Azorean Island Time

The sea is grey and almost glassy today, our second day heading toward Ireland. We’re definitely in the North Atlantic now – the blues are muted and silvery instead of electric cobalt and azure. The motion of the boat is gentle, there is a calm, cooler breeze blowing – a herald to the Baltic breezes that will no doubt blow upon us soon. Kristin saw a pod of fifteen or so dolphins out the window earlier today.

And I’m sick. It sucks being sick on a boat. It’s really the week five crud – you get it on any tour or project – week five roles around and the crud hits. Mine’s a virus, accompanied by the shakes and the fever sweats – and there’s really nothing to be done except wait it out. I’m grumpy, but otherwise all right.

Our afternoon at Ponta Delgada on the Azores was wonderful. We got off the boat fairly early – after some confusion as to whether we could leave at all or not, due to a Coast Guard drill being called. But once off, it was such a palpably better feeling to be in Europe again. Given, the Azores are only marginally Europe, but just the tempo and the air feels better. I’ve never been to Portugal, or to any Portugese holdings, and neither had Kristin, so this was a first for both of us. But the waterfront itself is not unlike sleepy coastal town along the Maine Coast. Minus the cruise ship dock, the rest of the dock was populated primarily by local fishermen’s boats. But the town – now this is where it gets surreal. Most of the rock on the islands is volcanic – so the churches, the walls, even the sidewalks, are this black volcanic stone. The sidewalks all throughout town are quite apiece of work – patterns and knotwork in white stone is set against the mosaic of black stone. And the churches and municipal buildings are all that classic 16th Century Iberian style – the walls being whitewashed a blindingly clean white.We walked around town, most of which was closed due to it being a national holiday (I think the founding of the Republic Day), but there was a little bandstand in the square, and lots of locals listening to music. We wandered by the teatro municipal, which we were happy to see was being renovated, and had obviously been expanded significantly already. We also then found a botanical garden founded by Jose do Canto, a local of some significance in the 1800s. Some sacrifice was required to enter: We had had to each get a beer, the local Sergas, in order to get the 2$ change in euros so we could enter. We nobly made the sacrifice, and found that it was an unkempt, magical little garden, Calla lilies growing wildly everywhere about, and the remnants of Victorian sensibilities peeking out of the undergrowth here and there, all accented by the black volcanic stonework. The moon peered at us from high in the sky, even though it was only the afternoon. We found the original manor house on the property, moss overtaking the red huntsman patterned tiles around the blacksmith’s work area, other escapees from a flower garden now commanding the doorstep and every crack in the house to boot.

After the garden, we wandered around looking for a place for dinner – after wandering a little off the beaten path, we found a cute little hole in the wall, and had by far one of the better meals on the whole adventure so far. A bottle of local red was recommended by the waitress, which I’m ashamed to say to don’t remember the name of, only the grape variety. I had salted cod, of course, with the most amazing red cured peppers and new potatoes. Kristin had a wonderful tuna steak, that was fresher than anything Ive tasted in new York, and rivaled preparation. The lilt of Portguese diners flowed around us, familiar in some of its romantic cadences, and yet completely unfamiliar in others – some trace of deeper Mediterranean rhythms, whether Greek or Phoenician perhaps. We ended our meal, cutting just a little close to make it to the boat, but make it we did, with full bellies and a new appreciation for a different kind of island living.

(About the pictures - unfortunately the server for the ship has a massive firewall that doesn't allow uploads. I promise I'll do a number of postings once we find an internet cafe in Europe in a few days...)

Opening Night

Our first shows went fairly smoothly – excepting one major event. Our acrobat snapped his Achilles tendon on one of his first passes during the early show. He was taken immediately to the infirmary, and they determined they had to get him to hospital as soon as possible. We scrambled to cover the various numbers he was a part of – luckily our stager was still with us and had the good sense to substitute similar choreographed sequences for what would have been his music. It was a shame to lose him like that – especially on our first actual performance. As a cast we’ve bonded over the last few weeks, and he fit a special niche in the dynamic of the group. When we landed in Bermuda yesterday, they got him the first available flight back to the states. Hopefully, he’ll make a full recovery.That said the audiences didn’t know that anything was changed, and they gave us standing ovations both shows. The piece itself is a very flashy, Vegas style review; very fun to perform, and obviously fun for the audience as well. We retired to the cruise director’s cabin afterwards for a champagne celebration – he quite graciously invited us all to his quarters on the forward deck. Far too much bubbly was drunk for our own good, but it was a much needed release. We then continued into the wee hours in a cast mate’s room, where we ordered room service and lip-synced along to the soundtrack of Dream Girls. They keep coming back in this story, don’t they?

The next morning had us in the port of Bermuda. I cannot begin to describe the beauty of the water there – it’s a type of blue similar to the blue of the Mediterranean, but at the same time it is clear. The buildings on the island largely have white roofs – and the Bermuda stone that they build with is also an almost white limestone – so the view across the island almost has a Greek Isle feel to it. We had lunch at the Frog and Onion pub – a cute colonial style pub in the Victualling Yard at the old Royal Navy Dockyard. We then went up to the fort, and toured the museum showcasing Bermuda’s military history. They have quite a considerable collection of old armaments – including a number of enormous 18 pounders that are still on the ramparts of the naval fort. The fort has by far the best view of the Dockyard area – and it was a beautiful day in the low 70s.

We then wandered down to an area in the fort that they use to rehabilitate dolphins. We watched as two children in wetsuits got to “swim” with the dolphins. It’s a nice gesture – the prices for them to do that are extraordinary – but the true shame is that those dolphins will never know what the open ocean is like. But at least they live in relative peace and comfort.
We sail to the Azores today – three more days at sea. We’ll have show number two after more rehearsal in two nights, and then on to Ireland.

Oh, Florida!

Downtown Miami seems to be going through the same post-911 renaissance that New York is. Lots of cranes grace the skies from South Beach to Downtown. The Dream docks right smack between the two, at the port of Miami, and we managed to get a few hours of shore leave yesterday after a tech run-through at 10.30. Yes, my theatre world friends, we are doing run-throughs at both midnight, and at 10.30 in the morning. I have to say, even with the crazy hours, the schedule is fairly easy. The shows are all under an hour long. And once we open day after tomorrow, the rest of the contract will be even better – we won’t do shows on port days – so that means anytime we’re in at some great European city – we can get off ship and tour about without having to worry about a show later that night. And we have two overnights: one in St. Petersburg, Russia, and the other in Copenhagen. Land of the midnight sun indeed.

But returning to Florida for moment. It’s ironic that Kristin and I have spent so much time in Florida. We met during a contract for Riverside Theatre in Vero – and have both returned a number of times. To be truthful, I think I’ve returned more times to Florida than to any other regional theatre area. It seems to break my theory about western theatre: that nice weather outside guts the community interest in terms of real, sustainable ongoing art (hence the lack of large scale professional theatrical communities in areas that could easily support them – like the Bay Area in California, Napa and San Francisco in particular). I mean, you look at the great bastion theatre towns in Western, Anglo-cultural mediums – and all their weather is fairly crappy at least some part of the year: London, New York, Chicago. And L.A. doesn’t count – the only reason they do theatre out there is because they’re not working in film at the moment. But it’s not hard to guess that it’s the generational landslide of baby boomers and pre-boomers that have managed to make Florida viable for a regional theatre career. Granted, you won’t get your cutting edge, nouveau musicals or some such (I don’t expect Spring Awakening anytime soon at Riverside), but there is something to be said for an environment where people are still considering live theatre to be an everyday part of their life. Outside of the cities I mentioned above, I don’t know of anywhere else that is the case.

Back to the Miami anomaly – not a lot of live theatre. In the last few trips I made to the city that sleeps on the beach, I’ve noticed a disturbing trend – it seems to be emulating the not so great urban sprawl that L.A. has perfected, and is even creeping into my beloved Big Apple. The Miami of low lying, deco inspired sleek lined buildings is all but gone, excepting little stretches of South Beach. Now the mini-stretch mall is at every corner, 24-hour pharmacies at your beck and call when you need that pick-me-up at 4 a.m. And the ubiquitous chain restaurants where the food is exactly as you remember it, whenever you want it grace the malls with their homespun, collected and perfected antique-i-ness, so everyone can feel at home, without actually being home. And then there are the great castles of envy - their coral and blue towers rising from of the edges of the city out of some Metropolis meets Atlantis dream – shadowing even Star Island and the white sands. Literally – as the Dream pulled out, we noticed that the thirty story plus towers cast a long shadow over the surfers, who waited in vain for a wave to ride past the break wall at South Beach. The red sun darted between the grey columns of shadow, creating an almost pinstripe effect the farther away we sailed. Even further out, the horizon seemed a theatrical backdrop – the shadow shapes of square buildings stretching from horizon to horizon, backlit by the tired sun, too tired to dodge the scrapers anymore, instead content to settle languidly behind them for the night. It was a stunning sunset, one of the finest I’ve ever seen.

Do we have to sacrifice culture and live theatre for the inevitable pull of the outdoors? Or for the inevitable pull of pop culture and the next age to be? What is defining us now? Development? Buildings pushing the limit of both the sky and sustainability? I am not certain. But as we sailed out of Miami harbor, I saw the dozens of cranes, and the endless throng of cars and moderns caves for modern humans. These questions were flying through my head. And we were sailing straight into the Bermuda Triangle.

Stormy Seas

Had our first really rough night at last night. We started in earnest toward Miami, and ran into the tail of the big Nor’easter that tore through Texas the day before, and is hitting the East Coast as I write this. I made the mistake of having a pretty large dinner – and then we had rehearsal onstage. I think I would have been fine if I could have gone to bed, but because we were on stage, anytime you took a step, you ended up taking three more as the ship moved. In the end I was all right – just a little nauseous. But I’m hoping we don’t encounter anything more dramatic than that on our Atlantic Crossing.

It is surreal being on board for this long. After our transatlantic, we’ll have been on straight for at least 12 days, maybe more. Now that we’re on the fifth deck, you can actually walk the length of the ship in the main hallway – about five or six uptown city blocks. Running on a treadmill in the gym, looking out over the endless blue water and sky is also a little humbling – I could go on about how small we really are compared to the rest of the universe – but the truth is, there aren’t really words to sum up horizon to horizon water unless you’ve seen it. I’ll spare you any metaphysical clichés.More rehearsal late tonight, and then official run-throughs for the big-wigs in Miami come tomorrow afternoon. Then, hopefully, we’ll get to a more civilized schedule with regards to rehearsals and call times.

Another Day One

April 14, 2007

We are finally in our permanent quarters! After a lovely week on deck seven – right midships on the starboard side – we now have moved to our home for the next six months. Aftwards, deck five, at the end of the hall. It is the back of the ship, so it rattles a bit. Okay, who am I kidding? When we shoved off, and the winches were pulling the ropes back up from the pier, our co-principal singer Steve called and asked “Is that a tsunami coming?” There is a constant thrum, and I have no doubt that on severe weather days (which in the Baltic I am assuming we might catch a few) it’s going to rock and roll. But the room is significantly bigger than most on board, there is a king sized bed, and two portholes. It’s not spacious – but by New York city apartment standards, it’s quite doable. As a matter of fact, it’s larger than my first studio on 106th and Riverside. And the bathroom is bigger than our current pad in the East Village, minus the tub.

We docked in Houston today, the end of the ‘Texarribean’ run. No, I did not make that up. I have no comment whatsoever except to say that I am very happy to be steaming away from Houston at an average of 16 knots. We’ll be in Miami late day after tomorrow – and have a last afternoon ashore before starting the 17 day transatlantic by way of Bermuda and the Azores.But I’m getting ahead of myself.

We did get off the ship today, and took an inordinately long cab ride to the nearest shopping area. It was a nondescript strip mall like you’d find Anywhere U.S.A., except that this one being in Texas was bigger, more crowded, and just packed to the gills with all things consumable. And we certainly did our patriotic duty: we bought a fair number of DVDs for the watching during the crossing, and some household items for making our room more comfy and livable. A nice little rug now graces our cabin, and two smart throw pillows that I matched to the color scheme of the room. It’s the little things that truly do count.And now we’re off to our 10.45 company meeting and run-through. I expect we’ll be wrapped by midnight. Once again, it’s the only time the stage is available. It will be nice to be on a performance schedule in a week or so, that way we can sleep at regular hours. Heigh-ho, the glamorous life.

First Days Onboard

Living on a ship is not unlike living in New York City. Your living quarters are small, you’re constantly surrounded by people and activity, and there’s often an unsettling motion around you at all times, whether the rattle of the subway, or the rolling of the ocean. It can also be expensive until you figure out where the deals are, and who to deal with.

But on board a ship, at least the food is free. It is odd to sit down to dinner, eat, and then get up without paying anything. Kristin and I have joked that we’re going to have to remember not to do that once we get back to the city.

We sailed to Progreso, Mexico after Houston – and we were able to get off at the pier for about an hour or so between rehearsals. Unfortunately, the pier at Progreso is six miles long – thanks to the limestone shelf that the bay sits on. So our first mini-liberty took us ashore to see a duty-free shop, four faux-stucco shacks jammed with straw hats, Aztec paraphernalia, cheap sunglasses that were definitely cousins to our St. Mark’s or Canal Street knockoffs, and lots of things that had the Corona logo emblazoned upon them.

Followed by more rehearsal. Kristin and I were talking this morning about how long the past four days on board have been – and we realized it had barely been over 48 hours. Given that we rehearse during the early day, and then again after mid-night – it’s the only hours we can get the stage – the days feel like two or sometimes three apiece.

We’re looking at Belize outside the windows today – it’s muggy hot, but the sun is bright and the water is a cool emerald green. We won’t see much more of it, there’s more rehearsal at 2 pm. But once we get past these three next days – and out of Houston and on the way to Miami – our days will be our own, and the show schedule will be set. And then on to the Old World!

First Day on Board

First night on board.

We flew to Houston this morning at o’dark thirty – and had a fairly uneventful flight. There were no screaming children, or scary tuberculitic coughers. The in-flight entertainment was Dream Girls, which I have to say even at early morning light hours still had the power to considerably move me.

The drive to the port of Houston from the Bush International airport (I will refrain from commenting on that one. It’s just too damn easy…) seemed to consist entirely of oil refineries and indescribable smells that could only be imaginable if the Goodyear Blimp exploded, crashing into the bloated, ten day old decaying body of the Michelin Man. The port was not much to look at either, just your average endless stacks of containers – as far as a consumer’s eye could reach. It was rainy to boot - not a welcoming tropical rain, but a cold, blustery driving rain swirling down from our Canadian neighbors.But then the van came up over a crest, and there she was – the Dream. She’s a beauty of a boat – one of the older maidens of the NCL fleet. But she’s big. The décor is hotel circa early 1990’s – reminiscent of one of the better Parisien Novotels.

We gathered our four fifty pound each suitcases (six months is a long time), and rolled our way to the crew deck. We checked in with security – a rather friendly bunch – in time to walk on board for a Coast Guard drill, complete with fake smoke and screeching alarums. We then met our company manager and co-performer Tracy. We descended down to the third deck to the crew bar for an informal briefing – signing requisite paperwork and whatnot.
The crew bar, down on deck 3 (ship decks are numbered low from the water level to high), is an odd, homey, smoked filled gathering place for the crew. There’s a fussball machine, a dart board, a karaoke set-up (apparently very big with the Phillipino crew members) , and a good number of bar stools and tables. The whole feel is very euro football club a la Manchester or even Kaiserslautern – with the appropriate beer signs on the walls. There’s even a mural of a very Persephone-esque black haired maiden – her locks spreading out over the walls turning into waves – that I’ve taken to calling the Dream Girl. The crew bar is the break place, the meeting place, and the blow off steam place of the boat. We already met a good representative number of the 600+ crew – the salon crew, the other cast entertainers, and more – hanging out there.

After that, we were left on our own recognizance for a while. We tried to grab a nap, but every time we were about to nod off, the announcement chime would ring, and Ricky (our cruise director – more on him later) would come on, his crisp, slightly wry and smirky South African accent would intone that there was a mandatory passenger safety drill – and that “All passengers had to report to their muster stations, listed on the back of their stateroom doors”. After three of those, we gave up, and watched some some Pierce Brosnan era James Bond on one of the ship telly stations.

The ship left Houston at four p.m. The open water was a welcome sight – and the motion of the boat is not subtle when the weather is blustery. You sort of feel slightly drunk all of the time – not a new sensation for me, but odd when you’re still trying to find what deck everything is on. The ship seems fairly easy to navigate, and I’m sure that in six months, we’ll know it like the back of our hand.

Seven o’clock p.m. rolled around, and we went to meet our fellow cast mates and have another informal welcome from Tracy. We met the current cast that’s on board, and we’ll see them perform one of their shows tonight. We had a beer or two at the crew bar with our cast and some of the other cast – who are a good number of Aussies and Brits. Our bunch is about even with three Americans, two Canucks, and three Brits. The current Adage or Ballroom couple is a classically sculpted Russian couple – who will be with us for a month until the American couple that we rehearsed with joins us in May.

After the beers, we went to the Italian restaurant at the aft of the ship – named ‘Trattoria’. There are ten restaurants on board, some with the same theme every night, some that change. The food was very good – smaller Italian style piatti portions – which was great because they offer full course meals. Steven, our fellow singer, joined us, and opted to share some appetizers, a pizza, and a strip steak. I had to indulge in the Macadamia nut ice cream. Life is buono.
By now, the ship was rolling pretty considerably – and getting to sleep was a little touch and go for a while. But Poseidon lolled us to sleep eventually, and got some much needed rest. The days ahead would be more rehearsal, and getting to know not only the rhythm of the ship, but the rhythm of the waves underneath both sleeping and waking.

(I'm working on getting photos uploaded. Stick with me - they'll be some of the ship and cast soon.)