Sunday's storm

Sunday 12th May

We had spent most of the breakfast period arguing about the size of Corsica. Matt claimed it was the biggest island in the Mediterranean while I was adamant that it was about the same size as the Isle of Wight. I knew that at least it was smaller than Sardinia, Sicily and Cyprus. Today's port was Ajaccio – capital of Corsica. I don't think it's the most beautiful part of the island but we didn't have enough time to venture into the mountains so spent our time exploring the town.

It's typically French including:

mmm Palmier biscuit

• a market selling lurid coloured underwear, beach towels, cheap jewellery, ugly bags etc
• numerous boulangeries / patisseries (we didn't even try to resist)
• copious amounts of dog poo on the pavements

As it turns out Corsica is indeed smaller than Sardinia, Sicily and Cyprus, but considerably larger than the Isle of Wight.

We enjoyed exploring the city and made our way towards today's Something High To Go Up which was a statue of Napoleon. I think I managed reasonably lady like clambering to make it to the top.

The main produce of Corsica (or at least that which was most conspicuous for us to buy with our tourist Euros) was:

• a strong cheese – we tasted a bit in the market and although I love cheese I didn't fancy my chances getting a kilo home
• knives – potentially risky given the security procedures you have to go through every time you get on board
• dome shaped tea-towels – with or without a miniature donkey affixed. We had been commenting on the poor state of repair of our tea towels so parted with a few tourist Euros for one of these

We got back on board in time for a late lunch, along with a chatty middle-aged couple who told us that they were thrilled to be sat with some younger people. Unfortunately the other people on the table didn't seem to be so thrilled. Maybe they were worried that we'd start talking pop music, club drugs and reality TV (we refrained on this occasion). I couldn't help but wonder if this is how miserable they are on holiday what they must be like to live with.

Afterwards we went out on deck and enjoyed a large cocktail of the day (pina colada).

The wind was picking up and it was getting a bit choppy but we had a lovely quiet spot shielded from the worst of the elements by glass screens. We were going to go back out once we had used the facilities in cabin but by this time the wind had picked up even more. According to the weather log (which Matt mainly watches on our in-cabin TV) there is actually a fresh gale, but due to the direction of travel versus the direction of the wind the apparent wind speed is a “whole” gale. This causes a “danger” sign to flash on the screen, which is slightly disconcerting. But the captain put out an announcement that we needn't worry and, apart from some dramatic water splashes around the pool, life on board carried on as normal.

Lots of people were heading for afternoon tea but Matt decided that the only thing for it was to sleep through the storm and I tucked into some prophylactic crystallised ginger. If I was sick it would just serve me right for eating so much pudding the other day.

I ended up falling asleep in the cabin too. It must have been the swaying motion of the ship, or maybe the large pina colada. Either way I was rudely awoken at 7pm by an in-cabin announcement. This was it, I thought. I would have to get my life-jacket on and make my way to muster station A. I thought about the old people and how they would struggle to get into the lifeboats.

But no. It was Lewis the cruise director announcing that the evening's singer (a semi-finalist in a 2007 TV talent show) was sea sick (he put it rather more euphemistically than this) and informing us of what other entertainments would be available, including a 60s and 70s night which he assured us was the era of the music not the age restriction of the passengers (this is just a taste of the poor quality “jokes” that we had to endure from Lewis).

Saturday's Italian jaunt

Saturday, May 11th 2013

Today's port was Civitavecchia from where you could take a tour to Rome, or with a little skill in the use of Italian public transport visit under your own steam. Having spent a leisurely week in Rome last October Matt and I had decided before we came on holiday that we would be giving a day trip into the eternal city a miss.

If we had been a bit more organised we would have carefully investigated the alternative touristical options from Civitavecchia. But we were not sufficiently organised - not even to remember to pack our Italy guidebook or to borrow one from the ship's library - and we were unwilling to fork out for the expensive roaming charges for data via our mobiles. So it would just have to be an adventure.

Over breakfast (mostly fresh fruit to atone for last night) we narrowed down the options to Tarquinia, a bit north along the train line, or Ortobella, a bit more north along the train line. This semi-decision was made because:

• They both looked like reasonably sized blobs on the map - even though I have learnt (from meanderings in Cornwall) that this is not always a good strategy for picking locations for a day trip
• I had translated Ortobella as "beautiful garden" which I thought sounded nice.

We used our skills in Italian public transport and identified that we had just missed a train going the way that we wanted and the next one wouldn't be for over an hour. So we decided to investigate the buses. This would require a higher level of skill in the use of Italian public transport but surely there would be something connecting these reasonably sized blobs on the map. I maxed out my skills and found out that there was a bus to Tarquinia in 10 minutes - so that was where we would go. I also found out that I had misread Ortobella on the map - it was actually Orbatella (so may not have been so horticultural or beautiful after all); we could always go on there later if Tarquinia proved touristically inadequate.

But Tarquinia didn't disappoint. We arrived after a pleasant bus trip (not guaranteed with southern European bus drivers), were directed to the tourist information office (this really was a top notch bus driver) and collected a map and town guide.

 

It's a medieval town and was ideal for wandering; we didn't really need the map. We made our (slow) way to the opposite side of the town walls from where we had come in, from where we enjoyed some fantastic views across the Tuscania countryside (not to be confused with Tuscany which I was). There was no need to Go Up Something High today, which was a good job as although Tarquinia is well provisioned with towers none of them were available for touristical climbing.

Friday's gluttony

Friday 10th May, continued

Suitably relieved, we headed off towards the old town. This involved walking through the newer town past numerous designer shops. We gawped in the windows a bit, including at one mobile phone with a price tag of €16500 (that is not a typo).

The possibility of Going Up Something High was not over as there was a useful looking tower in the old town. We meandered the streets towards it and found it was part of the Musée Castre. This was a very random ethnographical (whatever that means) museum, apparently one of the oldest in France. We started off with the tower - this was obviously the main touristical attraction for us. It was with the 109 step (22 metre) climb for the fabulous views over the bay and town.

The museum was pretty good too. It was a welcome break from the now hot sun (I wouldn't be needing my anorak again) and there were some interesting exhibits. I particularly enjoyed the paintings if Cannes in the 19th century and the large display of musical instruments.

I enjoyed speaking a bit of French today, although as always I feel that my inability to correctly conjugate verbs let me down. I did manage to successfully negotiate the taking of a photo for a couple whom I put my conversational skills to use on to discover that they were on holiday from Normandy. My conversational skills were insufficient to be able to explain the difference between Portsmouth and Plymouth - a geographical knowledge impediment that I am becoming bored of explaining to people of my native tongue. I also successfully negotiated the purchase of a sarong for Matt - a red one with tortoises and fish bones that matches his yellow one with seaweed and fish bones.

I'd taken a sneaky peak at the evening's menu and wasn't particularly grabbed by anything so I persuaded Matt to give the buffet a go. The theme was Mexican.

This was a bad idea: 

• Not because I missed the waiter service - it was nice to be a bit more relaxed
• Not because the food was bad - it was yummy and there was plenty of choice for veggies
• Not because the company was bad - Matt and I had a window table for 2 and as usual enjoyed each other’s company (obviously I can't speak for him but he didn't complain and I enjoyed it). Our conversation was more normal: 
• talking about some topics that might not be acceptable with strangers including the practicalities of diving into the sea from high decks - would you reach terminal velocity? Would it hurt? How long would it take? - I was even using a bit of my college maths
• not having to take care to avoid insulting anyone - we could freely reflect upon the characteristics of some of our fellow passengers.

No, it was a bad idea because the buffet led to a dangerous relaxation of table manners. While this had some notable benefits (I do enjoy eating with my fingers when possible) it opened the floodgates of gluttony. We piled our plates high with salads for starters - so much that would be enough for a whole meal.

We followed this with a generous helping of hot mains - although I did avoid the ubiquitous roast potatoes which seem to be available with all meals in the buffet (including breakfast and late night snacks, I recommend this holiday as an option if you're a fan of roast potatoes). This might have been just about acceptable but I was then presented with a delicious-looking array of puddings. How could I choose between dulche de leche flan, churros with chocolate sauce and chilli & pecan chocolate brownies? I couldn't and I didn't. Fortunately I don't like bread and butter pudding (even the Mexican sort?) so a total waistline disaster was averted.

The extra brownie is one I selected for Matt

Thursday's unsatisfaction

Thursday, May 9^th 2013: continued

Barcelona is probably not a city that slow tourists such as Matt and myself should ever contemplate visiting in just one day. It is just too big with too much to see and do. I think that because of this we both felt somewhat dissatisfied after our day ashore. That said however it was an enjoyable day. (Thus enjoyable but unsatisfactory.) I had visited Barcelona about 10 years ago with my mum, so left it up to Matt to choose what he wanted to see.

We spent a significant number of our touristical Euros on the touristical bus. This seemed like a reasonable way of getting around the main sights. Lo and behold while we were on the bus it started to drizzle a little and I was exceedingly disappointed not to be able to deploy my anorak. The rain didn’t last long and we were able to enjoy the spectacle of retractable bus roof being applied. AS the day wore on we had hot sunshine so my packing failed on all accounts.

Here are some facts that I learnt about Barcelona from the touristical commentary:

• The statue of Christopher Columbus in Barcelona is the biggest of the 64 in the world – his index finger is 50cm long
• There are more mopeds per capita in Barcelona than in any other European city (but I think that they make less noise than those in Rome)
• There are over 100km of cycle lanes in Barcelona
• Barcelona has 8 universities
• The first stretch of railway in Spain was located in Barcelona (that is a fact especially for my dad)
• On wedding days it is traditional to take 12 eggs to a convent

It worries me that 50% of the facts that I can remember are transport based.

Unfortunately we spent quite a lot of our limited time in Barcelona in queues. We had hoped (one of Matt’s choices to visit the Sagrada Familia and had got off the bus a stop early so that we could wander a few streets to get there. It was a longer wander than we had expected – again the touristical map was scaleless (can it even therefore technically be called a map?) – but pleasant enough. The area around the cathedral-in-construction was packed. Matt went off to use one of those toilet booths (I am informed that he got his 50 cent’s worth) while I investigated the queues. The queue to visit the cathedral was reaching round the back of it, and moving very slowly.

The queue to hop back on the bus was slightly shorter and also slow moving. I chose to join the second of these and chatted to the people in front and behind me while Matt had an explore around the outside of the cathedral. Then we swapped over – he kept our place in the bus queue (I think he had the same conversations with our queue neighbours) while I mooched around.

Once back on, we stayed on the bus and completed the loop of the ruta azul. Time was not on our side and we were conscious of avoiding being the Felicity and Terence of Barcelona: the traffic had already seemed pretty awful and the situation wasn’t improved by a demonstration that was going on (about the economy I think).

Matt had to make a choice: transfer to the ruta roja and tour around the olympic stadium area or head back to the ship via the famous La Rambla. He went for the latter.

There are several High Things To Go Up in Barcelona – unfortunately most of them were outside of our temporal grasp. But Matt had done his High Things To Go Up research and had read that there was a cafeteria with a good view at the top of a department store in Placa de Catalunya. There was indeed a good view, with the added bonus of refuelling ourselves with some good value drinks and snacks. We also made use of the complimentary facilities and I helped an American by demonstrating how to use a push tap. As time wasn’t on our side I resisted spending any in the haberdashery on the way back out of the store.

 

Suitably refreshed, we started our traverse down La Rambla. It was busy. Really busy. I particularly enjoyed our trip into the colourful Bodega. A notable experience of our walk here is that we successfully avoided pick-pockets (or if we didn’t we haven’t found out about it yet). Based on a browse of the bars we also made a good call in getting our refreshments earlier as it looked like our touristical Euros wouldn’t even stretch to a glass of water here.

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).