I knew Joan Dunayer had many fans, as I often heard her works recommended on websites, Facebook and Twitter. My “Books to Read” list is very long and, while her books were on the list, they did not make it to the top until I finally received a review copy of the subject book. As soon as I began reading her excellent work, I understood why her fans wanted everyone to read her books. Speciesism is so easy to absorb, filled with fascinating information about other animals, and so accessible to most all readers that it should be one every activist as well as every non-vegan would read at some point.

Old Speciesists, New Speciesists, and Anti-Speciesist Philosophies

Ms. Dunayer first defines the term speciesism and looks at its various manifestations. At the root is the attitude of human supremacy and the denial of the individual rights or respect for the individual beings that are not human. Old Speciesism, those who advocate for human supremacy, is separated from New Speciesism, wherein some advocates are proposing rights for only select animals, usually those more similar to humans. What Dunayer advocates, however, is much more. She is asking for moral consideration for all sentient individuals. She advocates for the invertebrates, the crustaceans, the birds, the mammals, without prejudice, and suggests that if we err, it should be on the side of inclusion rather than exclusion.

Joan Dunayer Asks for a New Paradigm for Animals

Dunayer asks for abolitionist bans, boycotts, vegan advocacy, rights advocacy and campaigns against speciesism. Speciesists often consider other animals only as categories (gorillas, birds, fish) while seeing only humans as individuals. ”To varying degrees, all animal species overlap physically and mentally. At the same time, each animal is unique.” * Anyone familiar with her other book, Animal Equality: Language and Liberation, is aware of the signifcant contribution Ms. Dunayer has made towards heightening awareness of speciesism in language.  Her background in literature, education, and psychology has made her well-suited for writing this sensitive and respectful book. Strongly recommended.

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On the way to school yesterday, my middle grandson reminded me that soon it was going to be Chinese New Year. It was time to open the windows to let the old year get away. In our households, this means that numerous small red envelopes will begin surfacing, with two crisp new bills tucked into each. The boys will be the beneficiaries of this tradition and look forward to this each and every year. This is of particular interest to middle grandson, though, as he was born in The Year of the Dragon, a status he wears proudly. He was given a golden dragon charm when he was only a toddler, which he wears round his neck on a gold chain, and has dragon symbols all over his room. He loves being a Dragon.

Honoring Pigs and Roosters, Too

I am a Pig. When I first came into the family, there was much support for my inclusion – the family, it seems, needed another Pig. I was unsure how to receive this information since there is so much disrespect and misunderstanding of this animal. Pigs, it seems, are symbols of fidelity, honesty, and are symbols of peace and harmony; they are said to be the best friends around. Oldest grandson is also a Pig.

Youngest grandson is a Chicken or Rooster. Chickens are wonderful, civilized, gentle animals with a fierce protectiveness and display great bravery, but they are possibly even more mistreated in the real world than fellow beings, the pigs. Youngest grandson would prefer to be a Dragon and does not wear his gold chicken charm. His room sports no Rooster symbols, even though Roosters are believed to be handsome, independent, with the ability to exorcise evil spirits. One of his smiles can certainly get rid of any personal demons I am carrying at any given time, but I cannot vouch for his other traits just yet. It is easy to feel underappreciated when you are a Chicken and your brother is a Dragon.

What Year of the Dragon Means

From Travel China Guide:

The dragon enjoys a very high reputation in Chinese culture. It is the token of authority, dignity, honor, success, luck, and capacity. In ancient China, a dragon was thought to speed across the sky with divine power. Emperors entitled themselves exclusively as ‘dragon’; their thrones were called ‘dragon thrones’, their clothes ‘dragon gowns’.

Chinese are expected to be particularly prolific in this year of power and wealth, believing that it will bless their families. In an era of ballooning human overpopulation, this is not good news for the environment or other animals– particularly since China is increasing their consumption of animal others. Following ancient traditions is a double-edged sword. While it is respectful of ancestors and generations, it may also keep people trapped into prejudice and irrational beliefs. I think of kindergartens, filled with children of perceived matching traits — what a prospect for their teacher!

I love being able to be part of this ancient tradition and enjoy the colorful imagery of animals, even a mythical animal like the dragon. But I will not be able to celebrate the Year of the Dragon fully until such a celebration is actually done with respect for the real animals of this world, the ones whose traits have been employed to represent human characteristics. I will celebrate when The Year of the Pig actually honors all pigs and when the Year of the Chicken honors chickens everywhere. And, when all those goodies prepared around the world to celebrate days like today will be vegan. Until then, as a Pig, I am going to do all I can to be an effective advocate for peace and harmony among all beings.

May The Year of the Dragon bring peace, prosperity and happiness to you and to all our fellow beings!

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Want to discover what your Chinese Zodiac sign is?

Here is a vegan Chinese Won Ton recipe to get you in the mood. And here is Vegan Dad’s version of the same. Need more? Here is Chow Vegan’s idea of a feast for Chinese New Year!

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We had to get the kids up at 2:30 AM in order to be ready for the bus that was taking us to the airport at 3:30. The amount of luggage that twelve people require is quite cumbersome, but each boy had their own backpack and suitcase on wheels, so they were quite helpful in getting us on the bus. Once we arrived at the airport, though, it appeared there had been some  misunderstanding, as the desk did not open until 5:00 am, leaving us with well over an hour to wait. Someone made a food run and one of the boys brought me back a green apple – not my first preference to eat at 4 AM, but a treasure nonetheless.

Airports Mean Hunger

Once we were checked in, we did not have a long wait until boarding, and only  an hour’s flight to Madrid. However, once there, it was to be several hours before we could board for the flight home. Vegan food choices were minimal, I had no Euros, and had to rely on my credit card. I finally found a pack of nuts in one of the gift shops and purchased it, knowing it would have to hold me over until the flight. The Madrid airport was impressive, with some beautiful artwork and futuristic people movers throughout. But when it came to plant-based food, the options were almost non-existent. My son commented that there was an opportunity for someone to begin providing vegan products in Europe, but I told him I wasn’t certain how much of a market there would be. His response: “There will be, though.”  I hope he is right.

The flight was to be eleven hours, and the main airlines that took us directly to DFW from Madrid, nonstop, had missed the vegan meal altogether once again. Not only that, this crew was not as friendly and was not at all accommodating. Without much food for what was to be nearly 24 hours, I decided to drink as much as they would give me. So I accepted orange juice, and then later tomato juice, in order to get something into my stomach. When dinner was served and I was unable to find anything at all to eat (the vegetarian option was pasta in a creamy cheese sauce), I was touched when leaves of lettuce and grapes were passed to me from my son’s and daughter-in-law’s trays. My son also dug into his own bag and tried to find any snacks that might suffice. I told him that I was drinking juice and would be fine, but I was very hungry. The worst part was when Garden Pizzas were given out near the end of our journey. They smelled so inviting that I thought momentarily of trying to scrape the cheese off of them, but I was certain the rest of the pizza was not vegan, either. That was not appealing and I knew no matter how hungry I was, I would be home soon and could eat more normally once again.

Best of All, Coming Home

Visions of what I had been craving danced through my head: flax seed meal, smoothies, fresh vegetables, vegan pot pies, greens. When we finally made it off the airlines, retrieved our luggage, and made it through customs, we had been awake nearly 30 hours with little sleep the night before. We took an airport limo home and I entered the house to see my feline friend sleeping exactly where she was when I left, looking healthy and sniffing me eagerly as she was awakened from a very deep sleep. But I found despite being exhausted, my hunger was building, so some spaghetti  noodles with garlic salt hit the spot. It filled my stomach enough that I could fall asleep.  Someone was very happy to see me, and I nearly had a feline appendage as my friend pushed against me and purred and purred and purred. She seemed to know my travels were over. It was good to be home.

The morning of our disembarkation from the Norwegian Jade, we found Jonathan, our cabin steward, just in time to get a quick snapshot of him with our youngest. He had been one of the true delights of the entire experience, with newly created animals made from towels gracing our beds each evening. Even the adults would scamper over to see what he had made for Justin, who took to hiding them under his bed lest the adults use the towels! One day it was a vampire bat hanging from the ceiling, another day it was a wonderful sea turtle on the bed. We found bulldogs, bunny rabbits, two duckies in a nest, a dinosaur, a hanging monkey, and our all time favorite, a two-toned snail.

Back on Land, a New Hotel

Our new hotel was not quite as slick as our first Malaga overnight stay, but it made up for it in being so kid friendly. Justin, the youngest, was welcomed into their Kids Club upon arrival, and went back to finish his drawing as soon as we were established in our room. He voiced a protest that he was “tired of living with Bubba” and stated quite clearly that he wanted to share a room with his big brother. At first, his brother tried to make that okay, but it would have meant I would be put in a room with the sixteen year old, who stayed up much later, and Justin would end up going to bed alone in his room anyway. Justin soon gave up the idea and willingly unpacked his things in the room with me. After finishing his drawing, he was told that Father Christmas would come to see him on Christmas day.

The two families with children decided to host a pizza party in their room with their boys, so I was on my own. I nearly forgot it was Christmas Eve – I was tired – but went down to the hotel cafe and asked if they could give me anything vegan for dinner that I might take back to my room? The hostess said the chef was too busy with the private parties and holiday (everything was elegantly decorated and all the guests dining were dressed up), but said they would make something if I could tell them what to fix. I suggest a baked potato, some veggies and french bread. “Okay, a jacket, some veg, and bread. It will just take a few minutes.” I was soooo hungry, as lunch had been the perpetual salad, so the prepared vegetables were the first real hearty meal since I had left, and I was so famished that I would not allow the boys to sample the bread until I had eaten a few bites. Then they were off to their party, and I was able to get some much needed rest. I brought two books with me on the cruise, Joan Dunayer’s Speciesism and Steven Wise’s An American Trilogy. They were both fabulous books and I whipped through them way too quickly. I still had some podcasts to listen to on my iPod, and there was some European television available, too.

Lone Vegan on Holiday

There were two main amenities that first drew the youngest to explore: the large swimming pool and indoor pool near the office, and a small miniature golf course that was near the side of the large grounds.  Later, we discovered a small indoor pool near our rooms, and a small playground as well. The guys found a basketball hoop and had one nice evening talking and shooting hoops while Justin and I stayed in the nearby playground. Justin also played many games of golf, nearly missing the visit from Father Christmas. But he was there when Santa arrived, complete with snow on his boots, and he even received a gift with his name on it, wrapped in (how did he KNOW??) SpongeBob giftwrap. The bag of goodies were all an adventure and quite different than American treats. All the boys wanted to sample the bounty.

At one point, I saw what appeared to be foie gras on the adult’s dining table. I groaned, and said aloud, “Is that foie gras?” One of the boy s asked me what foie gras is and I explained it was a cruel delicacy that was created by force feeding ducks or geese through a tube. Worst of all, it appeared to have found little enthusiasm and was not being eaten (or maybe this was good because they would never purchase it again). This exploration of food without conscience was one of the most difficult aspects of traveling with my non vegan family members. Vacation was not a good time for consultation, either. As it was, I barely spoke to the adults but spent most of my time with the boys. I had to remind myself that family and close friends are often the most resistant, the most difficult to reach with information and awareness. It was inspiration, though, for future efforts.

By the eighth day of the cruise, I would have been happy to remain on the open sea, but it was another disembarkation day – this time to another Canary Island. I knew that others we met on the cruise were staying on board, as they had been to this island before (Arrecife) and thought it was much as the one we had just visited. But our group decided to investigate further, and we left early once again for the shore.  Rather than the double decker buses we encountered on Santa Cruz, this island had a white tram that looked like a kid’s choo-choo train that moved us about the city. Despite the nature of these cruise stops and the influx of tourists, this island did not seem prepared to meet this demand. There was, however, a street market that proved somewhat interesting. Best of all, it was adjacent to a large park, so the youngest grandson and I escaped the shoppers and played amid the playground equipment, the fountain, and the other kids. There was a giant saucer that was like a group swing, a merry-go-round that spun gently, and plenty of brightly colored things on which to climb. The group lost interest early on, but my son, the boys and I all walked to see an old castle that was not too far from the park and market.

The castle door was locked but there was an old cannon and a memorial plaque, so we had a few photo opportunities there. The boys enjoyed walking along the shore and the little one loved playing in the sand. Best of all, I took one of my favorite photos on the city, seen from the point on which the castle stood. It was also a reminder of the temporary status of our visit, of our way of life, and of life itself. Things change, and we were only here to move a few stones and leave our small mark. We took it in and left our footprints behind. The magnetism to the Canary Islands seems to be due to the warmth they offer many from the northern parts of Europe who are searching for respite from the cold. I remember when hosting Danish exchange students years prior, they had all enthused on and on about Spain, and how it was their favorite place in all the world.

Back on the ship, we enjoyed our regular buffet options (for me, another salad) and looked forward to our final meal together in the restaurant. To my dismay, I was given my least favorite meal for the third time! This time, however, it was proceeded by tiny potato pancakes (very good) and accompanied with some flat bread, which made the meal one that I could appreciate once again.

Santa Cruz in the Canary Islands was our destination for Day Seven. We had decided not to take part in any excursions, but when double decker open-topped buses appeared, we decided to jump on, view the city once round, then get off for lunch and shopping (which the boys and I hoped to avoid at all costs). We were each given red baseball caps and bright orange headphones for the tour.

While getting settled on the bus to tour the city, my youngest grandson (sitting with his uncle in front of me), leaned back and asked me the following:

“Bubba, what do you call insects? They are not things, but they are ……?”

“They are living, feeling beings.”

“Yes, living beings that is it!” He then leaned back and told his uncle that insects were living beings.

Speciesist Overload

There were times of this trip that I really suffered from a speciesist overdose. I have not lived in such close proximity with non vegans since becoming vegan a few years ago. I know it would be easier for my son if I was a mainstream mom, but I have never been that. I hope that my ethical stand is somehow something he can respect. To find out that once again, some of my teaching is getting through to the boys at least, is encouraging. One of the things I noticed on this trip is how the boys behave when they are around their male relatives– trying to be appear tough and insensitive seems to be part of joining the male bonding club. This needs to change. I never once stood down from my beliefs on the trip and the men each knew that. There are times it takes much greater strength to show compassion and take a stand for someone else than to join in the socially acceptable callousness.

There were a few signs that the Christmas holidays were near, such as the little children on the street, dressed as Christmas presents. The city square was bedecked with red and white poinsettias saying, “I (heart) Santa Cruz.” But with warmer weather, it was easy to forget that this was the holiday season at all.

We got off the bus to walk around, searching for a lunch spot. We walked into a charming bistro with enough tables to accommodate our unwieldy group. I tried to use the phrases I had read in Happy Cow, to no avail. Somehow the wait staff, speaking mostly Spanish, determined I should have a salad, and it was the loveliest of the entire trip. It was the only time on the trip that we had a chance to sample any real Spanish food, since most of the meals in Malaga were of British influence. The men were talking about trying rabbit on their plates, and I thought of Sammy, the little lop-eared bunny that I had rescued years before. He was the sweetest, most gentle and loving animal and housetrained very easily. Bunnies or cows, it is all the same, that disconnect from the reality of our choices and the cost for other beings. This meal soon proved to be another drawn out affair, which my grandson found a bit too taxing, so we took to the streets while the other adults finished their imbibing. Everyone seemed ready to head back to the ship, and it was decided that there would be no dining hall that night, so it was double salads for me. The boys were delighted, and I was at least relieved to be free of the lengthy two hour process once again. As we walked back towards the harbor, we noticed all the tagging that was so prevalent all over Spain, some with speciesist themes. We had been told by our tour guide in Barcelona that the tagging did not represent violent street gangs, just gangs of youth and that tagging was how they identified one another. The disrespect towards other animals seems to know no national boundaries and is one of the reasons that the internet has helped form such close international ties between activists. I would soon be ready to return.

We arrived in Portugal and had to disembark early for another excursion, this one planned by my DIL’s sister. The tour  took us on narrow winding roads bordered by steep ravines. We climbed on rocky trails above deep crevices, with mossy rocks and little nestled villages far below us. We even went to a small village with a church and graveyard, where each deceased soul had their name and picture forever emblazoned on a headstone. The village was ready for tourists, with photo ops of people putting their face behind a nun’s outline, and local businesses selling textiles and food in the few small shops where we stopped. The adults chose a coffee and liqueer establishment while the kids and I checked out the scenery. They called us in to taste some lovely roasted chestnuts, but were sitting beside the carcasses of two dead animals, hanging in a glass case. They had no idea, I realize, how that impacted me. It was one of the daily reminders of the speciesist world in which we all lived. It was also a realization of how my grandchildren are being sucked into the mainstream specieisim every single day of their lvies, without even knowing it. It was hard to take.

 A Changing Landscape for Other Animals

One of the questions I asked was concerning wildlife in the forested areas on this lovely island (Madeira). Sadly, I was told there are only a few birds, and an occasional rabbit. This was echoed in other places we visited, where we were told that there used to be plentiful wildlife, that people would hunt in these forests, but all the wildlife had been decimated, a sad comment on our species inability to live in harmony with other species.

In the evening, we set back on the open sea, but this time with a bit more drama. The sea had turned a bit rough as we were leaving the stormy weather of northern Spain, and the boat was pitching back and forth. Those of us with the most delicate sensitibilities had taken their leave the night before, and were trying to recover in their rooms. I was thankful I was not at all troubled by the ships movement, but that could have been due to diet. We were told to eat raw green apples, which I did daily anyway, in order to avoid sea sickness. Once again, the vegan diet saves the day!

An Overabundance of Options

Dinner this night was the biggest surprise of the entire journey –  almost TOO good.  First, there was a new appetizer to try, and it was good enough and substantial enough to have been the entire meal. It was a quesadilla made with wild mushrooms in a dry toasted tortilla, served with salsa and guacamole. It had been the main course for one of the aunties earlier in the week, and both she and her grandson did not like it. But I loved it – it was definitely one of my favorite meals and one I will try to copy in the near future.  Not only that, but they also brought me a salad again, but this time with a new dressing.  A for effort!

Then it became frustratingly wonderful, because I could only hold so much food.  The dinner was brought out, a vegan calzone with mushroom filling.  Right behind it they brought out a vegetable stir fry, which was just the kind of food I love. I looked in bewilderment at the wait staff who only smiled and said, “Just to try.”  I loved the stir fry, and ate it all, but it meant that I could not bear more than a tiny taste of the calzone, which was quite good, and meant no room for the dessert. The chef had outdone himself!

While I wished I could wrap up the calzone for another day, I was still pleased with what was possible and hoped it mean better meals for the next cruising vegan.

The Maitre D has asked me for suggestions for desserts that were quick and easy, and I had shared a quick thick smoothy type ice cream – frozen banana half, coconut milk, and flavoring of chocolate, peanut butter, or berries. However, I was simply too full after this meal to see if they had attempted to make this dessert – and it never appeared on any other night. It was one of the things, though, that I missed on the cruise and made sure to enjoy upon my return home.

We were still heading toward Portugal, so this meant another peaceful day on the sea.  It would be our last such day, with three consecutive disembarkations planned for Portugal’s Madeira and two different islands in the Canaries. My youngest grandson and I ventured downstairs, where there was less wind, and I played percussion on one of the side tables while he played with his set of knights. Once other people came to recline in solitude, I quit drumming and we took a walk down the length of the ship. We headed back upstairs to see if those older boys were awake, and passed an hour or so of time – me reading, Justin drawing, the boys plugged into their electronic worlds. I imagined what it must be for these boys, staying with this eccentric relative, trying to gain approval from the two husbands on this trip, (their stepfather, father or uncle), and how they balanced the disparity of the two polarized outlooks. I knew I was outnumbered and outgunned, especially with the love they had for violent video games, to which I objected. But I had not yet tossed in any towels.

We spent most of the afternoon in the kiddy pool area, with the youngest playing happily with his new pal, Oscar. I had already finished both of the excellent books I had brought with me, Speciesism by Joan Dunayer and An American Trilogy by Steven Wise. (Stay tuned for reviews of both books, but I will say I appreciated them both.) They were so easy to read and the Wise book read like a novel – I barely put it down once I started it.

Vegan Chocolate to the Rescue

This was the middle day of our cruise, and one that seemed to shift things. The adults were tired out from their nightly trips to the casinos and late night feasting, the boys were getting bored and refused to adventure and explore the ship.  The little one wanted to draw badly, so we found some crayons in the gift shop and begged some drawing paper from the front desk, a daily task which I hoped to foist on his parents. In any case, the ability to draw really pacified him, allowed him to spend time with the older boys and yet kept him happy and busy between trips to the pool. About this time, too, I was developing a craving for chocolate or something decadent, possibly because I sat quietly watching everyone else indulge daily. And any trips to the fruit section of the buffet took me right by all the pastries and other goodies. They even have a total buffet of chocolate, which I missed entirely, realizing it would not be vegan chocolates anyway. I don’t usually eat much in the way of sweets, but the daily tease of pastries was getting to me. I was, therefore, absolutely delighted when I found some vegan dark chocolate almost hidden in a remote section in the gift shop! It was my favorite kind, too, with orange bits — the kind that makes Orange Chocolate Chip Scones taste really yummy. Amazing how one little square of the chocolate assuaged that craving. Nothing yet had tasted so delicious!

Thank goodness I had discovered the dark chocolate, because this night’s dinner was going to be the biggest disappointment of the cruise. It was the same as yesterday’s meal, the rice with curry, but not as good. Perhaps it had been left over. The odd thing is, when home, I usually eat the same thing for a week or until it runs out. I have never minded eating things over and over, and even the salad bar, while routine, was still appreciated every single day. It is impossible to keep a lot of salad greens on hand for one person, so the variety was always wonderful. Perhaps it was how I looked forward to this one meal every day, or perhaps just due to the trajectory that I was expecting ever better, more exciting vegan dinners. For whatever reason, I did not eat much dinner that night. But for dessert, I was pleasantly surprised with a new dessert – berries that seemed to be frozen and then thawed out. They were quite good and felt very satisfying. And, I knew a bit of chocolate was tucked away in my suitcase upstairs, just in case.

The Touching Tribute of One Child

One of the delights of this trip was finding hope within the children. These are good boys but they are totally indoctrinated, to varying degrees, into the speciesism of their society. It was, therefore, a particularly touching moment when the middle boy leaned over at dinner and told me he had written a song for me. For me? Really? Then he sang it for me:

We are vegans, hear us roar,

This is what we’re fighting for,

From the common cow

To the dinosaur,

Animal rights is who we are!

After a day where I felt like the only person in existence who recognized other animals, where the whole world seemed to conspire to commodify and deny the personhood of others, this one little boy touched my heart with what he had been thinking all along. Whether he recognized my isolation, or felt my sadness, or just had a creative moment, it meant the world to this one grandmother. He thought maybe he should change the “dinosaur” to “birds that soar” or “carnivore” but decided he liked dinosaur. I did, too. Bless you, little boy. Something was getting through after all!

Day Four put us back on the high seas, heading south towards Portugal. As things were warming up a bit (although it was still very brisk out), my son got the two older boys to join the youngest in the pool and adventuring down the triple threat slide. The oldest became a life raft for the youngest, whose swimming lessons seem to have faded from memory from disuse. It was great to see them out in the (subdued) sun, and enjoying the water and the amenities of the ship. The youngest grandson had become a daily visitor in the afternoons to a kiddy pool, enclosed in glass and safe from the winds of the big people’s pool. At first I was told he was too old to be in the pool, but since he was the only that had been using it, I aksed where he could go since the big pool was over five feet deep. The staff person came back and said it was fine. He made many pals in that pool, including one from England that was name Oscar (pronounced AH/Skah). My grandson reported, “He sort of speaks English but he can’t quite pronounce it properly.”  I told my grandson that Oscar WAS using English properly, it was us Americans that were changing the pronunciation! The boys exchanged emails, addresses, and agreed to keep in touch. They got along so beautifully, and Oscar’s entire family was so good-natured and enjoyable, I hated to say good bye to them when we left.

A New Friend and New Toys

My youngest grandson, since meeting Oscar, decided to abstain from the Kids Club as Oscar did. This was a loss for me, too, because it meant I could no longer get to the gym in the early morning when it was tolerable. Between swimming sessions, he was somewhat uncertain how to spend his time. We headed down to the ship’s gift shop and he happily chose a set of little plastic knights and horses, a very good investment since the two small toys I brought with me were totally inadequate after a few days. After that, he brought his little carton of knights to dinner and to his nightly bath, content to be in the presence of toys that allowed for creative play. The two hour dinners were a bit taxing for the boys, but the older boys tended to look downward and play with their iToys, leaving the little guy stranded in a world of chattering adults.

Another important event took place around this time, but it was one the boys and I missed. Some of the adults saw dolphins swimming and diving near the ship! I was sad that I missed it, but it is a sight I had witnessed when I lived on the beach of Ventura, California – the bike path there allowed us to witness pairs of dolphins swimming by in the early mornings two at a time. It was always breathtaking and a reminder of the unseen, glorious life that is all around us!

I was really looking forward hopefully to the dinner hour, since the salad bar was getting pretty routine. Last night’s lovely burrito was positively inspired, so I felt we were on an upward trajectory when it came to vegan cuisine.  But tonight’s offering was to prove a bit disappointing, although quite acceptable. It was a rice dish with curried carrots, peas and pineapple. It was good, but not on the caliber of the previous entree. However, it was topped off by a new experiment: a pineapple sorbet that seemed to be blended frozen pineapple. It was greatly appreciated and quite lovely once it thawed enough to get a spoon into it.

The Challenge of Dining as the Lone Vegan

One of the difficulties of being with non vegans for every meal was in witnessing how carelessly, how callously most of us select what we put into our bodies. There is no concern for the costs in this unseen process of food procurement. The attitude of most of my fellow travelers was to try anything they could and be adventurous gourmets. It was not a time to think about ethics, or sustainability — this was a long awaited vacation after all.  At times I felt like a chronic pain, like a small nagging toothache that killed the joy of the moment, just by sitting there eating my vegan food. Unlike Ky, whose choice was religious, mine was ethical and therefore much more suspect, one that apparently required more self-defense. I recall having a few angry words with The One Who Liked to Taunt Vegans, but do not recall the exact circumstances. I do not consider the lives of animals to be worthy of contempt, I grew tired of the bullying, and it stopped. But it definitely did not make me a more popular member of the Gang of Twelve. I heard someone mention that they would eat anything, spoken in derision of those of us on special diets. I, too, will eat most anything, but not anyONE. That distinction seemed to be lost on most of the non vegans surrounding me. But I was nonetheless grateful to be part of the family, enjoying a common adventure if through disparate perspectives.

Day Three meant we needed to arise early, because we would be going on an excursion to Barcelona. My DIL had arranged this tour and it was on an amazingly large bus – seems they were out of the smaller vans so we had plenty of room to stretch out.  Barcelona is a progressive city, and a lovely one, too.  Seeing all the Guadi architecture and learning about the city’s history was amazing. The streets of downtown are slowly being fazed out, with greenery being planted where cars once drove — and there are lots of cars in this city. In the town square where the gallows used to stand, there is now a large fountain. And the bullfighting arena, once thriving, is now a shopping mall. Seems the citizens of Barcelona have banned bull-fighting; now if only the rest of Spain would do likewise! With groups like Igualdad Animal and Equanimal, this will eventually take place. I had renewed respect for Sharon Nunez and Jose Valle of Igualdad Animal and Oscar Horta of Equanimal, all of whom had been recent guests on ARZone podcasts.

The Fascinating Country of Spain

The image of the bull is so symbolic that it is difficult to find any type of memorabilia without that emblem on it. Learning of the injustice of bullfighting, with the bulls having their eyes smeared with a greasy substance prior to a fight, given laxatives to weaken them, stabbed repeatedly, forced into a futile life of desperation, I could not fathom owning a tee shirt or other reminder of the abuse of these magnificent animals. Besides, things were very expensive, with the Euro being worth 1.3 to 1.6 US Dollars, and the prices all exceeding what they would have cost in USD alone. Spain is an interesting mix of ultra modern progressive and quaint historical legend. It is one of the most intriguing places I visited and I would have loved to spend more time inland and really get a feel for this country. Our layover in Madrid barely gave us time to do more than search for food and people watch, yet we were all impressed with the systems (such as underground trams) of moving people about. I was doubly appreciative of the work being done here by Animal Igualdad and Equanimal as I became aware of the many sanguinary festivals that meant death, fear, and torment for other animals. These groups are bringing awareness to their country. Something is shifting in Barcelona!

The Ugly Head of Speciesism is Raised

Upsetting, though was watching as one of the older boys purposefully squashed a bug with his shoe. I asked him why he did such a thing to a being who was not bothering him at all. He responded, “Because I can.” I know that it was an automatic defensive response, and he knew from my tone that I was quite upset, but it was a reminder that the forces of speciesism are thousands per day, while my own input is only occasional.  These kinds of situations enhanced my sense of isolation, though. While our percentages may be 1% worldwide, on this particular cruise it was something more like .025% – not great odds. I began feeling like I had nothing in common with the adults on the cruise, and now even one of the kids felt out of reach. It was a difficult moment.

Once the tour was completed, we could choose to return to the ship, or shop and eat with the ladies. As I left the ship without even a jacket (and it was weather suitable for mittens, a heavy coat, and a cap), was shivering after four hours in and out of the bus, I decided to head back with the boys and my son to the warmth of the ship. Lunch was, therefore, the salad bar. But I did head down to Reception, to see if I could procure a list of vegan items on the buffet. The Maitre D was called, and after what seemed to be a spicy conversation with the  chef, she assured me that there would be a vegan option daily. (I never found more than one such option, the following day, but chose not to pursue this any further.) She also told me that the french bread was always vegan too. Things were looking up. I knew my caloric intake was a bit subprime because I would get very hungry in the evening and had even resorted to grabbing some raisins from the salad bar to take back to my room.

Dinner that night offered encouragement, too. Instead of the daily salad, I was brought some potato soup. I think I sometimes received things that were devoid of onions and garlic in  order to satisfy both special diets at once – totally understandable. This soup was good but a bit bland. This was also one of the best nights for vegan dining. I received a beautiful burrito with avocado and salsa. A bit too spicy hot for my taste, but otherwise absolutely perfect. The burrito had been browned and rolled into a small cylinder, then cut on the diagonal. It was beautiful! The fresh guacamole and salsa made it a favorite – not a bite was left. My son always liked to try a taste of my food, but I wouldn’t allow more than a bite or two of this one!  Dessert was the ever present fruit platter. I asked our wait person if it would be the fruit platter every night, thinking that if it were, then I would know to defer if that was what to expect. They said they did not know what to prepare – did I have any ideas? How about a sorbet? I suggested a pineapple sorbet and appreciated their gesture. I was never made to feel burdensome; they always seemed to want to please. But a quick look around the dining hall would allow any observer to recognize the demands on their time. I was delighted, at this point, with the meal and the effort they were making. Progress!