A Sea Change 4 Ritzy Clothes

 The ship was not luxurious except for the food and wine. Our floating world contained about 200 passengers, mostly Americans with some seasoning of wealthy and well-dressed Europeans. Aside from the countess and an English lord living in South Africa who always dominated the scene whenever he appeared at 11:00 a.m. at an outdoor bar to sip his bouillon, the Europeans weren’t at all interesting except for their ritzy clothes. Every evening they dressed in “smokings,” tuxedos to us, and beautiful cocktail dresses in contrast to our dresswear mostly bought at Macys. We felt distinctly lower class, which in their eyes we no doubt were. One dress-up night, however, Glenn felt a lot better about the European competition. He had reluctantly brought his own Italian tuxedo along. We were on the dance floor when he felt someone tugging at his jacket. A German was fingering the fabric. “Nice,” the man said.

Judith Works (to be continued)

A Sea Change 3 Hindu Island

 A Hindu island floating in a Moslem world, it was filled with smiling people, soft gamelan music, fringed silk umbrellas, textiles woven in ikat designs, paintings and carvings. Rituals ruled the island with statues of gods draped in black and white checkered cloth symbolizing the polarity of positive and negative forces. Swastika designs on buildings and fences encouraged cosmic energy and harmony.

Slender, graceful women in sarongs balanced towering offerings of fruit and rice cakes toward the split gates of the intricately carved temples. Hens and chicks pecked while fighting cocks were cooped up in upside down baskets. Rice paddies glised green on the terraced hillsides. Tall bamboo poles leaning with the weight of small offerings decorated village streets. Small shrines stood in the fields.

The soft scenes defined our vision of paradise with the gods and people in harmony even though we knew that the island had a violent history. We were tempted to stay forever like many expatriates whose villas are featured in design magazines but we could see our ship moored in the harbor awaiting us. A complete fugue from reality was not on our itinerary.

Judith Works (to be continued)

A Sea Change 2 Malaysia, Thailand, the Maldives ...

 We had boarded the small cruise ship in Bali and were headed towards Oman, a passage that would take nearly a month. Along the way our itinerary would take us to Java, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, the Maldives and India. The cruise was to be the formal transition to our retirement although it also became an interval in the unexpected consultancy in Rome. I was still mourning the loss of my mother and our departure from Rome, the sunny Italian lifestyle, our many friends and the travel for work and pleasure. It was time for a break before we gathered our wits to really understand a new way of living.

The trans-Pacific flight was interminable: Seattle to San Francisco; San Francisco to Hong Kong across the date line; then Hong Kong to Bali, another five hours. We landed in what must be the most beautiful island in the world, an oriental version of la dolce vita.

Judith Works (to be continued)

A Sea Change 1 How I floated into retirement.

 The countess was drunk again, floating motionless on her back in the warm water of the ship’s swimming pool. Wrinkled, thin and heavy with jewelry, she seemed to have an ability to remain afloat instead of sinking as the weight of her jewels would dictate. We watched her while awaiting the crew members who would haul her out on a nightly basis. 

During her more sober day the poor countess, who had recently suffered the theft of other jewelry from her chateau, was comforted by an Indian woman who lived in Florida. She was on board to give cooking lessons. In between dishing up curry and dal, she told us about her Irish husband who sold upscale plumbing to sheiks in the Gulf and showed us how to tie saris. She flashed around in her own bright saris encouraging us to donate money or condolences to her new best friend, the countess. We demurred.

Judith Works (to be continued)

India 10 Candlelight Joined All The Others

 My tears started at the first “you.” I ripped the paper into tiny shreds, placed them next to the rose petals, and removed my ring. After a moment of hesitation, I set it beside the flame. The gold caught the firelight and lit the bowl even more. I bent over, placed the package on the water, and let go. The Ganges took the cup from my hand and carried it along in her current. Soon, my candlelight joined all the others.

 Kristin Zibell 

When not doing things abroad that make her mother and aunts cringe, Kristin Zibell writes to inspire women to live their travel dreams on her blog TakeYourBigTrip.com. Kristin lives in San Francisco, traveling locally and always planning her next big trip.

India 10 Seven Years Together

This time, there were no nervous mothers, no stoic fathers, no 267 guests—just the Ganges and me.

I could do this—with more honesty—in the middle of this holy river, in the middle of India.

By the light of the small candle, I read the vows in a whisper, hoping the sounds of the sitar would cover my words so that only the river would hear them. I placed my ring on my finger and read aloud.

Thank you for the seven years together.

Thank you for your kindness, your love, and your forgiveness.

Whatever anger you have, please release. Whatever blame I have, I release.

Thank you.

I love you and I let you go.

I love you and I let you go.

I love you.

I let you go.

By Kristin Zibell  (to be continued)

India 9 Burning Cup In My Lap

With her flowing current, I hoped the Ganges would somehow redeem and purify me. I hunched over, my curved back shielding the ceremony from the surrounding cackles and laughter of my tour group. Too much had been splayed open over the past eight months; I needed to sew it back up amidst the frivolity. Possessions spread over two apartments, bank accounts scrutinized by a judge, a mother-in-law who wrote to me on my anniversary, 

“If you want to travel, take a vacation. Don’t end your marriage.”

With some semblance of privacy, I faced the river, the burning cup in my lap, ring and vows in hand. I settled into where I was, resigning myself to the lack of seclusion. I had done something similar once on a bright March day in Wisconsin.

By Kristin Zibell  (to be continued)