The Mediterranean Cruise Chronicles: Part XII (Venice-->Rome-->Home)

Venice --> Rome

Mike and I checked out of the ship and took a train (our last, thankfully) to Rome. The trip lasted about four hours and we popped out of a train station in the heart of Rome. As we made our way to the cab line in front of the station, a man approached us offering a fare of 45 euros. Thinking that was too pricey for a three-mile trip to the hotel, I told Mike to turn him down for the cab line. Thankfully, by doing that we saved ten euros.

So, let that be a lesson to you all: in a big foreign city, take the organized cab line over the independent seller. The independent guy miiight try to rip you off.

[End uninteresting story.]

Rome --> Home

We stayed overnight in a cheap three-star hotel before flying out. At this three-star hotel was a really bad and overpriced breakfast buffet. For fifteen euros I had really bitter ricotta cheese, incredibly tasteless salami slices, and overwhelmingly rich hot cocoa (which is saying a lot of a self-proclaimed chocolate addict). Why I had that combination? Because everything else looked depressing and inedible.

Mike skipped out on the breakfast. I ate because I thought, Fuel up now or get hypoglycemic symptoms later.

I regretted that.

We took a shuttle to the airport. The driver's loony pace on the bumpy roads starting working horrible wonders to my motion sickness. I looked around in a panic for something in/onto which to heave, deciding on Mike's jacket. But, preferring not to draw attention to myself among a group of seven, I worked hard to keep my stomach tame for the time being.

I thought the feeling would improve once we got out of the shuttle, but it remained while we were at the airport. This was definitely not motion sickness. The bulldogged discomfort was telling me it was food poisoning.

Just my luck.

From the shuttle to landing in LAX, it was Holly's mind (concentration) versus her body (digestion)--a lengthy battle that eventually landed her at the doctor's office. Somehow I survived a ten-hour flight from Rome International to New York-JFK without saying hello to my breakfast again, and never had I ever had that much Sprite (I don't drink soda, period).

After landing in JFK, we had to re-check in our bags. Why? Beats us. With enduring pains, I stood in line with Mike near the front doors of the terminal. And I say "near the front doors" because the line was worse than that of the chocolate buffet on the cruise.

The pains continued into LAX, where we discovered we had missing luggage. At around 1 AM on a Friday, we finished reporting our lost luggage and hopped in the car toward home. I had to purchase new toiletries while we waited for our suitcase. A few days later we got word that it made its way back to Spain (where we began our trip) from JFK and didn't bother to take us with it!

Another lesson learned: don't travel via American Airlines, and don't fly through JFK if you can help it.

The next week I went to the doctor and learned I didn't have food poisoning after all; instead--and I'm going to admit this to the public--I was really backed up. Apparently that can disrupt stomach digestion. Not only that, while trying to recover from this I was "over-medicating" with my routine medication, my new medication, Dramamine, and something else that I can't remember. Maybe it was mineral oil.

A third lesson learned: if you don't poop while on a two-week vacation, that's bad.

The Mediterranean Chronicles: Part XI (Chocolate buffet, Venice)

Chocolate buffet

The day of the chocolate buffet was our last day at sea before our final dock in Venice. Even at this point my biological clock still hadn't converted to European time, so I was like a narcoleptic everywhere I went, mobile or not.

At about 10:50 PM we got in line, which was huge, of course (too many people in this world love chocolate). It took us about half an hour to get past Captain Lars's crew at the door, and once we were in, we were in a chocolate wonderland: chocolate fountains; chocolate cakes, cookies and brownies; chocolate fudge; chocolate-covered fruit...

Two words: "hubba hubba."

Mike grabbed us a couple of plates and went at it, piling his with chocolate goodness. I started going for the See's Candies-lookin' treats, but something odd happened: I felt nauseated by the smell.

How could this be?! I know no one more in love with chocolate than I, but the scent actually turned me off from the beautiful brownness. And there's Mike, creating a brown pile next to me. It made no sense, and I was sad. I left with a lame plate of four little treats. I devoured only one.

Venice

My, what an enchanting city. In addition to Paris, I was really taken by Venice. It was clean, beautiful, and best of all, didn't have any trains.

Mike and I decided to go to the famous St. Mark's Square. After getting off the ship we found a line for "water bus" tickets. Just as expected, the line took forever because of the wireless receipt machine--not only did it take a while to print receipts, it also pooped out when it was our turn. I guess printing paper is a strenuous task...

Following this, Mike and I got in line for what looked like a water bus, next to a sign that said "Water Bus." We waited for about half an hour, only to be told at the front that it was the wrong line. We were directed to another line.

"I got it! Italy is just like Disneyland: there are a lot of lines and everything is overpriced!" Mike said.

So we waited in this third line--which, thankfully, was the correct line--and hopped on the water bus. I got slightly sea sick (which was great, since I love getting sea sick) and then we docked by St. Mark's. And just as the pictures show, there were a lot of pigeons. So many pigeons...

We walked around and took in the gorgeous scenery. We had lunch by the Square, found the building out of which James Bond jumped in Casino Royale, checked out a church, found a free bathroom inside a hotel that I noted for future trips, went on a gondola ride (of course!), and took pictures next to a statue of a naked boy holding a frog. Mike also purchased a striped sweat shirt for his mother.

On the way out, I told Mike I wanted a picture of myself feeding the pigeons. If I were to get the bird flu, what better way to contract it while feeding pigeons in St. Mark's Square? So, we made it happen.

Afterward, on the way back to the water bus, Mike and I talked about the great day we had. Then, next thing I knew, a rose was shoved into my face from my left side.

A dark-skinned man said, "Have! Have!"

"Thank you?" I replied. I took the rose and continued.

"No, no, one euro," he said. So Mike gave him a euro and the man shoved another one in my face.

"Another euro," he said,

"No, thank you," we told him.

"Please?"

"No, we don't want this." I returned a rose.

The man looked at Mike, who gave him a "Well, tough!" shrug, and then walked away looking, well, pissed.

"Well, you're welcome," I said under my breath.

With a stupid red rose, we walked back to the water bus (on which I got sea sick again--YES!) and checked into the ship one last time.

The Mediterranean Cruise Chronicles: Part X (Izmir, Athens)

Izmir

Mike and I were satisfied with Istanbul and hoped another Turkish city, Izmir, would live up to the same expectations.

Did it? Not really. But I'll still write about it since my friend "Duty" says I should. And I often listen to her.

We got off the ship and, as usual, was greeted by desperate tour guides. Mike was on a mission to visit the famous Zeus Altar and asked one of them how far and for how many Turkish lire (lee-rrrrreh).

"Zeus Altar is in Pergamum, which is a couple of hours from here. And we charge in euros."

Buu-u-uut the lire is so chee-e-eeap compared to the euro. We decided to spend 40 euros to take a tour bus instead. On this bus we listened to our "tour" through headphones, which "pointed out" landmarks that we couldn't see because the timing was off due to traffic.

Bored, Mike and I got off at a marketplace, where we got molested by vendors while looking for places with good Turkish beer. It was also the day I wore my sandals that slip on marble, and marble was plentiful at this marketplace. I held onto Mike's arm, slipping on marble and shooing off pesky vendors.

But every place we found selling Turkish beer "didn't feel right" to Mike. They wouldn't allow him to achieve the "feng shui" that he needed. I didn't care where we ended up, as long as the place took lire.

Oh well; we hopped on the next bus to head back to the ship. I couldn't take the heat anymore, so I re-entered the vessel while Mike explored the port to find his "feng shui."

Athens

"Listen, I've been taxi driver for thirty-four years. I'll take you wherever for one hundred and twenty euros."

"I've been in dis business for thirty-two years. For one hundred and ten euros I'll show you all highlights you want."

Mike and I had gotten off the ship at Piraeus Port. My question, "Where's the nearest Metro?" attracted a swarm of cabbies, and I didn't have repellent.

Then, after releasing ourselves from the swarm, a lone man stood at the end of the line.

"What was the lowest price you were offered? I can beat it!"

"One hundred and ten, and we have only eighty between us," I told him.

"I will give you tour for seventy!"

Sold.

We hopped in the cab, and the man was friendly enough to buy us bottled water. The first stop was the Acropolis, home to the Parthenon (Mike's first time there, my second).

"'Acropolis' means 'cross-city,'" he explained to us. "And by the way, my name is Mike, short for 'Michael.'" He had pronounced "Mike" like "Mee-keh" and, if I remember correctly, "Michael" like "Mee-kay-el."

"Same here!" Mike said.

Turns out our guide was also a musician and teacher during most of the year and a cabbie during the summer.

"So, you had an election recently," My Mike brought up.

"Eeh, it's all the same. All the same," Mike the Guide responded.

He dropped us off at the Acropolis so we could wander on our own. And because my other sandals were giving me blisters, the slippery sandals had to do, again. And well, Greek architecture... "Marbleful."

Like the Sistene Chapel, My Mike thought the Acropolis was "cool." He explained to me some of the math and physics behind the Parthenon's construction, which was "cool." Later on, we were driven to the Temple of Zeus, which was really just a few tall-standing columns. But it was neat that the same ticket used to get into the Acropolis was also valid for the Temple and the Tower of the Winds, which is more of a clock tower. Along with those, we also checked out Athens's Olympic stadium; its Parliament, where Greece's "Changing of the Guard" takes place (the men here walk like horses, which is symbolic in some way that I can't remember); and stopped at a marketplace for lunch.

At the restaurant at which we stopped, I had to give in to ordering beef because it seemed the only decent item on the menu. We shared a long outdoor table with an older British man.

"How long have you two been on holiday?" He asked. We told him a little over a week and then returned the question.

"Fifteen years," he replied. We laughed. Turns out he'd been to many places, and loathed California because law enforcement "wouldn't let him to smoke." He made up for that statement by informing us that he also loathed Italy.

Following lunch Mike and I walked around, burning our energy and skin. We then stumbled upon a frozen yogurt shop that also sold baklava. We had to have baklava. If we didn't have baklava in Greece, then that would have been a major "fail"--something we would have to live down the rest of our lives, or until the next time we visited Greece.

The baklava was a mouthgasm and a pleasant end to Athens. Mike the Guide waited for and brought us back to the ship. Mike and I were both in awe at how little we spent in this city.