This is the third time I have tried to get to Easter Island. I think I may not try again. At least I got to it, though I never got on it. (Got is a verb that sounds more casual than the effort it requires.)

Easter Island was the goal and the reason for most of the people on this ship to embark on this cruise. June, my roommate, and I “did” French Polynesia just last June, adding only one new name to our repertoire: Fakarava. After 10 days of serene seas and unlimited sunshine, we were tired only because we went forward an hour every night as we proceeded east toward Chile. June and I took minimal, but memorable (all but one) excursions in the first days, preferring to save our money and our energy for a total assault on Easter Island and the moai - the name for the giant stone statues with the blunk-out eyes. We leaned that the eyeholes were once filled in with coral eyeballs, installed after the statues were put in place. When I say “put” I should say, dragged, drawn, towed (?), pushed, lifted (?), manoeuvered and set, somehow. There are a number of theories, some of them tested by modern archeologists, as to the methods by which the ancient people on this island managed to move 13-foot stone statues each weighing more than …tons, onto pedestals of similar weight (check). Why remains another question as baffling as how?

I was looking forward to having my picture taken standing in front of one of these monoliths. It was not to be. Deep swells causing large waves in the ocean bounced the horizon up and down like a berserk elevator and made it impossible and dangerous for the ship’s tenders to transport the passengers ashore. We were all waiting patiently in the gathering lounge when the announcement was made and no one complained or groaned. Any one with a will to live

and travel another day could see that it was foolhardy to attempt the crossing from ship to shore.

So as the sun pulled away from the shore and our ship slipped slowly to the east, I raised a glass of Prosecco to Easter Island. It won’t happen again.

April 20

It has been a while. Not the ship’s fault, but mine. I lost my Add-a-Post command in my cowebblog and could only write through an Edit order, so that my readers, if/when they logged in, had to read through back reports till they got to the new one. I hope I am caught up now, thanks to my friend and mentor, Jennifer, who straightened me out from afar. I will write a blog-by-blog missive and hope it lands safely….

It has been a busy time. I told you about the fabulous dolphin expedition and the poetry-in-motion of the most promiscuous creatures on earth (or water), next to humans. They live in the moments, as we have been doing on this ship. We had a triple whammy on a glass-bottom boat out of Bora Bora when we experienced not only a feeding frenzy among the fish beneath us but also an intimate encounter with a stingray/ stingrays. I think I told you about that, and the cartoon-like face presented when our diver turned one upside down to show its mouth and eyes. Yes, I think that’s where I left off.

In Raiatea I had been on the same expedition last year and I still don’t want to buy a black pearl or eat coconut. But it was nice to sit there in an AC bus on a tropical island and bask and gaze, two activities I seldom indulge in. My leg was still swelling and aching after walking so it was good to sit. In Rangiroa June wanted to take a sentimental journey. We took the tender to shore and walked briefly to a place (restaurant? cafe?) where we bought cool coconuts with straws set into drilled holes, to drink coconut water. It was a photo op to commemorate a similar excursion June enjoyed last year. I took a picture, she took a picture, a stranger kindly took a picture of t he two of us. I’ll try to send you one, but don’t count on it.

I had a pedicure and a manicure in the spa on the ship, another indulgence that I should enjoy more often. I keep thinking of Scarlett O’Hara when she went to ask Rhett Butler for money when he was in jail. Remember? Mammy made her a lovely dress from the green velvet curtains at Tara but she forgot her poor, abused hands. (Scarlett O’Hara, you look like a field hand! I am a field hand!) Well, I look like a pampered traveller.

Fat, too. I haven’t been as careful this time and there are special foods I want to enjoy during this brief cruise. I mean 18 days is brief compared to the 109 days I had last year. I find, too that I’m in a different mindset. The last two and a half months have been grueling and I seem to be – no, I am – very lazy – no, tired – and lackadaisical (lack-a-daisy-me, this is none of I). So, lacking daisies, I am now sniffing the flowers as I go by.

We went to one island, an atoll, really, that we skipped last year, at the eastern end of French Polynesia. No excursion was laid on (not much to see) but tenders took us over so we could say we set foot on Fakarava. Four swivel-hipped dancers with thick leis around their pelvis stepped and swayed to the rhythms of drums. One of them, a little older than her companions, kept losing her way and glancing at the others to catch up, smiling all the while. We smiled too.

Two Sea Days brought us to Pitcairn Island and I began to touch base with my homework: a harder look at the screenplay I’ve been working on. I think my mind has turned to coconut water.

Pitcairn Island touched and astounded us in many ways. I’m going to have to write a whole blog devoted to it, and an essay for publication (?). More anon.

June talked to a seatmate on her flight from Portland (Oregon) to Hawaii and he showed up on our ship. He’s rattling around in the Owner’s Suite. His wife had to work; she’ll go with him on a later cruise, also in the Owner’s Suite.) So he’s a little lonely. We had dinner with him a couple of nights ago and we’re dining together again tonight, with drinks and nibbles each night before going to one of the specialty restaurants. The Owner’s Suite is palatial, comprising the entire stern of the ship on the ninth level. The décor, by Calvin Klein, is custom and capricious and dazzling, like something out of a Hollywood film set – circa the 30s and 40s when they made those madcap movies. It’s so big, no wonder he’s lonely. He says he’s been watching a lot of movies. He has not one but two butlers who insist on bringing him afternoon tea, and who look after our pre-dinner goodies. And by the way, June and I don’t have a butler, as I had thought; we have a concierge we share with our neighbours.

So here I am, hoping I can ADD A POST and catch up with my faithful bloggers.