The flamenco guitar renders sweet, tender tones. The dancer’s elegant hands sculpt origami silhouettes as her arms snake above her arched back. No ersatz smile, eyes half closed, she concentrates. Stomp. Her feet break out in a syncopated rap-tat-tap. Other dancers clap a counter rhythm. The singer’s voice erupts, husky with anguish. Surging-slowing, surging-slowing, the emotion builds. Hands-feet-skirts fly at blur speed. Olé! Olé! we whoop. With a fierce cry, the lament breaks, the passion’s released. Now sensuous and defiant, our dancer proclaims her power....
The
Seabourn Pride
Atlantic Crossing
A gibbous moon glides from behind the clouds that separate an inky Atlantic from the nocturnal sky. Moonlight flows like white-silver lava over the swells right to my toes. At its margins, the moon’s lava-path scatters like mercury. Just below my balcony, the silver swells waltz with the ship’s wake. The breeze tosses salty kisses my way. Mesmerized, perhaps bewitched, I do not move until the moon rises towards the dipper and its path dissolves.....
Seabourn Pride's
Cruising Chef
White orchids glow in the candlelight. Pink salmon, new potatoes and pale green leeks float in an appetizer of salty, savory caviar and saffron jelly. Red peppercorns crunch in the first-press olive oil vinaigrette. Long, thin and crisp breadsticks arrive with Forest Mushroom Essence. The soup has tarragon-stuffed morels and tiny diamonds of carrots, red pepper and yellow squash. It’s reminiscent of a deep woods pierced by sunbeams....