I spent last weekend in Atlanta with my family. We were all there for the wedding of a close family friend. When I returned to Rhode Island I found the house not in a state of disarray, but more like a major player in some kind of coverup. When I asked my new roommate Eric what had happened he said that on Friday a couple of people came over for some drinks but nothing big.

On Tuesday I went into work and started going through my 40+ emails. By about 11:00 I came across a strange email claiming it was from me but the sender's address was not any address of mine. Check it out.

Sender: Webb Pinner
Subject: Webbapalooza!

Hey guys,

Friday was awesome! Thanks so much for coming over and celebrating my singleness. I have posted photos and Eric's video online, so you can find them here:

Photos:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/66876417@N00/

Video of me humping Brennan:
http://blip.tv/file/69454

- Webb

"The problem with communication is the illusion that it has occurred."
- Albert Einstein

Webb Pinner
NOAA Office of Ocean Exploration
University of Rhode Island
Narragansett, RI 02882-1197

Okay, this was a little weird but once I followed the links I got it. My buddies through a party for me and my newly regained singleness but since I was in Atlanta, they decided to make a bunch of masks of my face taken from pictures during the Mediterranean cruise and pretend that I was there. It was so well done. They created a dummy email account, a dummy flickr account and even wore my clothes during the party. So funny. We laughed about it for a hour. Please check out the links.

So I guess I know who my friends are. Thanks guys.

So after holding countless deep and meaningful debates about the war, string theory, global climate change and the meaning of life, the universe and everything my watchmate and I really just needed a mindless distraction. In what has to be the strangest line I've ever heard, Eric says: "Hey, we could look at the girls the calendar my mom gave me!" Uh, yeah??? I didn't know what to think but hey, why not? So out comes the "Making Waves" swimsuit calendar.

Now even though the calendar said 2006, the pictures were clearly taken long before. As par with most swimsuit calendars, some of the women are very attractive, some are so-so and clearly some of the girls were selected for their "athletic figures" (read: face=train wreck). One of our Ukrainian observers sat off to the side, showing little interest as the rest of us took our turns critiquing each month's representative. At the end of our judging session I noticed we had left out our foreign friend and so in the interest of maintaining international relations I motioned to see if he wished to peruse the calendar. He took the calendar and over the next few minutes flipped through each month before quietly placing it on the table behind him.

Towards the end of the watch I asked him what he thought about the calendar girls. In his partial English, he had a single line response: "My wife... better." Ok then, well done comrade.

The Endeavor has departed from Yalta and is 12 miles offshore performing vehicle ops. When we reach a stopping point in a couple of days we will recover the vehicles and steam back into Yalta. The Ukranian coast Guard is periodically contacting all vessels on their radar screen, confirming their name, originating port and destination port. Their ability to understand English is a little rough at best. Now imagine the bridge trying to explain to these guys that the ship's originating and destination port is the same? Here's an excerpt:

Coast Guard: "Vessel bearing blah blah blah, what is your name? Over."

R/V Endeavor: "Coast Guard, this is the research vessel Endeavor. Over."

Coast Guard: "R/V Endeavor, what is your originating port? Over."

R/V Endeavor: "Yalta. Over."

Coast Guard: "R/V Endeavor, what is your destination port? Over."

R/V Endeavor: "Yalta. Over."

-- brief period of silience --


Coast Guard: "R/V Endeavor, what is your originating port? Over."

R/V Endeavor: "Yalta. Over."

Coast Guard: "R/V Endeavor, what is your destination port? Over."

R/V Endeavor: "Yalta. Over."


-- repeat two more times --

Since we got such a cold reception in Stavastopol I was surprised how different things were two towns over in Yalta. Ninety years ago, the last Czar of Russia built a palace in the cliffs above the Black Sea. To support this palace a small town was founded at the base of the cliffs. This town became known as "Yalta", the local term for warehouse. Over the years the town has grown into a medium-size resort community that caters to the regions upper-middle class.

As the R/V Endeavor approached the pier, a line of officials stood in wait. I wondered if this time the captain was prepared to "entertain" our guests in hopes of not being accused again of smuggling over-the-counter drugs. Lucky for us, this town's port authorities were a bit more receptive to guests and after a much less painful customs visit, the crew was granted permission to descend upon the town's waterfront.

The group I was with proceeded inland into the town's market district. First order of business... a beer. Eric, Brennan, Armando (the first mate) and myself found ourselves a little red tent and a server who spoke enough English to bring a round of brew. Ah, beer after being on a dry ship. Although it wasn't like in the Galapagos where this was my first drink in a month, it still went down pretty smooth.

After this first beer we decided to continue exploring the town. It was far too early in the day to commit to a location. Although the market scene was nice, we knew the waterfront was where we wanted to be. Along the way we passed a liquor store. Our original intention was to ask if there were any open-container laws but that changed when Brennan's eye caught a glance at a cabinet containing bottles of a mysterious green liquid... Absinthe. Now I'm still not convinced but some say there's something too this hallucinogenic liquor. All I know is that there's a reason you are supposed to take it with a cube of sugar... it tastes awful... and don't forget to watch out for those crawly spiders.

Now we didn't actually spend the rest of the evening in an Absinthe trip. Instead we picked up another round of beer and continued to the waterfront. (oh yeah, no open container law!)

As we entered the waterfront area, the small streets and alleys that were crammed with cars and motorcycles opened up into a large waterfront plaza with a statute of Lenin at one end and at the other end... a McDonald's. After you walked through the plaza the way narrowed to the width of a wide street, with the Black Sea to the South and restaurants, shops and boutiques to the North. We walked half the length of the boardwalk before the rain started. And by rain I mean a downpour, within seconds we were soaked. Not to be deterred by a little bad weather, we grabbed another beer and slowly started walking back to the ship. Along the way we ran into other members of the crew. They weren't hard to pick out in a crowd. Everyone here was very well dressed, especially when compared to myself and most of the crew who went out in whatever they were wearing when the ship pulled in.

It was getting into the early evening and the group thought it would be a good idea to catch a shower before dinner. Just as we were walking through the port security checkpoint we ran into the captain, a large group of the crew and members of the science party. This called for another beer. It was here that tragedy struck. The Absinthe bottle that Brennan had been guarding this whole time was knocked over and cracked on the stone patio. About 3/4 of the bottle spilled out. As for the rest, he poured it into a cup and passed it around. This is how I know how bad the stuff tastes.

Eventually I did make it back to the ship, showered, changed for dinner and whatever might follow. Whatever might follow turned out to be a little more than I bargained for. It started out with dinner... pizza of all things at a place called the Potato House.

At the pizza parlor, this crazy Canadian introduced himself. He was so excited to hear English that he could hardly contain himself. I forget his name but I do remember his purpose in the Ukraine... to pick up his mail-order bride. I met the woman and she was quite stunning even though she seemed slightly confused about what she was getting into. The Canadian was pretty in the know when it came to Yalta and recommended several places we should go. Top of the list was a club called Matrix. Several other locals recommended this place so the crew I was with started moving in that direction. On this particular night Matrix was closed but as always, another opportunity arose almost immediately. As we were walking back to the main drag, our group ran into another group of our science party as well as two of the Ukrainian observers that had been on the ship since I got on in Crete. One of these observers grew up in one of the neighboring towns and was quite familiar with the Yalta. He knew exactly where we should go... next stop, the big-ass pirate ship.

I'm not kidding here, the place was actually a Spanish galleon replica permanently chocked up on the beach complete with masts and rigging. Now for whatever reason we were the only people on this ship. Despite the oddity of our environment we soon accepted our plight as when out of nowhere the wine and vodka began to appear. Of course when the only thing to do is drink wine and vodka people don't tend to last long. This problem was compounded by the fact that half of us are still on EST time and the other half had arrived on a dry ship with no means to "practice". So before long our party began to falter and make their way back to their respective bunks.

Thank God for the Ukrainian observers! Just as the few remaining scraggliers (myself included) were starting to leave, our Ukrainian guests ask us if we wanted to go to a disco. Sure, I'm exhausted but why not, how often do I get to go to a disco in Yalta? The first disco we tried was about a 20-minute hike up into the surrounding mountains. When we got there we discovered the disco was hosting a private party and would not let us in. Our guide's second choice was on the other side of town so it would be much quicker to take a taxi.

This is a perfect example of why taxi trips in a foreign land are one of my favorite activities, picture this: We had to take two cabs, one cab has three Americas and one English-speaking Ukrainian guide, the second cab contains me and three Ukrainians I have never met in my life. I wasn't sure if any of them spoke English, whether or not they were going to the same place as the other cab or if they even realized there was an American in the car. Making the situation more clamorous was that the cab we were in was twice as old as me, held together with whatever hardware was available, and driving well in excess of it's maximum safe velocity. I just had to laugh as I was completely at the mercy of my fellow occupants and our driver who should really consider competing on the World Rallye Cup racing series.

When the cab came to a stop I was anxious to see where I was and whether the other cab was behind us. As luck would have it the other cab arrived moments later and the eight of us entered the "Cactus Club"

The Cactus Club was a single large room with a bar on one side and a small stage on the other. In the middle of the stage was a single brass pole. Securely attached to the brass pole were two VERY attractive professional dancers. Ok, so I guess this is the place? Despite the workload I was already placing on my liver I still wasn't at the point where I felt like that I could dance, but I was working in that direction.

In addition to the VERY attractive dancers on stage, the dance floor between the stage and bar was filled with only the very hip of the Ukrainian youth. Not to leave the United States unrepresented, I took one more shot of vodka a proceeded onto the floor.

Did I mention the two VERY attractive dancers? About 30 minutes later they disappeared into the dark, leaving the stage empty. About 10 minutes after that, in a move reminiscent of my early-twenties clubbing days in D.C., I stepped up on stage (it was really all Poncho's fault). Lucky for me, my wingman Mike soon followed. Shortly after that, two lovely ladies from the crowd also jumped up and four of us proceeded to rock the stage (and that single brass pole).

Now Poncho wasn't so drunk that he thought he was actually dancing well, he just thought that dancing on a stage (with a brass pole) at a club in Yalta was too much to pass up. After a few songs I relinquished my position and proceeded back to the bar where I was cheered (and a little laughed at) for my dancing prowess. In any case my efforts were rewarded/consoled in the form of several shots of vodka. The night and the dancing continued but I never made it back on to the stage.

Now at some point during the night I must have taken a bad step because I could tell my left ankle was tweaked. (never go out dancing in running shoes, always a bad idea) I hobbled back to the ship, made a huge ham and cheese sandwich and put my ankle on ice. I wasn't sure how bad I had twisted my ankle but I was completely surprised the next day when I discovery I was unable to walk.

Ah Poncho, when will he learn my limits?

Here's a little side note about the port. After the fall of the Soviet Union, Moscow refused to give Stavastopol to the local Ukrainian government because the large military presence. The townspeople didn�t mind since most of them were in the Navy. The net result is that most of the local officials are still living in a Cold War era mentality and are not particularly friendly towards their ex-adversary, the USA. Oh yeah... On top of all that the Endeavor was the first American ship to enter Stavastopol since WWII. Let the games begin.

So all of this history became apparent when the customs officials tried to arrest the entire crew on speculation that we were smuggling. The local officials boarded the ship, inspected the holds, the stores, the reefer and the captain's safe, twice. They also made each crewmember go to their cabins and await inspections. Then they tried to arrest the captain because they felt the ship had an excessive amount of over-the-counter medication?? It eventually all passed and no one got arrested. I thought the whole ordeal was all crap and just a scare tactic employed by our hosts. We later found out if we had only bribed the (already drunk) customs agent with vodka and smokes we probably could have made the whole process go by a lot smoother.

Since it was clear that we were not welcomed, the captain had us shoved off and head back out to sea after spending only five hours in port. We'e going to be in these waters for two weeks, I hope we find a friendlier port soon.

It's not a big deal, I had plenty of cash (in several different currencies) and I had the card canceled 20 minutes later. It was really just an ego killer. I guess I still suck at traveling, and just when I was starting to feel mediocre. ]]> default 2006-05-10T11:53:00-07:00 http://www.sobutumyeah.com/pivot/entry.php?id=25 http://www.sobutumyeah.com/pivot/entry.php?id=25#comm Ok, so by this point I've seen the spice bazaar, the mosque, the cistern, on to the next sight, the grand bizarre. In what I now see as a quite fortunate event, life threw me bone in the form of a friendly rug merchant. 25@http://www.sobutumyeah.com/ Ok, so by this point I've seen the spice bazaar, the mosque, the cistern, on to the next sight, the grand bizarre. In what I now see as a quite fortunate event, life threw me bone in the form of a friendly rug merchant.

It was getting later in the day and even though I was in Istanbul I still had a job to do. So I left the group to head back to the ship but since I'm never one to back track I chose a course that would lead me through Istanbul's famous Grand Bazaar. I was walking along one of the major streets for quite a ways before I started to worry that maybe I was heading the wrong way. I wanted to ask directions but since I knew the second I stopped the merchants would descend like locus, I proceeded with caution, looking for someone who looked knowledgeable but who wasn't going to try to sell me something... I failed, sorta.

I paused for only a second, by that was all it took, an average looking man in his mid-thirties quickly emerged from an unassuming store entrance, approached me and said "hello." Before I could get a word in he told me all about his small rug store and that he would be more then happy to explain to me the finer points of Turkish rug manufacturing. Even though I showed little interest in his rugs and was finally able to communicate that I only wanted directions to the Grand Bazaar, he persisted that I should learn more about rugs. Before I knew it I was on the second story of his store surrounded by rugs. Oh well, when in Istanbul...

The room was about 15 feet by 15 feet. Along the walls were nothing but rugs, rolled up into neat coils. He started off by showing me the cheap cotton rugs and saying how good they work back at "school". Then he moved on to the "wool on cotton" rugs which, as he said, were somewhat expensive. (Clearly this guy doesn't know me.) He explained the knotting process, the types of materials used for dying, the women who made the rugs, etc. I will admit it was very interesting stuff and seeing the pride this man took in explaining his trade to myself, who may or may not purchase a rug, really struck me.

After about 15 minutes of seeing rugs that were in my opinion, of reasonable quality, I pointed to a gorgeous Turkish rug that was lying coiled up in the corner of the room. He pause and shot me an inquisitive look. At this point the shop owner figured out if I was going to buy a rugs, it wasn't going to be anything second-class.

Here's where things got interesting. He showed me a few of the top-quality "wool-on-wool" rugs from around the room. These rugs were definitely a step up or two in quality from those rugs he was showing me earlier. The colors were amazing shades of reds, browns, blues, yellows and oranges. He told me that each of them were hand made and that all colors were made using only natural dyes made from ingredients like, pistachios, indigo, and sugar. Over the next 30 minutes the once bare hardwood floor became covered in 8 inches of rugs. By this point the shop owner was running all over the shop and returning with a never ending flood of high-end rugs. Somewhere in this process I realized I wasn't leaving this shop without one of these amazing rugs and really started getting serious about choosing one and rationalizing how much I could really justify spending.

Another 10 minutes passed before I finally found the one. I don't want to describe it now, a picture will do a better job of it. With the rug selected, so began the negotiations. The shop owner gave me his price and a small story about how this was a good price and that he only makes 10% on the sale of each rug... so just to see if he was bluffing I set my initial price at 80% the asking price. The store owner then looked me in the eye, ask me to take his hand and then, literally over the rug I was buying we agreed on a price that was roughly in the middle. It was a very old-world experience that stayed with me for the rest of the day. With business concluded, the shop owner drew up the sale papers and served me a cup of Turkish coffee as is tradition with large purchases.

While I drank my coffee, he explained to me that the reason he was so slow to show me the good rugs first was that he never knows who's serious about purchasing a rug or even worse, if the person might try to rob him. The way he put it was, "I don't know if they will bring a wallet or a gun."

We talked some more about his business. Turns out he's been in the business for 20 years. When he was 15 he started repairing rugs. Eventually he moved on to selling rugs and then five years later he opened his own shop. He's starting to try to expand his business to America, in particular Hartford, Connecticut.

He talked about how these same rugs go for 500% more in Hartford and that he did not understand why people would pay so much. This (of course) led into a deeper discussion about Americans justify the expense as a way to display wealth. The shop owner said that in Turkey, no one did this because if they did the Mafia would come and take it. It was an interesting discussion.

With the coffee finished and the sale papers complete, I bid the shop owner farewell and continued down the street toward the bizarre. As it turned out, the shop owner caught me only three blocks from the Grand Bizarre. Who knows if I would have bought a rug there, or what the rug-buying experience might have been like. In any case, I saw my rug purchase and the conversations with the kind shop owner as a fortunate twist of fate.

Even though I never saw any official entrance I knew when I was in the Grand Bizarre. The never ending maze of shops, stairs, back alleys and alcoves filled with people, sounds and smells was a clear indication. I wandered semi-aimlessly, checking out everything but never stopping for fear of another shop owner ambush resulting in a large unplanned purchase.

I was still trying to get back to the ship but by this point I was so turned around that the simple directions I got from the shop owner were completely worthless. Lucky for me, logic prevailed. I knew that to get to the AyaSofia Mosque I had walked up a substantial hill. Logic suggested that if I just kept walking downward, I would get to somewhere in the vicinity of the bridge.

Just as the entrance to the bizarre was vague, so was the exit. The only indication was the age of the buildings. As I descended the hill the buildings looked more and more modern in architecture.

Somewhere in this decent I had a zen moment. Here I was, a young man from Virginia walking down the streets of Istanbul with his new Turkish rug with which he had shrewdly obtained. For the first time since I started taking these trips I felt like I was starting to become a real traveler. It was a really good moment.

]]> default 2006-05-09T13:26:00-07:00 http://www.sobutumyeah.com/pivot/entry.php?id=24 http://www.sobutumyeah.com/pivot/entry.php?id=24#comm After two days of 30+ knot winds and 10 foot seas, we finally made it to Istanbul. This was not a planned stop but the R/V Endeavor needed fuel and to have one of it's radars repaired so we stopped... adventure followed. 24@http://www.sobutumyeah.com/ After two days of 30+ knot winds and 10 foot seas, we finally made it to Istanbul. This was not a planned stop but the R/V Endeavor needed fuel and to have one of it's radars repaired so we stopped... adventure followed.

The approach to Istanbul was fantastic. It started around 19:00 on May 3rd, the Endeavor finally left the Aegean Sea and entered the Dardanelles. The Dardanelles is a strait between the Aegean Sea and the Marmara Sea.

Because of all the shipping traffic, a local pilot is required for all ships over 75ft. By the time our pilot boarded the ship and oriented himself with the vessel it was after nightfall. Even though the night makes it difficult to see other vessels it does provide a fantastic vantage point to view all of the illuminated ancient buildings, walls and fortifications that line the shoreline. The passage through the Dardanelles took a few hours and then it was across the Marmara Sea to Istanbul.

At some point I laid down for a nap and when I awoke the ship was taking on another pilot to assist the docking in Istanbul. Istanbul is located on the southern end of the Bosporus, the strait between the Marmara Sea and the Black Sea. The current that runs through the Bosporus is impressive, I would guess 4-5 knots. Istanbul from the water is an interesting mix of old and new. You could tell that before the two bridges were built over the Bosporus, the majority of the city lay on the Western shore because most of the older buildings are located include over half a dozen large mosque.

It took about an hour after we tied up at the dock before anyone was allowed to leave the ship. Since we got there late in the day we didn't leave to much time to sight-see. So we went out drinking instead. Actually this was not the original plan, but since we saw all the shops closing up for the evening we figured we might as well find a pub. A group of six had already left the ship to go "exploring". I was with a second group whose purpose was to catch up with the first group.

Close to the ship there's a bridge that crosses the river that separates the western shore of the city. Along the underside of the bridge that is closest to the Bosporus are a string of restaurants. On the other side of the bridge are the mosque, museums, the fortress and bizarres. As we walk by the FIRST bar, we found the first group of "explorers." already working on there second round. Everyone was pretty beat from the pounding we took crossing the Aegean Sea so it was a light night. I did however partake in the hookah smoking. It's just soooo smooth.

The next day everyone got up and set out to really explore the city. This time people actually made it over the bridge to the old town. The group that I was with was set on seeing a mosque and the grand bazaar. Our first stop was the spice bizarre. It's a relatively small market that specializes in spices, obviously, but doesn't mind trying to sell you everything else imaginable.

Walking through the bazaar is quite the experience. First off, it's sensory overload. The bizarre is housed in this beautiful vaulted building that is probably 500+ years old. Inside the walls are lined with shops and their owners are all begging for your business. Istanbul's international reputation shines through radiantly as the shop owners rattle off sales pitches in half a dozen languages, one after another. I noticed the order usually went, turkish, german, english, russian with an occasional greek and/or french. If a store owner thinks he can entice you by using a local saying from your home country he will. For instance, I guess a lot of Australians make it to Istanbul because I heard a store owner say, more than once, "G'day mate!!"

Our second sight of the day was the AyaSofia Mosque. It's one of the oldest in the city dating back to 400AD when the city was not predominately Muslim. As we were buying tickets to enter the mosque, a little man approached us claiming to be from a university offering to give us a tour of the mosque for a small fee. Since half of the group were archaeologists, it really wasn't worth it but the little man assured us that we would not fully appreciate the building unless we had a guide. The stand off lasted for 10 minutes and ended in one of the craftiest sale pitches I will probably ever hear from a guide. He said "Do you know Shakespeare? Shakespeare said that the mind expands the body. And I am telling you that the guide expands the building." I laughed and thanked the little man again for his effort but then bid him farewell as the group entered the building.

There really aren't words to describe the interior of AyaSofia, you will just have to wait till I can post some pictures. The mosque is one huge room lined with over a dozen types of marble and stone from all over the ancient world from Spain to Egypt. I said that the Mosque dated back to when Istanbul was not predominately Muslim. This fact was made overwhelming clear in the mosque where the interior walls were being restored. Behind the plaster were exquisite mosaics of John the Baptist, the Virgin Mary, Jesus, etc. Truly amazing stuff.

After the trip to the mosque we took a tour of an ancient cistern. The cistern was mostly drained so that visitors could tour the large vaulted space. There were hundreds of columns holding up the ceiling, each column a little bit different from the next. The reason for this was simple, the place was built with spare parts. When an army would conquer a city, the prevailing army would dismantle the city and bring it back to their home city to aid in its expansion. We guessed by the style of most of the columns that they were once part of a greek temple. Turns out, we were right. At the far side of the cistern, at the base of a column, lying on its side was a huge carving of Medusa's head.

More on Istanbul to follow. ]]> default 2006-05-08T11:13:00-07:00