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.

The Mediterranean Cruise Chronicles: Part IX (Instanbul, Turkey)

Our next destination was supposed to be Mykonos, Greece--a place we later learned wasn't one to miss. Over the cruise ship's loud speaker, Captain Lars informed us that the area had been experiencing atrocious winds for five straight days; not a single ship had been able to dock during that time.

So onward we went to Istanbul.

After docking and getting off the ship, Mike pushed me in front of him and said, "I think you should walk in front of me while we're here."

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't know; I'm not sure I trust this place. It'll be easier for someone to snatch you if I can't see you."

"Should be okay if it's a cruise excursion," I mentioned. But alas, I walked aimlessly in front of him.

But that didn't happen for long: Istanbul gave better vibes than we had anticipated. The city was surprisingly clean and its people honest, polite, and amiable. We noticed this upon entering Ayasofya ("Hagia Sophia"), our chosen restaurant for lunch, and a small shop where Mike purchased postcards.

Ayasofya (Ah-ya-SO-fee-yah): once a Byzantine church, then a mosque, and finally a museum whose interior was simply indescribable. But I'll make an attempt: grand, cryptic, oddly enchanting, historically-flushed... One can discern its Christian subtleties among its Islamic features. And it seemed there was no battle for attention between the two. In this place, one's religious roots didn't seem to matter.

End sappy moment. Mike and I spent a good chunk of time here since there was no hurry to head back to the ship. Then, when we felt like it, we went across the way to the Blue Mosque and snapped some photos. Then we moseyed back ship-ward to feed the hungry monsters in our bellies.

"How about this restaurant?" I asked Mike.

"Nah," he replied.

"Maybe this one?"

"Eh.."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Doesn't have the right feeling."

"Alright, let me know when you have the 'right feeling.'"

Then, a few minutes later, he found it. It wasn't fancy or interesting, but it "felt right" with Mike. We enjoyed outdoor seating with beautiful weather until a herd of blond women wearing bug-eyed sunglasses sat at the table next to us and began chain smoking. We asked to switch our table indoors, and the men running the restaurant gladly accommodated. They even helped us get an Internet connection on Mike's iPhone. And didn't charge us for bread (see "Rome" post).

Anyway, that's not incredibly interesting. But I'll continue because I have a duty to telleth this story.

After lunch, Mike and I continued ship-ward down a street that screamed "TOURIST!"

"Sir!" A man said to Mike, pointing at his own chin, "You need barber?" He was referring to Mike's beard that I never let him shave off.

"She won't let me," Mike replied.

The man looked at me like I was insane. Maybe I am, but that doesn't stop me from enjoying facial hair. We continued.

After being pestered some more to "eat this" and "buy that," we stumbled upon a tiny gift shop. Looking at the rack of postcards outside of it, we noticed a man in his 30s coming out of the shop.

"If you want, I can mail for you," he told us.

Mike and I paused. Did we want to trust him with our family's and friends' addresses?

"I already have postcards from British family. I have an hour before it closes," he elaborated. He was referring to their post office.

Well, what can one really do with the information on a postcard? Probably the worst that could happen would be misplacing it. So, we went along with it.

We followed the man into the shop and he sold us five Turkish stamps. With care, he placed them onto the postcards for us, and he and I waited while Mike wrote out four postcards. He began questioning us about our purpose here.

"We're just tourists from a cruise ship," we told him.

"Ah, you are not staying long?" He further inquired.

"Nope, we have a couple more hours and then we head to Izmir."

"That is all?! There's so much in Turkey, more than two day's worth." He went on to tell us all the amazing things about his country, and then revealed his travel quests to visit every man-made and natural wonder, from the Pyramids to Victoria Falls. I told him I was in Egypt right before the revolution, and then asked him, "How much of Turkey is Muslim?"

"Ninety-five percent," he told me. I was shocked. Turkey seemed pretty stable and civilized for what I knew of Muslim countries. In the States, we tend to knock Islam for having obnoxious teachings, particularly those allowing men to treat women like the dirt on an ass's hoof. Egypt is, I think, 85% Muslim, and all we hear about is rape. The media's portrayal, and my multiple close calls to getting ripped off there, helped form my Muslim schema. Boy, was I wrong to do that based on such isolated situations.

It was wonderful having a chat with him, a respectful man. Mike finished his postcards and we thanked him profusely for his help.

"When we come back, we'll visit your shop again," Mike told him. We shook his hand and left.

On the way to the ship, we had to cross a bridge to get to the other side of the dock. Just before the bridge it began to get windy, and at one point my dress flew up just enough to reveal, well, just enough. Mike and I noticed another way to get to the other side without being molested by vendors, so we took that route.

If you look closely, you can see hookahs at the restaurant tables.

Well, here we got molested by more restaurant workers. They were nice people, but we had enough for a day. Mike kept his arm around my backside, giving me a little push past the men.

"Whoa, whoa, sir!" One of them stopped us and pointed to Mike's arm, which was sitting slightly above my "butt-ocks" (Forrest Gump), "Not good; keep to yourself here."

"It wasn't touching anything bad," Mike said.

The young man ignored him and looked at me, "What's your name?"

I told him. "Nice to meet you," he responded, shaking my hand and holding onto it. Mike was waiting and I looked over and laughed. The restaurant worker kept looking at me while holding my hand, periodically shaking it more. That wasn't different from Egypt...

"Nice to meet you, too, but we have to go," I told him.

"Want to...?" He pointed to the inside of the restaurant.

"Just ate," Mike said.

"Okay, okay. Have a good day," he said to us humbly and relaxed.

Mike and I continued toward the ship, hopped on, and relaxed the rest of the day.

The Mediterranean Cruise Chronicles: Part VIII (More Pompei photos)

Intact wall painting

Mt. Vesuvius

Sinks

Writing on a wall

A crosswalk

The Mediterranean Cruise Chronicles: Part VII (Pompei)

The ship's next stop was in Napoli (Naples), from where we took a train to Pompei. Arriving in Napoli after two frustrating days in Florence and Rome, Mike and I were set for only a half day in the "Vegas" of Italy.

But first, Napoli was disgusting and rotten; more accurately termed "a dump." But we needed to walk a couple of kilometers to get to the train station. The walk was slightly unpleasant scent- and scenic-wise, but entering the train station was like stepping through the gates of Heaven. And as usual, we checked out the ticket machines.

"Pompei" wasn't listed.

We double-checked the Google instructions, and sure enough we were in the right place. So how the hell were we going to get to Pompei? We asked a woman working a coffee shop.

"You need-a go to the newspaper shop-a or tobacco shop-a," she pointed across the way.

Oh. Kay...since that's so obvious. [face-palm]

So we purchased the tickets...and then couldn't figure out how to get to the correct terminal. Because that was hidden, too. One of the female customers at the coffee shop led us to a man who looked like he worked at the station, asked him, and then the man directed us to a few teenage boys who were heading that way. The teenagers led us to the correct terminal while immersed in their own conversation.

---

Mike and I arrived at Pompei. Walking toward the ruins, we enjoyed the relaxing "small town" landscape like we had in Pisa: strolled down the main street, purchased due ("two") cannoli (Dear American White people who say "a cannoli": "cannoli" is plural and "cannolo" or Sicilian "cannolu" is singular), and enjoyed the weather before it got deadly again. It worked for us.

Through the ruins' entrance one is immediately greeted by the famous amphitheater. After walking into, through, and popping out of it, Mike and I enjoyed a nice, shady walk to what used to be the residential outskirts.

Walking this pathway, save for our landing into Barcelona (and a few other painful life experiences), I'd never known anything that perpetual. For as long as we walked the narrow "sidewalk" there were a plethora of partially-standing stone structures with intact wall paintings, stone benches, sinks, shelves, etc. And in one building there was a relatively large crowd around--at the risk of sounding like a 'tard--a "preserved" dead person ("preserved" = by hardened volcanic ash?). It was pretty cool...

1-ish PM knocked and it got hot. I don't do well with long, aimless, hot walks, and Mike neither slept well the night before nor had breakfast. His cells were beginning to shift into Gear II: cannibalize the next fat tourist. We turned around and headed out.

This time the friken hot train that returned us to Napoli was both punctual and truthful about its destination. It was the best thing since the cannoli.

The Mediterranean Cruise Chronicles: Part VI (Rome - Continued)

Continued...


We entered La Cappella Sistina.

I'd forgotten its grandeur and marveled at the outcome of Michelangelo's sculpting hand and eye. For those who are unaware, Michelangelo refused to call himself anything other than a sculptor and was a brilliant observer of the human form. So, in this project he painted his figures with the "chiaroscuro" ("light-dark") technique (AKA with shadows) to make them more life-like. He also adored the male form, so even his female subjects have masculine qualities. In fact, during the chapel's restoration in 1980 (?) one of the characters, who was thought to be male for centuries, was discovered to be female. This occurred when some "clothing" added to the figures during the Protestant Reformation was removed chemically.

In 1994, it was also discovered that a figure Michelangelo modeled after himself has a snake biting his own penis (view video at 11:14).

"What do you think?" I asked Mike.

"Pretty cool," he said.

I pointed to different parts of the chapel, trying my best to remember and explain what I had learned in previous courses as a former art history major.

"Cool," he said. At this point I could tell he was itching for the Colosseum. Oh well.

So, with a few hours before we needed to catch the last fast train to Civitavecchia, we headed out and grabbed food at a nearby restaurant. We were charged three euros for the bread given to us before the main course, which is normally free in the States...and most other places. Dumb.

Following that, we took the Metro to the Colosseum. I'd also forgotten that, when exiting the Metro system, the Colosseum and Arch of Constantine are right there, conveniently, to greet you.

"Oh, wow," Mike said with a more surprised tone.

Like a mother with her toddler, I let him have fun in the playground. But boy, was it getting hot. I was getting thirstier and browner by the minute. As we migrated to the Roman Forum and the Forum of Trajan, I used up euros to purchase bottle after bottle of water while shooing off irritating vendors. Time passed by like China's new bullet train and we had an hour to return to the station.

"We should probably start heading ba--oooh, Trajan's Column!" I said.

A few minutes go by...

"Okay, time to head ba--oooh, is that a museum?! Those steps are really high."

...

"Maybe now--oooh, another beverage stand!" We purchased our last bottle of water, and upon leaving one of the men working the stand squirted me.


"There are two nearby Metro stations," Mike said, using Google Maps again.


We chose one and made our way. A little over a kilometer later, we found it.


But the ticket machine wouldn't take our paper euros. And there were no ticket windows. We set for a bank, got some change, and came back. With thirty minutes left, it still wouldn't take our money.


Mike got fed up and went to a nearby shop to ask for advice. I waited by the ticket machines. A few minutes later I noticed that the "Exit only" gates had been opened. It seemed many people were having trouble with the machines.


So I ran across the street to fetch Mike.


"MIKE! IT'S OOOOPEEENED!" We ran back to the Metro and entered the next train, ticketless.


We approached our stop, got off, and RAN. Half an hour left.


Being on a one-month hiatus from the CrossFit gym, I was crapping out after a few minutes. Mike, a robust fellow who doesn't know his own strength, missed a window to pass between two people and accidentally bumped into a man slightly larger and taller than he.

"BIPPITY BOPPITY! BIPPITY BOPPITY!" The man turned around and shouted in Italian with his arms out.

"Sorry, sorry!" Mike said defensively.

"BIPPITYBOPPITYBIPPITYBOPPITY!!!!" He shouted again.

"SORRY!!!!"

Mike and I continued, but because I was short-winded we started to run late. So we caught a cabbie.

Of course, the ten-minute ride cost us an ear and a few toes...and we didn't have enough cash...again. This frustrated the cabbie, so Mike went to a nearby ATM while I waited in the taxi. He returned with enough cash and we jogged to the train station, just missing the fast train.

So, we waited around for the slow train to Civitavecchia. Thankfully, after a blistering one-hour train ride and another unfriendly cabbie, we arrived at the ship 15 minutes early.

"Let's make it a half day in Pompei tomorrow," I told Mike, and he agreed.