home is. . .
home is where I ain't.
I knew that my company was sending out engineers for yet another field test in brazil, and I learned early on that one of them was to be me. The ship was scheduled to be in port at the end of April/ beginning of May, and so I figured that was when I would be down again. But then last Monday they said I as flying out that Friday. Then that Wednesday they said it would be Monday. It is very aggrevating to plan ones life around an impending international business trip that keeps shifting.
I was getting more and more frustrated as the trip got nearer. I think at one point I sunk into teenaged angstness about the whole thing. I think it finally struck me on the car ride from the Rio de Janeiro airport to the hotel that the reason I am not at peace is because I am not being joyfully obedient to my employer. After all, I see this occupation and life as my Vocation, and we are all called to live obedience, so I suppose I should develop more of an attitude of joyful obedience to my employer. I have a long way to go.
Meanwhile,
Life in Brazil is . . . interesting. This ship is just as international as the last one, a british captain, a polish chief engineer, brazilian, columbian, chilean crew members, all in a ship owned by scots, leased to brazilians, and flagged in Port Villa (a shiny nickle to anyone who knows where that is). When we first started working on the ship (instrumenting the engine, reviewing the logs, etc) it was at anchor about half a mile (nautical, if you like) off the shore, so we took a launch to and from. Yesterday we finally maneuvered into the shipyard, except there is another ship in our parking place, so we backed in between it and another ship, perpendicular to the dock, with a strange elevated gangway tenuously connecting us to shore. I recognized the shipyard from my last visit, because it had a very distinguishing landmark: two collapsed cranes. There is this enormous crane that probably used to rise 200 feet into the air that is now a semi-erect pile of twisted scrap, and another crane at the other end of the same track, also twisted and deformed but protruding high into the air, rather than collapsing down.
Getting to and from the shipyard is a relgious experience. I am reminded of the joke where the priest, minister, and taxi driver all die and go to judgement, and the taxi driver gets to go in first because he got the most people to pray. Traffic here is absolutely insane. There are no lanes, well, there are stripes, but no one pays attention. Cars, vans, and buses merge and dodge through every intersection and around every curve. All the while, motorcycles whiz past splitting lanes with reckless abandon. Out the windows I see Rio go by, most of it closed off with bars and gates, graffitied in a language I do not know. On the edge of town mountians rise so quickly and so high that the best word I have found to describe them is 'surreal.'
I keep interesting company these days as well. I am the only one who actually lives in the same country where he was born. My two co-workers, both american citizens/permanent residents, are from Columbia and India. The fellows that represent
the company what owns the boat are both English speakers, one speaks Scottish-english, and Austrialian-english the other. A service rep from our distributor is from New Orleans, though his family has a farm outside of Champaign. They tell stories that are incredible! I have heard recently of ships at sea, and traffic in China, flights out of Angola (which I was cautioned to avoid), mining facilities along the Amazon, and anything else you can imagine. After a couple of tales of ships flipping over and people dying, I requested that no more stories along that vein be told.
When did my life become such an adventure? Lately I've felt that I'm just an outside observer being swept along. Remind me next time I'm bored that I wanted it that way, ok?
I knew that my company was sending out engineers for yet another field test in brazil, and I learned early on that one of them was to be me. The ship was scheduled to be in port at the end of April/ beginning of May, and so I figured that was when I would be down again. But then last Monday they said I as flying out that Friday. Then that Wednesday they said it would be Monday. It is very aggrevating to plan ones life around an impending international business trip that keeps shifting.
I was getting more and more frustrated as the trip got nearer. I think at one point I sunk into teenaged angstness about the whole thing. I think it finally struck me on the car ride from the Rio de Janeiro airport to the hotel that the reason I am not at peace is because I am not being joyfully obedient to my employer. After all, I see this occupation and life as my Vocation, and we are all called to live obedience, so I suppose I should develop more of an attitude of joyful obedience to my employer. I have a long way to go.
Meanwhile,
Life in Brazil is . . . interesting. This ship is just as international as the last one, a british captain, a polish chief engineer, brazilian, columbian, chilean crew members, all in a ship owned by scots, leased to brazilians, and flagged in Port Villa (a shiny nickle to anyone who knows where that is). When we first started working on the ship (instrumenting the engine, reviewing the logs, etc) it was at anchor about half a mile (nautical, if you like) off the shore, so we took a launch to and from. Yesterday we finally maneuvered into the shipyard, except there is another ship in our parking place, so we backed in between it and another ship, perpendicular to the dock, with a strange elevated gangway tenuously connecting us to shore. I recognized the shipyard from my last visit, because it had a very distinguishing landmark: two collapsed cranes. There is this enormous crane that probably used to rise 200 feet into the air that is now a semi-erect pile of twisted scrap, and another crane at the other end of the same track, also twisted and deformed but protruding high into the air, rather than collapsing down.
Getting to and from the shipyard is a relgious experience. I am reminded of the joke where the priest, minister, and taxi driver all die and go to judgement, and the taxi driver gets to go in first because he got the most people to pray. Traffic here is absolutely insane. There are no lanes, well, there are stripes, but no one pays attention. Cars, vans, and buses merge and dodge through every intersection and around every curve. All the while, motorcycles whiz past splitting lanes with reckless abandon. Out the windows I see Rio go by, most of it closed off with bars and gates, graffitied in a language I do not know. On the edge of town mountians rise so quickly and so high that the best word I have found to describe them is 'surreal.'
I keep interesting company these days as well. I am the only one who actually lives in the same country where he was born. My two co-workers, both american citizens/permanent residents, are from Columbia and India. The fellows that represent
the company what owns the boat are both English speakers, one speaks Scottish-english, and Austrialian-english the other. A service rep from our distributor is from New Orleans, though his family has a farm outside of Champaign. They tell stories that are incredible! I have heard recently of ships at sea, and traffic in China, flights out of Angola (which I was cautioned to avoid), mining facilities along the Amazon, and anything else you can imagine. After a couple of tales of ships flipping over and people dying, I requested that no more stories along that vein be told.
When did my life become such an adventure? Lately I've felt that I'm just an outside observer being swept along. Remind me next time I'm bored that I wanted it that way, ok?