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Rio de Janeiro, Rio Othono Palace Hotel, Wednesday, 1996-01-17 22:30 local (Z-2)
I must admit that, travel-jaded as I am, I'm getting a little bit of a kick out of being on Copacabana Beach. I'm in a room that overlooks the beach and the wide boulevard running along it. The beach itself is a wide expanse of sand, very light colored, running in a gentle curve for what looks to be two to three miles. It's solidly fronted by high rise hotels and apartment complexes. None of the buildings appear to be new, but they aren't yet old enough to look bad. Most, however, could use a paint job.
Even though it's late on a weeknight, there are still hundreds of people strolling along the sidewalk and quite a number out on the beach itself—a few even in the surf. It must still be at least 90°F outside. When we landed, it was 44°C, that's 111°F—hot even for Rio—and it's humid as well.
Lots has happened since my last message, but I'm fading fast now so I won't get it all told. This hotel has a hardwired phone system, so I won't be ble to log on for my my email until I get someplace else—Miami if our schedule holds.
The big event, of course, was Jean's and my Caribbean cruise. I intended to email everybody on what happened but never got around to even writing anything, and phone costs from the ship were $15 per minute even when it was in a port, so that's my excuse.
I was able to jumpseat on each flight Jean had to get to San Juan, so that worked out well. We checked into a hotel on Condado Beach Friday night. The Condado is their big tourist area, sort of like Miami Beach. Saturday we boarded the ship around 13:00, dumped our stuff in our stateroom, then took a walking tour of Old San Juan; the ship wasn't due to depart until 23:00. The actual departure wasn't until 01:30; they delayed for two and one half hours to allow passengers to board that were on delayed flights into San Juan. We stayed up for the departure and didn't go to bed until 03:00, staying on the top deck to watch the ship leaving the harbor and getting a ways out to sea.
We were supposed to spend all the next day at sea, cruising to the southern most point of the trip, Barbados, but they changed the itinerary because of supply problems, and we woke Sunday morning anchored in St. Thomas, one of the U.S. Virgin Islands. St. Thomas was forgettable. We took a tour by truck (yes, a truck with five rows of bench seats and a canopy on what had been its flat bed) to the highest point on the island. Last September a hurricane came through the Virgin Islands, and there is still a great deal of damage that had not been cleaned up. There were a lof of blue roofs—covered with blue plastic to keep the rain out.
Monday we spent all day at sea, and Tuesday morning found us docked at Barbados. We did our own walking tour of downtown Barbados.
Wednesday was tthe highlight of the trip for me. The ship anchored off Mayreau, one of the islands in the country called “St. Vincent & The Grenadines”. Princess Cruise Lines leases a beach there, so it was a day on the beach with lunch provided by the ship. There was a very small village up from the beach, and Jean and I walked up to it on the island's single road, really little more than a very steep concreted path, although there is one vehicle on the island, an old truck that runs from the small wharf at the beach up through the village. We descended back down to the beach where Jean swam and lounged. I dumped what gear I was carrying and ran back up to the top of the island (a small school—in session—is on the very top part) and then over to a resort on the other wise. Actually, I didn't do a lot of running on the uphill parts. <g>
Thursday we were in Martinique, which is a Department of France, not a colony, but a Department. That means they're full French citizens. They vote in French elections, are subject to the same laws, etc. The big town is Fort of France, and we walked to downtown and took a ferry over to resort area on a peninsula, walked around, ate, etc.
Friday we were in St. Crois, another of the U.S. Virgin Islands, but as unlike St. Thomas as it could possibly be. The whole atmosphere was different. We docked at Frederiksted (the U.S. bought these islands from Demark, hence the Danish names). In the morning I ran to a beach I could see from the ship. It was one of the best runs I've had recently. It turned out when I got to the beach it was practically deserted except for a few sunbathers, and nobody was wearing any clothes, so I finished my run (actually a walk by that time in the sand) in the uniform of the moment. Delightful!
That afternoon we took a snorkeling tour which included roughly an hour's ride across the island to the largest town (can't remember it's name now) and then a half hour boat ride out to Buck Island National Park. You can't go on the island, but they anchor off it and you snorkel off the boat. Unfortunately the water was very rough. I found I couldn't even swim in it comfortabley (besides it was too cold for my likes) much less than snorkel, but Jean got a little snorkeling in.
On the way back, the bus driver took us by the Hess Oil Refinery. It's the largest oil refinery in the Western Hemisphere and the second largest in the world according to local tour information. There is no oil in the Virgin Islands, that comes by supertanker from Venezuela mostly. The primary customer for the refinery is the U.S. Department of Defense. They were obviously very security conscious at the refinery. The boundary was a chain link fence probably twelve feet high topped by barged wire, then a clear area maybe twenty feet across, then another twelve foot fence is barbed wire.
Saturday morning saw us back in San Juan and at the airport by 10:00. Jean's flight wasn't until 15:00, but that was the last flight of the day, and I felt I couldn't afford to depend on that single flight for a jump seat. I got out at 11:00 on an American Airlines flight to Chicago. I got stuck there, couldn't get to Portland, couldn't get to Seattle, but finally succeeded in getting to San Francisco and then up to Portland—just in time to meet Jean getting off her flight.
We both enjoyed the cruise, Jean perhaps more than I, but she can fill you in on that. I'm quite glad I did it, but I rather doubt I would want to repeat it, certainly not along the same route. It was too formal for me. Two nights we were supposed to dress formally for dinner, and most people did, tuxedos and all. I wasn't about to get a tux just for that, so I wore the one old suit that I have for both the two formal nights and the semi-formal night. There were others doing the same, and nobody said anything.
I picked up a little more information on the AA accident at Cali from the crew of the AA flight from San Juan to Chicago. Without boring you with detail, the significant info includes the fact that they had set up a high rate of descent using their speebrakes—spoilers on top of the wings. That was appropriate because when ATC switched runways on them, they had to get down quickly. However, when they leveled at 9000 feet, they forgot to retract the spoilers. They did get a warning from the ground proximity warning system when they approached the high terrain. It sounds a horn and repeats “terrain, terrain, pull up”. They went to full power and pulled up, but with the spoilers still deployed, the airplane could only climb marginally. Even with that, they would have cleared the ridge had they been a mere 250 feet higher. How's that for fate!
See the 1997-03-20 journal message for an instance where a captain I was flying with forgot to retract the spoilers.
We arrived home, driving from Portland early Sunday morning. There was a message from Tower Air on the answering machine that the time of my next trip had been changed. I called and was given a report time on the 16th rather than the 17th that I had had. So, on Monday it was off to work but I bought 12 additional hours at home by jumpseating directly to Miami to pick up the trip rather than to JFK, where they had me scheduled to deadhead to Miami.
Random thoughts about this trip: I hadn't flown since December 30, so this was the longest layoff since I joined Tower. I used to say that it took only four days for me to forget how to fly. That's a joke of course, but a two week layoff does make a different. The captain flew the Miami to Sao Paulo leg, and I flew the Sao Paulo to Rio let—more about that later.
Though it's night, the entire length of Copacabana beach outside my window is well lit by big, stadium-type lights. There are several volleyball games going on right now as well as “futebal”. I suspect the lighting is part of the campaign to combat crime. It's very bad here they say. A few trips ago two of our male flight attendants were mugged in broad daylight right on the beach. If that happens, I can't see where the lights at night can be considered a guarantee.
I've received all sorts of advice on how to conduct oneself here. The suggestions included to avoid wearing regular leather shoes—you'll be pestered by chidren wanting to shine them—while picking your pocket—and to always hold your drink in a bar. It seems one of the favorite tricks is to drug a drink. Then when the drinker starts to pass out, the assailant offers to help him, then robs/kills/rapes the victim—whatever. Apparently the Brazilian market for organ transpants has a black market division that supplies body parts this way.
Terry
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