It’s a little strange now to look out and see so many new faces. Having spent almost four months with the same people was at times annoying, comforting, boring, interesting and always oddly familiar. By the end a number of the passengers had become more familiar than the people I work with. Since I spend my days in a small space all by myself they were often the only people I would have contact with for hours on end. Now even many of the crew in the corridors are new with there having been a large turnover in Fort Lauderdale.

 

The other strange and disconcerting thing is the large world map on the wall outside the casino. The map is big, taking up most of a wall, and is electronic, a red line tracing the ships route with little yellow dots marking the ports and a flashing dot showing the current position of the ship. Every day I would walk past it and see where we’d been and where we still had to go. The line snaked around the world and slowly changed from the red of untravelled water to green as we chewed up the miles. I could look at the map and follow the line backwards and almost have every little dot bring a different memory to the surface. Yesterday, after four months that changed and the map had a new line. Now it was all red and pointing in a new direction. We are travelling a long way, two oceans, two continents, across time zones and from the warmth of the Caribbean to the (I assume) cold of Alaska, but suddenly the world seems a whole lot smaller. Rather than anything up to a week at sea we now only have two days at the most and that only happens three times between now and when I go home. The names of ports dominate the itinerary that’s taped to my wardrobe door rather than the dreaded words “sea day”. The world of the ship has shrunk and the itinerary has tightened up.

 

At the moment we are off the coast of Cuba and heading towards Cartagena in Columbia. From there we go through the Panama Canal again (I have a different shift this time so I should be able to stand out on deck for a while and watch it go past), up the coast of Mexico (cheap beer and Mexican food!) and on to LA. From there we head up to Seattle, which will be our home port for our forays into Alaska. I have four of the week long cruises before I go home so I should be able to see each port at least a couple of times, hopefully enough to get a real taste for them. I’m especially interested in seeing Seattle, getting off the ship and finding some free and fast internet access. The costly and sporadic access onboard has meant that I’ve had real problems sending emails and I’ve had to shut down one of my websites because it was hacked and I’m simply not able to fix it until I get home. Plus I guess if I am ever to truly appreciate the Starbucks experience it may as well be in the birthplace. I wonder if there is a “first Starbucks” that I should visit and a collectible cup I could buy for someone who collects them.

 

Only being able to get off the ship in one port over eleven days, and having spent that stocking up on groceries, won’t give me much to write about until we hit Puntarenas in Costa Rica. Puntarenas is on the opposite coast to Puerto Limon so hopefully I’ll be allowed off and will get a more favourable view of the country than I did on my last two visits.

 

Having now circumnavigated the world by sea I wonder if I shouldn’t do it by air (I’ve flown long distances but always returned the same way so have never really gone all the way around) and then attempt a Jules Verne and do it by land. It’s probably not something that everyone could say they’ve managed.

 

For those that don’t know me you must wonder just how big I am since all I seem to do is eat. I do enjoy eating and I do avoid excessive exercise or exercising just for the sake of breaking into a sweat but I weighed myself a few days ago in the gym (I walked past it on my way to get a haircut) and I’ve lost about 5 kilos since I got on the ship. I may try and eat as much as I can while I’m ashore but I guess all the walking I do in search of it must more than make up for any extra calories. With that in mind I don’t mind admitting that the second thing I did after getting off the shuttle bus in the heart of downtown Lisbon was search out something to eat. The first thing I did was walk to the local Hard Rock Café to buy a shot glass for someone and there were a large number of little cafes setting up their tables and chairs outside as I wandered past. From the Hard Rock I walked up a small alley and was immediately attracted to a doorway and the window beside it that had three large pots boiling furiously with different types of meat in each. A man was plucking bits of meat out of one pot and stuffing it into a bread roll. That was enough for me and I stepped inside.

 

Inside it was a little dim and dark after the brightness outside. A long stainless steel counter ran along one side of the room and a variety of men, from one who looked as if he’d just climbed out of the ditch he was digging to the immaculately attired businessman, were bellied up to the bar. It had taken me a couple of places to figure it out but this is not a place where people order at the counter and then step away to let others in. Here it is cheaper to eat at the counter than at a table so people order and then stand and eat. The first couple of times I had wanted to order something I had waited politely for the people in front to move but they hadn’t so I’d ended up sitting at a table and having someone come to take my order. Now that I knew the way it was supposed to work I just found my spot at the counter, pointed to the guy next to me, said I’d have what he was having and waited for the food. Soon a bread roll filled with (I think) pork and a glass of red wine appeared. The roll was crusty on the outside and soft on the inside, the meat was hot and tasted meaty and the reason for the stainless steel counter became apparent as the glass was so full that wine slopped over the side when he put it down. A pork roll and a red wine may come a close second to the full English in terms of breakfasts of champions and the price of only 2.5 euros made it a pretty good start to the day. A little further along and I stopped at a café and had two custard tarts and a cappuccino.

 

Lisbon seems to be a city of cobblestones. More so than anywhere else I’ve been the roads and footpaths all seem to be made up of the little uneven squares that must be a minefield for women in high heels. It’s very picturesque but I did find myself doing the occasional little stumble as I walked along looking up and dragged my feet over less than level ground. Lisbon is also a city built on hills and it was up one of these hills and away from the central pedestrian part that I found my next meal. Another small restaurant caught my eye and I sat and ordered the fried calamari and a red wine. I sat in the sun at an outside table watching the people go past and was a little surprised when the waiter came back with my wine and it turned out to be an entire bottle. He had the cork out before I even had a chance to say that I really only wanted a glass and then figured it would be rude not to drink it. The sun was warm, the view was interesting and the wine was good. The food arrived and the whole squid tubes had been grilled with sea salt and were served with roasted vegetables. By now a guitarist had started playing and I really didn’t want to leave. I lingered over the bottle of wine, talked to the guitarist for a while about rugby after he noticed my All Blacks t-shirt but eventually I had to make a move.

 

The rest of the day consisted of a few more espressos and pastries in coffee shops that called out to me as I walked by. I bought an original oil painting from an artist selling his work on the street, had him inscribe the back with the date and location and then took his photo while he held it proudly. I also bought yet another fridge magnet and a couple of hand painted tiles that say Lisbon. In a way it’s lucky that this is the end of Europe because I am already wondering how I’m going to get all of this stuff into my bags and get it home. My final purchase was a bottle of Madeira and it was a nice way to relax after work with a glass and a good book. Almost like being at home.

 

Another late finish followed by an early start for safety training and I was chugging a can of coke on my way out of the ship in order to stay awake long enough to see Gibraltar. I’d asked the only Englishman in the casino what I should do, see and buy and his suggestion was to have a full English breakfast, walk up the rock to see the monkeys, buy something with a monkey on it and then come back to the ship. We had an early sail so time was an issue and I figured that his suggestion was a good one. In the end it was a good one, except maybe for the walking up the rock part.

 

But first breakfast. Being a Sunday there was very little open when I first walked into town from the ship and I couldn’t find an ATM to get any pounds but eventually I did find a pub that was open, had “full English breakfast” on the menu and was willing to take a credit card to pay for it. I grabbed a seat at a table outside, settled down with a cup of tea and waited for my heart attack on a plate to arrive. When I did get it I wasn’t disappointed, it had everything that I was looking forward to. Baked beans, mushrooms, black pudding, tomato, eggs, bacon, sausages and toast to wipe up the residual grease. With a meal like that and the accents of the staff I could easily have been at any pub in England proper rather than a literal stones throw from Spain. So far a good start to the day and the ideal energy boost to get me up the rock. None of this healthy stuff, fat is the true breakfast of champions.

 

I pored over the little tourist map I’d picked up and found a walking path that supposedly led to the top of the rock, oriented myself to the street I was on and headed off. I found the first lot of steps up with words cleverly painted on the risers so that when I looked upwards I could see “Monkeys” and an arrow pointing the way. The steps started off easily enough but soon the trail became a track of overgrown gravel that clung to the side of the hill. It may have felt a little precarious at times but it did offer magnificent views down towards the harbour and across the border into Spain. I kept walking, hopeful of, and also a little fearful of, a chance encounter with one of the famous Gibraltar apes and eventually emerged from the undergrowth to find myself on the edge of a well maintained road watching a taxi full of comfortable looking tourists zip past. I turned uphill after the taxi and started walking. By now it was getting more than a little warm and my breakfast had settled into all the cracks and crevices inside and was a solid ball pressing against all sorts of internal organs. I looked a little longingly at the taxis going past but resolved to keep walking and in the end I was glad I did.

 

Further up the road and I came upon a lookout that was literally crawling with apes. There were big ones and little ones and they were laying on the seats, climbing the fences and even posing for the tourists with a half cynical “yes I know I’m cute” glint in their eyes. I swear that some of them know that they are a major drawcard and they would just strike a pose showing off their best side and hold it until everyone had gotten the shot. It was fearlessness that comes from long exposure and a surety in their position. That being said, the little ones are as cute as the dickens.

 

I kept going along the road past various groups of apes with various groups of tourists and eventually made my way to a large monument explaining the future and past interpretations of the Pillars of Hercules. It had a great view out to the ocean and it was a strange thing to be able to stand in Europe and have Africa so close that it looked like little more than an offshore island. It also nicely book ended Istanbul where I was able to stand in Europe and see Asia on the other side of a short stretch of water. In another strange reflection the posing behaviour of the apes was mirrored by two Russian couples where the girls were wrapping themselves around the safety railing for their boyfriend’s cameras. Oh, how far we’ve come.

 

From the heights of the Rock I walked downhill, eventually passing the cable car station and heading back into town. I had to buy a fridge magnet and I don’t know if it was the baked beans or the sausages but I also bought a monkey. It is one of those stuffed types with the extra long arms that you can wrap around your neck and secure the hands together with Velcro. I guess nothing says tourist like walking around with a stuffed monkey hanging off your backpack. The fact that it makes monkey noises when you squeeze it came as a bit of a surprise but is bound to continue to remind me of Gibraltar for a long time as it howls every time I roll onto it in my sleep.

 

I began my days in Venice by sleeping through the sail in. Had I not been cursed with working for a living I may well have been up on deck listening to the port lecturer doing a live commentary describing the city as we made our way around the island to where we were to dock. As it was, my first view of the city was a less than romantic one of a working dockyard as I led a group of passengers to a waiting boat for a tour. Mind you, the fact that we were climbing into an immaculate timber boat for a cruise to St Marks Square made up for everything. We motored out of the port and up the coast of the city/island. Immediately buildings came into view and even though I had only seen Venice in pictures I knew that I was there. The number of boats plying the river was amazing and we wended our way through them, passing the Square and mooring at a pontoon a short distance away. Our guide had explained that we were disembarking “four bridges away” but also explained that to get anywhere in Venice you have to cross bridges. The entire island is a maze of tiny canals branching off the Grand Canal that snakes through the centre of the island and there is no motorised land transportation at all. You either travel by boat or you walk.

 

Gathering the group, with me leading the way holding my numbered sign aloft, we made our way through the hordes of other tourists that were already congregating with their own number carrying guides or with cameras pointed in every conceivable direction. Our walk took us past hawkers selling all of the expected tacky Venetian souvenirs but who improved from a sheet on the ground to robust little movable kiosks as we neared St Marks. A few restaurants and coffee shops had seating outside as well as menus and I snatched a quick look at one, reminding myself that what seemed like a mildly expensive espresso would be mildly bankrupting by the time I converted the euros to Australian dollars.

 

As we crossed the last bridge before the square there was even bigger crowd taking photos up the narrow canal and looking that way over their heads I saw the famous Bridge of Sighs. This was the bridge between the Doges court on one side of the canal and the prison on the other side. Condemned prisoners would be lead across the covered bridge and as they had their last glimpse of the outside world through one of the little windows they would sigh with pain, sorrow and anguish… or at least so the story goes. I managed to snap off one quick photo with my camera by holding it up in the air and pointing it in the general direction but as I write this I am still unsure exactly what I captured.

 

Over the bridge we found a spot to gather our group, my arm already beginning to flag (pun intended) from holding my sign up. Once we had all caught up and a head count had been done we lined up and then entered the Doges Palace. The Palace is amazing. I could fire up the thesaurus and find more superlatives but you may just have to take my word for how amazing it is. Inside we were all given a small radio and an ear piece and the guide had a microphone. I’ve never struck this before but was extremely impressed with the concept because it meant that the guide didn’t have to shout to make herself heard, a great thing given how many other groups were wandering around as well.

 

I’m not even going to attempt to describe the artwork that is on display in the palace but floor after floor and room after room we were presented with pieces by painters who sounded like a who’s who from those coffee table art books. Each room would be wood panelled and marble floored with a high ceiling covered in paintings and more paintings would be hung on the walls. There would be a sign with a list and description of each piece and you would need hours if not days to admire every one. We filed through rooms that had been the seat of power for the Venetian Empire and passed polished and worn wooden seats that had seen decisions made that affected European history. Not many names that the guide mentioned seemed to mean a lot to the group but a ripple of acknowledgment passed through us all as she mentioned Casanova, told his story and said that we were standing in the very spot where he had been tried. Getting that connection to history through something familiar is important and somehow manages to bring it to life in a way that lists of names and dates never will and Casanova was our link.

 

From inside the Palace we walked down a narrow set of steps and found ourselves crossing the Bridge of Sighs. We had the same glimpse of the outside that those prisoners would have had (sans camera happy tourists) before entering the prison on the other side. Here is was just a warren of tiny stone cells with low rooves and no windows, a miserable place for anyone to spend the rest of their lives. We did a circuit of a few cells; undoubtedly we only got to see a few of them, before crossing back over the bridge to the Palace. Through more rooms laden with history and we eventually made it outside. Being a Sunday the cathedral was closed to tourists so our next stop was the obligatory souvenir shop. In this case it was a glass shop and we were supposed to see a quick demonstration of glass blowing before having an hour and a half of free time in the square before heading back to our boat. Most of the passengers made early beelines for various points and I made my own exit, tucking my numbered sign away so that I could blend in with all the other tourists.

 

I was surprised to find that the Square itself is actually an L shape although I’m not sure if technically the leg leading down to the water is considered part of the square or not. In any case it is a large area surrounded on three sides by large square buildings. Each of the buildings had a plaque outside it describing its history and function. The whole square is a world heritage site and with the dates and names involved in the history and evolution of the space it’s not hard to see why.

 

It may have technically been low season but to me there seemed to be a lot of people. I don’t know if I would like to be there in the middle of summer when there are truly big crowds; it would have to have a slightly claustrophobic feel to it. The number I had to contend with still made it feel like a square for the people as the pigeons flew and every photo seemed to have a hundred heads in it no matter how I framed it. It was then that I decided that I would have to make the effort to get back in the early hours of the morning, in time for the sunrise and in the hope that I would be able to see the square empty and to have it all to myself.

 

Despite what seemed like crowds of people to me the coffee shops that all had outdoor seating seemed to be lacking for customers. The vast majority of the little tables and chairs were empty although it may also have been because of the cold. I was determined to sit and have a coffee though and chose Florian’s. I chose it for a couple of reasons, first because it has a history, being a favoured hangout of Casanova which should give you some idea of just how long its been around and secondly because of the orchestra that was set up outside playing classical music. If I was going to sit in St marks square and enjoy a coffee on my first and possibly only visit to Venice then I was going to do it right. As soon as I sat at one of the tables a white jacketed waiter appeared and offered me a menu. I perused it for a while, bypassed the food and settled for just one of their own liqueur coffees. It arrived on a silver tray along with a small carafe of water and a glass and I sat and sipped slowly, warming my hands on the glass and listening to the music. I drank the water, sat for a little while longer and then paid the bill and made my way to where the boat back to the ship was waiting. The coffee cost me 18 euros, I’ll let you do your own conversion on that but it was probably the single most expensive coffee I have ever had. The price was incidental to the setting though and for the rest of my life it will be one of the things that I have done, savoured and enjoyed.

 

Back at the ship I returned my carefully completed and highly detailed tour escort report, grabbed my own larger backpack and headed out on my own. I knew the general direction from the ship to the city and after negotiating the port area and a large road bridge over a railway line I eventually made it to the bus terminal. With no cars, buses or trucks able to go onto the island this is the terminus for people coming from the airport or simply arriving from the mainland to work in Venice itself and the bus terminal is a hive of activity. From there it’s possible to take a vaporetto into the city. A vaporetto is the Venetian bus service and it operates in the same way as a land based one would with different lines and stops, the only difference being that it is all boats. I bypassed the vaporetto station because I intended to walk as far as I could, exploring the little alleyways and trying to find some cheaper souvenir shops and somewhere cheaper to eat than the area around St Marks. I crossed a bridge and simply started walking.

 

Luckily for me, since the map I had wasn’t very good, there are signs on the corners of buildings with arrows pointing to landmarks such as the Rialto Bridge and St Marks. Once I’d figured that out I just walked and kept an eye out for the ones saying Rialto Bridge, the idea being to just follow them back when I wanted to get back to the ship. All good in theory but I was spending more time marvelling at the buildings around me, standing in the middle of sudden palazzos and exploring the myriad of small shops that lined some streets so that I would get turned around and lose track of where I was and where I was going. Every so often I would stumble on one of the signs on the corner of a building and get back on track but I lost count of how many tiny stone bridges I crossed and how many photos I took of the canals that passed under them. It is just a picturesque place from the rough stone walls of the buildings with ornate brass name plates and door bells to the canals with small piers attached to the sides of the ancient buildings and boats moored as casually as cars are parked in any other place.

 

I bought the first of my Carnival masks in a small shop where the proprietor was sitting in the corner making glass sculptures over a gas flame. He had some lovely stuff for sale and it was obvious that he made all or most of it himself so I made a promise to return later to buy more things. As it turned out I was never able to find his shop again so all those amazing handcrafted glass items simply vanished into the Venetian night.

 

I crossed one bridge shortly after it got dark, turning back to look for photo opportunities and noticed yet another small restaurant nestled into the corner of the bridge and the street. Looking through the window at the brightly lit interior something about the place just called to me and I had a quick look at the menu stuck beside the door before I went in. Inside it was the tiniest restaurant I have ever been in, it looked as if it may have been (and undoubtedly was) someone’s living room hundreds of years ago. Now it was crammed with small tables with diners literally rubbing elbows with the people beside them. I was the only person eating on their own so I was sat precariously at a counter that looked as if it usually just acted as a barrier between the door and the restaurant area but it did give me a good view of the activity at the tables and the bar as well as a chance to watch the passing parade of people outside through the window. I was given a basket of bread and with a glass of merlot I sat in the warmth and soaked up the atmosphere of Italian diners while I waited for my first pasta course to arrive. I had pasta with mushrooms and then a dish of Venetian style lambs livers. Finishing with an espresso I left the restaurant very happy with the experience but I don’t know if I should reveal exactly what it ended up costing me. Like the worlds most expensive coffee it was something that had to be done and was not an experience I’m going to forget in a hurry.

 

Putting my warm clothing back on and walking out of the restaurant I began my aimless wanderings again. Eventually I found myself at the Rialto Bridge. I crossed the bridge, stopping in the middle to stare at the Grand Canal and the traffic that still moved on it. There were restaurants lining the side of the Canal and despite the cold there were large numbers of people sitting outside. It was one of those moments when I seem to find myself in the middle of a movie or staring at a postcard that has suddenly come to life.

 

It was now getting late and since I was still determined to be awake and off the ship at 5am for a dawn visit to St Marks I began to make my way back to the ship to get at least 5 hours sleep. That was assuming I could find my way back because many of the shops I had used as landmarks on my way in were now closed and things looked different coming at them from the opposite angle. This was when I spent a few marvellously frustrating hours in a Venetian night. I did get back, managed to grab a few hours sleep and, much to my roommate’s annoyance, woke up to my alarm at 4.45.

 

Now I knew where I was going and I was able to make my way back through empty streets and over quiet canals until I reached St marks Square just as the sky was beginning to lighten. I had the entire place to myself apart from a handful of people who were sweeping the cobblestones and emptying the rubbish bins. I took photos and wandered around the admiring the buildings without anyone getting in my way. I may have gotten a couple of strange looks from the cleaners but to see everything slowly coming into a golden light as the sun rose in a cloudless sky was magical. I walked through the back streets around the square as they started to fill with people on their way to work and felt out of place among the immaculately stylish Italians. I watched as gondoliers cleaned, wiped and polished their gondolas in preparation for another day. I watched the sun rise over the Venetian lagoon and was glad to be where I was. But I also felt hungry and prowled those back streets until I found a small café that had just opened and had two cappuccinos along with croissants and cheesecake still warm from their own oven. I paid a fraction of what I had paid the day before and sat in the warm fresh baked atmosphere as the proprietor set up his display case, wiped down the outside tables and chairs and listened to Italian opera on the radio.

 

By 9 o’clock the crowds had arrived and the hawkers had set up. I took more photos from the same angles as I had when the Square had been mine alone but now it had a different feel to it. I went back to a few places where I had window shopped while they were still closed and made a couple of purchases. Then, by early afternoon I began to walk back to the ship, deliberately taking a new route in the hope of getting lost yet again and succeeded perfectly. I wandered more alleys and streets and palazzos. I ate pizza in small pizzerias and had gelato while sitting on the railing of a stone bridge overlooking a canal. I tried to soak in as much as I could before I made it back to the ship in time to wash and get ready for work.

 

Venice was one port that I had been truly looking forward to visiting and there was a real danger that it wouldn’t have lived up to expectations. I didn’t need to worry; it really is as magical as is said. I have so much more I will write when I get home but for now this will have to suffice, along with the 890 photos I took.

 

This is going to have to be one of my shortest posts because of the time constraints. Tomorrow we arrive in Venice for an overnight stay, a city that I have been looking forward to visiting for many years. At the end of that two days I hope that my feet will be sore and my camera will be slightly melted from use. Surprisingly it seems to be a “love it or hate it” place among those on board and I am just hoping that I won’t be disappointed.

 

But, about Santorini. I had another tour to escort and I am very happy with the one I was given. We started by tendering from the ship to a small port area and finding our buses. The port was also the stopping place for a large ferry that was disgorging cars and trucks as we arrived. Flat ground at sea level seems to be a rarity on this island and the narrow road that ran precipitously in a series of switchbacks up the cliff face showed how much effort it must take to get anything imported from the sea.

 

From the port we reached the plateau far above and then began to climb even further until we were at a lookout atop one of the mountains in the islands interior. This gave us the chance for a panoramic view of the island. On the way the guide had been describing the agricultural conditions and the hardships that farmers faced. There was little of what I would call soil, most of it being made up of pumice and there was no natural water. The reason for the flat roofs typical of the houses is that they act as rain collectors and from the bus I’d been able to notice that all the roofs sloped towards one corner where there was a hole for channelling the rainwater into a cistern. Fortunately for farmers the pumice soil captures any moisture in the atmosphere but little water and a constant wind make for very stunted plants and even the tress have a gnarled and weather beaten look to them. The guide also explained that tourism is such a source of income these days that most of the small patches of ground we did see under cultivation are either hobby farms or still tended by older people with farming in their blood.

 

From the lookout we drove to the village of Oia and this is where postcard met reality. From the bus parking area the guide walked us through a few narrow cobblestone streets to the cliff edge, gave us a time to be back at the bus and then left us alone. I doubt that there would have been much she could have said that would have kept my attention from the view if she had stayed with us. We stood with the blue of the Mediterranean below is and the whitewashed houses tumbling down the cliff face at our feet. There were splashes of colour among the houses, the blue of doorways and windows and the blue of the domed churches. There were also a few places that dared for more terracotta colours but the overwhelming feeling was of blue and white. Walking around was a mater of ducking down an alleyway that seemed to lead nowhere until it suddenly opened out to reveal more of the cliff and water and a view as if hundreds of wedding cakes had been stacked with haphazard abandon. I took photos, found an ATM to get euros and then spent too much on souvenirs. But it was a beautiful place and with the view, the Greek restaurants and bars and a few more hours (or days or weeks) to enjoy it I think I would have been very happy.

 

From Oia we drove to Fira, the capital of the island. This was a larger version of Oia with its white houses overlooking the blue water but it had less of a small village feel and a bit more of a tourist attraction. Our guide said goodbye to us here after pointing the way to the two means of transport down the cliff to where our tenders were waiting. There was a choice of cable car or donkey but I was determined to do it the old fashioned way and walk down the cobblestone path to the dock. As a tour escort I had to return to the ship straight away rather than linger in the shops and restaurants for the couple of hours that were left to us. Being the diligent employee that I am I went straight back, only getting lost in one outdoor gyro stand and a handful of shops. The walk down was interesting, the cobblestones are in need of repair and there was the occasional need to dodge donkey trains and the frequent need to dodge donkey messages. It was an impressive sight looking back up the cliff and looking further along the coast there were even more villages spreading their faux snow way along the cliff.

 

The mere mention of the Greek islands brings all sorts of images to mind and my brief visit to one of them only conforms that those images may have trouble living up to the reality. The temptation to sell my house, buy a boat and cruise the world rears its attractive head again.

 

 

When this contract is over I will be looking for another project and I have always had a desire to spend some time driving around the US getting to know the real America and Americans. While I was mulling over the possibilities and looking at a map I realised that one route would take me past the home town of an artist I admire and I began to wonder if he would be willing to let me buy him a drink. That thought evolved into who else I would like to meet as I travelled and I began to wonder what would happen if I was simply to write to a number of people I either admire, am fascinated by or would simply like to meet and ask them for a few moments of their time. What’s the worst that could happen simply by asking…they say no or don’t answer at all?

My favour is to get ideas and suggestions on who I could meet. I started my own list with the idea of getting 100 names but would be very interested in other suggestions. I don’t care if they are famous, infamous or not known at all, so long as they are interesting.

If you have a suggestion then please leave it as a comment to this blog post.

The names I have come up with so far are:

Don Rosa

The US President (whoever that may be)

Oprah Winfrey

Arnold Schwarzenegger

Bill Gates

Steve Jobs

The editor of National Geographic

Lauren Graham

Billy Joel

George Lucas

Steven Hawking

Michael Jordan

Anthony Bourdain

John Lassiter

Neil Armstrong

Tom Hanks

Billy Joel

Joss Whedon

Michael Jordan

Leo Lapporte

Diane Disney

Head of Coca Cola

Thanks

Greg

The first thing I have to say is that it was cold. No, I might change that. It was beyond cold. Where I live, in the middle of winter, in the middle of the night it doesn’t get as cold as it was standing in front of the bus while holding up my little numbered sign. I’d been warned about the temperature and I’d worn what I thought would keep me warm but I really wasn’t prepared. Some of the blame might have to be taken by the fact that we were in Egypt only a couple of days before and in the middle of a desert, making the extremes that much more apparent, but still… Anyway, I stood there and stamped my feet and swapped the hand holding the sign so that the other one could gain a limited respite in a pocket and waited for all the passengers to board the bus. Once they were on I found my own seat in the warmth and we headed out of the port.

Istanbul is my first European city and it is a place that oozes history. As we drove the guide would point out buildings ands sights of interest and I was close to suffering from whiplash as he pointed out churches, mosques and canon factories. Everything seemed to have been there for a length of time that made the oldest buildings in Australia and New Zealand seem like they’d been thrown up last weekend. This was one of the great crossroads of history and everyone who was anyone seemed to have been here. The guide went through a steady stream of sultans, emperors, conquerors and conquered. It was still early and it was a Sunday so the streets didn’t seem too busy and we made good time to our first stop at the Blue mosque.

It turns out that if you were to ask a local the way to the blue mosque you would probably get a blank look. Locally the mosques are named for those that built them and not for perceived colours of the tiles decorating them. It might be known as the Blue mosque outside Turkey but not within. Arriving outside the mosque we stood and looked at three monuments that marked the layout of what was a Roman racecourse. It is now a street but in times past chariots would have been racing in that spot in a scene right out of Ben Hur. One of the monuments was actually an obelisk that had been brought from Luxor and set up by the Romans so it made a strange kind of symmetry to see it there after having so recently seen exactly where it came from.

We walked up to the Mosque with its famous six minarets, removed our shoes and placed them in plastic bags to be carried with us. I had assumed that there was some religious reason for having to take our shoes off but the guide said that it was just to keep the carpets inside clean. Kind of a pedestrian reason (pun intended).  The mosque inside was huge, designed with the least number of columns possible and it means that it’s easy to stand and look up at the inside of the massive dome. The mosque is essentially one large room, carpeted so that sounds are softened and don’t have the echoing resonance they might otherwise have in a room that size. The walls are covered in tiles, all with different designs and the guide told a story of the sultan being unable to decide between fifty different samples presented to him and decided to use them all. The overwhelming blue colour of the tiles is what gives the mosque its nickname. Hanging from the ceiling on long cables are large chandeliers that used to be oil lamps but are now electrical. They hang only about eight feet off the ground so that it was possible to light them all in the days of oil and it’s strange to have these hundreds of little glass bowls so close when the dome looms so far above. The day was a bit overcast and the lights weren’t on so the tiles weren’t displayed to their best but it would be a spectacular place with full light.

From the mosque we went back to the bus for a very short drive to Topkapi palace, the seat of the Ottoman Empire. It’s a large complex that is now a museum and public park and we had the opportunity to see the harem and the treasure room as well as a few other areas of a palace that really lives up to the term. The harem was not what I might have expected from the word. I had those clichéd images of women reclining on pillows while large eunuchs fanned them with peacock feathers. That may have been the case somewhere some time but in this case the harem was simply the private part of the palace where the sultan lived. There were women to be sure and certainly eunuchs but the rooms that we saw were just elaborately decorated and extremely large chambers that were once sitting rooms, offices and sleeping quarters. Most of the rooms had large fire places that needed to be tended 24 hours a day in winter to have any hope of keeping the huge rooms warm. We walked through the sultan’s bathroom with its marble and gold accoutrements and went out onto a balcony to see what remained of a large swimming pool. If what we saw was only a fraction of the hundreds of rooms that make up the palace then it would have been an incredibly impressive and overwhelming sight for any visitor in the days when the Sultan called it home.

The treasure rooms had displays of some of the gold and jewellery that the sultans accumulated. From elaborate daggers, giant jewels and golden thrones to a display of clothing it was all impressive, not just for the fact that they were the only heated rooms on the tour. Our guide was extremely good, patient, knowledgeable and unflappable. He guided us through many rooms and always had information on everything we saw and was roundly applauded once we got back to the ship.

After I had dropped off my escort report I went back to my cabin, put on more clothes and headed out. I had a map and little idea of where I wanted to go so I first headed up into the streets above the port. I knew that the “must see” Grand Bazaar was closed on Sunday and that I had been restricted to the ship the day before so I had missed my opportunity to visit it. I had noticed that there were a number of shops and restaurants open around the Blue Mosque and Palace and knew that I could always head there for food and souvenirs but I wanted to see a little of the city first. The streets were quiet but I wandered up and down, took a few photos and found nothing open and very few views. It was interesting to see the architecture but there was no life at this time on a Sunday. Making a decision I wended my way back to the main road and headed for the bridge that would take me to the Palace area.

Along the way I stopped for a kebab and a coffee in a small café. Then I stopped for a coffee and some baklava in another small café. Reaching the bridge I found it covered with fishermen. The bridge itself is a fair way above the water but it didn’t stop hundreds of people from leaning against the railing with a fishing rod in their hand. Occasionally someone would pull in their line and often one or more of the multi hooks would have a small fish flapping on it. The fish would be removed from the hook and put into a variety of containers, most almost overflowing with flapping silvery bodies. The line would then be carefully placed on the ground behind the fisherman and with a whipping action they would fling it forward and out into the river. All of this made it important to keep a wary eye out for whizzing fishing lines and hooks while I made my way over.

On the other side I walked up the hill towards the palace, in search of souvenirs. I spent the next few hours in and out of stores. I was given apple tea by rug sellers despite saying that there was no way that I could afford anything they had to offer. I would answer the standard “where are you from?” question with “New Zealand” , guaranteed 95 times out of 100 to cause confusion, only to have a couple of guys actually start to talk to me in Maori! I bought souvenirs, careful not to spend too much and standing by my “it’s not the item but the memory it provokes” mantra. I had a tea with a man who was doing calligraphy of peoples names and I wondered what it must have been like to visit the Grand Bazaar with its almost 4000 stores in a condensed space. I walked the streets until my hands went numb with the cold and then I made my way back to the ship to try and warm up before work. Along the way I ate various types of bread, corn on the cob, baklava, kebabs, fish in a bread roll with raw onion, tea, coffee and a few things I’m not sure about.

The food was good, the city large and impressive and I would have like to have spent a bit more time getting to know it. I am now getting into a part of the world with intense history and I will be unable to write about all that I see and do in the time I have available. Istanbul is like that and all my impressions are going to have to wait until I get back and I can take the time to put it all down. I’m really wondering how I am going to manage with two days off the ship in Venice without completely overloading my senses.

 

But, suffering as it may have been, I was off to see some of the wonders of the world in one of the most amazing cities in the world. It’s a tough life but someone has to do it.

 

It was an early start, just a very few hours after I went to sleep as it turned out, because we had another drive through the desert to get to Cairo. Going down the gangway with my official tour escort pack on my back and a lunch box provided by the ship clutched firmly in my hand I was surprised at just how cool the temperature was. It was still dark and while it was not cold enough to make me regret only have a t-shirt it was a coolness I’ve certainly never felt in Egypt before and brought home the fact that we were now in the Mediterranean and only a stones throw from Europe. The sky was clear, the temperature was pleasant and you could just tell that it was going to be a good day.

 

The drive through Alexandria was interesting and because of the early hour it was fast. We left the port and drove along the waterfront giving me the opportunity to see the famous harbour that has seen everyone from Caesar to Napoleon. We also drove past the new Library of Alexandria, a building in the modern architectural style that requires explanations before it stops being a collection of odds shapes and angles and you can actually appreciate what sort of statement the architect was trying to make. You can add Alexandria to my ever growing list of places to come back to just for the opportunity to explore this building. The city itself has a strangely European look to it, at least along the harbour. The buildings wouldn’t look out of place around many European town squares and if you could take away the Arabic signs and wash the dust from the facades it could be the other side of the Mediterranean.

 

Through the city and past the oil refineries, the salt marshes and the large construction sites for housing developments advertising how exceptionally green (not environmentally but literally) and family friendly they will be in the future and we were back into the desert. Our guide explained that there had been a program that offered free land along the Alexandria – Cairo road to anyone willing to farm it and produce crops. If they failed to produce after three years then the government would take it back. Obviously many took up the offer and are having some success making a living from what looks to be a very inhospitable place to farmers. It all just brings back into focus what a vital part of Egyptian life the Nile has been both in the past and in the present.

 

Three hours later and we entered the outskirts of Cairo, one of the most amazing cities on earth and one of my favourites. There is such vibrancy to this place that it has to be felt to be appreciated. Even the gridlocked traffic we quickly got caught up in had a fervour with jockeying cars and honking horns mixing with scenes of agriculture on one side of the road and densely packed buildings holding millions of people on the other. The highway snakes around and between the buildings on huge bridges, overpasses and off ramps that bring you from eye level with the upper floors to the depths of canyons between the high-rises. And there is traffic everywhere. It is a city that should be famous for the beauty of its street art. All those white lines painted on the road, fancy give way signs and red and green lights are to be admired for their aesthetic charm only because they sure as hell have no practical function. If you’ve grown tired of the rides in theme parks then jump in a Cairo taxi with a driver in a hurry to get you somewhere and you will learn the true meaning of the word thrill. Mark it down as one of the great must dos of life.

 

We arrived at the museum thanks to the heroic manoeuvrings of our driver and joined the masses of other tourists. Gathering together in the courtyard in front of the building I had a couple of passengers tell me that they were glad that I was so tall and that it would make it easier for them to see the numbered sign I was carrying. Looking around at the milling people getting last minute instructions from their own guides I wondered if I should point out that following my sign may not be the best move if I got lost and had no idea where I was going myself. The last time I visited the Museum it was not anywhere near as crowded as this and I had spent the entire day wandering from room to room at my leisure. Once we got inside it was clear that we wouldn’t have any hope of doing that.

 

The Egyptian Museum in Cairo is a fantastic building. Not so much for any great architectural features or real beauty in itself but just for the contents. This is the real stuff and it fills every available space in a way that seems haphazard at first but is actually arranged in such a way that you are able to follow a chronological tour of Egyptian history. Unfortunately we only had limited time and we could only follow our guide to a couple of significant displays. Pressing through the crowds with a bewildering array of flags and signs being held aloft and various guides struggling to make themselves heard above the other groups around them in an equally bewildering array of different languages made it feel like a session of the UN. We made it to the most famous section of the museum and everyone had the opportunity to join the scrum of people clustered around the golden mask and coffins of Tutankhamen. It’s a clichéd image for sure but it is not to be missed and certainly makes you wonder at the treasures that have been lost over the centuries. I seem to remember reading somewhere that gold is recycled so often that jewellery you buy now may contain portions that have been in items passed down for hundreds of years, so maybe the ring I’m wearing now has some tiny connection to a long lost Pharaohonic horde.

 

After the museum we made our obligatory jewellery store stop but I didn’t bother going inside. Instead I stood on the footpath outside and took photos of the pyramids. That is a really easy sentence to type but the enormity of the situation lifts it to another level. I could look one way and see a city street with its shops and pedestrians and then turn and look up at the pyramids. There were cars whizzing past, a wall with a few trees poking up above it and then, towering over it all, was a pyramid. It was just there as if it was any other city building. Mind blowing.

 

A little further along the road and we had our lunch stop. Our guide explained that the hotel was formally a royal palace and the size of the rooms and the appointments made that clear. The luxuriousness of the surroundings and the fact that it literally stood in the shadows of the pyramids meant that I was sure I would never be able to afford to stay there so I just enjoyed the lavish buffet that had been provided, sat and chatted with the guides while the passengers ate and wondered at those who have the resources to indulge their travel desires.

 

From the hotel we drove across the road, past the pyramids and stopped at a lookout above that gave a panoramic view of all three. This is the iconic view and is also a hot spot for vendors of triangular souvenirs and camel rides. I don’t know how many photos I took from this place but it was a lot. I doubt that there is any view from this point that hasn’t been captured a million times before and I seriously doubt that any photo of mine is in any way unique apart from the one with me in it but it didn’t stop me from snapping off dozens of shots. There is a photo safely tucked away in my electronic memory of me standing in front of the pyramids and I guess that is pretty unique in its own way.

 

From the lookout view we drove to a parking spot at the base of the pyramids and had a short time to walk around, take photos looking up at them and to actually touch them physically. From a photography point of view it was nearly impossible to get shots that didn’t have tour buses or foreign tourists in them so I spent most of my time clambering around and trying to view them from strange angles that would give me that one in a billion shot that would stand out from everyone else’s. I don’t know in the end if I could call them unique but there are a couple that I’m happy with.

 

From the pyramids we moved down to the Sphinx and had to battle our way through a horde of vendors to get to the rock platform that runs along one side and gives you a view of the entire edifice at a height slightly below the shoulder. You can’t touch the sphinx but you can get close enough to throw rocks at it if you are so inclined. The first thing that strikes you is that it is small. But then small is a relative thing and on its own it is impressive but after standing under the pyramids and after having visited the enormous temples of Luxor it can disappoint if you are expecting more. The iconic shot of the sphinx with the pyramids behind is a perfect example of forced perspective and does give a slightly unrealistic expectation of the size. Of course I was careful to get the exact same shot because it is so iconic and shows both edifices off to their best. Sometimes you just have to go with the classics.

 

Up until the Sphinx I had stood by a mental promise I had made to myself not to buy any souvenirs in Egypt. I already have a house full after the last time here and luggage space is already becoming an issue with a lot more of this journey still to go. So much for promises because I caved and bought a couple of things. They’re nice, I swear, it’s just that I probably don’t need them, the photos would have served as reminder enough.

 

 

This was when I remembered a promise I had made to a girl who works in the casino. I’d said that I would find a one pound Egyptian coin for her. I’m not sure exactly what she wanted it for but she was very specific that it had to be a one pound coin and that I would probably have to go to a bank to find one. At this point time was running short to find a bank so I started asking the vendors crowded around me if they had one. Lots of US cash was flashed at me but none of them seemed to be carrying Egyptian money. I pulled out a one dollar note and said I was willing to swap it for a pound coin, a 500% profit for them and eventually I had a nearby policeman come running up with the coin in his hand. He swapped it for the dollar with much satisfaction but also much noisy disappointment from the rest of the crowd.

 

From here it was just a matter of gathering everyone up, getting them on the bus and driving back through the desert to Alexandria and the ship. I managed to get back to my cabin 15 minutes before I was supposed to start work, not much time for anything other than the extreme basics but luckily I work in a cage on my own so I doubt anyone noticed too much.

 

Next up is Turkey and my first taste of Europe, another continent to tick off the list.

 

I have been to Egypt before, spending a month travelling around almost 5 years ago to the day. I loved it then and I always wanted and planned to return. I only wish that I’d had more than one day to do it.

 

We were docked in Safaga, on the coast of the red sea and a long way from the Nile. Safaga is a port city and in itself didn’t hold too many things of interest. The interesting thing was a four hour bus ride away in Luxor. I’d paid extra to do a crew tour to Luxor rather than escort the passenger one like normal and I’m glad I spent the money because it meant that I didn’t have the worry and stress associated with making sure a bus load of people are where they should be, back from where they should be and then returned to the ship like they should be. On the crew tour I was just one of the people on the bus and all I had to worry about was getting myself on and off the bus at the right times and the rest of the time I could relax and be a tourist. With that in mind and a pack loaded with a few bottles of water and a couple of snickers bars I climbed on the bus with about twenty other people from the casino and the shops, we convoyed up with buses containing about six hundred passengers and headed out of the port area.

 

The idea of all the buses travelling in a convoy is one of security. We are escorted by Egyptian police and all the buses string out in a long line behind. It does mean that we zip through check points and even at major intersections the other traffic is stopped so that we can just continue on. It makes the trip that little bit faster but it did make me a little self conscious to see all the cars, trucks and donkey carts stopped and waiting patiently for us to go past. Unsurprisingly as soon as we passed through the town of Safaga we were in the desert. At first it wasn’t the large rolling sand dunes that immediately come to mind but sandy coloured stone canyons that the road wound through. Eventually we broke out of the canyons but even then the desert was more of an untidy collection of dirty coloured sand and sprinklings of darker rock than clean, golden dunes. I’ve been out in the western desert of Egypt and it was the stuff of cliché there but this gave much more of the impression of being a wasteland. Even the railway line that ran beside the road had sand and small rocks blown up against it in drifts.

 

But eventually the desert gave way to town and instead of the railway track we had an irrigation canal running alongside us. This made for a dramatic change in scenery. There was still the distant brown and dusty looking mountains but the ground on either side of the road was now taken over with agriculture and every available piece of land seemed to be growing something. Neat square plots were brimming with green and every so often a pump would be chugging away as it sucked water from the canal and fed it into a series of channels spread among the crops. Many houses seemed to be made from mud brick but the larger brick ones all had reinforcing steel poking from their rooves like rusty weeds, testament to a plan or hope for another story.

 

It was a long drive and the guide tried to keep us entertained with various commentaries about Egypt, past and present, but I think that after 3 hours most were more interested in getting to our first stop. I sat with my ipod on and just stared out the window reminiscing on my past experiences with the country and looking forward to the new ones.

 

Our first stop was at the Valley of the Kings but to get there, having driven in from the east, we had to cross the Nile to the West Bank. The guide didn’t make a comment as we crossed the bridge but I certainly felt that undeniable tingle of excitement as we first saw that most famous of ribbons of water. Admittedly it may not look like the most impressive of rivers at this point, there are others that are wider, faster or more scenic but there is something for this being the Nile. In terms of history, romance and sheer importance in the fabric of human history it ranks right up there with few others. Seeing the Nile again also had a special significance for me because I have a secret project connected directly to the river that has been percolating in the back of my mind for a while. But for the moment it was enough to see the water with the midday sun glinting off it and feluccas tacking their way from bank to bank.

 

We made our way through farmland and villages, donkey drawn carts even more prevalent than vehicles. It seemed like a way of life that, from the bus window at least, is picturesque, charming, rustic and unchanged in living memory. From outside the bus it is undoubtedly a way of life that still has all the challenges that it has always had but despite any hardships or challenges a wave at anyone we passed always brought a smile and a return wave.

 

When we reached the Valley of the Kings the bus squeezed itself into a space among the dozens of others already there, the doors hissed open and we stepped outside. For many it was their first experience of full Egyptian heat. I knew what to expect but it still hit me with a blast that dried my first breath while it was still in my lungs and I could feel a layer of salt developing on my arms as the sweat dried as fast as it could form. This is definitely a place where you drink water even if you don’t feel thirsty because by the time you do you’re already dehydrated. I also know from experience that you don’t carry a bottle around with you intending to drink it later because in this sort of heat you’ll find yourself able to make a cup of tea with it in a very short time. Drink it while it’s cold, buy more and keep drinking. And don’t forget the sunscreen.

 

In terms of the worlds great scenic spots I don’t rate the Valley of the Kings too highly. It is simply a smallish valley winding its way through the desert. There is a sort of rugged beauty and starkness to it but in itself it’s not remarkable. What is remarkable is under the sand and rock. We funnelled our way through the visitor centre and then grabbed seats on the little tram that moves people from there up the valley to the actual tombs. It’s only a short way to another barrier where our ticket is torn and we can enter the surprisingly small area where the tomb entrances are clustered. Our guide had recommended that we visit the tombs of Ramses IV and IX and we took her advice, queuing with all the other people for our chance to file through a metal gate and down into the final resting place of an Egyptian Pharaoh. And that is the thing that you have to keep reminding yourself as you shuffle down the narrow corridor staring at the walls and ceiling while sweat drips relentlessly from your nose in the hot and humid conditions. This is the real deal, not a reconstruction, a documentary on your TV or some Hollywood idealisation. This is so old that it defies belief and the thing that makes it so surreal is the colours. The hieroglyphs are carved into the walls but then the wall has been painted white and each of the symbols has also been painted in bright, vivid, realistic colours. They are still there and still as bright as they may have been the day they were painted. You can visit so many other places in Egypt and touch temples that are as old or older and with them you get a sense of age, of weathering and wear and the passing of the ages but here there is an amazing feeling of freshness. The inside of these tombs in the Valley of the Kings is the closest to a time machine you will ever find because of that sense of intimacy that comes from being able to discern even the finest detail placed there by a long dead artist.

 

From the Valley of the Kings we drove a short way to the Colossi of Memnon, a couple of massive statues of a seated Pharaoh that stand alone amid a field of green crops. Rather than being carved from a mountain or standing on a solid base of rock these were built on dirt and have suffered as a consequence. They have fallen in the past and been reassembled and they look more than a little worse for wear. What makes them remarkable and worthy of a photo stop amid so many sites is the way that they seem to sprout out of a field in someone’s farm and the solitary way that they stand guard over their surrounds.

 

Our next stop was back in Luxor at the Temple of Luxor. In the book I hope I’ll be able to go into much more detail about this temple, words to accompany the pictures, but for now let me say, wow. This is the picture that you get in your mind when you say “Egyptian temple”. It is large, both in breadth and height, the entrance flanked by two enormous seated figures. In fact enormous is a word that will have to accompany everything I write. The columns are enormous, the statues are enormous, the courtyards are enormous and the sense of age is enormous. Hieroglyphs are carved into every available surface in varying degrees of wear and they are there for you to touch and wonder. Some of the columns are broken off at the base and others are complete, towering over your head with thousands of years of solidity. Statues stand in alcoves still staring at the Nile. It’s impossible to do the place justice without being a much better writer than I am and in the limited time I have to write this and get it online I’m not sure I can do an adequate job, let alone do it justice. Just wait for the photos.

 

From there we were driven to Pizza Hut. Hardly ancient or particularly Egyptian it was meant as an opportunity to order food that would be delivered to our next stop, the obligatory jewellery store. The idea was that we would sit in the air conditioning of the jewellery store, eat our pizza and buy things. I didn’t order any pizza and spent my time outside taking photos of the passing parade of people, donkeys, horses and camels. When we got to the jewellery store I had a cursory look inside and then wandered down the street looking for food a little more local. I ended up being called into one restaurant by a trio of traffic police who were sitting outside drinking tea. Only one of them spoke rudimentary English but the age old smiling and pointing tactic gained me a seat with them and a cup of tea of my own. I managed to get across to the owner that I was after local food and I ended up sitting with him and the three cops trying to explain exactly where I was from. We sat there for a while in good humoured harmony while I ate until a police vehicle arrived and my three new friends made a hurried exit back to their assigned positions at an intersection.

 

From the food and jewellery we moved on to our last stop at Karnak temple. This is a structure that dwarfs all others in both size and time taken to construct. It wasn’t built by just one pharaoh to show how important he was but was added to and improved by many subsequent ones giving it a mixture of styles and an oddly irregular shape as each sort to outdo the last. We were there for the light and sound show which started shortly after sunset but we arrived a little early and had an opportunity to run across the road and take photos of the sun setting over the Nile. A few ventured down to stand in the water while other less brave souls stood on the bank. The sun has a truly golden glow through the sandy haze of the western sky, sinking slowly into the land of the dead. Magical.

 

Pulling into the car park at Karnak we joined masses of other people in a large staging area, waiting for full darkness so the show could begin. There was little light so the bulk of the temple wall loomed up above us and the short sphinx lined avenue leading to the entrance was lit from below casting the details on each statue into relief. The first part of the show was impressive. Booming voices would come from hidden speakers and spotlights would illuminate parts of the temple complex, leading us on a walking tour through gateways, between rows of columns and into courtyards. It had an eerie feel to it that would have been much more impressive with a smaller crowd or even on your own. But this was the best part of the show and after being guided through the temple complex we came to a large grandstand built in front of the sacred lake and then we had to sit through a continuation of the light and sound that just seemed to be trying too hard to create an atmosphere that simply wasn’t there when you were so far removed from the buildings. Unfortunately this part dragged on for too long and even I found myself looking at my watch and thinking about the long drive back to the ship.

 

Eventually it ended and everyone streamed out of the temple and back to the waiting buses. Not having to carry a numbered sign or having to rope in stray passengers made it so much easier to find my bus and sink happily into my seat. We loaded up and then drove to a checkpoint, waited for the other buses to form up into our convoy and then headed off. The trip back seemed even longer than the mornings journey and my legs were starting to feel the effects of small space by the time we made it back but we had the company of an almost full moon shining over the desert. We weren’t home until a little after midnight and I had to be up for the early start at work a little later but it was a good day. Maybe not the ideal way to soak up all that there is to offer in a place so full of historical wonder and current charm but at least I’ve managed to return to Egypt.

 

This is a bit of a rushed entry as we hit Alexandria tomorrow and I have another tour, as an escort this time. Looking at our schedule we will be having almost more port days than sea days for the next week or two so I may only have time to make quick entries with impressions rather than details.

 

I really would have liked to have seen India, it seems to be the place that has caused the greatest polarisation among those that did get off. Some loved it; the majority seem to have been unimpressed, to say the least. Some got off in the first port and refused to venture off in the second. Others couldn’t wait and came back with tales of wonder and amazement and wanted to see more. Any place that could generate that sort of wide ranging opinion is something that I would like to see but I’m pretty confident, from some of the stories I’ve been told, that it’s not a place my mother would visit.  But India for me is simply going to be the few things that others have bought for me and a memory of being so close and yet so far.

 

Yesterday was Oman though and the first view I got was from the deck, lined up wearing my lifejacket during a training drill. If I looked past the stacks of shipping containers and out towards the horizon then there was little doubt that we’d arrived in the Middle East. The air was dry and warm and had a dusty haze that softened the brown mountains in the distance. Everything had a dusty look that was less dirt and more a fine layer of sand and there were clumps of palm trees scattered around just outside the port area. Had a camel wandered lazily out from behind some containers I wouldn’t have been at all surprised.

 

After the drill was dismissed we all trooped back to our cabins and 4 of us met in the corridor, deciding to share a cab into town having been told that fares were expensive and that it was quite a way. Down the gangway we first had to be taken by shuttle bus to the port gate and then we had to wade through the pack of taxi drivers waiting for fares. Negotiating what turned out to be a good deal ($30 for the four of us for three hours) we got into the cab and set out. The roads were good, wide, well maintained and with surprisingly little traffic. For an oil rich country there didn’t seem to be many vehicles moving about but Salalah isn’t the capital (that’s Muscat) and I’m not sure how many people live in Oman so I it may be unfair to have expected Singapore or Hong Kong like crowds. Houses were large, pale coloured and built in a style that screamed Arabic as soon as you saw them. Many places had large walls around them and the largest was around the palace of the Omani Sultan. Having been born in Salalah he prefers to reside here rather than the capital and the brief glimpse we got of the palace as we drove slowly past was impressive. It must be nice to be the Sultan.

 

We also drove past the impressive looking beach with a number of large resort hotels set up to take advantage of the white sand and blue water. Salalah has a temperate climate compared to much of the Middle East and attracts tourists from many countries during the hotter times of the year.

 

 Our first stop was to be the “old souk”, a place we were told we could buy souvenirs but before that there was much excitement at our first sight of camels. Someone spotted them just standing a little way off the road in the empty space between some houses and immediately there was a lot of pointing and exclaiming, much to the amusement of our driver who, it turned out, owned a few camels himself. He kept them for milk and occasionally for meat and he explained that these weren’t wild camels so much as ones owned and just let free to graze. It may have seemed strange and photo worthy to us to have camels wandering unconcerned through what was essentially peoples urban backyards but to him was something not worth noticing.

 

The souk turned out to be more a collection of small shops lining a regular street than the impression you might have of a Middle Eastern marketplace. There were a few other tourists wandering about but not much other activity. The majority of the shops seemed to be selling perfumed oils or frankincense and since a frankincense burner kit was the one thing that I wanted to buy I turned out to be spoilt for choice. The aromas were wonderful though, with each shop burning frankincense both inside and outside in an attempt to lure buyers. I have to explain that I have no religious affiliation at all so the smell was a new one to me but I have since been told that it reminded everyone else of the incense burnt in churches and since frankincense was one of the gifts that the wise men brought for Jesus I guess that makes sense. The little kit included a burner, charcoal, scented oil and frankincense and set me back the princely sum of $3 so I was pretty happy. In fact I was so happy I ended up splurging on a small silver jewellery box embossed in an Arabic design.

 

From the souk we drove around the town with a couple more photo stops in front of impressive buildings or at a small road side stand selling fruit and vegetables. Despite the arid surroundings there are large patches of garden growing bananas, coconuts and various other fruits I was unfamiliar with and a stop at one stand gave us a chance to try a few things. As we entered the town proper it struck me as being very quiet, few people out walking the streets and many of the businesses seeming to be closed. I not really sure why this was and the limited English of our driver made it impossible to ask him complicated questions. I’m not sure if it was a special day, if it was the off season or if it was normal but the wide and sandy streets were quiet and the whole place had a feeling like it was a holiday and everyone had gone somewhere else or was at home.

 

After a short stop at a supermarket while the girls bought groceries we asked the driver to take us somewhere that we could get local food. We ended up at a restaurant having one of the best meals I’ve had in a while. I chose the mixed grill, hoping it would provide a good cross section and it certainly did. There was a variety of meat, bread and dips and everything was presented in an immaculate way. A bit of swapping was done from one plate to another so we could get a better variety and some things were wrapped in napkins and put in purses for later. The bill arrived and even with tip it only cost us $10 each, a real bargain for all that we got plus the priceless atmosphere.

 

From the restaurant it was back to the ship with just one quick stop to chase some camels down a street on foot trying to get a photo. Back at the port we paid off our driver and headed into the air conditioning. It may have taken me some time for me to get off the ship but it turned out to be a day well worth waiting for.