I want to be in Venice, too!
We are getting ready to take a journey to a whole new set of petroglyphs, so I have activated a new AirTag. I love these things. I am taking a checked bag this time, for a stop in Denver where I will initiate my niece’s twins into the art of quilting. Just basic stuff, rotary cutting and beginning piecing, and the idea of a quilt. I’ve had a lot of fun planning this, and I have a suitcase full of resources for their exploration.
The set-up is so easy that a technologically impaired elder can do it in under a minute. How cool is that?
So as I set up, I also checked on independent AirTag, the one that disappeared in Barcelona, traveled the Med, crossed the Atlantic, went up the Amazon and crossed back the Atlantic to Barcelona and is now in Venice. Venice! I love Venice. AdventureMan loves Venice. We find Venice endlessly interesting.
And the Villa del Geologia. Wow. I don’t think I even knew it existed. I love that this little AirTag has this fascinating life of its own.
We are taking our son and his family on a trip next year, and I think I will gift them AirTags, for their luggage, for their backpacks, maybe even for their kids. How handy it would be to be able to keep track of all the individuals traveling together as they scattered out in an airport! Of course, you have to get their consent, otherwise, as the instructions tell you, it would be stalking, and against the law.
Barcelona to Abu Dhabi: Dubai, Sharjah and More Adventure Than Anticipated
North from Muscat, through the Straits of Hormuz (where you see Khasab) and then south to Dubai.
We didn’t have a lot of expectations for the day. We were docking late in Dubai, just after lunch, and heading off almost immediately for Sharjah. We couldn’t really think why we were really going.
Packing to go home changes everything. You are no longer on a journey, you are already planning an end, it’s like the end of a love affair. AdventureMan and I sit down and calculate our tips. The tour requires that we prepay gratuities, and we did so, but there are people who contributed greatly to our happiness on board, and we need to encourage them in the most sincere way – cash.
So I spend my early morning time up in Horizons, drinking coffee, catching up on e-mails, and taking photos of the sunrise, which is shockingly dirty. The sun appears to be fighting its way through the smog and haze. And, oddly, the sun is rising on the port side of the ship, which would imply we are heading south, how can that be? I figure we must have passed the Straits of Hormuz and are now going south towards Dubai, it’s the only explanation I can think of. (See map above)
We hit breakfast – it’s taken about two weeks for us to settle back down, with all the variety and abundance offered, and we are now back to mostly eating with some discipline. I’ve not been as good with the blood sugar during the trip, but I’m back down to normal now and want to hold that line.
Our last trip to the spa, and once again, we have it all to ourselves, and then loll around for a while in the hot Gulf sunshine before showering – the spa is salt and showering is a must, as is drinking a lot of water to rehydrate. Lunch is just a little rushed, and then we are off to the Nautica Lounge where we run into Ed and Alan, and catch up on their happenings as we wait for our trips to be called. They are off to visit Dubai, while we are off to Sharjah.
Below is the very modern, very efficient arrivals terminal and immigration.
First, we have a great guide, an Iranian woman, with no headscarf, which she later explains – that the Quran says nothing about covering your hair or face, only to “cover your beauty.” She says that she covers sometimes, like for praying in the mosque, but she finds the abaya and headscarf are off-putting to her western tourist clients, and that people feel freer to ask her questions when she looks more like them. I found that to be compelling – that she believes in covering but that she also believes in eliminating barriers with her clients. I liked that she could hold those two ideas and make it work.
The trip was amazing. Sharjah is still quieter and somewhat less modern than Dubai and Abu Dhabi, although still built up in a more residential way. We started with a visual (in the bus) tour of a roundabout with beautiful official buildings – the court, the library, a mosque, surrounding a park, all very beautiful. Then we went to the Islamic Museum.
The Islamic Museum was impressive.
I leave the group; I zipped to the gift shop. It’s not that I am a rabid shopper, it’s that I do like to bring things back for people and I find the best quality at the best prices in museum shops. I found some wonderful things, very quickly, and moved on to a visiting Calligraphic exhibit, (I learned the glory of Islamic calligraphy at the Tarek Rejab Museum in Kuwait, a treasure trove of gorgeous Islamic scripts) and then I zipped up to visit the beautiful dome, gloriously painted with constellations and signs of the zodiac.
The dome crowns a beautiful reception room with comfortable chairs, and people looking up at this ceiling in wonder. It is beautiful.
From there, I went to the section on Islamic technology, where I exalted in astrolabes and exquisite instruments of measurement – I love good design. It thrills my heart to see the gorgeous design of these instruments created to do practical work, but which thrill the user with their beauty.
As I am there, I get a call from AM reminding me our time is almost up and it is time to meet. Here is a thing about Oceania excursions – we never had a single one where were were held up by a lagger. On all our tour, people paid attention to time expectations and met – or even exceeded – the instructions.
From the Islamic Museum, we headed to a fort, actually a re-creation of an actual fort which had been built on that exact spot. It had gorgeous pieces of ancient weaponry, guns, cannons, ammunition, suits of armor, and samples of early technology, such as goat skins used to store liquids, make yoghurt and butter. It was nearing sunset, and the late afternoon light loved the fort and it’s beautiful spaces.
You will see a picture later of the original fort; this fort has been re-constructed in the middle of a busy city to honor the Sheikh and to honor earlier traditions in Sharjah. Below is looking down into the well in the fortress.
I found this display below a bit bizarre, but maybe that’s just me?
Below is an Omani chest, with the nail-head decoration. This chest is used as a closet, holding a simile of the Sheikh’s wardrobe.
Another view of this modern apartment building; I would like to believe the snake-like figure is also calligraphic:
Last, we went to the Sharjah “souks.” We started off at the gold souks.
I like gold. I like real jewelry. The gold souks are overwhelming. Many of the shops are full of gold sets, the kind of gift a young bride is given by the groom’s family when she enters their family, a mail-like necklace/breastplate, and maybe earrings, a headpiece, sometimes handpieces, all matching, and all of which belong to her and provide her with some security in case down the line she is divorced or widowed. In theory, her bride price and her jewelry are hers to invest and manage. These sets are awesome to behold.
The sets are also intimidating. Maybe a movie-star could carry them off in our culture, but otherwise, they would draw too much attention. As we walk by shop after shop, I am dazzled and my heart beats faster, but when it comes to something for me, there is nothing. I remember how hard I had to look in places like Saudi Arabia, when gold was much cheaper, for pieces which were more modest and simple.
I buy nothing, except for at the end when AdventureMan and I have fresh-pressed juice; strawberry for him, and pomegranate for me. It is fresh juice, with no additives, and no sugar; there are pieces of fruit in the juice and it is delicious. These are times I really miss living in the Middle East.
As we are leaving, the sun has just gone down and the night has gone purple. It never fails to take my breath away. I only see this color in the Middle East, and it is just when the call to prayer begins to be called. Tonight there is a crescent moon. We are looking across the river at Dubai. The lights are twinkling, the call to prayer calls to our hearts, and families are gathering on woven mats to sit on the grass of the park across from the Mall. It is an exquisite time of the day and an experience of pure joy.
“So,” I can hear you asking, “The day is over. Where is the unanticipated adventure?”
Back at Nautica, we stand in line to pick up our passports for our departure the next day. I am handed my passport. AdventureMan’s passport is not there. The crew searches relentlessly, as we watch others easily access their passports. AdventureMan’s passport does not show up. It has not been returned by UAE Security. No one knows why.
We go through a bad couple of hours. I am trying to game what we will do if the problem is not resolved. This is an unusual circumstance, but this is the Middle East.
Security tells us his passport has been flagged because he was in Dubai in 2008 and they have no record of his exit. This is entirely possible. AdventureMan traveled a lot, in and out of many countries. Perhaps someone was talking with him as he departed and neglected to mark his departure. It’s all speculation. We really don’t know.
Finally, hours later, they relent, and an hour before the boat sails, his passport is returned by UAE officials.
We dine in our cabin, as we finish our packing. We need to have clothes for sleeping, clothes for disembarkation, and clothes for flying, including something warm for our transits through Brussels and Montreal. This entire trip has been a packing challenge, trying to anticipate temperature changes and comfortably appropriate clothing, including modesty requirements. Dinner is simple but relaxing, we finish off the wine we bought in Barcelona, and we jump up now and then to refine packing, make sure we have the appropriate paperwork, etc. We are greatly relieved to have AdventureMan’s passport back and we are also a little unnerved. We are hoping there will be no further problems as we leave Abu Dhabi.
We sleep well.
Barcelona to Abu Dhabi: Salalah, Oman
We have a history with Oman – we love it. Once, when my husband and I were visiting in Oman, we traveled to an oasis, where a small boy asked to guide us. The path was clearly marked, but this young man was so charming and spoke such good English, we hired him. On our way into the falls, he asked us if we knew John Thomas. LOL, we knew John Thomas!
On that same trip, in our lovely hotel, I bought a silver thimble. It cost way too much for a lowly thimble, but it was exquisite, beautifully crafted, and to this day I am thankful I overcame my frugality and bought it, because it has given me years and years of heavy usage, and I feel joyful appreciation every time I look at it.
I visited Oman again, later, with the Kuwait Textile Association, visiting craftspeople all across Oman.
We are thrilled to be visiting Salalah. Neither one of us has ever visited Salalah, a port city, famous for its lush greenery, bananas, coconuts and its long history as a trading crossroad between Africa, the Middle East and India.
The day is off to a hilarious start. It’s been so warm, AdventureMan had decided to sleep on the balcony and early in the morning got thoroughly soaked as the ship was hit by errant wave. He dries off and crawls into bed as I head up to Horizons to catch up on e-mail. I come back down later to see if he wants to hit breakfast, then we head off for Salalah trip; Scenic Salalah.
Bus #1, full, heads off for “souks.” Ship is docked 14 miles from Salalah. Shuttle bus takes people to gate, then you can pay $27 to go to Salalah to a taxi driver, then $27 back.
We are given a special card to keep on our person, which we must turn in when we come back to the ship.
It’s a long drive. We stop first at a mosque, which we are told has restrooms. We are free to enter the mosque as long as we take our shoes off and leave them outside. The guard near the restrooms won’t let us in; he tells us they are closed. The guard at the entrance to the mosque won’t let us in. One woman has her shoes taken while she is trying to get into the mosque.
We drive into town to “souks” which are all primarily frankincense, signs in English and Arabic, all pretty much the same merchandise. I bought some rose perfume and two keychains for gifts.
The restroom is very clean, with six regular stalls and two “traditional” squat stalls with hoses.
Next is Biladi Museum, really nicely done, the entrance is like coming into a fortress. Inside are rooms with displays of very early history, meteorite hits, and maritime history with all kinds of boats, bows, and knots. I went to find the books and crafts shops, which were closed, but found some beautiful spaces still being built, with waterways, facsimiles of old boats, picnic areas, shady areas, and seating areas – this place has a lot of potential.
This cannon, below, blew me away. It is probably the earliest example of a cannon I have ever seen, and although it is primitive, it is amazing in the advantage it could give to the one who could wield it.
Then we go to drink coconut water, from a small open shop full of bananas, coconuts, and other fruits. There were many similar small shops, but somehow this entrepreneur seems to have a contract with the cruise ship lines. I think he had figured out how to get us in, give us each a coconut and get us out in time for the next bus to pull up.
Miguel, our next-door cabin mate, bought bananas for Marguerite, his wife, who is ill with a stomach bug. He had shown us a scarf he bought her at the Frankincense souks, camel colored, and told us he had known Marguerite in Cuba from the time he was twelve years old. They have been married now 59 years. They are so sweet with each other. Miguel also told us that his new heart medicine is also a diabetic medication and has helped his health greatly, also it helped him lose a lot of weight.
The coconut water was not that tasty, but the shops were full of so many different kinds of coconuts and bananas, and behind the shops are acres of banana trees bursting with bananas, and coconut trees with coconuts, in a dry and arid land, with wonderful places where water is abundant.
All in all, it was a short excursion. We were back at the Nautica for lunch, where they had a wonderful bouillabaisse. Next to our boat was a specialized boat, fueling our boat. It took a long time, and we could smell the petroleum. We imagined that we probably hadn’t fueled since Haifa, and were happy Salalah provides that service to these large cruise ships which have begun to stop in Salalah.
We would have been interested in time on our own in Salalah, but the cruise ship port is far from the actual city, and the ship’s shuttle only takes you to the gate, where you can catch a taxi – $27 each way into Salalah, and back to the ship. We are headed for Muscat and Dubai and Abu Dhabi – we can wait.
Back before I ever dreamed of blogging, we lived a while in Saudi Arabia. AdventureMan would come home from work, pick me up, and take me to the Souk Dira where I might buy buttons to teach my little students names of colors and shapes, or I could comb through the antique (junk!) souks for old camel milking bowls, afghani beads and jewelry, old silver leg bracelets, etc.
Saudi Arabia taught me a lot about assumptions. I had always told AdventureMan it was my one big NO, I wouldn’t go there. So he invited me for a visit, and I had a chance to rethink. Then I went to live there and discovered that there were many layers. Saudi Arabia was complex. It could be brutal. I also met Saudi women who were educated, and began a whole new kind of education for me, as I listened, observed, and broadened my understanding. One of my favorite things about Saudi Arabia was those evenings at the souks. We would get there shortly before the sunset call to prayer. We had a favorite felafel stand where we would get a sandwich and a fruit drink, and find a place to sit while all the shops closed. The call to prayer is magical in itself, and as the sun set, the sky would go purple and then get darker and darker shades of purple until it was black. The stars were brilliant, even though Riyadh was a highly neon city. Those moments eating our dinner as the sky went purple, and listening to the call to prayer, left an imprint on my soul.
As the sun went down, and we departed Salalah, the sky went purple.
Barcelona to Abu Dhabi: Friday in Wadi Rum
It thrilled our hearts to see the Jordanian flag on the pilot boat leading us into Aqaba. We later learned that Abu Dhabi has plans to take over port management in Aqaba. We wonder how that works?
We lost an hour in transit, so when we docked in Aqaba at 7 a.m. our body time was 6 a.m. We ate a quick breakfast, grabbed our gear (headed for the desert) and met up the Nautica Lounge to get our assignment. We caught up with shipboard friends Ed and Alan, who were headed to Petra, and with Glennys and Blaise. We were on a larger bus, and 43 people, none of whom we knew well. We drove about an hour to the new visitor center.
Arriving at the visitor center, we were pointed to the restrooms and were told to form groups of five or six to ride in the back of the trucks. The trucks and drivers were waiting; we just headed for a truck with several others and it turned out to be a good choice, pure luck, as the guide, Majd, was riding in this truck with the son of the village chief. Majd also turned out to be the tour leader.
We were with a Czech couple now living in Toronto, and a guy from Buffalo, and it was a good group. We had to climb into the truck over the back gate. Actually, this cracked me up, bumping along in the back of the truck, wind in our faces. Once again, it is a relatively cool day, even chill in the shadows, so I am thankful for the bargain kufiyah I picked up in Luxor.
We bumped out through the mountains to a site where camels waited, and there were some petroglyphs on the wall.
Majd said they used to be higher, but an earthquake changed the topography.
I am guessing some of these petroglyphs are more contemporary. Some may be older.
We loaded up and bumped along to another site for taking photos, a short distance away. It was amazing to me to see all the semi-permanent camping set-ups in the wadi. Hard to imagine Lawrence of Arabia and his group of marauders here among the campers.
Then we drove to a majlis-style tent and drank coffee or tea with little cookies. It was a large air-conditioned in-the-style-of-a-Bedouin-tent, with tables and chairs, and there was an outdoor sitting area, where we could imagine at night they might hold campfires.
The bus was waiting to take us back to Aqaba. Alas, no more fresh air in the back of the truck, which I thought was really fun.
People wanted to stop for souvenirs, so Majd called a friend who opened his shop for those who wanted to shop. That reminded me of the old Jordan. It was Friday, the Muslim holy day when people normally have a large mid-day meal with family, but for his friend, he opened the shop. Next to the shop were some less modern structures, probably to contain domestic animals, or maybe camels 🙂
Jordan is a beautiful country, with amazing sights. It’s a pity to have only a short time here, but a short time is better than no time. On the whole, our time actually in Wadi Rum was about an hour, the rest at the tent.
For me, it was just sad. I have such wonderful, vivid memories of how wild and free and beautiful Wadi Rum can be. We used to be able to walk in the long slot canyons.
Now, there is trash all over the Wadi, plastic bags, plastic bottles, a pile of old broken toilets, old tires – detritus of civilization. I can understand why the Jordanians would limit access.
Here I am, a tourist. I remember the days when tourists were rare. We who lived there had to wait for the relatively cool weather in November, and for the full moon, to make the trip. We rode on camels into the Wadi, with a feast of kebabs and salads and bread, and young bedouin men jumping through the fire at night, just for fun. We slept on the sand, still warm from the day’s sunlight. I’m glad we have such a lovely memory; these things are just not possible now.
Forty years ago, November in Wadi Rum: AdventureMan of Arabia 🙂
Heading out into the desert.
What fun, to revisit these wonderful adventures!
Enough nostalgia. We are back at the boat; Aqaba has little going on today, Friday, and most of the action seems to go right by our balcony – it’s a great day for boating.
We unbundled ourselves, then went for lunch at Waves. We split a Surf and Turf (steak and lobster) sandwich, and I had some salad, And AdventureMan had a strawberry shake.
After lunch, while AdventureMan went to the steam room, (the spa is being cleaned out and maintained) I did a load of laundry to make sure I have enough clothes to get me through the rest of the trip. Actually, I kind of like doing laundry; it is not hard, and it is sort of meditative.
For dinner, Ashok brought us an appetizer, and then dinner – two onion soups, smoked salmon, a mezze plate and we split a creme brûlée. We eat in our nightclothes and sit on our balcony as we pull out of Aqaba and floated south past the border with Saudi Arabia. A lovely, quiet, private evening.
Once again, a day of surprises. The happy part was that it was cool, not hot, and I was happy to have my new kufiya with me. We were glad to be with another good group in the back of the truck; we had some good conversations. The downside for us was that Wadi Rum has become a place for tourists, and we, who once roamed Wadi Rum on camelback, are now tourists, not people who live there and absorb and learn from the culture. We are nostalgic for our old lives . . . and pragmatically, we are no longer the people who lived those lives.
But the surprises aren’t over! As we leave Aqaba, we are shortly off the coast of Saudi Arabia, where we also once lived, and Saudi Arabia has these huge electric signs to greet cruisers.
I believe the first one is the Muslim shahada, profession of faith that there is no God but God, and Mohammed is his prophet. It is HUGE:
I have no idea what this one says, but maybe it is a blessing for those on boats?
All in all, a great day.
Barcelona to Abu Dhabi: Safaga to Luxor
We docked in an industrial port in Sfaga, no getting off and wandering around. We have breakfast in our room, beautiful, quick and easy. We have to wait a while until the Egyptians have examined and stamped our passports.
All departing passengers gather in the Nautica Lounge – we are number 20, one of the last to go. We go through exit procedures (facial scan, Egyptian inspection) and discover we are on a small bus, a group of only eight people, for the next two days. We don’t know any of them, but we feel very fortunate to be with a very small group. We are happily surprised. We had thought we might be on a large bus with coughing and sneezing people and need to mask.
This is a very popular location. There are all kinds of trips going out, to various locations for various amounts of time. The buses are all lined up, and the immigration center we all have to go through is on the far left.
Another happy surprise is that the weather is cool on the ship, and cool in the morning, cool enough to need a scarf. (This night, for dinner, I will need a sweater over my dress.) This is a happy surprise. I really hate being too hot.
We are on a two day trip, today and tomorrow with an overnight in Luxor.
Almost immediately, Merv, our guide, has us introduce ourselves. We are traveling with Steve and Becky from Austin, Dave and Patricia, from Toronto, and Tom and Deb from Vancouver. We have a long drive, through the stark mountain area of Egypt (!) and then along the luscious, fertile valley of the Nile, where I take almost all my photos. Steve and AdventureMan discover they have lived just miles from one another. All our fellow passengers are well-traveled. Becky has some mobility issues, but does a great job and never complains.
When you think of Egypt, do you think of mountains? I never did. This first stretch we cover is full of desert and stark mountains, and I envision Moses, shepherding for his father-in-law and his encounter with the great I Am, in a bush that burned and was not consumed. I could imagine long treks with the sheep to find enough to eat, and long days to think about things.
My Arab friends always laughed when I would tell them their countries reminded me of growing up in Alaska, but there are wide open stretches that go on forever and harsh climates. In Alaska, you dress for the cold and stay inside through the worst of it; in the Middle East, you dress for the heat and stay inside for the worst of it, and you spend as much time as you can outdoors when temperatures are mild as you can. I am a big fan of dark skies and myriad stars, both Alaska and deserts provide food for my soul.
We make a stop at a rest stop along the way. We were supposed to travel in a caravan, with security, for our protection, but we were last to leave and our smaller bus did not have onboard facilities. It was really nice being able to get out and walk around, but it cost us in terms of convenience later on. Because we had lost our convoy, the police kept stopping us and questioning our credentials. They found us a curiosity. Finally, at one point, a police van led us several miles and vouched for our right of passage. It was an interesting experience. Our tour guide was relentlessly aggressive with the police, and rather than offending them, they were respectful to her.
Our tour guide was a formidable woman, one of the senior tour guides in Egypt. Her assignment with us was her second to last career assignment; she is retiring. What I loved about having her as a guide was that she was so knowledgeable. She filled us in on politics, social issues, and current events, as we drove a couple hours through the rural areas en route to Luxor.
My geographical knowledge of Egypt was slight. Now I feel really stupid. I had kind of thought the Red Sea and the Nile were somehow related, but the Nile is inland from the Red Sea. The micro-climates inland are lush and fertile.
You might see the donkey, but the reason I took this photo is that in our times living in Middle Eastern countries, we often saw rugs drying at service stations, especially those with car washes. The car washes get them nice and clean and have room to hang them so that they can dry. This is a nice, non-humid day, perfect for having carpets cleaned.
One of the things we learned is that Egypt has become more conservative with so many Egyptian men working as guest laborers in Saudi Arabia and other Gulf countries. Egyptian women were at one time freer and better educated and had more civil rights than now. Husbands and fathers returning from stricter countries enforced stricter standards on their daughters, wives, and family members. Interesting, hmmm?
Here is our friendly police escort below:
This is one of my favorite photos – these gourds, which are some kind of pumpkin or squash, are in season, and there are piles of them everywhere! I remember in Tunisia when pumpkins came into season, they were huge! In the market, you bought them by the slice, huge, thick, meaty pumpkins, one of the essential ingredients in couscous.
I remember in Qatar when the Queen found laundry hanging on balconies inelegant and banned it; had a law passed which forbid it. And yet – where were the apartment dwellers to dry their laundry? Laundry continued on the balconies, and I never heard of anyone arrested for it.
Look at this wall, made of recycled broken pots and clay.
There is a line behind the waiting man of little tuk-tuk taxis, many with curtains, with one driver in front and passengers in the back.
We go directly to the hotel once we get to Luxor, check-in, go to our rooms and clean up, then have lunch, which is an international buffet. That means mostly western food. Eating western food in the heart of Egypt was a surprising disappointment to me. I totally get it. Luxor is a huge destination, and Egypt needs the tourist currency. Hotels have to please a large number of people. We were yearning for a good felafel.
The truth is, I did not have high hopes for this part of my cruise. The last time we were in Egypt, we were staying with friends, in Cairo, and we had great adventures. We have actually been to Luxor and Karnak before, and I discovered that I did not like going down into tombs; to me, they are very musty and give me a claustrophobic feeling. I stay above ground and take photos.
I had no idea we would have such a great tour guide; she is a blessing, so full of information and opinions. I don’t always have to agree with her to like her. I respect her! I also had no idea we would be spending so much time traveling through villages where people live their normal lives, and I love it. I’m finding in general the tourist experience is restrictive; we are at the mercy of other people’s schedules, other people’s timing, and where other people find it expedient to take us.
This group is different. The people with whom we are traveling in this small group are all very respectful of being on time and not going missing – in fact, if anyone is guilty of going missing, it is me. I tend to wander off. I make it a point to keep Merv informed about where I will be and to always be on time for departures. She gives me latitude. She allows me to wander – here there and everywhere. 🙂
And, as random as life is, I am so thankful not to be too hot. I am having a great time. I got to go through the Suez Canal! I am going back to Wadi Rum! I am going to sail past Saudi Arabia, and Sudan, and Eritrea, and Djibouti, and Yemen en route to Oman! I am a happy woman!
Barcelona to Abu Dhabi: A Stop in Haifa
First, a little orientation. On the map above, in the upper left corner, you will see Acre, and just south of Acre you will see Haifa. At the bottom central, you will see Jerusalem / Bethlehem / Hebron and a short distance to the east of Jerusalem you will see Amman, Jordan, where we lived for two years several years ago.
Early, early in the morning, we make port in Haifa. It isn’t picturesque, the port, and we are instructed that every person on board has to make a face-to-face immigration visit even if they are planning to stay aboard.
Those of us on trips have to do it en route to our tour bus. It is bureaucratic and annoying. The lines are long. There are two other larger tour boats in town, an Azamara and a Costa (full of Italians) so there are a LOT of people processing, and there is also a lot of noise.
The lines more quickly, and we find our bus, which is fairly full, and . . . there is more coughing and sneezing. Some of us are masked. My forehead and upper cheeks feel a little tight, like some little allergen is bothering me.
The trip is to Acre, an old Crusader stronghold with a fascinating history, but we don’t get a lot of the history, but we do get a lot of the guide’s perspective on Israelis and Arabs and threats to Israel, and generalities about the medieval times.
He takes us first to a large souvenir shop with two meager restrooms, and lets us spend a long time there before even beginning our trip.
We spent our time wandering around – nearby – and taking photos. It was a waste of our time, and there was so much we could have seen.
He won’t tell us where we will meet, does not want us wandering off, and because we don’t know when and where we have to meet, we have to stay with the group, my least favorite thing. He may have known a lot about Acre and the Fort, but he failed to convey the significance of what we were seeing, and he failed to place events in their context. “This is the Knight’s Hall” he would say, and let us look at a barren room with a slide show.
We found a map to help us out – except that it was in Hebrew
When we left the fort, the guide led us to the Arab market, we had about an hour. We could hear the call to prayer. Everything was about to come to a halt and we were starving. AdventureMan found a really good – really busy – falafel stand. It took us about half an hour just to get the meal, but it was so worth it – lots of vegetables, pickled eggplants, onion, etc, and the falafel were fresh out of the pot for each sandwich. That, and being able to watch all the regular customers as they ordered take-out for their families, was a lot of fun, and the best part of this trip to Acre.
I have visited Acre before. It is an old city, with a long history, back and forth. It was a sleepy old seaport, then a Crusader Citadel, then the site of a lengthy battle, which the Moslems won. A few Crusaders escaped alive through a secret hidden tunnel. I was so looking forward to visiting this site. I feel short-changed. If I had it to do over again, I would skip the Oceania tour and take the local ferry to Acre (Acre is a very short distance from Haifa) and we could wander at will (it is not a large location) and take the ferry back and see the things we want to see at our own pace.
When we got back on the bus, it was a hassle getting out of the lot, one couple was missing, and a lot more people were coughing. I couldn’t wait to get back to our quiet room on board. I also had allergies, or sinus, an almost-sore throat and I was just tired.
We considered ordering dinner in our room but decided it would be quicker to just run up to the Terrace buffet and grab something quick. We both had the asparagus salmon soup (not a lot of salmon) and I had a variety of vegetables – a pickled rolled up eggplant called involtini, a little mousse of sweet red pepper, some olives.
We ate outside – we have a table we like a lot to the far right, shaded from the breeze. It was actually warmer eating outside than inside. I drank a lot of mint tea with lemon and honey for my throat and head. Moustafa, our Turkish waiter, told us about farming practices near Ephesus, where he is from, about yoghurt, and fat content, and wanted to know about the varying kinds of cattle in the US. We didn’t know a lot, he was asking really good questions. We love those kinds of conversations.
By the time we got back to the room, all I wanted to do was go to bed.
I slept poorly, my sinuses swollen, not able to breathe well, feeling like a cold was coming on, until some point I got up and went to the couch where I could sleep in a more vertical position. It worked. I could breathe again, and when I woke up, I was feeling pretty good.
Take a Wife With You
Our church has daily readings, called The Lectionary, and the one I read also features Saints of the Church, people who have served in faithfulness. Today’s reading had an impact on me for several reasons. I was immediately caught by the fact he was assigned, and told to take a wife with him, at which point he immediately proposed to a woman he thought suitable who accepted. So interesting, and so different from the way “courtships” are conducted these days. (With more reading in Wikipedia, I discovered his education was funded by donors, he was trained as a blacksmith and he actually had a fiancee, and she was the one who married him and went with him to Moose Bay. She worked with the women.)
The union was fruitful. John Horden and his wife were able to accomplish great things among the Cree and Inuit, learning their language, preaching in their tongue. It sounds like more than the preaching, his life and his love of his parishoners attracted converts to the faith.
JOHN HORDEN
MISSIONARY BISHOP IN CANADA, 1893
John Horden (1828 – January 12, 1893) was the first Anglican Bishop of Moosonee, Canada.
On May 10, 1851, he received a letter from Church Missionary Society, informing him that the bishop of Rupert’s Land had made a request for a schoolmaster at Moose Factory, in northern Ontario, and that he had been appointed to fill the position. They also told him to prepare to leave within a month, and indicated that they desired he marry and take his wife out to assist him in his missionary work. Although he was less than enthused about the appointment, he immediately prepared for his new position. He contacted the woman of his choice, a young lady who herself had missionary inclinations, and she agreed to marry him. On June 8, 1851, they set sail for Canada. Horden spent much of his time on the trip by continuing his studies of the Greek Testament and beginning the study of the Cree language.
He went among the natives, writing down new words as he heard them and, after eight month’s effort, was able to preach to the natives without an interpreter. He was ordained a priest during this period. Soon Horden had prepared a prayer book, a hymnal, and translations of the Gospels in the Cree language.
Then in 1865, Horden and his family, which now included five children that he and his wife had had in Canada, sailed back to England so that his children could be educated. Upon Horden’s return to England, he found he was very well-known throughout the British Isles, and became a popular and sought-after speaker. In 1867, Horden returned with his wife to James’ Bay.
In the autumn of 1872, Horden received a message to return to England to be consecrated as a bishop, and on December 15, 1872, he and two others were ordained in a ceremony involving eight other bishops, including Bishop Anderson, who had first ordained Horden 20 years earlier.
He continued to serve as bishop of his huge territory, making pastoral visits to as many parts of his huge diocese as possible, despite his having a serious problem with rheumatism. In his later years, he also worked diligently to finish his translation of the Bible into the Cree language.
My AirTag Has a Life of Its Own
For our recent trip, I bought four Apple AirTags and was amazed at how easy it was to use them. You just Google “How do I set up my Apple Air Tag?” and clear instructions appear. Some people have even done videos that show you exactly how to enable and disable your Air Tags.
So I set one up to be for my Carry-on, and another to use for my other carry-on, called Backpack, except that as I was packing I changed to a duffel, and didn’t change the name.
My duffel has four outside pockets and no inside pockets. I tucked the AirTag deep into one of the pockets and stopped thinking about it. Then it came time to leave our hotel and head for the ship, so I put both bags out to be transferred.
Since I pretty much always had them with me, I never bothered checking. Not until coming back, I checked one bag on our complicated route home, and when things got screwed up in Montreal, I checked my phone to find my CarryOn. It showed me exactly where it was, and it made the next flight with me.
But at the same time I was checking, I noticed an anomaly. My “backpack,” which was with me, was shown to be in the Gulf of Lion, close to Montpellier. How could this be? Sure enough, I have the duffel, but I do not have the AirTag. The AirTag is gone missing.
But someone has it.
Honestly, to me this is hilarious. First – I have all my baggage and its contents. That’s what matters. The only thing that is missing is the AirTag. Second – my AirTag is traveling, I am thinking on one of the Oceania ships, and I could probably find out which one if I wanted to spend the time finding out which ship is in what spot (there are apps, I have discovered, which can tell you – and show you – exactly where any ship is, how cool is that?) Meanwhile, every now and then I check to see where my old AirTag is now, and it is always in a different location. It’s kind of fun for me to see where it is.
Why would someone carry around someone else’s AirTag?
Yes, I am planning to tell you all about our trip. First, I have to get through the jet lag, get my life in order, get Christmas under control (ho ho ho), and process some of what I experienced. Narrative and photos coming soon. It was a GREAT adventure. 🙂
“Has Your Wardrobe Changed?”
I was on my hands and knees, sandwiching two new quilts when AdventureMan seated himself near me and asked if he should take his grey-green pants on the upcoming trip. With all the baggage insecurity going around, we’ve made a decision to take a carry-on bag and one personal item, and skip checked luggage altogether.
Being the kind of person who used to over-study for tests, this is causing me some anxiety. I told him that the pants did not coordinate with enough of his wardrobe to make them useful, to stick with the tried-and-true khakis which used to be his staple, and his blue jeans, which will get him through some of the more rugged places.
More than once, we’ve had luggage go missing. It always caught up with us, but once – in Lusaka, we were headed out into the bush the next day and had only our traveling clothes and night clothes – and, thank God, some shoes. We grabbed a taxi and found a street mall with a combination grocery and department store, stocked with camo and green clothing from China which was more or less apropos. We couldn’t be choosy, and we were thankful to find something that would get us through until, we hoped, our baggage showed up. I still love the thick green socks I found; they have worn like iron.
But this is different, this is not the bush, it is a lengthy cruise, and I am trying to pack enough cool-weather clothing for cooler places, warm-weather clothing for places that are pretty hot even when they have cooled off, and clothes for dining in specialty restaurants with a dress code. I need clothes which will be modest. I need something for just hanging around. I’ve saved old swimsuits I can wear and leave behind, so that’s one thing solved.
“We’ve never lived in one place this long, ever,” AdventureMan continued, “and I have clothes I never wear anymore, things that have just become irrelevant. I keep thinking I need to get rid of more, like the pleated pants and the dress shirts, but it’s hard, I wonder if I might need them. Does that happen with you?”
I pause in my pinning and laugh. I have one dress in three different colors, another dress in two colors, and two jean skirts. I have a winter hooded dress in five colors. I am not a big shopper, so when I find something that works, I go with multiples.
Meanwhile, yes, AdventureMan, I have that other closet full, like you, with just-in-case clothes. I still have what is left of my evening dresses. I have clothing for in case I have a business meeting, or a funeral, things maybe I’ve worn once or twice since moving here. I have the odd specialty pieces, like Christmas clothing. When will I be ready to part with my cold-weather clothing, so beautiful and once so expensive?
I laugh and tell him all the above, and then tell him that of all the clothes I wear, I still have the clothes which were made for me in Qatar and Kuwait, copies of one particular Coldwater Creek linen dress which I had copied in both linen and cotton. I have three left. I’ve been wearing them for fifteen years, and they still look like new.
“I’ve taken them in,” I tell him because I’m smaller than I was when I was relatively sedentary in Kuwait. “And I’ve taken the hems up at least twice as I’ve gotten more used to being back in America. People tell me I look nice – they used to ask me if I was a missionary wife,” I added, and we both laughed. When you live in a different culture for a while, you become adapted to local ways. I remember how disconcerting it was in summers coming back to the USA and finding all the women shockingly and scantily dressed in their sleeveless dresses and shorts and T-shirts, even respectable women and I knew the change was in me and my perceptions, not in my culture.
I am thinking the backpack will be my Godsend. I am hoping I still have the strength and energy to run through Charles de Gaulle airport with the backpack on my back, lifting the carry-on if we need to run up or down stairs. I am thinking I can strap the backpack onto the carry-on handle in the straight places. I am thinking whatever I take will be enough; I am hoping it might even be a matter of discovering I have overpacked a little less than before.
It’s a curious mentality you develop when you’re nomadic. You become aware of so many possibilities, things that can go wrong, and things you might need, so you are always thinking “just in case.”
We have a backup plan. We know there is a Carrefour (large French supermarket) in walking distance to our hotel, so we can stock up on things we don’t have room to pack, or which we can’t carry on-board an airplane – manicure scissors, needles, sun protection, and some good bottles of dry red wine for our cabin. My list gives me a small illusion of control.
I take a deep breath and remind myself that this is our get-away, our escape, and that anxiety is counter-productive. We will be fine. Enough is enough, it will be a grand adventure.
Sweet Sixteen: Intlxpatr Celebrates Blogging
Welcome friends, to a virtual celebration of 16 years of blogging as Intlxpatr. Where we are living now, in the deep South, the pineapple is a symbol of welcome. You are welcome here.
Old friends have asked if we miss “the life.” Yes. We do. And we have a new life, a life we never dreamed would be so happy. We live just blocks away from our son and his wife, and our two grandchildren. My son and his wife are in the prime of life, working, busy, and trying to keep up with a jarring pace of life.
We are called in frequently. In the summers, we help drive to and from daily camps, and we often have the grandkids in the afternoons. School started in August; on Sundays, we coordinate with Mom and Dad on which days they will need us for which drop-offs or pick-ups, or appointments, or – well, we stay flexible. And we stay busy. And being so closely connected gives us purpose and joy.
I also have joy in this new life having rediscovered my love of the water. I am swimming 2 miles three days a week. Well, most weeks. I have buddies at the pool, and sometimes I spend too much time catching up, and then I have to scramble to get my laps in. I tell myself it isn’t about the numbers, it’s about living a good life. A good life needs good friends. Thank YOU for being with me on this journey.
We are about to take our first trip overseas since our Bordeaux trip in 2019. We will be going back for brief visits, mostly to places we have been before. Yes. We will be taking you along. As with so many of our trips, there are often times where, even in this day and age, we are without access to reliable internet, but we manage ☺️.
COVID has been a long slog. As you may know, I lost my Mother, early in the epidemic. She lived in Seattle and was one of the earliest victims. The grief I experienced hit me hard; I became touchy and angry, I didn’t love the things I loved, and it took me a long time to get through the uncomfortable process of grieving. Every year, in October, I make my Mom’s famous chocolate fruit cakes. In September (yesterday) I made her wonderful Autumn Plum Cake (pflaumekuchen).
And because, as we age, we are increasingly aware of fitness, and the need to eat the right foods, I will include something fabulous and healthy:
Yes, another first on Intlxpatr, LOL.
And because I firmly believe it is wise to drink less, I prefer to drink less of a really good wine.
A toast! To living well, my friends, whatever that might look like in your life. Bonne fete!
Recent Comments
Wikipedia Donate Button
Amazina
Early Voting in Florida
Here There and Everywhere 