cindy's world

Mr. W pointed out that I didn’t post any underwater photos from our snorkeling trip at the Bora Bora motu, and I said I didn’t think we had any as he took all underwater videos and not stills at this point in our trip. He said he was able to pull some stills from the videos, and showed me where the files are. So here they are. As always, rest mouse pointers over photos for captions.
This is the Hawaii state fish. Humahuma something or other. Mr. W likes saying the full name and will say it at any opportunity.

Here’s where things got creepy and I stayed cautiously away from the following underwater creatures.
I swam right past this and was called back by Mr. W. Even though he pointed, I didn’t know what I was supposed to be looking at.

Suddenly, as Mr. W got closer, it changed color.

If I didn’t have a snorkel in my mouth, I would’ve probably made some obscene sound. But I think the octopus disliked us, too. It quickly retreated into a tiny little crevice at the side of the coral.

Mr. W spent a significant amount of time here prodding, poking, luring, shaking out the octopus…but he failed. Eventually, this caught my eye instead.

Simultaneously, I discovered that I could swim backwards. I wanted to leave the area, but decided to hold off a bit just to make sure the eel wouldn’t follow. In my head I was making emergency plans about what I would do if the guy decided to swim UP. Thank goodness it didn’t and stayed on the sandy bottom of the sea.

Tuesday, May 4th, we woke up on the ship knowing we had anchored in Bora Bora in the night. By the way, for those interested in taking this cruise, Bora Bora is a 2-day port so there is an option to book a one-night stay in an overwater bungalow there. We didn’t take this option.

When we came out on deck to get our usual breakfast in the muggy 80+ degree morning, we noticed it’d rained overnight. This didn’t change the climate much as humidity was already high anyway, and I was still comfortably warm. All this tropical climate meant to me, was that makeup was pointless. =P

What the climate meant to the local scene, however, is pretty clouds, pretty rainbows, and rough(er) currents.

The water shuttles (tenders) had two destinations this port: to and from the main island of Bora Bora, and to/from a motu off Bora Bora where there was an uncrowded public beach for snorkeling and hanging out. This is not a private island like Motu Mahana, and the activities directors advised us in our daily port information meeting (attendance optional) to not wander too far from the drop-off point so as not to disturb the privacy of local residents and hotel guests. There was no beach chair setup, no local musicians playing ukeleles and dancing for us upon our arrival, no beachside BBQ. There was, however, a hut with a bartender serving drinks and snacks. Leaving on the tender, we just wore our swimsuits and rash guards, and brought our snorkeling equipment and beach blankets.

If you’re wondering what the black stuff is around the photo, Mr. W said he must not have turned the lens light shield thingie correctly so it got in the frame. 🙁 Here we are with Bora Bora in the background.

Again, there were coconuts everywhere. We learned what miraculous fruit they are — the water inside is so sterile that Captain Cook’s crew doctor used to infuse injured/sick sailors by sticking an IV into a coconut and the other end into a vein. (Still, heebie jeebies for me. I just don’t like the taste of coconuts, I guess.)

…and this is why you don’t see many Asians in professional basketball.

It was a pretty day snorkeling despite the slightly stronger current, and we did see colorful underwater sealife. I remember thinking, “The ‘Finding Nemo’ submarine ride at Disneyland IS accurate in its underwater depiction!” I never wudda thunk.

Why am I always wearing long sleeves going out in that weather, you ask? It’s a lightweight rashguard to protect me from sunburns. I also have sunblock (SPF 100 Sport, sweatproof, waterproof) on, but when you’re floating on the water surface distracted by pretty colors for hours on end, you tend to forget that the sun is amplified by the clear water AND less filtered as here in French Polynesia, you’re closer to the equator so there’s less atmosphere for the UV to penetrate before it penetrates your skin. Mr. W got a little sunburned on his back the first day we snorkeled. He made sure to wear his rashguard every snorkeling trip thereafter, altho we’d strip down to just our swimsuits once we’re out of the water and under some shade.
After the morning spent on the Bora Bora motu, we took the tender back to the ship, had lunch, and took the next tender to Bora Bora herself. It was a windy ride if you’re sitting the wrong way in order to, say, show the camera the flag.

10 minutes later, we’d arrived at the docks of Bora Bora.

We weren’t that far out from where the ship was anchored.

The main road going completely around the island is about 18.5 miles, so Mr. W and I decided to bike it for exercise and for the scenic exploration. The dock town of Vaitape was similar to every other dock town we’d seen at these ports; small shops and shacks along both sides of the main street for maybe 10 minutes (walking) in either direction, a few banks, a post office. I made a mental note to buy some postcards later and mail them from the Bora Bora post office.
The local shops were out of regular bikes, and pointed us to a souvenir shop a little ways down that may still have some left. That shop only had electric bicycles. We were unfamiliar with those, but soon thanked our lucky stars. The bicycles had a cartridge of rechargeable battery under the seat that, when turned on with a key, gives your pedaling a little push when you start off. Pedaling consistently kicks on the battery, also, so that the electrical assistance takes away about half the pedaling exertion. We LOVED those things!

The rental was pretty reasonable; $33 each for a 3-hour rental. We were told that it takes approximately 2.5 hours to bike all the way around the island, which gives us 30 minutes to stop for photos, shopping, lunch, whatever. The shop lady warned us to stop at the tourist town at the southern tip of the island at the sister store and get our batteries recharged or replaced, or we were pedaling back without the battery’s assistance.
At first we stopped CONSTANTLY for photos. This is pretty much what the road looked like; rustic houses and green mountain on one side, ocean on the other.

At some areas, the monsoon damage is apparent.

The locals mostly fished and farmed as groceries are very expensive.

And there were medium-large dogs everywhere. I couldn’t tell if they were wild or family pets, but they sure weren’t friendly. They knew to stay away from the roads and to avoid bikes and cars going by. Mr. W actually did drain his battery before we’d reached the recharge store, and he had to pedal much of the hills with the strength of his legs alone. I whizzed along and loved the feel of the warm air blowing through my hair.

After we’d gotten Mr. W’s battery replaced at the southern resort town of Matira Beach (even more quaint than Vaitape) and he’d recharged himself with a bottle of cold water, we ran across a cool-looking pearl farm and store.

An overwater boardwalk and pier around the side and back of the building had demonstrative aids depicting pearl harvesting and collecting in their various stages. The two Japanese people there were very nice and gave us cold water and a tour even knowing we weren’t able to buy anything as we had biked in (gross and sweaty) with no spare money. Their jewelry designs are among the best I’ve seen, though. But out of respect to their designer, we didn’t take photos. We made it back to the ship by sunset for dinner.

It would be another day in Bora Bora tomorrow, and we had a GREAT excursion planned in the afternoon. Actually, a dream-come-true excursion for me!

Warning: I’m about to photograph you to death in this post. But it’s got the prettiest photos yet! Rest mouse pointers over photos for captions.

Paul Gauguin Cruiseline has its own little islet (“motu”) off the island of Taha’a. Can you believe it? A PRIVATE ISLAND. It’s one among the chain of pretty islands on the northern reef edge, and it’s called Motu Mahana. We get there by a speedboat water shuttle (called a tender), running every half hour between the ship and Motu Mahana. There’s chairs, loungers, a BBQ, bar, kayaks on the island, so all we need to bring is our snorkel equipment (which the ship checks out free of charge to each individual guest at the beginning of the cruise. I’m rather attached to my Ocean Master mask and dry snorkel, so I only checked out fins; if I weren’t so afraid of having to clear my snorkel, my packing could be a lot lighter.)

I watched the gorgeous teal ocean lighten to a sparkling clear turquoise as we cleared the reef. The water was unbelievable. Every postcard and photo I’ve seen of this place wasn’t photoshopped! Well, maybe they still were, but mine aren’t.

As this got smaller and farther away…

…this got larger and closer…

…and farther…

…and closer…

We’re here!

Okay, like seriously? Lemme off this tender so I can get in that liquid turquoise! You can see FISH in ankle-keep water!

But first Mr. W wanted to explore the island on foot to find a good place to set our stuff down. I took photos along the way as he trotted impatiently ahead of me. This is the first thing I saw.

The ship’s massage & spa people had set up a massage site on the motu! Wow…

Mr. W did not find the sand volleyball court a good place to lay down our stuff.

Hmm. Not there, either.

I was still busy dropping my jaw at all the colors and beauty around me.

I get distracted easily, I guess.

The vendors on the motu didn’t help my attention deficit for the first half hour or so. (Tahitian vendors and shopkeepers, by the way, are nothing like the ones in Jamaica or China. These Polynesian people are very laid back and let you browse without following you and demanding you buy; they’ll greet you and say a word or two about an object you seem interested in, but they’re not pushy or competitive with each other. Of course, their stuff is pretty high-priced.)

What’s with all the open coconuts? We soon found out.

The ship’s activities directors actually told us to be aware of potentially falling coconuts. They clear out what they could, but there are so many coconuts on trees that occasionally one may fall and bonk a tourist on the coconut. Here a service guy from the ship is hacking young coconuts for our use as alcoholic beverage containers.

We ordered a couple of drinks from the island’s bar, and they were served in what’s plentiful and biodegradable on the motu.

We learned that the coconuts are collected after our use and dried in the sun, then burned.
Ah, this looks like a nice spot.

Cheers!

After a nice BBQ lunch by the cooks of the ship…

…we hit the water in kayaks and snorkels.

Mr. W and I took out a tandem kayak and he thought it’d be a great idea to kayak around the motu for exercise. We soon found out why no one else had this brilliant idea. A part of the water was so shallow and so full of rocks and corals that our kayak got stuck. Mr. W had decided to not wear his reef shoes, so we had to pull our kayak through that area with him walking barefoot and getting cut up by sea life. (I had my reef shoes on.) Those scars are nice cheap souvenirs. =P

Snorkeling went much better.

The water was very warm and clear, and we saw tons of fish, even an octopus. Here are some of Mr. W’s underwater shots from this snorkel trip.

Unfortunately, Mr. W had underwater camera malfunctions at the time we spotted the octopus, so he didn’t get the shots he’d wanted with that camera. However, by dangerously doing this with my non-water-resistant DSLR…

…I got these shots.

The fish weren’t even shy here; amazing considering how shallow the area I was in was, and how many people were in the water.

Awww, I have a little friend!

Hello little guy!

Mr. W watched me from his islandic tanning bed.

We decided it was time to leave this paradise and take the tender to Taha’a and explore the town a bit.

Neither of us must’ve taken our cameras to Taha’a, because we have no photos of it. It was a small town that you can walk from one end to the other in less than half an hour, and we just peeked at some sourvenir shops. We got back to the ship by sunset.

This is where I took many of my shots.

We’re now on our way to Bora Bora, the misty island you see behind the overwater bungalows, and should be there in 4 hours.

Some spent the time relaxing on deck and watching the lagoons drift by…

…others indulged in libations, working the bartenders so hard they were blurs.

I photographed my li’l brains out, despite it being so insanely windy on the height of deck 9 while we were moving, that I had to stand with my skirt tucked into my knees like you see in this photo, which position I only figured out after I’d mooned the entire ship a few times.

These were my rewards:

I wasn’t alone in the activity. Hello, Mr. W’s rear end.

On to Bora Bora, where we’ll anchor for the night and visit in the morning!

(As usual, resting your mouse pointer over photos will reward you with captions!)

Monday, May 3rd. Mr. W beat me out the door and went up to La Palette, Deck 8, for breakfast and told me to meet him there so we can watch our approach to Raiatea’s sister island, Taha’a.
Here’s my entry onto Deck 8, and the view that greeted me as I emerged. You’ll see Mr. W waving at the end of the short clip.

Photo Sharing – Video Sharing – Photo Printing

Taha’a is a small island with less than 4500 people living there, and those inhabitants of the quiet island live mostly off the land, raising livestock, farming, fishing. Tahitian vanilla, nicknamed “black gold,” comes primarily from this island.

Taha’a has a gorgeous string of motus (small islands) along its northern reef edge, which we took plenty of photos of while on deck.

This is a very pretty photo of some overwater bungalows off a motu, which Mr. W snapped. You’ll see Bora Bora’s scraggly peaks behind them.

Here’s a 30-second video of our view on deck.

Photo Sharing – Video Sharing – Photo Printing
A note about the 2 videos you’ve seen on this post. I was not creepily breathing into the microphone. The ship was still cruising, so it was windy, and that’s the wind you hear. It was so windy, in fact, that I lost my hat. 🙁 First, it was there, on my head…

…and then suddenly, it was on the other side of the deck out of reach. The wind carried it precariously closer to the edge of the ship. If we weren’t moving I would’ve climbed out to retrieve it, but as it was, I decided the hat wasn’t worth falling overboard for.

I sadly prepared to say goodbye to my hat forever. Mr. W had gone into the La Palette deck bar and asked for a stick or anything that would reach, but the staff said they had nothing. He came back out and we watched helplessly as the hat was less than a couple of feet out of reach, the distance growing steadily. Then out of nowhere, a maintenance guy walked out with a broom and one of those broom sweeper tray thingies. A waitress must’ve called maintenance for a broom, but the guy’s surprised look when he saw my hat on the ledge showed that he’d expected to be sweeping on deck, not reaching outside of deck. Mr. W hurriedly reached for the broom but the guy said, “No, no, use this,” and made a pulling-in motion with the broom garbage collector tray thingie. WHAT is that thing called?! Anyway, it worked!
Scoop, Mr. W, scoop!

Reach, Mr. W, reach!

My hero!!!

The hat spent the rest of its time at breakfast between my knees, no matter how much I had to squint in the sun.

May 2, we awoke to find the ship approaching its first island destination of Raiatea.

In case you’re wondering, those are the leis we were greeted with that we hung on our porthole windows. Mine’s this one:

Since we were still out at sea and there was not much to do, we went to the onboard gym for our first and only workout there for the trip. =P Walking around after the workout, we saw pretty landscape as we coasted through French Polynesia.

This is the Deck 8 swimming pool, which we didn’t waste time in. If we wanted to get wet, we got in the warm bathwater ocean.

Wanna join us in these poolside lounge chairs?

We had breakfast here about half the time…

…and breakfast here at the deck on the back of the ship the other half of the time.

I’m on Deck 8, Mr. W’s on Deck 7. Hellooooo down there!

Around this time, I had lost Mr. W, so I explored more of the ship alone. I discovered a Tahia Collins boutique. She’s a Tahitian pearl designer.

Given the price of the above, I was scared to find out the price of the below.

Um, my birthday’s coming up. Anyone? …Yeah, that’s the same silence I got on the ship. I went back to the room to find that we had docked at our first port, Raiatea, the largest of the Leeward islands, and the second largest of the Society Islands in French Polynesia (the largest being Tahiti, where we’d just left). Raiatea has a “sister island” called Taha’a, which is our next port. The two share a coral reef, so the theory is that these two may have once been one island.

Porthole windows = neat stuff.

Off to explore the tiny dock town, we found that the activities directors were right in that the whole island would look rather sleepy, as it was Sunday and just about everything was closed.

Normally, this town would be bustling with vendors and shops, we hear.

We did find a couple of street vendors selling their home-grown watermelon.

Oh, look, something we don’t see anymore at home…

Oh, look, something we see too much at home…

We walked to the edge of the docks so I could take some pretty pictures, while doing my best to ignore catcalls and wild waving from Polynesian dock workers who walked around with their shorts down as they prepared to pee against a wall (which, as it turned out, they wanted me to watch).

A monsoon had struck the islands a few months back, and the damage is evident on some docks and also underwater with dead branch coral seen everywhere when we later went snorkeling.

Oh, look, our ship!

Howdy. Let’s walk back now, and I’ll show you our room.

See those 2 portholes I’m pointing at? That’s it.

We can see our leis from the outside of the ship.
Back onboard, we ran across a Polynesian shell bracelet making class. Since I missed this class, I guess I’ll have to buy my shell jewelry from vendors. =P

Now why can’t all classrooms look like this? Cuz this is what you see on the other side of the students:

Here’s a zoomed in shot of that sailboat out there.

We went back to our cabin to change and get ready for our first excursion, a speedboat ride out to another island for a tour of a Tahitian pearl farm, followed by a snorkeling swim. Here you see our tourguide, some fellow excursionists, and Mr. W looking like an urban cowboy.

Arrival at the pearl farm!

Why can’t my work office have this setting? Yes. I think my work building should have a dock. Who do I talk to about that?

Here our tourguide explains how the pearl-producing oysters are kept on ropes dangled into the water so they can be kept track of.

A demonstration of pearl nucleus implantation (the nucleus is made of Mississippi River mussel shell!) and extraction.

I would love to show you snorkeling photos, but Mr. W hadn’t figured out how to work his underwater camera at his point yet, and all the underwater photos from this trip were overexposed. We’ll soon have better ones from future snorkeling trips. Stay tuned!
(As always, rest mouse pointers on photos for captions.)

Our vacation started early Saturday morning, May 1. The shuttle picked us up at 8:30 a.m.. Here we are at home excited to start our 8.5-hour flight.

Air Tahiti Nui — on top of being cute, it also started our vacation early. They fed us two full hot meals going to Tahiti, AND alcohol was FREE.

Each seat had a monitor on which we could watch TV, movies, or play games. Since the flight wasn’t anywhere near booked, I had the 2 window seats to myself. I had one playing movies and the other on our flight stats. (Mr. W took the center aisle of 4 seats and laid across them, where he slept through the flight after indulging in a hot lunch and two Courvoisiers.)

I was a bit miffed that this was supposed to be our delayed honeymoon trip and he refused to sit near me the entire flight, but I soon became glad as I lounged sideways and took both pillows and both blankets.
We arrived in Papeete, Tahiti at approximately 6:30 p.m., where it was already dark. The humidity hit us hard when we got off the plane, but the temperature was a nice mid-80s all week. I was once again glad that my hair does not react to humidity. I saw some people’s ‘dos shorten and curl up practically before my eyes. I twisted my hair into a bun and stuck a pen through the knot to keep it off my neck, where things were starting to feel a bit damp. We were greeted with flower leis by our transportation at the airport, and they drove us to port where we efficiently checked into our rooms on the M/s Paul Gauguin. I had booked the cheapest cabin (figuring we weren’t gonna spend much time in there anyway, altho Mr. W lamented not having a balcony), and this spacious room is what greeted us.

Mr. W relaxed on the large bed.

Even the restroom was huge (for a ship cabin). It had a shower AND a tub.

At the sitting room end of the cabin, a bottle of champagne was icing in a bucket with a plate of fruit and a card.

Mr. W opened the card.

Awww, how sweet!

We soon changed for dinner. Dress code after 6pm every night on the ship is “smart country club.” It required that women be in dresses or skirts or slacks, and no one could be in shorts. Here’s our glorious meal, the first of many many to come.

“Can I eat yet?”

At a gallery of Paul Gauguin paintings, old Tahitian navigation maps and information from Captain Cook’s days, traditional Tahitian bone tools, etc.

I’m BAAAAAAaaaaack! And all tan from multi-island romps in French Polynesia, despite the waterproof, sweatproof SPF 100 (yes, they make those) sport sunblock I was using. It was a great 5-star luxury weeklong cruise. I would highly recommend Paul Gauguin Cruises for anyone interested in a tour of The Society Islands (Tahiti, Taha’a, Raiatea, Bora Bora, Moorea). You get a very cool sampling of all the islands, free food/drink/board/transportation, which is a great big deal cuz our ONE free day in Tahiti was EXPENSIVE. Photos and stuff forthcoming!

On Motu Mahana, the cruiseline’s private island off Taha’a.

By “my,” I mean Diana’s new fiancee, Eric. We all love proposal stories, and this one is quite epic. Eric’s not a blogger, so this is his first post anywhere. I welcome my new guest blogger Eric, and here is his side to Diana’s European Extravaganza (see previous two posts). Like I’d alluded to in the first post, sometimes it all comes together…in Europe.
~ * ~
After a long week in Scotland for work I was looking forward to a week in Spain with Diana. Scotland was unusually sunny and beautiful during the week due to a high pressure area that loomed over United Kingdom creating the nice weather, which is very unusual. April 15, 2010 was the day ash spewed by Iceland’s Eyjafjallajokull volcano quieted the skies of Europe. I knew that getting down to Barcelona would be no ordinary trip since I had a flight out of Scotland that evening to London and the next morning leaving London to Barcelona to meet up with Diana … Eric’s Amazing Race Begins.

Our meetings ended in the afternoon and after hearing that all Scottish airports were closed my coworkers and I decided it would be better to be farther from the epicenter of the ash and we’d have more luck at a major airport like London Heathrow. So I drove 9 straight hours to get to London so I can make my 7 AM flight the next day. That evening the news reported that flight cancellations migrated to the busiest airport in Europe, London. After speaking with the Spanish Airlines Iberia they rebooked me on a Sunday morning flight. When Diana arrived in Barcelona I told her the bad news. I could tell she was pretty sad but the whole day she was pretty calm about the situation even though that meant that I wouldn’t be there for the start of our vacation.

With the volcano still erupting I didn’t have much hope that flights would resume so I looked into alternative means of transportation. Without airports there are only a few means to get off of the island. Friday morning I checked out of the hotel determined that I was going to get something that day to travel down to Spain. Most of the day was spent in long ques (British term for lines) visiting two bus stations, two train stations, and rental car companies. The earliest they could get me out was Monday & Tuesday to Spain. I declined the offers because deep down I was hoping my flight would open up because on Monday we had a side trip to Seville, but looking back I should have taken those alternatives at least as backup. That was one of the low points of my journey; I wanted to see Diana badly, was missing out on our vacation, was homeless, and felt defeated. Hotels were impossible to find because of all the stranded passengers. Luckily, the hotel I had just checked out of just had a cancellation right before I called, so I went back and got the same room I’d checked out of. So I headed back to downtown London, had a nice dinner with my other stuck coworkers, and then retired defeated to my hotel at Heathrow. I realized, like thousands of other people did, that being stranded on an island leaves you with limited choices to get off of it. I knew I had to do whatever it takes to get down to Spain to give her a “special surprise”. I felt bad that Diana had to spend the first day of our vacation apart, but at least she got to experience the 5 star W Flagship hotel.

Saturday morning I was re-energized and determined. I was headed to the Eurostar train station to see if I can get a train to Barcelona or at least to Paris. Knowing the ticket office opened at 5 AM I headed to the Subway station at that time. 10 steps out of the door I remembered the Eurostar employee telling an irate passenger that they weren’t letting any more passengers in the lines for the ticket office and that they open at 5 AM or they can buy it online. So I had a gut feeling to look. To my surprise they had availability on a 7 AM train (which was too early for me to get to the train station) and a 2 PM train. When I was in the middle of booking I hit refresh and to an even greater surprise they added a 9 AM train to Paris. It was a clear sign that they added this train just for me (haha) and I’d be a fool not to take it. Looked like I was going to the romantic city of Paris, France … alone.

I called and woke up Diana and told her I was able to get a ticket to Paris, her favorite city. While on the train I was determined to go to the bus stations, train stations and car rental companies to do whatever it took to get from Paris to Spain. While I was in transit to Paris she felt so sad I was homeless in London she booked me a room at a hotel next to the Paris Nord Train Station. That was a nice surprise because I needed a home base to work out of and it would have been one less thing for me to stress over. At that time I felt fortunate that Diana was also looking out for me; she was my “lifeline” on my amazing race.

After dropping off my bags I went to the train station and stood in line for 2 hours; I got to the counter and already this French lady seemed annoyed. I asked about the earliest ticket to Barcelona and she rolled her eyes and sighed. She pounded on her keyboard a few times and chatted with her coworker next to her, ignoring my request for trains to Barcelona. Too bad I couldn’t speak French because I had a feeling she was talking mad shit about me. After 10 minutes of making me wait and doing nothing on the computer I asked for the third time and she said the earliest booking they had was Thursday. I seriously wanted to complain and yell at her but that would have done no good. So I picked up my notebook and what little sanity I had left. I didn’t believe a word she said so instead of standing back in line to get another teller’s opinion, I snuck to the counter at the end and stood behind the people who were being helped. The young man who was assisting them seemed really helpful. After getting to the counter he spent the same 10 minutes with me and in those 10 minutes he was typing away and found me multiple options. The earliest he could get me out was on Tuesday night, arriving in Spain on Wednesday. I was relieved and booked that train. I told Diana the good news and she was happy that I had some conformed way to get to her.

Feeling pretty good I accomplished something I decided to head to the bus station to see what they have to offer, I had nothing to lose. The line was longer than the Nile River and would have taken me three hours to get to a teller. So there was an end teller booth next to a lot of people standing around waiting to check in for their bus. I am not proud of this, but I snuck behind the people in line at the end teller. This gentleman was able to get me a 15 hour bus ride to Barcelona leaving Monday afternoon and arriving Tuesday morning. Of course I took it because it meant I would see Diana a day earlier. On the way back I treated myself to a nice dinner because I now had two ways to get to Barcelona. While I was doing all of this Diana spent the whole day in the business center at her hotel helping me book a hotel and looking online for options to get me down to see her, also options to her to get to me. I told her to go sightsee and enjoy Barcelona but all she could think about was me.

I felt relieved so the next day, I was able to finally relax and enjoy a free day in Paris. I spent the day sightseeing and enjoying the busy city of Paris; too bad it was Sunday and most of the places were closed. I had an afternoon bus ride on Monday which I wasn’t looking forward to. Seeing how crazy the bus station was I knew it would be an adventure. So on Monday, I headed to the station early and it was just as busy as a few days before. There were two lines, one to buy tickets and the other to check in for your bus. I didn’t realize that even though the check in desk said ‘to Rome’ everyone was standing in line for Barcelona and two other locations which had a check in at 2:00 PM. Fearing that I might get stuck in the check in line I snuck to the front and waited for it to open. When the registration booth opened the water gates flooded. People were pushing, yelling in different languages and shoving to check in. Since I was in the front I was able to get in and out quickly. So on my way to the buses.

When you check in you get a bus number. Mine was 8, so that means you go to stall 8. I went to stall 8 and a bus to Lisbon pulled in. We all asked him if his bus was going to Barcelona and he kept saying nope, Lisbon. So we were all confused. A bus pulled into slot #9 saying it was going to 3 locations and one of them was Barcelona so everyone started rushing for that bus thinking there was a mix up. Well other people start showing up with ticket number 9 for Barcelona, so about 20 people were totally confused. Then the #8 bus to Lisbon pulled away and the right #8 to Barcelona pulled in. We were all relieved that we were getting on the right bus. I didn’t want anyone sitting next to me if I could help it so I resorted to some tricky measures so people would pass up the seat next to me. I sat on the aisle seat so they would have to get past me, I put my backpack on the other seat, I pretended I was saving it for someone else, and I even started coughing pretending like I was sick. There were only 4 extra seats on the bus, so I was lucky that the seat next to me was empty. So my 16 hour journey to Barcelona began. Even though the bus AC didn’t work all the time, there was a group of chatting Spanish people, there was a baby crying off and on, and I was on very uncomfortable seats, I didn’t mind because I had my Nintendo DS, had my noise canceling headsets, and most importantly was finally on my way to see Diana.

I arrived to Barcelona Bus Station at 6 AM. Diana had already sent me instructions on how to get from the bus station to the hotel via the subway. I got off at the subway station and looked for the hotel. It was early in the morning and kind of sketchy. I finally saw the hotel and then I heard these clanking sounds on the pebblestone streets of La Ramba. I saw Diana in the distance running to me; that moment was the happiest moment of my entire trip. We hugged for a long time on the dirty streets of La Rambla. Now our vacation could officially begin.

Even though Diana had already spent 4 days in Barcelona she didn’t do much sightseeing. She mainly spent them trying to help me get down to see her. The next few days we spent seeing the sites of Barcelona and enjoying tapas and Sangria all day. The last two days we decided to forego our reservations at a place downtown and stay at the five star W on the beaches of Barcelona (where Diana had stayed alone). It was perfect because we could relax and lounge around enjoying the state-of-the-art facilities and hotel.
One of the most enjoyable moments we had was on Wednesday, April 21st. We took the gondola up to the mountains of Montjuic. Up on the mountains above Barcelona there is a Spanish fort with canons which I got to stand on, it also had an amazing view of the city below. There was also the Olympic stadium which hosted the 1992 Olympics, which we snuck into. And at the top was the National Palace, a beautiful building with fountains around it. We sat at the top and enjoyed a beautiful sunset with a Chinese person playing the Spanish Guitar and watched the sunset go down while enjoying the music.

Thursday, April 22nd we had a nice dinner on the beach having tapas and a pitcher of Sangria. So we walked back to the hotel along the beach. Of course I brought my digital SLR and tripod to get some nice shots of the hotel. While we were walking back I told her we should walk along the water so I could get a nice angle of the W Hotel in the background. The hotel was right next to the pier where cruiseships come into port to visit Barcelona. So I set up my tripod and camera and took a few shots, I had the ring in my pocket and was about to propose. Next thing I knew, fireworks were going off right behind our hotel. The fireworks were for the cruiseships about to depart to the Mediterranean. It was perfect. I took a few pictures and then got down on one knee and proposed to her. I was so caught up in the moment I couldn’t remember if she said yes, all I remember was how happy she looked and the tears of joy.

In those 4 days of stressful travel, extra money spent, and lost vacation time, we realized a few things. There were signs pointing me in the direction of Spain. For instance, in London when a hotel reservation opened up just before I called, the added Eurostar train to Paris, and opportunities for me to cut in line or jump in front of others.

Throughout the whole crisis neither of us freaked out, got upset, or complained. It was like coach Wooden in his coaching years at UCLA. We worked as an efficient team, never questioning the other person’s decision, always looking out for each other, always communicating, had persistence to see each other, and passion to be with each other. We won’t have 10 NCAA championships but no doubt we will have a dynasty.

~ * ~
*wiping tear away*
Ahem. Well, I’ve now learned that I would’ve hated Eric when I was a kid, cuz…line-cutter! But desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m honored Diana and Eric chose to memorialize their momentous vacation to guest-post on my blog. I’m excited for them, and happy for my college roommie-slash-non-biological-sister for finding a great guy — one who brings her to peace, to joy, to crazy European vacations; one who gets her, balances her and complements her personality, and who’s a Bruin. 😉 That last one’s an extra happy bonus. Congratulations, Diana & Eric!
(All photos courtesy of Eric)

Memoirs from guest blogger Diana’s European Extravaganza, Part II (immediately preceding post is Part I):
~ * ~
After Eric arrived, we went all over Barcelona, and no matter what we did, it was fun. Probably because I was just dying for some company. 🙂 But there was a moment where I felt everything was just perfect.

We had take the gondola up to Park Montjuic, where the olympic stadium is from the 1992 olympics. We caught the last gondola up shortly before 7 pm, and walked around the old castle for a bit first. It had a great view of the city and sea, but it was a little quiet and deserted, and slightly eery.

We then started walking towards the olympic stadium, which was pretty far down the hill. By then it was 7:30 or so, and although the sun was still up, I knew we only had less than 2 hours of daylight. I was afraid that we would get stuck or somehow get lost in this big park in the hills, and Eric kept on saying, “Don’t worry, I know where I am going. We have plenty of time.” I was still a little nervous (Eric will tell you that I was VERY nervous), and even raced down a steep trail that was a short cut, compared to the long trail that went around the perimeter.

When we saw the olympic stadium, I knew we would be safe. It was a lot busier in that area, and we even crawled through an opening in a fence into a work out facility, because it was even more of a short cut. We finally arrived at the National Palace, which is now an art museum. we heard a Spanish guitarist playing, so we took a seat on the steps in front of the museum, which overlooks the many fountains below, the city, and the Mediterranean. I always loved Spanish guitar and think it is one of the most romantic sounds. By this point, the sun was setting, and it was breezy, and Eric wrapped his arms around me as he sat on the step above the one I was sitting on. We looked to the distance, admiring the surroundings, I then looked back at him, and felt like I was in some kind of movie.

p.s. The Spanish guitarist is actually Chinese, from China. I bought his CD. I never buy touristy things, but I was really moved by his music, as it was the perfect accompaniment to that sunset.

College roommie Diana was due to meet her boyfriend Eric in Spain a couple of weeks ago. He was already in Europe on business, and the plan was to have Diana fly out and meet him in Barcelona; Eric would be coming from London. And then, the heavens and the earth moved between them in the form of Iceland’s volcanic eruption that grounded all planes for days, and what followed was an Amazing Race type obstacle course in travel for Eric to find his way to Diana’s side. As it was going on, I received updates from Diana via text message and status updates on a social networking site. She cursed the Eyjafjallajokull volcano. She made observations about Spain. (“There sure are a lot of naked people at the barcelona beach.”) She ate a few dinners alone. Eric offered, via the social networking site, to have dinner with her, and then interrupted himself with, “Oh wait. I’m stuck on this stupid island.” The stupid island of England. The story does have a happy ending, due to enormous effort on Eric’s end. I texted Diana, as it was happening, that I was very impressed by Eric’s tenacity. She texted back that she was, too, and if she ever had a doubt as to being with him long-term (not that she did), this experience would’ve clarified everything for her. I invited Diana to be my guest blogger to talk about this crazy trip, so here it is, in her own words that she wrote on the flight back:
~ * ~
This trip to Spain started off rocky (literally). On the morning of my departure, I heard from Eric that his flight from Glasgow was canceled due to the Iceland volcano eruption, sprewing massive amounts of ashes high into the atmosphere, and that he would drive to London with coworkers. I didn’t know how far that was, but it turned out to be something like 6 hours. He had no idea if he could fly out of London to meet me in Barcelona, but the further south he could go, the better.

As I arrived in Barcelona Friday morning, I was greeted with more bad news. Much of European air space was shut down, and definitely no flights out of London. Eric said he would head to the train station and see what his land options would be. Since I had so much time to kill, I made my way to the hotel via public transportation. It took a little exploring and time, but only cost me 6.4 euros (as opposed to a taxi, which is like 35 euros).

The W Barcelona is amazing — trendy and offers a not-stuffy-type of luxury. I got upgraded to a room facing the mediterrean with a view of the city. But I felt alone and empty. I had no idea when Eric would get here, as flights were canceled, and buses and trains and rental cars were full. His days consisted of waking up very early and going to bus and train stations to figure out how to get out of London. Sometimes he would make multiple trips a day. Rest of the time he would be on the internet reading about the options as well as the news updates on the travel restrictions. I, on the other hand, forced myself to at least explore the city a little, mostly along the beach areas, where it is not as crowded. I was barely hungry and ate only one meal a day, even in the midst of delicious catalan food, and time suddenly seemed to go by very slowly.

Saturday morning I was woken up by his call — I knew he had gone to the train station to try to get on the Eurostar from London to Paris, but those trains had been packed because everyone was trying to get out of London via train. Eric said he had gotten up around 5 and was heading to the train, but had a feeling that he should check online, and when he did, he noticed there were tickets available that morning so he rushed to pack and check out to board the train. Although he didn’t know what he would do after he arrives in Paris, as Paris airports were closed and french rail (SNCF) may be on strike. But Paris is a little closer to Barcelona.

I jumped out of the bed and went to talk to the concierge, who told me SNCF is on strike until at least Monday, so no trains are running, and buses are full until Tuesday, and same with rental cars. I was so disappointed, and my glimmer of hope was nearly extinguished. But I was determined to see to it that even if Eric couldn’t get out of Paris, he would at least have a place to stay. So I went to the business center to book him a hotel near Gare du Nord — not ideal, but that’s where his Eurostar arrives. I also decided to read French news on the strike, because I had a hard time believing SNCF would strike at a time when air travel was crippled. Nothing about the strike on French24 news channel. Thank goodness for the little French I was able to read.

Indeed, when Eric arrived in Paris, he wasn’t able to take a connecting train or bus that day out of Paris. So he headed to the hotel, and search for a way out started. It was disappointing, because that meant more days apart and cuts into our vacation. Still, getting out of London was a great move, as flights remained canceled and more and more people tried to take the trains.

The next day he was able to get a train ticket leaving Paris Tuesday AND a bus ticket leaving Monday. Both are overnight trips, and he kept both tickets in case one didn’t work out. So at this point, we at least knew when he would be in Barcelona. But this also meant we had to cancel our Sevilla trip and miss April Fair, the biggest party (week long) in Andalusia.

Eric’s bus was to arrive Tuesday around 6 am — I was not able to sleep the entire night, and was awake before his bus arrived. Then it was about a 15 min metro ride to the hotel. I actually walked out of the hotel to meet him at the metro station, but half a block from the hotel, I saw a guy in a baseball cap across the street with a suitcase and backpack, looking around. It wasn’t quite daylight but I knew it was him. I ran towards him, my flip flops hitting the cobblestone street, making a distinctive sound that resonated in the quiet morning hours.

We hugged for a long time, and for the first time on this trip, I cried. I had held back tears the whole time I had been here, because I wanted to be strong. Otherwise he would be even more anxious and worried about getting here, when he already was doing all he could. But it didn’t matter anymore, and we could finally start our vacation, 4 days late.

The rest of the trip was great — lots of sightseeing, eating, walking around, and relaxing. We never got sick of tapas, paellas, and I have a newfound love in jamon iberico (cured ham made from iberian black pig fed with acorns). We enjoyed the siestas very much and took a nap every day. (I think we were both sleep deprived during the time we were apart.) We didn’t get to visit Sevilla but we will be back.

In some ways, this trip was inconvenient, a lot of lost vacation time, and extra money spent. But significantly, it gave us a chance to see how we behave in time of crisis. And we both did fabulously. There was never any complaints or anger. Rather, we worked as a team to try to solve the problems, despite being sad and anxious. Most importantly, we trusted each other’s decisions (such as when he was on Eurostar, I booked him 2 nights in a Paris hotel and when he arrived, I just told him where to go.). I think this is a key to a successful partnership, and I have no doubt that ours will be a successful one.

(P.S.: During my moments of uttermost darkness and total despair a couple of years back, CT always said that in time, I would meet a great guy, be married to him and have kids like I always thought I would. And everything that made me sad would just dissipate and not matter anymore. Even during those times, as hard as it was to look forward, I remained hopeful that she would be right. I guess it pays to have that kind of faith.)
~ * ~
Happy ending, didn’t I tell you? As this was going on, I gave Mr. W occasional updates of their progress. He said more than once that if it had been us, he would’ve been content to just stay in Paris or London, and I could enjoy Barcelona, and we just won’t bother moving mountains to come together. Hmmph. He tried to pacify my displeasure by saying that the above would never happen to us because we’d never travel separately like that, but still. I’m happy to see that Eric understands what we go through when our loved ones are not where they’re supposed to be, especially if where they’re supposed to be, is by our side. Good job, Diana.