Hand work

With this voyage comes many opportunities for self-discovery and to try new things.  New food, new behaviors.  New constraints and disciplines on board, with limited resources.  New opportunities on land.

In Viet Nam, I got a manicure, my first ever.  My fat, stubby fingers with the ragged nails are not something I've been interested in pampering, but why not?  For three bucks (four with polish, evidently,  five with a generous tip), why not indeed.

I think you need to go with a friend, for a spa date.  The Saigon Spa is up two flights of stairs, and was deserted except for me.  They post a woman downstairs to reel in customers, and they call someone from a back room to do the manicure.  She did not speak a word of English.  Background music of American tunes from the 60's played on Vietnamese instruments.  The song I slow-danced to on my first date with the high school boyfriend who would become my husband (and later not my husband).  Music from the years of American escalation in Viet Nam, music that took me from innocence to outrage in my years from high school to graduate school.

There is a lot of solitary time in a manicure, soaking and drying.  There is a fine line between relaxing and depression when you are half way around the world, alone in the company of a thousand, in a country which tugs at your conscience and memory.  Who knew a manicure could be so powerful a thing?

On to Singapore, where I found a street artist offering henna tattoos.  "Trust me," he said.  "I am the best.  I do all these free hand!"  I have had bad experiences with "Trust me."  His photo album was impressive, but he makes no money from the lookers, only from the ones who do, ultimately, trust him. We negotiated a little on the size and style and he did a beautiful job.

Trusting was the easy part.  Keeping my left wrist from bending, and my arm from being bumped in the crowds of Chinatown was a challenge.  Using only my right hand the rest of the afternoon was a challenge.  I found some bargains worth pulling out my stash of USD for, which meant going into the bottom of my pack and going into the hidden zippered places of my wallet.  I found pictures worth taking one handed.  I found a 7-11 with Slurpees!  (Asia is full of 7-11s, but this is the only one I saw with Slurpees.

Back on the ship, I put the hem on my new skirt.  I sewed every stitch by hand, including overcasting the (6) seams so they won't fray.  No pattern.  There's a pocket inside to hold my passport.  I used my "graduate" scissors from the office.  Ideal for moms.  We don't let Jim use them.  He has to use the boy scissors.

Handwork score card

Manicure:  won't bother.  Just calls more attention to the dirt under my nails, and I'm not comfortable with having someone working on me.

Henna:  I discovered a common thinking pose is chin in my left hand, elbow on the desk.  Turns out this is ideal for showing off the tat as well.  Fun as long as it is temporary.  An Indian friend tells me it may darken in the days to come.  (The picture is of day 1, before the dye chipped off.  It's not that dark now.)

Skirt:  I like the skirt.  A pattern would have helped, as would a measuring tape, room to lay out the fabric, and an iron. Although it goes with all the t-shirts I brought, I reserve the right to cut it up for a shirt once I get home to my seven sewing machines.  Trying new things doesn't mean I can't go back to the old me.