Finally, on Board

The taxi driver told us that 9 pieces of luggage and 3 passengers were too much for his cab.  I could understand that much from his body language.  I didn’t have to speak Spanish.  Somehow Wyona fit all of us in, and Greg offered a generous tip, so the driver left the port happy. 

We proceeded to get on board.  For us – entering the day of final miracles – no need to unpack again until we leave for home.

The same delicious Sunday market was in full swing and Wyona and I had pesos to spend at the market. Knowing that this would be that last of the really big markets for us we proceeded to the best market of all.

Greg found coins that had been carved so as to leave the interesting figures still in the circle of the coin and the rest cut away.  If only he were a jewellery wearer.  But he couldn’t bring himself to buy one of those, nor lls one of the purses that other men carry.  But to give him his due, he happily carries any of Wyona’s bags, often two or more at a time.

At the end of the day the church bells were ringing at the San Telmo Catholic Church.  We stopped in to watch a priest dressed in jean light the candles getting ready for the service.  Then we headed for the bus, only to be stopped by Spanish music coming from a derelict hacienda.  The front courtyard was full of musicians.  A sign said, come in, stay, free, the musicians are not being paid so give what you can.  At first we watched through the spaces in the high wrought iron fence.

from a website for One Day Cafe in San Telmo
(http://onedaycafe.me/tag/san-telmo/)

Then we could smell the grill where chorizo sausages were grilled, split, and place on buns that were only vehicles to get meat into the mouth.

I would have stayed forever.  Greg and Wyona forever and a day.  The end of a dream day.

Cruise to the Canary Islands

Don’t answer the phone after midnight.  That is what Wyona said to Moiya last night.  Wyona does her searches for good cruise deals after midnight.  I answer the phone after the twelve bells had tolled to hear her say, would you rather go on a cruise around England, stopping in at many ports, or one to the Baltic.  Going to the Baltic was a no brainer for me, I told her and that is how I woke up in the morning, going on my first cruise, and how I discovered myself walking along the streets of St. Petersburg, 10 days later.

Moiya had a similar experience.  She answered the phone after midnight, and was on a plane 24 hours later, joining us for our trip to the Canary Islands the day after that.  Steve had upgraded our room from an inside cabin to a balcony so that Alex could come along with us.  That opened up another bed and Wyona picked up the phone after midnight to ask Moiya to join us.

There is a sense of adventure in Wyona.  We didn’t take any of the port destination trips that are offered to passengers.  Instead we get off of the boat, Wyona finds someone who can speak English, asks them for a good local bus route to take, one that we can use to go to a destination and then walk back to the ship.  That is how we found ourselves walking along a small side street, Moiya and Alex in a grocery store buying pop, and Wyona and me strolling the avenue looking at churches, statues, the design on pavements, and the graffiti on buildings.  I had stopped to look at a quickly painted political statement on the side of a building about democracy, probably inspired by the trauma of the long dictatorship under Franco, and Wyona went back to see what was taking the shoppers so long.  When she didn’t come back, I, too, wandered back, to find her sitting on a chair, surrounded by 8 locals, all of whom looked worried, and a couple of clerks were standing there, one with a phone in her hand. Wyona was pale and disoriented. “Have you fallen again,” I asked.  “Oh, does she speak English?  We thought she spoke French,” said one of the onlookers. I looked quizzically at a small old woman who was standing by her own shopping cart and she looked back at me right in the eye, but speechless, though she was intoning the musical fifth, doh/soh, doh/soh, doh/soh, over and over, which lead me to believe an ambulance was on its way.

Having had a number of on-ship discussions with Moiya and Wyona about the high cost of medical treatment abroad, I said to Wyona, “There is an ambulance on its way.”  She put out her arms, stood slowly and said, “Look, I am OK.  I am OK.  Call the ambulance back.  I am leaving right now and walking down this street.  Thank you everyone for your help.  I am going to be OK. ”S he limped back up the street, the by-standers shaking their heads.

“Alright, Wyona, what just happened there?”

“I was going into the store and tripped over the step that leads up into the store.  I did a face plant.  The clerks saw me.  I got up and leaned on the wall outside, but when I did, I knew I was going down, so I slipped down the wall to the ground. I had taken a really hard fall. A clerk saw me and brought a chair and put me on it.  That is where you found me.  I needed to sit there for a bit.  There was no way I was going in an ambulance, so I got up and started walking, telling everyone I was OK.  Who was around me?”

“As far as I could tell, only Spanish speakers and you must have uttered a bit of French to them, for they thought that is what you spoke.”  Wyona can flesh out her story when she gets on the blog – sufficient to say her energy level dropped for a few days until some healing occurred.  She was back on her feet and into the markets again when Moiya missed a step going down reconstructed the same fall, letting her elbow and knee act as part of her 3-point landing that she bounced from, rolling into a position of being prostrate on the ground.  Suddenly I was on the outside of a circle of 10 people gathered around her, asking her if she was alright. What is wrong with this picture, I asked myself later.  I have my eyes on architectural details while my siblings are contending with each other for who can come away with the biggest bruises and contusions. Moiya has the perfect thing to say from the ground.  “I am fine.  I just need a minute to sit here and collect my senses.”  But everyone stands around for that minute to watch and Moiya isn’t in for that kind of spotlight and scrambled as quickly as she could to her feet, all the while someone saying, “I am not stalking you, I am helping, I am a nurse,  I am going to watch you for minute to see that you are OK.”  How sweet was that?   

So at night, when the shows are over, those two compare the colour of their bruises and the pain level of their stretched muscles, and I sit there determining to hold tight to the banisters on every staircase, and to keep my eyes more on the gutters than on the eaves troughs around me.

Wyona

Nose at the Window

Wyona made some perfect cruise bookings.  The cruise companies changed itineraries, gave her minimal compensation and we were left with an insane return flight schedule to Canada.  Instead of going London – Calgary, the sensible thing to do, we are going London – Berlin – Barcelona – Frankfurt – Calgary.  There is some sunshine lining every cloud.  Because of the change in schedule, I have seen Berlin – not on my itinerary, but there it was before me today -- grey and I didn't get out of the airport -- but my passport is stamped, "Berlin".   

As well, my nose was pressed to the airplane window for the 15 minutes while we flew over the Mediterranean along the coast of Spain.  The blue of the ocean was cut by the curve of the land, and then the deep violet of the mountains behind were set off by the pink clouds in the sunset.  I was shaking my head, not believing I was seeing such beauty.

We tried to have supper at the hotel tonight, but true to Spanish custom, the dining room doesn’t open until 8:30 pm – far too late for us to begin a meal.  While we were talking to the maitre de, he drew his elastic barrier that runs between 2 silver poles in front of us, as though we were going to bolt and get into his dining room ahead of time.  Wyona, Greg and I took a vote and decided to have a genuine German sausage breakfast in Frankfurt tomorrow, instead and to call our foray into Wyona’s candy stash, supper.  At first, we thought we would walk into the community tonight and find a restaurant, but he clerk at the hotel desk reminded us it is Sunday today – only downtown Barcelona stores are open.  As well, this week are two holidays – one on Tuesday and one on Thursday.  So, he said, most people have taken off Monday, Wednesday and Friday and are just making a week of it.

I am looking forward to the German breakfast.  This morning I had English mustard when I went with Wyona and Greg to the Star Alliance Lounge in the airport.  I thought I was adding regular French’s Mustard to my plane, but at the first taste of it, and after I had recovered from that choking pungent taste, more akin to a eating mustard plaster than to tasting Canadian home-style mustard, I decided to give a new look to breakfast possibilities – thus the journey of looking foward to a German breakfast tomorrow.  Ah, the sweet cleansing of the sinuses for today.

I am hoping for another eating surprise tomorrow.

Arta

Cadiz, Spain

I saw the Cathedral from the top of the ship this morning as I was taking my walk.  I couldn’t see any clear path that lead to it – only a maize of streets.  How hard can it be to find something that high, I thought as I was walking the deck.  But as soon as Wyona, Greg and I got on the cobbled streets, the Cathedral disappeared from our view.  We walked through narrow streets, enjoying the wrought iron balconies, the tiled walls of the the plazas and the marble under our feet and searching for a way through the streets to the church.

The entrance fee was three euros for Spanish pensioners, and five euros for all others except those in groups for whom the price dropped to three Euros again.  “Do you want to form a group and get in a little cheaper?” asked Wyona to people behind us who were also looking at the entrance fee. 

And that is how we made our way into the cathedral for 3 euros where we spent a quiet Friday afternoon trying to see what it is about the neo-classical style of the 19^th century that is definitely Spanish. The old stone out of which the church is built is porous and  disintegrating.  The ceiling is falling into the nave of the church.  A fine net is strung from one end of the church to the other to keep that ceiling from falling on the worshipers and the travellors as well. I was trying to figure out what about the design of the church was definitely Spanish – a square border, the corners of which all had squares in them, but which were definitely offset and not symmetrical, for example. 

The church also houses the tomb of Manuel de Falla, which is why there was a portrait of a musician, obvious because of the notation manuscripts around him in the painting.  “Falla?” said Greg.  “Does anyone know this musician?”

“Fie-ya,” I could hear the announcer on CBC saying.  But then I couldn’t remember if I should pair him up with the Firebird Suite or with something else.  Where, oh, where is the internet when I need it.  The same thing happened at lunch today.  We had brandied lattice cups that held lemon perrot.  I could identify the waffle-latticed cups but not the lemon perrot it held – this sharp delicious lemon flavoured confection, but what about it means perrot?  I will probably even have forgotten the question by the time I get back to my blessed internet.  I had no idea how many times a day I go to it to find out the answer to some question, which no longer burns in me when I have discovered the answer.

Greg left us to explore Cadiz on his own.  Ever since Italy he has been looking for a lemon pastry that escaped him there.  Wyona and I like to travel down the narrow old streets.  I had gone to the destination lecture about Cadiz and looked at the Port Explorer, published by the ship.  I had gone to sleep in the lecture, but I didn’t know if I was out for just a few seconds or for much longer.  I did remember enough that I could identify the 17^th century stone walls, a spotted the Coastal Walking Path, located on the Atlantic side of Cadiz, and when we passed the Spanish Plaza, I could hear the words of the lecturer – “Every Spanish town has a main plaza.”  Wyona and I stood for a long time looking at the monuments, celebrating liberal assembly.  Burned into my brain was the man on the square who stood holding a long banner onto which these words were written:  all I want is what others have – a democracy to live in.  Living in one,  how often do I forget that others don’t have that.

Passenger watching.  That is what we do a lot of.  When I was first boarding I saw an old couple, dressed absolutely fit to kill.  Beautifully tailored cothes and I one point when I looked at the clothes carefully, it seemed he garments were hanging on skeletons.  Wyona saw the same couple often – they must be Celebrity Pinnacle Passengers, for they are always early to the theatre and get the reserved seats for people who have travelled with the line often, and always impeccably dressd – she with a lovely hat and matching coat; he with a tailored evening coat and a beautiful scarf at his neck.  Tehy are so old that the two hardly have any meat left on their bones.  I have no idea how they got their luggage on board for they look too fragile to even carry themselves along.”  Wyona pointed the woman out to me one night in a show.  There is a box of seats especially reserved for Platinum members (people who have cruised for over 80 days are diamond plus members and the platinums are above that).  This time the woman was wearing a sequined sparkling cap to die for, one like women wore in the days of the flappers.  The third time we saw them was at an elevator around lunchtime.  The woman had a hat on again, a beautiful rhinestone piece on its headband is what I was admiring.  The elevator came.  I saw someone gently take her shoulders, turn them 180 degrees and say softly in her ear, “The elevator is this way, dear.”  And then push her gently forward.  Then her husband, again in a lovely suit with a silk scarf at his neck, slowly tugged on her hand and she took tiny steps, barely staying upright, into the elevator. 

That is how long I want to cruise.  All the way until I don’t know which way to the elevator, though I still want to be able to put on a beautiful silk dress and hat to look good for that journey to the elevator.

Barcelona, Spain

If we are in Barcelona, then it is time for us to do our wash at a Laundromat.  I woke thinking about Wyona and Greg, the washer man and woman, wondering if they would be pickpocketed, for if past history is a predictor of the present, one or both of them will be targets today.  She was first pick-pocketed in Manilla in the 1970’s when she had all of the money for their paycheck for the month in her purse. She had split it into two parts:  money for their bills and money for their groceries.  When she went to pay for her groceries at the till, the one side of her purse had been emptied. 

Wyona had her purse stolen in the USA when she was with Geraldine and they were having an ice cream cone.  That time they got her passport as well. 

Then she had her money stolen in Paris when she and I were travelling on that beautiful new subway there.  Greg had his wallet targeted twice in Barcelona.  Wyona hears him yelling and he is surrounded by people who are looking at him as though he is crazy, but at least he still has his wallet when they leave.  That is the way the pickpockets went after Doral in the China in the ‘70’s.  Wyona claims the method is to surround the victim, get them separated from their friends, make it so they can’t move and then go for the money. 

Remember the time when the pickpockets were after Wyona at Oxford Square. I called out to her they kicked me.  The black and blue bruise on my shins reminded me of that for several months afterward.  In Las Palmas, the lace and fabric merchant Wyona was visiting reminded them several times – take care with your wallet on the streets.  Hard on the merchants when the thieves get to your money before you can pull it out to make purchases with them.

I had acute bronchitis when I got to London.  A trip to the clinic got me some medication and I had to make the call – stay there or keep travelling. I thought I could get well as quickly on a boat as in a bed. I have pretty well quarantined myself to the room until the last two days.  What is unlike me is ... no morning walks on the deck, no early bird exercise, and I am right off of my food.  This is a major disaster, given here are only 8 more days of cruising with unlimited everything.  For example,

Wyona and I were alone at dinner.  Greg had not returned from Mallorca and we couldn’t decide which dessert was the best on the menu.  Idot, the head waiter, was suggesting bread pudding.  Too much bread, thought I.  Edin, the assistant waiter, said that the chocolate cake would be best and that we could up the ante on it by asking for double chocolate sauce and some white sauce on the side.  He got into the act because he has to ask us every night if we want coffee.  I told him that if one of the 3 of us asks for coffee, that event will be about as much of a miracle as he will ever see in a lifetime.  We just aren’t going to be saying yes to that beverage.  Still he has to ask, so we try to get in some other conversation with him so we don’t looks so unpleasant with our abrupt no, no, and no.  And that is how we got in conversation with him about the dessert, having no previous idea that the customer could fiddle with the dessert, as in double the sauce, or add an extra scoop of ice cream, please. The peach poached in brandy with crème analgise looked good to me.  The orange sherbet promised heightened citrus flavour but Wyona and I were too full to have anything jump out at us. And the idea that we could say, no dessert tonight is absolutely foreign to us.  So the waiters brought it all.  I have to learn how to poach peaches at the lake and make them into that dessert. So stunning! I searched out the assistant waiter so that we could take back an extra poached peach to the cabin for Greg.  I am helping Wyona take care of Greg, as you can see.  Not that he can't gather enough cookies on his own.

The Disgruntled Table Mates

Pre-planning works when there are three people and eight suitcases to move out of the hotel, down La Rambla and onto the Blue Tourist Bus. That was about the last thing we planned as we went to bed last night. Greg noted that our walk turned many heads – we hope other tourists who were wondering how they were going to make the same trip. And in fact, one couple stopped our progress for no reason other than to ask, “Are you going cruising?” and “Why are you getting to the ship so early. You know you can’t board until 2 pm.” But we had this special knowledge: table changes are done first thing at 11:30 a.m. So our journey to the boat was easy and we were left with only one last item to plan. Wyona has wanted a window seat for the dining room experience and the only way was to get to the Dining Room right at 11:30 am and ask for that change to be made. The waiter led us to our middle table which gave us a great view of the staircase, in the middle of which sits a Grand piano and a small stage for dinner performances. Still the desire for a window view prevailed, since sitting for a formal dinner with a window view and at the same time having the ship leaves ports seemed like an attainable dream. Wyona and Greg made the desired switch ... while I watched the luggage and had lunch. 

“Are you the three Canadians we were told would be at this table,” the first people we sat with asked. “Yes, “ said Wyona, we asked for a table change. “So did we,” said Marilyn and Ron. We are here with our relatives, and the four of us don’t want to talk to each other over every meal. Fine. The next couple who sat down said, “Are you the Canadians we were told would be at this table.” 

“Whoops,”said Wyona. “Did you ask for a table seating change?” “Yes,” said Barbara. “What is this,” asked Wyona. “Is everyone at this table disgruntled? Is that what they do? Put all of the complainers at the same table?”

And so the evening of conversation began – all of us ready to discover who our dinner companions would be – Barbara and Sam from Maryland (where apparently the 600,000 who live in that State have no right to vote for their president). Politics is usually a topic we leave for the last day of the tour, but at the disgruntled patrons table, anything can happen.

Arta

Barcelona, Spain

Greg and I flew through Frankfurt and landed in Barcelona.

Wyona is the one with travel status, which lets her take everyone (that is the two of us) travelling on the same ticket with her, into the elite lounges.

People sit on leather chairs and do their email, snacking their way through healthy vegetables and finishing off with cookies.

I tried to use the airport email to lure Rebecca onto the trip with us.  I was unsuccessful.

I have asked three other people ahead of her to accompany us in the fourth spot.  I was unsuccesful in each attempt.

Small wooden tables for patrons

"Nice to travel with Greg, eh," said Wyona. "He brings all of the right equipment." 

She is right. He carries the bags, has brought the electronic adaptors, brings the travel maps, and is sucessful in intervening when Wyona's luggage falls off of her trolley as she is driving it done the moving elscalator

Greg and I left Wyona sleeping in Quatre Naciones and we went out to discover Barcelona on our own, walking down to the pier, on the tree-lined boulevard of La Rambla.

We peered in small restaurants, waiting for their 9 pm customers. 

Greg studied the knives in a speciality shop.  We walked down the flea market at the harbour's edge.

Greg was looking for old lanterns that he loves.

Clams waiting to be cooked

He has an eye for architectural detail.  He would point out small alleys where there were 30 foot walkways, or where you could see the spire of an old church.

I am the one who has a passion for the beauty of the claims in this restaurant window.

Greg was drawn to the pastry windows -- and we both agreed, if Wyona had been with us, she would have purchased at least 2 of every kind.

"When I look in these windows, I am reminded again, of why MacDonalds doesn't cut it for me at home." 

Pastries we didn't buy

Greg has always loved churches.

On our walk we stopped first at a small church, and then at the big cathedral, where a service was going on.

As well, on the way home, we stopped at another church,in this one the lesson was led by different people and a guitar was initiating a musical call and response from the congregation.

If I am walking with Greg and there is a any sign of a church, he says, "Let's go in and take a peek."

If there is music going on that makes it even better for me.

... a stained glass window, high in a dark church corner ...

We saw gothic arches, Roman spires and steeples being refurbished.

We walked through the courtyard of the church that houses geese in one of its 

When Wyona is tired, Greg goes out to explore cities on his own.

The top of a celebratory wagon

Since Greg is a history buff, he can come up with the answers to my questions: 

• who was Garibaldi? (a politician who united one part of Europe)
• what is the difference between a ship and a boat? (a ship has at least 3 masts)
• what is the modern day word for gypsies? (Roma is what the Canadian government calls them Roma)

I am already having fun.

I do have some residual guilt about taking this indepth tour of the Mediterranean. Wyona tells me we are only doing it once which does not make me feel better.  It is 9 pm at night, 26 above, the streets are alive with excitement -- and this is my last time here?  Wahh! to that.

Arta