a Sunsweet prune advertisement:
“WHICH HAS THE MOST
WRINKLES. THE LADY OR THE
PRUNE?” I slathered so much
wrinkle repair cream on my face,
body cream on my body and hair
restorer cream on my head, I was
able to slide in and out of my bed
and chaise lounge each day with
the greatest of ease. All that was
missing was the flying trapeze! I
just realized that water, wrinkles
and rocking were the first environments
we encounter in the womb.
No wonder I sleep better on a ship.
It feels like I’m starting out all over
again. Yeah! Sure!
Sinbad’s tales were filled with
giant birds and serpents. We didn’t
exactly encounter a serpent, but
I must tell you bigger definitely
applied to a creature we encountered
the first days we were at sea.
It was a fly. I don’t think it came
with us from NY. It was too big.
How big, you ask? It was so big
that when we sat down to have
an early breakfast in our cabins,
a setting was put in place for this
humongous insect. Like a puppy,
it waited for a crumb to fall off
our plates. It wasn’t a “house fly”
like you and I know. I’d say it was
even more than a “horse fly” and
because of where we were, I’d say
it was more like an “elephant fly.”
I even left the veranda door open
to give it a chance to escape, but it
wouldn’t leave. It was smart enough
to know we were now too far from
land. I guess it couldn’t stand the
humidity either, because whenever
I took a shower it followed me into
the bathroom.
After three days of traveling
together with this insect, I was
getting a little annoyed, especially
when it started to “hog” my pillow.
Oops, they don’t eat pork in
some of these countries so to be
politically correct, I’ll say it began
to take a lion’s share of my pillow.
Actually, was that a roaring lion I
heard in my good ear or was that
my roomie snoring in the next bed?
I’m not sure. This wasn’t a pet that
I was going to get used to. One
morning I gave the chambermaid
a request and a generous tip and
kindly requested her to, “Get rid
of the fly.” By the way, Carol also
had a fly sibling in her room which
was adjoining ours. Anyway, these
flies disappeared by our return to
our rooms that evening, but probably
not without a struggle. When
I next saw the chambermaid, she
was walking with a limp. Maybe it
did come from NY!
We New Yorkers are a tough
breed. According to my Brooklyn
friends, Brooklyn tops the list of
being toughest. I found out that
many of the people we befriended
on the trip at one point in their
lives had some association with
Brooklyn. Yup, 3 ½ out of 5 to
be exact. The half person was
conceived in Brooklyn and born
elsewhere or conceived elsewhere
and born in Brooklyn. Who cares?
They were now a statistic for me.
One guy was telling us he was
from Kentucky but was born in
Brooklyn. He didn’t fool me. Oy!
What an accent he had! Think
Brooklyn and Dolly Parton together.
I couldn’t understand him anyway.
I don’t know if his wife did
either, but she always smiled when
he spoke. Was he imparting words
of wisdom or was it the glass of
Bourbon he always had in his hand
or maybe the 10-carat ring she had
on her finger? How would I know?
Another traveler we met who
came from Chicago had the nerve
to suggest that I as a New Yorker
naturally took the easy way out to
get rid of the “elephant fly” by taking
out a “contract” on it! Really?
As I recall Elliot Ness made a living
out of capturing criminals who carried
out “contracts” in Chicago. Did
she forget the St. Valentine’s Day
Massacre? Geez, this was only a fly!
Did I have to explain that I knocked
it down on three occasions and
when I went to get a shoe to give
it the coup de grace it got up and
flew away? What choice did I have?
Getting around in the various
countries we visited was either
provided for by the cruise line in a
bus or a private car we hired. Our
preference was the car service but
because we couldn’t always be sure
24 NORTH SHORE TOWERS COURIER ¢ February 2020