Location: Faroe Islands. Torshavn (Denmark)

We arrived aboard the Crown Princess and anchored off Torshavn, Capital of the Faroe Islands, at 9:30 am on a cloudy, windy 54 degrees morning after two days a sea. The port was much too small to allow a ship the size of the Crown Princess to dock. All 3000 people had to be tendered to shore, which could be quite time consuming but we are Elite level Princess passengers so we get priority tender boarding so off we went to the front of the line. Once ashore we spent several hours walking the streets of this quaint town as we waited for a tour we had booked that was to begin at 1:30.

We returned to the dock and met our tour guide and set off on a short walk to a nearby landing where our groups two RIB’s (Rigid Inflatable Boats) were waiting. Surprisingly, they had protective outer wear for all of us to wear, providing an additional heavy layer of protection against the cold, rain and ocean spray. Quickly suiting up, feeling like astronaut’s heading into space, we climbed aboard. The captain of our RIB, seeing that we had choose the front two seats, warned us that they would be the roughest and most exposed, back seats more stable. Up front was fine with us! As you can see by the photo’s, the seats were designed somewhat like a saddle. One leg on each side of the saddle/seat with hands gripping individual rigid, roll bar type reigns.

Pushing off, our two RIB’s slowly picked up speed, leaving the tranquil harbor behind. We hadn’t been told where we were headed, the brochure implied a peaceful fjord cruise. To get there, it appeared we were heading to a neighbor island about two miles over the open ocean faintly visible in the distance. We were quite impressed by the acceleration of our RIB’s twin 250 Mercury outboard engines as our speed increased into open water. As our speed increase so did the wind and waves. We soon realized we were not aboard for a tranquil cruise but a speeding, lurching bucking bronco ride traversing some of the most notorious waters in the world.

The RIB seemed like it was going at least fifty miles an hour spending half it’s time in mid air, flying over large waves into a headwind that must have been 30 miles an hour. We were being unmercifully, unpredictably pounded into the ridged liquid surface as we raced over the sea holding on for dear life, our protective outerwear feeling like it was going to be torn off our limbs. Every muscle and bone in our 57 year old bodies were trying tear and dislocate.

Reaching the island of Nolsoy in about twenty minutes we entered into its small protected harbor allowing us a moment to regroup. We turned to each other wondering how the other had fared. OK, so far. We spent the next forty five minutes circumnavigating the island of Nolsoy, with it’s beautiful soaring cliffs, deep sea caves and worlds largest colony of storm petrels. Then came time to head back across the waters to Torshavn.

There isn’t much more I can add to the description of our return trip that I haven’t already given about the first leg. Since speaking metaphorically about horseback riding, let me give one last comparison. When you go trail riding on horses that are used to the same route each day, we’ve all learned that when the horse knows its on its final stretch home and you, the rider, not being its master, are in it’s control. Most often they take off in full gallop towards home as you hold on for dear life, the ground speeding by just daring you to fall off. Back to our RIB, it was our time to head home, the boats captain could smell his oats waiting for him just two miles always. Multiply everything we experienced on the way over by another third to one half more intensity and you’ve got the idea. The wind became so violently strong that our jumpsuits hoods became filled with air, like a parachute catching the wind, pulling backward off our sculls, held on by it’s wide Velcro face protector. Though sitting side by side, shoulders and legs touching, we weren’t able to communicated at all during the ordeal. We had to apply all our strength and attention to surviving the physical jarring and wind abuse, fearing if we turned our heads or let loose with a hand our necks would snap, we‘d fly off or smash our teeth into the handlebar.

When we finally made it back I seemed to had survived with no obvious physical damage. Maureen hadn’t fared as well. Unbeknownst to me, during the return crossing, the hurricane winds had so filled her hood with air it had pulled her Velcro face mask high and tight over her face, riding up her nose to her eyes, crushing her glasses deep into the bridge of her nose and eye sockets. Remember, we couldn’t let go of our reigns/hand bar to adjust our gear, signal for help or anything for fear of…

During this visit we had the fortunate opportunity to meet one of my Mothers neighbors. He was very interested in our adventure to South Africa and wondered “why did you go there, on a mission?”. We chuckled, out of embarrassment I guess, for we hadn’t even thought of that. Up to this point in our lives we had never participated in this type of organized, charitable work (not having any real skills we felt would help people in need of life’s basic necessities) and said no, we were there for fun and to film (record) our trip for use in our photography business. We also wanted to continue our quest to learn more about another place on earth we hadn’t been to before. Ironically, this question turned out to be much more telling than what first came to our mind.

Looking back over our Africa trip I guess we did do some “mission work”. It wasn’t in our itinerary or part of our goals of the trip, it just happened. We hadn’t even thought of it as mission work while performing the tasks but now that my Mothers neighbor brought it up, I guess we did some “mission work“.

Let me lay out the details and see if you can figure out where our mission work took place.

After countless hours of travel by plane, bus, trams, jeeps, helicopters, vans, foot and elephant through jungles, desserts, savannas, mountains, rivers and lakes we neared yet another exotic location on our itinerary. Prior to arriving we called ahead to our innkeeper to confirm our arrival and make sure all preparations had been made. Yes, they said, but recent natural events have changed the planned itinerary, so be warned. We had been so busy with our travels it was impossible to keep up with world news.

Upon arrival to our river side destination the natural disaster became immediately apparent. The worst flooding in the local areas recorded history. Greater than the 100 year level everyone tries to prepare for in advance. The compounds out building was partially underwater, unusable. Used for storage and housing the implements and vehicles used in daily upkeep of the compound, the last time anyone dared look inside they witnessed floating gas tanks and their accompanying slick of oil, floating gardening tools and the like. A very dangerous place. Luckily, the main lodge was on land high enough to avoid the onslaught of water. It was, however half surrounded by water with it’s basement partially flooded. Some five hundred sandbags stacked five tall held the river water at bay while seven pumps worked 24 hours a day just to try and keep ahead of the seeping water. Our planned boat rides and nature adventures were obviously not going to happen this trip. Our duty became to help in any way we could in the three days we would be there.

They had lost all their clean drinking water, which came from an underground well under the building. Upstream, the towns and villages waste disposal systems had been overwhelmed and untreated sewage spilled into the flooded river contaminating all the water down stream. All the drinking water had to be boiled. If you dared take a shower best make it short, not have any open sores and do your best not to allow any water into your system.

Going to the bathroom was another gamble. The compound was dependant on an old septic tank. Thankfully it was located on higher ground, next to the main building, but, as proven by the leakage of ground water into its basement through its cinderblock walls, the septic tank could very well be leaking or could become unusable at any moment. “Keep your flushing to a minimum” we were told.

The leaking basement of the main building not only contained the drinking water source but all the electric, which thankfully was still working, the air-conditioning and heating systems, which had been disabled, backup refrigeration and freezer systems plus storage of a lifetime of memorabilia. One extremely unique features of the basement, and what ended up saving it was a series of six huge cement water tanks measuring approximately 5’ x 5’ and 6’deep embedded into the ground, all aligned along one wall that the original owner had installed so he could raise minnows as fishing bait in the basement. Not used for minnows for over thirty years the tanks remained structurally sound and collected the excess water leaking into the basement as the pumps kept sucking out and spitting it back into the swollen river. Without these unusual minnow tanks the basement would assuredly been under feet of water. One of our jobs was to maintain the pumps in the basement and helping squeegee the excess water off the floor into the collection tanks.

Another element to be added to this crisis scenario were bugs and animals. The swollen river had become the perfect breading ground for record numbers of insects. Luckily, we personally had been fully prepared for this and had all our insect protective clothing and sprays and had all our immunization shots and were taking malaria pills. Animals had access to more areas than ever before. Fish, for instance, had their natural instinct kick in as never before. They were acting like salmon, swimming up streams, which now were the local roads, to spawn. The locals had never witnessed such a spectacle of nature like this before so out they came by the hundreds to witness this awesome event.

We departed Maui February 24, 2008 at 11:20 pm on United flight 1054. After a stop over in Denver we arrived in Chicago, (ORD) February 25 at 1:51 pm.

Racing across hundreds of yards I reached the furthest point I could, the wall. In panic stricken pain I tore off my shorts and briefs, not easy over my Teva sandals, tossing them out of harms way. Blinded by pain and embarrassment I leaned against the cool stone wall, crouched the best I could just as all hell brake loose.

Sweating like a pig the painful cramping and physical terror began subsiding. I was able to look around hoping no one was watching and found myself clear for a few more moments. Time to regroup.

Taking the few precious pieces of tissue from the travel size packet of tissue, I cleaned myself as best I could. I then reached for my discarded clothing as I accidentally did what I knew I couldn’t do, step, in it. Too late. Can’t undo that. I had to be careful now, first came the tighty whities. Slipping them over the soiled Tevas wasn’t easy but I did it cleanly. As the cotton reached its intended place I realized I hadn’t been able to clean myself completely. The feeling of the clean white cotton contacting the moist brown matter was too much! Next, the shorts. As I was doing this I could see people coming ever closer now, close enough to see what I was doing yet appeared not to be looking, yet. This time I didn’t quite get the shorts past my Tevas, transferring some of the processed Chinese food from my sandals to my light tan shorts.

Fully clothed I slowly began walking away from my spot of shame fully aware that I stunk to high heaven, forgive the pun, and you could see brown moist parts on my shorts. Silently crying I set out to rejoin my wife and group.

As I walked I began noticing other piles of tissue, diapers and human waste scattered openly around the grounds. It made me feel a little better knowing a lot of other people had similar challenges.

Saturated with sweat and smelling like a soiled baby, I saw my wife in the distance. As I approached she could see the state I was in and did her best to console me and deal with it. I felt I had to stay as far away as I could from everyone as not to let them see or catch a whiff of what happened. It took another half hour before reaching a bathroom during which time I began to calm down and dry out.

The plaque on the outside of the WC proudly proclaimed it a 4 star-rated toilet, issued by the Beijing Tourism Administration. That being of little comfort I went in and was pleasantly surprised to find a rather modern bathroom. Entering into one of the stalls of course I was greeted by a common Chinese hole in the ground toilet. It was a modern porcelain style yet it was still, in the ground. I undressed and cleaned as thoroughly as I could. The underwear was too far gone so I tossed them in a trash can, put back on my shorts and off I went.

The remaining time spent in the gardens just outside the Forbidden City gave me additional time to psychologically recover, dry and let the smell dissipate before climbing back on the bus. As we boarded to leave I isolated myself from everyone else as best I could. No one seemed to notice and no one ever said a word.

It took me years to tell anyone of this. I’ve now only told my brother and his wife who found it very funny but certainly sympathized and could relate. Now you know.