We arrived in port Piraeus, the gateway to Athens, fairly late for a cruise ship docking: 10:30 a.m. That meant I could sleep in, and so I did, quick shower, delicious room service breakfast of raisin bran, conference with Karen and Zena, and off we went. This time we waited a quarter of an hour to let the first rush of debarking passengers off, then we took the elevator to Deck 4 and in about 5 minutes were off the ship.

In Piraeus the ships dock right at the dock and you stroll off through a building into the street. No tenders, no shuttle busses; much better. There were a million ferries in the port when we arrived. I’ve never seen so many ships at dock where the cruise ships dock. They tell me that Greece is so mountainous that even between two points on the mainland, often water is the fastest way to travel – and then there are the many islands, so no wonder there are so many ferries.



We were no sooner outside the terminal than we were hit up by taxi drivers. My dialog with one went like this:

T. I take you to the Acropolis, show you many things.

E. How much?

T. Come, get in my car

E. How much?

T. Come, get in my car.

E. No thanks.

He talked at me for another 5 minutes at least. My manners deserted me after 1 or 2 and I just ignored him from then on out. The Greeks, it develops, are determined merchants.(and the Turks, see Izmir) Not entirely unpleasant, but you really have to be willing to forget normal politeness if you want to avoid buying all of whatever they have to sell. Wait till I tell you about the carpet seller.

We walked on a block or so, looking for the Metro (subway) that would get us into Athens for a euro each. We encountered an American tourist who said the Metro station in Piraeus was under repair and the trains did not run past the penultimate (he did not use that word, but I’m fond of it) station. He suggested the 4 of us grab a cab, which is what we did. Cost: 7 Euro each. The cabbie suggested quite a few times as we drove the 7 miles or so to Athens, that he could drive us around to see the sights, and then back to the ship, far more effectively than we could do on our own. It was hard to tell what he wanted to charge but it may have been 180 euros. We didn’t take him up on it, and he dropped us by the Parliament building where every 30 minutes they do a ceremonial changing of the guard. Our 4th passenger in the cab said it was a don’t-miss event. He was mistaken, it was right out of Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks. We saw the tail end of it, and if you like seeing grown men dressed in archaic uniforms doing silly walks, the changing of the guard is for you. I suggest you save some money by renting the Python DVD. The Python walk was even sillier, and you can see it in the comfort of your own home.

We took off into the Plaka district, which is the old town section of Athens, located at the base of the hill the Parthenon is upon. Street signs were bi-lingual, which is fortunate because the alphabet got away from the Greeks after they “invented” it. As a result signs in Greek are, well, all Greek to me. There are cognates but the great differences in the alphabets prevent you from seeing them. As I understand it, the Greek alphabet is not the Cyrilic alphabet in use in Russia and some eastern European countries. It is sui generis, and therefore in the long run, doomed. “The piano tuner too” as Becket said, i.e. we all are doomed.

Still, street names being given in English is only useful if they also correspond to street names on your map, and that’s where the trouble came in. I had bought this swell Mediterranean By Cruise Ship guide and torn out the Athens pages (that was hard to do, psychologically) incuding the map. I never was able to locate myself on that map. We made do with Zena’s copy of the cruise ship’s map. There are lots of little streets, sometimes changing names after a block or two. Wonderful to wander in, especially if you don’t care where you are going. We did care, however, as we were headed for the Acropolis.

We could soon see it easily enough. It’s on a large rocky hill that looms over much of the Plaka. But seeing it is not the same as finding the entrance so we could climb up to it. Eventually we did, however. Twelve Euro gets your ticket, and you start to walk up the slope on a good wide paved path. Fortunately along the way were various sites and sights, so there were good excuses for dawdling and not appearing to get out of breath. Restoration projects are underway all over the hill, and there are plenty of things to restore on the flanks of the hill: ampitheaters, temples, that sort of thing.



No telling how long it took to climb the hill, but in the end we were up top and I’ve got to say the place is pretty spectacular. Much is scaffolded and under restoration, but there are clear shots of it all.





We walked down the alternative route, stopping for a coke, then wandering down some alleys and flights of stairs until we emerged at a very small café where we had lunch. The place seated possibly 15 people, and could handle a few more by putting tables out in the road (really). It had caged finches, which were pleasant sounding, cats, which were entertaining to watch, and a very puzzling sign in the W.C. (the universal abbreviation for Water Closet, indicating a toilet) which said not to put toilet paper in the toilet. Shades of China. Fortunately not an issue for me, as it confused me. I understood the words (they were in English) but I didn’t know if the writer understood the words (they were in English). Lots of interesting grafitti nearby. I had a meat pie, and water.



After lunch, some shoping, mostly of the window kind. There was one street where all the cruise ships send their passengers, as we could tell by the window signs that said this shop or that was recommended by this cruise line or that. Karen and Zena went to look at some pillows or something that the carpet store had put outside the shop. The owner asked where they were from, and soon found out that Zena was from wine country. Well, as luck would have it, his mother made wine from the grapes around the house, and he had a bottle of it in the shop. He came out with a glass of it for Zena to taste and critique. She said it was ok, and he suggested we all come in the shop and enjoy a glass of it. We left, since we were not going to buy a carpet. But it was like that at almost every shop. Look for a minute, then the owner is on you, selling like mad. The problem for Americans like us is that the Greeks and Turks are so good at incremental selling. It's like being interviewed by a cop when they raid your house. You think you are having a conversation, but they are going down a list of questions and suggestions aimed at a particular end - in this case selling you something by putting you in a situation where it is so impolite not to buy it that you are trapped. The only place worse for browsing that I encountered was China. As a consequence we did not actually enter any of the shops, with the exception of one where I got a present for my sweetie.



A bit more wandering, a closed museum or two, and we dropped into a little hole in the wall café for some cokes (1 Euro) and headed off for the Metro by the Parliament building. Turned out to be the wrong station for us. We wanted the other station across town aways,so away we walked. Saw some things



When we got our Metro tickets, mine was ½ euro because I’m a senior. Hopped the train and got back to Pireaus. We emerged into the city, by the port. Our first informant was mistaken about the Metro repairs. We were at the port but clueless about how to find the Norwegian Jade. There were street vendors and shoppers so thick that they took over the first traffic lane. I climbed the stairs to a pedestrian overpass and,at first, saw nothing but ferries. Finally I spotted the Jade way off across the water. We started walking alongside the road around the port. It was about a mile walk to the ship from the Metro, once I found the ship. No one was reboarding before us at about 6pm, so it was a straight shot into the ship with no line and no delay. A good day.

Beef stroganoff for dinner, and we opened a new bottle of chianti. I got tickets for Magnificent Ephesus so I can join Karen and Zena tomorrow for a less strenuous day.

I woke up Wednesday morning to find the sun rising on a clear sky, and the temperature on the balcony was 61 degrees. The contrast with Tuesday was stark. Tuesday as we pulled into Civitivecchia, the port for Rome, thing were looking good just before dawn and I shot some pictures.



The camera gathers light, in reality it was darker and less beautiful than this photo would lead you to believe. But the photo is what it is, and it looks good to me. Unfortunately before 8 a.m. when we were leaving the ship the weather shifted for the worse. The balcony temperature was an uninviting 49 degrees, but I went out and looked over the edge anyway to see just what I did not want to see: people with umbrellas up, and a pool of water on the dock with what was clearly a good deal of rain visibily striking the surface.

The thing is this: Z and I, as the more physically active of our party, were to go to Rome. She speaks Italian, and knows the city. K was going to take a tour to the Etruscan ruins, something interesting and not requiring a lot of strenuous walking. In the abstract this sounded good. I was flattered to think of myself as capable of keeping up with a marathon runner in her 30s, even though I was quite aware that 3 or 4 miles of walking would finish me off. But I didn’t count on the rain.

The ship lowered two gangways, accessible from deck 4, and at 8 am Z and I were on the staircase going down from our cabins on deck 10. So was everyone else on the ship and it was very slow going. At the landing between decks 4 & 5 a friendly crew member told us the shuttle busses that would take those of us not on an official tour from the ship to the gate of the pier, would not be running for a few minutes and we would be better off waiting inside the ship than outside. You can say that again. I went back to my cabin for my hearing aid – not that hearing Italian spoken is very useful to me – but I don’t want to get out of the habit of wearing it, even if turned off, so that I don’t end up in court without it someday. I got back, we went out. Jesus. The rain was coming down steadily, and the wind was strong. Umbrella and raincoat not withstanding, my Levi’s were soaked before I got on the bus. Then I got off the bus. It dropped us just into town. Z thought we should go up to the road and turn right, and soon would be at the train station. Anything beat standing in the wind and rain, so I followed her. The train station was a couple of blocks away. On a nice sunny day it would have been a pleasant walk. However, it was not a nice sunny day. We got tickets on the express and went out onto the platforms to wait.



The express was almost 20 minutes late. I was soaked from mid-thigh to socks, and it was not warming up.

I envy the Italians their trains. There were several that stopped at Civitavecchia, and one super express that did not. It came round the bend and blasted past us on its way to Rome. Finally the normal express came. We had reserved seats, carriage 8, seats 61 & 62 “corridor”. Ever see the Harry Potter movies? The train was set up like the Hogwarts train, with a narrow corridor on one side, and enclosed compartments on the other. Each compartment seats 6. Ours had 4 in it before we arrived. The seats are large and comfortable, so we settled in, and the train began to take us to the city. The comparison with Hogwarts stops at the seat layout, I must confess. This train was electric, and much less picturesque than the Hogwarts train. But, hey, that’s a movie train, this was reality.

We dried out a bit on the hour long train ride. At the Rome station we moved from Treinitaly to the Metro – Rome’s subway. A lot of people were taking it- reminded me of Barcelona on New Year’s day, only inside and moving fast. Three stops on the subway and we emerged at the colosseum. It is huge, colossal, to coin a phrase. We had to go to a nearby café that Z knew of, to have a warm bit to eat before braving the lines.



When we did approach the colosseum again, we were not alone. Hundreds were in a very dark corridor waiting to buy tickets. Hawkers tried to sell us individually guided tours, and the chance to get a photo taken with someone dressed like a gladiator. Also umbrellas. After a few minutes in line we heard an announcement to the effect that those not wanting the “didactic tour” (which turned out to be a tour guided by an official colosseum employee) could bypass the line and get an audio guide. In a flash we went by several hundred people and got English audio guides for more euros than I like to think about. A few minutes more and we were inside the thing.



According to our audio guide, in its prime the structure held 40,000 or more people. Admission (then) was free, but seating was stratified by social status. You may see in this photo a kind of platform – that is the level of the floor, which was covered with sand. Beneath it were the animal cages, and the waiting rooms for the gladiators. They came up on elevators when it was their moment in the sun (assuming better weather than we had). We spent a very intriguing couple of hours wandering about, and at the bookstore I found a cap, which was just what I needed.

We emerged to find ruins everywhere. Least ruined of which is Constantine's arch, which celebrates one of his victories. He's the guy who saw an image of the cross & "In Hoc Signo Vinces." (In this sign, conquer) He did vince, so converted to Christianity which is the reason we have so many Christians today.



Back into the cavern of the Metro where we had to switch lines, battle the crowds, and get crammed into the subway cars. Pickpocket’s heaven. But no problem for me. My money was in my sock and my camera was in my hand. A few stops later we were again on the streets, wondering which way to go to reach the Modern Art Museum. A few false starts, some directions in Italian, which were incomprehensible to me, but seemed to work for Z. and we went up this wooded walk alongside George Washington Street.



Over the hill, there it was before us. No cameras allowed, I’m afraid. But before we entered I snapped a shot of Z. I imagine you are wondering what she looks like.



Here’s a crazed lion, which is one of several extremely non-modern lions that are guarding the entrance to the museum. This was my last shot until we were on the train back to the ship.



Inside we got tickets and immediately headed for the cafeteria, where I got a coke. It was so good. The ship, probably in a money saving move, has dropped cokes in favor of Pepsi. Bad idea. I have to be quite desperate to drink a Pepsi, so I was caffeine starved.

Then bolstered by the rush from the coca cola, we went to the older modern artists, those from the days when they did figurative art. One gallery was given over to art from the 30s and early 40s: the fascist period in Italy. There were some marvelous art noveau propaganda works, and some other very large works in the style I associate with Benton (if that’s the right name) showing things like “The Return of the Legionnaires” (1940), and one with someone posting something in the town square, and all the mothers with their fascist uniformed children, looking very unhappy. I asked the guard what it was all about but she had no idea beyond the information that fascist art had been repressed since 1943 when the war was lost and now it was taking its place in art history. Very proper answer, but not in the least helpful.

We had a couple of hours, then it was off to the ship. First a 20-minute walk, then the Metro, then Treinitaly’s train. We could not get our tickets for the express so we ended up on track 28 taking the local. There were no station lists; the trains were shown by their ultimate destinations only. We hopped on the Pisa train. At the door to the coach, Z asked a somewhat official guy if this was the train to Civitavecchia and he said it was. Later in the coach some people hearing us talk in English, came over and asked us the same question. We gave them the same answer, but it was the blind leading the blind. Turned out to be ok.

Emerging from the station in Civitavecchia, we were in the midst of the howling storm again. Umbrellas were being blown inside out, we were getting drenched and it would have been miserable had we not had a mission. Here’s a dead umbrella that we found back in Rome.



The mission was simple enough. Return to the ship with some cokes. It seemed easy enough, but it was dark, quite a few of the places we passed en route to the shuttle bus were closed, and it was windy, cold, and raining. Then we found an open bar. They had cokes, in bottles. I bought 10. They gave me a Campari box to carry them in, and we went off to the bus. Everyone stared at me.

At the ship we arrived around the time that busloads of people from the tours arrived and there was a huge jam up at the gangways. We stood in the wind and rain for at least 15 minutes waiting to get on the ship. No fun. By the time we got in I was desperately clutching the sodden remains of my Campari box, hoping to keep the cokes from crashing to the floor. I made it to the room – here are the cokes in my mini-fridge.



Next stop, Athens, after spending today at sea.

I’m up at 8 am after a night of vivid dreams. The wind is Force 5 (fresh breeze) a slight sea, (waves 1.5 to 4 feet) and a mostly cloudy sky. It is 54 degrees outside and we are moving at 12.5 knots with an ETA at Civitavecchia (the port for Rome) at 8 a.m. tomorrow – just under 24 hours from now. I know all this because the cabin TV carries the “Report from the Bridge” on one channel, and I usually leave it tuned to that channel.

We will pass through the straight between Corsica and Sardinia tonite at 8:30 p.m. and I am going to try and call Mary Alice then on my friend’s cell phone. I spoke to her last night just before we left port. I had to go up to the jogging deck to get a signal then, and it was noisy. The band from the sailaway party was blaring by the pool midships, various machines on the dock were whining and clunking, and the ship’s P.A. system was making announcements in 2 or 3 languages. But I got through to her.

She’s better, but by no means out of the woods (or the hospital). Here by my bed in the cabin is a bottle of wine with 2 glasses that Vacations to Go sent to us as a bon voyage present.



I called room service for an 8:30 breakfast. They called me at 8 a.m. to say it was on the way, so I must be careful when using room service for an alarm clock. I’ve showered (no tub in balcony cabins or below), and am getting ready to try and walk off some of last night’s dinner.

There are two dining rooms, the Alcazar and the Grand, with the Grand being a more formal setting. We went there and sat at a window with a view of the wake disappearing behind us into the night. The food was pronounced excellent – our table had jerk chicken, and 2 sirloins with various salads and deserts. We have bought wine package #3 “Fruits and flowers” which is all reds. Z & I spent about ½ hour deliberating over the wine packages (13 bottles, 20% off) because Z knows wines and there were important details missing from the literature describing the various varieties in the package. It turned out to be 8 inexpensive, but drinkable, wines and 5 better ones. Last night Z selected a bottle from our package, after we ordered our entrees, and it was a definite hit.

It looks like a nice quiet day at sea, which is just what I need.

Blog Day 4 Med Cruise

I’m on board the Norwegian Jade, now, in the Barcelona harbor awaiting the sailaway, but my sweetie has not yet caught up with me, and now it seems like she will most likely not join me this trip. Her illness is lasting longer than we anticipated, but she insisted that I not cancel and return home, so I didn’t. It’s strange and a bit lonely without her. However, I am travelling with a neighbor and her daughter so I’m not actually alone on the cruise which is fortunate.

We arrived in Barcelona in the afternoon of New Year’s eve. The Hotel Pelayo was situated 2 blocks from La Rambla, or about 4 blocks from the hotel that we stayed at last trip. We spent time on La Rambla that evening but everyone was wiped out so we slept in the New Year, awakening only from time to time as the yelling crowds or bursting fireworks intruded on our sleep. Sorry to have missed it, but jet lag will not be denied.

In the next two days we made excursions down La Rambla, and into the Born, braving huge crowds each time. It was like walking in Manhattan. La Rambla is a long street, which extends from Plaza Catalyuna to the sea, with two narrow traffic lanes divided by a large central area available for strollers. There are also sidewalks beyond the traffic lanes. Of course there are hotels and shops on both sides of it all, and narrow side streets, branching off on both sides with more shops. It’s the old city, and given that they have found roman tombs beneath the surface, a very old city. La Rambla is a favorite place for people to come, eat, shop, and walk around; and New Years weekend seems to have brought them out en masse.

The area has Christmas decorations up still, not just here at the head of La Rambla, but on many buildings and high above the major streets.



The first night we only went down a couple of blocks, as our objective was dinner. There were a variety of eateries from US fast food franchises to locals. We gave it careful consideration and ended up at the Cerveceria. We got the last table, and it was very short with stools so we had to sit with our legs spread a bit. At the waiter’s suggestion we ordered 6 tapas: two fish, two meat, two chicken. They were good, one of the chicken dishes taking the honors. Washed down with cervasas the meal satisfied us enough that we returned to the hotel and slept away 2009.

The next days as we progressed down La Rambla there were a number of street performers, if that’s the right word for them. They don’t do much – some will not move until approached – but when you walk up to them they respond in various ways. The alien kisses you, the devil enfolds you in his wings, and the bicyclists make the wheels go round. Each of these are people in various costumes who invite passers-by to get their picture taken with them, in exchange for a donation. Here’s a pair of angels, or fairy princesses, I don’t know which.



We also saw a headless man, a green man, two sleepers, a plant man, and a couple of sci-fi aliens, a knight…. There were more. A surprising number of adults were getting their pictures taken with the performers, and they each drew a large crowd waiting to take pictures of the people brave enough to step up to the performer.

The Market La Boqueria is part way down, and like all these city markets, jammed with a variety of fresh produce and meats. This one had less variety than the others I have seen, but its difficult to visit a market with a camera without getting a good shot. I got some good eggs, and pheasants, but here is the best: peppers



As we wandered through the side streets, which never fail to offer something unexpected and wonderful, I found this paining on the metal door of a store.



On New Year’s Day my friend and I started off to explore north of La Rambla. A front was moving in and it got chilly when the wind blew between the buildings, but we persevered. First we located my favorite restaurant, Reunion, to be sure it would be open for dinner, then we headed north on Passeig de Gracia. My friend is also a camera nut, and we spent some time finding an example of the lampposts which offered a clear shot of it all. By that time we were opposite Casa Batllo, one of the houses Gaudi designed. We got in line, paid our E 17.80 each, picked up the audio tour, and started shooting pictures. Gaudi designed everything in his houses, down to the drawer pulls and furniture, so there is nowhere to point the camera without finding a good picture. Here is the ceiling of the front drawing room.



In the upper stories of this house, as with the one we visited last trip, Gaudi designed arched hallways. As the laundry was up top, these may have been seen by the servants more than the residents.



For me, and I think many others, one of the most visually impressive features of the Gaudi house is the rooftop ventilator shaft. In a non-Gaudi building these vents are nothing special. Here is one from the neighboring house:



And here are Gaudi’s.



Gaudi is the most famous Barcelonian, and his works are one of the main attractions of Barcelona. The most famous is surely the Temple of the Sagrada Familla. Like all of the great cathedrals it is being built over a long period of time. Work began in the 19th century and is scheduled to continue until around 2025. We plan on seeing it Jan 15 when the ship returns to Barcelona in the middle of the cruise.

After spending some months organizing this cruise, which my sweetie and I are taking with a neighbor and her daughter, I am surprised and uneasy to find that I am at the Citigarden Motel preparing for tomorrow's flight to Barcelona, and she is home in the mountains recovering from a severe flu infection. When she first became ill we had a week before our planned departure and I was sure she would recover enough to travel - but not so. The flu, even the normal flu, can really knock you down for some time. So I have cancelled her flights, salvaging something from the ticket price, and she is to join us as soon as she is able at whatever port we have reached.

I made my last court appearance Monday, finished up some motions and responses and such things yesterday and this morning, intermittantly packing. I got everything into one suitcase and one carry-on, and that's got me worried. When my sweetie packed for the last cruise we could hardly close my suitcase. When I packed this time, no problem at all. This means, most likely, that once on board the ship I'll discover what I have forgotten to bring.

So this morning I built my sweetie a fire, said goodbye to her, the dog, the cat, Bruce, Montgomery and the 17" laptop, and after several false starts, drove off. I really had trouble leaving my sweetheart. But I did get off, around 2: 30 pm, and just in time it developed, for it was snowing on the mountain and a couple of miles of roadway near the top had snow sticking to it. Another hour or two delay and I might still be at home waiting for the snow plows to open the pass.

It was an uneventful 250 miles, or so. Rained the whole way. I went across the top of SF on 19th st planning to catch I-280 down to 101, but was foiled and caught it going the other way. I dropped down to 101 on I-380 (or whatever the number is), took 101 north and lo and behold the 1st exit was South Airport Drive and soon I was at the Citigarden Motel where we always make arrangements to park the car while we are away. For $150 or so I have a room the night prior to leaving, parking for the car for about a month, and a room the night our flight back arrives (at 6:45 p.m.) I used to tough it out and make the 5 hour drive home, but that was then and this is the more comfortable now.

My flight is at 3:25pm so I'm going to the airport on the noon shuttle in case the TSA has decided in light of the failed airplane bombing in Detroit, to do something that slows down the security process. I should be at the airport 3 hours ahead of departure time. I have the Cambridge Companion to Jane Austen with me to while away the hours.

I hope to have some interesting pix for you in a couple of days. I'm taking the pocket camera (10x optical zoom) and the Olympus 26x optical zoom. I use the pocket camera when I'm wandering around where I feel insecure - it is not really visible when it is in my pocket, so I don't feel so obviously a target for thieves as a "rich American tourist."

Between the cameras, their battery chargers, their cables to connect to the computer, and the computer, some binocs, and the Blackberry, my carry - on is almost nothing but electronics. I know that will be fun to get through security with.

More later.

PS Its now the morning of Day 2. I have circumnavigated the motel 5 times to make up my morning mile walk. The motel is really quite large with conference rooms, a large restaurant, an interior courtyard, barber shop, swimming pool, guest laundry, etc. On the ship I will take 2 or 3 turns around it on Deck 7 and get my mile in. Just a size comparison. Tried to get some pix of all the power lines that go by the motel and the neighboring SSF Convention Center - where I took the bar exam, and years prior to that, the baby bar exam. Ah the memories. Back in the 20th century, approaching the building in the early morning with my electric typewritter (computers not allowed in those days) listening to the high voltage lines crackle in the morning dew....