Journal Entry #4 - Sailing the Coast, North from Yokohama

 

You OK, QE III?  It's dawn, man, you still lookin' queasy..."

We have gotten to the point that I have to look at the “Daily Programme” to find out what day of the week it is. Holland-American ships have rugs in the elevators, which are changed every midnight, indicating the day of the week. I think that's going a bit far, but to each his own. Today, it is officially Thursday.

The results of the lottery are in!

The lottery involves finding out which of us, if either, is susceptible to seasickness. We really had no way of knowing. And today was the day! We are heading up the east coast of the main Japanese island, after pulling out of the Port of Yokohama last night, just about sunset. We're about 15 km. (everything on this ship is kilometers and Celsius, and me without my protractor!) off the coast, and from about mid-morning to mid-afternoon, we ran into some very deceptively big waves. They didn't look at all unusual, until you spent some time watching the middle-distance, beyond the wake. Then you realized you were traveling through a landscape of, lets say, sort-of-mini rolling hills, like the American midwest – eastern Colorado or Kansas, say – but the hills were... moving. Slowly, but – they were massive. Not tall – not those terrifying monster waves in movies or paintings – and no hint of whitecaps. They were broad, rather than tall, lazily lifting and lowering, in no particular hurry. Once you see it, its - “Ye gods, that's a wave!” It's hard to describe.

Anyway, not only were the rolling hills of Colorado moving, we were driving through them. The result is that the ship got thrown about quite a bit – rolling (front and back going up and down) but not much pitching (side-to-side). This made it worst in the very front (theater) and back (Lido buffet and deck). Hard to walk normally, sometimes it was better to lean up against the wall for a moment. I spent all morning in the theater, and the main curtain was sweeping back and forth quite a bit. The big screen that the speakers were using for their slides also wobbled back and forth and set up waves all its own, causing comical effects on the images.

Unfortunately, the lottery result was not “neither” - Abbey began feeling bad after the 9:00 talk, and went to the room to lie down which, she said, was much better – it was like she was being rocked to sleep. Also, our cabin is on the second deck from the bottom, in the middle of the ship – which is kind of the pivot point for all the rolling, and so not so bad.

It's a lot better now, and Abbey's back to watercolor class. After breakfast, we attended the port presentation, everything you needed to know about our next two days in port. One of the ports is Otaru, right next to Sapporo, where the 1972 Winter Olympics were held. Then a talk on Japanese history by an English history writer, and then one called “What do astronauts do in space?” by a Canadian astronaut who did missions on the US Space Shuttle and the International Space Station. Then a scientist talking in general terms about SETI, and finally a travel writer. After that, there was a classical flute and piano concert, and then it was time for mid-afternoon lunch! Abbey's back at watercolor, feeling better, and the ship is on an even keel, so to speak.

Interesting side-note – the ship offered seasickness meds for a price (H-A handed them out free), but they are designed to make you drowsy and help you sleep. Not sure what good they are on a cruise, especially one that will spend six days on the open ocean – are susceptible people just supposed to sleep the cruise away? Is there no better solution?

Each of the speakers will be giving five or six talks during the coming sea days, and I found each of them interesting and knowledgeable, and look forward to hearing them speak further in their area of expertise. The flute/piano concert was a breath of fresh air. There is a harpist, a pianist, and a string trio who have been playing since we got on, but mostly popular music – little if any classical music. Again, a Cunard surprise: you'd expect people who like to dress for dinner might like a little bit of classical music now and then.

To maintain my non-consecutive credentials: yesterday. We sailed into Tokyo Bay and up into Yokohama Harbor with a rising sun behind us. It was a bright, clear, sunny morning. The harbor was lined with huge orange-and-white cranes for loading and unloading container ships, but there were no container ships in sight, and the cranes were all idle. This remained the case all day.

I was on the back deck of the ship (we had done a 180 again, and were pointing out; I was looking west, at Yokohama and the brilliant white bridge right in front of us), looking a the city, when a Japanese woman tugged at my sleeve and pointed energetically. “See! See! Japanese people love that mountain!” And there it was, between the skyscrapers – Mt. Fuji, shining in the morning sun. It's hard to find it, but once you do, you can't unsee it. It's very far away, but there is no doubt that it is the mountain from all the paintings and photos. It's beautiful, even as part of a skyline.

That was about 6:30 in the morning. Abbey came up to eat a couple hours later, we enjoyed breakfast together, and then went outside so she could see the mountain, which was one of the things on her list. But a few clouds had gathered on the horizon, and one of them was right in front of Mt. Fuji. The clouds were very far away – probably not far from the mountain – and we guessed that maybe the mountain, and the ranges nearby, were making their own weather. Sure enough, the cloud remained all day, shifting here and there, allowing a look at part of the mountain: the snowcapped top, or one slope, or the bottom.

We went in to the terminal to use the wi-fi and turn our phones on (we needed to re-stock our Libby supply of books before the long sea passage), and that took a lot longer than we thought it would, because of the phenomenally slow internet. We returned to the ship by lunchtime, and sat on the back deck, keeping our eye on the mountain, until dinner. Actually, we took a few turns around the upper deck, watching a huge cargo ship get tied up to the pier behind us (it seemed like it needed a lot of help), and playing a game of croquet, which ended in a tie, although Abbey says that technically she won, having ended before me. Details.

Later in the afternoon, when the sun was lower in the sky in the west, not far from Fuji, the clouds seemed to clear, but the glare and haze made it almost impossible to see, and completely impossible to photograph effectively. Then, at dinner, I had a seat from which I could see out the stern window, across the harbor and through to the city – and to Fuji, which was silhouetted in the setting sun. Abbey ran out of the dining room and up one deck to the promenade, leaned out over the rail and got the picture.

Shortly after, we left Yokohama, with Fuji and the fading sunset behind us. Also behind us was a ship, under the bridge, inexplicably lit up like a Christmas tree. One more mystery.

It's later in the afternoon, and I'm looking out at the ocean, and those rollers are still out there, almost as big, almost as OMG-that-is-one-single-wave! big as before, but the ship is much calmer – although as I watch the horizon, I realize that there is some rolling going on, but very, very slowly. Lots to learn about the ocean.

This cruise that we're taking is actually two different cruises back-to-back. The first one was Yokohama-to-Yokohama, and ended last night. Lots of people got off after touring four Japanese cities and Busan in Korea. Lots of people got on, ready to tour two Japanese cities, cross the Pacific, and then visit Alaska, ending in Vancouver. And there are a certain number of people like us, doing both.

The ship's population on the first cruise was, I would guess, about half Japanese. Much of what went on, from talks to PA announcements, had a Japanese interpretation. This time – at least based on a one-day informal anecdotal poll – the proportion of Japanese is smaller, but still considerable. Most PA announcements are translated, but – so far – nothing else.

Two things we noticed about some – by no means all – Japanese passengers. One is the fact that they seem to have little sense of who is around them. On a ship with thousands of people (and, of course, anywhere there are groups of people moving in a finite environment), there is a kind of fluid mechanics to group movement, and everyone is watching and adjusting as they move, so as not to collide with or obstruct anyone else. This is especially true where elevators are concerned. Sometimes this takes eye contact, or a word, but it's not rocket science.

We noticed many instances where a Japanese man or woman would continue walking, or stand still, in a way that required everyone else to stop, go around, or wait. Just this morning, I was walking down an aisle in the Lido, wide enough for two people to pass, and a Japanese woman was walking toward me, in the middle of the aisle – and continued in the middle of the aisle, requiring me to press up against one wall. On many occasions, when I was on an elevator, a man would be standing in the middle, right on the other side of the door. He would stand for a moment, enter, and then turn and stand just inside the door, in the middle, requiring anyone getting off to push by him. Or getting on an elevator without seeming to realize that other people were getting on as well. Slight variations in this behavior were seen a couple dozen times. Very minor, in all cases, but to someone whose profession was to notice things – noticeable.

Also, we saw what we thought was a stereotypical myth, again maybe a couple of dozen times: a couple walking down a long hall, the man walking five or six paces ahead of the wife, maintaining that distance the whole way.