From Rome to home

Mornings aren't my best time. Despite checking and double-checking I had a moment of panic that I'd lost my phone - again - before discovering I'd packed it in the luggage. I guess a shot of adrenaline isn't a bad thing on travel day.

We'd booked a driver to take us to the airport. He looked about 70, and drove as if he had no intention of hitting 71. He'd take up two-lanes, tailgate at 170 kph while flashing his lights for cars to get the hell out if the way, and slip in and out of traffic with inches to spare.

I suppose if you have to die in a high-speed car accident it may as well be at the end of the holiday.

We show up, body parts unshattered, and find out the check-in won't open for another 45 minutes. I got up at 6.30 for this?

We could sort out the VAT refund for tourists, but we need boarding passes for that. Coffee time.

Eventually staff show up, we check in, and go to customs to arrange the VATrefund . He asks to see our purchases - uh, they'd be in the luggage we just checked in. Nobody bothered to tell us we'd need to show anybody, and it doesn't make a lot if sense for us to check in, then take our luggage to customs, and  d back again to the airline to check the bags. He mumbles about it being "irregular", but signs off he paperwork anyway.

Boarding time. We go up stairs, down stairs, into a bus, onto the Tarmac, up more stairs... Emma wonders why Air Italian has declared war on her knees.

The first leg to Abu Dhabi is fine, although once again we have to run the security gauntlet. By the time we board the Etihad flight we have been through Italian security, Abu Dhabi airport security, and finally a security check at the departure lounge. Unless the staff at Abu Dhabi airport are smuggling drugs and guns - Emma suggested that possibility - it's an exercise in serious overkill.

On the other hand the last check did manage to seize the highly dangerous bottle of water we were bringing on board. Obviously Etihad is terrified of he prospect of a maddened Australian rushing the cockpit and saying,"take this plane to Dubbo or I'll drink this entire bottle of water!!!"

On the last leg I struggle to sleep, while Emma dozes for seven hours straight. "Best night's sleep I've had in six weeks."

Envy.

I'm seriously unimpressed with the staff on this flight. Our video players aren't working, so I hit the button to call a flight attendant. Fifty minutes later someone shows up and says they'll reset our players. Another ten minutes go by before he does it.

The meal service is sloooooow, and of the three meals on offer in the menu we get a choice of: one.

I get up to get us me a drink of water and a black tea for Emma. The first attendant ignores me and continues filling in paperwork, the second finally turns to me after several minutes before unenthusiastic ally getting our drinks.

Not to worry. Clearly Etihad doesn't need my business, nor I their services. Lest I complain too much, at least they had the decency not to explode mid-flight.

After a brief holding pattern we land, load up on booze in duty-free, pick up our luggage, breeze through customs, and find Olav (who, with his wife Sarah, had been house-sitting for us) waiting.

Easy-peasy. And really glad we arrived when we did because after we got home the rain pounded down, followed by hail. Then lightning. Which may not have been much fun to land in.

Home. Despite my love of travel, even through my sleep-deprived hallucinatory fog, it's good to be back.

 Especially chasing the cats around the house and smothering them with hugs and kisses.

Vatican II: just popeless 

We missed out on seeing the Basilica of St Peter last week, but we weren't worried because we knew we had this week to catch up.

However...

When we arrived at the Vatican there were thousands of people everywhere. We forgot Wednesdays were one of the days the Pope comes out and addresses the public.*

In any case we wanted to see the nearby Castel Sant' Angelo, so we bailed on the Vatican and went there instead. We guessed this would take an hour or so, and then we could try again.

Originally built as a Mausoleum for the Emperor Hadrian and his family.** Over the years it's been repurposed as a fort, papal apartments, and a prison.

Cool fact: there's a secret tunnel connecting the castle with the Vatican, which Pope Clement VII used in 1527 to escape from the army of Charles de Bourbon.***

The castle has a large statue of the Archangel Michael on the top. The current statue is "only" two hundred and sixty years old. The original was a marble statue erected in 590 by Pope Gregory the Great, who promised to build it if God stopped a plague ravaging Rome.****

I found the papal rooms interesting, especially the bedchamber. One several of the walls are the expected religious paintings with a spooky-looking baby Jesus, stoic-suffering Jesus and seriously-bored dead Jesus. On another wall is a painting of a unicorn with Giulia Farnese - a mistress of Pope Alexander VI.*****

So wrong, and yet so fitting.

Plenty of interesting parts: the treasure room, ornate ceilings, places were prisoners were left to starve to death, old Roman passages... it took more than an hour to explore.

It also provides the best views of Rome in the city. We had lunch on the terrace of the restaurant on the top level. The food was as expected - average is a kind description - but we couldn't pass up the view on our last day in Rome.

Once again we headed for St Peter's, but the queue was horrendous, snaking around the front and along the plaza. Oh, we'll, not this trip. Guess we'll just have to come back again.

On our return to the hotel we had a final coffee at our little cafe and said goodbye. They were suitably sad to see us go, and the manager joked we'd have to stay ("there's a strike tomorrow; the planes, the people in the towers, everybody...")

This was also our last chance to see the Basilica Santa Maria Maggiore, the one outside our hotel.

Seems we left the best for last.

The Basilica is stunning, somewhere between the usual Roman Baroque magnificence and the starker understated approach of the Duomo in Florence. "Best" is subjective, but Emma and I were captivated by it. It was also the most active church we'd been in, with several chapels in use, and numerous priesthearing  confessions in various languages, all conveniently posted on the confessionals.

We had time for a last Italian meal just up the street, with a superb minestrone and a very good gnocchi ai quatro formaggi - almost as good as the one at Napoli in Boca in Haberfield.

On the way back to our room we saw the American family from Detroit sitting on the fourth floor balcony, said our goodbyes and exchanged email and Facebook info. They were sitting in the fresh air, enjoying their last night before catching a 6am flight, which required them to be at the airport at 3am.  This makes our 8am check-in/11am flight decadently late.

Any more decadent and I could be a pope.

* I have no idea what he says when he comes out. "Buy low, and sell high. Yellow cars are more visible on the road, which makes the, safer. Never overcook pasta, it should always be al dente." Something like that, I guess.

** Emma noted that Hadrian got around. We've come across Hadrian stuff in Rome, Athens and Ephesus. Yeah, I know he didn't personally build it all himself as DIY weekenders, but there's still an awful lot of crap with his name on it.

*** The Holy Roman Emperor's army had just finished beating the French army only to find out the Emperor was a bit short of cash, and maxed out on his credit cards, and unable to pay them Unenthusiastic about fighting for free the army suggested pillaging Rome was a reasonable alternative.

**** Trivia: the roof of the castle is also the setting for the final scene of Puccini's Tosca, which Floria Tosca swan dives from.

***** Alexander VI had at least two mistresses and seven illegitimate children. He was so debauched that the priests at St Peter's initially refused to bury him.

Firenze Frenzy

Here's a great thing to do while staying in Rome.

Go to Firenze (Florence). 

Firenze was one of my favourite cities on my first trip to Europe. It was the cultural centre of much of the renaissance, and home of the Duomo of Florence, a fabulous 13th century cathedral, and the Uffizi Gallery, my favourite art gallery in Italy, Europe, the world, the solar system, the galaxy*.

We took the Fressciarosso, the high speed train from Rome to Frenze. It leaves from Termini Station, and in classic Italian style was running late. Forty minutes later we board. Ah, well, it's not like we're in a rush.

We selected the Premium Economy option, which offers roomy leather seats and a visit from the catering car offering free drinks and snacks. So we're kicking back in comfort, watching the countryside race past at 250 kph.

I manage to get us lost at the other end, until we manage to steal a map and head in the opposite direction.

The Duomo is as magnificent as I remembered. Building commenced in the late 13th century, but took 140 years to complete. Significant parts of the design done by the famous architect Filippo Brunelleschi, including the dome (duomo), which the largest in the world at the time it was built. The interior is massive, and far more understated than the churches we've seen in Rome and Venice, which I find gives the cathedral a much more refined and peaceful character. 

After a quick lunch it was on tho the Uffizi. Basically it was originally the private collection of the Medici family, and is jammed full of Roman and Greek sculpture, with the core of the gallery room after room of paintings from around the mid-thirteenth to the seventeenth centuries. Pretty much a who's who of painters are represented: Botticelli, da Vinci, Raphael, Michelangelo, Rembrandt, Caravaggio, Dürer, and more.

The building is like a giant U, and after a couple of hours we'd finished the top floor and had coffee in the rooftop cafe, with great views of the city. I thought I remembered more to the museum, and as we headed down, sure enough, we'd skipped an entire floor. Despite my fatigue I pressed on. So much art goodness, so little time and energy.

Post-Uffizi we crossed the Ponte Vecchio, the jewellery store centre of Firenze. Emma surprised me by not going onto any of them, although she did manage to look into every window. Every. Single. One.

We wanted to see Michelangelo's statue of David , but it was late by the time we arrived at the Accademia Gallery. If we had a couple of hours to spend we'd have gone in, but paying eleven Euros each just to look at a stone guy's dick was a bit pricey.

The train home was on time, ruining my stereotypes of Italian rail inefficiency. Bugger.

Tomorrow's our last day in Italy, then home. As much as I love Italy, I am at the ready-to-go-home stage. I like our home, and I'm really missing our cats.

But we do have one last day of adventures. I haven't hit my quota of Pope-iness yet. To the Vatican!

* There is an awesome antimatter art gallery in the Andromeda Galaxy which is slightly better.

Dem bones, dem bones, gonna rise...

The bones did rise. To the ceiling, and along the walls. Thousands and thousands of tiny little bones. Human bones.

We didn't sleep well the night before. The rain continued all night, but the rain got bored and extended an invitation to the wind, and they partied all night long.

We lost one of our shutters, which Emma heard clatter into the courtyard around 2am. Weird drippings and clicking and banging all night.

Emma was too tired for breakfast, but I find it hard to pass up a free feed. I saw the cop from Michigan, who said they'd had a fabulous time yesterday in Florence, which is our target for tomorrow.

Today was the Church of the Immaculate Conception, a Capuchin church not far from the Savoy. Simon told us about it yesterday, so we had to check it out.

What's so great about this church?

The ossuary.

Bones.

Human bones.

In pretty patterns. Stars made out of vertebrae, arches constructed out of thigh bones, columns of human skulls.

I thought it wa fascinating. It creeped Emma out.

The Capuchins are one of the three orders of Franciscan monks, and the crypts below the church are where the monks were buried. Well it seems around 1760 someone decided piles of monks were a bit of a bore, and that arranging the bones would be a spiffing way to smarten the place up.

There are six crypts, all with different themes: 

The Crypt of the Resurrection - my favourite, with a scythe-wielding angel of death on the ceiling.

The Mass Chapel - I don't recall the detail of this one.

The Church of the Skulls - featuring, surprisingly, lots of skulls.

The Church of the Pelvises - yup, pelvises.

The Church of the Leg Bones and Thighs - no prizes for guessing the feature here.

The Crypt of the Three Skeletons - three slightly-mummified dead monks standing around doing something monkish.

No one knows who arranged the bones like this, or even why. It made me think of Zen or Tibetan Buddhism, about the impermanence of life, and not taking it too seriously. Fascinating stuff.

Weirded out we went wandering into town, and saw the Tritone Fountain, which was closed for renovation last week, was being reopened. Interesting, but not anywhere near as cool as the bones.

Then a quick lunch at a totally unpretentious restaurant well off the tourist path, and another trip back to the Trevi Fountain and Pantheon. They never get old.

Out goal for the evening was dinner in the Jewish quarter of Rome, the old ghetto. I managed to guide us in a near perfect circle around the distinct, which turned out to be a fortunate diversion as it brought us past the Theatre of Marcello, and the church with the "Mouth of Truth" that was in Roman Holiday with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. 

Personally I thought the Mouth of Truth was a bit of a yawn, but the tomb of Pope Hadrian underneath - that was interesting.

We walked across the Isola Tiberina (eh), then found a Roman Jewish restaurant, La Taverna Del Ghetto. The chopped liver was hot, which was unusual for us, the best thing being burik, a sort of fried pancake stuffed with potato.

By now it was freezing, so we taxied back. I wanted dessert, and popped next door to the gelato shop.

Emma's response: "Let me get this right. We've been here for a week with hot weather every day. On the coldest night of the trip you go out for gelato."

Me: "When you put it like that it is kind of daft."

...and water covered the face of the earth

Today was a very wet day.

More 7am church bells. At least it's Sunday so they're expected. I could probably sleep through the bells, but Emma's talking about the bells ensures I wake up.

That's not the real problem. The real problem is I have a cold. Sore throat, runny nose, mild headache.

Plus the sky is grey, and the ever-reliable BBC Weather predicts rain.

If we need a final excuse not to run all over town, we need to do our laundry. Rarely have I been so grateful for domestic chores.

So when Emma asks if we can have a quiet day I don't argue. Great idea.

After breakfast* we grab our washing and umbrellas and head off to the laundromat, which turns into an interesting experience. Like most things Italian it's a highly social process, with lots of chatting.

Procedures are different too. There's a guy on crutches with a broken foot** and a big smile supervising the place. He not only gives change, he feeds the coins into the washing machine - actually, he feeds the one Euro coin in three times. 

The rain finally comes, pelting down. And stops just as we're leaving. Lucky. 

We spend the rest of the day dodging rain. Every time we go inside it hammers down, and stops before we go out again. With luck like this I really should be buying lottery tickets.

It's Simon's last night in Rome, so in the evening we meet him and his friends Robin and Pepe for dinner, at the restaurant in Travestere we liked so much our first night in Rome. As it's raining and I have a cold we decide it might be worthwhile to take a taxi. As we're English-speaking tourists the taxi driver decides it might be worthwhile to take the artificially extended tourist route.

No point letting it ruin the evening. Or the annoying guy who wanders in selling roses or scarves or something.

(Italy is full of people all selling the same crap. The same scarves, handbags, squishy plastic heads... and the instant it rains, umbrellas, produced as if by magic.)

Dinner's great, especially the fried artichokes which were a big hit the first time, and the spaghetti carbonara. We order enough for four, and get platters that could feed eight. Maybe twelve.

After the meal it starts to drizzle. Emma shared her umbrella with Simon, and asked him, "when are you going to get your own?"

"I'm waiting for some Indian dude to sell me one," he said as we turned the corner, " - and here he is."

Which he was materialising as if by magic. Spooky.

Then Emma spotted a taxi, and grabbed it, cutting our goodbye period down to seconds. Good idea, because we're really going to miss him and long goodbyes - well, you know.

So quick hugs and goodbyes, and we're off. Although there may have been a few misty eyes during the ride to the hotel.

* At breakfast we talk to a nice American family from Michigan we met in the lift the previous day. She's a nurse, he' 's a cop, their daughter turned twelve the day before (we sang the "Happy Birthday plus one day to you" song), and they also have a son living in Rome who's studying electrical engineering and acting as tour guide. They're heading off to Florence by today.

By car. Brave

** The broken foot is probably not a requirement for the job...

When in Rome, shop

Hmmm... I'm getting a sore throat. I started coughing at night at the Savoy, but put it down to mold or allergies. I may be getting a cold. I'm not dying, so either it's just a passing thing, or it's a mild bug. Time will tell.

Today's plan is to go shopping, with the main objective to find me a new leather jacket. My options were shop or slam my hand in a car door, and I lost the coin toss.

No possibility of sleeping in. The Basilica's church bells start at 7.00, and repeat every fifteen minutes until 9.00.

As normal we start at the cafe on the other side of the piazza - we're becoming regulars, which I like - is to meet Simon at Termini - on time today - then take the Metro to Spanga station, on the edge of the shopping district.

We hit the H&M shop, and Simon and Emma both find clothes they want to try on. No problem, wait in line  for the change rooms...

I don't know if it's a Rome thing, or just an H&M thing, but this takes forever. Everybody takes half a dozen items, their friends, hairdresser, personal stylists, lighting directors, and have a little personal fashion show before deciding they don't really want anything they brought in, and send their entourage out for more gear.

While they're waiting I go browsing. Ends up I'm the only one who buys anything, picking up two t-shirts and a pair of tartan shoes.*

No, seriously. Tartan shoes. I put them on as a joke, and Emma and I both love them.

We interrupt our shopping to check out a 16th century church in the middle of the shopping district in Via del Corso, the Santi Ambrogio e Carlo l Corso.

It's magnificent, in that gaudy, overblown Italian Baroque style. Although I was a mildly disturbed by the relic in the back of the church, the heart of St Charles. Who's the twisted genius who figured carving up heroes of the church is a great way to bolster religious belief? All the rage once upon a time, which is today there's a church with some guy's dessicated heart proudly displayed in a jar, surrounded by angels and latherings of gold leaf.

We broke for coffee, and Emma spotted a shop with nice jumpers (that's  "sweaters" for the North Americans), and picked up a nice one with a touch of bling. The shop next door had leather jackets, and after trying on a few I ended up with a new mid-length leather jacket for roughly half-price.

Feeling cat-deprived we took Emma past the Largo di Torre Argentina, home of four Roman Republican temples, Pompey's Theatre, and half of Rome's cats.

That afternoon back at our hotel we discovered the church bells are a recurring theme on Saturdays. Maybe it's a special holiday. Maybe Seventh Day Adventists have infiltrated the Catholic Church. Dunno, but they're making Emma crazy.

That night we sent Simon off drinking with his buds, and caught a quick pasta around the corner at the extremely Italian-sounding Robin Hood's Restaurant. Food was adequate, but the interior was brilliant, with a six-foot replica of the Statue of Liberty, and walls covered with old movie posters and happy-snaps of strippers. 

* Technically Simon bought clothes as well, but a bulk pack of socks doesn't really count.

Who can? Vatican!

Omigod. The noise last night.

By day our room seemed perfect, overlooking the Basilica Santa Maria di Maggiore. Beautiful to look at. What I hadn't factored in is that the Basilica is in the middle of a high traffic area, just off a major thoroughfare.

What a racket. Every siren, every braking vehicle, every horn... Emma finally went for the ear plugs, I didn't but should have, and ended up having a severely broken night's sleep.

Eventually I woke up and glanced at the clock: 9.37am.

The problem being we were supposed to meet Simon and Robin at Termini at 10. Oops.

I ring Simon, who thinks it's hysterical that this time he's on time and we're late. 

"Can I tease Emma about it?" he asks.

"At your own risk," I said.

We suggest they head off for the Vatican on their own, and we'll catch up in the afternoon. We can see the Vatican after Simon's returned to London.

We head downstairs to the concierge to see if we can change rooms. Again.

They point out we'd been upgraded to one of their best rooms, overlooking the Basilica; we thank them, but explain the noise is horrible. The new room is poor for Internet access; doesn't matter because it isn't working in our current room anyway. The new room only has a view of the courtyard; perfect.

We move, and we're really happy. Much quieter, lovely outlook, and the Internet connection actually works - erratically, but sometimes beats never.

Accommodation sorted we grab a coffee from our new favourite cafe, then it's time to brave the Roma Metro. After a brief period of confusion we work it out. Easy. Basically just a big "X".

The Metro is clean and efficient, and we make it to Lepanto station without incident. Our plan is to catch up with Simon and Robin when they finish at the Vatican, and we'll all go to the Castel Sant' Angelo. We fill our time walking along the Tiber, listening to two guitarists playing Pink Floyd's classics, and grabbing lunch.

The guys ring, and they've finished touring the Basilica of San Pietro. They're keen to check out the Vatican Museum. 

It's around 3.30, and I figure the queues will be a killer. Turns out there's no queue at all.

You're kidding? No? Let's do it.

I've forgotten most of the details from my first and only visit - it was twenty-odd years ago - but I recall it being awesome. That bit was right.

There's an extraordinary collection of Roman and Greek artefacts (I remember those), an excellent Egyptian collection (forgot that entirely), collections of gold pre-Columbian American artefacts, modern and contemporary religious-themed art (which I think was closed when I was there), and amazing gallery after gallery of medieval, renaissance and post-renaissance art, the walls and vaulted ceilings often more impressive than the works along the walls.*

My favourite bits: the four Raphael Rooms, with frescoes painted by Raphael and members of his workshop. And, of course, the Sistene Chapel ceiling painted by Michelangelo. 

Fabulous.

We grabbed some drinks at a great little bar near the Vatican, and then ate at another tripadvisor.com gem called La Fraschetta. It's a tiny little place, fairly new, and the food was a mix of different cuisines done Roma-style; Argentine arebas, Mexican tacos, a variation of a Roman porchetta, along with several Roman artisan beers.

While the food was outstanding the real star was the owner, Marco. A former IT technician with Apple Computers, he made a complete career change and has gone into the restaurant business. He took a liking to us, adding the crackling to our serve of porchetta, then not only giving us free limoncello aperitifs, but leaving the bottle on our table for free refills.

I can't imagine that happening back in Sydney.

Tomorrow we're having a break from touring. It's shopping day in Rome.

Half of us are really excited about this.

* It seems there is virtually no culture, or historical era, that the Vatican hasn't pillaged in building up the collection. Ok, in fairness they did buy much of it, although that raises it's own issues. At least the collections have gone from the private collection of clerics with ostensible vows of poverty, and been made accessible to the public, so I'll stop moaning about it.

Moving day

After breakfast in the non-moldy side of the Savoy's breakfast room. They do put on a damn fine buffet. 

We'd never really unpacked so packng was easy, checkout took minutes, and the taxi rank is opposite the Savoy. Perfect start to the day.

On the way to the new hotel Emma asks "do you have your phone?"

...

Sure enough, it's missing. It has to be back at the Savoy. It has to.

First things first. We get to the Relais Hotel Antico Palazzo Rospigliosi (hereafter referred to as the Rospigliosi), check in with the charming concierges, and are taken to our room by the grumpiest, creepiest porter I've ever seen. We've dubbed him "Lurch", although Lurch from the Addams Family has twice the personality.

Problem: the room reeks of tobacco smoke. So much for non-smoking rooms.

We head back to check-in, which is an adventure in itself. The hotel used to be a private villa, so it's not designed for efficiency. Finding our way around involves taking a series of random turns, occasionally interrupted by short flights of stairs, with a possibility of catching a lift.

The staff are apologetic, and explain that people disregard the no-smoking rules. Emma has wisely observed that guests might be less inclined to break the rules if they removed the ash trays from the rooms.

Anyhow they find us a room, and Lurch grumps back up to our room and lugs our bags to the new one. It's darker, and still has a hint of smoke, but it's better. Plus we still have a bath, which we requested when we booked, so it's progress.

I ring the Savoy, and yes, they found my phone. I'd left it upstairs during dinner the night before. It's only a 15 minute walk so I head back. 

Once again I get lost. I'd just walked this route the previous day, and I instead I end up at Termini, the main train station. I did have sufficient sense to bring the map, so I eventually manage to find the Savoy, where the staff fail to find my iPhone. After about 10 minutes of searching they ring someone who tells them where he put it. Crisis averted.

Needless to say we go on the hunt for a coffee shop. Lesson of the day: if they don't post prices it's a tourist trap. One price for locals, another for visitors. We're charged six Euros each - over eight dollars - for two coffees by the filthy low-life swindling pirate scumbucket trash bag ho's that run the place. If arson wasn't a crime there would be a big smouldering hole in the ground on the next block.

In the afternoon we take one of those dopey open-air tourist bus rides of the city. Only it's not so dopey. We grab the cheap version, with no hop-on hip-off option, and spend two hours on a beautiful autumn afternoon listening to a pre-recorded tour of Rome. Our hotel faces Santa Maria Maggiore - our room faces Santa Maria Maggiore - and the bus has a stop on the opposite side of the square. From there down to the Colosseum and the Circus Maximus, past the Monument to VE, up to the Vatican, along the Tiber and Castel Sant' Angelo, yadda yadda yadda... Two hours well spent.

That evening we catch up with Simon and another of his programmer friends, a German named Robin, near the Coliseum. Thanks to digital magic of trip advisor.com Robin guides us to a brilliant little pizzeria called "Grazie a Dio è Venerdi" (Italian for "Thank God it's Friday"). Totally unpretentious, with a highly engaging waitress whose lack of English matched our lack of Italian. We ordered way too much food, as usual.

We said goodbye to Simon and Robin who were going out drinking somewhere, while we behaved like the decent and respectable* people we are and returned to our hotel. 

Besides, it's really poor form to show up hungover, worse yet still drunk, when visiting the Vatican.** Which is tomorrow's goal.

* Decent and respectable" being euphemisms for "middle-aged and tired".

** Unless you're clergy, in which case it's standard operating procedure.

 

Colossal fun

Highlight for today: the Colosseum. Or, as it is properly known, The Flavian Amphitheatre (Latin: "Amphitheatrum Flavium" in Latin, "Anfiteatro Flavio" in Italian).

Once again the forecasts for rain were wrong, so we set out on foot, passing the Piazza della Republica, and the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore. 

It's an impressive piece of construction, and big, capable of seating something like 50,000+ people. 

It is also a magnet for people preying on tourists. In addition to the people peddling junk toys, scarves, and tourist trinkets are the guys dressed up as gladiators who offer to take pictures of you with your own camera, and then ask for money - five or ten Euros. We'd been warned by the guide on the bus the previous day ("Gladiators used to kill people. Now they rob them."), but two still managed to ambush us on the way down the steps to the entrance. 

"Gladiator", huh? Give me a lion and I'll see how good you really are.

We opted to take the 40 minute tour, which let us skip the queue, and spent another 40 minutes wandering the building. 

The colosseum was built between 70 and 80 AD, and was in use until the 5th or 6th century AD.

The building is currently undergoing substantial restoration, with the largest scaffolding I've every seen in my life covering much of the exterior. Primarily constructed with brick and limestone, with marble facings, the building was looted for materials over the centuries until Benedict the XIV prohibited the removal of materials, and consecrated it in memory of Christians martyred there. A much better policy than that of Pope Alexander VI, who leased it as a quarry.

Victorious gladiators often became professionals, and some who earned sufficient fame were buried in the colosseum. Archaelogists have found a number of tombstones for these gladiators, which often include the number of their victories. The high-scorer found so far is fifteen. Which suggests his sixteenth fight didn't go all that well.

From here we headed past the Arco di Tito and Palatino, a major archelogical dig just north of the colosseum, and up to the Monument to Vittorio Emanuele (or as we dubbed it, "the white building"), a 19th century building dedicated to the first king of a united Italy. 

On the other side of the square was a protest march with people from Naples. We watched an Italian cop stop traffic to let them cross the Piazza Venezia. He held the traffic back for about most of the group. The last six guys had to scurry very quickly when the cop let the cars and scooters go, dodging cars and scooters before reaching safety.*

Mario and Anna had to meet Mario's mother Mara, who was flying in from Croatia, so we cut the touring short and went back to the hotel. Dinner was in the restaurant on the roof of the Savoy, where we were joined by Simon and his Italian friend Pepe. A good meal, not as remarkable as the one in the Trastevere the night before.

This marked the end of the holiday for Mario, Anna and Mara, who were heading back to Australia in the morning. For Emma and I the plan is to move hotels. We like the Savoy, but the beds are hard and it's at the pricey end. Plus Emma had a coughing fit, which may be due to mold in the hotel. The downside of Europe is most of those beautiful old buildings are damp, with centuries of mold hiding in the corners.

Tomorrow we're moving closer to the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore, to the Relais Hotel Antico Palazzo Rospigliosi. 

Which I can neither remember nor pronounce. My Italian needs work.

* We saw several buses of men unloading the day before, marching towards police standing by with riot shields in case things got out of hand. Mario asked a Carabineri what the protest was about. He shrugged indifferently and said "I don't know." We thought it looked volatile, but apparently this is just business-as-usual.

Rome-ing

We had a drama-free disembarkation in Civitavecchia, a port 70 km from Rome. We'd arranged a bus to take us to Rome, and during the trip in the guide gave us a few hints and highlights for the city.

Despite predictions of rain the weather stayed clear. Good walking weather.

After dropping us at  Ostiense Train Station we caught taxis to the Hotel Savoy.

Roman traffic lived up to it's reputation of being high-speed insanity. I can never quite work out why there aren't rows and rows of burning wrecks filling the streets. The guide had warned us to take particular note of scooters. He said there are one million scooters in Rome, and they can be relied on to ignore most traffic laws. Red lights are only a suggestion, and pedestrian crossings are simply road decorations.

Very good advice.

The taxi driver was just as manic. We passed through one roundabout, with no hint whatsoever of anything resembling right-of-way rules. Traffic merged, bluffed, and braked, trucks, cars and scooters weaving around each other, with nobody batting an eye.

After careful observation I've concluded there are two speeds for drivers: "accelerator pedal to the floor" and "brake pedal to the floor".

The Hotel Savoy is a lovely old hotel towards the north east end of the centre of Rome, and within walking distance of most of the highlights of Rome. The staff were friendly and helpful, the rooms are good with excellent soundproofing, and the view from the rooftop is superb, including views of the Basilica of San Pietro to the west (AKA Fort Vatican), and the Memorial to Vittorio Emanuele in the south.

Simon was coming in from London to meet us. He's staying with an Italian friend, a fellow computer-game programmer, but will be spending a fair bit of time with us as well.

After coffee and sandwiches in the rooftop restaurant, with no word from Simon, we figured we may as well start sightseeing.

Here's the thing about Rome: pretty much everywhere is amazing. Most European cities are steeped in history, so it's not uncommon to walk down the street and pass by buildings hundreds of years old. In Rome it's not uncommon to pass buildings two thousand years old. The ones that are hundreds of years old are the new stuff.

We set out on foot to see the Spanish Steps (as unremarkable as I remembered) followed by the Trevi Fountain (far more remarkable than I remembered).  It was busy, but not stupidly so - once more I was thankful we were travelling in the off-season - and we plonked down and just soaked up the Trevi-ness for half an hour.

We were still sitting when Simon called. He was three hours late, and even I was starting to fret. It turns out his flight was delayed, and then he ended up in the customs queue with the guy who stopped everybody for questions. The other queue was emptied before he was halfway through.

We waited for Simon, then stopped in for coffee at a cafe around the corner from the Pantheon. Good coffee, great waiter, and a near-death experience for Simon and Anna as a truck passed behind them, one quick turn of the wheel away for slicing off the back of their skulls. I have photographic proof (which will get posted when I have time and fast Internet access).

Then then on to the Pantheon, which is remarkable. Originally a pagan temple to the Roman gods (hence the name - pan (many) theon (gods)), it was re-consecrated as a Christian temple/church/asylum in the mumblemumblemumbleth century AD. In addition to the expected amazing statues and artwork it also houses the remains of the first two kings of Italy, and of the painter Raphael.*

Another remarkable aspect of the Pantheon: there's a massive hole in the centre of the ceiling. I thought it was glassed, but it's not. There are twelve drains in the floor to remove the water when it rains.

From there south to the Travestere area, which has a reputation for being the best restaurant area of Rome. On the way we passed De Rittis, a store that sells clerical clothing. That's clerical as in "the clergy", not clerical as in "administrative staff". We're talking vestments, clerical collars, cassocks, bishops mitres... we dubbed it "the Pope Shop". Tragically it was closed, but Simon and I want to go back and top up our wardrobes.

We crossed the Ponte Garibaldi into Trastevere, looking for traditional Roman-style cooking, and hoping to find the restaurant Simon programmed into his mobile phone before the battery died. After a few wrong turns we found it - and it was closed. We quickly realised our error: it was just after 6pm, and most Italian restaurants don't open until after 7pm, sometimes later. This one opened at 7.30.

Not keen to let an hour and a half go to waste we stopped into a restaurant/bar around the corner, where Emma and I shared a more-than-acceptable bottle of Tuscan chianti. 

Merrily primed for dinner we returned to the restaurant (whose name escapes me)**, and had a phenomenal meal. Apart from the veal, which was intended for a shoe factory, everything was brilliant: deep fried artichokes, a magnificent prosciutto with buffalo mozzarella, fresh-baked bread, a pasta with porcini mushrooms and asparagus - and another bottle of chianti, because Rome. The final touch was dessert, with Emma's Roman version of a mille-feuille ("but a thousand times better") being good enough to justify homicide.

That was enough for the night, so we home time. Simon and I walked back, while Emma, Mario and Anna wimped out opted for a taxi. Being fleet-of-foot Simon and I arrived within a few minutes of the others, assisted by the taxi driver giving the others at scenic view of Rome.

Plus we got a night-time look of the Trevi Fountain. Definitely better than I remembered.

* While looking at Raphael's sarcophagus I was awestruck by how incredibly short the little ☠☠☠☠ was.

** Trattoria Da Carlone. How could I have forgotten?

Disasters. Bring 'em on.

The port of Naples isn't much to look at. It's a working port, and a busy one, even in the depressed economic conditions in Naples (unemployment is running around 35%).

We were late docking. The Captain apologised, explaining we were delayed due to the late departure of a British warship. He was doubly apologetic, being British himself, but noted that we were one of three cruise ships held up, and there wasn't much we could do about it as the warship had more guns.

We disembarked an hour late. Our bus was waiting, with Antonio the tour guide and Angelo the bus driver. Part one: Pompeii.

Actually, part one: a cheezy cameo shop just outside the walls of Pompeii.* Yes, very nice, but cameos are something my grandmother might have bought. Interest for us: zero, so we skipped the sales pitch and grabbed a coffee.

Thirty minutes later - thirty wasted minutes later - we entered Pompeii. That's when things got interesting. 

While Ephesus has more grand buildings, Pompeii is much more complete.  About two-thirds of the city has been excavated, and visitors can walk the streets with the remains of homes, shops and temples to either side, many in extremely well-preserved.

Pompeii surived far more intact than most ancients cities because it was buried in a matter of hours when Vesuvius erupted in 70 AD, as opposed to years for most sites. Not so great for the residents, but fabulous for the archaeologists.

The most memorable points included a bathhouse with many of the frescoes and mosaics intact , a small street food-market where people too poor to be allowed a kitchen ate (combustibles = potential to burn the city to the ground, so kitchens were the domain of the rich), a public latrine (apparently men getting together for a dump and a chat was a big thing in Roman times), and the villa of a rich family with the original colours on the mosaics still bright and vibrant.

And of course there are the casts of some of those killed by the eruption. One man appears to have died in his sleep, but there are also casts of a man, a pregnant woman, and a dog that appeared to have died in agony. Disturbing stuff.

We spent about two hours, and could have spent more time. The trade-off with crusing is all the tours are a tasting plate, and it was time to move on.

Lunch was across the road, a passable Italian meal complete with music. A singing guitarist who looked like a bonsai version of Demis Roussos played over lunch, with the head waiter (manager?) providing the vocals on one Italian opera aria. 

After lunch Emma had an attack of jewellery purchase withdrawal syndrome, and bought a necklace from a street stall seller. Her Italian accent must be improving as he initially thought she was Italian.

Part two: the Amalfi Coast.

From Pompeii we took the motorway up to Sorrento in the north, on the cliffs above the Bay of Naples. Pretty, with nice views north towards Naples and the Isle of Capri, lots of greenery, but nothing jaw dropping.

Then we crossed to the south side of the peninsula through Colli di San Pietro overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea, and up the coast to Positano.

Oh. Now I see it. Yeah, that's pretty spectacular.

We continued on, through Praiano, Conca dei Marini, and Amalfi. 

We all wondered why anybody would have settled the area in the first place. The cliffs are steep, and along much of the coast settlers would have to terrace the landscape before building. Even today there are fishermen who live up the cliffs, which makes me think they must spend a long time away from home. By the time you hauled your catch to the top it would be time to head back to work.

From my perspective I'm glad they did, because it's dramatic and gorgeous.

On the downside, it's only a matter of time before landslides shove entire towns into the Tyrrrehnian Sea. You can't have everything.

Needless to say it's another white-knuckle road. Only buses below a certain size are allowed on the road, and at one point we had to pass a bus coming the opposite direction. It took three minutes of careful jockeying, with the buses passing with mere inches of clearance, earning our driver Angelo a round of applause.

As I understand it Positano is the posh end of the coast. That's where the glitterati hang out (it's easy to tell which buildings belong to long time residents, and which have been bought by outsiders. The freshly painted ones are owned by the newbies), and the town is stunning. We preferred the other end, towards Amalfi. Smaller, and just as pretty.

We spent an hour walking the streets. Well, "street", as there only appears to be one real road of note. The buildings have considerable charm and character. There was an interesting looking church up what looked like 20,000 steps (pass), while the commercial area had an interesting mixture of "normal" shops for the locals, and "glitzy" shops for the tourists. We bought an elegant Italian handbag for Emma made out of cork of all things. I think I liked it more than Emma did.

After Amalfi we continued towards Salerno, and by this time Mario and I had shot so many photos we'd killed the batteries on both our cameras. There's a lot of awesomeness crammed into those pixels.

Eventually we ran out of coast, and headed back towards Naples on the autostrada. The inland side of the peninsula - not so pretty. It's essentially poorly-maintained medium density housing, with the occasional small farm or light industrial operation, between Salerno and Naples. It's not hard to tell times have been better.

By the time we made it to the ship we had been on the go for nine or ten hours, and were exhausted. Mario asked, "when were we in Pompeii?" He may have been joking. But I'm not sure.

Pompeii was a disaster, and the Amalfi coast is probably a disaster waiting to happen, but today was nothing remotely resembling a disaster. Along with Santorini and Plitvica today was one of the highlights of the trip.

Sadly, this was our last full day on-board. Tomorrow we have our final disembarkation at the port of Civitavecchia, and then it's on to Rome.

The cruise may be ending, but then we have a week in Rome before we go home. Talk about silver linings.

* I should be used to it by now but I still get amazed at how so many amazing places in the world - Pompeii, Stonghenge, the Pyramids - are often nestled into the suburbs of modern cities. The photographers always carefully frame the shots so the McDonald's and fridge-magnet shops are discretely out of frame.

Big "Yay" for Sea Days

I didn't wake up until 10.00am. Bliss.

Emma was up before then. She had breakfast with Anna and Mario at 8.15 and then went to the Lotus Spa for a pedicure at 9.30. She gets pampered, I get extra sleep. Classic win-win.

I considered playing in the 10.30 poker tournament, but that was looking like way too much effort. Instead I hung out until Emma returned, and we had brunch in the buffet.

Emma elected round two in the spa, this time going for an oxyderm facial and a fruit peel (whatever that entails - something to do with an asphyxiated elephant and a fruit basket?), and I read in the pool area near the spa.

After about 45 minutes the ship changed direction, putting me into the sun. I couldn't move to the chairs to the other side as people had reserved the unused chairs by dumping their stuff on them, and then disappearing to parts unknown knowing they'd have a nice lounge chair in a quiet area of the ship whenever they wanted it.

Which I really, really hate. Next time I encounter this I'm giving the "reservers" thirty minutes to show up before I park their stuff in the pool.

Anyhow, the point of the story was that I found out that evening why the ship changed direction. The bridge crew had seen wreckage from a fishing boat floating in the water, and the Ruby Princess circled back to see if the crew was in the water. I never got any more details on this, so I have no idea if a ship broke up at sea, or some bits simply fell off into the water. Given the condition of most of the fishing boats we've seen, either is possible.

At the time all I knew was my shady spot was gone, so I went to Deck 15 and watched an ice carving demonstration. From big block to horse in about 10 minutes. Pretty cool (pun not intended).

For the rest of day we just relaxed. Not much to do other than read, have a few snacks, go for a wander, listen to a guitarist playing in the Deck 5 Piazza, and moan about not having more sea days. Almost like being on holiday.

Being a sea day it was formal night, so we were banished from the dining rooms and had dinner in the buffet. While we were eating we passed through the Straits of Messina, and could see the lights of Sicily on the port side and Calabria on the starboard. 

Back to Italy. This time we're docking in Naples, with a visit to Pompeii and a drive down the Amalfi Coast. 

Ooooooh.

Aussie! Aussie! Aussie! Oia! Oia! Oia!

I've wanted to go to Santorini for years. Those beautiful white buildings on the top of the cliffs of a volcano - what's not to love?*

Santorini's a tender port, which means we have to be shuttled in on tenders. We waited until the rush of people on tours were off the ship and access to the boats was suitably declogged.

So there we are, leisurely preparing to board the tender, when some tall pushy guy shoves in front of Emma to be the first one on. Then waits ten minutes with the rest of us until the tender fills up.

At the other end he once again elbows his way to the front, because heaven forbid he isn't the first person ashore.

Whatever. Enjoy your coronary, mate.

There are three ways up to the town of Fira: up a 588 step stairwell on foot, up the same stairs on the back of a donkey, or via a cable car. Guess which one we took?

The cable car's awesome. There are four independent gondolas, which don't quite clear the retaining wall above the port side station, so the owners simply knocked holes in the wall with a sledge hammer. A highly refined solution.

Once at the top we went to the bus station to catch the bus to Oia, which we'd heard is the prettiest of the towns. The guy at the bus terminal was worse than useless at giving any information on precisely where to catch the bus, or when it was due. His answer to every question was "it's coming", after which he'd return to filling in forms.

Rather than waste time waiting for a bus we opted to take a taxi. Excellent decision.

Our driver, Nick, was gold. He gave us an impromptu 20 minute tour of the island, driving us to lookouts, discussing the geology of the island, explaining the history, and all-included in the price to take us to Oia. He even initially refused the tip we offered. 

Oia itself is gorgeous. We started by having coffee and snacks in a cafe overlooking the water, then spent several hours just wanderiing the streets, taking in the views, and soaking up the awesome.**

Like so many experiences, it's very hard to capture in words. But we totally loved the place. 

It's not just the buildings. The people are gorgeous. Every shop we went into seemed to be staffed by fashion models. Emma's theory is ugly people are banned from the island.

The shopkeepers are the polar opposite of Kusadasi. Easy-going, no pressure, polite, and as a result we actually spent money with them. Badgering merchants take note.

Emma stopped into a hairdresser to see if she could buy some shampoo, and asked the woman, "do you speak English?"

"Yeah, I do mate," she answered. Greek girl from Melbourne, now living in Santorini. Of course.

I can see the appeal. It's stunning, and Emma and I could come back here for a week or two. But during the off season, when prices are about 1/10th of what they are in peak.

The taxi ride back to Fira was a different sort of experience than the one up. Less of a tour, more of a high speed death ride. Fortunately it was all over in about five minutes.

Emma and I took the stairs down. Much easier than going up, although we did have to dodge a day's worth of donkey poo. The views were fantastic, at least during the brief periods we lifted our heads from the path in poo-light stretches of the path, and it was good to get some exercise after all the eating and drinking of the past few weeks.

We did the sail-out on the balcony, the sun going down just before we set off, finishing off our bottle of red as we sailed past the lights of the island. Very pretty.

After dinner we did another movie on the top deck. This time I persuaded the others to join me for The Lone Ranger. Meh. A few good moments but overall too long, too slow, and it's a bad sign when the best characters in a film are a horse and a dead bird.

But even the Loan Ranger wasn't bad enough to ruin what was one of the best days of the trip.

* The volcano blowing up again would qualify. The first time it went up it wiped out Minoan civilisation across the Mediterranean. 

** And stopped in a few jewellery shops. Of course.

Emphasis on Ephesus

Kusadasi. Meh. I will likely never again visit a Turkish bazaar, and shall die without regrets.

Now Ephesus - that's worth a revisit.

The ship docked in Kudasi, and the port exits straight into the bazaar. Thus is basically shop after shop after shop of the same old crap, and hundreds of well dressed and charming Turkish merchants who just can't shut the ☠☠☠☠ up.

They know it drives foreigners nuts. We stopped outside one store with the sign "no hassle shop" in the window. Great idea, flawed in execution:

"No hassle shop, missus. Come inside, just looking OK... No hassle... See something you like? More like this inside. Lapis lazuli, very nice, inside, more inside, please come in and see, no hassle..."

A bit later we pass a shop and the guy to the right says, "no hassle shop." Two seconds later the guy to the left says, "hassle shop. I like to hassle." We laughed. I had no intention of going into his shop either, but I respected his honesty.

There was one thing about the bazaar I loved. The signs for "genuine fake watches".*

We were chatting to a shopkeeper who wasn't a total PITA. She explained that it wasn't illegal to sell fakes, but it was illegal to pass them off as authentic watches, hence the signs. 

Apparently it's perfectly fine to pass off stainless steel as silver, based on the line of nonsense one guy fed to Emma and Anna about a pendant he was flogging. Real silver - but don't use silver cleaner on it. Yeah, sure.

In one of the main streets a waiter tried to drag us in. Half a dozen "no's" later he tried a new tactic, and recited the entire menu in eight seconds. Now that was impressive. I almost stopped and offered him five Turkish lira just to do it again.

Eventually Emma fled back to the ship, Anna and Mario kept wandering, and I caught my tour to Ephesus.

So what's the big deal about Ephesus?

At one time Ephesus was the administrative and cultural centre for the eastern part of the empire, and the second largest city in the Roman Empire with a population of 300,000 people, which is massive by pre-industrial era standards. When the port began to silt up the river turned into a swamp, one well suited to breeding malaria-carrying mosquitoes. The city was ravaged by malaria, and completely abandoned after a massive earthquake.

Like many ancient cities the location was forgotten for centuries, and rediscovered in the 19th century. Today it's the second most complete reconstructed city of ancient times after Pompeii. It's estimated only 10% of the site has been excavated, but what they have found is magnificent.

Currently the main area open for tourists is a street leading past several temples, arches and fountains, as well as dwellings and shops. Highlights include the Temple of Hadrian, Trajan's Fountain, and the absolutely stunning Library of Celsus.

The tour finished at the Great Theatre, which has been used in recent times for concerts by Elton John and Sting. Personally I'd take the malaria.

The only real downside of the tour was the guide's unfortunate overuse of the phrase "dear guests".

"And let us move on, dear guests. This way, down the street, dear guests. This brings us to the Library of Celsus, dear guests. You will notice, dear guests, that the building has..."

She meant well.

Back in Kusadasi we were taken to a Turkish carpet-weaving demonstration. There wasn't any weaving in evidence, but the owner did spin a fine line of bullshit as the staff displayed carpet after carpet after carpet...

In the evening I watched White House Down on the top deck. The cold kept the others inside, but my hoodie, leather jacket, hat and two blankets kept me warm. As for the film, I'd describe it as "Die Hard in the Whitehouse". Possibly the dumbest film I've ever seen, although it was enjoyable enough with my brain turned to the off position.

Which was a good place for my brain to be in preparation for the next day sea day (#2). But before that we have one more stop in the Greek Isles...

* Julio Delgado, the ship's tour guide said in the port guide video that many of the fakes are quite good. "Some will last all the way back to the ship."

** In the lift down after the movie some guy deadpanned, "best movie ever." Riotous laughter followed.

Mykonos. Blown away.

No lie. We were blown away. I haven't felt winds like this since our last visit to Alaska. Fortunately the winds were heaviest around the docks, and much lighter in town.

The ship docked just before midnight the previous night. We could have gone ashore then, but chose to get a decent night's sleep instead, and wander through Mykonos at a more reasonable hour the next day. Which turned out to be around noon.

Hey, we didn't have any tours booked, and it's a small town.

There really isn't much to the place. It's pretty, with tiny car-proof streets through most of the town, and we loved the white-washed buildings with touches of blue on doors, windows, gates and banisters.* But it's basically shops by day, and nightclubs by night.

Most of the shops are aimed at tourists, especially tourists with deep pockets. Lots of jewellery stores, designer clothing, stuff like that. Not exactly something I need to travel halfway around the world to see.

As for nightclubs, I wasn't big on them when I was younger, and I can easily resist the temptation now I'm in my fifties. We did run into some Australian women we met earlier in the cruise who did come ashore at midnight. Since we're out of tourist season most of the nightclubs are closed. The only one that was open JackieO's, and they were almost trampled in the crush when the crew from the Ruby Princess hit the bar.

(Trivia note: Mykonos is spotless, which isn't the case in most party towns. Every morning the cleaners hit the streets and scrub it spotless. Considering how hard some people like to party I it must get ugly in peak season. I'm hate to be a vomit cop in August.)

We had coffee in a cafe in the water, served by the grumpiest-looking waitress I've ever seen. Imagine a face modelled in plasticine, put your fingers on the forehead and under the chin, and pinch. Factor in coffees at five Euros each and her chances of getting a tip went from slim to none.

Still, the coffee was ok, and it was entertaining watching people dodging the seaspray as waves crashed against the sea wall along the narrow walkway along Little Venice.

Speaking of Little Venice, we have no idea how anybody would think that part of Mykonos looks like Venice. Maybe it's because the prices are absurdly high, which is very Venetian.

After that we walked past the famous windmills on the hill, which are - windmilly. Then inland and back down the hill, wandering through the residential areas. 

After three hours we'd exhausted Mykonos town. As I noted earlier it's a nice enough town, but if we come back we'll leave Mykonos party-central and see the rest of the island. Better still head off to the nearby island of Delos. Forget all that beach-and-nightclub nonsense, the entire island of Delos has been declared an archeological site. Awesome.

We caught the shuttle back to the ship, past the security guards bundled up against the cyclone-force winds.

After dinner in the dining room we finally made it to the Princess Theater for a live show. "Mercury Rising", a tribute to Freddie Mercury performed by New Zealander Steve Larkins. He can't duplicate Freddie's top notes, but in the low to mid-ranges the impersonation is uncanny.

At the end of the show Dan Styne, the Cruise Director, closed the show summing up the next day's activities in Kudsadasi, Turkey, home of imitation goods and the ancient town of Ephesus. "Who's going to the bazaar? Tomorrow you'll be coming back on shore with bags and bags of shit. Who's going to Ephesis? Enjoy your rocks and scaffolding."

Fair summation of most Mediterreanean ports, really. Tomorrow I get to experience both. Hopefully missing out on the bags and bags of shit. 

* Sometimes they use other colours - we saw bright orange on one building - but blue is the preferred colour.

God damned Athens

Specifically Poseidon. That god has had a grudge against Athens for a long time. More on this later.

Athens is a very clean city. Apart from the graffiti everywhere, which is apparently mainly about politics, inspired by the 35% unemployment rate in Greece.

The Greeks have dug themselves into a very deep hole. Today we were visiting some of the other stuff they've dug up, most notably around the Acropolis. The weather forecast was a for a slight chance of rain, which didn't happen. Our luck holds.We pile on the bus in Piraeus, the port that services modern Athens, and meet Penny. She turned out to be one of the best tour guides I've ever had. She not only knows her stuff, she has a fabulous sense of humour, which kept the tour informative and engaging.

The first point of interest was a brief stop in central Athens, at the stadium in Athens where every two years the flame from Olympus is brought by the Greeks and handed over to whoever is about to host the games.

From there the bus drove towards the Acropolis, which stands out over Athens even today. We drive past Hadrian's Arch, a few other ancient bits I can't recall at the moment, and get dumped in the parking lot at the base of the Acropolis. 

Everything I've read talks about how hard the walk to the top is, which worried me because of Emma's knee problems. Turns out it's dead easy, with a very forgiving slope most of the way. The only bit that was challenging was a short section of stairs towards the top of the Acropolis through the temple arch.

As soon as we exit the arch we see the Parthenon, which is a genuinely impressive building, and the Erectheon, which has a genuinely unfortunate name. 

Once again I realise how fortunate we are to be here in the off-season, as the crowds are a fraction of the size they'd be in the peak of summer. Better still we're one of the first tours for the day, so we get there before the bulk of the off-season press as well.

Unfortunately visitors can't actually enter the buildings. We can walk around them, and get reasonably close, but the impact of millions of clomping feet won't help the preservation efforts.

After the Acropolis we were taken to the Plaka, a core market area of Athens. Emma and Anna did an exemplary job of boosting the economy by dumping massive amounts of cash into the Greek jewellery industry.

From there we had lunch in a hotel that was in the middle of a construction site. To be fair it wasn't in the middle, it was just outside, and the area was part of Athens undergoing major redevelopment. I though the food was better than the meal we had on Corfu, although the view at Corfu wins hands down.

Over lunch we met a young couple from Florida on their honeymoon. They were having a good time, although I figure the two of them cutt the average age of the cruise ship down by half. I was especially delighted to hear they were as worn out by all the touring as we were. 

After lunch, including a couple glasses of wine, the bus took us to the Temple of Poseidon. I'm not sure how long this took as I was in a deeply meditative state during much of this time, but I believe it took about an hour and a half.Poseidon's Temple is - OK. It was built a long distance out of Athens, and according to legend was built because Poseidon was unhappy about the Athenians choosing a gift from Athena over the one he prepared. She offered them wisdom, he offered them a goat and an olive tree, or something stupid like that. Anyhow he got sulky and sent storms for years until the Athenians appealed to Zeus, who said "build Poseidon a temple; that'll shut the little bitch up".

So they walked up the coast, and found some sign or another - a dog with a fish in its mouth or something - at a site on the coast which also had the good fortune to be low-value real estate because it was close to Bucharest than it was to Athens.*

The temple's in pretty good nick, but once again we couldn't actually enter the temple. Which arguably is part of the genuine Greek experience, as even when the temple was in operation ordinary people generally couldn't enter it. Apart from a couple of special temple days it was closed to everybody but the priests, because the place was so far in the boonies they couldn't keep a proper watch on it, and they were afraid someone would nick all the valuables from the temple. Probably one of the 35% from the ranks of the unemployed.

Anyhow, I figure Poseidon never really got over it, and that's why the Greek economy is still sinking today. It fits.

Our temple-izing for the day we complete, After a loooong drive back we visit the gelato bar, where I sensibly ordered a beer. You can overdo gelato.

Since I was doing such a smashing job of drinking Emma and I opened a bottle of Greek red wine we picked up in the duty free shop the previous day, and watched a bunch of Russian naval personnel give speeches interspersed with little musical stings, perform a few dances, and look very important, aboard a Russian ship flying a Greek flag. I think it may have been some sort of hand-over ceremony,  although why the Greeks would buy a couple of Russian rustbuckets is a small mystery. Something to research when I get home.

We stayed on the balcony as the ship sailed out at dusk, with excellent views of the Parthenon lit up for the night. 

Back to the Greek Isles tomorrow, this time in the Aegean Sea. 

* I may have garbled this tale a bit. It was a very good lunch.

True Olympian

Today I did something I never dreamed of doing. I ran a footrace at the Olympics.

(Well, I ran a footrace in the stadium at Olympia, where the original Olympics were held. And yes, I did come second to the ten-year-old red-headed Canadian girl, but I beat the 80 year old American woman, so I figure that still earns me the bronze.)

The port of Katakolon is an unremarkable fishing village that seems to make most of its money hosting cruise ships visiting Olympia. 

Now Olympia - that's remarkable, Genuinely unique, being the site of the ancient Olympic Games. 

The first games began almost 1,500 years ago, and were one of the major cultural events of the ancient world, attracting competitors from the Greek-influenced parts of the Mediterranean - which was pretty well all of it. The largest structure was the Temple of Zeus, and the massive statue within was considered one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.

The games ran until 393, when they were abolished by the Emperor Theodosius, who figured games devoted to pagan gods might not be in the best interests of establishing a Christian empire.

The site was abandoned, largely destroyed by earthquake in the 6th century, and then buried after a massive flood. It was only rediscovered in the 18th century, and the Olympia Archaeological Site is still active.* 

They've done a marvellous job excavating and reconstructing the original site. Many of the training areas and roads have been found, the Temples of Zeus and Hera, as well as the stadium.

Of course the buildings aren't in the condition they once were. For many they consist of the base walls, and often that isn't complete. The Temple of Zeus only has one fully-standing column, and some of that is reconstructed - but it still gives a sense of scale.

And it's the real deal, not some faux amusement park knock-off.

When we made it to the stadium I had to have a run. It's the closest I'll ever get to competing in the real Olympics, unless the IOC decides to introduce Cruise Ship Blogging as an Olympic sport.

The tour was due back at the ship at 3.45pm. This had the potential to be very interesting as the ship was due to sail just after 3.30pm.** We were the last bus back, and Mario heard one of the officers grumbling that the bus being back past the final boarding time was "Brian's fault". I assume it was a different Brian as I had very little to due with tour departure times.

Exhausted from my magnificent second-place, I elected to reward myself with a treat back on the ship. It turns out that we discovered there's a gelato bar onboard, hidden just around the corner from the 5th floor cafe.

Olympians who won medals in ancient times would receive free meals for life. I had to pay $1.50 for three scoops of gelato. But then I did only come second, so it's probably fair.

Pretty awesome day, with more awesome ancient-world stuff tomorrow.

(Hint for the day: it involves Athens.)

* It's taken an enormous amount of work to get the site to the state it's in today. Some parts of the site were buried under 150 feet of mud/dirt. That requires a painful amount of careful digging to find the original ruins without damaging anything

** One of the advantages of booking tours through Princess is that the ship won't leave without you if the tour it late. Book your own tour and a delay may see you trying to catch up with the ship in the next port. This can be particularly challenging if your passport is still onboard the ship and it's sailing to a different country.

Corfused

"I think I've had enough narrow winding roads for this trip."

Looking down another sheer cliff face with no safety rail, and three feet of dirt between the wheels of the bus and the edge, I had to agree with Emma. 

I have no idea how the road into the mountains on the north of Corfu could conceivably be two-way roads. Especially when we entered the town near the summit with perhaps two inches clearance on either side of the bus. At least for that part of the trip we didn't have a thousand foot drop on one side.

Corfu is a Greek Island lying just offshore the Greek-Albanian border. Knowing very little about Corfu we'd chosen the "Best of Corfu" tour, which started by taking us up into the mountains, stopping for photo-ops, coffee and baklava at a cafe near the top.  

We came down the other side on a nice, wide, gently-sloping two-lane road. I guess they only like playing "scare the tourists" once per tour.

After this we visited the Monastery of the Virgin Mary. It was built on the site of a miracle that happened in the 13th century. Some guy had a dream in which an angel told him he'd find an icon of the Virgin Mary buried on the mountain, and he should build a church there. Sure enough, when he dug in the location he dreamed he found it.

Finding an icon buried on a mountain - especially in an Orthodox country, where icons are as common as olive trees, is a bit "yeah, whatever" low-grade miracle. Telling people that this thing you just dug up was proof of angelic visitation, and that they should build you a church on the spot, and these people believing you - that's a miracle.

It's a nice enough monastery, with a dim, dark chapel, and an icon that has the miraculour power of collecting people's jewellery.*

The place was thick with cats. Based on my observations the cat:monk ratio was around 20:1. For the most part they looked healthy, although one poor moggie up a tree looked as if he had lost a fight with another cat, with a very nasty abscess on his face. 

Lunch was at a hotel further down the mountain, and reasonable fare given they were catering for four or five bus tours. I was unsurprised to see many tourists skip the Greek food for familar fare like hamburgers and chips. I admit, having buffet moussaka isn't the epitome of cultural authenticity, but I do wonder why some people travel when they do everything they can to avoid the local culture.

Next stop was the Achilleon Palace. This was built for Empress Elizabeth of Austria in 1890.**

Elizabeth adored Greek culture and mythology, and the palace is classical themes in the various rooms and in the gardens. In later years the Palace was used as a casino, and was firmly cemented on the cultural map after appearing in the James Bond film "For Your Eyes Only".

Today it's a musuem, and remarkably well-preserved, if somewhat overblown design-wise and overstuffed with tourists.

Finally we made it to the City of Corfu. This was the best part of the trip, and in hindsight we could have spent the entire day here. A charming city, birthplace of Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh (AKA Phil the Greek, husband of Queen Elizabeth II), who loves the place so much he's never been back.

Overall a pleasant day, and we're glad we've been here, but I can't say there's much to put it on my "must come back" list. It has its points of historical interest and physical beauty, but it's hard to go anywhere in Europe and not run into that.

For something truly unique, tomorrow is a much better prospect...

* When the locals want a favour from God they leave an offering on one of the icons, usually in the form of jewellery. Kind of a divine-intervention trading house. Apparently God is particularly fond of rings and watches.

** Interesting in that Corfu wasn't part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. It's not quite clear why they missed out, givenn that at various stages of its history Corfu has belonged to or been a protectorate of Greece, Rome, Venice, England, France, and back to Greece. St. Spyridon***, the patron saint and protector of the island, did a pretty crap job of it. Although he did seem to keep Corfu out of the hands of the Turks. Guess he doesn't like Turks.  

*** Even today half the boys on the island are named "Spyridon". School role-calls must be fun: "Spyridon?" "Present." "Spyridon?" "Present." "Spyridon?" "Absent, Miss."

Wall etiquette

Rule #1: If you aren't moving, get the hell out of the way.

How hard is it, really?

First things first: our first port stop is Durovnik, Croatia. It's another glorious day, and our ship is docked a few kilometers from Dubrovnik. We can catch a shuttle bus for fifteen Euros per person, or all four of us can catch a taxi for ten Euros.

Go figure.

The taxi dropped us off just outside the old walled city, some of which goes back to the 7th century. Emma's not keen to deal with steps today, so Anna, Mario and I go up to do the two kilometer walk around the wall.

Good call on Emma's part. There are a lot of steps.

What I hadn't factored in was just how crowded it would be. Just getting up the first set of stairs to the wall took around five minutes.

Most of the way around the walls is narrow, perhaps wide enough for two people. Factor in this peculiar thing about people in tour groups, who semi-randomly stop in the middle of the path to take photographs. I say "semi-random" because the probability of stopping is inversely proportional to the amount of space around them.

Tiny little section only wide enough for one person? Great place to stop. 

Big wide area? Nah. 

Anna and Mario were climbing up the ladder to the battlements at the top of the old city, and some woman stopped on the top step to take a photo of her husband. Because, you know, it's a much better shot if you have twenty people trapped behind you.

Whinging aside, we had excellent views of the sea, the marina, and the old city from the walls. It's easy to see why Dubrovnik is on UNESCO's list of World Heritage Sites. From the walls we spotted a little cafe on the rocks outside the walls, giving an unimpeded view of the Adriatic, so when we rejoined Emma we set out for that.

It took a while, being a windy medieval town, but eventually we found a hole-in-the-wall (literally, the way out was a hole in the wall), and had drinks under an umbrella, soaking up the sunshine.

Lots of sunshine. I cooked a bit over the course of the day, although I did manage to avoid getting sunburnt.

In the afternoon we took the gondola (the hanging from a wire kind, not the paddling through a canal version) up the mountain, which gave us a spectacular view of the town and surroundings.

From there another taxi ride back to the ship. Possibly not a taxi. The tiny yellow sticker in the window said "yes", the lack of a meter and his unwillingness to drive into the dock area suggested "no". The price was the same, so I don't care.

Another night without a production show. Or movie. Or much of anything. Perhaps tommorrow, after a day on Corfu.