So Much For Health and Transparency
It started during COVID. Politicians and their Administrations stopped publicizing statistics when the stats revealed their government was doing little or nothing to prevent spread of disease. Now, under the cover of cost reductions and eliminating fraud they are gutting the agencies that maintain the statistics and restricting publications of what few statistics are being gathered. Fortunately, private institutions and individuals are watching, keeping track, and doing their best to keep a vulnerable population informed.
British Isles: We Become THOSE People 😳
This was one of those days full of the unexpected. Our plan was to have breakfast and grab an early cruise shuttle to Greenwich. AdventureMan has done his homework; we like to have a little wine and cheese of our own choice in our cabin, and we want to try some more English cheeses, so he has found a specialty shop, and we know how to get there.
We go out at 9:00, as the schedule says, to catch the shuttle boat, and no one seems to know anything about it. We look around, but all we find is a bridge to the pier with a gate across it, locked and impenetrable. As we start back, a Viking tour person is running towards us and tells us that the boat will arrive at 10, so we wait, and others who want to take advantage of the shuttle arrive and wait with us.
We had an odd experience – before the others arrived, we met a British man who looked healthy and happy and we started talking. He told us he was in rehab, and recovering from years of alcoholism. We learned a lot about his former life – he was successful, and somehow managed his alcoholism, but it was ruining his marriage and his health, and his doctor told him that rehab was his only choice for living a full life. It took a while for him to make that decision, but he is so full of joy telling his story. A deeply cynical part of me was thinking he was going to hit us up for some money, but as it turned out, he was immensely wealthy, and now he was becoming healthy and had clarity for the first time in years. He was a new man. It way an inspirational conversation, waiting for that shuttle to arrive.
The shuttle arrived, we said goodbye to our new friend, a uniformed security person unlocked the gate and we boarded the chartered Uber boat. And then we sat there; something had happened to the groups going to Greenwich for their walking tours and we had to wait for them. It was nearly an hour before they arrived, and we were wondering if we could do this and still make our 2:00 tour to the Tower of London. We decided it would be tight, but we could do it.
Below; the Cutty Sark
Arriving in Greenwich, we rushed off the boat, and walked as fast as we could to the Cheeseboard, where AdventureMan had a great conversation with the young man who did their website (how we learned about this shop) and was very helpful, providing us with four cheeses and descriptions printed on the label so we would know what we were eating. He also provided two very good bottles of wine from Bleye, one red, one white, and we were on our way to catch the shuttle back. We were able to get on, and thought we were home free, but the ship slowed several times, maybe fighting the tide, and stopped one time to pick up supplies for their on-board snack shop, so we began to accept we would not get back in time for our tour.
We docked at two oh two. Just two minutes too late. But our tickets for the tour were in our stateroom, and we were supposed to meet at 1:45 so we were just too late, and figured we would console ourselves in the spa.
A Viking tours person was at the gate as we came it. “Have the tour buses for the Tower of London left?” we asked, and she said yes, the last just left. We headed to the boat, but were interrupted by another Viking tour person, standing by a bus who asked if we were the people supposed to be on the London Tower Tour, and we said yes, we were – and asked if this was the bus? She said yes, we told her we didn’t have our tickets and she said it was all right, Viking would manage it. A miracle! We were last on the bus and sat in the way back, happy just to be on board.
Oh wait. Not so fast. The guide tells us we are too late, we are not going on this bus. Like the bus is already late, WE are the problem, and we are standing there. I said meekly “I think we are on this bus. You need to talk to the Viking rep who just directed us here.” And he made us exit the bus while he and the Viking rep had a spirited discussion. We get it. We don’t even have our tickets with us! We are the problem, and we hate to miss the tour but we get it.
The Viking rep convinces him to take us, so we straggle onto the bus, again, and make our way to the rear, not looking anyone in the eye. We have become THOSE people, people so inconsiderate that their lateness has made the whole bus wait. Oh the agony!
We are so glad it worked out this way. During the ride back into London, the skies suddenly cleared, we had blue skies, the crowds at the Tower were less than two days ago when we had lunch there, and we had a superb Blue Badge tour guide who really knew his history, and even better, knew how to make it interesting. We had time on our own – most went to see the jewels. I’d seen them other trips, I wanted to see the White Tower, which I climbed all the way to the top. I loved the interior spaces. Built in 1070 by William the Conqueror, it had an unexpected graciousness even though its purpose was defensive. AdventureMan spent his equally happy time in the Fusiliers Museum, and we met up with happy hearts for a time well spent in areas we love. It was a very long day. We got back late, and happy. As it turned out, people were not so angry with us, we all got along, and we made friends with the guide, who really was terrific.
Inside The White Tower – military equipment and beautiful spaces!
(detail on a painting in White Tower: “Detail of the earliest known image of the White Tower showing the building’s exterior. The view includes a cutaway to reveal people in an invented interior. From a late 15th century collection of poems by Charles, Duke of Orleans, British Library) Royal MS 16F11:173” (?)
Just look at this glorious day!
I love the juxtaposition of it all, sometimes.
You just never know how a day is going to turn out. Sometimes the things you have the greatest excitement about go bust – something just isn’t right. And some days which seem designed from the beginning to disappoint turn out just the opposite – and this was one of those. Yes, we were late; we were those horrible late people. And despite it, we had a great time in Greenwich, met a great young man who loves his wares and knows how to make a sale, and we had a bonus – we got to take the Tower of London tour with a great guide on a gorgeous sunny afternoon. Yeh. We suffered some embarrassment. It was humbling. We survived.
When we got back we had a message from our friends that they were at dinner in the place where we meet up, and we exchanged news of our day – they were at the Churchill War Room and War Museum, deeply meaningful day for them. Dinner was all the better for great conversation, and we split up early for sail-away, knowing we had early departures for our tour reaching Dover.
British Isles: We Transfer to the Viking Jupiter
Morning came too early, the bag handlers must have started with our room! Promptly at six, the bell rang and AdventureMan had to struggle out of bed to let them in. Fortunately we were able to get back to sleep, and slept until our alarm went off. We headed down to breakfast – no room for us! We had to wait for a table, about twenty minutes, and we had not factored that in. By the time we finished, we barely had time to rush back to our room, gather our carry-ons, and head down to the hotel lobby where we were just in time. As AdventureMan checked out, our group was called. I was one of the first to board the bus and headed to a seat halfway back where we like to sit for the unimpeded view. Just behind me another couple, who as they sat behind us said a little sourly “you got our favorite seat.” Oooh kay. AdventureMan found me, and we had an hour long ride to Tilbury, not Greenwich, where the fun began.
First, we have great admiration for and understanding of the logistics involved in last minute changes, so the awkwardness of the explanations and arrangements were not surprising, but the London Cruise Port was not ready to board a few hundred people. Our buses were stacked up, and after the one hour drive, we sat another hour on the bus. Some of the passengers got testy and argumentative, and finally they let a lucky few off to find the toilets, with the understanding that they must come right back.
Our group was called, not to line up but to sit in the terminal. Maybe fifteen minutes later (we learned there was another couple from Pensacola on board) our area was called to process in – or embark, as they call it. That process was quick, with one surprise, we had to surrender our passports, which we never do, for British immigration and customs.
And then we boarded another bus which took us to a dismal part of the port, surrounded by piles of stones and dirt and cranes and bulldozers and roll on roll off containers and thousands of Hyundai cars awaiting delivery to dealerships.
We were disappointed. We had made plans for Greenwich. We unpacked, put everything away – it’s easy on Viking, we ask for the same stateroom every trip and we know where everything goes already, so unpacking is quick. We decided to go to the pool grill, where a better me would have ordered the seared ahi tuna, but the spoiled baby disappointed me ordered comfort food, the Viking hamburger. With fries!
To further soothe ourselves, when we got back to our room we went down to the gorgeous Viking spa, the only people there, and let the hot bubbling wave pool soothe our disappointment, then we napped.
We have old friends on board! We met up for dinner; these are the kind of friends that, even though we haven’t seen one another for three years, the conversation picks right up where we left off and just keeps going. We ate in the World Cafe, picking and choosing from a fabulous welcome buffet, lots of seafood, crab and shrimp and mussels! There was also a sweet potato soup with ginger that was out of this world, and of course, a choice of ten different ice creams. It’s one of the most popular places on the ship, casual with a luxury of choices.
Bernie, who, with Augustina, below, took good care of us and were a joy to know on the Viking Jupiter.
After dinner, the ship repositions to the main terminal, grand entertainment as we turned in tight quarters, then slid through a tiny canal to the locks leading to the River Thames. It took a couple of hours to complete the process. Out on our balconies, we met our neighbors on both sides, Will and Kate on one side. We dock with our cabin facing the terminal, an old-timey building with a clock tower on top.
Look how close the ship is to the canal edge!
Here is the truth. We were disappointed. We had been told we would be docked in Greenwich; Tillbury is a ways down the road from Greenwich, and more distant from London. We were prepared for Greenwich. We were both a little disgruntled, and aware of how very spoiled we are. Another truth is, until I re-read the journal I kept, and saw the photos, I had forgotten about this altogether, it was such a small disappointment in proportion to the great adventures we had in London and the greater adventures to come. We forgot about it!
When the News is Personal
MARTYRS OF THE SUDANS
(16 May 1983)
Photo From the Episcopal News Service
The Christian bishops, chiefs, commanders, clergy and people of Sudan declared, on May 16, 1983, that they would not abandon God as God had revealed himself to them under threat of Shariah Law imposed by the fundamentalist Islamic government in Khartoum. Until a peace treaty was signed on January 9, 2005, the Episcopal Church of the Province of the Sudan suffered from persecution and devastation through twenty-two years of civil war. Two and a half million people were killed, half of whom were members of this church. Many clergy and lay leaders were singled out because of their religious leadership in their communities. No buildings, including churches and schools, are left standing in an area the size of Alaska. Four million people are internally displaced, and a million are scattered around Africa and beyond in the Sudanese Diaspora. Twenty-two of the twenty-four dioceses exist in exile in Uganda or Kenya, and the majority of the clergy are unpaid. Only 5% of the population of Southern Sudan was Christian in 1983. Today over 85% of that region of six million is now mostly Episcopalian or Roman Catholic. A faith rooted deeply in the mercy of God has renewed their spirits through out the years of strife and sorrow.
From the proposal before the 75th General Convention
We have a friend in South Sudan, Manyan Debid Mayer. We met him with a delegation of African Journalists here in Pensacola looking at Freedom of the Press with Gulf Coast Diplomacy. He came to our house, with two other African delegates, shortly before Christmas, and we had a lovely and memorable evening together sharing our stories.
Manyan Debid told us about his childhood, as the Janjaweed attacked in Sudan, and how very suddenly, often in the middle of the night, an entire village would have to evacuate, carrying only what they could carry on their backs. It was chaotic, terrifying – and deadly. Villages would be burned and razed to the ground.
The villagers would run towards the missions in Uganda for safety. Sometimes families got separated. The children found shelter, and care, at the missions while they waited to be reunited with their desperate parents. At the missions, the priests would teach the children the basics, using a stick, and drawing letters, shapes and numbers on the ground. Manyan Debid, now a journalist, got his start with those very basic lessons at the mission churches.
We Americans know so little. Few even know where South Sudan is, or that it is a separate nation from Sudan, one of the newest nations in the world.
I got caught in a comical situation as I tried to wire funds to Manyan Debid once during continued difficulties in South Sudan. I went to my bank and asked them to wire x amount of money to my friend. They looked at me oddly. They called the bank manager, and had hushed conversations. The manager came in and interrogated me very gently, asking how I know this person, did he contact me over the internet, how often did he ask me for money, questions that were none of his business – except, as it turns out, it was. They thought I was an old lady being scammed by some internet scammer. Did I even know, they asked me, that Sudan was on the restricted countries list?
I explained equally gently and firmly that South Sudan is a separate country from Sudan, and how I knew this man, how we had met in Pensacola through a visit arranged by the Department of State, how he had been a guest in my house and that we had corresponded as friends, on Facebook for years. They didn’t believe me. They didn’t believe there was a separate country called South Sudan. At the end, I finally had to tell them it was MY money, and that I could send him this amount and even if it were a scammer, it would not hurt me. Very reluctantly, they wired the funds to my friend.
Manyan Debid and I are still in touch. Today, he is a working journalist in South Sudan, still bravely facing the forces who would like to take South Sudan, and all its oil wealth, and destroy the existence of South Sudan.
There are still martyrs in South Sudan. And most Americans don’t even know South Sudan exists.
Morocco Malta and the Med: Cadiz, An Unexpected Thrill
Too early for sunrise, not yet in Cadiz, and not allowed out on the deck – maybe high winds?
So this is the Explorer’s Lounge, where I hand out early in the morning, catching up with e-mails and Lectionary readings so I don’t wake AdventureMan.
I have a friend who brings me coffee and says “Madam! The sun is about to come up!” I can’t go outside, but shooting through the window works out. We are still not in Cadiz, plenty of time.
This yellowish haze is disturbing, and it is everywhere. Finally the sun sort of breaks through.
Shortly after breakfast, we approach Cadiz.
So here is the first unexpected blessing. This is the view from our stateroom:
This changes everything. We had booked a walking tour of Cadiz. We cancel it. We are so close we can visit everything on our own, at our own pace, and find a place for lunch.
From Google Earth:
Cádiz is an ancient port city in the Andalucia region of southwestern Spain. The home of the Spanish Navy, the port boomed in the 16th-century as a base for exploration and trade. It has more than 100 watchtowers, including the iconic Torre Tavira, which was traditionally used for spotting ships. On the waterfront is the domed, 18th-century Cádiz Cathedral, featuring baroque and neoclassical elements.
And this is what Cadiz looks like – a narrow isthmus and a quick walk from one side to the other. We are docked in the port to the North east, facing the Cadiz Cathedral.
It is just the kind of place we love – great for walking, lots to see, and we can do this on our own!
From Wikipedia: Admiral Blas de Lezo y Olavarrieta (3 February 1689 – 7 September 1741) was a Spanish navy officer best remembered for the Battle of Cartagena de Indias (1741), where Spanish imperialforces under his command decisively defeated a large British invasion fleet under Admiral Edward Vernon.
Throughout his naval career, Lezo sustained many severe wounds; he lost his left eye, left hand, complete mobility of the right arm, and had his left leg amputated in situ after being hit by the projectile of a cannon.[1] He perceived his wounds and physical limitations as medals, refusing to wear an eye patch to hide his blind eye. Wearing his past battles history on his flesh won the respect of his peers and soldiers.[2] Lezo used to say that the lack of a leg does not imply the lack of a brave heart. It is said that he sometimes recalled famous Dutch admiral Cornelis Jol, called “pegleg” because of his wooden prosthesis, as an example of a sailor who undertook great enterprises and achieved great renown, especially in piracy and privateering, despite his theoretical disability.[3]
Lezo’s defense of Cartagena de Indias against a vastly larger British fleet consolidated his legacy as one of the most heroic figures in the history of Spain. He is often recognized as one of the greatest strategists in naval history.[4][5]
We really can’t get lost in Cadiz:
The Christmas Market going up:
The Cadiz Mariner’s Church and mission
You would think below might be a church, or a mosque, but it is actually a private school for boys.
“To Sing is to Pray twice!”
We’ve learned something from our time in Barcelona searching for a hair brush (which, by the way, I had not lost. AdventureMan was right, it is a small brush and it was hiding in the bottom of my purse.) Now I’ve broken my hair clip, which keeps my hair out of my eyes and face while I am swimming or sleeping. It is totally broken, the wire snapped, it is useless. But as we pass this store below, I can hear the Barcelona hairdressers saying “China shop! China shop!”
China Shops are not always called China shop, but you can always tell from the outside because they are crammed with goods, and local people are inside buying what they need. I found a ton of hair clips, and I think I paid 79 pence (less than $1) for a hair clip. I hated to leave. They had a huge inventory of Christmas items, things I don’t need, thinks I can’t pack, but what if I never see them again? I only buy the hair clip, and am proud of myself, but with mixed feelings.
Then AdventureMan spots this store across the street with the most amazing display of PlayMobile figures. I was about to drift by, but he made me stop and pay attention, and I was blown away. If only I had little grandchildren and could justify buying them!
We’ve been hiking around Cadiz all morning, and we are ready to have lunch. We look and look for the right place – not too grand, not too stuffy, but with good local food. Finally, sigh, we settle for a place that is also full of Spanish tourists, so a tourist place, but Spanish tourists.
One funny thing happened here; a large group, maybe 12 mobility-impaired people and caretakers, came in, and a table was put together for all of them, and they got menus while one woman took her husband to the washroom. They kept not ordering. When the couple got back, they all got up and left.
We ordered tourist stuff – fish, grilled peppers, paella. It was good and we had a great time watching all the people pass by.
We have to be very careful not to catch this woman’s eye; she is soliciting tourists to buy hand made “African” bracelets, but what catches my eye is her headdress and clothing. When the police show up, she fades away quickly.
As we sit here eating lunch, we see group after group of Viking passengers pass by.
After we eat, we head up the street, only to discover our next blessing which is also a little disappointing, but oh well, it is what it is. Around the corner, if we had just gone a little bit further is the open market! It is colorful, and full of fresh beautiful vegetables, meats and seafood. AdventureMan needs to try some local sherry.
We leave the market, wandering our way back towards the ship. AdventureMan spotted an ice cream shop he wants to try. I got a very black chocolate ice cream, maybe the most chocolaty ice cream I had ever eaten. I think he can’t remember which he had, perhaps a cherry, but he says it “was all good. We had some good ice cream on that trip.”
We take our time heading back to the ship. Cadiz is so walkable, so much fun.
You can quickly go through the rest. I fell in love with our view and the sun setting behind the Cadiz Cathedral, our last thrill for the day in Cadiz before sail away.
I think this is the night we eat in the ship’s Italian restaurant, Manfredi’s. We had reservations for another night but canceled them when we discovered it was French night at the World Cafe.
The food was pretty good. People compete for these reservations. Our perception is that we have equally good Italian food other places, often better.
We also have discovered this about ourselves – we like food, and we are both a little on the attention deficit side. Sitting for a long time in a restaurant being served makes us restless. We really like the World Cafe; many of the foods are the same ones served in the Dining Room and the specialty restaurants without the time-consuming service. We can also exercise control over the serving sizes and sample something we might like to try but might not like to eat. We like getting up and walking, and we like that if there is something we like a lot, we can go back and get a little bit more. The World Cafe works well for us.
Morocco Malta and the Med: Casablanca and El Jadida
I can’t be staying in bed when we are coming into port in a new city.
This was seriously disturbing.
That mist looks sulfuric!
We are warned that Casablanca is an industrial port. No kidding!
Quick breakfast and we are off to El Jadida, an old Portuguese fortress city. We were actually here ten years ago on our very first cruise, The Moors in Spain and Morocco. We really love Morocco. One year we came here at Christmas, which was also Ramadan, rented a car and drove all around Morocco with our son. We had such a great time.
Our guide tells us this area near El Jadida is famous for raising horses for racing and showing.
Me and my stone walls!
Getting close to El Jadida:
An old Portuguese Catholic Church in El Jadida. The people around Casablanca make it a point to discuss frequently how tolerant the area is, with Jewish and Christian populations as well as Muslim and Berber. Our guide was proudly Berber.
We had been warned that the beautiful old Portuguese Cisterns were closed for restoration, so the photo below is the exterior only, but I have a treat for you. Below the shot of the exterior is a photo of the interior I took ten years ago. I still love to look at it. The cisterns are so beautiful as well as functional.
I don’t consider this cheating; I consider it . . . um . . . illustrating. . . or embellishing to show you what you might see when you go to El Jadida.
Below are Moroccan silk weavings.
I believe this is the old Jewish bakery.
When you read old histories or bible stories about prisoners being cast into a well, it could look a lot like this:
This picture below is hilarious because I am wearing an expensive pair of shoes that I find clunky. The trip description said it was challenging, with uneven hikes, rocks, and hills. It was a very mild hike; I could have worn my sandals.
My husband took this photo below; he loved the contrast of the drawing of the cisterns and the laundry hung to dry over the cisterns.
It’s going to be a couple hours ride back to the ship, but the guide has a treat for us – “Snacks” at a local restaurant, part of the tour, no extra charge. The small restaurant was just big enough to hold all of us, had a nice clean restroom and place to wash up, and served these delicious sandwiches, followed by a selection of house baked Moroccan cookies, and Turkish coffee or Mint Tea. The owner and his wife were so hospitable. They made us feel like very special guests. It really was a treat!
As we sail away from Casablanca, that same ship continues to be surrounded with that yellow steamy cloud.
For us, we have seen everything we wanted to see. We think Cadiz and Malaga will be pretty tame after the excitement of Ajaccio, Malta, Tunis and Algiers. (We were wrong!)
Morocco Malta and the Med: Algiers!
We are excited. Algiers is one of the reasons we booked this tour, knowing that things can happen, and that for political reasons, or because of weather, it might not really happen. When you travel, you just have to accept that things are not always going to work out.
(On this trip, by the grace of God, every single thing worked out.)
It’s still dark, and we are sailing into the harbor at Algiers. On the hill I see – A Christmas Tree??!! No, as it turns out, this is a memorial to the martys of the war, the Algerian war for freedom from the French.
Algiers is the only port in which I heard the call to prayer. It was hauntingly beautiful. The mosques do not all start at the same time, so there is a kind of cacaphonic beauty from a large number of prayers going up at the same time.
The Hall of Honor is where we process through to get to our buses.
We used to see these “Palm Trees” in Kuwait, really communication towers.
You may be thinking, “Some of the photos here are not the quality we expect!” So, I will explain that I am shooting as fast as I can, surrounded by people I am trying to keep out of my shots, so I can give you an idea of what we are seeing. There is one group after another, all holding up their cameras, getting in one another’s shots. I try to stay ahead or behind, but trust me, the pressure is on. Each group is about twenty-five people, each group with five poorly disguised armed guards, trying to not look like armed guards. They turned out to be really nice guys. Trying to keep American tourists in a line going at a steady pace is a thankless task.
To me it was a little weird that every rectangular plastic basket I saw was purple.
I find some of these construction techniques and electrical wiring workarounds concerning.
We are taken to a hospitality villa, where they serve fresh dates, mint tea from fresh mint leaves, and fresh baked cookies and pastries.
We think our guide is terrific. First, we love that he showed up in old traditional garb (which we learned he had specially made for this very purpose.) He is full of great information, very patient with his flock, and somehow he manages to get us all going in the same direction and is able to keep us somehow together.
I love this photo. The shopkeeper, trying to keep his street clean and orderly; the donkey, picking up garbage on the street impossible for a garbage truck (and with steps!) and our guide in his traditional garb.
I believe this is the shop that made the traditional outfit for our guide.
I am betting this is the fish market.
Now I am pretty sure it is the fish market!
We reboard the ship. We can’t get off again. We are really glad we chose the Casbah walking trip, we feel we got a good feel for that part of town. We never felt hostility, only curiosity, even though a huge crowd of Americans in groups of twenty-five on the narrow, normally quiet pedestrian streets must have been disruptive.
For many of the people who chose this trip, the terrain was challenging. It was stone, sometimes slippery due to sand or moisture. The steps were uneven, the stones rough and irregular. For many, the poverty was distressing, and the dirtiness and disorderlyness made them uncomfortable. I think, too, that it would have been good to let them do a little shopping, good for the tourists and good for the Algerian merchants, but the security concerns were so great that tourists were not given any time to interact with the people or the economy. Too bad. We learned that Algiers will not be included in future Morocco Malta and the Mediterranean trips.
I think, too, maybe it felt familiar to us because the slice of Algiers that we saw was very like Tunisia in the late 1970s, and it was at first a challenge to us, but we learned and adjusted.
Farewell, Algiers!
Morocco Malta and the Med: Revisiting Life in Tunis
Sunrise getting close to Tunis.
You may be a little hazy on where Tunisia is:
We recognize Carthage and Sidi Bou Said, but everything is so much more built up.
Saint Louis Cathedral up on the hill, we remember. Oh wow, Wikipedia tells me it is no longer a cathedral: Since 1993, the cathedral has been known as the “Acropolium”. It is no longer used for worship, but instead hosts public events or concerts of Tunisian music and classical music. Currently, the only Roman Catholic cathedral operating in Tunisia is the Cathedral of St. Vincent de Paul in Tunis.[1] Hunh. Acropolium.
We had exactly the day we needed in Tunis, thanks to this fine man, Noureddine Boukari. We found him through Tours by Locals, and he corresponded with us to determine exactly what we wanted to see and experience in our precious few hours in Tunis.
He was there to pick us up as we exited the boat. He took us directly downtown, along Habib Bourgiba to the Central Market and the souks as they were opening. It was a great beginning; the Central Market hasn’t changed much in forty years; people can still find the freshest fish and local vegetables as they do their daily shopping.
LOL this thrilled my heart!
This was so much fun for me – probably because as a young wife, shopping for food was challenging at first – buying by weight in the markets, always carrying our own bags to put our vegetables in. I have so many hilarious stories, mostly because I was so ignorant, and had to learn new ways.
Noureddine introduced us to friends who were shopkeepers, and they had a great time talking with AdventureMan.
As I type this up, I hear the words in French and Arabic for eggs, parsley, pumpkins – it comes roaring back, words I haven’t used in a while.
And we head for the souks, which are just opening. The whole medina area is SO clean now!
The Hotel Royal Victoria on the right used to be the British Embassy a long time ago, right at the main entry to the souks.
I didn’t do a lot of shopping on this trip, but I found in these souks a beautiful silk scarf hand woven in Mahdia for my daughter-in-law and a huge red sefsari in the old pattern for the woman who stays in our house and cares for the cats while we are gone, and who, like me, loves textiles.
These date pastries/cookies are so delicious. Noureddine is taking a box to his family.
Our chariot awaits. We drive around Tunis and arrive at the Bardo just as all the tour groups are leaving. Noureddine leads us through the centuries of mosaics. The Bardo is more beautiful and more organized than it was all those years ago.
The Bardo itself is a former palace. Now it holds priceless mosaics taken from ruins of houses built throughout Tunisian history (Tunis, Carthage, Dougga, Kairoan, Djerba – it is impressive.)
The imagination and the execution of the work is exquisite.
Below is an intricate ceiling.
View of Tunis from the Bardo Palace.
A treasure discovered with hundreds of gold coins and one silver coin (at the bottom).
Ancient Punic Gods. Some are really hideous.
This is the house where once we lived, but not in this house, in the house that used to be there. I am glad Noureddine found the address, but it is not the house where we lived. But it IS on the way to Carthage and Sidi Bou Said, and to a delightful lunch of bric, and couscous.
Brik!
Fresh fish, which Noureddine skilfully deboned for us.
Vegetable couscous. I’ve never tasted carrots as delicious as those grown in Tunisia.
We have a lovely walk around Sidi Bou Said before heading back to the ship.
On return to the Viking Saturn, as instructed, we had our shore passes out and ready to give to the official collecting them. But there was no official collecting them! No one was collecting them! We still have them! Just in case.
The sun is setting over Tunis.
As we sail away, a flock of gulls trail us, hoping for a hand out!
Just in case you are, like me a map person, this is a general idea of the route we took today:
Morocco Malta and the Med, Day 2, A Nightime Adventure
Fresh from our nap and not sure where we want to eat, we head out to accomplish a small errand. I have discovered I have lost my hairbrush. This is an emergency. Brushing hair is a must do! AdventureMan is sure I have misplaced it, so I look again, and it is nowhere to be found. But how hard can it be to buy a hairbrush?
Harder than we thought. We pop into a couple grocery stores, where they have everything, everything except hair brushes. We head into the side streets, where I find a hair salon and go in to buy a hairbrush. This turned into a real comedy. They couldn’t understand me, so I spoke French, and they got the brush part they were very concerned. I finally figured out they had no appointments for me, they thought I wanted my hair brushed. I kept trying to explain. AdventureMan left to see if he could find anything, but came back and we were still trying to figure it out. Finally, they understood I wanted to buy a brush, but they didn’t have any for sale. They were so kind, and by the time we finished, the entire shop was engaged in trying to help me.
“China! China” and they pointed to the right, and then to the left. “China!”
We never found the China shop, but AdventureMan found a Pakastini shop that carried a little of everything and spoke Arabic; he just reached behind him, pulled out a brush and it was great. First problem solved.
Now, where to eat? We are not out on the main street, but these back streets are intriguing. Like this is where real people are living, buying groceries (and hairbrushes) and there are restaurants, not fancy, but we walk until AdventureMan finds one he wants to try.
We go in and find a table and ask for menus, and a table of guys drinking next to us starts raising a ruckus and looking at us. It’s hard to be a stranger.
The manager or bartender admonishes them lightly and takes our order.
I am thinking it might not be the right time to be eating, maybe it is only time for drinking and maybe little tapas until dinner time, which in Spain is a lot later. But we order, and everything seems OK.
AdventureMan orders a Fisherman’s Soup, and I order a different kind of soup, and we share a plate of grilled peppers. The soups are some of the best food we had on the trip.
I ended up with a soup that was white beans and some kind of pork, hammy pork, and vegetables. The broth was flavorful, probably had more salt than we normally use, so it was delicious. AdventureMan’s soup took the prize, though. Full of fish and shellfish, with a broth that could almost stand up, it was so strong.
If we hadn’t gone off the main road looking for a hairbrush, we would never have ended up in this little neighborhood pub place with its delicious soups!
It’s a risk. We went against conventional wisdom. The streets were darker, and smaller, and might not have been so safe – Barcelona IS a big city. The walk back to the hotel was a little bit scary, but nothing happened, and we had a small adventure and a really good local meal. As we passed the hair salon, they were still open, so I waved my hairbrush in victory, and the hairdresser came out and hugged me in joy and said something (I have no idea what,) but she was joyful with me. I call that a great adventure.
Morocco Malta and the Med: Our First Lucky Day
Everything had gone so smoothly. All our preparations, packing, the taxi driver lined up. And then, just before we are to leave home, a text from Air France, cancelling our flight with them and putting us on a Delta flight. Not a tragedy, but a disappointment; we always try to book Air France because their service is so welcoming, the food is delightful, and we just feel like the vacation starts as soon as we step aboard. So we know we will have to deal with it when we get to the airport.
We are checking in, and explain to the Delta check-in lady that we had the text, which had not yet shown up on her machine. She started poking around, and said “Mind if I make a phone call?” and we said “no, go ahead” and she talked with someone somewhere and looked at us and said “How would you like to fly directly from Atlanta to Barcelona?”
“YES!” we chimed together! We had wanted that direct flight, but Viking Air had said it was not possible. With just a few flicks of her fingers on the keys, it was entirely possible. Wow! We were blown away. We would get in several hours earlier than we had thought; more time in Barcelona!
What we didn’t know at the time was that we would not be sitting together, but it didn’t matter. We had a great flight, got some sleep and landed hours early in Barcelona.
For some reason, the bags took forever to get from the plane to the baggage delivery, like a full hour. We picked up my bag (AdventureMan did his entire trip out of his carry-on and backpack) and headed out to meet up with the Viking transport.
Two people with clipboards looked for our names – and we were not there! Finally a third person said “Oh! I’ve been looking for you; you are on our bus and we are leaving now!” so we went with a very small group to the bus. It was a small bus, filled mostly with elderly passengers with mobility issues, and us. We got to the Nobu hotel very quickly, and checked in.
“We’ve given you a very large room,” the porter said, and it was. We had a large sleeping area, a separate sunny sitting room, a dressing room/office, and a generous bathroom. It felt very spacious.
We settled in, took a brief rest, then headed out to get to know our neighborhood. AdventureMan had spotted a circular something, a mall, on the map near the Plaza d’Espana and wanted to go see what it was. I was actually not enthusiastic, but once we got walking I perked up and was glad for the exercise and the fresh air.
This was the circular “thing” on the map, and it was a mall, it had an elevator to the top, and we later learned that it was once a bullfighting arena, turned into a mall after years of neglect. They really did a great job; this was a fun place to explore.
We never felt unsafe on this trip. In Barcelona, police and emergency people were everywhere. This was a car and motorcycle collision, and they were there within minutes.
This is the arena / mall, and the round thing is the elevator to the top floor. As we were digging for change to pay for the trip we spotted a sign that said something like over 65 is free. There was a couple in front of us (I think also American) who were trying to insist on paying, so she just waived us through and continued trying to explain to them that they could go for free while we went straight to the top.
Inside the mall, things were happening. There were all kinds of stores you would find very familiar – American food chains and coffee shops. The place was packed with young people having something quick and fried at the end of the day. These kids were playing some kind of game where you step on clouds that form and reform in some kind of computer-generated way.
At the top, you could walk entirely around the whole arena, viewing the whole city. In the center of the circle were all kinds of restaurants. First, we had a great view of the Plaza d’Espana.
Just behind the very tall blue building in the center is the Nobu Hotel. To the left, off the busy main street, are quiet, bustling side streets we also got to explore.
Sagrada Familia is continuously under construction. Every time we visit, the date for completion has slipped further into the future.
I love seeing how people live. Imagine having this penthouse apartment with this little lap pool high above the city.
What tourism people will tell you is that Mount Tibidabo is an amusement park, but I can’t wait to get back to Barcelona and to visit this place – the tower on the right is part of the early Barcelona water system, and is supposed to be elegantly beautiful as well as functional. Guides in the area tell us that the church can be visited for free, and the art inside is stunningly beautiful, and the views from the top of the church – yes, you can go up there – encompass all of Barcelona, and too, are stunning. Worth a trip. (So many good reasons to visit Barcelona.)
We walked right by this park going to the arena and returning to our hotel, a park with installations by Miro’!
This is what the walking path on the top of the arena looks like, and on our right is the top of the elevator from base to top. To the left you see a couple of the restaurants – there are many – at the top.
So it’s 4:30 in the afternoon and we are starving and tired. While normally we shun touristic places, tonight we are ready for any port in the storm. We find A BrassaMe (I haven’t a clue what that means) which is open and already serving people, and they welcome us inside. And they have wine, and a view of the setting sun.
We are surprised most of the customers are Spanish and maybe local. Our waiter is very kind. We ask him to help us with choosing a good wine. We know we want to try some of the common tapas – bread with tomato, patatas bravas, I want to try fidua, a noodly disk kind of like paella, and he suggests a couple others, one a “bombe” (a potato filled with highly spiced ground meat) and something which we cannot identify but we think might be a deep fried fish of some kind. Doesn’t matter. It was a lot of fun, we ordered way too much food and it didn’t cost near what we pay in Pensacola for far less.
Bear with me, interiors interest me. I love the way this restaurant has capitalized on the view and the sunset. I love the sort of Miro-esque pipes in the ceiling.
I like the quiet elegant seclusion of this private dining room.
I love this bathroom. In modest, modern Spain, none of this silliness about bathrooms. Adults share the same room, doors are marked sort of ambiguously and people use whichever is free. How very grown up.
Our waiter is from Argentina, came here to find work and loves his life in Barcelona.
This is found everywhere – bread with tomato. He tells us that everything has to go on in a particular order.
This was the delicious spicy bombe.
These are another Spanish favorite, Patatas Bravas, kind of deep fried potatoes with tomato sauce or garlic sauce.
We’re pretty sure this was fish. Have you noticed how much food there is? We thought tapas were SMALL plates. We never saw a small plate of tapas in Spain.
I really liked this – Fidua. It’s kind of like rice-a-roni, little thin noodles cooked in a seafood broth, so tasty and delicious.
l love sunsets and sunrises and am more than a little uneasy about the sulphuric haze we found in most Mediterranean seaports.
Well-fed and well-wined, we rolled our way back to the hotel and managed showers before we fell, exhausted, into bed after a day full of good surprises. We slept straight through to morning.
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