SE­ABOURN SUG­GESTS: HOW TO SPEND YOUR DOWN TIME

Seabourn Club Herald - - SEE HEAR DO - By Stephanie Mead­ows

SAILINGALONEAROUNDTHEWORLD:THEILLUSTRATEDEDITION, JOSHUA SLOCUM (ZENITH PRESS)

Joshua Slocum be­came a best­selling au­thor in 1900 — and all he had to do was sail 46,000 miles around the world alone to do it. He was the first sailor to per­form the feat sin­gle-handed, and luck­ily for us, was also a tal­ented sto­ry­teller. Be­tween April 24, 1895, and June 27, 1898, he crossed the At­lantic twice, be­friended the ghost of Christo­pher Colum­bus’ nav­i­ga­tor (a fever vi­sion brought on, he says, by too many green plums with farmer’s cheese), crossed through the Straits of Mag­el­lan, met Robert Louis Steven­son’s charm­ing widow in Samoa, and vis­ited Aus­tralia and South Africa be­fore re­turn­ing to Fairhaven, Mas­sachusetts. This new edi­tion is lav­ishly il­lus­trated with the orig­i­nal ink draw­ings from the 1905 print­ing, his­tor­i­cal maps, and color­ful pho­to­graphs of Slocum’s ports of call and a replica of his ship, Spray, that sailed in the 1930s. It’s also filled with ex­cerpts from other sailors and sail­ing en­thu­si­asts in­spired by Slocum’s jour­ney.

THE PINK RIVER DOL­PHINS, LAKE ACAJATUBA, BRAZIL

The lo­cals call them botos, and they look like some­thing a lit­tle girl dreamed up for her fifth birthday party. In the heart of Brazil’s Ama­zon Basin, you can meet a species of dol­phin with long, smil­ing snouts and skin the color of bub­ble gum, heir­loom roses and princess dresses. The pink dol­phins, one of South Amer­ica’s rarest crea­tures, live only in the fresh wa­ter of the rain for­est. In the past, they com­peted with hu­mans for catfish — viewed as a del­i­cacy by both species. Now, lo­cal fish­er­men credit the pink dol­phin with cre­at­ing a new eco-tourism in­dus­try, and the fas­ci­nat­ing crea­tures de­light vis­i­tors from all over the world.

FULLHEAL, WAK­ING AIDA

This re­flec­tive, thought­ful, Southamp­ton-based mu­si­cal col­lec­tive cre­ates sound­scapes that run a full emo­tional course from spare melan­choly to richly tex­tured ex­u­ber­ance. Their com­po­si­tions (can they be called “songs” if they don’t have any words?) get de­scribed as “in­tri­cate” and “math­e­mat­i­cal,” and there is a sense of pre­ci­sion and con­trol here, but it’s all in the ser­vice of sweep­ing emo­tional sto­ries (and yes, they can be called “sto­ries” even with­out any words). For ex­am­ple, the track “Ex­plod­ing Palm” starts with all the joy of 1960s surf rock, veers into a smok­ier cool-jazz vibe, then fol­lows a solo pi­ano as it grad­u­ally builds on the min­i­mal melody and ul­ti­mately opens into a grandeur the equal to con­tem­po­rary com­posers like Jerry Gold­smith or Howard Shore. Good mu­sic for a mem­o­rable jour­ney.

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