Better Late Than Never-Never Land

Sunday, April 05, 2009

We had a sea day today to recuperate from climbing to the top of the Acropolis and to prepare for the next three straight days of tours.

The Prinsendam sailed through the Bosporus this morning. Frank, the port lecturer, gave a running commentary starting around 6:30 a.m., but, luckily, we missed it all. We slept late but still made it to the dining room for breakfast; lost again at trivia; and did little else. After lunch, we threw a load of clothes into the washer and then MA went for her nap. D managed to transfer the clothes to the dryer and even retrieve them without incident.

While he waited for the laundry, he worked on crossword puzzles and watched Istanbul sail by. We cruised right past the point of land which holds many of the city’s treasures: the Hagia Sofia, the Blue Mosque and the Topkapi Palace. We will visit the latter two tomorrow and hope to see the exterior of the Hagia Sofia which is currently closed.

Around 4:15, the future cruise lady called the room to let us know that our credit card charge for the next cruise deposit had been denied. D went to see her and eventually placed the charge on a different card. D had notified the bank that we would be out of the country until April 30 and the credit card folks said they would put a 30 day notice on the card [not long enough but we weren’t expecting trouble]. We theorized that, knowing we were away, the computer kicked out the charge from Seattle, Washington. We’ll see what happens after April 11.

We “rested” until dinner time and then returned to the room. MA read before turning in for the evening and D captured the cruise lady’s desk and co-opted her printer with front office permission. He experimented by printing page one of the journal, then went on line to check the credit card statement; there were no charges from Seattle or anywhere in the past four weeks. He used the printer to make a copy of his internet minutes, closed it all down and went to bed.

Monday, April 06, 2009

As noted earlier, we were in Istanbul, Turkey, today and took another private tour of all of the antiquarian highlights. Since we were in port overnight, we didn’t need to wait for a signal to disembark, so we left the ship around 8:20 for an 8:30 meeting with today’s guide, Nayla[?]. She was waiting for us with the usual sign when we emerged from the terminal.

Our first stop was the Hippodrome. Today, it looks like a park surrounded by streets, but in its heyday, it was a racing oval [hippo = horse]. Not nearly as extensive as the chariot track at the Roman Circus Maximus, it still served the same function. It featured a number of small flower gardens which included pansies, tulips and other unidentified but familiar blooms. We found, as the day progressed, that Istanbul is filled with flower beds, at least at all of the tourist stops. The Hippodrome currently showcases three fountains, not displays of aquatic acrobatics but sources of drinking water for the populace. Of course, these three are only ornamental now. As Nayla pointed out, no one in Istanbul actually drinks the tap water because it is not safe; bottled water is, therefore, a big seller.

We can’t remember the name of the first fountain we saw which should be some indicator of its importance to us. The second one was in the shape of an Egyptian obelisk, hence called the Egyptian Fountain [duh!]. It was decorated with hieroglyphics on all four sides. The last of the fountains also resembled an obelisk, but it had been constructed originally to honor Constantine, a Roman emperor who ruled over what is now Turkey. It was covered by metal at its inception but now shows only the stone tower covered with holes where the metal was once attached.

All of the tourist high points are within walking distance of each other, sort of like Athens only overcast and chilly. We walked, then, to the Blue Mosque a short distance away. A magnificent collection of domes and half-domes, it resembled an Orthodox Jewish synagogue; there are no human images in a mosque and there is separate seating for men and women. Just as the old synagogue in Shanghai had seating for women on the second floor, so does the Blue Mosque, although there was a women’s area at the very rear of the first floor.

Naturally, we had to remove our shoes [and carried them in disposable plastic bags] while inside as we had at the Buddhist temples in Thailand and Cambodia. The entire floor was carpeted, but the building was not heated; D had left his jacket in the van and was a delicate shade of blue before the morning was over. The ceilings were painted in brilliant colors and there were bright stained glass windows. The lighting, however, detracted from the appearance of the Mosque. Lights had been hung from above and the entire space seemed to be filled with wires supporting the hanging fixtures. It looked a bit like a giant spider web. The wires also made it difficult to take unobstructed photos and the like was so dim, thanks to Mother Nature, that a tripod or really good camera was needed. We are presuming that Bill and Sharon got better pictures than we did.

We spent some time outside in the front courtyard of the Mosque as Nayla gave us some of the history of the building. She also was very explicit in her discussion once we had entered through the visitors’ entrance; there is a separate entrance for Turkish citizens. One of the points she made was that plaques inside the mosque containing Quran verses were written in Arabic even though that is not the Turkish language. We found Arabic script in most our stops today as an homage and sign of respect to Islam.

Just across another flower-filled park from the Blue Mosque is the Hagia Sofia. This building, another collection of half-domes, has served as a church and as a mosque. It has been rebuilt after fires destroyed its wooden structure twice and is now made of stone. Mosaics built during the last reconstruction as a church were painted over when it became a mosque [that no human image thing again]. When the Hagia Sofia became a museum, the mosaics were uncovered and restored. Unfortunately, the building is closed on Mondays, so all we could do is take pictures of the exterior and walk on to the Topkapi Palace.

Here we found even more gardens and more flowers. The Topkapi is a series of formal gardens interrupted by an occasional building. In the middle, for example, is the formal reception room which the emperors used when meeting dignitaries. There are arched gates in the walls leading from one garden to the next, but the buildings housing the kitchens and the harem are on the perimeter of the compound. Interestingly, the kitchens and the living quarters [the harem] are on opposite sides of a garden. The harem, by the way, housed all of the household and any live-in staff. There were quarters for the emperor and his wife [or wives]; the regular concubines; the special concubines and a school for female children.

The regular concubines were really no more than household servants while the special concubines were the ones we normally associate with the harem. The emperors secured girls of 8 or 9 from their parents and then raised them in the harem; the parents were often glad to be rid of females and were compen-sated for their loss. As the girls matured, the prettiest were taken off of their household duties and were trained, presumably, to be companions in every way for the emperor.

The kitchen provided meals for everyone in the Palace – three meals a day for the inhabitants and breakfast and lunch for the day laborers. Altogether, Nayla said, the kitchen was preparing 4000 meals each day, as many as the Prinsendam when it is full.

We decided not to join long lines of people waiting to see the Receiving room or the collection of gold and jewels, but did sneak into the room with the fist-sized diamond when we were on the adjacent portico overlooking the Bosporus, the Asia side and the connecting bridge. We also went into the Council building used by the emperors’ ministers to discuss affairs of state. There is a window in one of the two rooms which afforded the emperor the means to eavesdrop on the discussions.

Our last stop in this area was the Cistern. We walked down steps until we were perhaps twenty feet underground. Before us lay an immense underground hall with columns supporting its enormous ceiling. The columns were all different because they came from an assortment of temples from throughout Turkey. There is still water in the cistern even though it is no longer part of the Istanbul water system. Fish of varying sizes swam by in the dimly, but dramatically, lit cavern. We walked to the very end of the path to see two Medusa heads used as bases for columns which would otherwise have been too short to reach the ceiling.

It was noon by now, and time for lunch. Nayla had the driver take us to a little restaurant that would have been a Trattoria in Italy – family owned serving the locals, not tourists [except us]. Lunch was included in the cost of the tour, so all we had to pay for were drinks. Nayla joined us for lunch and we followed her advice on what to order and were not disappointed. Each couple shared two dishes, a thin, cheese-filled chicken patty which had been grilled; and a kebab unlike what we see in the States with thinly sliced beef in a savory sauce served over fresh bread with a side of yogurt. Both were delicious. They were preceded by fresh hot bread, salad and a vegetable plate which we all shared. Cokes, wine and beer finished it off.

There was a price to pay, of course. We just happened to be directly across the alleyway – for that is what the street was – from an allegedly reputable rug dealer. Ah, the rug demonstration, curse of the Turkish tour. We tried to explain that we were going to be in Ephesus in a few days where we would see a rug demonstration. “Please,” she pleaded, “it will take no more than 20 minutes.” So we went to see the demonstration of Turkish rug weaving and, of course, a sales pitch.

Watching the weaver work was hypnotic. Her hands were flying as she lifted strand by strand of silk, tied a knot and cut it. It is such tedious work that she can stay at her look for only 15 – 20 minutes at a time before having to take a break. The salesman said that it would take 2 years to complete the rug she was working on. Then we trooped downstairs to the showroom.

Let the games begin! We were shown rugs of every size, style and material. There were reds, blues, taupes, pinks and any other color one could imagine. There were “native” patterns which looked like Navajo rugs; there were rugs which told stories; there were formal patterns. It was both beautiful and dizzying. Bill was with us, but Sharon stayed upstairs because she didn’t want to climb more steps. The three of us were treated to drinks and a very good salesman. When we were debating the colors and pattern of a runner, we asked Bill to chime in. We learned that a hand-knotted rug will change colors when it is turned 180 degrees as the light strikes the “grain” differently. Colors change from light to dark depending on the light source.

We eventually agreed on a runner for the front door to replace one which is showing its age. The price was more than we wanted to pay, of course, but was reduced about 16 per cent for using Visa and for the VAT refund. Okay, it was still a lot of money but we had priced cheap rugs at the Festival Flea Market on Sample Road and knew that the price was high, but fair.

Wait! There’s a complication! When the business staff at the rug store tried to run the Visa card, it wouldn’t go through. Twice. D handed over the Master Card he had brought for emergencies [didn’t this count?] and then went outside in the drizzle to call Visa on his cell phone at a million dollars a minute. Visa said they weren’t having a problem but would goose the system to facilitate this and other transactions. When D went back inside, the MC hadn’t cleared either. Apparently the store was having transmission problems, but we had waited enough and had spent too much time and money to be patient. D told them to cancel the sale and we left.

We walked to the Grand Bazaar, a must-see in Istanbul. “Grand” doesn’t begin to describe its size. There are 4000 merchants in the complex which is really several blocks long in every direction. The street merchants have simply been enclosed and cleaned up. The shops look just like ones in any mall except there were more of them. Silver, tchotchkes, a post office, restaurants – all were there in plentitude. Sharon found some silver jewelry and postage stamps and then we were gone, bypassing wooden boxes that MA might have wanted but was still too angry to buy.

As we walked to the Bazaar, Nayla either called or received a call from the rug merchant who really wanted us to return. Since our minivan was parked nearby, we said we would discuss it and let her know when we were on the way. We decided to make one last effort, so D went into the store while the rest of our group waited in the van.

When he got to the “point of sale” terminal, he asked both the business manager and the salesman if the were prepared to adjust the price of the rug to compensate us for the aggravation. There was no immediate response, so D said goodbye and started out of the store. When he reached the back door, near the parking lot, the salesman ran up. They hadn’t understood what D meant, he said. Of course they would make an accommodation, even though they didn’t do business that way. Would we be satisfied with another $50 off the price. D countered with a price $300 below the one previously agreed on. Could we split the difference, the salesman wondered. Yes, D said, grudgingly, and returned to the front to dance through hoops again. Instead, the designated card-swiper pulled out an old-fashioned paper sales slip and made an imprint of D’s credit card. The price on the slip was actually $50 less than the compromise price, so the rug cost $500 less than the so-called list price. They made a sale, we had a rug and everyone was satisfied with the price. It will be interesting to see what charge they eventually put through. In the meantime, they are holding the paper work and the rug pending our visit to Ephesus where we will be required to hear the pitch again. If we find something there, we can cancel the Istanbul sale, but that is unlikely. We don’t want to go through this again – it was too much like buying a car.

We were tired and drained by now. Bill and Sharon had been good sports but Sharon, especially, was ready to go “home,” so we skipped the Spice Bazaar and returned to the Prinsendam.

We were due to leave Istanbul at 5:00 p.m. tonight but developed engine trouble and couldn’t weigh anchor until the problem was fixed. As a result, we didn’t pull away from the pier until after 8:00, three hours late. We expect to be in Varna, Bulgaria, on time, though. When we returned to the cabin after dinner, we discovered a voice mail from the agency in Bulgaria reconfirming the tour and urging us to be off the ship ASAP in the morning.

And so to bed.

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

We were on time arriving in Varna despite the late departure last night. Varna is only 150 or so nautical miles from Istanbul, so we didn’t have too far to go.

The six of us were off the ship with the first rush and met our guide, Peter, just outside the terminal building. Peter, we discovered as the day wore on, is an eighteen-year old high school senior who is a state sanctioned, licensed guide. He had no trouble answering our questions and was a pleasure to have as a guide. We had gotten lucky again.

We drove out of Varna into the countryside. The roads were paved but felt like they were cobblestones, they were so rough. This is an indication of the post-Communist-era’s infrastructure problems. Most of the housing we passed in the city was old-style Cold War apartment blocks; they had nothing artistic or architectural to recommend them and they were, for the most part, in a state of disrepair that paralleled Budapest. By contrast, comparable buildings in Prague were well-maintained and colorful if somewhat bland.

We drove through rolling farmland into the heart of wine country, passing row upon row of grape vines waiting for warmer weather to start to grow. Some of the vines seemed to have been purposely left to their own devices, but most had been tended, the rows weeded. There were also fields of green in which we could see clear rows as if these were being cultivated, but Peter told us that these were fallow this year so the soil could rest; he knew neither the term “fallow” not “crop rotation,” but we understood.

We finally pulled off the road near what looked at a distance to be more Roman-style ruins. In fact, we were not looking at broken columns but naturally-occurring stone pillars. Some were monoliths as much as twenty feet high; others were almost rubble. All were pitted and weather-worn by the constant wind which, Peter said, only blew in one direction but which was incessant. The landscape looked like a lunar scene although it wasn’t very wide. It seemed to stretch forever and reminded us in its length of the ruins at Pompeii. We found small sea shells in the sand surrounding these ancient constructions. There is no proof that humans had anything to do with their placement, but there was also a hint of Stonehenge here. The HAL tours referred to this area as the Petrified Forest while our tour operator called it the Stone Forest; its official name is Pobiti Kamari. A slight difference to be sure, but these stones [for lack of a better word] did not look like they had ever been alive. Peter’s theory, probably endorsed by the tour guide bureau, is that this area is the result of wind and water erosion. Whatever, it was eerily beautiful in the cold morning wind. We were glad we had worn coats today.

This was our day for wind and stone. Having driven to Pobiti Kamari on a back road, we returned to the city on an interstate highway of sorts. It was four lanes and divided, but it was still a rough ride compared to what we expect in the States. We went off the beaten path for our next stop, the Aladzha Monastery. This 13th – 14th Century Eastern orthodox monastery was carved into the face of a limestone cliff high above the Black Sea which was barely visible through the fog. We had a long, steep climb to get to the base of the cliff and then more climbing up a modern stairway to get to the cells and other remnants of the community. D, Scott, Karen and Bill went up the first set of steps to see the abbot’s cell, a monk’s cell, the refectory and crypts; Scott and D went up the second set which didn’t really have any surprises but did have a bell which Scott rang while D took his picture. Scott, D and Peter then returned to terra firma and we schlepped down the steep hill to the van.

We went to the Archeological Museum and ran into a HAL tour. We pretty much walked right in and delighted in telling the HAL group that they could not go with us. Can you spell s-m-u-g? The Museum wasn’t overwhelming like the one in Athens, nor was it crowded. Despite the signs and occasional personal warnings not to take photographs, we did. We tried to be subtle and couldn’t check immediately, of course, to see if our efforts at stealth had paid dividends.

The first room we entered was devoted to a necropolis, literally, a city of the dead. There was a map posted which showed where in this plot searchers had found filled graves, empty graves or rubble. Displays contained items recovered from the gravesite as well as a complete skeleton which had been re-dressed in its gold and jewels. D sneaked a few pictures which came out well and will be added to the journal when we get home.

We saw rooms with other relics and jewelry as well as tools. Another gallery contained only coins from the area [Thrace, primarily] over the centuries. It was interesting to see the detail on the coins and to see that the coins were “dated” by the picture and name of the Emperor at the time it was made rather than by year. The coins had been made by both molding and stamping and were beautiful.

The final gallery we visited contained icons. Icons were religious paintings done on wood. Many were 18th and 19th Century copies of older icons. Some were free standing; some seemed to be on shutters and others were on doors. All of them looked older than they really were but we never asked why they seemed to have deteriorated so much in 200 years.

We moved to the Roman Baths, the Thermae, for our daily dose of Roman ruins. The Baths spanned an area that was approximately one square block and were the fourth largest Roman baths. Archeologists have identified most of the “rooms” which survived. For example, there were three rooms – the fridgidarium, the tepidatium and the caldarium – where the water temperature was cold, warm and hot, respectively. We saw the steam bath area, too, with the steam pipes now exposed for the curious. The largest room was the basilica which had a high vaulted ceiling [no longer present] and was used by large groups of men to conduct business and politics. Varna [like most of Europe] had been ruled by the Romans, so it was they, not the indigenous population, who bathed and socialized here. We compared it to a golf game and a schvitz.

Finally, it was time for lunch, prepaid as part of the tour. We went to a local “joint” on what we learned later was the oldest street in Varna. We were served a feast. We started with a local artisan bread brought by Peter’s boss. It was accompanied by a spice mixture into which we were to dip the bread; the spices were good and tasted like Old Bay crab seasoning. This was followed by four kinds of salad. We could only finish half of these among the seven of us [Peter ate with us]. There was a white salad which we think was either yogurt or sour cream with spices, delicious on the bread, and there were pickled vegetables, wonderfully vinigery. We were already full.

Next came homemade cream of mushroom soup [Sorry, Jon]. It, too, was too good not to finish. Then, lunch was served! We passed around plates and platters of meat, cheese and vegetables; an eggplant dish and something I forget. There were also endless glasses of a local red wine and, for the non-drinkers, bottled water. We were getting ready to leave when dessert arrived! Individual bowls of fresh yogurt served with blueberry sauce and honey. We could hardly walk to the van [which, by the way, was a 13-passenger wan for the 6 of us].

It was almost 2:30 by then, and we had to be aboard the Prinsendam by 3:30. Of course, that meant 3:00 to us because we are cautious or cowardly or both. We stopped so Bill could buy a couple of bottles of the wine served at lunch and then so MA and Karen could get their souvenirs. MA got two boxes [to make up for the one she didn’t get in Istanbul] and Karen got a Bulgaria magnet because there were no pins to add to her collection.

We were back just past 3:00, enough time to get out of our coats and take a breath before trivia. We wrangled over answers again and came in a distant third or fourth [Which 1990s TV character spent a month at the Betty Ford Clinic? What soft drink used to be called the Queen of the South? What were prisoners in Texas legally barred from doing in 1995?].

To cap the day, the Cruise Critic group was invited for drinks with Captain Gundersen and [we discovered] the senior officers between dinner seatings. We think more people showed up for this than there are members of the group. We know that only 25 of the 30 have come to the meet-and-greets, but there seemed to be more than five new faces. Regardless, most of us felt honored to be invited although some, we think, felt it was their due. We left most of the group in the Captain’s quarters and went to dinner followed by bed and blogging.

Tomorrow – Sevastopol, Ukraine.

On to Athens

Saturday, April 04, 2009

Yesterday was a well-deserved sea day. We slept in [relative to tour days, at least], had a CC get-together and were routed in trivia. After lunch in the dining room, where we shared a table with this morning’s guest speaker, we checked e-mail. MA took a nice long nap and D finished reading his book and played a little blackjack [he broke even again]. It was formal night, but even better, it was lobster night. Yum! After dinner, MA read before going to sleep and D returned to the casino where he made a 30% profit on his investment [i.e., he made $15].

Today, however, was different. We were up in the dark again because we were to meet our driver as close to 8:00 as we could get off the ship for a busy day in Athens. We were the first ones off the Prinsendam but still had to fight a horde of passengers from the MSC Poesia docked next to us. That ship holds about 5 million screaming Italians who rank right up there with the Japanese and Germans in the race for rudest travelers in the world. Apparently, every ship’s tour they offered was disembarked simultaneously; it was a mob scene of running, screaming crazies.

Our tour and day were much more serene. The driver suggested we be off the ship at 7:30 [an impossibility] so we could get to the Acropolis ahead of the crowds; he also mentioned heat but that did not present a problem during our visit. Nick is a driver, not a guide, but he knew enough to keep us happy. There were only four of us today, Scott and Karen opting out for the day, and we were in a Mercedes taxi. After three days in Mercedes minivans, this was a bit crowded but we learned how to coordinate our movements after a while, so it wasn’t intolerable.

We were at the Acropolis before 8:30, among the first visitors of the day. Nick dropped us off at the entrance and said he would await our cell phone call to come and get us. We bought our entrance tickets, which are also good at several other historical sites, and started climbing.

Acropolis means “highest point in the city.” Every city has an acropolis, but in Greece the term is used only in Athens. Another term is used elsewhere in the country. And high it is. In addition to the ruins of the Parthenon, the Theater of Dionysius and other buildings, the summit offers a breath-taking view of Athens. Because of ongoing restoration and preservation efforts, there was scaffolding on some part of all of the ruins. They didn’t detract too much from our enjoyment; they were more of a minor annoyance. The photographs we have all seen do not do justice to the stark beauty of the ruins. We could have stayed for hours just looking and marveling at the simplicity, art and beauty of the Parthenon, but reality set in eventually in the form of hordes of [you guessed it] Japanese and then Italian tourists. The bus brigade had landed and it was definitely time for us to leave. While we waited for Nick, we saw HAL tours arriving; they and all of the bus tourists had had to walk up a steep hill just to get to the entrance and probably thought their climb was over. The MSC groups were so numerous that we saw one group wearing labels and following a flag which said “MSC 39.” That’s why we now take private tours.

We went to Hadrian’s Arch and the Temple of Olympian Zeus. The arch is just that, an archway leading to the Temple. It was obviously added after the creation of the Temple because Hadrian was a Roman who came after Greece was conquered. Now, the arch faces a busy intersection near the shopping district of Athens. The Temple of Olympian Zeus has fallen on really hard times. Originally, it was larger than the Parthenon, on the Acropolis, having 114 Corinthian columns [the ones with the ornate capitals or tops]. The Parthenon had around 98 columns. The Parthenon gets more attention because of its location, of course, but also because there is more of it extant. The Zeus Temple has been reduced to no more than a dozen columns and no roof and one of the columns has fallen over. The fallen column clearly shows how it was made of discs of marble stacked together with “male” and “female” connections to keep it stable [until it wasn’t]. Imagine the art and engineering that went into constructing these tremendous columns so they look like one solid piece of marble.

We found ourselves outside the Greek President’s house at 10:00 a.m. The presidency in Greece is strictly ceremonial because the government is now based on a constitution – 300 elected representatives with a prime minister chosen by the majority party. If there is no majority in the 300, then a coalition government must be formed. We saw the ceremonial honor guard getting ready for the hourly changing of the guard which occurs on the hour in front of the Parliament building and on the quarter hour at the President’s house. This schedule is in effect 24/7; the only thing that changes is the uniform worn by the soldiers participating. Today they wore red caps to represent blood lost in battles with Turkey; black tassels hanging from the hats to represent the country’s tears; pleated skirts [yes, skirts] with exactly 400 pleats to remind them of the 400 years of Turkish occupation; black straps around their calves as a further reminder; and puffy tops to their shoes to show the tears which fell from the tassels.

Their ceremonial walk is unusual, too. There is a lot of stiff-legged walking with one leg stretched straight in front and the other slightly bent. The soldiers slap their feet on the ground when they bring them down and, because they are wearing shoes made from rosewood, giving out a slapping sound. The motion and noise are designed to imitate a horse’s gait, so it is like watching the Lipizonner [sp!] stallions of Vienna in drag. It was marvelous to watch the precision choreography and emotionless demeanor of the guards.

The President’s house is across the street from the Amalia Park, named for Greece’s first [?] queen. It is a large, obviously urban, green space which includes flower and rose gardens as well as a small zoo. We wandered through the zoo with Bill and Sharon taking pictures of the animals and D taking pictures of a cat in the poultry pen; the cat pictures will be added to The Cats of Southeast Asia collection.

What else did we do today? We made a short visit to the original Olympic Stadium. The ancient walls are still pretty much intact, but the wooden seats didn’t stand the test of time so new, concrete ones have been installed. Sharon and MA stayed in the taxi while Bill and D went shooting.

We went to the highest point in greater Athens, higher even than the Acropolis. At the peak of the Hill of Lycabetous, there is a small Greek Orthodox chapel which is still active; while we were there, several worshippers came to pray and light tapers. It’s sort of ironic since just below the chapel are two restaurants with folks lounging, eating and drinking.

Access to the peak is available by foot or by funicular. The funicular reminded us of the Victoria Peak tram in Hong Kong except it is mostly single-track with a pullout so the two cars can pass each other. Unlike Hong Kong, however, this tram was entirely enclosed by the mountain, not a good experience for Sharon who is claustrophobic. She also is acrophobic, afraid of heights, which made the whole adventure a nightmare for her. We loved it, of course. The views of Athens were spectacular and unobstructed, and we were able to look down on the Acropolis, Hadrian’s Arch, The Temple of Zeus and the Olympic Stadium.

The National Archeological Museum merited more than the 45 minutes we gave it, but it was hot inside and all four of us confess to suffering from museum feet. The displays were dazzling, everything from the Hall of Naked Men to Zeus to bronzes, busts, miniatures and home appliances BC-style. We wanted to see the jars [amphorae] on display but discovered too late that they were on the second floor and we didn’t have time to find them. Once again, we were surrounded by the rude and pushy. We did see Marvin and Barbara from CC at the Museum as well as at the Acropolis – they were being driven by Nick’s brother Jimmy [Demetrios], so they probably saw the same things we did today.

Lunch today was in a taverna near the lookout. Once again, and thankfully, we were the only tourists in the place. Nick helped us to order in the absence, apparently, of printed menus. D had a gyro platter with pork; Bill had the same with chicken; Sharon had a spinach and calamari dish; and MA had a “shoe,” an eggplant and ground meat dish which was really a mini-moussaka named for its shape not its taste. Beer and Coca Cola rounded out the meal, we thought, but Nick sent a plate of four tiny baklava to the table, two plain and two with chocolate tops. Bill can’t eat nuts, so Sharon ate his and MA and D split the other two. It was a perfect [and perfectly sinful] way to finish the meal.

By the time we finished lunch, it was 2:00 and we had to hurry to see the Roman Agora and the Temple of the Wind in the Plaka district before they closed at 3:00. The agora was an open-air market place and was typically found in most Greek and Roman towns. We saw the remains of the ancient agora in Rome from the Capitoline Hill just a few days ago. This was similar but on a much smaller scale. Old and dilapidated, there wasn’t much to recommend it except its antiquity. The Temple of the Wind, on the same parcel of land, was an octagonal building which served as a public bath; right next to it are the remains of the public latrines. Hmmm. The top of the Temple, a tower really, has bas reliefs showing the winds in action, hopefully blowing away from the latrines.

Nick told us that the Greek agora and other sites had, unknown to him, changed to summer hours, but we chose to wander through the Plaka district, the tourist shopping area. We lost Sharon and Bill as we walked but found them already at the car when it was time to go. We bought a Hard Rock Café shot glass, a box for the collection and masks of Thalia and Melpomene, the symbols of comedy and tragedy. The box was the second choice because we didn’t buy one we liked at the funicular. Wrong again! How-ever, that was the only disappointment of an otherwise marvelous day.

We were home at 4:00, just eight hours after we had left, but we have a lifetime of memories.

Bellisimo!

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

What were we thinking?? We were out of bed at 6:00 this morning so we would be ready for our 8:00 tour. Coffee and Danish arrived at 6:30, and we met the others in the group [Scott & Karen, Bill & Sharon] around 7:55 and waited until the ship was cleared and the crowd started to move. As soon as we emerged from the gangway, we saw Sabrina, our guide, holding up a sign with D’s name on it. We walked to the Mercedes minivan and off we went.

Our first stop today was Firenze [Florence]. Sabrina gave us the choice of driving on the highway or taking the scenic route. We all agreed, without hesitation, to take the slower, more scenic route to Firenze. It was a good decision, one of several we made today. At the beginning, the drive was not very scenic, but once we left the four-lane highway, things picked up, uh, slowed down. The closer we got to Firenze, the narrower the roads became. We climbed into the hills as we approached the town and stopped twice for photo opportunities. Even with overcast skies [and the threat of rain], the countryside was beautiful. Everywhere we looked were dormant grape vines and olive trees. It is too early in the spring for any growth; the harvest season for both is late Fall.

Closer to Firenze, we snaked down a switchback road which was wide enough for 1-1/2 cars. When we did face oncoming traffic, we were happy to be on the hill side of the road, not the cliff side. It was touch and go slow a few times. As the farms thinned out, the houses became more frequent until we were in the suburbs with row houses and shops. Sabrina seemed to know every back road on the route and soon after we first caught sight of Firenze’s landmarks in the distance, we were climbing again.

Our first “real” stop was at the San Miniato church. Run by a small group of Benedictine monks, the church overlooks the Arno valley almost on top of the center of historical Florence [see, I switched back]. The church is made of Carrera marble, the same type of Italian marble Michelangelo and other Renaissance sculptors used.

We wandered through the church while Sabrina illegally told us a little about it; she is not a licensed guide and is not supposed to act like one, especially if a licensed guide might overhear her. The interior of the church was also mostly marble and the floor was criss-crossed with marble memorials to the people buried beneath them. While many churches have a few remains buried in the floor of the church, this one was completely filled. We took photos of Florence from the perspective before going down the hill and into the town itself.

We started in the plaza in front of Santa Croce [Holy Cross] church. It is a large square surrounded by shops on three sides with the church occupying the fourth. It is a major meeting point for groups and individuals; when we were here in 2001, we met out group here for the walk to the bus. Well, we had no walk today. Sabrina simply parked in front of the church and waited for us while we wandered around the shops helping to enrich the Italian economy. MA found a leather box she liked, so we can scratch Italy off the list. In point of fact, leather is one of the main crafts plied in Tuscany. It is also a major producer of olive oil and chianti wine [remember those grape vines and olive trees?]. We didn’t go into Santa Croce, however, because we didn’t see the need to pay an admission fee to see another old dilapidated European church. [Note that Sagrada Familia in Barcelona is neither old not dilapidated, just unfinished and unlike any other church anywhere.]

When we were looking over Florence, literally, from San Miniato, Sabrina pointed out the green copper dome of the Florence synagogue. Under the Supreme Court’s Fairness Doctrine, we thought it only proper to visit there, too, since we will see a surfeit of churches in the next few days. Bill and Sharon weren’t interested and Karen lost interest when we discovered that there is an admission fee. Still, we and Scott forked over our five euro apiece; stashed our cameras in a locker; and went through the one-at-a-time security door; it was like picking up an order at a Plexiglas-enclosed Chinese carry-out.

We started at the second floor museum because the sanctuary was not going to open for another 10 – 15 minutes. The museum might have been interesting, and the displays were captioned in Italian and English, but our focus was on the synagogue more than the history of the Jews in Florence. [However, there were at one time two synagogues, one Italian and the other Spanish; there was a ghetto; and the Jews have all but disappeared from Florence.] We had to vie for space with a school group which also diminished our interest.

Once the doors were opened at noon, we found the synagogue be beautiful. We assumed that it was originally the Spanish synagogue because its arches and wall coverings were decidedly Moorish. There were key-hole arches typical of Morocco and the walls were painted to resemble mosaics. If this building had been in Morocco, the walls would have been covered in tiles. We stayed for a little while soaking it in, trying to remember what it looked like, since we were not allowed to take pictures.

Although Sabrina had reserved a time for us at the Accademia museum, home to the original of Michelangelo’s David, we realized that none of us was that interested in “doing” a museum, especially with a 10.5 euro admission charge. So much for culture. We decided instead that it was lunch time, so Sabrina called ahead to a Trattoria she liked and booked a table for six. Once we arrived, we tried to talk her into having lunch with us, but she demurred, saying that she never ate “on duty” because she was afraid she might fall asleep afterward. We had a good meal without her. All of us had some sort of pasta and all of us enjoyed the meal.

Sabrina met us outside the restaurant when we were done and drove us to the square containing the Duomo (the Dome]; the Cathedral; the bell tower and the baptistery whose bronze doors are famous. She dropped us there so we could “do our own thing,” which meant shopping at an open-air marketplace for us and Scott & Karen. By now, it was raining lightly, but Bill & Sharon dragged their cameras to take pictures of the tourist sites anyway. We had seen them before and Scott & Karen didn’t seem to care. MA bought a necklace she liked, but D passed on a leather mask, which he thought was too expensive, when the vendor didn’t seem interested enough in the sale to bargain a little.

Back to car we went, stopping to see the Ponte Vecchio [the Old Bridge] over the Arno River. The Ponte Vecchio once was home to butcher shops, but one of the Medici’s thought that was unseemly, so today most of the shops deal in jewelry, mostly gold. Again, no one felt strongly about actually walking or shopping the Ponte Vecchio, so we waved goodbye to Florence and headed to Pisa.

Despite the rain, we were all glad we had stopped, even briefly, to see the Leaning Tower, the Cathedral and the Duomo [Does every town have one of these?]. The Tower does indeed lean although it was hard to get a good angle to take pictures. We could see people who were in the process of climbing the 300 steps to the top, but we were content to watch them as they walked on the balconies. Of course, there were lots of young people positioning themselves so friends could take pictures of them pushing the Tower upright. The crowds here were not as bad as in Florence, but Pisa is only one-fifth the size of Florence. There were more stalls near the Tower so Karen was able to add to her collection of pins – she found them for Florence, Rome and Pisa today, so she was a happy camper.

We all managed to stay awake for the 25-minute drive from Pisa to the ship, something that we could not say about the drive to Florence or to Pisa. It was still raining when we boarded the ship at 5:30, tired and happy.

Tomorrow – Rome.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

The Griswolds continued their assault on Italy today with overcast skies and then rain in the Eternal City, Rome. It may have gotten its nickname from the amount of time it takes to get from Point A to Point B.

We were up before the 6:00 a.m. alarm, but only God knows why. The group assembled and we were outside waiting by 7:30. Today’s driver was Fabio [no, not that one] and we were out of the dock area and on the road by 7:45. Civitavecchia, where the Prinsendam is docked, means “old city” and the drive from there to Rome was a breeze until we actually reached the outskirts and hit morning rush hour traffic. Fabio knew all of the local side streets but it was still 9:15 when we met up with today’s guide, Mayta.

Mayta is an American expat who has lived in Rome for almost 30 of the last 40 years. A short, squat woman, she gives the appearance of being a bag lady. She certainly was not what we expected after 2 years of e-mail. We all agreed that she knew her stuff, but she was often inaudible while we drove, especially on the ever-present cobble stone streets. And when she did talk, she didn’t stop. Picking up on our comments during the day, she gave us her opinion on George W. [often and always negative], movies, Italian politics, Catherine Zeta Jones and the Pope. Despite our disappointment with Mayta professionally, we saw most of what we wanted see as Rome virgins and enjoyed ourselves. As much as anything, she reminded us of Mr. Otah, our guide in Osaka last year; at least, like him, we keep talking about her.

Our first destination was the Pantheon, but we stopped en route to take in a panoramic view of Rome’s roofs and skyline from a “scenic overlook.” The Pantheon is a magnificent building which may have been the model for the Rotunda in Washington. A circular building, it housed a tremendous dome with an open “eye” in it. The eye provided all of the light inside since there are no windows in the building. According to Mayta, the dome is a perfect semi-circle the diameter of which is exactly one radius above floor level; in other words, it could be rotated to form a perfect sphere which just touched the floor. Covered by marble floors, the interior has niches with statues and tributes. King Victor Emmanuel and his wife Margherita are both buried there as is the painter Raphael who died in his early 30s.

When we left the Pantheon, we drove to the Vatican. As a result of the Lateran Treaty of the 1920s, Vatican City, although completely surrounded by Rome [and, by extension, Italy], is a free and inde-pendent nation. At one square mile, it is the smallest country on the planet. On the way, we passed St. Peter’s Square and the Bernini columns but sadly were not given the chance to take pictures to prove we were there. Rather, we continued to wind around the Vatican walls until we were at the entrance to the Vatican Museum. Apparently, because the Pope was giving a public audience for thousands of his closest friends, we couldn’t stay and walk around the square, but a picture would have been nice. Also because the Pope was “in the building,” we couldn’t be – we would have to exit the Vatican Museum directly without seeing the Basilica’s interior.

We had prepaid a reservation fee to guarantee a speedy entrance because there can be [and were] long lines of tourists waiting for tickets and entrance. We wended our way upstairs and waited for another tour guide to finish his explanation of the Sistine Chapel and Michelangelo’s paintings. Scattered around this area of the museum were automated displays which showed both large scale and detailed sections of the ceiling. The displays were on rollers so that the guides could literally scroll up or down. Mayta got a bit confused here and lost both her train of thought several times and her place on the display. Luckily, she didn’t give us the whole story or we would be there still.

Once we were finished with our art history lesson, we started walking through the museum. It is tremendously long but is seen in shotgun fashion. Visitors essentially walk in a straight line from start to finish, give or take lots of steps. [Mayta uses a cane and speaks perfect Italian, so she was able to talk several guards into letting us use elevators instead of stairs] We walked through galleries of artifacts and tapestries, stopping all too frequently to hear detailed explanations. It was interesting to hear about and see the detailed weaving techniques used to make shadows, wood grain and other elements of painting which had not been attempted in wool and silk before, but once or even twice would have been fine. MA, especially, would have been happier if Mayta had been more accurate in her explanations of Biblical events and references.

We passed the old Vatican Library, a sumptuous area alive with color everywhere. There were storage lockers from the old library on display, lining on entire hallway. Finally, there was the Sistine Chapel. We knew from our lesson that it was small, but we were astonished at just how small it was. There were so many tourists in the Chapel that it was overwhelming. Although there were signs at the entrance asking visitors to be respectful and quiet, the din was overwhelming. Several times while we were there [maybe ten minutes] the guards played a recording in several languages asking people to stop talking. They did stop but only until the recording was over. Most of the visitors today seemed to be students from grade school through college, so there was no way they were going to be quiet. We were able to find Mayta in the throng and headed for an exit.

By this time, Sharon was feeling ill. A diabetic, she needed something to eat and had not brought a snack with her. We told Mayta that we were ready for lunch and she tried to call Fabio on her cell phone only to discover that the battery was dead. D’s phone had no signal, either, so we continued to trudge to the exit. Once again we were able to avoid steps and use an elevator. Mayta was finally able to reach Fabio on D’s cell phone and the car was waiting for us when we finally exited the Vatican Museum.

We told Mayta that we wanted a simple meal in a Trattoria which was not filled with tourists, so she took us to one in her neighborhood where we found ourselves to be the first customers of the day. We did, indeed, have a simple meal – pasta for D and veal scallopini for MA -- and Cokes, of course. We paid for Mayta’s lunch as well. After the raucous atmosphere and noise level of the Trattoria in Florence, today’s venue was almost surreal. Even when several other diners came in for lunch, it was uncomfortably quiet. At least the food was good.

We had told Mayta before lunch that we wanted to visit the Catacombs. Everyone seemed to be in agreement and we sped off with Mario Andretti Fabio as our wheelman. On the way to the catacombs, we exited Rome proper when we drove under an arch which was the remains of a gate overwhich ran an aquaduct supplying Rome with fresh water. Prior to that, we had passed the ruins of the Roman baths [an imposing structure even in decline] and the Circus Maximus [think Ben Hur’s chariot race.

We discovered later that there are three sets of catacombs outside Rome which are open to visitors; on any given day, two of them are open. We were visiting the catacombs at St. Sebastian’s. Sharon decided not to see the subterranean burial grounds and Bill opted out, too, presumably to stay with her, but D, MA, Scott and Karen went with Mayta to buy tickets. Mayta was not joining us because the Catacombs supply their own guides in several languages; we suspect that the steep steps and narrow walkways were also factors.

We waited about twenty minutes for the English tour to begin. The guide made some introductory re-marks before he led us down a long flight of steep steps. We played Follow the Leader through dimly lit, narrow corridors before he stopped in a large chamber and started to explain the origins and history of the Roman catacombs. The Roman emperors were not known for their tolerance of other religions, so Jews and the early Christians buried their dead in underground vaults; it was sort of “out of sight, out of mind.” Because of persecution, these underground areas became the site of worship services as well when some areas were not dug as gravesites but as larger chambers capable of hold a larger group. The burial sections of the catacombs were simply “shelves” cut into the dirt or stone where the bodies of the deceased were placed. The dead were usually wrapped in sheets as was the old Jewish custom, borrowed by the Christians who still had strong Jewish roots.

The remaining bones have been removed from the assorted areas of the catacombs and may be in a mass grave at the lowest level [if we understood the guide]. At one time, the remains of St. Sebastian were also in the catacombs albeit in a chamber of their own; now, they are in the church itself. We stopped at one other area before surfacing. The guide explained that the area where the catacombs are located had, at one time, been a depression or basin. Mausoleums for the families of the rich, once at ground level, are now fifteen to twenty feet underground. In succeeding centuries, the ground has been filled in and a church built right over them.

We were almost done and done in. We drove by back on the Appian Way, which began at the aquaduct/ gate, and went to see the Coliseum. By now it was raining, so the picture taking was quick and wet. A drive to the top of the Capitoline Hill, one of Rome’s Seven Hills, afforded us good views of the remains of the Forum before we paid a visit to the Trevi Fountain and tossed a coin in; MA made the traditional wish. We finished the visit with a slow drive by of the Spanish Steps and the boat fountain at its base. The Steps were crowded despite the rain and we stayed in the car and took pictures [we hope] as we drove by.

We dropped Mayta off near her home, paid her fee, and sped off around 5:15. As slow as the driving was on the way into Rome this morning, leaving was practically painless. We were soon on the autostrada [interstate] and Fabio put the pedal to the metal, driving 120 KPH [70 mph] on the rain-slicked roadway, and getting us “home” around 6:30.

Tomorrow will be another early morning and long day when we dock in Naples and drive to Sorrento, Positano, Pompeii and the Amalfi Coast.

Thursday, April 02, 2009

Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day….

With a prediction of clear skies and warmer temperatures, we still awoke in the dark. We were to meet Fabrizio, today’s driver, on the dock at 8:00 a.m. We were waiting for him when he pulled in.

Our day was, by design, a simple one. We drove from Naples where we were docked to the small village of Positano. On the way, we followed the Amalfi coast road, a narrow, tortuous route which was barely wide enough for two cars but which carried gigantic tour buses, too. Fabrizio handled the curves like a master but kept on accelerating and coasting, accelerating and coasting all day. This style of driving produced the occasional whiplash and thoughts of motion sickness, but we all adjusted to it by the end of the day.

Fabrizio was a welcome breath of sunshine after having Miss Congeniality yesterday. He was young [to us, anyway] and had a good sense of humor. He told us much about the Amalfi Coast and all of our destinations, but he also told jokes, bantered with us and told us much [but not too much] about himself. He was a hoot. We were sorry we had not used him in Rome and would e-mail in a minute if we knew we were coming back to Italy. He may not have been a licensed guide, but he made the day enjoyable. Just as we had a guide in Vietnam last year who kept saying, “Oh my God,” Fabrizio’s favorite exclamation, repeated frequently under a variety of situations and topics was simply, “Mamma mia!” We couldn’t figure out if this was part of his public personna

There were six of us again today and we played musical seating as the day wore on. D and Bill took turns in the front seat and Scott and Karen were in the back for much of the day. We stopped along the way to Positano to view the wonders of the Bay of Naples and the magnificent mountains which reached right down to the water. Bare rock strata were visible all the way around, but much of the mountainside was covered with fairly new vegetation. The roadway, visible across inlets at most of the “pullovers,” hugged the side of the cliffs and was often supported by man-made pillars and bridges of concrete. Bellisimo!

At the first overlook, we spotted padlocks secured to the railing at the edge. Fabrizio explained that it was a “lovers’ lane” of sorts – young men and women would come here and declare their undying love for each other using the symbolic padlock, then would throw the key over the edge to seal the deal. Cynics that we are, we looked around to see if there were any combination locks.

The village of Positano covers all three sides of an inlet of the Bay of Naples. Despite driving for an hour or more, we were still pretty much across from Naples, having simply outlined the Bay’s curvature. Positano is built vertically up the cliff’s side with almost no natural flat spots. The buildings cover the hill in ever-rising tiers of houses. It reminded us of Monte Carlo’s rising from the water and up the cliff and driving the connecting cornices. Positano, of course, is a humble fishing village by birth which now depends on tourist dollars to survive. We walked through some of the lower level shopping district and then drove to Sorrento.

Getting there is half the fun, as they say. We zig-zagged up the hill in Positano, enjoying the views and Fabrizio’s automobile acrobatics. We emerged from the town at our original point of entry and back-tracked until we turned for Sorrento. Sorrento is a large town compared to Positano. It is not so rock-bound and is more spread out. We drove through town and observed not only a large town square but several smaller ones as well. We told Fabrizio that we were ready for lunch even though it was early by local standards. He took us to a local pizza parlor where, he said, we would have the most authentic pizza ever. We had to wait for the staff to finish lunch before we could order, but the wait was worth it. Each couple ordered a different type of pizza. The pizza itself had a thin-crust and, we think, was done in a wood-fired oven. We got a sampler –margherita, basil & tomato, sausage & tomato, and, finally, tomato. There was no red sauce used, just fresh tomatoes and we agreed with Fabrizio that it was as good as any we had had.

Sorrento is home to lemoncello, a lemon liqueur. All around the area, one sees lemon trees; in fact there were some in a park across the street from the pizzeria. When in Sorrento, do as the locals do: MA and Sharon both tried the lemoncello after lunch, although no one else was interested. Then, when we returned to the car, Fabrizio gave a bottle of the local specialty to MA “for the group.” We’ll see about that.

After lunch, we climbed back into the mini-van and drove toward Naples so we could visit the ruins of Pompeii. The city of Pompeii was destroyed when Mt. Vesuvius erupted during the Roman era and was rediscovered, and excavated relatively recently. We had an hour to climb up to the ruins and explore, so we didn’t see very much of Pompeii. Still, we were able to get an idea of the scope and scale of the city and were glad we had made the stop. In addition to tumbled walls and restored gardens, we also saw the lava-encased bodies of several of Vesuvius’ victims; these were stored under cover along with other artifacts which have been unearthed. The walk down the path to the exit was even more difficult than when we had used it as an entrance –very steep and paved with smooth, worn stones.

Because we were early, we waited a few minutes for Fabrizio to appear at the meeting point, but he was right on time. We climbed in and returned to the ship well before curfew, tired but happy.

Mr. Griswold, meet Prince Rainier

Sunday, March 29, 2009




It was a dark and stormy night. All through dinner last night, we watch as sheets of rain raced down the deck, the wind blowing mist and miscellany past the window. The foul weather continued throughout the night and, as the song says, “Rock and roll was here to stay.” The bow of the ship seemed to bounce more than the stern and the comic had some difficulties maintaining his balance during the late show. We, in turn, were rocked to sleep by the motion of the ship, grateful that our cabin is down low and mid-ship.


We have gained another hour [Lucky us!] because the rest of the world has caught up with Daylight time. We are now six hours ahead of WPB. We are hopeful that the next time change will be for a 25-hour day as we chug back to Florida, but we don’t know about time zones in the Black Sea.


The weather in Marseilles was better this morning although it was still very overcast and quite chilly. We were hoping the temperature would break into the 60s today and were grateful for the HAL jackets. We went ashore around 11:00.
Our original plan for today had been to spend time with our old friend Maria who now lives in the area part-time, but she returned today to London from a business trip. We changed gears when we found this out just before we sailed and decided to spend time walking around the old harbor and enjoying the view, the people and maybe a gelato or cappuccino. Although the weather did not cooperate, HAL did, sort of. We may have had the prime position at the Barcelona docks, but in Marseilles we were so far out of town we could walk to Monte Carlo. HAL ran a shuttle bus into town and the terminus was [ta da!] the old harbor. If we couldn’t have a pretty day, at least we didn’t have a long walk.

The bus ride was short, actually, but it would have been impossible to walk because of road construction, lack of sidewalks and a maze-like route. The bus took maybe 10 minutes. We were let out on the north side of the old harbor. The harbor itself is small, but it was crowded with sailboats and a few yachts. The road on the north side was chock-a-block with cafes, each with its outdoor section deserted because of the weather and the hour. There would be customers at some when we returned for the ride home.


We walked to the east side of the harbor, the closed end, along with just about everyone else on the bus and found ourselves in the middle of a throng of locals buying fresh fish from vendors who had set up little stands by the water. There were more than a dozen fishmongers most of whom were selling the same types of seafood. We could not identify all of them but think that “the ugliest fish in the world” was really a monk fish. The vendors were lopping off their ugly, toothy heads as they sold them. Ick! We also saw small squid; something that looked like small conch; and seahorses as well as just plain fish. There was also one lone vegetable stand with what appeared to be the world’s largest string beans along with more normally sized cucumbers, carrots, etc.


We were really pleased to find this market, especially on such a dreary day, because there was almost nothing else open except cafes and Mickey D’s. We have become fans of foreign markets ever since we saw the Morning Market last year in Hakodate, Japan. We followed that up with markets in Zhouzhaung [China], Ho Chi Minh City [Vietnam], Bangkok [Thailand] and Siem Reap and Pnom Penh [Cambodia]. Watching the people and seeing the differences and similarities in the offerings gives us a look into the cultures of the countries we are visiting.


We wandered a little more, found a carousel and another HAL couple, and then headed for the shuttle bus stop. Just as we approached, the bus pulled away from the curb, but the driver saw us waving and stopped for a red light and opened the door. We were aboard in a flash and started to thaw out. When we returned to the ship, by a route which would have stumped a lab rat, we looked in the tchotchkes stall set up by the ship. MA found some herbes de Provence which we bought to replace some we bought in 2001 and then gave to Jon and Briton.

As an aside, we have noticed that almost all automobile parking in Barcelona, Gibraltar and Cartagena has been underground. True, there are on-street, curb-side parking places, but most cars are taken to underground garages, unlike the US where so much of the surface of the cities is taken up with above-ground garages. We waste too much space through short-sighted decisions and a lack of long-term planning.

By now it was lunch time, so we went to the Lido, then back to the room, then off to trivia. We were bridesmaids again, so we don’t have to worry about packing more umbrellas. MA and D had the answer to the bonus question but the hand that held the pencil was sure, once again, that we were wrong. We may lead a palace revolution.

After trivia, we went for an iced latte for MA in the Java Bar. She carried it to the Queen’s Lounge where there was a special pre-dinner dance program. The performers were from a Provencal dance troupe, part of an ongoing series of cultural/folkloric programs we are seeing on the cruise. The instrumentation was interesting, especially compared to the flamenco show. In the earlier program, the dancers were accompanied by a large group of guitarists and singers. This afternoon, the four musicians played drums and penny whistles simultaneously. The drums hung by straps from their left elbows while the used their right lands to strike the drums and their left hands to do the figuring on the whistles. The whistles are probably descendents of reed whistles ages from ago. Anyway, there were several “courtly” dances and several courtship dances. It was easy to follow the plots of the latter as there was good deal of burlesque in the gestures and facial expressions. All of the dances, including one in which the company recruited audience members, were lively; most were large group dances [there were ten dancers altogether]; and we and the performers were exhausted when they were finished.


Dinner [pasta with mussels/prime rib] was quiet; we chatted with Mary as we usually do. Afterwards, MA sat in the Explorer’s Lounge and listened to the string trio while D made his nightly pilgrimage to the casino for 30 minutes or $20 worth of blackjack. So far he’s a little ahead but, unlike some of the high rollers, doesn’t keep track; that would take some of the fun out of it. Tonight’s featured performer was a vocalist who sang some opera and some pop as well as playing the piano. D thought it was a little over-produced with too much reverb and too loud drums. With the start of our tours tomorrow, we will not be seeing many of the evening shows for a while.


We are in the middle of a long stretch of port days. We’ve had Gibraltar, Cartagena, and Barcelona back-to-back-to back with Monte Carlo, Livorno [Pisa and Florence], Rome and Naples scheduled for tomorrow, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. We are being met [we hope] by private guides in these last three, marking the real beginning of the trip in our eyes. Now we have to start getting up early so we can be on the dock as early as possible; in Rome and Athens, we hope to be outside as close to 7:30 as the captain will allow.


Monday, March 30, 2009



The Griswold’s visited again today. We had no plans for Monte Carlo since we had been here before and taken the tour. It was a cold and blustery day with temps around 50 and leaden skies. After breakfast, MA did a load of wash and D took a tender into town. The Prinsendam is anchored just outside of the harbor so the larger Oosterdam can use the lone cruise ship pier; it’s much bigger so the local officials can collect more in port taxes.


The ride in was quick and uneventful. D walked around the harbor area, walking up and down a hillside on the south side path to take pictures. Once in town and back to sea-level, he continued to walk the west and then the north sides, going uphill again on the last leg. As he passed the Clinique Cardio Vascular, he thought he might have to stop in for a checkup.


Monte Carlo is built into a cliff and rises in levels with only selected roads traversing the up-and-down. There are tunnels through some of the rock and tunnels under buildings. From a distance, it looks like a solid wall of buildings, some low-rise mixed in with a few high-rises.


The Grimaldis have been the ruling family in Monaco for generations. They are known to Americans mostly because actress Grace Kelly married Prince Rainier several decades ago. The younger members of the Grimaldi family have gained their own notoriety in recent years.


At the “second level” sits The Casino which has been seen in James Bond films and others. The roadway D walked up ended at the Casino level, practically in front of the Casino itself. He took pictures of the area, as he had on the ascent and then entered the Café de Paris adjacent to the Casino. The Café included a restaurant, a newsstand and a smaller casino which featured “jeux Americain,” American games, which really means slot machines. He converted 5 euro in coin to a 5 euro bill and picked a machine at random. He ran his 5 euro up to 9 euro and cashed out, deciding that being a winner in Monte Carlo was worth some bragging rights.


D found a switchback stairway down to the harbor level and walked to a water taxi called the Bateau Bus [bateau means boat in French]. Although the posted schedule said the boat would appear at 12:20, it was almost 12:45 when it showed up. Five minutes later, he was on the other side of the harbor and waiting for a tender back to the ship. Two separate tour buses arrived just then, so the tender waited until as many passengers as possible had been crammed in before casting off. The five minute ride back stretched to 30 minutes as the pilot fought high seas, crashing waves and crosswinds. It was the bumpiest tender ride D had ever experienced and toward the end he was regretting the cup of hot chocolate he had had while waiting for the tender. Waves were crashing over the top of the tender and it was bobbing up and down like the proverbial cork. Wham! Slam! Slosh! Whee!


He was soaked when he finally got to the cabin, not so much from the high seas but from the combination of a heavy sweater, the HAL jacket and adrenaline. He changed his sopping shirt, rested a few minutes and then went in search of MA who was found eating her lunch in the Lido. We returned to the room where D rested while MA read and worked a crossword puzzle. We joined the TT group for a 3:30 match which we lost horribly [What 2 people who have nothing to do with baseball are in the Baseball Hall of Fame? What event has the highest percentage of postponed races?].


More reading and computing followed the rout. We have to be up for an 8:00 tour tomorrow, so we skipped the show and went to bed early. [Actually, D is writing this before dinner, but his powers of prediction are amazing].


Tomorrow – Pisa, Florence and Fabrizio

Beautiful Barcelona

Friday, March 27, 2009

The Griswold’s adventures in transportation continued today, our first in Barcelona. As in trivia, over-thinking something can lead to near, if not total, disaster. Case in point:
D had researched the HO-HO bus in January; had printed out the instructions for ordering tickets; and had also printed the list of stops on the three Barcelona Turistic bus routes. When he and MA finally decided to try the HO-HO, it was Thursday morning, less than 24 hours until the ship was due to dock. Therefore, before going into Cartagena, he went back to the website and registered and paid for two-day passes because the instructions said that that was the only way to do it. The passes were 20 euros for one-day and 26 euro for two-day passes. We went with the two-day figuring the little difference in the price was worth the gamble that we would ride twice. Of course, there was a handling charge added.

Later in the day, the company e-mailed a voucher which gave the address where we would have to actually collect the tickets. That wasn’t too bad, because it was “dead ahead” on the Rambla, a wide boulevard which stretched right to the cruise ship pier. Getting to the office would be a piece of cake.

We were pleased with our foresight until we walked off the ship this morning and found the bus – our bus! – sitting in front of the ship with employees selling tickets to every Tom, Dick and Harry who walked up. Although they had to pay either 21 or 27 euro for one- or two-day passes, they didn’t have to pay a stinking service fee. The nerve! To add insult to injury, we couldn’t get on the bus with our voucher. The first person we asked told us we still had to go the office; the second directed us to a Turistic kiosk about a half-mile away, opposite the Christopher Columbus monument.

We wended our way to the kiosk, waited patiently and were able to get tickets there, avoiding at least one complication. We joined the queue for the bus only to have everyone sort of push to the front when it arrived. Naturally, it was the same bus we had been denied boarding earlier. We were able to find seats only in the way, way back, over the rear tires. Head room was limited and so was our view because we were at the top edge of the line of windows. Needless to say, there were no seats on the top, open-air level. We were able, eventually, to snag a couple of seats in the front, but we had to ride facing backwards, so, although we had more legroom and better ventilation, we still couldn’t see anything being described through our headsets.

We were on the Blue Bus which begins its run driving parallel to the water and running past the former Olympic Village, now a trendy [and expensive] area of Barcelona. We drove past the Bari Gotic, an older section of town, and other neighborhoods as well. About one-fourth of the way through the Blue route, we came to Placa de Catalunya, the main square in town and the transfer point to the Red Bus. We exited there to transfer because the Red line goes to Sagrada Famillia, the Holy Family cathedral begun in the 1920s and only partly completed even today [more later].
We could have walked to Sagrada Famillia faster than the bus because we had to wait on line for about 40 minutes from the time we actually got to the line until we were able to get seats on a bus. We sat downstairs since we were going to exit in three stops. All in all, we spent almost two hours getting to the shrine. It was worth the hassle.

We had been to Sagrada Famillia in the Fall of 2001. On the HAL bus trip, we were not given the time to enter the church itself, just allowed to “ooh” and “aah” from the outside, mostly from across the street. The edifice is so massive that it cannot really be seen from close up. Near on, the individual parts are interesting, beautiful and mystical; from farther back, the whole project can be seen. It is almost like Walt Disney designed the cathedral while stoned. When we were there before, the completed portions looked like they had been made from melting wax. Much has been done in the past seven-plus years --much of the building is under wraps to protect it and much has been added.

Sagrada Famillia is being built with private funds, so the construction has been slow. In good times, work proceeds more quickly because there is more money available. We were glad to pay 10 euro apiece to enter the cathedral. The interior is mostly bare; however, the interior structure, the skeleton if you will, is very apparent. There was scaffolding everywhere and a few workers scattered around; we watched several plastering over a wooden frame but have no idea what the purpose was. [When we were waiting the bus on the way back, a gentleman ahead of us asked if we had seen anyone working, so D pulled out his camera to show a young girl plastering.]

We wandered around the perimeter of the nearly-abandoned church and into an exhibit showing how the architect, Antonio Gaudi, had incorporated Nature into the design. Much of what we had thought of earlier as “wax-like” was patterned after vines and foliage. Many animals showed up as decoration and rainspouts [like the gargoyles of Notre Dame de Paris]. Designs from plants and even rocks appear throughout the exterior and the spires. Knowing what to look for made our second look at the exterior even more interesting. Saints and sacred scenes had been added to the front since our last trip here and the façade now has “Sanctus” carved into the stone repeatedly above the front windows.

We took more photographs after we exited, mostly details from the front façade. Eventually, we read, there will be fourteen towers when the building is completed, each spire dedicated to a saint or other personage; the last one will be the tallest at more than 100 meters.
When we had gone into Gaudi overload [the cathedral is usually referred to as the Gaudi Cathedral], we went across the street for lunch at an outdoor café. We each had a grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich and fries and the drink of the gods, real Coca Cola, not that sissy diet stuff. With a tip, we spent 22 euros, about $30 US. When in Rome….

After lunch, we tried to find the gift shop we had patronized seven years ago because MA wanted to buy another wooden box for her collection; we had bought them for D’s sister and niece last time but not for us. We found the store, but the boxes were no longer available. Something about the factory in Granada burning down. We’ll keep looking, either on the Rambla tomorrow or when we return to Spain on the way home in a few weeks.

As mentioned before, we returned to the queue for the Red bus. The line was short and the bus came shortly after we got to the stop. Maybe our luck had changed. We rode in the bottom again to avoid the wind of the open deck and meandered through the north of Barcelona until we returned to the square where we had waited so long this morning. From there it was only a short walk to La Rambla [often called the Ramblas]. We were almost home.

The Rambla is a wide boulevard with two lanes of traffic on either side of an extensive esplanade. Like Wenceslaus Square in Prague, which is also a boulevard with a pedestrian area in the middle, the Rambla was packed with people, mostly young, mostly locals. The walk down the hill to the ship was slow because of the crowd, but it provided non-stop entertainment. First, there are three distinct shopping area: birds [including roosters and canaries], flowers and artists. In each area, one can find a large number of merchants plying the trade. The artists well both finished works and made-to-order pictures, especially caricatures or informal portraits. There are also newsstand/souvenir shops scattered along the walkway and, toward the bottom of the hill, sidewalk cafes apparently run by restaurants on the street itself. There were also a dozen or so “living statues,” people posing motionless in various costumes who were hoping for tips.

By the time we reached the bottom of the hill, we were exhausted from the walking and the crowd. The Prinsendam loomed over us as we made our way past the Christopher Columbus monument once more, and then we were home.

MA was almost too tired to make it to dinner. A nap was out of the question; she was afraid she would sleep through dinner. It was Fiesta Night, and all of the waiters and bar men wore serapes, straw hats and/or rainbow suspenders. There were multi-color leis with little maracas on the tables. The best part of dinner, though, was the birthday cake the captain and staff sent to Mary, next door. We got to share the cake and ice cream even though we hadn’t planned on having dessert at all; we have fallen in love with the decaf cappuccino as dessert.

The show tonight was a Flamenco show arranged with local talent. It is an irony that flamenco is not typical of this area of Spain, Catalunya, but is normally found in Andalusia. However, the show was fun and the pictures blurry – those folks move real fast. After the show, D finished the journal for the day, checked e-mail and went to bed.

Tomorrow is another day in Barcelona, Scarlett.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

The weather gods finally got their retribution today –overcast, chilly and intermittent rain. Yuck. MA’s back and knees were acting up because of the weather and yesterday’s standing, so she remained aboard while D explored some more.

After breakfast, he left the ship and right to the Barcelona Bus Turistic without any difficulty. There were only two others on the bus, both in the enclosed downstairs section where we sat yesterday when it was a choice; today it was an imperative. As we rolled along the southern route, the bus became more crowded and, eventually, passengers were using the unprotected upper deck. The ride was even more interesting today because he was seated by an unobscured window [one with not advertising on the outside], so he could see what was being described. The bus emptied out at Placa de Catalunya again.

The first stop on his walk was the Barcelona Hard Rock Café where he bought two shot glasses. One has the traditional Hard Rock logo and the other is unique to Barcelona, apparently done in Cataln, the local version of Spanish. Next, he went to CarreFour, a large European grocery chain, where he bought Laughing Cow cheese and crostini to have for early morning breakfasts when we are on tour. He wandered the store for a bit just looking; it was remarkably like any grocery store in the States.

Back across La Rambla’s esplanade to an ATM to purchase euros. The ship is still charging $1.45 per euro, so he wanted to see what a withdrawal from the checking account would cost. The final task was to find the HBMA. In Europe last spring, we had the HAMA, the Holy Apron of MA; now we have the Holy Box of MA. [Read yesterday’s entry for an explanation] None of the souvenir shops had any Spanish wooden boxes although one had several lovely boxes which had been made in India. Since she wanted a box from Spain, Indian boxes just wouldn’t do. Finally, he found something “different” in a tobacconist’s shop and bought it hoping that MA would like it. As mentioned before, we’ll be back in a few weeks, so we can look again then.

D returned to the ship, told MA about his adventures and then packed up the laptop to try to take advantage of the free wi-fi in the terminal building. He had mixed success. E-mail was accessible but he couldn’t get into Bank of America to find the cost of the euros. While waiting, he caught the journal up to date. All in all, it was a vain attempt and a waste of time.

When D left the ship this morning, he discovered that he had MA’s room key/ID card. The security people at the gangway didn’t care, but he got a funny look when he came back on board. MA thought it would have been funny if he had gotten back late – she would have been paged to call or report to the front desk. When HAL was sure she was on board, D would have been left in Barcelona.

Like many cities, Barcelona is a city of neighborhoods. The Bari Gotic is built on the remains of the original Roman garrison. The Olympic neighborhood is on the site of the housing built several years ago for the Olympics and Para-Olympics. They blend together easily. Most of the architecture is what we think of as European urban – mostly walk-up flats with store fronts at ground level, most with balconies which have wrought iron railings and a slight New Orleans flair. It is generally a low city; with the obvious exception of several more modern towers, the tallest buildings don’t seem to exceed ten stories. As a result, there is lots of sunshine [except today] on the wide boulevards and many public parks.

It is a city of art, too. The parks all have some sort of art either traditional or modern. Different neighborhoods effect different styles. The local artist most honored is Antonio Gaudi, designer of the Sagrada Famillia, who designed buildings and parks throughout the city. The Parc Guell, named for Gaudi’s patron, is at the top of a hill we chose not to climb. It is filled with representations of all kinds of animals, familiar yet not total reproductions. We hope to get there if there is a next time. Other buildings, such as the Pedrera, were pointed out on the Turistic bus.

Barcelona is filled with squares and traffic circles, also filled with assorted statuary. Avenues lead in every direction as people scurry hither and yon. Even on a dismal Saturday like today, the Rambla was busy, just not as busy as yesterday afternoon. And while this is a major cruise port and tourism center, the visible activity is mostly the people of this beautiful city just living their lives.

Summing up the rest of the day – we lost in trivia, skipped the show and looked forward with anticipation because we are in Marseilles, France, tomorrow.