Dearest Rachel -
Even though I'm still feeling like I'm on Central Time to a certain extent, just because I managed to wake up early enough to watch the ship come in doesn't mean that I'm actually productive at such an hour. Or rather, it's not a complete form of productivity; I managed to compile and upload videos of my time in Mo'orea (but that's already a day late because I ran out of steam the night before). Part of me wants it to count for something, but the rest of me knows I'm already running behind my own schedule.
Then again, it could be argued, why am I bothering with a schedule of assignments at all? I'm supposed to be on vacation, right? I'm supposed to be able to relax; so why can't I quite bring myself to? It's not as if anyone else would hold my feet to the fire if I missed a self-imposed deadline - that's why they're called "self-imposed," after all.
Of course, the other side of the coin there is that I do still answer to myself. I want to get these things taken care of, so I have a proper record of my time, even if most of what actually happened was me doing all this putting-together nonsense. Besides, as I've got another series of trips to deal with in Papeete, I want to get the ones from before under my belt so I can proceed to record the ones I'm about to deal with.
But it's hard to take notes while things are actually happening. Or more to the point, I can only take notes one way or another. While I could write you as many as three and four times in a given day on previous trips (and even take notes in an offline app when I was away from any wi-fi connection, to be uploaded later), that was before I started to assemble comments on camera, like I'm trying to do this time around. Now, if something strikes me to say, I can simply flick on the camera, speak my mind, and you can see what was going on (or just existing) behind me as I do so, in order to get that much more context. All well and good, but it means that these letters suffer as I focus on the videos instead. Which is a pity, because writings can have a different perspective; they can be adjusted for a better choice of words, they can leave out the awkward pauses and filler syllables (yes, I do try to edit those out, but since I move about as I talk, those edits are ridiculously choppy as a result). When I speak to the camera, what I say in the moment is what you get. If I think of a better turn of phrase later on, I can't change it, because what happened, happened, and what I said, I said. Never mind that it could have been expressed better; the moment is frozen in amber.
And then, there are moments when I see something that I think should be captured for posterity, but I don't have the words for it at the moment. I could write about it later, but I have to take into consideration that I'll already be spending time editing this or that video log, and decide against bothering with it.
At this point, you may already have realized that the first series of paragraphs were written (or rather, dictated) while waiting in the theatre for our number to be called for the catamaran tour, whereas these last couple of paragraphs were written the morning after, after editing and uploading a couple of videos already (but still having more to consider assembling), and thinking a little more about the events of the previous day, as well as the fact that I haven't written you yet. It all makes this letter seem rather disjointed, wouldn't you agree?
So let me see if I can't get back to the events of the day – or at least, the morning, since that's all I've put together as companion pieces for the moment. Despite having gotten to the theatre with ample time before the sailing, I probably should have grabbed a towel from the attendant as I came it; as it was, I think I assumed we would be leaving through the same exit and could pick one up as I left for the excursion. Silly me. As we left, I realized my mistake and ran back to collect a towel or two, and barely caught up with the rest of the group.
Thankfully, I wasn't alone in this mad dash; I was joined by a member of the ship's theatre tech team who had been granted shore leave ("not a day off," she insisted, as she'd been working with rehearsals earlier in the morning, as well as scheduled to set up in the afternoon for tonight's performance, so this was just a break for a few hours for her). Evidently, her supervisor had her in a meeting for just a little too long, and she almost missed the meet-up in the theatre entirely.
Almost. In any event, she boarded the catamaran just in front of me; once I was on, I discovered there wasn't a seat to be had aboard.
I made do by placing my towels on the pedestal surrounding the mast, and built rather a little nest of my stuff amongst all the ropes there.
Another discovery as I settle in for the ride: since I've stuck both my phones into these waterproof carriers, my selfie stick is pretty much useless. I realize I'm just going to have to hold the phone at arm's length to talk to the camera.
Everyone chats with each other as we make our way to the western coast of the island; the process takes a couple of hours, even with the wind, which the crew attempt to take advantage of by hoisting the sails. Were it not for the motor, I'd wonder how we expect to make it back to the ship at the appointed hour (not that it would bother me in the slightest if we were to be a bit late; maybe I'm starting to get into this vacation mode, after all).
As I noted, I couldn't bring myself to take either camera into the water with me – a fellow passenger placed hers back on the craft even before I could make my way down the stairs, which caused me to lose my own faith in my similar carrier bag – and, with my eyesight as poor as it is, I wasn't going to be seeing that much of the reef we dropped anchor by in any event. I did swim around our craft a bit – nowhere near as much as you would, to be sure – before filming myself sprinkling a bit of you into the waters of Taapuna.
I've said this before, but it bears repeating; I know where you want to be scattered, honey, but I'd like to think that you wouldn't mind if some of your ashes were spread out through the various places of the world I get to that you didn't have a chance to visit. I expect to see a lot of the world between now and whenever, and in that span of time, I plan to spread a few grains of you behind me as I go. It's the closest we can get to letting you be there with me.
On a lighter note, the crew also served refreshments for us as guests, and since I understood that the local fruits were supposedly better here, where they could be picked fresh, I decided to give a few varieties a try:
I may be getting a lot more fruit in Daniel and my diets once I get home, at this rate.
The female member of the crew spent a fair amount of time also dressing up various female passengers in local Tahitian clothes (although it was more her draping them in a brightly patterned both of cloth, as far as I could see; they might have been like that one dress you picked up in Sint Maartin all those years ago) and leading them in what, to our eyes, looked like a traditional Tahitian dance. In all honesty, I can't help but wonder how much of this is for real, and how much of the "Bloody Mary" (from South Pacific) act is just that; an act to see what the tourists will believe, and be convinced to participate in. I don't know why I feel like I'm getting my leg pulled; I just do.
And this was just yesterday morning, honey; I haven't even dealt with my wanderings through the city proper… now, can you see how quickly I fall behind on these tales to you?
Hopefully, I'll have a little more time to catch up, as we won't be in Aukland until next Monday, but for now, as always, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I'm going to need it.
No comments:
Post a Comment