5.30 a.m. is not my best hour the day, especially when I have to
drive through the lanes of Hertfordshire's countryside to reach Stansted
airport in time for a flight to Palma.
It had rained hard during the night and there were water puddles in
every dip in the road, making navigation more difficult. My Best Beloved knows the area well, so she
was playing the part of rally navigator.
We were on our way to join our cruise ship, Ocean Village Two, for a
seven day cruise around the Mediterranean that would take us to Palma, Tunis,
Naples, Sorrento, Capri, Pompeii, Sienna, San Gimignano, St Raphael and Corsica.
I had booked the car into valet parking, and the parking man was waiting for us at the arrivals terminal, where I handed the keys of our car over, with some trepidation regarding its safety. A tour of inspection, a signature on his receipt form, and we were pushing our trolley of luggage down the walkway to the departures hall. We checked in at the Thomas Cook desk, where our luggage was accepted without complaint, so we must have been within the weight limit. I had tried to convince Noelin that she needed to leave some reserve weight allocation of the 25kgs unused, in order to bring back souvenirs, such as carpets from Tunisia.
We queued for ages to go through the security checks, and eventually fed
our hand baggage into the maw of the x-ray machine. I carried my LoewePro Slingshot camera bag
containing my Pentax K10D and a couple of lenses and Noelin carried her Loewe Reporter shoulder
bag containing her Canon 400D, two lenses, Canon Powershot A550, spare battery, make-up compact, lip gloss, perfume,
tissues, wet wipes, alcohol hand spray, reading glasses, passports, cruise
tickets, parking form and boarding passes. I'll have to pay her more.
Noelin's bangles always set off the alarms, and my belt buckle was also
a culprit, but eventually, without having to get undressed completely in front
of a thousand other passengers, we were allowed through into the departures
hall, where you are invited to purchase as many bottles of drink as you can
carry, to take on board the aircraft with you and to party with, all in the
name of duty free commerce. My belt
buckle was regarded as a potential weapon by the security people, but they
didn't care if I broke a bottle of scotch over the flight attendant's head and
slit the pilot's throat with the jagged end.
Strange.
I had booked the car into valet parking, and the parking man was waiting for us at the arrivals terminal, where I handed the keys of our car over, with some trepidation regarding its safety. A tour of inspection, a signature on his receipt form, and we were pushing our trolley of luggage down the walkway to the departures hall. We checked in at the Thomas Cook desk, where our luggage was accepted without complaint, so we must have been within the weight limit. I had tried to convince Noelin that she needed to leave some reserve weight allocation of the 25kgs unused, in order to bring back souvenirs, such as carpets from Tunisia.
We took a coffee and a pastry at one of the many cafes around the
shopping concourse, and used the toilet facilities before our flight boarding
time. No one looked at our passports,
and we could have been Mr & Mrs Bin Laden if we had worn dish cloths on our
heads. We boarded the Stansted
"transit" and were whisked automatically along a robotic track to our
boarding gate area, where we walked another mile and a half before we came to
gate 53. Maybe they ran out of track.
Two and a half hours later, the captain warned of our imminent landing
at Palma Di Mallorca, in a rich Oxford accent that gave one confidence in the
odds of survival. After a perfect
touchdown, we chained up at the gate and vacated the aircraft onto a bus which
took us to a superb terminal building, recently built. A short walk past a glass booth where an
overweight Spaniard in a khaki cap glanced at the two red passports in Noelin's
hand and waved us through into Spanish Majorca.
We rescued our suitcases from the baggage carousel, and trollied them
outside to a waiting coach, with "Ocean Village Two" displayed on the
front.
A 20 minute drive around the bay
and through the city of Palma took us to the harbour, where we disembarked in
the shadow of the ship that was to be our home for the next seven days. Leaving our baggage to the baggage handlers,
we walked up the gangway and into another security check, where Noelin's
bangles did their thing. It was 12.30
p.m.
 |
| The MV Ocean Village Two |
At the reception desk in what is referred to as the village square, we
were each given a plastic credit-type card with our names and cabin number
engraved on the face. This is what was
to be used for all access, purchases etc while on board - no cash is handled on
the ship. All of our incidental
expenditure would be charged to our cabin account, and at the end of the
cruise, billed to the credit card or debit card that one is required to
register before sailing. We also were
each given a plastic card type key for our cabin door, and a neat wallet to
keep both cards in.
We spent the next two hours having a nice lunch of cold meats, herring roll-mops, salads and cheese with a pint of Stella Artois (the only draught lager they have) in one of the many restaurants, selected from a vast array of dishes on offer. Although we were originally told that our cabin would not be available until 3.00 p.m., we made our way to deck 10 at 2.30 p.m. and found the house keeping lady just leaving, and our suitcases outside the cabin door.
The cabin was spacious enough - more so than many hotel rooms we have
been in, with a dressing room with plenty of hanging space and drawers, and a
spacious bathroom with a big shower cubicle, a double bed, armchair, dressing
table and TV. After doing some
unpacking, we made our way up to the promenade deck and watched the sunset,
accompanied by a sun downer while the ship cast off from the queue-side and set
sail for Tunis.
We spent the next two hours having a nice lunch of cold meats, herring roll-mops, salads and cheese with a pint of Stella Artois (the only draught lager they have) in one of the many restaurants, selected from a vast array of dishes on offer. Although we were originally told that our cabin would not be available until 3.00 p.m., we made our way to deck 10 at 2.30 p.m. and found the house keeping lady just leaving, and our suitcases outside the cabin door.
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| One of the buffet dining areas |
The Med can be a duck pond, and the Ocean Village Two has the advantage
of being designed and built according to the most up to date criteria as far as
stability is concerned, therefore it is no surprise that the only way to tell
if the ship is moving is to see if the scenery is moving. Apart from a low rumble when the engines
start up, we may as well have been in a brick and mortar hotel. None of this up and down stuff, or leaning
from side to side.
The next morning we were back in the Plantation restaurant, bewildered
by the sheer range of choice of breakfast dishes on offer. It was about this time that we realised that
there were a large proportion of passengers on board who could only be
described as sun-slugs. They started
their day feeding at the fry-up trough, piling their plates high army style, with
a final large ladle of baked beans on top, even though there was no restriction
on the number of times that one could go back for seconds and thirds. Dressed totally inappropriately for being in
a restaurant, in bathing costumes, shorts and skimpy tops, obese, odiferous,
devoid of manners and foul mouthed.
From the restaurant, they would waddle straight out onto the sun decks and lie on loungers for hours, slowly becoming broiled red. If only they realised the dangers of skin cancer, they would never be so foolish. It would be these same sun-slugs that we would see when ashore, demonstrating to the local populace the total lack of refinement in the British people, and confirming to the French everything that they hate about les Anglais. There were exceptions, of course, just as we were exceptions! We met a charming couple with two teenage children who came from Southampton, and another retired couple who lived in Guernsey, and who warned us about never sailing in the Bay of Biscay. As this was their 15th cruise, they were qualified to know.
 |
| Sun Slugs |
From the restaurant, they would waddle straight out onto the sun decks and lie on loungers for hours, slowly becoming broiled red. If only they realised the dangers of skin cancer, they would never be so foolish. It would be these same sun-slugs that we would see when ashore, demonstrating to the local populace the total lack of refinement in the British people, and confirming to the French everything that they hate about les Anglais. There were exceptions, of course, just as we were exceptions! We met a charming couple with two teenage children who came from Southampton, and another retired couple who lived in Guernsey, and who warned us about never sailing in the Bay of Biscay. As this was their 15th cruise, they were qualified to know.
The day passed rapidly, and we had a great supper, again chosen from the
vast array of dishes on offer. It was a
balmy night, and we spent some time walking on the upper promenade deck looking
down on the entertainment taking place on the stage next to the swimming pool
one deck below us. We called time out
at 10.30 pm and hit the sack with our cabin balcony door open to the ocean
breeze.
TUNIS
We awoke to the noise of the gangways being put in place in Tunis
harbour. The sun was rising over the
ancient town and we were excited about our planned trip to the old quarter and
the souk. We dressed in a hurry and hit
the restaurant deck for a quick breakfast as we had to be on the quayside to
board the coach at 08.00. The coach
drove through the city of Tunis, which is a typical African 3rd
world, overcrowded, unplanned town. But
contrary to expectations, there was just about no litter! Lots of building rubble as many buildings
were either under construction or being demolished for replacement, but no
rubbish.
The old quarter of Tunis is where the prime minister and the defence
minister and the finance minister have their offices, near the parliament
building. All of these ministries
require lots of big black cars, which were all lined up in the town square
adjacent to the government area. The
sentries on duty at the various ministries are dressed in traditional dress
uniform, with the flowing cape, voluminous blouse and pantaloon pants with the
embroidered waistcoat and massive sword hanging from a silk cummerbund. Only the 7.62 assault rifle broke the spell
of a bygone age.
Our guide’s name was Ali, and he was very proud of his country
and its people, and actually very knowledgeable. He led us single file into the old quarter,
and eventually into the labyrinth of the souk, where our first stop was a
carpet shop. The merchant was called
Abdul, a jolly fellow who offered me 30 camels and a carpet in exchange for my
Best Beloved. It’s her hair, you
see. Golden blonde, and although she was
warned to wear a hat to cover her hair, Abdul had a sharp eye. I tried to negotiate for 30 camels and his carpet
shop, so that I would have a means of earning a living when my Best Beloved
tore up my boarding pass, but he wouldn’t go that far.
 |
| Tunis souk |
After a reluctant farewell from Abdul, we were left to our own devices
for the next two hours, and Noelin and I explored the alleyways and byways of
this fascinating part of the old town of Tunis.
This souk has been a busy place of trade and commerce for over a
thousand years, and the ghosts of the past, from the time of the silk and spice
trade with the east, were very real. We
enjoyed the Tunisian people – they were friendly, happy, cheerful and
welcoming. As long as one is aware that
to barter is part of the culture, there are bargains to be had in the souk, and
many items are hand crafted, such as brass and silver ornaments, pottery and
ceramics, glassware, silk fabrics and ladies clothes, shoes and sandals and carved
wooden articles. This is besides the
amazing gold and silver jewellery, which is sold by weight.
 |
| Silversmith in Tunis |
When we returned to the coach, we were exhausted and very thankful that
we hadn’t attempted to make our own way by taxi. Once back on board ship, we hit the showers
and dressed for supper, another repast of unlimited choice. We watched the harbour of Tunis slide by at
sunset and the lights of the city soon disappeared into a blue-black sea as we
set course for Naples. We slept very
well.
NAPLES, SORRENTO & POMPEII
I was woken by the noise of a hydrofoil jet engine and in the pre-dawn
light from the eastern sky through the cabin balcony windows; I could see
Noelin out on the balcony, watching the early morning ferries from nearby
islands and from Capri and Sorrento, arrive in Naples harbour where we had
docked at 06.00 a.m. There were few
clouds in the sky and no wind at all, and we could hear the hum of the city
waking up to another day. The ferry
terminal was alongside our quay and the ferry boats were disgorging their loads
of city workers.
 |
| Naples ferry harbour |
We had a good breakfast of cereal, croissants, cold meats, herring,
cheese, melon, tea and coffee before making our way through the security gate,
and down the gangway to be directed to a line of parked coaches, where our
front seats had been reserved for us in the last coach in line. Our guide was a fiery Italian brunette in her
mid thirties who, I learned, had a degree in archaeology, specialising in early
Roman history and Pompeii in particular.
She was charming and could answer any question.
We set off on the auto route for the Amalfi
coast and Sorrento, and after a very pleasant journey we arrived in Sorrento at
around 10.00 a.m. After being given
advice on where to go and what to do, we were left to our own devices for the
next three hours, and we wandered around the narrow streets of the old part of
Sorrento, taking photographs and drinking in the character of the town. We had a pizza lunch on the sidewalk and made
our way back to the coach point at 1.15 p.m.
The coach meeting point was a shop specialising in furniture inlaid with
marquetry, which is the speciality of the region, and given a couple of thousand
euros and a large truck, I could have shopped until I dropped. One particular armoire made of Circassian
walnut inlaid with olive wood marquetry was a work of art that I could have
lived with without second thought.
 |
| Pompeii central piazza |
From Sorrento we drove over the hills to Pompeii, with Mount Vesuvius
looming ever closer in the background.
Pompeii is more that a ruined town – it is a stage set waiting for the
actors to come alive. It takes little
imagination to visualise the hustle and bustle of the streets and the voices of
the merchants in the shops and the rattle of the iron shod chariot wheels on
the stone paved streets. Having had its
20 ft covering of volcanic ash removed, everything is covered with a fine
coating of grey dust, and I would prefer to visit Pompeii just after a rain
shower next time. If one knows anything
about Roman history, or if one has read anything about the tragedy of the
destruction of Pompeii by an eruption of Mt Vesuvius in 79 AD, one can sense
the presence of the ghosts of the people who perished in that terrible
event. At the time of the eruption,
Pompeii was still being re-built after being severely damaged by an earthquake
17 years earlier.
 |
| Pompeii street |
The evidence of this
“work in progress” explains some of the strange construction laid bare by the
archaeologists; stone walls topped with brick, and granite columns also
seemingly built of stone as well as brick.
It seems that after the earthquake, the sort of funding and artisan
labour that originally built the city in all of its marble and granite grandeur
was no longer available, and re-construction was done using flint and brick,
and the result covered with a layer of plaster.
I stood in an atrium reception room where many a guest must have been
entertained by the owner, Ceius Secundus, and his family, who were obviously
proud of their dwelling decorated as it was with spectacular hunting scenes
depicting lion and antelope. I could
feel the presence of the host of the house smiling at my astonishment.
 |
| Interior of villa at Pompeii |
The streets are an enigma. Paved
with large granite or limestone rocks, they are not particularly level or even,
which would not have been difficult to achieve considering the Roman expertise
in dressing stone and in road making.
Despite this, there are grooves worn in the stone by iron shod wheels, attesting
to the passage of many chariots and carts and the stones of the raised kerbs
are worn concave on top by the passage of many feet.
 |
| A street in Pompeii - note grooves worn by cart wheels |
Every 100 metres there are three stones laid
across the street, with gaps for the chariot wheels to pass through, and which
were obviously used as bridges or stepping stones to enable one to pass from
one side of the street to the other without stepping into the street
itself. Does this mean that the street
surface, some 30 cm lower that the top of the kerb stones, was awash with
effluent? I can’t imagine such a
civilised people tolerating the resulting stench! I must do more research.
We had too little time in Pompeii – our guide, knowledgeable though she
was, moved us along at such a pace that Noelin and I eventually ignored our
group and just used the time that the guide spent at each place of interest
giving her talk, making our own way along and taking our photographs, which is
what we really came for anyway. We had a
group of Japanese tourists hot on our heels, and occasionally we had to allow
them to over-run us in order to finish taking a particular shot. More annoying were some of our own group of
people from the ship, who continually complained about being bored, or about
the heat (it was around +26C) or about the dust, or who just had no interest in
Pompeii at all. Why did they come along? As it was, we spent two and a half hours and
only saw a small fraction of what we would like to have seen.
Just before we re-boarded the coach for the return trip to Naples,
outside the entrance to Pompeii that we used, is not only a sidewalk vendor who
sells bottles of cold lager for six euros, but also a large cameo factory shop,
and we were enticed down into the basement showrooms by our guide, who was wearing
a cameo that we had admired.
Well, given
another couple of thousand euros and not much space, we could have become cameo
brooch collectors. Unfortunately, one
either has the wherewithal to buy a decent cameo, or one mustn’t bother, as
there is no such thing as an inexpensive cameo, unless it is of low quality and
then it’s not worth having. We tore
ourselves out of the grasp of the sales lady and made our way back up to the
waiting coach empty handed, to the chagrin of our guide, who was no longer wearing
the cameo that we had so admired! Caveat
Emptor!
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| A Cameo brooch |
On the drive back to the harbour, we remarked that every available piece
of open ground between the houses was cultivated with vegetables, fruit or
flowers. Remarkable. We should all take a lesson. We arrived back on board again exhausted
after another very enjoyable day, full of interest and memorable experiences. A quick shower and a sun downer on our
balcony, and we were prepared to attack the offerings at the Plantation
restaurant, where we had a choice of either oriental dishes or Italian
cuisine. We chose the Italian, and sat
at a table out on the deck, looking over the lights of Naples as our floating
hotel prepared to cast off and get under way for our next port of call,
Livorno.
Entertainment on board the Ocean Village Two was a mixed bag. There was usually a stand-up comic in the one
cocktail lounge – this one fitted with a stage, lights and sound system. The theatre usually hosted a cabaret show by
a troupe of English dancers called “Freedom to Move”, in good weather there was
usually something happening on the sun deck stage, which is a space-frame stage
next to the swimming pool on the upper deck, there is a casino for those with a
gambling bent, or one can just relax in one of the cocktail lounges such as the
one that specialises in martinis. (The
Manhattan (gin) martini was passable, and came in a genuine martini cocktail
glass of the large variety. Two of those
will flatten a hardened drinker; one was enough to finish my day off in
style. There were about 20 different
martini cocktails to choose from, but we
only had a week….) The various acts are
not of west end standard by any means, and apart from a tribute to Queen on our
last night aboard, which was very good, the talent was strictly
amateurish. One comic in particular, who
supported the Queen tribute act, was painful.
 |
| Entertainment on deck |
LIVORNO – SAN GIMIGNANO
We were moored in Livorno harbour in the north of Italy by 7.30 a.m. on
Saturday morning, from where we were to tour Tuscany, and the towns of San
Gimignano and Siena. Livorno is nothing
to shout about – it’s an industrial harbour some way from the actual town, with
a view from the quay of the monastery on the hill overlooking the town, across
the harbour pool. After our usual
breakfast feast, again taken out on the deck overlooking the harbour, we
disembarked and found our tour coach and guide waiting for us on the
quayside. We had reserved the two front
seats behind the driver that we prefer on a coach, and our guide, Chintia, was
seated across the isle.
 |
| Livorno harbour |
We set off in
superb weather and soon found ourselves in the Tuscan countryside, which is
probably the most spectacular and recognisable landscape in Europe. No matter where one looks, the view appears
to have been specially created to be perfectly formed and each breast of a
hillside, group of Cyprus trees or red tiled villa appears to have been
perfectly placed just so, to create an impossibly beautiful vista, straight off
of a master’s canvas.
San Gimignano is the “City of Towers” and its towering edifices can be
seen from afar, as it is built on the crest of a hill that dominates the Elsa
valley in the Tuscan countryside. The
towers date back to the 11th and 13th centuries and were
built as a sign of the wealth of the family concerned. There is folklore that they were used as
look-out towers to spot enemies approaching in feudal times, but this seems
impractical – the town wall would have been a better location for this purpose. As it is a walled town, our coach drove
around the outer perimeter before allowing us to disembark at one of the town’s
gates.
 |
| San Gimignano |
From within, San Gimignano is not a pretty town, and there are no spaces
of exposed ground where anything grows.
Brick walls and stone cobbled streets are all one sees, with some
impressive squares or piazzas. It must
be a pretty depressing place to live. While
we were looking at the frontage of the church in the main piazza, we noticed a
wedding party preparing to enter the building alongside the church, and before
long a car pulled up and the bride alighted, who was a substantial woman
indeed. She was joined by the groom and
maid of honour, who would have made a much more handsome couple. This was obviously an arranged marriage, and
a very local one, as I cannot imagine anyone who is not a long time resident of
the town, being allowed to marry in any of the town’s churches. If you are born here, you can live here and
marry here, otherwise, vamos!
 |
| Towers of San Gimignano |
Many of the ground floors of the houses bordering the main thoroughfares
have been converted into boutique shops, selling the locally made, and justly
famous, pottery and ceramics, as well as all sorts of hand crafted
souvenirs. There is none of the “made in
china” rubbish that one sees elsewhere – and the quality of the goods on offer
is extremely high. There are also
cafeterias, pizzerias and restaurants offering a vast range of delicacies and
local produce, especially the Tuscan pastries and Pain Forte or “Strong
Bread”. We did not have sufficient time to
explore the entire town, and we would have liked to climb up to the top of the
town wall, but we just made it back to the coach park at the appointed time.
 |
| San Gimignano ceramic shop |
We drove through the back lanes of the Tuscan hills for a half hour
before coming to a farm house where we were seated at tables overlooking the
Tuscan hills with San Gimignano in the distance. We were served a superb lunch of local dishes
made from ingredients grown or made on the farm. There was home made penne pasta, cheese,
salads, tomatoes, fillet of trout, bread and a very good Chianti wine as well
as a fruity white, both from the farm’s vineyards. It was a simple, yet memorable meal, and we
could buy the ingredients from the farm’s shop.
I could have found a comfortable corner and slept for the rest of the
day, but we were soon back on the coach and on our way to Siena.
SIENA
The walk from the coach drop-off point on the outskirts of Siena, to the
old town proper, is about two miles. It
settled our lunch, and gave us the chance to appreciate the beauty of this
ancient town from a distance. At the time of the Emperor Augustus, a Roman
town called Saena Julia was founded in the site. The first document mentioning it dates from 70 AD. The Roman
origin accounts for the town's emblem – a she-wolf suckling the infants Romulus
and Remus. According to legend, Siena was founded by Senius, son of Remus, who was in
turn the brother of Romulus, after whom Rome was named. Statues
and other artwork depicting a she-wolf suckling the young twins Romulus and
Remus can be seen all over the city of Siena.
 |
| Siena piazza |
The Siena of today is a mediaeval town,
built on three hills, and the city fathers have banished the motorcar from the
streets. Vespa scooters abound, but most
people walk. Some of its traditions go
back to the 10th century, the most famous of these being the Palio,
a horse race with a difference. The fact
that this race demonstrates the total insanity of the town’s inhabitants does
not deter them from holding it twice a year.
The town is divided into seventeen districts or Contrade. Each is represented by a symbol depicting an
animal such as a giraffe, a rat, a frog, a tortoise etc. These symbols can be seen as cast iron or
stone decorations on the buildings. Each
Contrade draws a horse by lot, and ten Contrade participate in each Palio,
seven run by right, not having raced in the corresponding Palio the previous
year together with three drawn by lot from the remaining ten. The race is run around the main square of the
town, the Piazza del Campo, and lasts all of 90 seconds. The stone cobbles are covered with a layer of
sand for the occasion, but it is still a dangerous affair for both spectators
and competitors alike. The prize is a
flag (Palio) bearing the image of the Virgin Mary in gold embroidery.
 |
| Siena cafe' |
We left our guide half way through her guided tour, in order to explore
photo opportunities and we thoroughly enjoyed the bent, cobbled alleys and the
misshapen buildings. There were, as is
to be expected, many other tourist parties, as Siena is a popular destination,
but we managed to avoid most of them.
The trouble with these towns is that the streets become very dark by mid
afternoon, as the buildings block out the sunlight and photography becomes a
real challenge. We had all been told to meet back in the main square at 3.30 p.m. so we had a
good two hours to explore and to indulge ourselves in photographing one of the
most enigmatic towns in Italy. At the
appointed hour Chintia gathered her flock and marched us all back through the
town, out the gate a back to the waiting coach.
We were only too happy to rest our feet, but another visit to Siena is a
must.
 |
| St Raphael Promenade |
Our next port of call was St Raphael, on the French
Riviera. We were woken by the sound of
the power winches lowering the tender boats to the water. After our usual superb breakfast, we made our
way down to the tender gangway on deck 5.
St Raphael has no large ship harbour, only a yacht basin and a fishing
harbour. We were therefore ferried to shore
by the ship’s tenders, which operated a continuous shuttle service between the
ship and the yacht basin all day.
A five
minute boat ride and we were on the quay side in one of the quaintest towns on
the French south coast. We had decided
not to book on any of the shore excursions in St Raphael, as we wanted to
explore the town, and there was no transport problem getting there. We could have taken a tour of Monaco, or
Cannes, or St Tropez and Port Grimauld, or even gone on a wine tasting tour to
chateau St Martin, but a chill out day
on our own was what we needed.
There was a craft market along the waterfront and there were many
interesting items on sale – from home made nougat, to perfumes, soap, pottery,
glass ware, spice mills and even fur coats.
The weather was wonderful, a blue sky with no wind and +25C. After walking into the “old town” and
visiting the real produce market, where the locals buy their produce and consequently
eat like kings, and after walking around the perimeter of the cathedral while
exploring the old town, we took a table at a side walk café and ordered cold
lagers. Refreshed, we walked to the end
of the seafront promenade and on to the beach, so that my Best Beloved could wet
her feet in the Mediterranean Sea. It
soon became apparent that it was a “topless” beach, but I decided to be modest and keep my shirt
on. We walked back along the sea front
and came to another side walk café which had a bill board outside offering a
chef’s special of the day for lunch. We
found an empty table, and witnessed the waitress serving delicious looking
plates of food to other patrons. When
she asked us what we would like, we asked what it was that she had served the
table next to us? She pointed to the
bill board and said that it was the advertised “chef’s special”. We ordered two servings, and had the most
delicious lunch that we could remember.
Although the food on the ship was very good, this was the real thing, two portions of baby beef, grilled to perfection and covered in a delicious red wine and black currant sauce, with pomme-frites, roast vine tomatoes and broccoli. Cordon Bleu cooking at it’s very best. Good food, good company, good wine and good surroundings, we watched the local people going about their business, and although it was a Sunday, there were plenty of them about. The French are easy to spot – they always dress with flair, and they are not obese. The British are easy to spot – they dress very inappropriately, and they are obese. It’s a shame, really. We made our way back to the dock at 4.00 p.m. and the anchor was raised at 6.30 p.m. We set sail into the sunset for Corsica, island of mystery and home of the legendary bandit pirates.
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| Ships tenders |
 |
| St Raphael craft market |
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| St Raphael sidewalk |
Although the food on the ship was very good, this was the real thing, two portions of baby beef, grilled to perfection and covered in a delicious red wine and black currant sauce, with pomme-frites, roast vine tomatoes and broccoli. Cordon Bleu cooking at it’s very best. Good food, good company, good wine and good surroundings, we watched the local people going about their business, and although it was a Sunday, there were plenty of them about. The French are easy to spot – they always dress with flair, and they are not obese. The British are easy to spot – they dress very inappropriately, and they are obese. It’s a shame, really. We made our way back to the dock at 4.00 p.m. and the anchor was raised at 6.30 p.m. We set sail into the sunset for Corsica, island of mystery and home of the legendary bandit pirates.
AJACCIO, CORSICA
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| Ajaccio |
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| Coach in Corsica mountains |
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| Corsica interior |
We stopped for refreshments at a family run restaurant built on the mountainside, and we ordered coffee and a slice of the local cake made from chestnut flour. Our driver was very skilful, and safely brought us down to the coastal plain without mishap I would not travel that road after heavy rains, as the danger of a landslide was all too apparent by the scars in the mountainside.
We were back on board by 12.30 p.m. as the ship sailed at 1.30 p.m. We had a superb lunch sitting at a table out
on the deck at the stern, and watched Corsica recede into the horizon as we
sailed for Palma, where we would arrive at dawn the next day, and where we would
take our leave of this floating food hall for our return flight home.
PALMA Di MALLORCA
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| Palma de Mallorca terminal |
We were told to leave our check-in luggage outside our cabin door after
6.00 pm, tagged with the pink labels that were supplied. This we did, and the next morning we were
docking in Palma harbour when we awoke.
With only our camera bags to worry about, and our overnight bag, we had
our last breakfast on board and at 9.00 a.m. we disembarked and went to the
terminal building on the quay side, where we identified our luggage and took it
to the waiting coach, which was waiting to take us to the airport. Although all of the cruise literature has
Palma as a part of the itinerary, giving the impression that one has at least a
half day there to see the place, this is not the case. On arrival, we were driven from the airport
directly to the ship, which we boarded immediately. On departure the reverse – we were taken
directly to the airport after breakfast, so we still don’t know what Palma is
actually all about.
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| A long walk |
Although our return flight was on the same type of aircraft as our
outward flight, an Airbus A320, we enjoyed more leg room the second time
around. We moved to an empty row of
seats as soon as the seatbelt sign went out, and had a much more relaxing
flight. Touchdown at Stanstead was after
6.00 pm and by the time we had retrieved our baggage it was 7.30. I rang the number for the valet car parking
to have our car brought around to the terminal.
The ‘phone rang a long time before it was answered and then a sleepy
voice told me that the car would be there “right away!’ We waited and we waited, a full hour before
my Volvo appeared. It had mud up to the
door handles, it stank of cigar smoke and the interior carpets were filthy with
mud and rubbish.
I was furious and gave
the guy who had delivered it, a piece of my mind. Little did I know that I would discover a
couple of weeks later, on telly, that I was the victim of a scam where what
appeared to be legit car parking companies were actually scammers out for a
quick buck who took your money and your car and parked it in a field
somewhere. There was no security, no
shelter and no insurance. My Volvo also
had over 150 miles clocked up since I had handed it over on departure at Stanstead.
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| Rip-off valet car parking |
Never mind – we will always remember our first cruise around the
Mediterranean and we pray it will not be our last. We may even consider booking ourselves onto a
cruise full time, back to back, when I have to quit work and retire. We won’t have to worry about paying rent,
fixing the roof, grocery shopping, cooking meals, getting the telly fixed,
cleaning the windows or any of the other nuisances of living in a house. It will all be taken care of, with 24/7 room
service to boot, and wonderful live entertainment every night thrown in!
We can dream, can’t we…..?
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