Saturday's bus problem

Saturday 11th May, continued

After a thorough investigation of the necropolis we strolled back into Tarquinia town. There had not been many people at the burial site but it was even quieter here. It seems that between 1pm and 4pm everyone stops for a (delicious smelling) long lunch and / or a nap (this is one of the things that most appeals to me about living in a Mediterranean country. Everything was shut now - happily apart from the ice-cream shop - it must have been low season as even the bars and restaurants appeared to be on a break. So we refreshed ourselves with a gelato: coffee + pistachio for Matt and cinnamon + orange for me. 

Nature report 3

• Tarquinia has embraced the concept of a park for dogs on one side of the road and a park without them on the other side. I greatly approve of this type of canine apartheid. 
• We saw someone training a duckling (or maybe a gosling) in their front garden. At least this was the most plausible explanation of what they were doing. 
• Amazing lizard spotting today.
  
  Including some big green ones and one with a green body and brown tail. They are very camera shy.
• Like Cannes, Tarquinia is pleasingly free from seagulls (it's not very far from the sea) but it does have a pigeon issue. They seem to enjoy living in nooks in old walls. Fortunately we both avoided getting pooed on (although apparently this is lucky so maybe we weren't so fortunate after all.
• In the three hour shut down the only notable homo-sapien nature we observed was the occasional passage of a Boy Scout or Girl Guide (or whatever the local equivalent is) and an elderly man singing loudly outside a church. I don't think he was drunk, just happy. I think I would sing loudly too if I lived somewhere as lovely as Tarquinia.

We wandered in the town a bit more. It was one of those lovely places with an old building or beautiful view around each corner. I think I got an impression of what Italy would have been like in the 1950s, only now there were more parked cars and fewer mopeds. 

As the afternoon wore on we decided that we should make our way back to the ship. There would have been much worse places to be stuck than Tarquinia but we didn't fancy our chances of catching up with the ship in Corsica. The lady in the tourist information explained that we could get the small bus at 1700 or the big bus at 1620. It was 1615 and for this earlier bus we would have to buy tickets in advance at the tobacconist (they may be advanced with dog division, but not with bus ticket provision), so Matt waited at the bus stop to hold up the bus should it arrive and I dashed off to buy the tickets. By 1650 the bus had not turned up. We mused over the possibilities:

• this was one of the rarest of occasions in Italian public transport and the bus was running ahead of schedule
• the bus driver had overslept during his (or her) nap and/or overeaten (or possibly over drunk) during his (or her) lunch break
• the bus didn't actually exist at all and was merely a racket to make unsuspecting travellers buy tickets for journeys that will never happen.

At 1700 the big bus still hadn't turned up and we decided to cut our touristical Euro losses and get the small bus (that turned up on time) back to the port.

Saturday's hen

The weekend got off to a good start - I was actually running on time. We were due to head up to Windsor for our friend Becky's hen party. We was me, Vicki (designated driver) and Shelley who we collected from the train station on route. It was a remarkably quick trip up the M3 (for those heading south it was more like a car park). We were not going to my 1st choice of Berkshire attraction (I'm desperate to go to a certain Scandinavian brick based theme park), but to a posh hotel / spa which would be a new experience for me.

We had a good initial catch up in the car. One of my fellows was rather worried about her bikini line, but I doubted that we would be looking. Continuing with the on-time theme we were only the second group to arrive and made ourselves comfortable in the bar chatting to Becky's mum, Mary, and sister, Sarah.

It was drinks all round once everyone had arrived. Most people wisely went for a soft drink. This was wise because:

• it was a super hot day (according to my husband Windsor was the hottest place in the country) 
• the alcohol was super expensive (think over £7 for a standard gin and tonic)

Most people was everyone except Shelley, who is a fan of half a lager. I got one of my five a day in with a sparkling apple juice.

There were 15 of us all together, and Jean-Paul the restaurant manager appeared to be in charge of making sure we were fed. Despite my best efforts to entice him otherwise Jean-Paul was not interested in speaking French to me (he was actually French; he even had some rather Gallic ear hair). 

After lunch (a melted smoked cheese and tomato baguette with too much tomato) we prepared for the spa. There was a bit of a palaver to do with acquiring our dressing gowns (or robes if you're embracing the posh thing) and slippers, but we soon settled into the spa, helped by a glass of champagne. I am not a fan of sauna or steam room or bubbly boily pot at the best of times, let alone on the hottest day of the year in the hottest place in the country. Instead I did a couple of lengths and enjoyed cooling off in the pool before it was time for my mini-pedicure.

It really was mini (file and polish would have been more accurate), but I really enjoyed chatting to the lady who did it. She has recently gone back to college to train as a beautician, after spending over a decade on the stage and screen. She was the lead in a lesser known Andrew Lloyd Webber show for 2 years, and subsequently to that had spent 10 years presenting on television shopping channels. Apparently it is very difficult to be enthusiastic about a kaftan for an hour. I think I came off better than my friend who's mini-pedicure experience (begin your own sci-fi style soundtrack here) seemed more akin to an alien abduction.

Then, after a little time in the relaxation room, it was time to get ready for the evening phase of the hen party. It wasn't unrelaxing but I find it basically impossible to relax whenever that is designated as what you should be doing (random relaxation is much more effective). But there were some fun rocking chairs and a read some interesting stuff about Gibraltar while my nail polish dried.

The instruction that we had from Sarah was to get glammed up, not an activity I am terribly familiar with, although I had recently had some practice on a cruise. With the help of my super chic friend Charlotte, I chose to wear a one shoulder deep fuchsia dress. I even ironed it. Taking advantage of the occasion (rather than any style advantage) I donned my new gold high heels (with toeless tights of course to show off my new deep fuchsia toe nails).

The heat was making me very thirsty so before we headed down to eat I swigged a bottle of fizzy orange juice (possibly another one of my 5 a day). I skipped a pre-eating drink (except for a small glass of champagne that I think was given to us in the mistaken belief that we were wedding guests), but did try a little bit of my friend Helen's gin and tonic. I am usually a gin and tonic fan but this one tasted of face cleaner. Sarah had made us up some lovely hen-party party bags:

• earrings (she even swapped out mine for some with screws rather than hooks)
• bubbles (everyone loves bubbles)
• heart straws (very tasteful compared to previous hen-party straws that I have experienced)
• a badge (even more tasteful)
• decorative sweets (which was very useful as I forgot to pack any jewellery) 

Jean-Paul had arranged for us to have tea outside (dinner on the terrace if you're embracing the posh thing); it may or may not have been cooler than it was inside. But we all just about managed our way through a delicious 3 courses. And we even managed to wangle some bonus vanilla ice-cream to go with the chocolate fondant pudding.

After letting our food and wine go down a bit we bundled into taxis to get to the town centre. The destination was a cocktail bar. The details (for now) are restricted to the hens. Suffice to say a good time was had by all. Can’t wait until the wedding.

Wednesday's sight-seeing

Wednesday, May 8^th 2013

Today was our first shore day: Cartagena on the Costa Calida – the warm coast. There were a few organised trips but we had read our touristical literature and felt pretty sure that we could take care of ourselves.

We disembarked after breakfast (slightly more substantial today as we would probably skip lunch) and followed the signs for the Castillo de la Concepcion. This was in order to achieve one of our customary touristical activities of Going Up Something High. Unfortunately we caught up with an organised group of Americans from another ship (the group was organised, not the individual Americans). 

The big lift

There is a big lift (or elevator for any trans-Atlantic readers) to take you up to the castle. Unfortunately it was a small lift, the capacity of which was reduced (in units of people rather than pure mass) because there were a number of obese Americans ahead of us in the queue.

Leaving Matt to keep our place in said queue I negotiated my way to the information / ticket booth where (after being told about all the various combination tickets available) I ascertained that it was possible to skip the lift and walk up to the castle. So we duly commenced our ascent of the stairs that circumnavigated the lift, only to find after about one storey that they were blocked off. We did however happen upon the Refugio de la Guerra Civil. I’ve been really interested in the Spanish Civil War for a few years (since I read a novel in which it was the backdrop), so this museum housed in a municipal air raid shelter built into the hill under the castle during the 1936-1939 conflict was a happy coincidence. We parted with our first tourist Euros of the holiday and it was €3.50 (in total) well spent. After the recent horsemeat debacle I was particularly enthralled by a recollection about donkey meat which was being passed off as horsemeat.

Subsequently we meandered around the streets of Cartagena and found the elusive pedestrian route to the castle, where a few more tourist Euros were well spent. There were a number of interesting displays, this time about the older parts of the City’s history. This section was completed with a 2 player game in which Rome (me) battles Carthage (Matt) based on answering questions about what the displays have just told you. Carthage showed strength in answering questions correctly. Rome showed strength in answering questions incorrectly quicker than Carthage, which was advantageous to Rome when both got the wrong answer. But ultimately Carthage was victorious.

In the grounds of the castle there were peacocks who chose not to do a handsome display for us (I would have liked to get a photo to paint) but I was wiser than to provoke them into doing so.

Matt tries out his jousting skills

And then there was an area set up for practising your jousting skills. Matt did well, especially as we had that wibbly feeling from transferring from the ship to solid ground. 

Oh, and the original intention of the castle visit – to Go Up Something High – was met as we were able to climb to the top.

Panorama from Something High in Cartagena

We descended into the town and further helped the local economy (which does give the impression of needing help) by purchasing some snacks in a bakery (skipping lunch is much better in theory than in practice). 

Trying out a local snack

I had something intriguing that was a bit like a giant sweet poppadum, mildly flavoured with fennel and pine nuts. I also popped into a supermarket (while Matt rested / snacked on a bench) to get some soft drinks and was pleased to be able to help an American (or possibly Canadian) couple choose some red wine. They were getting into quite a grumpy debate about it. “Why don’t just ask someone?” said the wife, which I took as my cue to explain the difference between a Rioja and a Temperanillo. I have no idea what the difference (or indeed differences) between a Rioja and a Temperanillo is but my best wine buff impression and thus prevented any more marital disharmony. I’m still pondering whether the end justified the means.

We meandered back to the seafront of this very pleasant town, stopping for an ice-cream on the way (clearly justified as we had grossly underspent our tourist Euro budget for the day), and were back to the ship with a bit of a margin before departure.

Unfortunately for Felicity and Terence they did not make it back to the ship: the captain announced that we would be leaving without them. I mused about the possibility that the captain had invented Felicity and Terence as a lesson to the rest of us not to miss the boat at subsequent ports. Matt and I then planned our train journeys around Europe should this calamity befall us. We decided that they would be fairly straightforward trips, perhaps even enjoyable, apart from Corsica to Gibraltar which might be a little too tricky in the available time.

Nb. During an interlude in last night’s dancing I took a quick trip to the library. The city in North Africa that we had seen was indeed Tangier. Marakech and Casablanca being located to the West (not the East as I had thought which proves that my knowledge of North African geography does indeed leave a lot to be desired).

Monday's energy savings

Monday, May 6^th 2013: continued

After yesterday morning’s oversleeping I made sure that I turned up my phone to full volume before going to bed. I awoke feeling pleasingly refreshed (maybe the separate beds?) so was surprised that the alarm hadn’t gone off. I was even more surprised to find that it was gone 10 o’clock. Evidently the alarm doesn’t sound if the phone is turned off.

Calorie saving of the day 1: skip breakfast. I persuaded Matt that as it could be less than 2 hours until lunch (we had already spent some time faffing) we could swim, shower and then eat. We headed to the largest of the ship’s 4 pools; it was overcast this morning and this pool has the benefit of being undercover in such conditions (like a convertible car). I did a 20 minute swim but not very vigorously (no risk of being mistaken for a channel swimmer) as I had my “beach” bikini on and was rather concerned about the security of various parts of my anatomy in it. I did however enjoy doing some forward somersaults (without any loss of anatomy).

Calorie saving of the day 2: opt for the lighter options. Which I enjoyed for starter and main at lunchtime. Followed by treacle sponge and ice-cream. We had signed up for a “soda” package (20 drinks for the price of 16 or something like that) and had spent quite some time deliberating as to whether to add 20 branded soft whipped ice-creams for an extra £7.50. While this seemed like a bargain (and I do like a bargain), 20 branded soft whipped ice-creams would be quite a lot to get through. It was not clear whether these branded soft whipped ice-creams would come with chocolate flakes and while I love ice-cream this branded soft whipped type is not my favourite and I figured that there would be good ice-cream opportunities available at the port stops. As it turns out there are also good ice-cream opportunities available every lunch time and dinner time. It is always a pudding option (seemingly different flavours on every occasion in addition to the standard vanilla) and, even better, it is possible to exchange whatever dessert condiment is allocated (e.g. custard for the treacle sponge) for an ice-cream “side”. You can even have ice-cream as well as the allocated dessert condiment. It was a good call to opt out of the branded soft whipped ice-cream.

Over lunch I practised my small talk. Today’s subjects included the various ways of travelling to Southampton (in particular from Edinburgh) and Scottish (and other bits of the UK) independence, which I suppose might really be classed as political debate rather than small talk. Although you couldn’t really class it as debate as everyone joining in had the same opinion.

Calorie saving of the day 3: avoid the afternoon tea buffet. We had spent most of the afternoon in the convertible area by the pool, reading and playing my favourite fruit based word game. A 4 o’clock hoards of people started walking through this area. It was a few hours since we’d eaten and we were getting a bit peckish. So I suggested to Matt that we pack up our stuff and get afternoon tea (rather than go for the poolside pizzeria). We had always intended to go to the restaurant for this, as it is a civilised thing to do that doesn’t happen in day-to-day life (well not in ours anyway), plus there would be several flights of stairs to navigate which would be good exercise. In order to get to the waiter service restaurant we had to walk through the buffet area. This was clearly where the hordes were heading and now settling with their plates piled high with cakes, rolls, scones, samosas and curry. Yes, samosas and curry: since when afternoon tea has featured these I do not know. In the restaurant I was much more restrained – it is somehow ore difficult to over-eat when other people give you food rather than you putting it on your plate yourself from a seemingly unending supply. The only disruption to the aforementioned civility was when I failed to differentiate between the butter and the cream on my mini-toasted tea cake. Retrospectively the difference was obvious since the butter was in those little gold wrapping papers.

Then we re-settled by the pool. I wanted to paint the mini-fruit tart that Matt and I had just shared. I am not particularly good at painting and I particularly not good if I am trying to do it from memory. So I braved venturing into the buffet to see if I could pick up a tart to model for me. Unfortunately I was too late – afternoon tea had been cleared to make way for the Enid Blyton character themed tea. I didn’t think that the under 5s would have appreciated me taking one of their jam tarts to help me with my art so I would have to rely on my powers of recall. Whether you would identify my creation as a fruit tart is doubtful, but it’s colourful at least.  

Painting a fruit tart