Old Friends, New Languages

Today, as every time we are in Civitavecchia, we docked nose to nose with a ghost from my past, the Celebrity Century. I spent 5 months on board the ship, my sister Chelsea managed to stay with me on board for a month, I explored the Baltics, Norway, Ireland and the Arctic Circle, saw the midnight sun for the first time from her decks. Today I looked across to the bow of the ship, Deck 7, where I spent countless hours reading and sitting in the sun, watching sunsets and passing part of every day as we crossed the Atlantic in the most beautiful weather. It was strange to look across at the benches Chelsea, Marie and I sat on a year ago. On board right now is one of my good friends Yuki, with whom I've done 2 contracts and have actually been able to visit once on land in L.A. I went to the ship today looking for her - security all remembered me and let me on board right away, which was flattering. I found Yuki and we talked a bit - we plan to spend our day together next week when we are here again and she is off work. Also this Sunday we'll be in port with a Norwegian ship, which my friend Erin is on. I knew her from the Majesty - she and I experienced swimming with dolphins for the first time together. We plan to meet and catch up this Sunday. I can't help marvelling at how small the world is, and how today I met a friend from Japan in Civitavecchia, and Sunday I will meet a friend from Australia in Barcelona. What a strange life...but I really love it.

And what do I mean by new languages? Well, I am noticing my English changing to match that of my friends. Spending most of my time with British friends is influencing my word choice and pronunciation, slowly but surely. For example, eight-thirty becomes "half eight". Elevator becomes "lift". Pants become "trousers", and so on. We have had several arguments about whether "disoriented" or "disorientated" is correct (Turns out they both are). Fortunately, I can also say that conversation with them is improving my vocabulary, grammar, wit, and dry sarcasm. My American-isms have started to affect them as well, and they always cringe when they catch themselves saying something stereotypically American (eg: "I know, right?") When they attempt to imitate an American accent it either comes out very Valley-girl or intense New Yorker, they can't imitate mine at all, beyond one word at a time. Its quite a lot of fun, actually - accents and differences in language have always fascinated me, and being made fun of for my accent is worth being able to spend time with them.

Lattes and Parades

Today I forgot that in many places in Europe, asking for a "latte" will get you a glass of milk. You must specify that you want coffee. So this morning I enjoyed a tall glass of steamed milk with my donut as I used the internet. I have found my café of choice here in Barcelona. There is an old gentleman who works here who remembered me from last week and takes care of me. He brings my drinks to the table for me, and helps me move my things when the table next to an outlet becomes available. And steamed whole milk with a bit of sugar really isn't a disagreeable drink in the morning chill. I quite enjoyed it. But I did order a cappuccino when I had finished it.

And now for some shocking news which I have withheld until now. My job on board the Voyager involves more than simply playing trombone. Once a week all musicians are forced to participate in the "Island Frenzy" parade. This short 5 or 10 minute parade is very like a Disney happening, and takes place on the Royal Promenade, a huge central area that feels like an outdoor street lined with shops. The singers, dancers, and hosts play the main performance roles, and we lowly musicians usually do things like carrying poles with animals atop them, while wearing ridiculous outfits. I have the distinguished role of a box pusher. Which means that I, yes, push a box. Atop it is a dancer in costume. I push her out into the middle of the Promenade, then I dance around the box looking happy until they get down, at which point I pull a lever to open the box and inflate a giant palm tree that was hidden inside it. After that important duty I join a line of performers who follow each other in a circle around the Promenade, smiling at everyone and clapping along to the music. We musicians have discovered that this humiliation is more bearable if we have a drink first, which has become tradition. Don't tell anyone, but I actually do have fun doing it, when I can forget that I am supposedly being paid to be a professional trombonist. :-)