Bosphorus

The Water Is Wide

When roses bloom in winter's gloom
Then will my love return to me.

No one has two signs. Zodiac signs, that is.

But if you were born within a few days of the sun's move from one zodiac sign to the next, this means you were born on the cusp.

So why do I bring up this topic of 'cusp' in a blog that is all about the water? Does this pique your interest?

That's great.

Hop aboard a private ferry in Istanbul with me. Sit down and have a listen. Are you ready for a short geography lesson?

This strait we're traversing is a geographical sort-of-cusp. The Bosphorus is the world's narrowest, twenty-mile long strait that joins the Sea of Marmara with the Black Sea. It separates the continents of Europe and Asia and separates Asian Turkey from European Turkey.

Useful info, isn't it? Try mentioning it casually at the water cooler in your office or in the dairy/cheese aisle at Fresh Thyme. I'm sure it will start a conversation. Or not.

Anyway, let's see the sights - there's the Topkapi and several Ottoman palaces, a mosque, the Selimiya Barracks where Florence Nightingale worked, and the Bosphorus Bridge.

And just look at the beautiful, green water - clear as glass, with pools of indigo blue in them that float like broken clouds of ink.

You can just watch.

We don't have to talk.

There's just being.

The river doing its river thing - moving slowly to wherever it goes, stretching to infinity it seems, and then coming back again. Don't you just now sense a new restless awareness in your heart?

Perhaps, it's the endless waves lapping and rocking against the boat.

Perhaps this is what creatures feel in those first days when dying winter starts to give way to spring.

Are you discerning it? It's like there's a string tied to your heart, as if it were a kite being tugged by a kite flier whose face you cannot see...

Yet.  

Gulf Of Alaska

The Water Is Wide

Give me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row, my love and I.

Do you know that Alaska is the 49th state to join the union?

Do you remember that 'Land of the Midnight Sun' is its nickname?

Have you wondered how it is to live in an igloo?

Or been curious as to how muktuk, a traditional food by the Eskimo and Inuit people, tastes like? (Hint: muktuk is thick slices of whale blubber and skin.)

Are you bemused as to why I'm starting off this post with four (okay, five) questions?

Oh, good.

It's because I'd like to talk about this cruise. My.First.Ever.

The family and a host of others who have signed up for 'The Ultimate Alaska Experience' are trekking into the untamed beauty of glacier-carved fjords surrounded by the forested wall of some 1,000 islands along the famed Inside Passage.

I know. I'm as excited as you.

The water, beautiful at this time of day, is cool and magically pale. Against the ship, waves break into foam and tumble in, one after the other. They keep coming in their soft way and skipping backward as we sail through a spectacle of idyllic coves and bays. The gulls above hang upon the wind and call to one another in shrill voices.

Then, as snow-covered mountain ranges glide along numerous glacier passes, everyone begins talking at once. High-pitched utterances of children, as well as those of some adults, resound in counterpoint like an obligato as sculpted rock walls, striated cliffs, and eroded hillsides start to come to view.

Are you gasping?

And then the ice sculpture...

Have I mentioned the ice sculpture?

They are deep cobalt blue in color, extending over 30 feet out of the water.

The hum of our voices has risen in crescendo like exclamation points looking at them stretch, like forever. Several have comically inclined their ears, as if to better hear the bubbling fizz from effervescent glaciers melting and cracking in spots.

Anyway. Awesome.

The sounds around me commingle into a canticle of hymn - beautiful, melodic, elongating into infinity.

Truth? It is all I can hear this night - my melody. In a boat that can carry two, my love and I. No, actually, not just two, but our family of four...

... And better still, an entire cruise ship of people who have made the day so full of sparkles I have to sing to the wide waters of the Gulf of Alaska.

Seine

The Water Is Wide

But love grows old and waxes cold
And fades away like the morning dew. 

I'm on the Bateaux Parisiens riverboat in Paris, France. Facing the Seine, I'm able to take in a better view of the city's illuminated waterfront sights.

Come sit by my forlorn self.

The night seems peaceful, the river asleep. From my side, I can see moonlight glittering off the fractured surface of the water.

On the open deck, small groups of people are exclaiming Ahs and interjections of Ooh-la-las as the Louvre museum, Musee d'Orsay, and the iconic Eiffel Tower float into view, as if through an invisible ocean of air dotted with stars. Here and there, some of them let out a breezy chuckle, stepping back theatrically as the Place de la Concorde drifts by, illuminated against the night sky.

Except...

... except on me, the lively chatter has dissipated. Don't you remember me saying I'm feeling pitifully sad?

Confession time: I want to mope. I want to go all ostrich and duck my head in the sand as soon as we dock (although I doubt if there is sand on the banks of the Seine.)

There is only silence. I hear nothing but the plaintive sighs of despair in the sky, the rattle of the night wind and in the space between the gusts, the muted sound of the river rushing past, a gently throbbing loneliness.

I feel unwanted. How did love ever grow old?

Perhaps, I can work on being more attractive. I'd drink eight glasses of water and wear leg warmers and do leg lifts and go all Jane Fonda. I'd add brussels sprouts to my favorite-foods list.

Or I can buy a new Marshall's outfit and practice different poses in front of the mirror: hold in my stomach, put my hand on my hips, turn slightly to the right, cross my legs, and make a fish face.

I can plan and dream. Perhaps I might succeed. Or perhaps... not.

I search for the splendor, but see only the darkness - so vast that it seems to stretch out forever, covering everything with indistinct gloom. I sink into my seat as the evening sags, as lonely evenings do.

It's shaping up to be a long night, and this one isn't over yet.

Manila Bay

The Water Is Wide

The haunting lyrics and imagery of The Water Is Wide, a folk song of Scottish origin, have inspired this series.

A ship there is, and she sails the sea.

Do you remember your Easter morning tradition as a youth?

Great! Me, too.

Mum and Dadee always brought a caravan of seven children to the sunrise service at the Luneta.

If you recognized the premise of 'caravan' and guessed the resultant scenario of me getting lost, you win a prize. That was because you thought about the November post Hold Hands And Stick Together, right?

Indeed, I had let go of Mum's hands once more, for I was transfixed on the gigantic white cross that stood on the central area of Rizal Park waiting for Christ to materialize and eventually rise to the heavens.

But this post dwells more on the happy after the lost-and-found scenario. Like all past Easter mornings, as soon as the faint strains of the Hallelujah chorus winged their way back toward heaven, we were off on a banca boat ride along Manila Bay.

Come along now, Mum tilted her head, shouting overly loud to her unruly brood.

The bay was a natural harbor that scooped around the city like a hug. Everything was set in the curved arch of the inlet: the Jai Alai center, Max's restaurant, and various commercial buildings strung together by a stretch of coconut trees. Along the loop of the waterfront, the curling ripples were rolling in with perfect innocence, running like children up the seawall.

It is a glorious scene, don't you agree?

From the marina, I gazed at the blossoming waves, gulls skimming the surface. The faint light of half a dozen shrimp boats, only big enough to fit two or three people, bathed on the water.

We boarded one of the docked double outrigger wooden crafts. It was motorized and held around fifteen passengers or so.

Come sit by me, Youngest Brother, I nodded toward him encouragingly. But keep your hands on your side or the 'bakunawa' sea serpent will get you, I warned him, trying to make my voice sound as authoritative as possible.

Sorry, it wasn't intentional.

It just came out.

I took every opportunity to gibe at The Brat, my flippant reference to my spoiled, youngest sibling.

He complained noisily to Dadee, but the latter simply grinned. The Brat gave me one of his infamous pouts. Your mouth is going to freeze lopsided that way, if you don't stop looking sulky, I threatened him. He immediately retracted his lips and cuddled closer to Mummie.

As we munched on our traditional Easter morning snack of hard-boiled eggs sprinkled with rock salt that Mum had packed, my eyes feasted on the reflection of the sky, a mingling of many colors. And then there was the color of the water itself.

Ever-changing.

I started dreaming of places I could go. The incredible life that was waiting behind the next curve. And the family (including Spoiled Brat) who would walk beside me every step of the way.

The air smelled so fresh I felt clean just by breathing in it. I closed my eyes and listened to the secret sound of the place where earth met the water. 

Sail on, I muttered, the ghost of a smile whispering over my lips.

Already, I knew how lovely the Easter morning was going to be.