The Seychelles

Nautica’s stop in the Seychelles is Oceania’s first visit to this world famous tropical paradise. Some people say that these islands are as close to Eden as you can get.

Originally we were only spending one night here, but because of the change in itinerary, we lost Zanzibar and Mombasa and exchanged them for Reunion Island and Mauritius and stayed two nights in the Seychelles. Although I regretted the safety concerns that necessitated the change, I loved Mauritius and the Seychelles.

Mahe is the capital. The entire country is only about 80,000 residents and it boasts some of the best beaches, resorts and climate in the world. Our first day I booked two rooms at the Le Meridien Barbarons Hotel. We invited Casey’s friend Anthony and his mother to come with us. We disembarked the ship about 10:45 and by 11:30

we were checked in. Cabs were plentiful and our driver was a very nice Creole man who had recently visited Ohio to attend a conference for the Gideons—the organization that hands out Bibles. He tried to encourage us to see more of the island than a hotel, and I am certain that was good advice. However, I promised Casey and Anthony I would take them snorkeling and I wanted my dad to be able to just relax in the hotel room.

As soon as we arrived the boys got ready for swimming, Anthony’s mom read and sunbathed on the beautiful white sandy beach and I got my parents settled. The temperature was in the low 80’s and so was the ocean. It was perfect weather and while Casey, Anthony and I snorkeled in the small bay around the hotel’s beach, my parents read and rested by the pool.

After snorkeling I came to the room to check on my dad. When I sat down on the bed I heard a crunch—I had broken my dad’s glasses!

“I am so sorry Dad!”

“It’s OK. I have another pair on the ship.” He didn’t seem too upset. I almost wished he had gotten angrier at my carelessness—it’s not like him to be so nonplussed. Casey and Anthony swam in the pool for hours. They laughed, splashed, yelled, ran—did all the things that I’ve requested Casey avoid on Nautica. Overall, Casey has behaved so well on this trip. Numerous strangers have approached me and complimented me on how well behaved he is. I just thank them and smile inside.

After I broke my dad’s glasses, Anthony broke one of his fins. I worked it out with the hotel and ultimately didn’t have to pay anything. The fins were “well worn” and the cracking was inevitable. The hotel was advertised as 5-star. The setting on the beach, location of the pool and the climate were 5 or 6-star. The service and room was closer to 3-star—similar to aan average US Marriott or Hilton. It was fine for us, but if I hadn’t used hotel points to pay for the room I would have been disappointed.

Later in the afternoon my dad joined us in the swimming pool. I haven’t swum with my father in years. When I was young my dad’s great uncle, Uncle Jake, has a

gorgeous home and pool above the beach in Goleta, California. Many of my best memories are playing with my dad in Uncle Jake’s pool under the palm trees. We went there for at least two weeks every summer till I was 10. Uncle Jake was wealthy from a career as a wholesale florist and from selling a large ranch in Malibu in the 1950’s. He never married, had no children, and he considered my dad his son and my siblings and I his grandchildren. During the school year my father was always busy with work and church obligations, but during the summer at Uncle Jakes he played with us for hours, took us to Disneyland, watched TV with us and simply spent time doing what we enjoyed.
For many years I secretly hoped to buy my Uncle Jakes home. Notwithstanding the price (5-acres on the beach in Santa Barbara don’t come cheap), about 10-years ago I let that dream go. What I really wanted wasn’t the house, the land or the pool, what I wanted was the love, connection and feelings I had as a child with my father’s full attention, playing all day with my brothers, having my mom making sure we weren’t sunburnt while she brought popsicles to the pool, and my Uncle Jake singing to us off-key in his big Cadillac. I realize now that the closest I can come to recreating those times is to create them for someone else—I can be the dad my dad was to Casey, or to my nieces and nephew. My season as a dependent child is over, but my opportunities to be an adult are plentiful.

It had been a long time since I swum with my father. Now that I outweigh him by

100 pounds I grabbed him around the waist and tossed him toward Casey just like he used to do to me. He enjoyed it, Casey laughed, and it felt for a little while like everything was fine. Like my dad wasn’t sick—that the bad times were over, and that we could enjoy the rest of our trip and pretend al little longer that things were like they used to be.

But on the way home he started shaking badly. His hands were cold and they trembled uncontrollably. I could see he was scared. He looks that way a lot lately. We got back on Nautica and went to Tapas on the Terrace, the casual dining on board. The food is as good there as the dining room, and sometimes the service is even better. His hands shaking made it hard for him to get his spoon into his mouth. He had a difficult time lifting himself up from his chair after dinner. That night I went online and read more about Lewy Body Disease. I studied both factual and technical information as well as read anecdotal stories. The facts are that a person like my dad, who is otherwise in good health, will eventually lose their ability to eat, swallowing will become very hard, they become incontinent, they will lose the ability to walk and concurrently lose their memory, their cognitive ability and their passion. The most likely statistical probability is that before he dies my dad will spend several years in a near mute, vegetative state with little to no comprehension of what’s going on around him.

When I started writing here about this trip I never planned to write this story. I knew my father was diagnosed with Lewy Body Disease, but I believe, as did my mother and my siblings, that we had much more time. Apparently we don’t. Based on the past week it seems likely that we are in the home stretch of my dad being able to take care of himself independently. When we get home I don’t think he can drive. I worry about him walking on the ship. He is already wobbly and the motion isn’t good for him. If I could snap my fingers and go home with him now, I would. It’s not that we aren’t having a good vacation—Oceania is as fabulous as ever, at times even more so—but this environment isn’t the best place for my dad to be now, and if I had suspected that, we wouldn’t have come. Still, I believe that years from now I’ll be very grateful we had this extra time and experience. I thought about leaving all the challenges with my dad out of my writing, but I need to write an authentic story or none at all. I think the best thing about this story is that despite the horrific challenges, we are getting through them together. I know my dad is supported by prayers and huge outpourings of love, both here and from others reading. Even though it’s not the story I’d choose to write, it is the story I feel I need to tell, though I understand it’s not one everyone chooses to read.

That night, even though the ship was docked, my dad fell in his cabin around 3 a.m. Fortunately he wasn’t hurt. The next day he and my mom chose to stay on the ship, and I took Casey to visit La Digue, the fourth largest island in the Seychelles. Many island paradises boast having the most beautiful beach in the world. On the Seychelles, that title is usually awarded to Anse Source d’Argent. I wanted to visit this world famous beach, so when we got off the ship Casey and I approached an empty oxcart. On La Digue most people ride bicycles. Cars are strictly limited and rare. The cobble stone roads can also be traveled by ox cart, and that’s what we wanted to do.

“How much to go to the d’Argent beach?” I asked the Rastafarian looking ox cart

driver.

“It costs ten dollars to go there and you must buy a pass from the government for fifteen dollars to enter.”

“OK, let’s go.” Casey had already climbed in, certain that I would hire this ride.

“We can’t go yet. I have to get more passengers. It can hold 10!” The driver protested. I could see other ox carts with 3 or 4 passengers aboard, but I agreed to wait. Shortly he filled the cart with two other couples from Nautica I hadn’t met before. Despite the fact I was wearing headphones, the woman next to me insisted on talking.

“Did you go on a safari in Africa?” She asked. Casey nodded.

“Yes,” I replied. “We went to Sabi Sands.”

“So did we. We loved it. Where did you stay?”

“We went to Kirkman’s.”

“Oh,” she said, looking toward her husband. “We stayed at Singita. Did you enjoy Kirkman’s?” She asked with a sense that enjoying Kirkman’s wasn’t possible.

“Actually, I loved it. I know Singita is nice, but I think it’s horribly over priced. Besides, if I am going to pay $1,500 per person a night for a room I want to do it someplace like the Banyan Tree where I can enjoy a private villa. Why would anyone pay that much money for a nice room in the middle of a game park if you are there to see the animals?”

“Well,” she said. “If you saw Singita I’m sure you’d understand.” I curtly nodded and turned the volume up on my iPod.

About 10 minutes later the driver said, “Alright everyone, we are here. You need to pay the entrance fee now.”

“Entrance fee! What entrance fee?” The Singita woman said. “We don’t want to pay any fees do we?” She glared at her husband and his Boca Raton golf nodded in agreement.

“I’m sorry you must pay the fee. It’s not for me. This is for the government. Otherwise we cannot proceed to see the turtles and the beach.”

“We have better beaches back in Florida,” she replied, “and we don’t need to see any turtles.”

“Oh, this is a problem. We cannot proceed without paying.” He looked confused.

“We want to go. We will pay. Who do I give the money to?” I asked. Singita woman glared at me.

“Do we have a choice?” The other couple from the ship asked. “We would rather turn around too.” The guide was even more confused now that his passengers had different destinations. In his zeal to fill his oxcart he assembled an incompatible group.

“Yes, you can all go back or you can all pay,” the guide said.

“We are paying,” I said. “We want to see the turtles and the beach. Can you take them back and get us in an hour?” I asked the driver.

“Sure, I will do that.” Casey and I started to walk away. “Sir, Sir, you must pay me the 10 euros each now!”

“You didn’t say ten euros. You said ten dollars.” He didn’t reply. We both know he was lying. “I’ll give you half now and half when you come back in an hour.” He didn’t like it, but soon the oxcart was turned around heading back to the ship. Casey and I watched the famous Seychelles turtles and then walked down to the beach. We sat in the water—in places the ocean was warmer than the air—and then we hiked down the beach, explored the rocks and spent a few hours just enjoying the sun, ocean and beauty of La Digue. I looked

for the driver, but he never returned, so eventually we walked back to the ship.

That night we ate dinner again at Tapas on the Terrace. It’s easier for my dad than the Grand Dining Room. We sat outside and though the night was warm and refreshing with the light ocean breeze, my mom and I kept surreptitiously watching my dad to see if he could get food from his fork to his mouth. After he finished his salad I told him I would get his chicken Kiev and leg of veal. He didn’t protest so I brought it back from the buffet line and before he could complain I cut everything into small pieces. It’s the first time I’ve cut my fathers food. It felt good to help him.

The next morning Nautica sailed a few miles to Praslin, a very small island and our last stop here. Casey, Sukey and I booked a snorkeling excursion with the ship. One of my favorite Oceania staff, Raquel from Brazil, accompanied our group. As we set out from Praslin to Coco Bay on the catamaran the sky turned gray and rain started to fall. I sat on the bow of the twin hull on a small bench listening to Michael Frante singing The Sound of Sunshine Going Down. I looked to starboard toward Nautica and found my parent’s cabin window. The curtains were closed. Dark clouds hovered over the ship and obstructed the sun. I looked starboard and

saw Casey dancing around on the deck. Some sunshine penetrated the clouds and basked him in sunlight. Behind him a small mysterious looking island passed by. It beckoned us me to explore it. This is a metaphor for my life, I thought. There are dark clouds over my parents—though they are safe on Nautica—and Casey is touched by the sun and behind him are new worlds to explore. The rain grew more intense, almost as strong as a Waikiki downpour. I stayed in my seat pelted by warm, tropical rain and listened to Michael Frants sing.

I wake up in the morning and it’s six o’clock

They say there may be rain but the sun is hot

I wish I had some time just to kill today

I wish I had a dime for every bill I’ve got to pay

Some days you lose you win

The waters as high as the times you’re in

So I jump back in where I learned to swim

Try to keep my head above it the best I can

That’s why—here I am

Just waiting for this storm to pass me by

That’s the sound of sunshine going down

Tears indistinguishable from rain flowed down my face. I’ve been trying to hard to keep my heard above it the best I can and here I sat, watching Nautica, thinking about my dad sleeping in his cabin, as I wait for all these storms to pass me by.

I used to hate these feelings. Everything about them bothered me. They made me uncomfortable, they were uncontrollable and most of all they were painful. When I quit using drugs and alcohol I learned that to be successful in long-term recovery I had to make peace with my emotions—I was an emotional cripple and I needed to learn to feel. As challenging as it is, I believe my capacity to feel the full range of feelings—not just the comfortable ones—is essential to my growth and development. So as difficult as this would have been for me to believe 20-years ago, I welcome these feelings. I am grateful for them. They are teaching me to be whole and they are appropriate to the circumstances I’m in. Just because I am happy most of the time doesn’t mean life isn’t often difficult.

The rain started to feel like hail so I finally sought cover. When we arrived at the snorkeling point we put on our gear and jumped into the ocean. The water wasn’t the beautiful turquoise blue I’ve come to associate with the Seychelles—it was Pacific Northwest gunmetal gray. Casey dove in after me and immediately a strong ocean current carried him 20 feet away.

“Help Dad! Help!” He screamed. I swam over to him. He was crying and snot was running out his nose. He’d already removed his mask. “I hate this. I want to go back on the boat!” I could tell he was panicking so I held him and soothed him the best I could.

“It’s OK buddy. I’m going to pull you back to the catamaran, and if we have any trouble do you remember what Raquel said to do? We just wave our hands and they’ll come get us in the little Zodiac, OK?”

He nodded and I started kicking my legs as hard as I could to get us back. It took about 10 minutes to make it 100 feet back. It was the strongest ocean current I’ve ever swum in. Sukey also ran into trouble and immediately signaled for help. Once I got Casey on board I swam over to the crewmen helping her. By then the local excursion staff realized the current was too strong and they started transporting people to the island a few hundred feet away on the Zodiac. But it was too late for us. My legs were exhausted and Casey was done. We spent a few hours on the boat, watching the scenery, talking to other passengers, listening to the guitar playing deckhand and waiting till everyone else was done.

On the trip back I talked to Raquel. She has been on every Oceania cruise I’ve taken and we talked often on my first trip from Hong Kong to Athens in 2007 . She asked about my dad, she heard he had gone to the doctor, and she noticed that he was moving slower.

“Is he doing any better Jack?” Her Brazilian accent made her appear so exotic. Her swimsuit, the warm water and the sea spray didn’t hurt either—Raquel is beautiful inside and out.

“I thought he was, but last night he was stuck on Deck 9. He was waiting for the elevator but instead of pushing the up and down buttons he tried pushing the large up and down arrows.”

“Oh. That’s no good.” She said shaking her head. “My grandmother had Alzheimer’s it is so sad. It was very hard. My dad had cancer and died, my mother was very ill and of this was happening at once.”

“When did your dad die?”
“A few years ago.”

“And that’s for him?” I pointed to a tattoo on her back that said LOVE FOREVER PAPA.

She smiled, “Oh yes! That’s for my papa!” We both laughed.

When we returned to the ship I discovered my dad had a good day. Tonight we went to dinner at Polo, the steakhouse, and he ate lobster, prawns, a Cobb salad, filet mignon and a 7-layer chocolate cake. I tried to cut his food, but our waiter, Lukeman from Bali, caught me and insisted on doing it himself. Something in my father now attracts conscious people to help him.

After dinner Casey said, “Dad, I think everyone wants to help Grandpa. That’s really good isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. I’m glad they want to help.”

“I helped too, Dad! Do you know what I did?” I shook my head. “Did you notice how long it took me to eat?”

“Yes, you were the last one finished.”

“That’s because I don’t want Grandpa to be last. So from now on when eat together I’ll chew really slow so he’s done before me!”

“That’s so thoughtful Casey. You are a really good grandson and a great son. I love you.”

“Love you too—I love you ten to the infinite power squared!”

The Seychelles was beautiful. So far on this itinerary, other than any good safari in Africa, the two places I want to return to are Mauritius and the Seychelles. Now we have two days at sea and on New Years day we arrive in the Maldives.

I wish all of you a Happy New Year and love, joy, peace, prosperity and good health in 2011.

Thanks for reading.

Jack