Wednesday, 20 May 2009

Home Again

I’ve been home in Tucson almost a week now and this will be, reluctantly, my final “LFL at Sea” posting. It’s been fun keeping track of some of my thoughts and activities during the cruise; I know the blog will serve as my best personal memento of the trip. I hope my readers have found a few interesting items and a few moments to chuckle over. But I think the blog-world hasn’t heard the last of me.

Copenhagen: Thursday Morning (14 May)

Today is a big travel day and I don’t look forward to 20-hours of flying and airport time. For reasons that I cannot fathom I am unable to advance check-in for any of my flights even though I purchased the tickets back in January. Fortunately, the Hilton Hotel is on the grounds of the Copenhagen Airport and a relatively short trek to the terminal. AirBerlin (which used to be LTU, a charter carrier) has efficient check-in and I get a three-seat row to myself on the flight from Copenhagen to Dusseldorf and a two-seat row to myself on the 11-hour flight from Dusseldorf to Los Angeles. However, they cannot book my seat on United from LAX to Tucson and they cannot put my luggage all the way through (that is understandable, since I have to go through customs in LAX).

Things seem to be going swimmingly (or flying-ly) until 45 minutes pass and my wheelchair still hasn’t arrived to take me to the gate. Since I have to go through security and a long ride to the gate, I am beginning to get a little worried, but the AirBerlin person keeps calling for the wheelchair and assuring me that everything will be fine. Just as I am about to start hyperventilating—with my carry-on and laptop, holding a jacket and sweatshirt, and my feet in pain, the walk to the plane is just too far to make on my own—the wheelchair finally arrives and I make it to the jet way (with just a few minutes to spare). [It is interesting that European airport security doesn’t make passengers remove their shoes, even for flights to the US.]

We are taxiing out to the runway and the pilot tells us we are number two for take-off, when someone in the rear of the plane rings the flight attendant bell—and the entire crew goes running to the back of the plane. One steward comes up front carrying the evidence that someone has thrown-up and the plane heads back to the terminal. When we return to the gate two passengers get off the plane on their own feet, but there is an ambulance waiting that whisks them away. The pilot gives us a brief summary of the situation (pretty much what I have just described) and we are back on the runway and heading for Dusseldorf, all in about 30 minutes. You can imagine the passengers’ feelings: having international connections to make we are very grateful that the crisis is resolved so quickly.

Dusseldorf: Early Thursday Afternoon

From this point the rest of the international flights are quite pleasant. Although Dusseldorf to LAX is a very long 11 hours, AirBerlin keeps us busy with two meals (including wine) and a snack, lots of beverages, and several movies—all free. They even give us free blanket and blow-up pillow that we can take home if we like, but there isn’t a fraction of a millimeter of space in my carry-on or on my person.

I have a decent nap during the first part of the flight and then use my laptop for a while, watch Ben Stiller in Night at the Museum (silly but harmless), and read. The captain takes an almost polar route, flying from Germany over northern Scotland, Iceland, Greenland, Hudson’s Bay, the northernmost parts of Canada, then turning south and coming down over Seattle and the West Coast into Los Angeles.

Los Angeles: Late Thursday Afternoon

I have good wheelchair service when I deplane at Lax, and my chair-driver arranges for a skycap to get my suitcase (just one) and help me through immigration and customs, which doesn’t take long. They take me out to the service area where a shuttle bus takes me to the United terminal. The tips mount up, but these people are worth the money; I could never manage this on my own. Even with their help and the wheelchair I am still in a great deal of pain. I pop some methadone and another percocet and look forward to the last short leg of the day’s journey.

But that’s the last part of the trip that goes smoothly. When I check-in with my bag United still won’t give me a seat assignment and no one will answer any questions (“just use the computer screen!”). When I ask about a wheelchair (which I reserved back in January), the agent tells me I need to go all the way to the far end of the building to the waiting area. Right, like I’m supposed to walk there? Finally a helper comes with a wheelchair and takes me through security to the gate (for another $20. tip), where the agent tells me he can’t issue me a seat until 6 pm (it’s now 5:20) when the computer comes back up (where has it been?). He assures me that I have been given a seat—even the large video screen at the gate says so. At the same time he is asking for five passengers willing to give up their seats (for a free hotel in LA, dinner, and a free round-trip domestic air ticket). Since the next flight to Tucson is also over-booked, they won’t be able to fly out until 11 am the next day.

Then the agent calls me back to the podium and tells me that I left my credit card in the check-in computer—which indeed I had. Now I admit this is my own fault, but the lack of help when I checked in after 18 hours of flying should mitigate some of the mea culpa. So, it’s get another wheelchair to go back out to the check-in, get my credit card, come back through security again (take off my belt and shoes and take out the computer again), and head back to the gate (and another $20. tip), hoping I haven’t missed the start of boarding.

I return to the gate at 5:55, when the agent tells me that only two people have taken the offer and they need to bump another five passengers involuntarily—including me (in spite of his earlier assurance that I had a seat). I felt like crying (or screaming), but I simply said, very calmly, that my ticket shows I need a wheelchair in the airport, I am travelling alone, and I am physically unable to negotiate getting to a hotel and back to the airport, which indeed is the case—not to mention that I had bought and paid for my ticket over four months earlier.

Tucson, Thursday Night

I do get on the flight—very last row, very last seat (13D)—and back to Tucson on time at 7:52 pm. The past few hours have been agony (but when isn’t flying these days), but at least I have the memories (and all the pictures) from a wonderful trip.

I can’t wait for the next cruise. But I think I will fly to the farthest destination first and then take the cruise back home (or at least to a port that’s close).

Wednesday, 13 May 2009

I spent today in Copenhagen after disembarking from Eurodam at 8 this morning. I was lucky and was able to check into my room at the Airport Hilton right away. I dropped my bags and took the Metro into the city for the day--but more about that later; first I'll catch up since I left Rotterdam.

Tuesday

Today was the final day at sea. I slept late and after a light beakfast attended a totally useless disembarkation information session. Then it was back to my stateroom to start the packing process which lasted most of the day and evening (with interruptions for meals, of courses); my bag has to be outside my stateroom by 1 am. Tonight's dinner highlight was Duck a' la Orange, with a very traditional and beautiful presentation.

I didn't quite finish my last bottle of wine, so I suggested to Anthony that he share it with the fishes.




Wednesday Morning


I remember on all my earlier travels to Europe, from the first time in the late 1960's to the 1980's and 90's when I spent a month on the Continent every summer, my first priority was always to see the "past"--the heritage of architecture and culture that makes us what we are. Today in Copenhagen I realize that now the highlights of Europe are the modern and post-modern architectural masterpieces. Bilbao, London, Rotterdam, and especially Copenhagen are far ahead of most American cities.









And that's just Copenhagen.

I'm on my way home tomorow, but I haven't finished blogging yet.

Tuesday, 12 May 2009 (2)

Monday Morning

I awoke early (6:30) to find the ship sailing silently backward for over an hour into Rotterdam Harbor, which is the official European home of Holland America, and the second largest port in the world. I take the shuttle from the ship to Central Station and catch the 9:28 train to Amsterdam. The train cars are double-decker and I sit downstairs for the 50 minute ride, not realizing that the “silent” section is upstairs: Europeans are even worse than Americans with their cell phones and loud conversations.

Instead of following my pre-planned walk in Amsterdam, I just wander and window-shop, including a stop at Concerto, a really amazing music store which I had somehow missed on all my previous visits to the city. The shop is located in a series of inter-connecting canal houses, with rickety stairways and narrow passages going from section to section. A wonderful shop, but it deserved more time than I had—gives me a reason to return to Amsterdam to shop.

I board a bus at Central Station and head for the eastern part of the city—I learned my lesson from walking too much in Le Havre and London—today I use local transportation all day (a 24-hour pass is only seven Euros = a little over $9.00). The eastern section is the former Jewish area of Amsterdam and the site of five historic synagogues (which I’ve seen on previous visits). But I head for the Entropot Dock, which is flanked by a row of 82 former maritime warehouses (1827-40) that have been restored as professional offices, apartments, and shops.

I walk by the entrance to the zoo and catch a tram to return to the central part of the city. I zigzag along narrow streets and canals under a sky that is almost as brightly blue as Tucson’s although the temperature is significantly cooler. I stop for a quick lunch in the food hall of Vrees & Droom department store and for dessert I indulge in the best (and chocolatiest) chocolate croissant I’ve ever eaten. I don’t have a picture, but I probably still have chocolate goo on my fingers 24 hours later.

Monday Afternoon

Since today is my final Euro day (Denmark still uses krone), I decide to shop out my remaining Euros, reserving enough for an extra gratuity for Anthony, the wine steward. (An automatic gratuity of $11.00 per day per passenger is divided among all the service staff so there is no need to tip unless someone has been particularly helpful).

SKIP THIS PARAGRAPH IF YOU DON’T LIKE BLOOD: After buying a nice gift for Will—my blog is everyone else’s gift—and some socks for me to finish the trip, I run to catch a tram back to Central Station, trip over my own feet and the lumpy pavement (no, my shoes are NOT untied), and land flat on my knees. Fortunately the brim of my Holland America cap protects my face and glasses from hitting the ground. Several people come over to help me up and to make sure I’m ok, but the only damage I can detect is scrapped knees under my jeans, a light abrasion on one palm and one very bloody fingertip; no harm to my clothes. I even make the next tram and have time to wash my hands before catching the train back to Rotterdam (this time in the upper “silent” compartment).

I’m sorry I don’t have more time to explore Rotterdam, because it certainly has changed in the past 12 years. Post-modern office towers and the largest public collection of outdoor sculpture in the Netherlands create a striking effect. The captain provides narration as we head back out the 45-mile port, going forwards this time instead of backward as this morning.

Monday Evening

Tonight’s Farewell Dinner was the last formal night. I gave up on the tuxedo, but wore my black sport jacket, blue striped shirt and black bow tie. Escargot again (serving number 4) precedes broiled lobster tail (the waiter neatly removes the shell for you). Dinner is followed by the Parade of Chefs and the serving of Baked Alaska (another Holland America tradition). While waiting for the dessert ceremony, we were served a plate of cookies and chocolates to help the time pass.

Tuesday, 12 May 2009 (1)

I will do several postings today since these will probably be my last posts until I get back to Tucson. So check back a few times.

Today is my last day at sea and tomorrow morning the Eurodam docks in Copenhagen, where I disembark and spend the night before flying home on Thursday. So many passengers are continuing for ten more days to St Petersburg and other Baltic ports and then back to Copenhagen. I should have convinced Will to fly to Copenhagen and we could have done the Baltic cruise together. Oh well, maybe next year (or sooner).

Sunday Morning and Afternoon

The forecast was for rain this morning, but the day started out bright and sunny with a brilliant blue sky—and continued that way all day.

The coach to London leaves promptly at 9 am and we get to London at 11: not much traffic on Sunday and the coach driver has a heavy foot. We pass through “Constable Country,” fields of bright golden rape and several working windmills, and then zip up the motorway into the eastern docks area through the East End and the City. There are lots of empress trees in bloom and the countryside rolls in deep English green. The coach drops us on Lower Regent Street, two minutes from Piccadilly Circus, where I meet Deb Stroud for coffee and conversation.









After coffee, I head off on my chores: a shopping visit to Dress Circle Music Shop, where I load up on original cast CDs that are difficult and expensive to find in the States; and a haircut on Tottenham Court Road. London is just as dirty and crowded as it’s always been and the building boom seems unabated, with a new cross-London underground line under construction. Four hours is just enough time to get the bug for a return visit. The coach leaves London at 3:40 pm and we are back on board the Eurodam at 6. A Scottish bagpipe band on the dock serenades the ship as we sail for Rotterdam.

I had a lucky day because one of the London coaches broke down en route and passengers had to wait 90 minutes for a substitute to arrive (and no free drinks on the bus, either).
Sunday Evening

Sunday Evening

A glass of champagne was the perfect accompaniment for carpaccio of beef tenderloin with whole-grain mustard. The beef and Parmigiano-Reggiano didn’t have much flavor, even after I added more olive oil and lots of fresh black pepper—a small complaint given the superb quality of most of the food (the kitchen prepares 11,000 meals per day times 18 days = 198,000 meals; and that doesn’t count all the extra snacks and munchies available everywhere all day and night). It stayed light until well after 10 pm and the Eurodam kept close to the estuary shoreline as we left Harwich. The lights on shore began to flicker on just as we sailed out of their reach and into the Channel.

Rotterdam and Amsterdam on Monday—and I’ll put that in another posting: Tuesday, 12 May 2009 (2)

Saturday, 9 May 2009

Since my last post was on Thursday I have a lot of time and territory to cover. If you have missed any of the earlier postings you can go back to them by clicking on the dates to the right.

Thursday Evening

Dinner began with escargot in a sauce of port, tomato, mushroom, and parmesan cheese—just right for soaking up the excess with some of the fine fresh bread. This was the third dinner I began with escargot and the third variety of preparation.

Friday Morning

It seems the closer the ship travels along the coastline, the bumpier the trip gets. Perhaps going north (rather than east-west with the tides) adds to the buck and sway. Anyway, Friday morning’s sail was a little rough—but not rough enough to interrupt my day. I feel lucky that I haven’t had to use any of the Rx patches for seasickness. I had a light breakfast because I planned to attend the Mariner’s Brunch at 11:30 am (frequent sailor’s club for Holland America), but I took a nap and slept right through the time for the festivities.

After an impromptu lunch in the Lido, I finished reading Kate Christensen’s The Great Man. The novel’s insights on ageing are more interesting than her actual subject matter, the conflict between realistic and abstract art. Christensen unfortunately succumbs to tired clichés about the female form as divine beauty, without even a nod to the long tradition of male beauty from the Greeks forward. Aren’t we long past the time when female writers need to denigrate the “male gaze” that controlled so much of art (and literary criticism) through the 1970s? And while her lesbian characters are complex and worthy artists, all her gay male characters are mere decoration.

Friday Afternoon and Evening

The skies cleared and the sun warmed as the day passed. By 6 pm it was pleasant enough to walk around the decks and some people were actually sun-bathing in the 51º warmth. Ship traffic is heavy in this area of the Bay of Biscay as we approach the English Channel; lots of fishing boats swim in the haze on the horizon. All ships are required to keep to specific traffic lanes, just like cars on the Freeway.

Saturday Morning

We docked early morning in Le Havre, France, and the coach for Honfleur left at 9:00 am for the 45-minute drive over the over the new Normandie suspension bridge, which hangs one kilometer between towers.

Saturday is market day in Honfleur and the town is bustling with locals doing their shopping, Parisians down for the long holiday weekend, and tourists. In my many visits to France during the ‘80’s and ‘90’s, I had never been here (primarily because there is no rail service). Shops and cafes surround the old port, which no longer serves fishing fleets, but is filled with pleasure-craft of all sizes. The town itself is picture-perfect for walking and the produce, fish, and clothing markets that spread through all the side streets add that extra touch of joie. After examining the wonderful foodstuffs on offer, I sit at a waterfront café and have a second breakfast of cappuccino and baguette with butter and jam. Although the fresh-baked breads and rolls on the ship are wonderful, and although we get perfectly fine French bread in Tucson, I am amazed at how much better the authentic local bread tastes. I luxuriate in people-watching for about an hour (although I had forgotten about the smokers), and then join the coach for the return run to the ship in Le Havre.

Saturday Afternoon

Instead of being sensible and calling it quits for the day, I immediately hop on the free shuttle that runs from the dock to the center of Le Havre. If you haven’t been, don’t make any special plans to go. All but two buildings (literally) were destroyed by Allied bombing following the D-Day invasions. The new architecture designed to rebuild the city after the War is either forgettable (August Perret’s Town Hall) or grotesque and deteriorating (the cultural center, “The Volcano,” designed by Oscar Niemeyer).

A visit to the Central Market for lunch and some wonderful pistachio-marzipan-filled chocolate logs almost recompenses. I am finally rewarded by a visit to the Musée Andre Malraux, a small museum in a fine modern building with a glass wall facing the seafront—and a marvelous collection of late 19th-century works by Boudin, Renoir, and Dufy (along with other well-knowns). The brochures call it the second-best Impressionist collection in France, and I have no doubt it is. The museum is a small gem and the paintings are displayed perfectly, especially a long un-interrupted white wall of landscapes by Boudin. Having been rejuvenated by the spirit of the Impressionists, I decide to walk back to the ship, or at least walk until I come upon an available taxi. Unfortunately I never see a taxi, and the ship, which looks like it’s docked directly across from the museum, is really a 90-minute hike.

Saturday Evening

Thank goodness for pain pills! Those and the bottle of Cabernet I finished off with dinner (veal shanks on mushroom risotto) got me ready for a good night’s sleep. No rest tomorrow; we dock in Harwich by 8 am and at 9 the coach leaves for London.

Thursday, 7 May 2009

Wednesday at Sea

Wednesday was a sea day. The weather turned cooler and my clothes finally matched the climate. I had Eggs Benedict made to order in the Lido Buffet this morning and they were as good as in the Rembrandt Dining Room. The travel guide gave a talk on Bilbao and that was about it for a taxing day.

Wednesday evening brought TWO catastrophes! First, the waistband on my tuxedo pants must have expanded since Sunday, because I know I haven’t lost any weight. But as I was dressing I just couldn’t keep the pants up! Called the room steward who brought several large safety pins, but the pants fabric is so thick the pins wouldn’t hold. Finally wore a very high tight belt around the waist (like one of Martin Short’s characters)—it had to be tight because there were no pants loops to hold it on—then my tuxedo vest and jacket thankfully covered the belt nicely and all was well.

Second catastrophe was more serious—there were three equally beckoning entrees for dinner and I was torn by the decision-making: 1. traditional Beef Wellington, with pate and pastry wrapping; 2. crumb-crusted rack of lamb with mint pesto on the side; 3. sugar-charred Alaska salmon.

Holland America’s traditional “dessert extravaganza” was presented on the Lido Deck at 10:30 pm, beginning with a parade of chefs accompanied by cheers from the passengers. I had already eaten dessert with dinner (a fine flourless chocolate decadence cake with raspberry coulis), because I knew I didn’t want to fight the hordes as they descended on the display tables. But I did take pictures of some of the fancier creations.

And for the sake of truth-telling, I had the salmon for dinner (it’s a preparation I often make at home). Instead of starting a new bottle of wine, I had a glass of champagne in honor of my pants staying up.

Thursday Morning

The Eurodam docked in the estuary of Bilbao, about a 30 minute drive from the city center. Holland America provided free shuttle buses for those who were touring independently, but I had signed up for an excursion—and I was happy that I did.

The coach takes us into Bilbao while the guide (again, very impressive performance) talks about history and current politics, as well as the Basque economy. As we enter the city he provides a running commentary as we pass each major work of contemporary architecture—and there is a great deal more than just the Guggenheim—rattling off the names and nationalities of architects and dates of construction. In addition to the completed buildings, a large number of projects are in various states of completion.

We stop in the old town (Casco Viejo) for a one-hour walking tour that covers more ground than I had expected. Bilbao was (and apparently still is) part of a secondary pilgrim route to Santiago de Compostela; the main route goes through Burgos. You can identify today’s pilgrims by the large seashell that hangs from their backpacks or belts.

The coach does a circuit of both sides of the river as we drive to the Guggenheim, where we have two hours to visit: a one-hour guided tour and one hour on our own. Of course the building itself exceeds all expectations and is difficult to capture in pictures. What is especially remarkable is the way Gehry’s late 20th-century pure architectural forms are molded into the fabric of the city’s historical ambience, including a vehicular bridge built in the 1960’s which runs through one edge of the building.

As much as the building impresses, however, even more the large and very large and very very large works of art show to magnificent advantage. The museum has only two permanent works installed, instead focusing on a series of temporary displays by the most “now” artists. Some of the highlights currently on view:

Richard Serra’s magnificent and monumental “The Matter of Time” (2005) completely fills the large exhibition space (indeed, the largest open exhibition space in any museum anywhere) with five larger-than-life steel and copper constructions that can be walked through.

Cai Guo-Qiang’s “Reflection—a Gift from Iwaki” (2004) is the remains of a shipwrecked wooden longboat filled with and surrounded by immense piles of broken white pottery tableware (plates, cups, and serving dishes). Remarkably, part of the exhibition of this piece is the re-construction of the remains of the boat and the breaking of the pottery for each new installation.

Takasha Murakami’s video- and manga (comic book)-inspired work doesn’t move me, but is very popular as it incorporates the latest in electronic media. I admire the vibrant colors on the flat minimalist surfaces, but the works don’t touch me in any way.

I return to the ship at 2 pm thoroughly exhausted and exhilarated—at which point I will conclude this long blog, even though like Tristram Shandy I am falling behind the farther we sail.

Hope you are enjoying!

Wednesday, 6 May 2009

As I dress for tonight’s fourth formal dinner, the Eurodam sails north to Cape Finesterre (“end of the land”), at the corner of the Iberian Peninsula, and then east for a landing in Bilbao early on Thursday morning.

Tuesday Morning

After breakfast I take the train and Metro into city center and begin the walk up into the Alfama, Lisbon’s oldest and most picturesque neighborhood. Originally a Moorish settlement, the present-day Alfama is mostly of medieval construction; it was the only neighborhood spared by the 1755 earthquake. The joy of the Alfama is the jumble of narrow streets, twisting alleyways, tumbling staircases, and abrupt vistas out over the river. There are a few significant buildings (the Sé Cathedral, the Castelo de Sao Jorge, smaller parish churches), but the best part is just to wander the streets. After a quick climb going up and up quickly before pain and fatigue strike, the secret is just to keep following the streets eastward and DOWNWARD, eventually reaching St. Apolonia Railway Station and the Metro. A quick stop at a bakery for sliced ham in a sweet butter pastry keeps me going.

Tuesday Afternoon

Since I spent yesterday and this morning re-visiting areas I had seen on my earlier time in Lisbon, for the afternoon I head to the new Parque das Nações, built for the 1998 World Expo. This involves three different Metro lines, but takes only about 30 minutes. The site covers a large area along the river north of the central city. While much of the layout is the sterile remains of concrete from the Expo, the newer buildings—a three-story shopping mall, transit station, office towers, condominiums, arenas, and theatres—present a vivid picture of Post-Modern European architecture. It is obviously a successful venture, with traffic, pedestrians, and shoppers everywhere. Then back to the ship at 3:30 pm, having used 23 hours and 55 minutes of my 24-hour transit pass.

The ship’s travel guide provided on-deck narration to accompany the cheese and wine as we sailed back down the Tagus at 5:00 pm. The roasted shallot and butternut squash soup was the dinner highlight and I finished the Sauvignon Blanc. Francesco, my main table steward, was in a good mood and actually chatted me up for a while.

Tuesday, 5 May 2009

Monday Morning
I enjoy a cooked-to-order breakfast in the Lido Buffett this morning and must add that the coffee service is excellent. Coffee is a trifle strong—but always very hot. And on this cruise, the staff comes around to refill coffee cups at regular intervals (much better than some other ships I have been on).

Monday Afternoon
It takes a little over two hours to sail up the Tagus Estuary, but all of the north bank’s attractions are lined up as we pass: the beach resorts of Cascais and Estoril, the outer suburbs with high-rises on the cliffs, and shops and restaurants along the shore, and the historic sights of Belem (see next paragraph). We pass under the 24th of April suspension bridge with a perfect view of Cristo Rei (Christ the King) at its southern end. The 362-foot high monument was built in 1959 to match the one in Rio (Christ the Redeemer). I am very glad I brought along binoculars. The ship docks in Lisbon at 2 pm, about two hours ahead of schedule, and passengers are allowed off at 2:30.

The pier is halfway between the center of Lisbon and the western section, Belem, site of several important attractions: The Monument to the Discoveries, The Belem Tower, and the Monastery of Jeronimos. There are easy train, bus, and tram connections in both directions (west to Belem and Cascais and east to the center of town). Since my time is limited, I will skip the Belem area (but I do have many pictures from my earlier visit in 1996; just ask).

I plan to ride the urban railway two stops to the city center. But before I can do that, I become unofficial tour guide at the railway ticket machine, explaining how to use it, what destinations to select and even how to find the train in the right direction (they run opposite to the normal traffic flow). It’s good to know I haven’t lost my travel know-how, even though it’s been a long while since my last time on the Continent, and most everything is written in Portuguese.



It’s a quick rail trip into town and then a short ride on the Metro to Rossio Square where I begin my walk through the lower city, or Baxia. Lisbon is built on a series of hills (cliffs actually) encircling three quarters of the city, with the Tagus River on the south. The shifts between the lower city and the surrounding upper areas create the need for elevadores in various spots. The oldest of these is an actual huge iron elevator (constructed by a disciple of Eifel) that starts at ground level and rises up 10 or 12 stories next to a business building, where you walk out onto a new street level (at the very top of the same building). The other elevadores are small trams that ride narrow rails up very steep hills (think San Francisco, only much narrower streets). These machines are part of the daily transport life of Lisboans, but they are also a great treat for tourists.



I’m using The Eyewitness Travel Series book, Top 10 Lisbon—a fine guide for short-time visitors. I follow the suggested walking tour (using public transportation whenever I can), “Baixa to Restauradores” (in case you have access to the guide):
• Praça do Comercio, the post-1755 earthquake square that looks out on the river and frames the city and hills surrounding it;
• Rua Augusta, the primary shopping street closed to automobile traffic and paved in the black-and-white mosaics that are ubiquitous throughout the city;
• the Eifel-Tower-like Elevador de Santa Justa (see above);
• and two interesting crafts shops (just looking).

I then hop the Metro for two stations (including one change of trains) to the north-most part of the Baxia, to catch the Elevador de Gloria (one of the tiny trams) to the Barrio Alto (Upper Town).

This area of the city was first constructed in the 16th century, but contains remnants from all the periods following (at least those that survived the earthquake, so inimitably rendered in Voltaire’s Candide). I follow only the second half of the suggested walking tour, concentrating on a long, narrow street of small apartment blocks, shops, restaurants, and bars, ending in the major commercial street of the district, Rua do Loreto, where I stop for a flaky pastry at a local bakery. There’s another elevador here, heading down to the harbor, but I choose to walk a few blocks to the Metro which will return me to the urban railway station and the train back to the ship.



I am still in the upper town and know that the Metro will be buried deeply here, but I am not quite prepared for the staircase followed by six long double-escalators (up and down, thank goodness), deeper than any Metro station I can remember in London or anywhere else. I return to the ship shortly before 7 pm, with just enough time to talk to Will on the phone and dress for dinner.

Monday Evening
I started a bottle of 2008 Blackstone Sauvignon Blanc to go along with dinner: prosciutto on garlic crostini; grilled romaine with vegetables (wonderful roasted eggplant); fettuccine with fresh tomato, basil, and grilled chicken; Burgundy Cherry ice cream for dessert (second time for that choice).

Looking forward to a full day in Lisbon tomorrow.

Monday,4 May 2009

Awoke to clear skies and calm seas again. Weather is much warmer than I expected so I added a pair of shorts to my wardrobe from the ship’s store. Just after noon and we are entering the mouth of the Tagus River as we make headway toward Lisbon. Saving Lisbon for the next posting.

Sunday Morning and Afternoon
Attended a short presentation on shore excursions in the Western European ports we will be visiting. I booked a couple of tours before the cruise began and will be making my own excursions in other places.

The seas and winds were high enough for the Promenade Deck to be closed to passengers all day and evening: swells of two meters, gale-force winds, seven on the Beaufort scale (30-40 mph). Captain Darrin announced that he will be leaving the ship in Lisbon to start his own holiday, and a new captain will come aboard. I hope he continues the policy of trivia announcements. I have learned, for example, that in the first week of the cruise, the crew has laundered 17,500 pillow cases and served 69,000 meals.

A new lecturer started a series of talks on the history of European countries, focusing today on the Netherlands. Unfortunately, he was not as dynamic as Revell Carr has been. But Carr is scheduled for another talk on Monday. I brought my lunch along to the lecture: fresh-made grilled Italian deli sandwich and chips.

Sunday Evening
Third formal dinner and my first real food criticism: chilled strawberry bisque probably was gelatin-based and I had to stir it vigorously to get and keep the right texture—but it did taste good. First course was a traditional escargot Bourguignon, rounded out with surf and turf (large lobster tail and filet mignon), and nicely marbled chocolate Bavaroise custard.

Sunday, 3 May 2009

If you’ve not been back “At Sea” since yesterday, you should check out the previous posting as well. The web was very unreliable on Friday night and Saturday was a very busy day in port, so I didn’t post anything new until this morning. Tonight’s entry continues from then.

Friday Evening
Went to dinner as usual at 8 pm, and sure enough my main table server was back. When I asked about his absence he said he had not been feeling well. Perhaps illness rather than personality was the cause of his earlier demeanor; we shall see.

Just as dinner was getting underway, seven blasts on the ship’s whistle pummeled the dining room—had it been followed by one more long blast, it would have been the call to abandon ship (during dinner, no less). Fortunately a few minutes later the captain announced that the fire alarm had sounded because there was an accidental release of the “free moisture system” (is that like “Free Willy”?—the British meaning), because of excessive heat in the engine area. So, there never was any fire. But he didn’t tell us where all that excessive heat had come from! Several passengers reported that the low-lighting emergency strips were briefly turned on in all the passageways.

We all calmly resumed our dining; my choices were “Trio of Salmon with Jumbo Prawns” (hot-smoked, gravalax, and pickled); “Cream of Asparagus and Chicken Soup”; a traditional “Wienerschnitzel” (garnished with lemon and hard-boiled egg); “Chocolate Mousse Cruoquant Praline”; all accompanied by a bottle of Italian Pinot Grigio (I’ll give the vintage details in a later blog).

I’ll also talk more in another blog (which you will be able to skip if you grow tired) about the incredible variety of food available on the ship. What impresses me most, however, is the quality. Although foods are not generally heavily spiced, they are presented with subtlety and always served at exactly the right temperature (even at the buffets). The Cream of Asparagus soup arrived at the moment of perfect temperature and texture.

After dinner Jeff Nease performed a comedy routine in the Main Stage Theatre. He stayed on for about an hour and was very funny—with, unexpectedly, only one off-color joke.

Saturday Morning
Laundry Day: which means I filled two bags, filled out the forms, and left them to be picked up by the cabin steward. The laundry will be returned tomorrow.

After room service breakfast (ham and cheese omelet), I watched our entry into the port of Ponta Delgado (Narrow Point), from the upper deck. The Island of Sao Miguel is a long and narrow strip, the largest of the nine islands that make up the Azores. The town lies flat against the sea and rises to the volcanic green hills behind it (200-300 meters). All the land is either cultivated for cattle or forested for the lumber industry. The lush greens are perfectly demarcated by dividing lines of shrubs, trees, and volcanic stones, manicured and pretty. The ship pulls in at the new pier located right at the center of town and since this was my first time in the Azores, I disembarked quickly to spend an hour walking around before having to report for my tour and a quick lunch.

Saturday Afternoon

Three-and-a-half-hour bus tour to Sete Cidades and the crater lakes:

Tour begins (notice the present tense) with a 45-minute drive northeast out of Ponta Delgado up into the volcanic craters that make up the western side of the island. As we rise over a series of switchbacks and curves, we see on both sides large numbers of very happy cows grazing and socializing. How do I know they are happy?—the guide says so (and she is a very good guide). But how can they not be happy in such beautiful surroundings, where they live outdoors all-year round, 24 hours a day? Although there is some beef production, the herds are mainly dairy cows originally imported from Holland. As we traverse around a series of extinct low volcanic cones dressed in green, at the crest of the road we can briefly see the ocean on both the north and south sides of the island. 
We reach the village of Sete Cidades (Seven Cities), situated at the convergence of two volcanic crater lakes, one with green water and one with blue (caused by differences in cloud cover and surrounding foliage reflected by the water). The village is Tyrolean in aspect and very prosperous; the streets are lined with colorful stone and concrete cottages, surrounded on one side by the lakes and the other side by the undulating hills.

On the way back to Ponta Delgado we make brief stops high over two additional crater lakes and then visit a pineapple plantation. The pineapple cultivation is unlike that of Hawaii. In the Azores the fruit is grown inside greenhouses (each house produces 300-500 fruit per season), are harvested in 13-15 months, and are smaller than the ones we are used to eating.

We return to the ship in time for a snack of pizza (with fresh tomatoes) and cookies as we sail from the harbor at 5 pm. I continue to be amazed at how the huge ship pushes itself sideways parallel to the pier, backs out into the harbor, and then does a 180-degree turn (all in about 20 minutes).

Saturday Evening
The highlight of dinner was an appetizer of Forest Pâté Brioche (chicken, port, mushroom pate)—although it was a teeny serving. The main course, Pan-Seared Salmon with tomato-mango salsa, served with mashed potatoes and broccoli, more than made-up in size and was prepared excellently. The Chocolate Avalanche Cake with Strawberries in Syrup wasn’t bad either.

Saturday night’s entertainment was an early and long-night’s sleep.

Friday, 1 May 2009

THIS BLOG SOMEHOW GOT LOST, SO I AM REPOSTING; I WILL POST ANOTHER BLOG FOR TODAY LATER THIS EVENING.

I returned to the Main Dining Room for last night’s formal evening dinner and my bottle of Cabernet (which was from Paso Robles, CA), followed me from the previous night in the Pinnacle Grill. The highlight of dinner was the first course: escargot braised in a red wine sauce and then served over puff pastry with a garlic cream sauce. I was forced (!) to have steak for the second night in a row (filet mignon with a side of large prawns), since I was still drinking the red wine. Tonight I will probably start a bottle of white.

Since I said something to Anthony, my dining-room wine steward, about the faulty service in the Pinnacle Grill, everyone else in the wine service seems to be fawning over me. We’ll see how long that lasts. I haven’t seen the head waiter from the first two nights since Sunday, and his replacement is vastly more pleasant (and no, I did not complain)—perhaps he’ll stay away for the rest of the journey.

Today’s morning lecture by Revell Carr covered the battles of the four French and Indian Wars in North America (and in Europe as well, with different names), in the early and mid 18th century. Never knew I was that interested in battles. After lunch, Ian Page, the ship’s travel director, gave an illustrated talk on Lisbon with some good practical information for getting about on one’s own. I spent six days in Lisbon in 1996 and look forward to the return visit.

Interestingly, everyone’s passport was collected at embarkation in Ft Lauderdale and is being held by the ship, supposedly so the authorities can check them en masse when we reach each new destination. I’m not sure I like the idea of wandering around without a passport, but it’s more complicated to get off the ship by oneself if you haven’t been checked with everyone else. We’ll see.

I finished reading DeNiro’s Game, an interesting turn on the typical Bildungsroman, although the first-person narrator often displays a sophistication about much of the world and European and American cultures that doesn't quite jibe with his background and situation.