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Polynesian night.  Our first night out from French Polynesia we celebrated with a feast prepared in part from all the food Chef purchased at their markets.  It included monkfish, lobster, superb filet mignon (I’m told the fish and lobster were also superb), stuffed sweet potatoes (delicious), and incredibly good pineapple sautéed in—probably–brown sugar, and other dishes too numerous to mention (or, unfortunately, to sample).  We were all encouraged to acquire and wear Polynesian attire, and the staff did as well—even if only silly flower headgear in some cases.  I wore a new Polynesian top but couldn’t compete with our lovely singers in their pareas.

International Dateline.  Although I often find it difficult myself to calculate days when they span two months, I can tell you that, in our cruise itinerary and on the calendar, February 28-March 5 is 6 days.  But, not so fast… we only have 5 days.  Saturday, March 2 is imaginary; it disappeared when we crossed the international dateline.  One night it was Friday and the next morning Sunday.  Apparently we pay for all those extra hours of sleep by losing 24 hours in one fell swoop (and then continue to gain it back between now and returning to Vermont.)

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Sunday.  We’ve had ‘rough’ seas a few days and the entire cruise is one long balance exercise, but Sunday morning arrived with a vengeance.  I think I heard the Captain mention ‘gale force ten.’  Spray came up over the windows when we were breakfasting near the bow on deck 7 (and deck A, the deck below deck 1 is also above the water line) and actual waves came to the top of the windows on deck 1 where we had bridge class (and which the teacher taught seated for the first time.) They locked the doors to the outside decks, including, I believe, our balconies so I couldn’t even get photos of the waves.  Certainly this was not the ‘pacific’ Pacific! My theory is that the sea is angry we dispensed with March 2.

Between breakfast and bridge class we attended the Sunday service.  Being the first Sunday of the month this was communion (takes me back to my childhood when that was the case in the Episcopal Church as well), but Heather, our service leader (and cruise director), said it wouldn’t be a good idea to serve red wine (in real wine glasses) in this weather so we’d postpone communion until next Sunday.  She also asked us to remain seated during prayers and even hymns—while she stood unsupported on stage in her trademark 4-inch heels.  I guess she has more practice riding the waves than we.  At least, I think we can conclude we don’t get seasick—the rocking and rolling didn’t even affect our appetites at all.

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Monday & Tuesday.  We were happy to awake Monday to a more moderate, though still somewhat rough sea, and Tuesday the ocean was back to ‘pacific’ and I could walk the course around the outside deck.

Netherly Fuller, an anthropologist and archaeologist on board with her husband the ‘resident historian’, did a workshop titled “Recreate a Bayeux tapestry animal.”  She’d brought photos, fabric with outlines, yarn and other necessities and showed us how to do the stitches.  I loved it and am hoping to finish the lion I started and perhaps even do another one before the trip is over.  The Bayeux tapestry is big with Viking and the wallpaper in the stairways is even greatly enlarged reproductions of scenes from the tapestry. –Cynthia

Rough Seas and Pacific Swells.  During the night we lost March 2nd as Viking Sun crossed the International Date Line and for a double whammy, encountered rain, high winds and turbulent seas as he ship entered a tropical depression.

     (The Date Line is located mostly at 180 degrees or half-way around the world from the prime meridian that passes through Greenwich, England.  “Mostly” because of politically corrected deviations, for example, in Polynesia that allow American Samoa and nearby Tonga to observe the same time on different days.  A similar deviation separates Siberia from Alaska and the Aleutian Islands.  We will, of course, regain much of the lost day as we cruise westwards towards London.)

    Depressed, the ship no longer rocked us gently while we slept; but rather interrupted our slumber with its sideways jerks, plunging porpoise movements, and rumbles and smacks as swells passed beneath our keel.  By morning the rain passed but, if anything, the turbulence increased.  Pacific swells that previously seemed subtle became markedly obvious: their peaks exhibited wind-tossed caps and their trough, deep, shadowed depressions.  At noontime the Captain told us during his daily address, the swells were topping out at 12 to 15 ft above their troughs and the wind was averaging 40 knots (with gusts to 60 knots)… and our speed had overnight been drastically reduced from 16 to 6 knots.  A day later much of the turbulence had subsided but rolling swells were still evident from our elevated cabin on Deck 5. From windows in the Chef’s Table Restaurant on Deck 1, high swells were still dramatically alternating with deep troughs, and waves occasionally covered the restaurant windows.

     Navigating the rocking deck challenged me, although my walking was much easier when the ship was traveling across the troughs or parallel to them.  Fortunately, Cynthia, staff, friends and strangers were always at hand to assist me as I gyrated along the various passageways. —Chris