Rome & Monaco

May 13th – Port outside of Rome

A hideously rainy day. The very expensive tours were taking people armed with their umbrellas for a two hour ride to Rome to see the sites and to shop. We chose to stay on-board, having a manicure, doing loads of laundry or reading in the library. A dull down-day, but one which is needed when one is on the road for two months. Both of us are a little bored with the ship and ready to move on to more stimulating experiences.

Dinner tonight at a table for eight only emphasized this point. We had a brand new set of people with whom to become acquainted: two widowed friends from Arizona; two widowed friends from Edinburgh, Scotland who had known each other since the time that they were switchboard operators together (Ernestine where are you?); Richard, a fairly bombastic hog-the-conversation realtor from Portsmouth, New Hampshire and his very diminutive, quiet friend Rachel, a nurse from the south.

We had the usual tier-one conversations and the rest of the meal was dominated by what could be bought in what port; where one shopped when at home; how many brilliant grandchildren one had, etc. We excused ourselves after dessert, retired to the aft deck for a drink and then to bed.

May 14th – Monaco/Monte Carlo

We were rewarded with a blue sky warm day which lured us off the ship as soon as it had anchored off the port at noon. With Beatrice, rather than radar-nose leading the way, we found ourselves taking a more circuitous route to our destination - climbing our way to the top of the rock to see the old town, the aquarium and the palace of the Grimaldi family.

Monaco is a beautifully situated harbor where it is obvious that wealth has no limits. The ships which we could see in the harbor below, both yachts and sailing vessels were for the most part large and impressive. The town has changed significantly since Bob was here 40+ years ago, and even though we drove through here together less than 18 years ago, we felt as if we were visiting a new place. The old town which was once so prominent is almost lost amidst high rises, fancy hotels and an entire new city where business buildings and high rises dominate the skyline.

It would appear that it is only a few days before the Monte Carlo road race and the whole town has been rearranged for the event. Roads had detours or were cut off and being re-lined with markings for the racers; blue bleachers were being set up along the roadway for observers to see probably two minutes of the event as the drivers whipped by; trailers were being set up at various places to provide supplies; piles of tires were collected near the pit stop area; and every wall or bridge way had a prominent advertisement painted on for Bridgestone, Pirelli, ING and others. From the heights we could observe it all and we tried to lay out the route in our imaginations.

It seems we visit Monaco at about the same time because on our last visit similar rearrangements were underway and we actually drove part of what would be the race course on our way from Nice to Portofino. (We took lots of pictures to ask Dart Thalman about when we get home to Peacham. Last year his brother participated and Dart was his pit-assistant.)

We took the proverbial tourist pictures of ourselves outside the palace where we watched a very casual guard walking back and forth in front of the main entrance in a most sloppy parade march with his submachine gun held in position. Either the Grimaldis don’t care about formality, or he hadn’t yet learned the ropes. He was an embarrassment to all proud guards – be they Greek Evzones or American soldiers. {Bob suggested that he learned to march in the Navy…or the Coast Guard ;-) } But he did look lovely dressed in white, set against a blue sky and a pale palace. Only the seriously modern gun gave one pause.

Having completed our circuitous route we once more went down to the level of the harbor where we caught the #100 bus which, fora mere one Euro each, would carry us to Nice and lunch. The bus was crowded, so we were obliged to stand for most of the 13 kilometer ride, but who cared. The view outside the window was breathtaking as we drove the shoreline Cornich, passing the through towns of Eze, Villefranche, and Beaulieu looking down at an azure sea, sailboats, and elegant homes.

The conversation around us was French but with a distinctly southern accent and while we looked like Americans, we felt momentarily as if we were part of the local scene. Once in the old Port section of Nice, Radar-Nose took over and led us right back to our favorite Cours Saleya. In the early mornings this is a thriving fish, vegetable and flower market, with awnings down the middle of the road to protect from rain and sun, and water drainage ditches on both sides to wash down the smell of fish at the end of the sales day.

In the afternoon and evening it is transformed into a bustling, noisy restaurant ‘scene’ with nightclubs, disco, up-scale and simple fish restaurants, plus shops and stands appealing to locals and the tourists alike. It being 3:00 PM the conversion from fish market to restaurant row was almost complete and instead of fish stands, chairs and tables were put out under the awnings preparing for the evening activities. We sat at a lovely little restaurant where our parched and weary bodies sucked in ‘1664’ beer as if it were water while sitting on huge cushioned cast-iron chairs that looked like mini-thrones. Around us were the youth of Nice smoking like fiends, jabbering on cell phones, sunbathing and staring at the passersby. It always astounds me on a working afternoon to find so many people out and about, relaxing and enjoying life…where is the work ethic?…where is the time-focused need to quickly grab a meal and return to work? There’s something deliciously wrong with a culture that can luxuriate over a meal with friends without the guilt that pleasure should not be part of the workday experience. Or maybe they’re all students, or unemployed, or simply living off the wealth of their parents, with no need to work. We could observe this world for hours wondering what the story is behind each person sitting in a chair.

Having satisfied our hunger and thirst, we ambled across the city towards the railroad station, poking in windows on the main shopping drag – Gallerie Lafayette, H&M, all the main stores as well as the smaller boutiques are available. I limited myself to one Provencal tablecloth with poppies and lavender, my two favorite symbols of spring in Europe.

The streets were crowded with shoppers of all nationalities and we noted quite a few Muslims in their scarves and long gowns who are obviously part of the working world of Nice; there were a few too many beggars for my liking asking for alms, and I noticed that the new look of fashion seems to be just this side of sloppy. Where are those lovely French ladies with their sense of savoir-faire and nonchalant glamour? I miss that simple elegance where a silk scarf thrown dramatically around the shoulder, the well coifed hair and that hauteur which comes from knowing you look elegant makes the rest of us peons feel we haven’t a chance at graciousness.

I remember on my early trips to France when I’d shop like mad for scarves and try to look the part knowing that there was something just too American in my stance, my walk, my shoes, my attitude which would leave me revealed as an imposter. But what’s the fun, if you don’t try. This time I felt we were the better dressed but then, maybe we just don’t ‘get’ the new style.

Our train ride back was uneventful but our walk from the new Monaco train station to our ships’ tender was an odyssey. The train station is brand new,  has three levels, and lacks signage at the critical junctures where one needs to know exactly where to go. Once out of the station, we knew where the port was, but getting there wasn’t obvious. It didn’t help to have half the roads chained off for the race, so that only those who lived in the town could find their way without error. Even Radar-Nose had his doubts as we went up and over bridge ways laid out for the race, walked in the area reserved for the car pits, found ourselves at some fairly chaotic intersection where to try and cross would mean taking ones life in one’s hand. We doubled back, went places we knew we shouldn’t be, and eventually found our way to the tender and to the ship, where we had a beer at our favorite aft deck bar to celebrate our safe return.

Every bone in our body told us we’d walked entirely too many city streets, climbed too many stairs, up and down, and we were very glad to find our comfortable bed…all that was missing was the masseuse to rub us down and take the kinks out of our aching limbs. Eight miles in the countryside goes by fairly easily, city walking with the need to be constantly alert to lights, bustling people, pick pockets, beggars and people hawking their wares, curbs, cobbled streets etc. is a different kind of walking. I love it because my senses get stimulated from all the things to be observed, but I do get weary at the end of a day.

Tomorrow will be a quiet day on board in the harbor of Marseilles. It is a seriously industrial port, so we will relax on the ship, do our packing and have a lovely dinner with our friends from the day at Lake Bled.

Day at Sea & Pompeii

May 11, 2008 – Day at Sea

Last night for the first time, we had rough seas. Not enough to bother we two seasoned sailors, but enough to leave many guests whining about how rough it was – which makes me wonder why they come on a ship in the first place.

The day was over-cast so people spent their day playing cards, reading, sitting by the pool or in all manner possible enjoying a relaxing day with no where to go. That evening we passed through the straits of Messina, a narrow two-mile wide area important because:

• · in the tales of Homer, Odysseus passed this site and the sirens tried to lure him to his death;
• · in WW II it was the site where the Allies let a German Army escape from Sicily
• · Bob had passed through this exact location 42 years ago, standing on the Bridge of his Carrier, during his sailor days in the Navy.

Soon after passing through the straits the pilot left our ship.  This departure of the pilot is something we both love to observe. In every harbor a ship is required to take on a local pilot who is familiar with the water and surrounding landscape. It is that pilot’s job to get the ship safely in, or out of the harbor. Once he has completed this task, a small motor launch comes up along side of the moving ship, keeping pace with the ship’s speed, and at just the right moment, as the little launch and the very large ship are hugging each other and moving through the waves together, the pilot jumps from the ship to the launch. It is not a task for the faint of heart, and we watch it each time with our heart in our throat. If he misses he could be crushed between the two moving vehicles, or fall onto the deck of his pilot boat, or simply dangle between the two. We are told that these pilots are very well paid, and for our money they’re well worth it. We cheered and he waved once safely on his launch.

While we ate dinner the Captain (Mr. Squeaky, as Bob calls him) told us we were passing the island of Stromboli, and its active volcano. Everyone leaped up to take a look, and the captain promised that since it wasn’t quite dark, that we’d pass slowly to its north so that we might watch it spewing lava glowing in the evening sky. We learned later that it did exactly that, but we missed that opportunity choosing instead to go to a very bad piano concert given by a Russian woman. Between the microphone heightened acoustics, and her very sloppy playing, it was a painful experience … and we could have been watching Stromboli instead!!

May 12, 2008 – Sorrento/Pompeii

Once again we awoke without having heard the anchor being lowered (can we really be drinking that much at night) but we were definitely resting on our anchor outside the lovely harbor of Sorrento. We had eschewed the ship-provided tours which were very expensive and were meant for those who like to have their information ‘pre-chewed’ (or at least that’s my opinion). Instead we headed for the local Sorrento Statione to catch the train that runs every 30 minutes to Pompeii.

We bought our tickets for 3.80 Euro (round trip) and hopped on to the ‘Long Island ‘local’. And I mean local. The whole distance was less than 19 kilometers but it took us about 40 minutes, stopping at every little town along the way, standing in the middle of the train, hemmed in on all sides and crushed in amidst crowds of tourists, locals and gypsies. It was distinctly a local experience which those on the cruise bus tours had the misfortune of missing. But then, they might also have missed the fields of poppies, and the fruit trees which bordered both sides of the tracks, and the feeling of conviviality amongst all us tourists who de-trained en masse at the Pompeii-Scavi train stop.

The train left us less than 300 feet from the entrance to the historic precinct. We walked past the many vendors selling water, guides, personal tours and umbrellas. (The day still looked a bit threatening so that we had rain slickers at the ready). I was last here 20+ years ago with Connie and Lynne, but if you’d put a gun to my head I wouldn’t have recognized anything. (Then again, as Bob reminds me, many sites look new to me when I might have seen them just four months ago…not to mention twenty years).

There has been a significant amount of excavation going on through this period, and the site itself has a new entry way, audio walking tours and a very rich book store to enhance the tourists’ experience. Since we were early into the season the place was amazingly empty. The three cruise ships in port certainly added to the crowd effect, but we overheard one guide saying that lines to walk into one particular house could be one hour in length during the height of the season, and we just marched in and out with no problems.

Springtime, with poppies in season is the right time to visit ruins. Since there is little shade cover, and the heat can be intense, it was almost perfect to have a cool day with an overcast sky. Bob and I had downloaded an iPod walking tour from iJourneys, which was excellent! We were guided from spot to spot with very precise instructions, and told exactly what we were seeing and why it was important. The benefit of this kind of tour was that we were on our own and were not dependent on tour guides with their flags held high in the air in order to herd their chickens to the next spot. Instead of fighting for space to see some particular item, we were on our own and there were times when we were the only people standing in front of a particular home, or display.

Granted we missed the amusing stories which the guides tell to keep otherwise bored clients happy, or the interesting and odd statistics that they keep in their head (or make up) to astound the crowds. We are not always pleased with human guided tours, and are usually happier with the ability to visit sites on our own – either with a good guidebook, or as in this case, with our iPods. We were leisurely in our approach, stopping and watching people if we needed a rest, and probably were at the sight for 4+ hours. It is an astounding place. Not that it was so opulent in its time…after all it was just another Roman town…but rather by the sheer happenstance that it found itself in the direct path of an exploding volcano, thus allowing us to examine an entire town, almost as if it had been built yesterday.

In the year 79 a.d. within a thirty hour period, over thirty feet of fiery ash rained down on the town, burying everything and everyone in a cataclysm no one had foreseen. Locals had thought of Vesuvius as just another mountain and had never figured out just why the soil was so rich around their homes. And so, after 1700+ years of lying dormant, and with the writings of Pliny the Elder to guide them, the site began to be excavated and the digging continues to this day. For archaeologists this is pure gold to work at such a site where everything remains intact. It wais somewhat eerie to walk streets, poke into people’s homes, and look at frozen-in-time-objects… from a dog that had been chained to his home and died writhing in agony; to people cowering with their faces covered, only to be completely covered in ash. The number of human figures found in all manner of agonizing poses gives one pause. (Most of these are now in the Naples Museum) An explanation was provided to explain how archaeologists were able to preserve these figures: by taking the hardened lava that surrounded the original corpse and using it as a mold, they would pour a material into the mold which when extracted is able to show the exact detail of every person, animal or object:

• · The bakery where loaves of bread were found intact it all happened so quickly;
• · the large homes of the well-to-do, with walls covered in beautiful pastel illustrations and their inner grassed-in courtyard providing a cool oasis to the outer world;
• · the home in whose entryway a mosaic showed a fierce snarling dog, and the words “beware of the dog” (in Latin);
• · the taverna or restaurant with its places to keep food warm, and dispense ‘take-out’ orders.

All of these places are absolutely intact, only their roofs missing so that everything was exposed to the air. (Not unlike the pictures of Dresden, after the bombings of 1945). The one interesting element that caught my attention was to learn that the people of Pompeii chose to build their temple columns using red brick faced with marble or stucco to imitate the Greek look rather than building the entire column of marble or stucco. Why? There certainly was marble to be had. Was it because Pompeii was a working community and that’s all it could afford? Google will have to answer this at some point.

Of course the house that all tour guides pointed out, and which we too examined, was the brothel - complete with very explicit illustrations above the doors. One guide was overheard saying “It’s kinda like McDonalds – place your order by looking at the various pictures”. And of course, the favorite stop for all tours: the house of the Vettii, owned by two bachelor brothers. In the entryway is an illustration of Priapus, holding a scale: on one side of the scale is a large sack of gold and the other side as a balance is his much enlarged penis. We were told by our iPod tour guide that it was a way to measure the brothers’ importance in the community. (Yeah, right!) Of course everyone had to stop to take that picture. And later as we walked past the tourist stands located outside the precinct, that picture, along with a lot of the brothel illustrations, was being sold in vivid color…not to mention the penis-bottle-openers and other assorted phallic paraphernalia to bring home to one’s grandmother.

After four hours we were brain and leg weary… so after a cooling beer, we once more boarded our train back to Sorrento, headed back to the ship for a brief rest and a beautiful sunset sail-a-way past Capri. Then off to dinner. Having spent in incredibly boring evening the night before, talking with a pair of sisters living in Chicago whose ‘tier one’ stories were painfully uninteresting, and a couple from Korea whose command of English was limited…we chose to go back to the buffet, and eat outdoors on the 9th deck aft, where Bob enjoyed sushi and I had a plate of pasta. (Some nights one finds the most interesting people at ones table with whom to strike up a conversation, and on other nights you wish you could just excuse yourself and move on – the nature of open seating on a cruise ship.) It makes me miss our octet from the Queen Mary, who we got to know so well after six nights of dining together.

One of the most delightful and extraordinary events of our day came as we stood on our balcony watching the town of Sorrento spread out before us. We looked up at the bridge wing which looms over our balcony. Normally this wing is devoid of humans since its purpose is to provide good sight lines of the port side of the ship when in the process of maneuvering an arrival or departure. We looked up and the captain waved. For a minute we weren’t sure he was waving at us, but we waved back at which point he asked us how we had spent our day. We chatted about our visit to Pompeii, a place he had yet to visit. He explained that it was difficult to go ashore for an excursion when at anchor, because were he not to be able to get back to the ship quickly, the entire sail away might be in jeopardy. The fact that he was so open to engaging in a conversation when he normally is sequestered and busy on the bridge before departure, was both a surprise and a delight for the both of us. (Though we continue to call him Mr. Squeaky based on his high pitched, very earnest, young voice).

Dubrovnick and Bari

May 9, 2008 – Dubrovnik, Croatia

As always we landed at our port early in the morning. Normally, Bob would be up to ensure that all the lines were made fast in the correct fashion, but I think they’ve put sleeping drugs in the vents on the ship. Nothing else can explain this lethargy which has overtaken us and leaves us crawling out of bed at 8:00 or later. It’s not like we’re exactly exhausting ourselves, unless it’s moving the hand from plate to mouth. Whatever it is, we’ve missed a lot of port arrivals. Today we awaken to find Dubrovnik harbor outside awaiting us. Our second stop in Croatia, and one which I think Daddy visited when his father was the consul of Yugoslavia.for Leipzig. (I will have to look when I get home, but I think we have a photo album of them visiting Split and Dubrovnik - also called Ragusa then).

Today we had to anchor south of the port rather than pulling up to a pier. But on a regular basis, ship tenders are being provided to take us to and from the small harbor. Here is one place in which I did absolutely no pre-trip ‘homework’ and I felt it. I was walking through a town which I know was filled with history and I was simply ambling along in the lovely warm sunshine enjoying the crowds, the stores and the restaurants. We knew there was a wall we should climb and walk around, but we were not inspired to do that …. It was just a day for being typical American schmoozers – we could have been in Rhodes, Corfu or any other ancient, fortified town.

Having taken the requisite pictures, seen the highlights and eaten a seafood meal at Ragusa II  founded in 1929 (propitious), we headed through the city walls to the harbor, and caught a tender back to the ship. Before dinner we enjoyed a cocktail in the Cabaret theater while listening to one of the lectures being provided by an on-board professor from Harvard. He gave a small preview about our next port of call – Bari, Italy – and covered three important topics:

1. (1) St. Nicolas, the patron saint of the sea, whose body and relics were stolen from the Turks, is theoretically housed in Bari. In olden times this provided a large source of revenue to the town as knights on their way to the crusades would stop to see the relics. He was supposedly a feisty five-foot saint who saved three young women of Bari from prostitution by paying for their dowry.In time he became the St. Nicolas celebrated by the Dutch in early December; and ultimately became St. Nick/Santa Claus whom we all adore in America, and where Coca-Cola gave him his lovely Coke Red coat, black belt and hefty beard
2. .(2) The WW II disaster of 1944 when a series of American ships docked in the harbor of Bari (one filled with illegal mustard gas) were attacked and exploded in the harbor causing one of the more secret and hideous aspects of the war which was covered up until 1959.
3. (3)The general history of the Apulia/Puglia region from early Greeks, through the Venetians, to the present.

After watching another gorgeous sunset with three dolphins playing off the aft wake we once more tried the Discovery dining room where we were seated with a mother and daughter from Ireland (Mom, Jeanette, is a cattle farmer’s wife who left Dad at home because he doesn’t like travel, and daughter Margaret, a marketing manager for a large European grocery chain), and two couples from Michigan (avid golfers). It was a perfectly pleasant evening of ‘tier one’ conversations and nominally wonderful food. (I had three orders of the egg roll, a salad and a plate of cheese; Bob enjoyed Caesar salad, NY Strip steak and NY cheese cake w/ strawberries). Cappuccinos, and off to bed.

May 10th – Bari, Italy

Once more we awake to find a very busy harbor outside our windows: Bob is up early in his robe, watching the approach from our balcony. Ships, cranes, trucks loaded with cargo, hustle and bustle and little charm. Ferries from Greece and Albania are unloading beside our docked ship. There seem to be two kinds of harbors in the world, those where one finds beauty, quaint shops and cafes along the quay and those where you know immediately that it is a working port. Bari is distinctly the latter. Since nothing in the literature provided under our door, or the lecture provided last evening made us feel a need to rush out, we had room service, lazed about, and finally took a shuttle bus provided by the ship to take us to the heart of Bari.

For the first time neither of us carried a camera. For a moment I feared I might miss some very beautiful photograph, but it turned out that this was one town where I would have had to look deeply to find a picture worth taking. What should I say: charming it wasn’t. Bari is a busy harbor town with a somewhat quaint older town which has been turned over to pedestrians, tourists and motor scooters. Bob and I headed to this old part of town where in a gaudy main square framed by sugary filigrees of lights which at night must have looked amazingly tacky we saw the statue of St. Nicolas who had just had a three-day celebration in his name. He was kept behind barricades where people prayed, left roses and admired him still. We then meandered through back streets with our trusty map. Radar-Nose-Ring kept us from being hopelessly lost in streets that twisted and turned, ended suddenly in a piazza, and where street names changed every few blocks.

It was a series of working neighborhoods with people getting their groceries for the evening, doing their laundry, which was strung across the walkways high above our heads, and boys playing ‘football’ in the small squares. We worked our way slowly back to our shuttle bus and returned to our ship wondering why we had even made the effort. But as Bob said, if we hadn’t gone, we’d be sure we’d missed some gem. My question is: what could those very expensive ship-provided tours have told us that we didn’t see? There wasn’t a tour for less than $150.00 and that is a wee bit expensive, to put it mildly. We probably missed a ‘fine/authentic’ Italian meal.

One of the amusing parts of returning to the ship after going ashore is the return procedure: first one is offered a cleansing anti-bacterial towelette (to cut down on disease); next some iced water or iced fruit punch to cool you down as you wait on line; next you put your  id card into a card reader where the security person can actually see your picture pop up on the screen to ensure that there’s a match between the picture they see and the you standing before him (and not someone who’s stolen your card); next you are welcomed with the saccharine phrase “welcome home, home sweet home”, as you put your purse, parcels or camera through a scanner to ensure that you left your bombs and stiletto knives on shore; and finally you are back on board. Not quite like the experience of the boys 80 years ago.

Having missed out on finding any small, cute restaurant on shore we went up to our favorite outdoor Aft restaurant – Windows Café - for a quick sandwich, and beer, before retiring to our cabin to relax. I finished a book while Bob took a nap. And that’s Bari. Tomorrow is a day at sea as we sail around the heel and toe of Italy aiming for Sorrento.

Lake Bled and Split

May 7, 2008 A day of totally new discoveries.

We arrived early in Koper, Slovenia a mere 60 miles from Venice. Neither of us had ever been to Slovenia so before we left America we chatted with Barry Lawson who gave us some thoughts of this country in which he once lived and studied. In addition Bob had arranged with fellow Cruise Critic aficionados to rent a van to Lake Bled. There were six of us (David & Terry – both cruise travel agents from San Francisco and London); Mitzi and Mike Buechele from Latrobe, Pennsylvania, and us) and while we waited for the delayed arrival of our driver we chatted amicably about travel in general. When our driver arrived finally with great excuses as to why he was late, we headed through the suburbs of Koper and headed in the direction of Ljubljana.

What impressed me most as we drove along, was the superb quality of the infrastructure: roads, tunnels, toll booths and fields all looked impeccably clean and well designed. Even the livestock seemed orderly and well built. Our driver, recently graduated in ‘tourism’ seemed neither aware of the sites around him nor had much information to impart about Slovenia. He did acknowledge that for many, Tito was still considered a good person and he had made life much easier for all – jobs, housing etc. (not unlike what we heard about life in East Germany before reunification). It seems to be a theme during this time of transition – life wasn’t ideal under communism, but it was easier on a day-to-day basis.

  I realized that prior to this trip, though I consider myself pretty well traveled, I had never been in a communist country. On this trip alone we’re visiting six or seven locations all of which were in communist control. To think that when Daddy traveled, none of these places were communist… and within 80 years it came and went. Not that long a period of time in the grand scheme of things, but it certainly held our attention the entire time as we in America watched the unfolding and the collapse of the iron curtain. Perspective is a glorious thing…. It even allows me to believe that Bush is just a Blip in our lives and that Hitler’s 1000 year Reich lasted a mere 12 years. One can do a hell of a lot of damage in short periods, but they are just that – short periods, and if you can survive them and keep a balanced view hopefully better environments follow. Or so I think as I’m waxing poetical on the Azamara cruise ship.

After 1.5 hours, climbing gradually into the foothills of the Julian Alps (named after Julius Caesar) we arrived at the castle of Lake Bled where we were met by Graeme Chuter a lovely British gentleman who is now a permanent resident of Slovenia, having married a young Slovene girl and producing a new son, Eric, less than two weeks ago. (He reminded me of the gentleman on the British version of The Office, and he sounded the same as swell.) Graeame gave us all the critical information about the area: this is one of the lakes where Tito had one of his summer palaces; the rowers who practice here did quite well in the last Olympics and hope to compete successfully in the Chinese Olympics; the little Church of the Assumption, in the center of the lake, dates back to the 9th century and on one side are 98 steps where young grooms must prove their masculinity by carrying their new brides up the stairs; the castle itself is very old, but not very interesting inside; Lake Bled is a very popular resort situated very close to Austria and Italy and was fought over in almost every war; etc. Once filled with information he allowed us time to take pictures of the incredible views in all directions and then led us back to our bus driver who would take us into the town of Bled for a few hours before heading back to our waiting ship.

Meanwhile he was off on his next business transaction. Bob and I enjoyed a lunch alone overlooking the lake. We chose not to try the specialty of the area – a dessert called kremna rezina (custard and whipped cream). With time to spare and no shopping worth stopping for we wandered around the little town that is very much like any mountain lake resort be it Swiss, American or Italian – tourist shops, kiosks, hotels overlooking the water, and mountains. The whole built in tiered streets. We walked partially around the lake on the footpath and then returned to our van to be swept back again to our ship in Koper.

 I never saw Koper proper or any other parts of Slovenia, so it’s an excuse to come back to this pretty part of the world again. The town had pulled out all the stops for our ship and had provided a delightful 15-piece high school band which played tunes at the foot of the ship, which I assumed to be Slovene ‘golden oldies’.  We listened, applauded, had our passports stamped at Immigration, and retreated to the ship to relax before dinner. Our favorite spot to dine is the buffet on the aft deck. Sitting through many courses in a totally enclosed room just doesn’t compare to sitting and watching the stern wake as you sail into sunsets eating sushi, stir fry or some form of roast meat (beef, pork, lamb). The bar tender, Rastislov (Rusty, for short), seems to always recognize us, and knows our preferences, which makes for a relaxing experience. While there are also two ‘specialty’ dining rooms on board, it’s a question if we feel like dressing to the occasion. We might just hang out on our aft bar with Rastislov before falling under our duvet for the night. One could do a lot worse.

I find that I am just totally uninterested in meeting my fellow shipmates. I enjoy reading, relaxing, staring at water, exploring the towns we visit, and that’s enough for me. There are just as many guests who are happy sitting by the pool reading, chatting, absorbing some ‘rays’. Everyone comes to this experience with different objectives, and so far I think all are being met. The real world is not too close at hand. There are no papers in English at the local kiosks, and our only hints about the outside world is an 8-page supplement slipped into our daily schedule each evening which tells us, from the New York Times Digest, what happened in business, sports and news. CNN International is available from our room TV so we can keep current but until there’s a buzz throughout the ship that something ‘big’ has happened, I’m happy being oblivious for a few days. The only real news of note was the cyclone in Myanmar - which has taken 4,000, 20,000, or 100,000 lives – whatever number, was hideous. I enter this piece of news only because it gives some specificity of what’s happening.

It was frustrating in reading Daddy’s diaries that while he was kept current to some degree we really don’t know what was going on in the world while he and Walter floated around the world. Not that any of us could influence events, but giving some time-marker seems useful.

May 8, 2008

Having again sailed ‘donuts’ through the night, we arrived at our next port of call – Split, Croatia. We awoke at the piers, lined up amidst at least a dozen ferries which shuttle people to Italy, Greece, Albania, and other towns along the coastline….in this case the Dalmatian coast. Of course, it’s another perfect-weather day so once all the tours had debarked, and we had acquired some Kruna at the ATM machine, we headed into the town of Split.

As one always does, one compares a town to one’s base of knowledge, so for me the harbor and town of Split reminded me of Rhodes: a busy harbor; a lovely quay with shops and cafes; and inside a magnificent old town dating back in history. This part of the world has had a variety of rulers starting with the Greeks and moving through the Romans (Diocletian in the 4th century), the Venetians, the Austrians, the French, the Italians and of course Yugoslavia. It is the Romans who truly left their mark with the palace, the cathedrals and the temple of Jupiter. The old fortress walls surrounding these sites now hold shops, housing and markets. A wonderful hodge-podge of centuries so that when one took a photograph there was everything from a roman column to a modern chic boutique.

We ambled through the town, snapped pictures, sat in a large square to drink a bitter lemon and watch the world pass by. Because I had not done enough research on this town, I felt that I was probably walking past many important historic places, but for a first visit, I got a ‘sense of place’ and know that I’d like to return here for a more lengthy visit. (My only problem is that there are too many places where I want to return, and I’m not sure there’s time enough to do them all…but I have to give it a try). This town could have been in Greece, but it was in Croatia and the language being spoken was totally mystifying. I couldn’t tell which people were speaking the local dialect and which ones were speaking Slovene, Bosnian, or Russian. Luckily many of the young people speak English so one could always ask those critical questions and be understood to a certain degree. There is enough English to cover the basics when one asks questions, as long as one sticks to the basics.

 I like to think that our every pore does not ooze ‘American’ but when I stopped in a small grocery to buy a bar of chocolate, the cashier just by looking at me, informed me in English that I owed 15 Kruna. I hadn’t said a word to give myself away, but I guess I didn’t look or act Croatian. (Or maybe there’s a secret handshake one gives in a grocery that I was unaware of). In any case the transaction went smoothly and we headed back to the ship for another beautiful sunset as we sailed off to our next port. I like this cruising concept for getting an over-view of a place, but in all cases, I sense I need repeat visits to be able to wander beyond the small arena provided by a port city.

Our dinner was once more on the aft deck with a British couple sitting next door. They too seem to like being away from the world. They both are reading quietly, chatting and have sat there for the last three nights, like us. Who knows, I may even say hello at some point.

Venice

May 4, 2008 A day to ourselves in Venice, before joining our ship. Since most of the people who are boarding the ship are staying in the ship-designated (and ridiculously expensive) Danielli Hotel, we needed to find our own way to the ship. The brochure spoke of a bus being made available at the bus terminal so Bob and I scouted out where it might be located since obviously we’re not the only cruise line offering such a service in Venice. It took more than a bit of detective work since there was absolutely no signage and every information booth, public bus official and stray individual whom we asked had absolutely no idea where the busses to the maritime terminal would be located. Having figured out an approach for the next day (arrive and look like dummies), we took off for the island of Murano, which Bob had visited before when working here for a month in 1996.. Murano is known as the home of beautiful glass and thus has the qualities of a natural tourist trap in addition to being a lovely island. No sooner were we off the vaporetto than we were encouraged to watch the glass blowers in action. For a mere two euro we were ushered into a simple warehouse off of the quay where two kilns were glowing – ready for action. We sat on some very rustic bleacher seats as other tourists were ushered in until all available seating had been taken. Finally, in a mixture of French/Italian and English, an audio tape was played that welcomed us and explained the history and the process of glass blowing. Then working in almost perfect silence (not unlike our demonstrations in the Meissen factory) we watched a glass blower actually create magic. Somehow you expect an artisan to look somewhat delicate or at least artistic…. this man could just have easily been making bread or hauling garbage. He looked very much like old time movie actor Wallace Beery. But this rough exterior hid a talent which was obviously learned over many years. In less than a few minutes time he had blown a lovely clear vase with a very ornate handle (which he broke, and threw away as useless) and a glass stallion rearing on its hind legs. We took lots of pictures which he encouraged, oohed and aahed as the ball of hot molten glass took shape under his deft handling, and applauded his talent before being ushered out to the shop next door where we were encouraged to make a purchases upwards of $2000. We looked but I must say the chandeliers, the ornate vases and the fussy glassware was not appealing. The larger more modern pieces – especially one of a sailboat with a large spinnaker caught our eye but the costs even here were prohibitive so we took pictures and escaped to a quiet square for lunch. The entire island is one large manufacturing site where in every corner and backyard there appeared to be either a shop or some ovens for making glass. If I were ever in the market for ornamental glass this would be the place to make a purchase. But, not this time. We took the #5 vaporetto back to the main part of Venice and searched for two restaurants we had dined at over fifteen years ago. Radar-nose Ring found them almost without trying. He has this amazing sense of direction which even in Venice allows him to get from point A to point B without much map examination. Me, I’d be lost every two seconds. The two restaurants (La Columba and Restaurante de Il Teatro ) are near the Le Fenice Opera House/Theater which has just been rebuilt (again) after a fire. John Berendt in his fiction/fact book The City of Fallen Angels weaves a story about Venice and its society around this fire and its impact on the people of the city. We stood above one canal near the restaurants for at least ten minutes and watched a whole flotilla of gondolas filled with Japanese tourists go skimming by – in one, they even had an Accordion and a singer which must have set those tourists back a few euro. In one sense the whole ‘gondola scene’ is terribly kitsch and touristy, but there is a wonderful fairy-tale quality to standing on an old stone bridge built centuries ago while watching gondoliers very deftly guide their boats with small, seeming effortless gestures as they dodge other gondolas, assorted motorboat taxis, floating garbage scows and delivery boats all vying for right of way in small areas without much room to maneuver. At times it looked as if there just had to be an accident or ‘gondola-bender’, but no, with a small twist of the oar the gondoliers guided their barques as they slid by each other using the resistance of water, the walls or the underside of bridges to propel themselves and their passengers down the canals. I have no idea how long it takes to learn such a skill but to stand up at the rear of a very slim black boat, going through the chop of motor-churned water, using only one long oar and one’s own placement of weight to maneuver is not a career for the faint of heart. It seemed as though it would be ever so easy to fall into the drink, and that is distinctly one place where no one wants to be. Between flotsam, jetsam, and god knows what else, the canals do not look like the healthiest of water systems. But with tourism being the major economy of Venice, there will always be gondoliers ready to guide fat Americans, romantic honeymooners, and all manner of foreign tour groups through this amazingly beautiful city. (I must say we saw few old gondoliers – it may be a trade for the young and muscular only). We got back to our hotel via the #41 vaporetto, passing lots of old haunts – including the Pensione Seguso where I had stayed years ago with Connie Miller and Lynne Devnew when we, the BIBS, were younger, slimmer and unmarried. The Pensione seems to be thriving as do any hotels in Venice. The one thing we’ve noted this time is the distinct lack of Americans, or for that matter any English speakers. I could say it’s the time of the year but I think the power of the euro over the dollar has had an impact. Not that the crowds were any less, if anything the euro has provided an opportunity for many from the old eastern block to visit. We have heard quite a bit of ‘Russian-sounding’ language which we can’t decipher to know if it’s Slovene or Slovak, Croat or Crimea, Ukraine or Uzbec… or ?. We always liked it when we could go for days without hearing our native tongue, but this time it’s downright remarkable. May 5, 2008 Off to the bus terminal we went searching for the bus to take us to the Maritime Terminal. It was pouring rain and everyone was looking a wee bit soggy. There was absolutely no Azamara bus to be found, so I asked a young lady holding up a sign saying COSTA (another shipping company) where the bus might be. In her halting English (she was from Argentina !), she suggested we just put our luggage on the COSTA bus, say nothing to anyone and we would get to the terminal without any problems. Which we did. Being very early, we were the only ones on line for Azamara check in so that we got rid of our luggage, got our passcard and voila….onto our ship we went about noon. The Azamara is a re-constituted ship which was once part of the Renaissance lines. She holds less than 700 guests, is distinctly smaller than most cruise ships being built now and it is another experiment… if I like this size ship – certainly a good deal smaller than the Queen Mary, but a lot larger than our favorite Star Clipper ships. We found our full balcony cabin on the port side, seventh deck, and then began an exploration of the ship. From level to level, from stem to stern we found all the nooks and crannies, restaurants, bars, library and spa facilities. It certainly has all the amenities that anyone could want. But here are my first impressions: she looks older and sadder; less crisp or fresh; our fellow cruisers are just not as elegant or gracious as those on the QM2, and while there are far fewer canes and walkers than on the QM2, there is an increment in body fat being hauled around the decks. Who knows these could become our new best friends so I’m grabbing impressions before I know what’s in the future. Pre-sail drinks in the Martini lounge with fellow Cruise-Critic sailors was a delight. We met the people with whom Bob had been emailing and with whom we’ll be going to Lake Bled in a few days. We met a fine pack of women who are either widowed or divorced who call themselves the SLUTS (Southern Ladies Under Tremendous Stress; or Southern Ladies Up To Something). These six ladies from the Atlanta area have sailed together often and their energy and enthusiasm mixed with everyone’s first-meeting-nervousness made for a fairly raucous but happy crowd as names were exchanged, prior sailing stories were told, and what I call the ‘first tier’ stories were told. [Everyone has their polished first tier story to introduce themselves to others - who they are and where they live and why; it takes many further conversations to get deeper into a person’s autobiography and learn the real story – warts and all.] But it’s night one, so we’re just beginning. Being a little weary, we went to the main dining room for dinner. The Discovery Room is one of three dining rooms; the other two are more formal and one has to make a reservation, though it costs no more. Our table mates were: two Mexican sisters from Mexico City who spoke almost no English but one could tell were lively and enthusiastic about this trip; and a honeymoon couple from Silicon Valley both in their late 30’s and glad to be married to each other. They were all very nice, but conversation was stilted and ‘first tier’, and that ended our day. May 6, 2008 While we had boarded, unpacked and gotten settled the ship was actually going no where yesterday. The first day of the cruise was an opportunity to explore Venice. For many who had flown directly from their home to Venice in order to board the ship this gave them their only opportunity to explore this wonderful city. Being an amazingly blue sky, sunny day, Bob and I chose to go in search of the statue of Colleoni which daddy had mentioned in his very first letters from Venice. The statue of a man on a horse is in a square not exactly in the heart of the tourist area. We took a vaporetto around the edges of Venice to the Hospital stop where we then walked with Radar-nose-Ring locating the square without a hitch. I had to take the picture in the exact location where daddy had taken his picture. I kept wondering why was this important to him, and how would he have found it in the first place since it is not that close to either Rialto Bridge or St. Marks Square. I’ll never know, just as I’ll never know a lot about those letters, but it was nice to stand there and think that he’d stood in this exact same place with his trusty Leica and taken the exact same shot in 1927. Having accomplished this very important task, we had a beer and a ham & mozzarella panini at Café Colleone, stared at people walking by in the square, were serenaded by two men with ancient accordions, admired the famous church and the old guildhall and having paid our respects to the past…moved on. Radar-nose-Ring using our less than perfect maps managed to walk us over bridges and through little alleyways until we found ourselves….right back staring at Colleone. How could this happen? Only in Venice with its winding ways could one stride out so confidently only to find oneself chasing one’s own tail. We made an embarrassing course correction and found our way to the Rialto Bridge – my god what a tourist trap! To go from the peace and quiet of the square to the chaos of hustlers, masks, scarves, kitsch and pushing, picture-snapping crowds was like going from a piece of sanity into total insanity. We quickly boarded a #2 vaporetto and headed back to San Zaccaria to catch the ship-provided vaporetto returning to the Azamara Journey. Sail-away was breathtaking! A sunny late afternoon sailing, going right past the Campanile, Doge’s Palace, Bridge of Sighs, the Lido, and other monuments with a lecturer on board who relayed what we were seeing as we steamed out to the Adriatic. We passed by (and photographed) the old Termini Maritima, where daddy had sailed from on a foggy day in 1927. It was so gorgeous that Bob and I could not stand to go inside, so we had drinks (huge, perfect Manhattan for Bob) and dinner outdoors on the aft deck until the very last bit of sun had set over Italy…and so to bed.

Munich & trip to Venice

May 1, 2008 What a wonderful day we had today. Eckart Foerstner, a colleague of mine from IBM picked us up at our hotel in his BMW and drove us to his home in Fussen. On the way we caught up on 25 years of not seeing each other, where the only connection was our annual Christmas letter. We knew about events that had been significant in our lives, he recognized Bob from pictures in our letters and we chatted amicably and endlessly, for 90 minutes, from the time we left until the time we arrived at his house. We learned that on May day in Bavaria every village and town raises a May pole with a good deal of festivity. As we passed through one small town we saw the men in their Lederhosen and felt Tyrolean green hats working to raise their pole. Eckart explained that it is the custom for one town to try and steal the pole from another, and if successful the only way to get it back is to pay off the town with beer and dinner. It is also published in the papers and is quite an embarrassment. Not only was it May Day but it was also Ascension Day and Father’s Day so everyone was celebrating. As we continued on, the road became two-lane with beautiful mountains in the background – a little like Peacham were our hills a wee bit higher…but equally calm, bovine-laden and restful. We passed beautiful Baroque and Rococo churches with their onion domes, and passed right thru Neuschwanstein with its mobs of tourists all trying to get to Mad Ludwig’s Castle. This castle is the model against which Disney created the original Cinderella castle at Disneyland, and it couldn’t be more sugar coated. Eckart was a walking encyclopedia of knowledge about the king (he was gay), the lake (where the king swam the distance daily), the castle (in which he never really lived) and the second castle closer to the lake where he did live. It was so much more fun to be driving with someone who knew the territory and give us a kilometer by kilometer description. Fussen, where Eckart and his wife Johanna have retired, is a metropolis of 6000 people and they both are very engaged in the activities of the town and proud to show it off after we shared a long, gemutlich, and yummie meal at their home. Johanna had out done herself with fresh white asparagus soup, salad, veal stew, and a strawberry desert with coffee. We talked books and history, art and literature. Eckart is a collector of German Modern painting from 1947 – 1956, a specific period in which artists who had survived the war, or started just afterwards were able to express themselves in very abstract ways. He has collected works of all artists of this period and has even had his own exhibit in Fussen. The addition they built to their home (which until retirement had simply been a summer retreat) allowed him to design the absolutely perfect space for his art, and in the lower area a wonderful book-filled library. Taking a walk through town, to walk off our very satisfying lunch, we visited the old monastery which now serves as a historic museum of the 1700 Baroque period, as well as containing a quite magnificent museum of stringed instruments – lutes, violins etc. As we looked at the baroque inside with its ceiling paintings focused on death and angels, we came across a small salon where a lone pianist was happily playing Mozart and Shubert to an empty room. We stopped and listened a bit and then moved on. Of course Johanna and Eckart knew every inch of the museum as well as recognizing people along the way – including the mayor of whom they didn’t approve since he was a softy. It reminded me of when Bob and I show off Peacham and seem to know everyone as well…but Fussen was orders of magnitude larger. It was a warm, lazy afternoon and the town which is completely pedestrian was filled with families enjoying the sunshine, ice cream and window shopping. We returned to their house for tea on Meissen china, an absolutely amazing desert (whose recipe I have been promised) and more conversation. Both were quite convinced that my book could have quite a wide interest in Germany and so I told Eckart when he has read it carefully to figure out if there really was an audience, and if so we’d be glad to come back. He is also convinced that some form of publicity would be excellent. Its appeal is that period of world travel in the 20’s, and now even more so, the interest of what Jews were doing in that period before the war. We’ll see. Exhausted, sated with knowledge, good food, friendship and a feeling of gemutlichkeit, we were driven back to Munich with promises to meet the next afternoon to visit the Glyptothek Museum with their daughter Franziska. It is such a wonderful feeling to be able to re-connect with someone you haven’t seen for years and yet to chat as if you’d only seen each other yesterday. The two are so warm and welcoming that it made for a most special day. And as Johanna remarked, we needed to do this again before the next 25 years had passed. To have a real ‘home’ experience after weeks of hotels and dining out for every meal made a wonderful break for us. May 2, 2008 With a morning to ourselves before meeting the Foerstner family, Bob and I wandered to the Marienplatz. Munich was mobbed! Everyone had holiday, it was the first warm days of spring and one could hardly find the sidewalk for all the people. It was almost oppressive and it certainly detracted from looking at some of the classic buildings for which Munich is famous. We did take a picture of the Rathaus Glockenspiel surrounded by the steady annoying beat of hip hop music drowning out anything around us. We had our daily quota of wurst with mustard before ducking the rain drops to get back to the hotel in time to meet up with the F’s. Franziska has followed in her father’s footsteps and joined IBM where she is a project manager installing some package around the world. We had seen each other last in San Francisco when she stayed with me on Baker Street, and in the intervening 15+ years she had taken on a more serious demeanor. We all enjoyed the classic Greek artifacts at the Glyptothek – especially those from the temple of Aegina. Eckart pointed out that unlike other nations, Germany had never stolen or taken antiquities directly from Greece, they had bought them on the market. It seems that Frederick the Great had fallen in love with Greece and all things Greek and had built the museum to hold his acquired collection. Originally the building had been designed and decorated to imitate a Greek building with black walls, painted detail at cornices and very ornate ceiling detail. Even the statuary was meddled with. To give a feeling of completeness and accuracy the statuary was restored to such an extent that where there were parts missing, (arms, legs, shields etc), they simply added them and then painted the restored statuary in bright gaudy colors as they ‘may’ have been in their original state. After the war (when this building was pretty much destroyed by bombs) the museum was rebuilt without the black walls, the painted ceilings etc, and all the statuary was returned to its more accurate state – unpainted, and missing many arms, legs and shields. We were able to see how they were exhibited both before and after and while it certainly helped to be able to see rather than imagine the entire pedimental sculpture, it seemed more correct to see things as they were found. There were some wonderful gems which I had only seen in books and which were wonderful to see ‘in person’. After a careful walk through, a light snack in the museum courtyard in warm sunshine, and some more chats, we were dropped back at the hotel to once more pack our bags, and the three F’s returned to Fussen for the holiday weekend. May 3, 2008 Another day of travel. We picked up breakfast and lunch at the Munich train station. I tell you if Amtrak offered one half the fabulous food opportunities we’ve seen in the different German train stations, I’d be in heaven. Fresh hard rolls with truly hard crusts, fresh sausage or cheese, beautiful fresh fruit…even a Starbucks for god’s sake. We have gotten spoiled by our 1st class train accommodations on German trains and we were reminded of this as we boarded our Italian intercity train which would take us to Venice. The benefit of this particular train is that we didn’t have to get off – and with our luggage that had a certain charm – but it was a distinctly less gracious experience. Though we had an assigned seat in one compartment, it was filled to the gills (and one of the gills hadn’t taken a bath in at least a month), so we quickly snagged two seats in another compartment where our only other companion was a lovely Australian woman, recently retired, who was visiting friends in Munich and was ‘riding the rails’ with her Eurail pass… waking up each day to chose a different town to visit. We exchanged stories of towns we had visited, gave her some recommendations since she appeared to be a walker, and chatted until she suddenly decided to get off at one small town for lunch. We continued on in solitary splendor until we reached Venice. The entire ride provided breathtakingly beautiful scenery. I had to keep thinking of the two boys taking this exact same route 80 years earlier. Their train was obviously a bit slower as they climbed the Alps over the Brenner Pass since they spoke of sleeping in Bolzano. We in our more modern, if not hyper elegant train, climbed over the pass and through various mountain tunnels as if on flat ground. The mountain tops were covered with snow, the fields were green, it was most impressive. At the Brenner Pass we changed crews and suddenly the announcements instead of having a German accent as they pronounced things, had the lilting romantic sound of Italian. The difference was dramatic and made us smile. Italian has such a lyrical sound that even when the conductor, having given his spiel in Italian, tried to tell the entire thing in German it sounded lilting and Italian. (It’s damn hard to make German a lilting language, but they came close). We continued south stopping at Bolzano, Vicenzo, and Verona before we ‘turned east’ and found ourselves going through the lush, flat farmland landscape of the Po Valley. On past a few more towns mentioned in Shakespeare’s plays, and Kiss Me Kate, before we landed in Venice. It was a long day - 7+ hours on the train but it actually went quite quickly between conversations, staring out the window and reading sporadically if the view didn’t hold one’s attention. Train travel is such a relaxing experience: the world passes by your window providing an endlessly changing panorama – distant mountains, villages dotting the hillsides, modern factories close to the train tracks where you read the signs and try to figure out what they’re manufacturing. All this variety of eye candy, while sitting comfortably reading, chatting, snacking, pointing out sites, and watching people as you pull into the stations. I find train travel so human and appealing in comparison with airplane travel which has become so inhuman, so rushed, so frantic that it has lost a lot of magic. It is so sad that America has lost this form of commutation. Given time and opportunity and efficiency I would much rather cross our country on a train but the equipment is so old and worn out, the schedules so unreliable, the routes so limited and the food so awful, that it is just not a real option. To walk into a bustling station, to be able to easily locate the track and the exact location of your particular car and to know that your train will arrive exactly when and where promised is just plain delightful and amazing. And so we detrained into the chaos of Venice. We deciphered the Vaporetti process, bought a four day pass which allows us to get on any form of public transportation in Venice, boarded a vaporetto to a location near our hotel and humped our bags over a bridge or two until we reached the Hotel Olimpia. To say we have stepped down a few notches would be to put it mildly. Modest would be the kindest thing we can say of it. The bathroom is a practice session for the ship: one can shower, brush one’s teeth and use the toilet without moving more than an inch. The décor is rococo or bordello: a beautiful turquoise and clear glass chandelier dimly lights the room; gold filigree lamps at each side of the bed emit enough light to unpack; ornately painted furniture with curlicues and painted flowers finishes the effect. The Taschenbergerpalais it ain’t. But to give it its due it’s clean, convenient, and perfectly adequate. It’s just not quite up to the standards which we’ve set so far on this trip and unfortunately, even though it’s warm and stuffy in our room, the AC isn’t working because “it’s not summer yet” as the front desk informed us – that starts next week. But we’re here, and we have a chance to explore this wonderful fairy-tale city before boarding our ship.

Meissen and travel to Munich

April 29, 2008 Awoke on what the concierge promised was going to be a rainy day….but only in the afternoon. So we jumped into our clothes and headed for the Elbe to catch a steamboat ride to Meissen. Ever since I was a very small child and broke a plate of Meissen on Christmas Eve, I understood the importance that this china played in our family. There were stories of parties where the butler had stepped into the middle of a table to change a light fixture and the table collapsed smashing 20 place settings in one minute. There was the sad story of Edith’s china lost after her death when the moving van bringing her goods to us rolled over and burnt or broke everything on it. It was its emotional value as much as its actual financial value that made our family treat it like gold. To now be able to go to the town from which it came was as if making a visit to Mecca. The steamboat with its huge paddle wheel and resounding high pitched whistle was built in 1892. Over the next two+ hours it took us past sheep and cows, vineyards and castles as we sipped coffee to ward off the damp cool weather while listening to the perfect German descriptions of everything we passed. At Meissen we debarked and boarded a little mini-van right at the quay which took us up to the factory itself through a fairly dreary town. We bought a ticket for both the tour and the museum. Our first stop being a small auditorium where a video described the history of this famous porcelain and process of making the materials which are used in its creation. Then there followed a very interesting tour through four separate demonstration workrooms where there sat in each a Meissen employee, working in perfect silence while demonstrating a part of the process which was simultaneously being described on an audio voice over our heads. Bob and I being the only English speakers wore infrared headsets which translated this audio into English. Through this tour we learned about the history of the porcelain and were able to watch various pieces being made right before our eyes. Some of the wisdom I learned was: - Meissen has been in continuous production since 1700 and after the war it was not available to the east but was sold to the west since it was in high demand and represented a wonderful source of hard currency to the GDR. - In the early days those working in the factories were kept almost as prisoners in fear that the process would be discovered by others. One hell of a way to control one’s ‘patent’. - In the first workshop we watched a ‘thrower’ making the beginning of a cup working with the wet clay at a potter’s wheel and then placing the object into a mold in order that the cup have the exact shape and thickness of every other cup. There needs to be some level of consistency to ensure that Meissen remains unique. - In the second workshop we watched a ‘repairer’ who actually joins pieces together – for instance putting a rose on top of a sugar bowl, or a piece of fruit on a plate of a figurine. On the repairers workbench there stands a model of the final piece to act as a point of reference. This is very precise minute work done with moist ‘clay’. - In the third workshop the underglaze is done. The onion pattern, requiring no gold around the edge has its design first put on with a stencil to ensure that all onion patterns look exactly the same. Then the ‘painter’ using a black paint fills in the stencil. Here there is a bit of creativity in the hands of the painter, but again a consistency is required. It is then fired three different times to truly harden the glaze and allow for the plate to be put in a dishwasher. That paint which appeared black actually becomes the brilliant blue which is what makes the onion pattern recognizable. - In the last workshop a painter puts on a pattern on top of the three-time glazed plate. This includes the gold rim (real gold), individual paint colors and flowers. Then the plate is glazed again. And Voila! - In their vast storerooms they keep the original molds of absolutely every piece that has ever been made which allows someone to order any piece from its entire 300 years of production. Thus if I wanted to complete a piece of mother’s china I could order it and in a few months time it would be shipped to me. What was astounding is that Meissen continues to be made by hand. The plates seemed a bit thicker, the designs seemed a bit simpler, but everything was very recognizable. We learned that there are ‘knockoffs’ being made in the world, but none is the real thing. The mark of the crossed swords which is put on the bottom of every piece identifies the years in which a piece was made and whether it is a ‘second’ or not. We went through the museum which had plenty of service ware, but a ton of figurines, statues and other decorative pieces which represent the true magic of Meissen. Finally we wandered through the store where one could order any piece one wanted, given you had deep pockets and a huge Visa allowance. We just looked. The new pattern with the poppy flower caught my eye, and were I to ever buy any new china, that would be my favorite new pattern. But the costs are so prohibitive (a 6 piece tea setting costs @ 4000 euro based on the pattern chosen) we simply bought some post-cards. To see so much Meissen in one place was over-whelming and beautiful. I felt so proud that I actually own some of this beautiful porcelain and it made me appreciate it even more than I do already. It is a true treasure that has been passed from our grandparents to us and I will continue to honor it and treat it with the care it deserves. We left the museum and headed back to a local train which took us back to Dresden in the promised rain. We stopped by the City Museum to pick up some materials from the store which had been closed the day before, and then had our daily quota of wurst and beer. Back to the hotel to pack, and then off to dinner at Rodeberger Restaurant overlooking the Elbe in the rain from a candlelit window table. . A warm, gemutlich, restaurant with simple Dresden fare. Bob had Dresden Potato Soup, and Sauerbraten with raisin sauce… and I had another wurst with potato salad. And so to bed. We are sad to leave our palatial quarters knowing it is highly unlikely that we’ll ever stay in such a hotel ever again. April 30, 2008 A last room service breakfast and off to the HauptBahnHof to catch our 8:55 train to Leipzig and on to Munich. We passed mustard fields, flowering fruit trees and lilacs as we headed to our next stop. I listened to a Rick Steves IPod program in which he interviewed three people who grew up in three different eastern/ Warsaw pact nations. It answered a lot of questions I had about this work-in-progress called reunification and acceptance into the EU. While the over-all goal of creating one Europe is a worthy objective, the process of getting to this point has been painful for everyone. For those born in the 40’s who have known only one way of living, the communist regime seemed a lot easier. One was provided housing, wages, health insurance without having to think. While life may have been bland, and possibly dangerous, it was consistent and known and easy. For young people who assumed that democracy would suddenly be the perfect solution… to their frustrations they find that in this new world there are still rules and regulations provided by the EU, by Western Germany, by the ‘government’ and they are disillusioned. For many just finding a way to have a job and to make one’s way is difficult. Many people who served the party in the old days in order to survive, simply put on a new disguise and are now in some form of power in the new world The EU rules on food production and other manufacturing regulations have caused anger and frustration as people who did things one way are now told that they can no longer continue to sell their wares without making changes It will take years to truly consolidate these disparate parts and people into one Europe but it was understood that this would be the only way for Europe to survive. And a side benefit is that initiating wars between these now united nations becomes harder and harder when one becomes more and more dependent on each other in a market-driven economy. I almost wish I could come back in 150 years and see how it really all turned out. It is a huge experiment which has never been tried on this magnitude. Filled with new knowledge, we arrived in the Hauptbahnhof in Munich where hundreds were leaving to take advantage of tomorrow’s important holiday. We walked over to the Sofitel Hotel which was a block from the station. It is the old post office and has been totally remodeled into a very 21st century glass and light structure. Our room is stark and ultra-modern with a glass wall so that a person taking a bath or shower can be watched by someone watching TV in the large living room. Theatrical floodlights on the ceiling, in a variety of colors. make one feel that one is on stage. At the bedside, keypads allow lighting, temperature, music and TV adjustments…and even let you turn on a ‘do not disturb’ light outside the door. Large, functional, but not quite like our previous hotel. We were exhausted and since it was poring rain outside, we simply ate at the bistro in the hotel – Susie W. where we had an Asian meal. I had a Bento box, and Bob a plate of Sushi, spring rolls and soup. Our fellow diners were all Americans since most Germans were on their way home to enjoy the May Day holiday.