The Feminist Cruise: Conclusion Guatemala and Mexico

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

The port at Santo Tomas de Castilla, Guatemala, was more like a military compound than a tourist trap. Immediately at dockside was a large expanse of warehouses and barracks sitting before a background of lush green mountains topped with a morning fog. A platoon of soldiers was marching in formation as our group was preparing to disembark.

There were no tourist shops or facilities visible from where our ship was docked. People who wanted to visit the city had to walk through the warehouse area and out the gate into the community. Those who signed up for tours, however, were met at the dock by buses.

I took two tours in Guatemala. The morning outing was a visit to two hotels. The first had been one of the swankiest in the country a century earlier. It was a large rambling affair, constructed entirely of wood, with very small guest rooms that contained only a small bed and a dresser. The facilities were “down the hall.” The old hotel was an interesting bit of history, showing where the wealthy capitalists had once stayed and played while dividing up the wealth of this small nation.

The second hotel on our tour was a shiny and new playground for today’s tourists. The focus was on bars, beaches, and recreation. People were busy swimming, snorkeling, sunbathing, playing volleyball, and drinking. It had everything that yuppie tourists could ask for, and the obligatory Mayan ruins were only a short bus ride away.

I selected something with more of a social work feel for my afternoon excursion: a tour of the Del Monte banana plantation. Our bus ride into the Guatemalan countryside was nearly two hours in length over curvy, mountainous roads. The terrain, coupled with the dilapidated state of the roads, created a situation that was ripe for accidents. Not only did we see several wrecks along the way, there were numerous times when crazy motorists would go flying around our bus on blind corners, leaving me with the a nervous foreboding that I would draw my last breath in Guatemala!

We were cautioned that there were only selected areas at the banana plantation where we would be able to take pictures. We had just barely gotten off of the bus when the reason for the prohibition on photography became apparent. A rusty old pickup truck rushed by as we were strolling toward the area where the bananas were being boxed for shipment. The three farm laborers riding in the back of the truck each appeared to be around eleven-years-old!

We were shown two aspects of the plantation operation. The first was a large, wall-less room where people were busy inspecting and boxing green bananas for shipment. There were seventy-five or so people involved in the process. The boxed bananas were put on trucks ready for immediate movement to the ports.

We were also taken into the fields to view the crops. The growing process was explained in family terms. Each banana tree was the mother. Each mother produced one bunch of bananas and a baby tree. Then the mother died and the baby tree grew to take her place. There were mothers and babies and bunches of bananas as far as the eye could see!

The ride back to Santo Tomas de Castilla was just as harrowing, but fortunately was without incident. We did stop at one very nice rural café for a restroom and refreshment break. Their postcard rack contained a wide selection of Guatemalan art at postcard prices, many of which wound up in my growing collection of art-on-a-budget.

Our stop in Mexico was at a relatively new port in Costa Maya. As the name implied (Mayan Coast), there was a Mayan archaeological site nearby. It was more developed than the one that I had visited in Belize, as well as more expansive. I climbed several pyramids and mounds and enjoyed taking photographs of the unusual flora that the site offered. At one point in my excursion I came upon two young Mexican boys who had a couple of tropical snakes. They posed for pictures and then gave a modest nod toward their tip jar.

During the afternoon in southern Mexico I walked along the seashore, and made a pass through the souvenir shops at the port. Two memorable purchases were a handmade leather belt that has served me well during the intervening year-and-a-half, and a very large, free-standing pink flamingo made of papier-mâché that I had to transport home as carry-on baggage. The flamingo is in charge of my apartment whenever I’m not there!

And then we sailed back to Tampa, with many workshops along the way. The highlight of the trip eastward across the Caribbean was a poetry-reading in the ship’s theatre one night by Tyne Daly and a young lady poet from Tampa whose name I have since forgotten. Both women had a true love of poetry and were able to convey that feeling through their beautiful readings.

It was still winter when I got back to Kentucky.

The Feminist Cruise: Part Four Belize

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Our first stop in Central America was Belize, a small, impoverished nation that was known as British Honduras in colonial times. The port was relatively shallow and did not have berths for large ships, so the big cruise ships had to anchor at sea and run “tenders” back and forth to the waterfront. Each trip in these small, high-speed boats took about fifteen minutes.

The port in Belize City was awash in tourist shops and cafes. It was clean and safe, though very small, and very similar to what was to be found in most Caribbean ports. I signed up for an excursion into the countryside to see some Mayan ruins. As soon as our bus left the port area, it became obvious that we were in a third-world country.

Belize City was crowded and busy, but had the look of a small town that had recently exploded into an urban center with poverty in evidence at every turn. As our bus drove through a residential neighborhood, the guide pointed to one house among several located along the street that we were traversing. “That,” he announced proudly, “is the home of our President.” It was a nice home, by Belize standards, on a nice street, but certainly nothing exceptional. It looked completely accessible, as though anyone could walk up and knock on the door.

The Mayan ruins were in a recently cleared patch of jungle. Two days later as I was exploring another set of ruins not far from our southern Mexican port, I began to figure out the dynamic. The Mayans had been quite ubiquitous in southern Mexico and Central America. Whenever a new port was opened and tourists began to pour in, developers would march off into the jungle, find an appropriate set of ruins, and clear out the extraneous vegetation and snakes. Then the area could be promoted for its beautiful beaches, local color, and archaeological significance! The ruins were a necessary element in the complete tourist package.

The Belize ruins had several small pyramids, but none nearly as awesome as the one that I had seen at Chichen Itza while on a tour out of Cancun several years earlier. Instead of being given a walking tour, visitors were basically just turned loose to view the site on their own at their own pace. The thing that I remember best about the ruins in Belize was an extremely long column of large marching ants that were crossing a sandy, shaded area. Their organization and dedication to duty would have made any platoon sergeant proud!

I boarded a waiting tender late that afternoon for a ride back to our ship. I got on late, and the good seats under the canopy were already taken, so I pushed my way through to the back of the vessel which was deserted. I sat my packages down and closed my eyes for a power nap.

When the tender’s engines started, I opened my eyes, planning to take a few snapshots during our brief trip back to the ship. I wasn’t surprised to find that another passenger had pushed her way through all of those damned tourists and was sitting across from me, but I was surprised to see that she was Tyne Daly. She was staring out to sea as we set off, and I managed to get a good candid shot of her as well as pictures of the receding port and the awaiting cruise ship. Although I took the picture of Tyne in a very surreptitious manner, I suspect that celebrities can sense when a camera is pointed in their direction. The resulting photo was great – I have it framed!

The Feminist Cruise: Part Two Key West

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Key West is a Caribbean anomaly, closer to Havana than it is to Miami, while being easily accessible from the U.S. mainland by car. The last two times that I had been to Key West, in fact, I had driven there along beautiful U.S. 1 (the Overseas Highway) that crosses numerous small islands with familiar names like Key Largo, Islamadora, Marathon Key, Fiesta Key, and even tiny Missouri Key. One of the bridges that connect these islands is an amazing seven miles long! While there aren’t many decent swimming beaches in the Keys, the never-ending vistas of blue-green Caribbean Sea dotted with sailboats are breathtaking, easily justifying the gas and three hours necessary to drive to Key West from Miami.

We entered the waters surrounding Key West, Florida, on Monday just after lunch. As the big ship glided past a few smaller islands, coast guard cutters with mounted machine guns showed up on either side of our vessel to escort us into the berth at the south end of the popular tourist destination. Arrival by ship, I quickly discovered, was far handier than driving because we were dumped right in the heart of the tourist sector.

Duval Street is the main thoroughfare of Old Key West, and most of the town’s famous tourist Mecca’s can be found either on Duval or very close by. It is a colorful blend of art galleries, bars, cafes, tourist shops, and street musicians. In many ways it is what New Orleans probably was fifty years ago. It is also one of the gayest towns in America, with same-sex handholding and kissing on the streets being part of the local ambience. As if to complement all of the standard color and noise, on that particular day there was a very large blue and gold parrot sitting out on a second story balcony whistling and yelling at the tourists as they strolled along Duval with their drinks and bags of tee shirts.

Our first conference activity (after the previous night’s reception) was a panel discussion on voting patterns held at the far end of Duval Street in a funky art gallery. The lady who owned the gallery was thrilled to have all of the feminist celebrities in her establishment. She and her young daughter both sat in rapt attention as the panel made its presentation. Panel members included Eleanor Smeal, Katherine Spillar (the Executive Editor of Ms. Magazine), and Celinda Lake, a prominent Democratic pollster from Washington DC. (Ms. Lake had been unable to arrange time to take the cruise, so she flew into Key West that day for the panel discussion.) Ms. Lake talked about changing demographics and the opportunities for Democrats in 2008. Ms. Smeal reiterated that importance of letting reporters know that we were for Hillary and Obama. I noticed with some regret that Tyne Daly had not hiked down Duval for this event. I did see her later shopping on Duval Street.

Leaving the gallery with a couple of hours left to explore Key West, I headed back up Duval toward the port. Along the way I stopped at Margaritaville (the original) for a couple of tee shirts and a Cheeseburger in Paradise. Further along I stopped and exchanged a few ripe comments with the parrot. (The things those awful tourists have taught that poor bird!) My final stop before reaching the port was Sloppy Joe’s, a large open-air bar and restaurant that opens onto two streets. Sloppy Joe’s was made famous by its best known aficionado, a macho writer by the name of Papa Hemingway who was once a regular at that particular watering hole.

Several cruise ships were preparing to sail out of Key West that evening, resulting in huge throngs of tourists milling about the port area. There were vendors and several musicians and jugglers working the crowds trying to relieve them of their remaining currency before the ships carried them off to other ports. I spent thirty minutes or so watching a pair of young gymnastic jugglers. A highlight of their act included one doing a headstand upon the head of the other while juggling knives between the two. It was an amazing show and a brilliant end to a beautiful day!

As the sun set over Old Key West, our ship was tugged slowly out of port and pointed across the Caribbean toward Central America. The next day would be taken up with workshops at sea.

The Feminist Cruise: Part One Sorting Through the Celebrities

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

On Sunday, February 18th, 2007, I boarded a Holland America cruise ship in Tampa, Florida, and embarked on one of the best learning experiences of my life. It was the third (I think) annual Ms. Magazine and National Association of Social Workers (NASW) cruise, a week-long educational endeavor designed to bring out the better feminist and social worker in all of us. For the next six days me and two-hundred others participated in floating conferences on women’s issues, as well as doing on-the-ground research (and shopping) in Key West, Belize, Guatemala, and the southern Caribbean coast of Mexico. At one point I counted a total of six male participants, and at least one of those was married to a presenter.

Our first activity was an evening cheese and booze reception as our cruise ship slid southward along the western edge of Florida. Although I typically feel uncomfortable in social settings like that, especially when attending alone, I made myself go because I did not want to miss any aspect of the trip and the experience.

There was a piano bar area next to the space where our reception was being held, and a group of well dressed drunks were gathered around the piano singing Billy Joel and Elton John songs, and doing it quite well. I gathered up a plate of veggies and cheese, and a drink, and made myself comfortable on a couch that was backed up against the area from which the music was emanating. From that vantage point I was able to sip and nibble in a leisurely manner while watching the interactions that were occurring at the reception.

My comfort proved to be short-lived however as a slender lady with silvering hair pried herself out of the group and made a beeline for the male loner ensconced on the couch. Her hand was out before she reached me, and I was barely able to set my provisions aside in time to stand and receive her greeting. “I’m Ellie Smeal,” she stated, pumping my hand. I told her my name, and suffering in the ensuing silence that indicated that she wanted to know more, I hurriedly coughed up that I was a social worker with the Army. That held her interest for a few minutes, and then Eleanor Smeal, the President of the Feminist Majority Foundation, the organization that publishes Ms. Magazine, wandered back into the crowd to shake more hands.

Somewhere during the reception Ms. Smeal got the crowd's attention and made a welcoming speech. One point I remember was that she brought greetings from uber-feminist Gloria Steinem, and related that Steinem wanted the cruisers to know that if reporters asked them whether they supported Hillary or Obama, the correct answer was "yes"!

I had another celebrity encounter as the reception was ending, but this one I initiated. While I was leaving the bar I looked over to my left and noticed Tyne Daly of Cagney and Lacey and Judging Amy fame standing alone by the wall. I stepped over and shook her hand, being too star-struck to say little more than my name. She asked me where I was from and what I did for a living. She was an extremely nice lady who was very skilled at making me feel at ease.

A third celebrity encounter occurred soon after that as I was leaving the main decks and walking toward my room. I joined in conversation with two of our group members from New Mexico. I did that intentionally because I thought that I might have had a brief history with one of them. After listening to the chat about the cruise or the conference or some other topic that we could all comment on, I inquired of the one, “Excuse me, but are you Mrs. Harris?”

The lady responded, with a certain amount of surprise, that she was indeed LaDonna Harris. I then told her about meeting her over thirty years earlier while her husband, Oklahoma Senator Fred Harris, was running for President in the Democratic Primary. (A week or two after our brief encounter in January of 1976 at a Harris event in Miami, OK, Fred’s political career was cut short in the Iowa Presidential Primary by a political outsider named Jimmy Carter.) We exchanged a few remarks about that campaign, and I remember making a mention of all of the turquoise that she had been wearing that wintry night three decades earlier. LaDonna Harris, a full-blood Comanche Indian, is a political force in her own right, once running for Vice President on a third party ticket.

The other lady from New Mexico turned out to be Dr. Martha Burk, the Money Editor for Ms. Magazine. While serving as the chair of the National Council of Women’s Organizations in 2002, Dr. Burk turned the golfing world upside down by leading a protest against the Augusta National Golf Club, the home of the Masters Tournament, regarding the club’s refusal to admit women. After she determined that many of America’s male corporate leaders were members of Augusta, she began publishing their names and demanding “gender equity audits” to determine the number of layoffs and new hires by gender of each of their corporations. Eventually Augusta caved, and the country’s best known old boys’ club opened its doors to female members.

I was fortunate to have several more encounters with LaDonna and Martha during the cruise. At one point they told me, rather quietly, that they weren’t supporting Hillary because they were committed to their world-renowned governor, Bill Richardson.

Martha Burk also told the amusing story of her most recent struggle to tilt a windmill. She had attended the previous year’s Wal-Mart stockholders' meeting in northwest Arkansas. Her mother had left her some Wal-Mart stock, and she used that stock as a ticket into the meeting. She had gone through proper channels to get on the agenda to make a brief comment at the meeting, and had used those precious minutes to do some railing against Wal-Mart’s corporate greed and its neglect of workers’ rights. She said that the company had been forced to let her talk, but tried to keep reporters away from her. She added that eventually a reporter from the New York Times fought his way through the barricade of corporate flunkies and managed to take down her story. Martha has vowed to never sell her Wal-Mart stock in order to ensure her ability to keep attending their annual meetings!

I explained to Martha that my little farm was less than twenty-five miles from Bentonville, and invited her to stay at The Roost any time she wanted to raise a ruckus at a Wal-Mart stockholders' meeting. So far she hasn’t taken me up on my invitation, but it’s still there for the taking!

2007 Personal Highlights

The year 2007 will pass into the history books later tonight, an event that causes me to reminisce about the year that was. Overall, it was a good twelve months.

In January I joined the Hopkinsville, KY, YMCA, and was faithful to a fitness program there (primarily walking, stationary bicycle, and weights) until I moved West in late September.

I sailed the Caribbean in February with the National Association of Social Workers and MS Magazine. On that voyage I met several prominent feminists including Tyne Daly and Eleanor Smeal, attended a variety of workshops that were focused on feminist issues, and got a good look at Belize, Guatemala, and southern Mexico.

I celebrated my 59th birthday in March and moved to within one year of receiving my first retirement check.

My newest grandson, Sebastian Phoenix Files was born on July 5th. Later that month my son Nick and my other grandson, Boone, joined me in a train trip out West to meet little Sebastian. One highlight of that trip (other than Sebastian!) was a visit to the Grand Canyon.

In September I accepted a job at Luke Air Force Base in Phoenix. It was significant for two reasons: it located me in the same city as Molly, Scott, and Sebastian, and it brought me officially into the federal employment system. Now I am getting to see my grandson on a regular basis, and I am completing requirements for another retirement.

My nephew, Justin Smith, was married in Fayetteville, AR, in September. I flew to Missouri from Kentucky to take my Dad to the wedding. It was really great getting to see all of my sister’s kids at that happy event.

Nick helped move me to Phoenix at the end of September. I doubt that I could have gotten here without him.

I began work at Luke on October 1st. My new co-workers proved to be just as great as those at my last two bases, as well as the good people that I worked with at the Children’s Division in Missouri.

I began blogging in November and am really enjoying the challenge of coming up with interesting things to write about. This project also gives me a place to organize things that I have written over the years, and to present snippets of my personal history. It is a very introspective enterprise.

I made a trip home for the holidays in December and was able to spend a brief amount of time with all of my children and grandchildren. I also learned while there that Tim, my youngest, will be getting married to his girlfriend, Erin, in the near future. That was very good news indeed!

I ended this year by joining a local health club, Lifetime Fitness. After a good initial workout yesterday, I am almost too sore to move today. Old age is such a blessing!

My best to you in 2008!

Pa Rock