The Perfect Storm

The Perfect Storm

23^rd October 2012

After the calm comes the storm. The perfect storm.

During the night I was woken by the strong wind and rain playing havoc outside. Waking up early and standing at the kitchen window, armed with coffees, Mum and I stared out into the garden.

The tops of the pine trees were being tossed around by the wind. Pine cones were launched towards the ground, foliage was swept into the sky and every so often, loud thuds would confirm another tree branch had lost the fight against the raging wind. In the corner of the garden, an entire tree, one of the smaller pines, had given way. The roots spiking out of the ground, the tree was now feebly propped up against the fence. The swimming pool, once clean and crystal clear was now sporting a coat of dust, cones and pine needles.

Turning on the local news, the presenter confirmed Uruguay has issued a red alert. We are in the midst of a perfect storm. School, offices and local businesses had been closed down until further notice. Footage even showed a massive tornado ripping its way through La Rocha. The waves at Montevideo were surpassing the beach walls, engulfing passing vehicles. The winds, however, were at their strongest in Punta del Este (where I live), reaching top speeds of 181km/h.

Although it’s very nice taking photos of pretty, picturesque scenery, fit for a holiday magazine, it’s the bad weather that’ll provide a photographer with some of the most stunning and effective shots imaginable.

Grabbing my camera and ignoring the weather warnings to stay indoors, Mum and I jumped in the car. We decided to have a look at Punta Ballena (Whale Point) and work our way back to Punta del Este. The drive was slow. Parts of the road were completely covered in sand. The wind continuously threatening to take my car off the road.

Punta Ballena

Punta Ballena was a sight to see. The waves were ferociously crashing against the rockery. Parking the car near a quaint little cottage on the rockery. The eased up enough to allow me to get out with my camera. The enormous waves were higher than the single story building. The crashing waves sent up almighty sprays of water, enveloping the property. One side of the stone cottage was smothered in beige, brown sea foam. When the wind blew, the foam was swept away, scattering across the land as if it were snow.

Scrambling into the car when the heavens opened again. I drove a couple of hundred meters to the very point of Punta Ballena. Turning off the engine, a loud whistle filled the car and the wind rumbling against the vehicle. The car shook frantically from side to side, until you could almost feel it tilting us to the right. Both my Mum and I were genuinely expecting the car to topple over. After only a couple of seconds, it was enough for Mother Nature to let us know we weren’t welcome.

Cottage by the Sea

One of my favourite places in Uruguay to take photos is just off Punta Ballena. It’s a narrow strip of bay with a ragged wall of rocks running along either side. At one end is the sea, while at the other is a deep cave. Looking down, as we were leaving Punta Ballena, the monstrous waves were swallowing the area, sending a dense spray high into the air. A spectacular sight!

Driving down to my favourite beauty spot, it soon became evident that the high tide and colossal waves weren’t going to let us even step foot onto the beach. Sitting in the car, shooting out of the window, I tried to catch the waves smashing into the rocks only to be met by heavy sheets of rain. Watching the scene in front of us, I noticed the tide was coming in further. Soon the car park, situated about a metre above the beach, would be flooded. It was time to leave before getting caught out and stuck in the mix of mud and sand.

Ahead of us, the town of Punta del Este looked to be clearing. The tower blocks were peeking through the mist and the rain was settling down. Isla de los Lobos with no longer completely hidden in the overpowering fog.

 

The palm trees at the Conrad Hotel were violently dancing against the wind and the streets of Punta del Este were deserted. Signs had been flattened and left in tatters, spread out along the side of the road. Not far along, my Mum spotted something lying on the beach. Pulling over, it was an enormous sea lion, its face now bare bone. A few seagulls were certainly making a meal out of what was left of the sea lion!

Parking up just outside Punta del Este port, we had a walk along to the view point. The sea was lapping at the sides of the wooden walk way. The yachts in the harbour were swaying to and fro, making me wonder what it must be like to sail in such a small vessel during such weather. Taking a couple of photos of my Mum, holding on to her hat as the wind threatened to snatch it from on top of her head, we couldn’t help but stare in amazement at our surroundings. 

View Point

Just as we turned to make our way back to the car, a wave hit the side of the view point, splashing water up to our knees and squirting upwards through the gaps in the wooden floor panels. You couldn’t help but laugh as we waddled along back to the car, taking a couple of side steps as the wind took hold of us.

Hold on to Your Hats!

 

At Playa de los Ingleses, the road is roughly three meters above sea level. The waves were slapping against and over the concrete wall lining the beach and road, sending bucket loads of water onto the road. You’re completely blind for a couple of seconds as the sea water covers the windscreen. An Argentinian 4x4 had parked up on the side of the road closest to the sea. Inside children were screaming at the top of their lungs and laughing their heads off as a wave splashed up against the wall and over the car.

Parking on the opposite side of the road, I got out to take photographs. I wasn’t the only one. Mum staying in the car, winding the window down to get a better look. The car was now completely covered in sea scum, staining the windows, making them difficult to see out of. A massive wave hit the wall, followed by a succession of splashed as the wave made its way along the curved wall. It was absolutely amazing to see. It wasn’t long until the road was flooded!

Moving along, we parked up at the corner of Playa de los Ingleses to watch the waves make their way along the way. A different angle of view. My Mum’s window was still down and I could see a wave coming.

“Mum, don’t you think you should do your window up?”

“Oh yeah” she’s forgot the window was left open.

Not really seeing what was going to happen, she slowly started to wind up the window (Chinese cars without electric windows – great stuff!) and guess what happened next? Two waves crashed into each other, before hitting the wall, sending gallons of water up into the air and straight through the open window. Freezing for a couple of seconds, we were soaked.

Looking at my Mum, she started to laugh before saying something typical “I didn’t think that was going to happen!” Howling with laughter, soaking wet and somehow my camera, perched on Mum’s lap, was dry. What was Dad going to say?

All we can say is, he missed a bloody good day out. Best part of all, I’ve got the photos of Uruguay’s perfect storm prove it!

For more photos go to www.facebook.com/TicklePhotography

My Mum Punta del Este Port 

Calm Before the Storm

Calm Before the Storm

22nd October 2012

After a long, teeth chattering winter in Uruguay, summer was finally on its way, bypassing spring. The sun was shining and thermometer’s mercury started to head north. Holiday makers and locals flocked to the beach to soak up every single ray of sunshine. Reports and warnings of bad weather were coming in, but after the weather we’ve been experiencing, there had to be some kind of mistake, surely?

Looking out the window in the morning, the sky was grey, sea mist and dark clouds were rolling in, turning the usually picturesque town of Punta del Este into scene fit for a horror film. It drizzled and the wind picked up a little. It wasn’t enough to deter me from going for a jog along the beach.

I love jogging along the beach, especially on cold, drizzly days. After jogging approximately 2.5km, a little further than the Dedos de Punta del Este (Punta del Este Hand/Fingers), I decided to turn back and head home.

Out of nowhere the rain began lashing down, each drop hitting my face felt like a needle pricking into my skin. For a second I honestly thought it was hail stones. The winds which were relatively strong before we becoming menacingly fierce and the tides were rapidly invading the beach. Trying to run, a gust of strong wind nearly knocked me off my feet. It really was taking “sweeping a girl off her feet” to a whole new level! The slow journey back home, soon became one long struggle; trudging through the wet, water logged sand, flooding streets and walking against a barricade gale force winds.

Walking through the door, at a snap of your fingers, the rain stopped. Grey clouds parted, winds dropped and the sun smiled its way through the dark, lighting up the land and sky.

The calm before the storm…

Argentina to Brazil

Argentina To Brazil

22^nd August 2012

Last night didn’t exactly go smoothly. I was up half the night feeling ill. It must be a cold or flu coming on. Just what you want while traveling! All I want is my nice warm, comfy bed to snuggle up in and sleep.

We’re leaving Puerto de Iguazu, crossing the Argentinian board and into Brazil to Foz do Iguacu. The bus ride is only eight Argentinian pesos, about US$2. Eve and her friend Steph should be arriving late tonight.

Checking out of our little cabin at 10.15, we dragged our cases down the road towards the bus terminal. Quickly checking in a few of the bus companies, none had a bus route to Montevideo, or anywhere in Uruguay for that matter. One company suggested I take three long distance bus rides, two across Argentina and one to Montevideo. Total time on the bus: 30 hours. No, thank you!

It’s hard to believe that no one has a bus service to Uruguay. It’s the only South American country they don’t travel to. Ok, we know the place is a tiny dot on the map but, come on!

First stop on the bus was to pass through Argentinian customs. Luggage must go with you too. It’s a two minute stop, in one door, passport stamped, out another and back on the bus.

Two minutes later and we make our second, longer stop. This time at Brazilian customs. All of us had to fill out Entry Visa papers, get that stamped plus your passport and then wait for another bus. There was a large group of us waiting outside Brazilian customs for about 45 minutes for the bus to arrive. All of us huddled under a tree, staying out of the fierce sun.

Loading our luggage onto the bus again, we started the final part of the bus ride into Foz do Iguacu. Compared to the Argentinian side, the Brazilian is incredibly run down and surprisingly, there’s obviously a lot of poverty.

Not long after we’d entered Brazil there were a couple of surgeries offering everything from implants to botox to liposuctions! I couldn't help but smile to myself.

All of a sudden, the driver slammed on the brakes and the bus screeched harshly to an abrupt halt. Hernan and I were standing and had to quickly grab onto something, anything in front of us. I went crashing into a metal railing in front of me. Turns out, someone on a push bike had cycled out from a side street and crossed over the main road without looking! The bus very narrowly missed him!

Off the bus we had to find out where the hell our hostel is. Hostel Klein. We didn’t have an address or contact number. Hernan popped into the Tourist Information Centre at the bus terminal and got a pamphlet for Hostel Klein. It looks like it’s a well-known place. We couldn’t call as we didn’t have any Reales for the phone, so we decided it’d be best to just get a cab as it was too far to walk.

Walking down the road, looking for a taxi, we bumped into someone who worked for the Tourist Information Centre, who took us to the taxi rank and called for a cab. While waiting we were told a few do's and don’ts about Foz do Iguacu and Brazil.

In Brazil, it’s illegal to hail taxis and for a taxi to pick you up at the side of the road. This is apparently due to the large amount of illegal taxis, many of whom will rob you of everything. The only place to get a taxi is at a designated taxi rank.

Don’t get a taxi over the bridge from Foz do Iguacu to Cuidad del Este, Paraguay. Cuidad del Este is a famous tax free area, popular with tourists shopping for cheap electrical items. Many cross the Brazilian and Argentinian boarders simply to shop for the day. Getting back to the story, many taxis, while crossing over to Brazil or Paraguay, depending on which way you’re going, get held up by armed gangs, half way over the bridge. When you think of Brazil, you mainly think about thieves being tooled up with guns, but we are told they just carry knives, big knives and they won’t think twice about using them on you either. Nice to know! Needless to say, you’ll be robbed of absolutely everything! Of course, the taxi drivers, some legal while others not so legal, are in on the deal and will contact the thieves before setting off.

Fede’s Portuguese has amazed all of us. We imagined he spoke a fair amount due to working on the Mariner of the Seas during Brazilian season, but we certainly didn’t expect him to speak so much and have the ability to hold a conversation about anything other than taking someone’s photo!

Driving through the town, well, city, we headed towards our hostel. Foz do Iguacu is a rundown mess compared to Puerto de Iguazu, Argentina. Poor and run down. Finding the hostel didn’t take too long, but we weren’t exactly optimistic when we saw where we were heading. The area looked one step up from a shanty town, in fact, there were a few partially made (mismatch tin roofs, make shift doors etc.) houses around us.

Pulling up outside Hostel Klein, we were letting off more than a few nervous giggles and “where the hell have the girls booked us into?” The taxi driver really knew how to boost our optimism, telling us “This place isn’t safe. Do you want me to take you somewhere closer to the city centre? The city is dangerous, but this is even worse. You can’t go out here during the evening. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you somewhere else? Somewhere better?” Declining, we pulled our bags out of the car boot and headed towards the entrance of Hostel Klein feeling rather dubious, I might add.

Hostel Klein, the first thing that you notice about the place is the two metre high wall surrounding the perimeter. On top of that, are the two sets of wires on top of the wall with numerous warning signs “Electric – May Cause Death”. Ringing the intercom with camera, we were allowed through the large security gate to be met at the front door. As you can imagine, we were glowing with enthusiasm!

Going to our “room” to drop our luggage off, Hernan summed it up in one word: Orphanage. We were staying in the equivalent of an orphanage. One large room (which we later found out was originally a garage) with 13, small single beds lining the walls. In one corner was a small bathroom for us. 

As it’s out of season, the five of us, when the girls arrive, will probably have the room to ourselves. Thank God! I may sound like a snob, but I don’t fancy sharing a room with a bunch of strangers, especially with a Canon 5D Mark II stuffed into my backpack! As Hernan commented on the way over “you’re not cut out for this type of traveling.”

Next stop was the shopping centre to change Dollars to Reales and get something to eat. We were starving!

Imagine this room with twice as many beds!

Postal Gig

Postal Gig

17^th August 2012

Tonight, Hernan and I are meeting up with Fede and heading to a nearby club to watch friends perform in their band, Postal. Earlier on in the day, Hernan introduced me to the drummer of the band, Martín. The gig is due to start at around 1am. Without a doubt, tonight I’m going to be absolutely shattered!

Before heading out, Hernan’s sister and boyfriend were coming over to the family home for dinner and to meet me. Over pizza and empanadas (pies famous in both Argentina and Uruguay) I got to meet the everyone and get to know them better. I’ve spoken to Hernan’s Mom María Cristina numerous times on Facebook but it was great to finally meet her in person. It was unbelievable how lovely and welcoming everyone was towards me. They made you feel like you were part of the family.

Fede popped around shortly after dinner. It’s the first time I’ve been Fede since he left the Mariner of the Seas and resigned from Image Photo Services in June 2011. He hasn’t changed a bit – apart from losing the gangway tan!

It’s my first time out in a long time and obviously, I had no idea what to expect. Walking into the club, Hernan and Fede were spotting friends left, right and centre. All were introduced to me with a constant stream of the traditional kiss on the cheek. It was amazing just how welcome they all made you feel. If an outsider had seen, they’d have thought I was a friend they’d known for years.

The band, Postal kicked off a little after 1am. It wasn’t long until the crowd starting bobbing to the music and a couple were singing along to the parts of the songs they knew. Overall, the band was fantastic and members were all lovely. I’m still amazed by how welcoming everyone in Argentina has been so far.

The last singer to perform was “semi-known”. By the time he arrived on stage the place was heaving. You could hardly move. Girls were going wild at the singer, whose name I cannot remember for the life of me. I’m not the biggest fan of Spanish/Latin music but the last/main performance was absolute crap. The two previous bands performed live, this guy spent most of his time busting dodgy moves like Boris Johnson and singing along to auto-play. Not good! However, everyone, excluding my little self, thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread.

By the time we got back to Hernan’s, we were both completely shattered. Talk about a long day! Jumping into bed, poor Hernan’s lumbered on a mattress on the floor, it was 5.30am. Like Uruguay, everything in Argentina starts later and finishes in the early hours of the morning. It’s simply a case of: When in Rome…

If you want to see or hear more about Postal Gig, you can visit their Facebook group: http://www.facebook.com/postaloficial.fcbk

Soon I’ll be uploading photos onto my new Tickle Photography Facebook group too: http://www.facebook.com/TicklePhotography

Postal (From Postal Oficial)

Postal (From Postal Oficial)

Small Update From Punta del Este

Small Update from Punta del Este

16^th August 2012

It’s been a while, well, months since my last blog. Not a huge amount has been happening in Uruguay. In fact, as it’s winter in the Southern Hemisphere and Punta del Este is a summer resort/town, the place has been a ghost town! The weather has been vile too, but you’ve got to love the almighty thunderstorms!

My hand has been operated on, movement is much easier and the scar is nothing more than a thin pink-red line. I’m still waiting to go back to work, even if it is just to finish off a contract so I can keep the “Cruise Ship Door” open. Whether I’ll be able to continue working on cruise ships for much longer is questionable. The surgeon isn’t too impressed about me returning to work after having surgery for Carpal Tunnel, at the age of 25. The chances of it returning due to my job are relatively high. Already, I’m showing symptoms of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome in my left and may need it operating on in the near future – something I’m determined to put off for as long as possible. So, for a while, I may take a break from working on cruise ships to explore “land life” some more. Like I said before, it’s important for me to keep all options open, both on land and at sea. You never know what is going to happen!

Mom is on the mend, her chemotherapy is over and she’ll soon start on a course of radio to zap whatever is left of the tumour. Hopefully by the time I return to ships, she’ll be well on the way to being in remission. Needless to say and selfishly, it’ll be a huge weight off my shoulders as I felt incredibly guilty for not being at home to help the parents out during the rough times. In a way, it seemed wrong to be out, traveling and enjoying myself. Bizarre! If she’s in remission before I go back to ships, it’ll be one hell of a party after a year and a half of being ill and a year of non-stop treatment and trips to the hospital.

The future’s looking bright!

 

Mama's New Hat and Hair from Nassau

Mummy and Daddy Tickle

Winter and Bloody Cold!

Mama finally let me shave her hair off! Looking better now!

Land Vs. Ship Life

Land Vs. Ship Life

20^th May 2012

The sun is shining and the rays are warm on my pale, freckled skin. Instead of Uruguay going into Autumn, it feels more like Spring is around the corner. Sitting on my bed, windows open and floods of light fill the room, eliminating the darkness. The sing-song chirping from the birds and occasional hum from passing traffic along the quite street blur out the silence.

Looking out the window, the only blue in sight is that of the sky with the odd splodge of whiteness provided by slowly drifting clouds.  Trees standing tall, all green leafed and swaying lightly in the soft breeze. It’s a sign of land, of being surrounded by something solid. A complete contrast from being surrounded by two toned blues, one for the sky and the other for the sea. The breeze even smells different but it’s a scent I can’t put my finger on. It’s sweeter, pollen infiltrated. It’s definitely not a damp, salty sea breeze.

It’s been over two weeks since I debarked from Disney Magic. Sea life, or better, ship life was temporarily over and land life, or real life as some like to call it, began. I was out of the bubble provided by cruise ships and life at sea and placed into reality where the masses reside.

As I’ve said on numerous occasions, ship life is living life in the fast lane. You’re living on a German motorway without a speed limit. Your life is planned for you, there’s even a thirty minute slot with the word “EAT” written on your schedule. Ship life moves so fast that you don’t have a chance to sit back, think, reflect or appreciate any of it. Very rarely do you have time alone to contemplate reflecting on how things are going. When you do have some free time, you’re hell-bent on sleep or getting on land. No matter what happens, you still have work at the front of your mind.

Now, in the real world, life moves much, much slower. Life in Uruguay, during low season, almost grinds to a halt. No one is here to tell you what to do, unless, of course, you’ve had to return, like me, to your parent’s house. There’s no breakfast, lunch or dinner window. There’s a fridge stuffed with juices, cold meats, cheese, eggs and other goodies that were hard to come by on ships. Kitchen cupboards housing bread, tins and packet soups, uncooked pasta… all there and with unlimited access for the taking. I’d almost forgotten what a saucepan looked like!

Money. Money is another funny thing. We work for it, some live for it. On land, I’m not one of the many cogs, turning a wheel of a much bigger, money orientated, money printing machine. I am just… well, here and feeling somewhat alien to the process of real life.

The other day was the first time I’d been behind the wheel of a car since our outing to the Mayan Ruins in Cozumel, Mexico. Before leaving the house my Dad presented me with an everyday task, paying the electricity bill. Staring blankly at the piece of paper with a mass of letters and numbers I wondered what to do with it. How do you pay an electricity bill? I had to ask, much to my father’s amusement. Getting an explanation of the process, made me feel almost childlike, much younger than my twenty-five years. It’s not like I haven’t paid a bill before, on the contrary, I’d handed over my hard earned cash on many occasions for different subjects – car insurance, rent, mobile phone and so on. It wasn’t the first time I’d paid the electricity or water bill either, but the method of how to make the payment had vacated me. It’s not something I have to even think about for a split second on ship. This, obviously will have many clasping their hands together and wishing they could afford such luxury of not having to think about paying off bills. To me, it was somewhat of an embarrassment. Left to my own devices and I’d probably be sitting in a candle lit house, illogically assuming it was a power cut.

Internet, connecting us with friends and to endless amounts of information at the touch of a button, is no longer precious gold dust on land. And, it’s not just any old internet connection, but a super duper fast one too! In fact the internet on land is as common as a red bus in London, used and abused by a vast, ever growing population without a second’s thought. Skype calls to friends and family are now crystal clear rather than crackly and broken up. The moving picture provided by the webcam no longer stops and starts, temporarily freezing that person’s expression into something out of Picasso’s The Scream painting.

Walking around a supermarket, instead of frantically sprinting from aisle to aisle in search of items, even comes with a strange sensation. Before, having worked in a supermarket, I’d want to run in and out as quickly as possible, snatching the necessary items off the shelves. Now, I find myself meandering aimless through the supermarket, combing the aisles and gazing at the brightly coloured packaging. “Ooooh, what’s what?” “Arrrr what’s this?” picking things up like an eager child, reading the back, turning it around and upside down, fascinated, only to find out it’s Tyler’s brown sugar in a new packaging.

Purchasing coffee the other day was almost overwhelming yet highly amusing!! There is one coffee on board the ship. It smells like roasted bark rather than coffee beans… tastes like it too, in fact. Standing, staring, mesmerized by the amount on offer yet not knowing the difference. My eyes were drawn by all the colours and oversized wording “33% free!” “New, improved taste”. I never realized how many options were available for coffee.

Did I want the filtered coffee or instant? Instant.

Regular, strong or extra strong? Strong, I think.

Nescafe, Bracafe, Tiendas Inglesa’s own brand etc.? Erm… Nescafe – it’s the only brand I’ve heard of.

Sweetened or regular? Hold on a minute, this is getting like Starbucks!!

Walking out, swinging my plastic bag containing my jar of coffee, I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. Maybe I should rephrase that: I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. I’d never really touched coffee on land, always preferring tea. Everyone else just grabs what they are after without really glancing and there I was; dwindling down my options to find a jar of coffee. Coffee. Not properties, cars or cameras, but coffee! Heaven forbid I should be let lose onto more serious matters in life!

Secretly I’m intrigued to know what my reaction would be if I wondered into a shopping centre, or mall as the Americans call them, having not stepped inside one for… oh, 14 months!

It seems strange how someone can miss such simple acts or chores such as walking or jumping in the car and driving to do the weekly shop. Who would have thought that you could miss such a thing?

Living on ships you start referring to countries as if they were a town, supermarket or even a day of the week. Lathering up your sponge, you realize you’re low on shower gel. “Hmmm… I’ll get some more in Cozumel” you think to yourself.

“Let’s go to the beach this cruise” “where?” “St. Thomas?”

“I want to buy a new lens” “You could get one in St. Maarten or wait for a couple more weeks and buy one in New York”.

Waking up in Port Canaveral, going to sleep in the middle of the ocean to wake the next morning in Grand Cayman, oddly enough, became the norm.

Settling into the pillows, propped up by the headboard, looking out the window; I can’t help but feel out of touch with reality, which of course, I am. During a lengthy Skype call to a friend I haven’t heard from in a year made me think of a few things, normal things besides coffee brands.

OK, so land is slow going, Uruguay more so, but I can’t help but miss real life and everyday tasks. Thinking  back to my English and Spanish life, I couldn’t help but miss aspects of it, one more so than the rest. Living in England, my phone would bleep with an incoming text message:

“I’m finishing work in 20 minutes. Can I come over for a cup of tea and a chat?”

The phone calls or Facebook messages asking groups of friends to meet up in a pub one night, on the weekend for a couple of drinks. Weekends and days off became a myth while working on ships.

In many ways, you could also say that I miss the usual 9-5 job, having time to go home after work or to the cinema, or do whatever you like. You have a bad day at work, you go home. Tomorrow is another day. You don’t live at work like on ships. Yet, it seems like something so small and so simple which you once had and gave it up to travel the world, for free, meet new people and earn tax free money. Now I’m questioning whether I want the simplicity of it all back. Friends located nearby, a short walk or drive away, not spread out across the globe. Having a cup of tea with a friend over Skype in England, while you’re sitting in Uruguay, just doesn’t have that same effect, does it? There’s more separating you two than a kitchen table and plate of biscuits that’s for sure!

One of my biggest concerns or goals is having a base, a home. My own little home, wherever in the world that may be. Somewhere to come home to, whether it’s from six months at sea or a 9-5 job.

This urgency or desperation for a base has plagued me for many years. Somehow I think the problem gradually started building up when I was 9. My parents moved me from England to Spain where I spent 14 years of my life.

I moved to England to see what the Motherland held for me, not a lot to be honest, but I got a better sense of friendship and close knit communities there. Towards the end of my two year stay in England, the parents relocated to Uruguay, it all happened quickly and almost at short notice. Maybe I wasn’t paying the right amount of attention when they kept bringing up Uruguay?

Next stop was my first contract and after a couple of months, I felt at home with my Mariner of the Seas team, a group of friends, almost family like, and a close knit group tied in one. After six months there, I flew to Uruguay. The only people I knew were my parents. After 3 months I scratched the surface of getting to know the 60plus year olds at the frightful boring for the youthful, English Speaking Club. The highlight of my week in Uruguay were the three of four hours spent with friend on board Splendour of the Seas.

My work on Disney Magic was short lived, beginning and ending within three months.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not placing the blame on my parents from shifting me out of England when I was younger. It’s purely a massive insecurity of my own after being moved, or moving myself from country to country, place to place, ship to ship even. At the end of the contract, I’m never too sure where I’m supposed to be going and let’s face it, on a lighter note, who at twenty-five wants to live with their parents? I had high expectations for myself and would have like to have seen myself living in a little house of my own and strangely enough, gratefully paying off a mortgage like a normal person. To have my home, my base is the goal. Financial crisis or no financial crisis.

Of course, this base insecurity, is purely an insecurity that I, and I alone can overcome but it’s one that has been harbouring for a while now, years in fact. Those who understand the importance of having a base and the need for one, are those who have lived the same or similar lifestyle to me.

 Now the big question, the hardest one to answer is going to take much more than just a bit of reflection, thinking and planning. There are many perks and drawbacks to both ship and real, land life.

To those on land, it may seem crazy to even think of such a preposterous question. Those at sea or who have experienced life on cruise ships, in whichever department they have worked in, will completely understand the question but no doubt divided by their answers. The question is:

Do I want to go back to sea or get back in touch with real life?