Boarding this beauty today for nearly four months of world exploration!
It's going to be a 12-country, 13-city voyage of discovery around Europe, Africa and South America, ending up in San Diego on Dec 23.
For me and my professor hubby, Simon, it's part of our 'Gap Year' - a welcome break from routine before we re-design our lifestyle for our empty-nesting encore career phase. Part two of our gap year will be almost a whole season of skiing based at snowy Sun Peaks, BC, Canada from Christmas to mid April.
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| Simon and I on the Pool Deck - hoping for lots of sun once we leave the North Sea! |
Simon's working on board as a professor of sustainable tourism and hospitality marketing - just some of the myriad academic transferable credit courses available to the 500 or so students who will be joining the voyage at our next port of call, Amsterdam, for a semester-long study abroad opportunity of a lifetime on the ultimate floating campus. And I have a jolly job as assistant coordinator for the 'Life Long Learners' (LLL): passengers of all ages who are intrepidly intent on exploring the globe through an academic lens.
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| First foray on land - in Amsterdam - with faculty friends |
Can't wait to meet the other faculty and staff - quaintly named 'staculty' for this voyage - when we all embark this pm for our two-day training and orientation. And then of course my LLL group and the rest of the shipboard community when they get on board in Amsterdam. Can you imagine the level of excitement!
But first things first: how on Earth do we all pack for nearly four months visiting disparate destinations such as low key Poland, stylish Spain, hippy Morocco, and the adventurous Amazon? Not to mention glamorous galas on board and all sorts of weather that both land and sea will throw at us along the way? Not easy - especially with airline baggage limitations to get there and then small storage spaces in our bijoux cabins.
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| Look at all that cupboard space! |
Actually they are pretty luxurious cabins with quite spacious wardrobes. Ours is 161 sq ft (the whole cabin, not the closet!) with an elegant classic decor motif, a French balcony with sliding glass door, a shower room (tight but cute), bed, desk/chair, TV, fridge, safe and hair dryer. Tiny living on steroids!
The ship, called the World Odyssey during Semester at Sea twice annual voyages, plies the Med during downtime as MS Deutschland, made famous in the German soap opera Das Traumschiff (The Dream Boat).
First pre-voyage worry: how will I manage without a regular supply of my favourite hair conditioner? Answer: suck it up and try something new en route! Second worry: have I packed the right clothes for every occasion? Answer: impossible, so supplement what you have as you go, buying from local markets and putting money into local economies. Moral of the packing dilemma - look at previous voyagers' recommendations on social media, pack absolute necessities, and don't sweat the small stuff (unless you run out of your favourite deodrant, that is). Pondering if Amazon delivers to The Amazon?
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| Corridor Art on Deck 7 |
BTW - Immunizations, visas, malaria meds, seasick gizmos all had to be squared away well in advance and Semester at Sea gives you recommendations as well as mandatory requirements in their regular communications in the year's run-up to the voyage. They've been doing this for over 50 years, so you can imagine they have things sussed.
Links:
https://www.semesteratsea.org/voyages/fall-2019/
https://www.facebook.com/SemesteratSea/
https://twitter.com/semesteratsea
https://www.instagram.com/semesteratsea/
https://www.youtube.com/user/SemesteratSeaChannel
https://www.pinterest.com/semesteratsea/
https://www.linkedin.com/company/semester-at-sea-ise
Sept 15 - GDANSK POLAND!!
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| Dry Land! |
After four working days on the ship, docking at Gdansk was hugely exciting for students and staff alike. Our first 'Logistical Pre-Port' presentation the night before had given us the tools to cope with any issues on land as well as an overview of what to expect in Poland. So, armed with our passports and the fabled 'Green Sheet' (a list of emergency contacts and procedures), we bounded off the ship around 9am. Such a spring in the step after being confined to ship decks!
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| Scene of first bombing of World War II |
Expecting to dock at Lech Walesa’s Lenin Shipyards under skies punctuated by massive cranes, with industrial grey drizzle dampening Solidarnosc posters - necessitating a long, cold Baltic-blasted march to the city centre - I had been pleasantly surprised to watch us gently edge alongside the Westerplatte dock before breakfast. Complete with a pretty park full of dense trees and greenery amid thin sunshine, the port turned out to be tourist-friendly, easily walkable beneath the green canopy to a convenient bus stop and taxi drop into Gdansk Old Town (Stare Miasto). A friendly server exchanged notes for coins to help with bus fares and bus waits were shortened by coffee and conversation. The park was home to the Westerplatte World War II ruins and memorials commemorating the first battle of the war - hence the strange souvenirs available in the small market place.
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| Amber and gas masks: souvenirs for sale at Westerplatte, Gdansk |
Although we were to discover and explore later that day the Solidarity Museum documenting Walesa’s brave stand against Soviet repression (which led to his Nobel Peace Prize in 1983), most of our Poland trip was to be about the now: discovering the contemporary culture in this under-the-radar, but growing, tourist destination.
Gdansk is in the Pomerania region which naturally begs the question: is that where the Pomeranian pooch comes from? Wikipedia says yes: it derives from this area of north-west Poland and the adjoining north-east German Pomerania region. Pomerania is Poland's summer holiday spot, sporting beautiful beaches, thriving port cities, colourful Hanseatic architecture, and verdant rural hinterland: all the delicious ingredients necessary for a vibrant vacation.
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| Gdansk Old Town |
Notching up nearly seven miles that first day around Gdansk’s cobbled and colourful Old Town, we found amber and artisan stores in towering townhouses, ancient churches and government buildings surrounded by a myriad of market stalls, a bustling harbour front with river cruisers and old sailing ships, talented street performers, a people-watching pavement café culture, and impressive old granaries, walls, arched gates and architecture attesting to the city’s Mediaeval history. A living museum, really, with the contemporary neatly juxtaposed to the ancient. Nothing knocked down here just because it’s old – everything re-used, re-purposed and re-invented. Food was fabulous (scrumptious, plentiful and affordable), service generally friendly, and infrastructure on a sophisticated par with western Europe.
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| Beautiful glass tableware in Gdansk |
We followed a popular walking tour route that takes in the Royal Way, Golden Gate, Long Street, Neptune’s Fountain, Artus Court, and Green Gate, as well as St Mary’s Gate, Street and Church – Mariacka Street is possibly the prettiest street and has been used as a set in multiple movies. With plenty of tour groups dotting the downtown, it’s easy to listen in on historical facts as you go.
The Solidarity Museum is in the less salubrious but interesting shipyard area and well worth the schlep to re-live Lech Walesa’s inspirational campaign to unite the country via trade unions – the end result of which was the ‘little people’ beating the system over many years of mostly peaceful protests. Although chilled by installations like the memorial to murdered comrades (with their boots, hard hats, and overalls suspended over plaques), I felt that the museum emits an eventual feel-good factor in confirming that right can overcome wrong in the political world if enough people stand up to unite behind their ideals. After touring the installations, you can ascend to the rooftop to get an aerial perspective of the city.
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| Picture from the Solidarity Museum, Gdansk |
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| Sweater shop in Gdansk Old Town |
With plans for a second day in Gdansk at the end of our six day visit, we set off next day via train to Toruń (pronounced toh-roon) in the south of Pomerania. We caught the train by default actually as we discovered at the car rental office that US driver license holders cannot rent cars unless they have been organized enough to get themselves international licenses (whoops, the downside of not doing advanced planning!) It’s OK if you have a European license but, guess what, we left our old British ones at home! Still, the train was very comfortable, we didn’t miss the stop and connection halfway, and it was relaxing to watch the countryside go by without having to argue with the GPS.
The other thing with train travel is that you have to start getting savvy about the lingo. Words like ‘Glowny’ started to make sense – must mean something like Central or Main as in station. ‘Peron’ magically equated with platform (peroni and an arrow being platforms rather than directions to an Italian beer stand); ‘kasa’ with ticket office; and ginkweeya (approximate phonetic spelling) with thank you. And, by the way, the Pre-Port advice (on board ship) to approach younger Poles for English language ability was spot on.
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| Arriving at the Spichrz |
Getting the bus to Toruń Old Town was easy and the walk to our hotel was relatively short and very enjoyable (despite wheely luggage), wandering through gargantuan gates, past the immense brick Town Hall, beautiful churches, more perfectly-painted Hanseatic townhouses, and market stalls selling Teutonic Knights’ memorabilia. In an old granary on the riverbank, the Hotel Karczma Spichrz is a great place to stay – if you get a room with a Vistula view in the main building that is.
Of course we didn’t – we’d agreed to sleep in the “nearby” apartment annex which turned out to be at least five minutes’ walk away, through a door opposite a sex shop and above a seedy basement touting ‘sports bar’ signage, up a smoke-smelling staircase (think asthmatic cough and nicotine nightmares all night). But at least we got to share the main Mediaeval mansion for breakfast which was the biggest continental spread I’ve ever seen. Not just your typical croissant and cereals: this included a dozen types of cheese, myriad meats and patés, pickles, salads, multiple fruits, bountiful breads, mueslis, homemade preserves, pastries, and an assortment of sausages, omelettes and egg dishes. We decided to go for it and gorge and then miss lunch later on to make up for it.
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| Hotel Legenda |
Suitably stuffed, we re-located our luggage at our second night’s stop: the Hotel Legenda which, learning our lesson, we’d chosen for its authentic architecture and delightful décor right in the main building – first room on the left up the creaky old stairs. This was diagonally opposite Toruń’s oldest bar, the Gospoda Pod Modrym Fartuchem (some of which means Blue Apron) which has famously featured in Poland’s most celebrated 1964 Western, Law and the Fist - so famous in fact that the bartender said no-one ever comes in and asks about it. We found another old bar by the walls of this grid-organized town, housed in a 600-year old building, where the taciturn tender grudgingly serve us local beer and an unexpected Portuguese Fonseca wine. Have you noticed how Portuguese wines are cropping up all over the place these days?
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| The Blue Apron, purported to be the oldest bar in Poland |
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| Nicolaus Copernicus Museum |
Highlights of Toruń for us were the Nicolaus Copernicus Museum which is authentically set in the house where he grew up and, with old manuscripts and astrological exhibits, a fitting memorial to the father of cosmology. Did you know that the Catholic church stifled his research for around 300 years?
On a lighter note there's the Gingerbread Museum - Toruń calls itself the Gingerbread Capital of the world - offering a hands-on opportunity to make gingerbread from an ancient recipe involving rye and wheat flours, honey, ginger, cinnamon, cloves, black pepper, and nutmeg. Our clumsy attempts didn't look very appetizing but later on proved a fun snack to share with Simon's students - and no teeth lost!
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| Chleb i Wino patio |
Behind the towering Town Hall, and next door to the Tourist Office, Chleb i Wino became a familiar food fest for us. We had one lunch outside on the cobbled (and heated) patio, a dinner in the opulent main restaurant and another in the trendy basement bistro. All the food and drinks were sensational, reasonably priced, and the sort of ambiance and décor that you would want close to where you live so that it could become your ‘local’.
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| Costumes from the Kashubian Museum, Kartuzy |
Toruń is the biggest city in the south of the Kashubia Region which also encompasses the rural hinterland southwest of Gdańsk, including small villages, lovely lakes, and rolling fields full of crops and nurseries. The Carthusian Church Monastery in Kartuzy (a smaller non-touristy town) is infamous for enforcing its monks to contemplate the misery of death on a daily basis. It is also believed to have spawned the spin-off Kashubian culture complete with its own language - spoken by around 50,000 mostly elderly locals – as well as distinctive Kashubian embroidered national dress, colourful crafts and architecture.
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| Rear view of the Kashubian Museum, Kartuzy |
The Monastery is housed in the capital of Kashubia, Kartuzy, which is touted by various websites as the best place to access Kashubia's folk traditions and culture. We stayed at the Gościniec Kaszubski – a Kashubian hotel and restaurant boasting 19th century ceiling beams in the rooms - but found it distinctly lacking in authenticity and finesse.
Quaint enough but spectacularly failing to take advantage of the floral Kashubian embroidery that is characteristic of the region (one dinner napkin printed in the traditional design). There were Kashubian options on the menu but the Kashubian fish medley turned out to be breaded fried fish and crab in the basket, a bit like a pub meal in rural England from the 1970s. The herring in cream sauce was more like it, but the server warned us against ordering the Kashubian steak - his ominous expression spoke louder than words, suggesting very low quality meat of dubious ancestry! Didn’t see any Kashubian pottery anywhere except in the museum.
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| Kashubian nativity scene |
The Kashubian Museum was an interesting but somewhat brief experience – a couple of floors of the lovely old wood-beamed and white house and a sprinkling of exhibits in the grounds. Very little was written in English so just an opportunity to view old furniture, clothing, pictures, farming tools and handmade equipment with no interpretation. It also cost nothing to go in, so it was almost worth the price! Verdict: this is very low-key fledgling tourism that still has a long way to go in leveraging its history and traditions.
Sept 21 - Kiel Canal
Cancelled due to closure!! Had to go the long way round instead.
Sept 26 - LISBON, PORTUGAL!!
After two ferocious days and sleepless nights in tumultuous seas around the Bay of Dismay (Biscay), we finally flopped onto solid ground feeling as grateful as if we had just escaped from the spin cycle of a washing machine.
With just one day in Lisbon before setting off for the Western Algarve, the sunny schedule was a fast-paced pedestrian peruse of the Old Town with a side quest for fabric for our onboard Project Patchwork group.
We started off in the Castelo Sao Jorge area, wandering downhill via narrow streets full of pretty pavement cafés, souvenir shops, colourfully-painted and balconied buildings, and lots of traditional tile detail. Tile designs extended to scarves, bags, tea towels, t-shirts, magnets, and paintings - all reflecting Portugal’s prowess in painted tile work. And I made sure to pick a fabric with a nod to that artistry. Cork was the other material dominating market stalls and shops, with everything from belts, to bags, to jewelry, to shoes, to postcards made of cork. After the advent of screw tops, Portugal – for whom cork wine stoppers had been one of the top industries – had to diversify its applications of cork hence the creative range of products now very affordably available.
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| Array of cork goods in Lagos market in the Western Algarve |
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| Miradouro de Santa Luzia |
Turning a corner en route to Lisbon Cathedral, we happened upon a sun-drenched Miradouro de Santa Luzia: one of many hillside viewing points over Lisbon’s terracotta roofs to the Belem River. Planted lavishly with bougainvillea and rose gardens, the cobbled platform attracted tourists resting on benches, artists and merchants selling their wares, and guitarists plucking from perches on the arched balustrade overlooking the sparkling water. Feet re-energized and photo opps exhausted, we tripped down to the Cathedral where ceiling frescoes over the altar vied for the limelight with immense organ pipes.
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| Lisbon Cathedral |
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| Tavares & Tavares |
Several sewing blogs had said that Lisbon was full of fabric stores and sure enough we found one of them easily around mid-morning. Casa Tavares & Tavares was delightfully old-fashioned, two identically-shirted gentlemen expertly cutting bolts of festive and flowery fabric as if it was a haughty London tailors’ shop. We had already been tempted to tipple at a port-pouring store that also offered sips of an Alvarinho Vinho Verde – a delightfully light lunchtime-y quaff which they told us was a specialty of wetter wine regions. With more rain, the grapes stay green right up to harvest, and instead of discarding them, they have created an entirely different – and unique – colour of wine.
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| TimeOut Market Cais do Sodre |
So, bags laden with wine and port and piled higher with parcels of Portuguese prints, we negotiated the sometimes slippery calcadoes (small squarish sidewalk cobbles often arranged in mosaic patterns) to the Cais do Sodre area – formerly a sleazy dockland – in search of a lingering lunch.
We’d already stopped near the Castelo Sao Jorge for latte and pastel de nata, Lisbon’s cordon-bleu quality custard tart, but everyone needed more rest and regeneration. We crossed vast plazas (placas) en route to the riverfront, marveling at architecture and ancient statues testifying to Portugal’s sensational seafaring history. Checking out Time Out Market - a fine food court on steroids – we decided that it was too hot to be indoors, all the open kitchens and chefs’ tables adding to the heat of the hordes. Instead the cool breeze off the Belem beckoned and we doubled back to a ritzy riverfront restaurant called Vestigius.
The cork-covered wine list was full of local tipples including a lovely light, dry house rosé and, coincidentally, another Alvarinho Vinho Verde. And the various four-course tapas-style sharing menus captured most people’s attention, everything authentically Portuguese and artistically arranged on slate platters in dainty pottery and metal containers. I was equally beguiled by the non-traditional artsy décor inside – creative upcycled medleys of rustic wood, macraméd swinging chairs, shabby chic sideboards, fur throws, velvet covered chaises, leopard print accents, and an ambiance of disparate discarded items nailed and stapled together to create useful and attractive pieces. Think Flea Market Flip with the mandate to meld Victorian drama stage set with 1960s retro plus an essence of Moroccan hippy.
After our very late lunch we retraced our steps to gather a few more purchases in shops we’d earmarked earlier before schlepping back to the ship which was docked at the Santa Apolonia Pier just on the outskirts of the Old Town. That evening we sampled albondigas and cheese/pepper parcels at a dockside restaurant with professors from the European University before heading back into the Fado district. Established on a patio on a noisy street corner, we watched night buses, brave trucks and tenacious taxis fight for the right to turn corners in tight confines while being serenaded through a window by a trio – two guys singing and strumming and a female Fado-ish singer - from inside the restaurant. Said establishment was full to bursting inside when we arrived, so we’d had to take a tiny table on the pavement platform outdoors, rubbing elbows with the other patrons, served by a lovely lady who hovered over us solicitously like our own grandmother. She told us to come back the next night for the real Fado performance but of course we would be long gone by then.
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| Praia da Luz |
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| Praia da Luz |
The bliss of driving down next day to Praia da Luz! Reminiscent of five years before when we’d driven the same spotless and almost car-less A2 Sul motorway to search for our own Portuguese property, there was the same sense of excitement. What we were going to look at this time was a renovation on said property which was now having new bathrooms, kitchen, plumbing, heating, air con, solar, and lighting installed.
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| Sea and Cliff view from our patio |
The timing of this work had coincided unexpectedly with Semester at Sea docking in Lisbon so it was an irresistible opportunity to check on the progress as well as re-visit the bountiful beaches of the Algarve. We planned to re-join the ship in Cadiz four days later as students and staff had the choice of traveling by ship or going overland between the two ports to maximize our land time in the Iberian Peninsular.
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| Sunset from Nortada |
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| Nortada |
Our Algarve experience was largely commandeered by mirror, lights and fixture forays for our house reno, but we still managed to fit in several beach trips – a couple to pretty Praia da Luz which we overlook from our hilltop balcony and one to Martinhal, even further west near Sagres, where we swam in icy waters before eating al fresco dinner at Nortada watching the Crayola sunset. Another night we dined by the beach at Boia Bar at Salema following drinks at the Curious Cocktail Bar, the area’s tiniest bar.
These beachy hangouts, nestled below craggy cliffs, are all former fishing villages, repurposed and reinvented by tourism (which is fast becoming Portugal’s chief industry), domestic and international second-home owners, and migrating retirees from the UK, Scandinavia, Germany, France and beyond. Since Portugal started trending in North America - after US celebrity surfer Garret McNamara discovered the record-breaking windy west coast waves were better than Hawaii’s North Shore - increasingly more Canadian and American accents can be discerned in the multi-cultural babble of beach cafés. And various European nationalities, as well as the Chinese, have also started buying property due to savvy legislation from the Portuguese government encouraging foreign investment with attractive tax breaks.
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| Market shopping in Lagos with Lori and Sumner - "Staculty" from Semester at Sea |
Lagos, the biggest town in the Western Algarve and just 10 minutes’ drive from Praia da Luz, is considered by our Lisbon uber driver to be the most attractive town in the Algarve. We hired him to get us from the ship to Sixt car rentals on the outskirts of the city and had a fun chat with him about tourism while he negotiated the perilously narrow streets. Anticipating more of the same street squeezing in our rental car, we were delighted to discover it was two right turns, over a bridge, and then 149 km on the same road down to the coast!
Another thing I’d learnt in the Lisbon port and wine store was that the vineyards around the capital had recently banded together into a kind of marketing cooperative to get Lisbon wines on the map. Jealous of the recent fame of Douro, Dao, Alentejo and Alvarinho, they had decided to brand wines in a broad radius from the city with the international allure of the Lisbon label. Shopping in low-end Lidl Lagos, we coincidentally came across a Rosario from Setubal – one of the vineyards now under the Lisbon umbrella. At only 1.99 Euros a bottle, with that perfect lighter pink hue, it was definitely worth a try and turned out to be a dry and delicate rosé which no doubt will have a higher pricepoint when Lisbon starts trending in wider wine circles.
Lagos is hilly, with narrow calcadoed streets winding down to the promenade along the riverfront. Architecture is ancient, with close-knit townhouses crumbling in some places, being repaired in others, and often embellished with gorgeous tiles, metal balconies and bright coloured paintwork. The old castle walls, fort and slave castle are still intact and there are beautiful churches and a town plaza with purple-blossomed jacaranda trees. Storks make their massive nests on any high towers. Lagos is a mecca for shopping in mostly owner-operated stores and market booths.
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| Lagos market with old friends |
Saturdays are local produce market days in a warehouse right by the bus station and there is a pungent fish market Monday to Friday on the harbour front in a heritage building which also houses an upstairs indoor market as well as a comfortable café on the roof which overlooks the whole area. From here you can see the marina which is just across the water by foot bridge and the three-mile stretch of sandy beach.
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| Meia Praia Lagos |
While Portugal’s waters are generally cold and wavy, the water at Meia Praia always seems to be warmer and often calmer and there are cute and charismatic beach bars dotted along the whole stretch culminating in Bar Quim, noted for its fresh giant prawns. From here, there’s a wetlands walk at the end which takes you past the birdlife of the Alvor Estuary, a kitesurf learning area, ingenious oyster farm, and golf course.
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| Praia da Luz Beach |
Infamous for the Madeleine McCann mystery, nearby Praia da Luz has been a magnet for second-home owners, particularly Brits, since the 1980s. It was secretly frequented by Paul McCartney before then and has attracted many stars of stage and screen in the past, hunting for havens from mass tourism. It has grown from a tiny fishing village to a thriving tourist town which is chock-a-block in July and August and much more laid back the rest of the year. Nowadays the cultural mix is morphing, with Scandinavians, French, Germans, Italians, and North Americans adding interesting and flamboyant diversity and – hopefully - inspiring different types of development to provide year round infrastructure and activities. The town spreads uphill from a gorgeous crescent-shaped sandy beach edged with a black cliff to the east – topped by a pathway to Porto do Mos - and with limestone rocks and cliffs to the west which lead to the beautiful bay of Burgau: home to the best beach bar in the area.
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| Solar do Farelo |
But it’s not all about beaches: those who cycle or like to drive or catch locals’ buses discover the inland rural areas which are so unspoilt. Fields stretching for miles, sleepy villages with colourful cottages, casual and cheap eateries, and more opportunities to interact with real locals. At Solar do Farelo near Mexilhoeira Grande, endless pours from wine barrels accompany rural Portuguese fare. In Barao Sao Joao, hippy culture permeates the pavement cafés, some people still travel on horseback, drinks are just a few Euros, food is eclectic – some authentic, some international – but overridingly affordable. Espiche, just inland from Praia da Luz, is also worth exploring for its restaurant diversity – Italian, Indian, hot rock at Papagaio - and friendly locals’ ambiance.
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| World Odyssey docked at Cadiz |
Oct 9 - DUBROVNIK, CROATIA!!
First time here - always wanted to visit Dubrovnik since doing a school project in the '70s on national costumes around the world. With all the hype over the past few years about the city and the surrounding islands, I was really curious about it. And, of course, I'm a Game of Thrones addict eager to see the real Kings Landing!
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| World Odyssey, docked at Gruz Harbour, Dubrovnik |
Coming into Gruz Harbour, we were all wowed by the scintillating scenery. Much like the seascape around Vancouver and Vancouver Island, islets dot the ocean in every direction, green hills give way to bluey-grey distant mountains, boat jetties jut into sparkling waters, and tiers of terracotta roofed houses look homey and welcoming.
Avoiding a double cruise-ship deluge in Dubrovnik that first day, we headed down south to Cavtat, the last resort before the border with Montenegro, for our first experience in Croatia.
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| Charismatic Cavtat |
Bus 10 to Cavtat was just sitting there waiting for us at the portside bus terminal. Tickets were available directly from the driver – easier than in Poland where you had to get them from a machine and then validate them on the bus - and the 30-min coastal ride was beautiful if a little nerve-wracking along the narrow winding mountain road with precipitous plunging drop-offs down craggy cliffs to the sea. The majority of the Croatian coastline is ruggedly rocky and this was our first taste of it in seductively sunny weather with pounding surf and glittering sunlit sea.
The village and harbour at Cavtat (pronounced more like Savtat) is picturesque, set in a couple of crescent coves with finger-like promontories in between.
We took leafy walks around the headlands and, later, shortcuts by following signs to “centar”. (Other interesting spellings include “apartman” for lodgings).
Some of the highlights of our visit:
Quaint old buildings all sporting similar limestone or sandstone-effect brickwork, some with wrought-iron balconies and/or louvred shutters, burgeoning bougainvillea in backyards, and matching terracotta roofs.
Stony alleyways leading to coffee culture in laid-back waterfront eateries. As Dan Dakovich, our Interport Lecturer, had told us "There's no 'Coffee to Go' in Croatia". Similarly, slow, sociable, mindful dining is also, thankfully, the norm.
Rocky sun-lounging platforms, bordering snorkeling and swimming areas roped off in emerald green inlets and overlooked by pendulously perched beach bars. Why haven't I got a photo of this? Must have been too chilled to remember to take one!!
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| Racic Family Mausoleum |
A forested walk up to the Racic Family Mausoleum, created by Croatian sculptor Ivan Mestrovic out of Brac stone, in a graveyard for all the wealthy dignitaries of the past 150 or so years, ornately memorialized with lofty vistas over the bay – and, while we were there, Chelsea football team owner, Roman Abramovich’s 70-bed yacht complete with several heli-pads!
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| View of Roman Abramovich's yacht from the Mausoleum |
Dubrovnik for Dinner:
Was it cheesy? Not for me: instead it was hauntingly atmospheric, beautiful music played as sunset made way for darkness – a fitting welcome our first night to the scene of so many Kings Landing episodes.
As we arrived in the Old Town, friends from the ship said we were right to come in the evening, as it had been hellishly hot and crazily crowded all day. This was tactical rather than coincidental, various contacts from home having advised us to explore by night. It was also handy arriving by ship as we could gauge which days and times would be busiest in the city depending on presence or absence of gigantic cruise ships at Gruz Harbour. And, another advance indicator of low crowds was that the market stalls that line the port don’t bother to open if no cruise ships are expected. Apparently our 600-passenger vessel isn’t big enough to justify their time. Dinner by the way was in a pavement restaurant in the back streets, where we sampled soups, squid ink pasta, cevapcici (meat balls), sea bass, preceded by a local grappa-style fire water and accompanied by Croatian red wine.
Well worth 200 kunas, the panoramic walk around the historic battlements takes about an hour - unless you make a citrus stop at one of the juice bars. It's a journey up winding stairways, along parapets, past towers and bastions, and back through time. Touching the substantial stone with hands and feet, you are treading in the footsteps of centuries of sentries, imbibing the sense of impregnability along with the azure view. How safe the townsfolk must have felt in their palaces or humbler homes, snuggled within the weighty walls, protected by arrows, swords, and, later, canons!
We each had a day ticket bought from the port office (for 250 kunas) which included unlimited bus trips, wall pass, and entry to around seven of the Baroque, Gothic and Renaissance museums, monasteries and churches. This starts to make financial sense if you do the wall, two bus trips, and one museum.
Although severely damaged during the war, especially during 1991 raids, we saw little evidence of bombing - although one church has framed and dated (Dec 6 1991) a missile hole. Main buildings, flagstone streets, and the walls have all been repaired although you can still spot a few ruins and dilapidated roofs when you circumnavigate the walls. UNESCO grants and tourist revenue enable further renovations to take place each year during the three-month off season.
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| Mayor of Dubrovnik |
As part of his Tourism course on the World Odyssey, Simon – who is a professor, consultant, and author of many textbooks – was bringing his students to Dubrovnik’s Old Town for a Field Class. Meeting at the Libertas University which is within the city walls, the group mixed with Croatian students and interacted with professors. The Mayor of Dubrovnik, Mato Frankovic, gave a presentation about the city’s “champagne problems” with tourism: people flocking there from all round the world whose abundance is causing problems with over-crowding, infrastructure and residents’ discontent and desertion.
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| Simon presenting a Semester at Sea gift to Dubrovnik Mayor Mato Frankovic |
The Mayor is a visionary, according to Simon, intent on capitalizing on the tourist influx but also putting strategies in place to control the flow of the visitors to the Old Town. He is particularly working on capping the number of cruise ships allowed into the port each day, controlling the timing of buses arriving at the Pile Gate, and educating all the visitors about Dubrovnik's rich history and authentic and natural tourist attractions in the region. Half of Dubrovnik’s 10 percent annual tourism growth has been attributed to the impact of Game of Thrones. And this is not diminishing in the near future: in the US, for example, daily flights from Philadelphia will start next year due to demand from Game of Thrones fans intent on seeing where it was filmed.
Unfortunately for Dan (our Interport lecturer) we did see “Coffee and Go” signs around Croatia - products at a supermarket called KONSUM right on the jetty and a couple of café bars emblazoned with Coffee to Go slogans. So, regardless of the traditional slow sipping way of Croatian culture, the drink-on-the-go trend - just like ‘Winter’- is coming.
Low-key Lopud
Only an hour's ferry ride from Gruz Harbour, Lopud Island is one of the beauty spots of the Dubrovnik region that could benefit from the overspill of tourism originally attracted to the area by Game of Thrones hype. It's a great getaway from the intensity of the city and crowds and also sports one of the country's best sandy beaches. Costing only 19 kunas each way, the Lopud ferry also serves Koločep and Šipan - the three make up the Elaphiti Islands - and can serve as a three-island hop. And, just like a locals' bus or train, this ferry is spot on time, a commuter and supply-delivery service as well as a tourist facility.
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| Lopud Harbour |
After two busy days on the mainland, we were really ready for the beach. To be fair, we're always ready for the beach, but this time we'd actually earned it with all that hard work aboard the ship and sight-learning (we're not allowed to sight-see).
Disembarking at the cute jetty, we trundled along the harbour front, paused for seaview sustenance at the first pavement café and then GPS'd ourselves up the hill to the White House Lopud, our bonny BnB for the next couple of days.
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| White House Lopud |
Already en route to Sunj Beach, we schlepped the rest of the way up the hill, overtaken often by tuk-tuks transporting the less fitness-focused, and over the top of the island we descended gradually into the panoramic view. The way down was all lush foliage, pastel wildflowers, cobbly roads, old terracotta roof slats discarded by the wayside, the busy buzz of insects, and an aroma of pine plus ocean which always sends me an olfactory recollection of beaches of the past.
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| Simon's first steps on Sunj Beach sand |
As usual my pictures don't do justice to the beach - there's something about the light that often drains some of the colour out of photos. I know I could photo-shop them but no time! With our limited internet - and full program of work, lectures, and activities on board - this is the best I can do!
Beach-dreaming is one of my favourite pastimes: a relaxation mode akin to meditation for me, induced by the warmth of the sun, the nesting feeling of lounging on sand, and the rhythmic roll of the waves. Once my mind is denuded of daily debris, creativity comes to the fore and I always need a notepad handy to jot down the freestyle ideas. I'll tell you about some of these later in the voyage when I blog about the entertaining events we hold onboard ship to alleviate the longer spells at sea.
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| Hotel Glavovic |
The very best thing about Croatia for me was a person rather than any particular place. Ljubo Pulic - the Glavovic Hotel owner and restauranteur - personified the laid-back culture, the sense of ancestry, and the fusion of eons of history with contemporary Croatia. Lively, loquacious and light-hearted, Ljubo's personality induced us to eat two dinners and a mid-morning snack at his hotel restaurant. The food was all homemade and delicious and the restaurant has the options of a bright spacious interior, pavement patio and waterfront terrace with a direct view over sensational sunsets.
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| Ljubo with Simon at Hotel Glavovic |
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| Grand Hotel Lopud |
A young father of three, Ljubo comes from a long lineage of Lopud landowners. One ancester, Kuljevan, left the island a hundred or so years ago to find his fortune in Peru. Successful, he brought back his millions to Lopud, endowing the port, public buildings, school, post office and library among other donations. He also passed his entrepreneurial spirit to Ljubo's great grandmother who set up the Hotel Glavovic in 1927 as well as the island's Grand Hotel a decade later. Although now disused and decaying (since the war), the Grand was a modernist architectural pioneer which attracted famous figures and celebs for decades.
Intent on sustaining and improving the family businesses, Ljubo is constantly educating himself in hospitality, marketing and negotiating strategies. He would make a perfect Interport Lecturer on the ship during a future voyage with all his local knowledge as well as academic background. Although Dan Dakovic had been right in warning us about the dour demeanour of many Croatians, Ljubo definitely broke the mould as you can see by his photos above. And, although I definitely saw many stern faces, after speaking to various local people I decided that, although they might not be overtly smiley, they are smiling inside.
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| Makes me relax just looking at this picture! |
Five days in Croatia definitely left me wanting more - a month would be a more suitable length of time to explore national parks, more islands, and more of the cities. But at least we got a taste of how Croatia has bounced back from the war to be a tourism leader in Europe.
By the way, I had difficulty finding a fabric store for Project Patchwork in Croatia and all I ended up with was a tea-towel printed with Konavle-style embroidery which traditionally adorns national costumes. I also found a bag embroidered with raffia by the sister (who now lives in Italy) of one of the souvenir shop owners in Lopud, hoping to re-use her raffia design on our projects.
Project Patchwork is a club I set up on board which has attracted a group of 12 hand-stitchers. We are collecting fabrics and trimmings - as locally-inspired as possible - in each country, gradually accumulating enough variety to make bags representing the patchwork of the countries we're visiting. These bags are for ourselves but we also hope to have some extras to donate to the ship's Auction, an event planned for Nov 7 - proceeds of which go to the Voyagers' Fund, benefiting future students through scholarships. More about that later on in the blog - Simon's going to be one of the auctioneers!
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| Drinks at Gruz Harbour on the last day with our friends Bob and Annette Landry, both Lifelong Learners on board and definitely Lifelong Friends from now on! |
At the dockside market on the last afternoon, I also picked up a sachet of local lavender in the hope it may cure insomnia during future rock 'n' rolling nights on the high seas!
BACK ON BOARD THE WORLD ODYSSEY
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| Kashubian print notebook from Poland and other gifts, cards, and mementoes of the day |
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| Fab vanilla cake ordered specially for the occasion |
How lucky to have a birthday onboard!
My first gift of Oct 13 was an extra hour's sleep due to clocks going back, which of course I generously shared with the whole shipboard community!! My door decorated with balloons and birthday messages; gifts, cards and notes from various friends on board and one from my Dad; and good wishes from everyone I bumped into made for a signature day.
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| Four Seasons fine dining with fellow voyagers and firm friends, Prof Jim Bratt and Tina Bratt and Prof Colleen Cohen and Jeff Cohen |
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| Celebrations at room 7004 |
Champagne in our room preceded posh dinner in the Four Seasons, the ship's special occasion restaurant, making a tasty change from the bountiful buffet which after six weeks at sea starts to lose all allure. Next an hour or so's Trip Liaison meeting - a briefing on all the dos and don'ts of upcoming travel with a group of 28 students and Lifelong Learners in Morocco - and, finally, a dance party in our ornate Victorian British pub-themed bar. Great way to celebrate turning 59!
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| Line Dancing in The Fritz |
Oct 15 - Arrived CASABLANCA, MOROCCO
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| MURAL IN CHEFCHAOUEN |
Having
docked in Casablanca three years ago, spending the whole time down south by the
windy Essaouira coast, the ‘Blue City’ was our Morocco mission this time around.
As it’s
quite a drive from the port, we opted to join our first Semester at Sea Field
Program to prevent possible public transport pitfalls. Also it’s great fun to
travel in a lively likeminded group. In the company of six Lifelong Learners,
20 students, a tour guide, doughty driver and his assistant, our itinerary took
in the Roman ruins of Volibulis, the city of Meknes, Fes, Chefchaouen (aka the Blue
City) and Morocco’s capital Rabat.
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| Semester at Sea group at Volubilis |
The
lengthy bus time was interspersed with panoramic photography, much medina
meandering, pungently-spiced tagine meals in ancient houses repurposed as elegant
eateries, tours of impenetrable Kasbah fortresses, and hushed appreciation of
tiled mosques, mausoleums, palaces and Koranic schools.
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| ANDALUSIAN STYLE OUTFITS FOR SALE IN CHEFCHAOUEN |
Cinematic
scenery whizzing past the windows went indiscriminately from lush arable acreages
with vineyards, fruit orchards and olive groves to bald scrubland to the
mirage-like Mid Atlas foothills. Between cities, the most prevalent passersby
were semi-nomadic Berber shepherds with their grazing goat and sheep flocks,
evoking an age-old lifestyle only slightly spoilt by branded blue jeans and
soccer shirts. Mules and carts sometimes held up our progress as did a field of
camels which we all felt the need to pet and photograph. These one-humpers
(actually dromedaries or Arabian camels), worth around $1000 apiece, are kept
for their milk – and ultimately their meat – which is sold at weekly markets. Occasionally,
we saw older ladies by the road, presumably waiting for buses, wearing jaunty Andalusian-tasseled
straw hats and bright red and white striped skirts, a nod to the Spanish
heritage of the area.
Everything
was interpreted by our bright and bubbly tour guide, Hajar Aarab, who, with a
Masters’ degree and command of four languages, is also in the process of
writing a book on Orientalism in Art. Her dream is to buy a house in Tangier
and set it up as an artists’ retreat.
Here are
some of the highlights in haphazard order:
Serenely
beautiful, Chefchaouen is nestled on the mountainside beneath
the peaks of the Rif Mountains which, due to the area’s hippy hashish hangouts,
are reputed to be the derivation of the word ‘reefer’. It’s also the capital of
goats’ cheese, according to Hajar.
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| CHEFCHAOUEN KASBAH |
The medina
– old town – district was first painted blue by Jewish refugees who flocked
there on the run from Spanish persecution. Originally whitewashed, the city was
founded in 1471 around the terracotta-coloured Kasbah which was initially built
to resist Portuguese invasion from their stronghold in nearby Ceuta at the time.
The former military bastion now incongruously encloses tranquil gardens and an
ethnographic museum within its chunky stonework. When we visited it was also
the finishing line for a randonée running race and we had to dodge sweaty
competitors who’d done 15 cross-country kilometres as we toured the interior.
In the café-outlined
Plaza Uta el-Hammam beyond, separate bands of musicians created contradictory
sound waves as daylight dwindled.
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| THE PARADOR |
And from the panoramic pool patio of the
Parador, we toasted hikers whose cameras were flashing from the Spanish Mosque
trying to capture the scenic sunset’s pastel pinks and turquoise. Their prize
for doing the 40-minute steep ascent was camel burgers at the Café Clock –
British-owned – on the way back down.
Diving into the Blue: Like the underwater world of an
aqua lagoon, the paintwork of the medina mixes baby blue, turquoise, azure, sky
blue, royal blue, eggshell blue, and sea blue with Smurf-like cobalt. “Fifty
shades of blue,” as Hajar quipped. Every nook, every corner, every stairwell
and shop front, balcony and balustrade, window and wall – whether newly daubed
or fading gracefully – has some kind of blue hue and they all look pretty,
peaceful and perfectly photogenic.
Most of us dressed in our best blues hoping
to disappear chameleon-like into the backdrop. Orangey terracotta roof tiles
make a counterpoint to the deeper blues and whitewash sets off the paler
shades. From a distance it doesn’t look as wholeheartedly blue as close up. But
once you are in the medina, you become submerged in the colour-blocked and
ombré-ed blues. Here and there,
townsfolk and traders have contrasted it with pink pots of pastel flowers,
creating artsy installations that visitors line up to photograph.
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| BLUE GRAVEYARD IN CHEFCHAOUEN |
Half a day
and one night was not enough to absorb the manmade and natural beauties of
Chefchaouen with its cool nights, abundance of hikes, and magnificent views.
Intersecting mountains, much like the Colorado Rockies, are not merely the
background but are integrated into the sprawling city which tiers up the
mountain face.
To me it felt like a magical land – one of the worlds at the top
of the Faraway Tree (for Enid Blyton fans) or something Walt Disney, the
Brothers Grimm, or J.K. Rowling could have designed.
I want to go back for
more!
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| MEDINA MAGIC AT CHEFCHAOUEN |
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| The Roman Empire |
Volubilis transported me to ramblings round Rome, reminiscent
also of a pivotal school trip to Fishbourne in the South of England, where
extensive Roman remains really resonated with the 10-year-old me.
I marveled in
Volubilis, as I did in 1970, at the sophisticated heating, water and sewage
systems, and modern roads and sophisticated town layout. The towering pillars
and remains of immense arches conjured up the grandeur of towering temples
dedicated to gods such as Minerva, Jupiter, Juno and Apollo.
And, just like 50
years ago, I loved the mosaics, some complete, others painstakingly repaired,
depicting scenes and icons from Roman mythology in tiny stones of marble,
anthracite, terracotta and malachite.
We later went to a ceramics factory and workshop in Fes and saw the modern Moroccan version of this, with mosaics used in wall art, tables, chairs, fountains, floor tiles and much more.
Among the 200-year-old olive groves, Hajar
found us a really good interpretive guide who explained in great detail the
hierarchy of the society and the way of life, leading us around remnants of humbler
homes, shops, mansions, altars, temples, spas, fountains and communal laundry
basins in this UNESCO World Heritage Site.
He relished words such as vomitorium,
a facility he said that was required to unload some of the excess that rich and
reveling Romans indulged in on a daily basis so they could go back to enjoy the
feast. Looking this up afterwards I discovered there is an element of myth
about this and vomitoria may have been series of ingenious hallways used to
disgorge a huge amount of people at one time into stadiums. But, anyway, along
with the apodyterium (locker room), solarium (sunbathing and massage area),
caldarium (hot pool), tepidarium (pore opening pool) and frigidarium (cool
plunge pool), it seemed that there was an “arium”, “erium” or “orium” for
everything.
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| TRADITIONAL TAGINE LUNCH WITH PRUNES AND BEEF |
FES
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| Vestibule tea service in Le Palais Medina Hotel & Spa in Fes |
Fascinating and fabulous Fes was closed. Heeding warnings about
over-crowding, intense retail hassling, potential pickpocketing, we had all overly
prepared ourselves for dangers which didn’t materialize. It was Friday, a weekly
holy day in the Islamic calendar, and so 90 percent of shops and stalls were shut,
giving us free rein. The massive medina, with its miniscule Hug Me corridor and
tiny tributaries flowing in every direction, was luxuriously empty.
Our lonely footsteps
and eerily audible chatter echoed down dark narrow stairwells, up past tightly shuttered
balconies and bounced off intricately carved wooden ceilings. At anything that was open, we felt
like honoured guests. Lunch was at Nejarin Restaurant, the beautiful building
dating back to the fifteenth century.
With 2.5 million inhabitants, Fes
is Morocco’s third largest city with the biggest pedestrianized downtown in the
world, Hajar told us: “It was the first imperial capital in the eighth century,
the centre of Sufism whose main pillar is love, and now it is the capital of
donkeys.” On the bus, she had taught us the phrase for ‘make way for mules’ –
balek, balek – but we only saw one that day: an ornately-decorated donkey more
accustomed to posing for photos than rushing merchandise through the
constricted streets. The medina of Fes, originally founded in 808 and now a
UNESCO World Heritage Centre, sports 170 mosques, according to Hajar, each with
its adjacent fountain, hammam, bakery and gate.
Showing us
around a ceramics workshop (that was open for business) beyond the medina,
Hajar also mentioned that Fes is the “capital of handicrafts”.
Initially part
of the old city, ceramics works have all been relocated outside because of
pollution concerns. An opportunity for the students to try the challenging potters’
wheel was somewhat eclipsed when one of the Lifelong Learners stepped backwards
to get a better view thus plunging her plimsoll into a pile of the area’s
finest grey clay. As strong as sinking sand, first foot then shoe were stickily
extricated to much hilarity.
Many pots, tiles and tagines were purchased from
the showroom that day but, craving the impossible-to-pack items such as tiled
benches, fountains and outdoor tables, I had to make do with dozens of photos
of these painstakingly handmade items.
There is an
exotic thrill in entering Moroccan cities: the dense terracotta stone walls are
punctuated by lofty carved gates – called Babs – as imposing as Marble Arch in
London or the Arc de Triomphe in Paris but more lavishly decorated. Passing
through feels like making a grand arrival, our coach party like a royal retinue.
You can imagine the caravans of camels and Jewish and Arab traders laden with gold
and salt arriving at the gates and heading for the caravanserai where upper
floor balconied bedrooms give overnight respite while the animals snooze in the
open atrium below. Many of these caravanserai are still intact, repurposed as
marketplaces selling intricate carpets, filigree metal lamps and leather goods.
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| Dye vats at Fes tanneries |
Known for
its tanneries and also agave “vegetable silk” weaving workshops, our itinerary
included trips to both for most of the group but, due to several casualties of
the cuisine (which later managed to take down a third of the group), I had to
hightail it back to our deluxe hotel – the Palais Medina & Spa - to tend to
the sick.
As “Trip Liaison” – an opportunity for Staculty on Semester at Sea to
get a free trip in return for leading it – you really discover there is “no
such thing as a free lunch”.
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| COLOUR COORDINATED GOODS IN CHEFCHAUOEN MEDINA |
Magical Meknes - After a western-themed meal at Le
Bistrot overlooking the city of Meknes, we visited the fort, drove past Hajar’s
alma mater which also looked like a fort, and then entered the eleventh century
walls to tour the quaint cobbled corners of the medina.
Flocking past vendors
and pausing at a sensory spice, herb and general farmers' market, the group convened around a snake
charmer, some to marvel, some to touch, others to squirm, and me to watch the
monkeys grooming each other. I’ve had my fill of snakes after living for nearly
a decade in South Carolina. Hajar told us there are ten universities in Meknes
and they’re free for everyone. The city, she said, is nicknamed Azeitune (could
be a wrong spelling) – Olive Oil town – for its most prominent industry whose
groves dot the hinterland along with vineyards and orchards. A very quaffable
light red wine called Bonassia hails from there, too. We wished we had bought
more than one bottle when we tasted it. The hilly area encircling the town is
also home to Ain Saiss – a popular mineral water from the Saiss Valley which
snuggles in between the Rif and the Middle Atlas mountains.
Rabat was rushed. Morocco’s current
capital was slotted into our final day which involved much mountain motoring
amid progress-slowing rain and fog – our first dodgy weather since Poland. With
the looming “onship time” of 6pm, the whole busload was worried about arriving
late. Did I mention before that this incurs another type of capital - as in
punishment? Every minute after the deadline results in “dock time” for the
perp, which means getting off the ship late in the next port. Dock time is also
meted out for other transgressions such as returning to the ship inebriated.
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| Mohammed V Mausoleum |
We raced
past King Mohammed VI’s sumptuous palace with brightly-garbed guards at regular
intervals. After a ‘Morocco-time’ lengthy lunch in Rabat’s oldest house-cum-restaurant
where the elaborate carpets smelt of thousands of tagine tastings, we squeezed
in a lightning visit to the Hassan Tower – a minaret of the unfinished 12th
century mosque - and Mohammed V’s Mausoleum but the Kasbah was out of the
question. “It’s such a shame you’ve missed it. It’s blue and white inside,”
lamented Hajar trying to use the blue card to induce us to look. She had to be
democratically outvoted by the entire Semester at Sea community who were more
intent on getting back on time than getting more pics. Seen one Kasbah, seen
them all came irreverently to mind. And yet this city really deserves more
inspection with its eleventh, fifteenth, and eighteenth century palaces, two
marinas in the Bouregreg River, la ville nouvelle, and a modern marvel of an
almost complete opera house – the Grande Theatre of Rabat - designed by the
late Dame Zaha Hadid.
Before our
three-night tour, we’d had two days to explore Casablanca which turned out to be surprisingly interesting beyond
the first impressions of honking traffic, dirty streets, and always-under-construction
city chaos. Hajar told us that, despite its five million strong population,
Moroccans don’t rate Casablanca very highly. The medina was manageable – we
found a corner café which was a convenient marker that we all managed to get
back to for coffee and, later, to reconvene ready for our lunch foray.
The café
was like all the pavement establishments we saw around Morocco – chairs lined
up facing outwards onto the street for ultimate people-watching, filled with
cigarette-toting Moroccan men sipping strong espresso – slightly intimidating
to enter as a female and, seemingly, never frequented by Moroccan women. The
robed gentleman who had decided it was his mission in life to guide us to said
café – which as I mentioned we had already scouted and knew perfectly well its
location – tried dictatorially to order us four espressos the minute we were
seated. I had to intervene at that point as we didn’t all want espressos and
there was a perfectly good menu of lattes and cappuccinos and, moreover, I knew
it was a ploy to ‘host’ us in order to get commission from the owners. Pretty
unfair, considering we had known where we were going all along and never solicited
his directions or help.
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| Greeter at La Sqala |
This kind of unscheduled ‘guiding’ happens a lot in
Morocco, sometimes a man, sometimes a child, trying to tempt you with a café or
some kind of retail purchase. It is generally annoying, sometimes amusing, but
this confrontation was somewhat unnerving. When I showed my inkling of his
‘game’, he got nasty and levelled a couple of insults at me. The worst, in his prejudiced
lexicon, was that I was obviously a ‘Jew’ – which I readily embraced, retorting
that I would love to be a Jew. Having unleashed his unnecessary volley, he
retreated snarling but it set an unsettling tone for our coffee break. I was
debating whether to include this anecdote, but I think it is important to
depict the truth as not everything is blue, beneficent and beautiful in
Morocco.
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| Cafe Maure La Sqala |
On the
other hand, Café Maure in La Sqala – our destination when regrouping outside
the fateful medina café – was a delight. Greeted through the ornate gate by
turkeys and kittens, the tables were set around a tiled fountain in cool,
tranquil, shaded gardens. Food was fancy Moroccan with Euro overtones and
service topnotch. If you judge an eatery by its restrooms – if you dare in
Morocco which can sometimes feature the frightening footplate style - this
would pass any test with colourful art adorning the stairwell and modern, clean
facilities.
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| With Colleen and Jeff Cohen at Cafe Maure |
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| Rick's Cafe |
Rick’s
Café was another highlight. An almost perfect recreation of the venue manufactured
in Hollywood for the 1942 Humphrey Bogart film Casablanca, it is very genteel. Refined service, beautiful
balconied and black-and-white tiled décor, a grand piano and small band set-up,
Euro-Moroccan menu, and a strict business-casual dress code. We saw a couple of
beach-bum Aussies turned away for shorts.
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| Simon at work in Rick's |
Having organized an interview with
the general manager, we arrived an hour in advance of our group booking to be
treated to ice cold champagne. Our host, Issam (‘Play it again I-Sam’) Chabaa
originally came to Rick’s on opening day in March 2004 as a last-minute fill-in
for the original hire, playing piano nightly, and very soon promoted to restaurant
manager. Even now as GM, he plays piano in rotation with other musicians. Attracting
mostly international visitors and occasional locals celebrating special
occasions, Rick’s is an intrinsically romantic destination so waiters work hard
to control the snapshots by offering their services rather than having
phone-touting tourists posing and snapping away all around the rarefied
interior.
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| Dean Anne Hudgens (left) and Professor Colleen Cohen (right) shopping for dresses in Casablanca |
Although I
wouldn’t now recommend doing the six kilometer schlep on foot, the Tahiti Beach
Club was another successful find. Don’t even consider walking from the port
unless you hanker for a hot and humid, seemingly endless and shadeless trudge
beyond the Corniche promenade, along the rocky coast past building sites,
crumbling lighthouse, desolate hovels and a walled slum area complete with corrugated
roofs, mangy wild dogs, battalions of washing lines, and dubious-smelling
sewage system. However, this area is a good window onto the realities of life.
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| Looking for Project Patchwork fabrics |
At Tahiti
Beach, utterly exhausted by the 90-minute midday plod, it was all crashing surf
splashing into the still waters of swimming pools, surrounded by beckoning
loungers, under sleepy sunshades, with a variety of cosmopolitan cafés to
choose from after a restorative nap – a veritable oasis. It is in a busy holiday
hub of hotels such as the Four Seasons, sparkling shopping malls, restaurants, and
other beach clubs – a ritzy resort atmosphere very different from the grime and
bustle of the port and the city.
Another
retreat we found was Le Gatsby, a 1920s-themed café with real French croissants
and the added advantage of being directly opposite the Hassan II mosque, an
unimpeded vantage point past palm leaves, through long windows to watch the
world at worship. Highspeed internet was a further attraction having been
denied access to blogs and social media for our five days at sea.
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| CHEFCHAOUEN |
During that
time, we’d readied our Lifelong Learner group for Morocco with a presentation
on Islam by our Professor of Religion, Jim Bratt. I wanted to call in
“Unveiling Islam” in view of the modern Muslim women who have eschewed the hijab.
We discovered that veiling started with the Prophet Mohammed’s wife who was
always present in matters of state or business and, thus, considered it
expedient, as the only woman in the meetings, to be covered up. This covering
has since been taken to further extremes in various Arab tribal cultures. Hajar
didn’t wear a hijab and, from what we saw, the habit is being eroded among the
younger generations who opt for more western attire.
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| Semester at Sea students loved the Henna! |
EXTRA PICS:
Oct 28 - TEMA, GHANA!!
I left
Ghana three years ago (after my visit with Semester at Sea Spring 2016 voyage) with the intention of never coming back again. But this
time around I am already planning what I will do next time. What has changed? I
think it is simply that I have found my
Ghana. Perhaps there’s a Ghana for everyone, despite the dirt, the tropical heat
and humidity, the hassling, hustling and haggling, the poverty and visible vast
wealth gap, the overburdened and under-financed road system, rudimentary water
and sewage systems, worries about Malaria and Yellow Fever, sub-standard tourism
infrastructure, unreliable ATMs, furtive money exchange at street corners, and spotty
internet. These things don’t matter so much once you find “your Ghana”.
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| Dip dye experiment, trying to get an ombre look for my batik |
When I
first booked my Semester at Sea Programs for this voyage – guided group trips
that are offered in each country for students, Lifelong Learners, Staculty,
dependents etc – I chose just three: a three-night lodge trip to the Amazon
(which is coming up soon and I’m seriously worried about the Malaria and
Dengue-carrying mosquitoes); the three-nighter to Fes and the Blue City
documented above in my Morocco musings; and a one-day experiential visit to
learn how to dye batik fabric and re-purpose glass at an upcycling facility in
Ghana.
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| Hanging up our batik projects to dry |
At the time, many months ago, I said to my husband, Simon: “I wish the
batik trip was all five days of our visit – I would be happy to stay there the whole time”.
This was without knowing anything about the venue – I was just keen to learn a
Ghanaian tradition and go away with a new and practical skill. As it turned
out, I was right about the Kokrobitey
Institute.
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| Renee Nemblett (left) with Lifelong Learner Barbara Harris (right) |
Run by
African-American Renee Nemblett, the coastal estate is utterly beautiful, an
organic oasis right on the ocean, secluded from the hectic hubbub of nearby Kokrobite
town. Constructed by hand from local materials using traditional skills and village
workers, Kokrobitey is a model of environmentalism. “We’re looking to the
future, living in the moment, but keeping alive the old traditions,” Renee, wearing
a linen shirt emblazoned with pictures of Obama (her design), told the rapt
group during her mesmerizing welcome and presentation.
 |
| One of the many bags of garbage: raw materials for artistic projects |
We started
off under the shade of fig-like trees, introducing ourselves and learning about
Renee’s background. Born in the US, she was educated in Germany, came back to
the States for a research fellowship at Harvard, and relocated to Ghana 30
years ago. “I watched kids in the area not having the same local knowledge as
their parents did,” she told us. “These kids had little knowledge of the old
ways and not enough knowledge or education in the modern world. It was an
impasse.” This contributed to her resolve to keep alive ancient techniques using
indigenous resources and teach them to the community as well as international
visitors. In 1991 the fundraising group, ‘Friends of Kokrobitey’, was
established and the first group of US students traveled to Ghana.
 |
Bleach dye denim upholstery on a painted washing machine
drum base |
With an
initial $125,000 US grant, she constructed her educational and artistic campus
using recycled and sustainable materials. Set in a leafy lush compound, the
buildings are made from compressed earth bricks, the foundations rock, the
roofs local terracotta clay tile. Renee went to India to learn how to make the
bricks and then emulated the traditional Ashanti way of building around a central
courtyard where everyone has to greet everyone else when they emerge each
morning. She mixed hardwoods with waste materials to form supporting columns.
“We were our own contractors,” she said. “Every stone came from the surrounding
environment and we did this during the time when women were being encouraged to
enter various trades in Ghana.”
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| Upcycled lamp project |
While many
Kokrobitey projects are focused on literacy, Renee’s definition is singular:
“We all know that literacy is the ability to read and write. But here we think
of a wider literacy too – knowing where you are in the world, what it can give
to you, and what you can give back to the world so that it keeps on going.” Her
inspiration comes from the surrounding natural environment in Ghana where
resources are not taken for granted. “The woman here with a bucket of water on
her head knows how precious that water is,” says Renee.
 |
| Bleached recycled denim using traditional batik and tie dye patterns |
 |
Recycling Heineken bottles into
drinking glasses - lots of sanding! |
Creating
several prototypes of school bags made from recycled materials, Renee went to Accra
to show them at an exhibition. Her first order was for 35,000 bags! After much
negotiating over price, sponsorship, and other business details, the order was
filled. And since then, around 50,000 Kokrobitey school bags have been provided
free to schoolkids around Ghana. Renee continues to design upcycled bags of
various styles, wallets, clothing, furniture, wall art and home accessories in
increasingly inventive materials, displaying them at exhibitions in Accra to
secure more bulk orders for her staff. The techniques involved are also passed
on to visitors: “We offer projects and programs which demonstrate the
intersections between art, culture, design, health, sustainability, literacy
and development through education.”
 |
| Beautiful recycled denim living room set |
Now
sporting volleyball and basketball courts, a reading room, lounge areas, and
apartment style residential rooms, there’s room for up to 33 overnight guests
at Kokrobitey – so a longer stay in the future will be possible for me. With
patterns and prototypes hanging all around the perimeter and sewing machines
and cutting tables lining the centre, the design showroom workspace has room
for up to 30. It was so tempting to me, I could literally see myself sitting
down at a serger and staying there forever.
 |
| The gorgeous sea view from the Kokrobitey Institute |
To the
rhythmic sound of waves crashing on the rocky shore, meals are taken at the
outdoor roofed kitchen and dining area. When we were there it was prettily
decked out with fancy fabric tablecloths and sprigs of magenta bougainvillea.
After a welcoming ritual where we all held hands and sent a pressure signal of
friendship around the circle, we sat down to a fabulous lunch.
Nothing was
different on the menu than at other places we ate in Ghana. However, the
difference in the cooking, the delicate spicing and the polished presentation
was vast. Accompanied by coconut milk straight out of the shell, this is where
I actually enjoyed the jollof (rice in spicy tomato sauce), fried plantain, and
chicken – all wrapped up in a huge banana leaf to keep it piping hot.
The
carrot cake was lightly tinged with coconut, served with tropical fruit and a
lemongrass tea. Everything oozed finesse and high standards and, with organic
veggie beds and chicken coops in sight, you knew that the ingredients were fresh
and sustainable.
Links:
In case you’re interested, here’s a timeline for the development
of the Kokrobitey Institute:
1989 Visit by Ms. Renee
Neblett to West Africa to identify a suitable site for a short-term academic
program for students at Milton Academy
1991 First group of
students travel to Ghana; Fundraising group ‘Friends of Kokrobitey’
established; Ghana Education Service, The National Service Secretariat, The Du
Bois center, the National Theatre and University of Ghana pledge their support
to the Institute
1992 Kokrobitey Institute
incorporated in Massachusetts; American office opened
1993 First summer
‘Teachers Institute’ with educators from 11 schools across Ghana and the US
1994 First postgraduate
program; Service component of programs initiated with a primary school project
1995 First internship
program
1996 First SAT training
program for Ghanaian students; Completion of the Beach volleyball pitch
1997 Completion of the
administrative block, housing units and dining area; Launch of the ‘Hands
across Africa’ curriculum development project; Kokrobitey Institute hosts the
‘Designers Forum for African Designers’ in conjunction with the Goethe
Institute; First High School Science and Social studies Institute; First Urban
Scholars Institute
1998 First postgraduate
semester program “Mud Huts to Mansions” a building design project
1999 Formalization of the
Village Literacy Program for surrounding villages; First “Hands Across Africa”
Teacher training Institute with teachers from 10 African countries, Togo and
Japan; First High School Cultural sojourn program; First ‘Kiddie; First High
School Urban Scholars program
 |
| Recycled plastic raincoats |
2000 First ‘Ecology
Literature and Arts Institute’
2001 First Rhode Island
School of Design Institute; inception of the Kokrobitey Youth Development
Association (KYDA)
2002 Arrival of the Solar
Oven purchased jointly by ‘Friends of Kokrobitey’ and the Rotary Club of Ghana;
First Artist in residence
2003 Completion of the
first building of the Design Center
2004 Formation of plans
for the reconstruction of the dining pavilion and development of the Design
Center; First graduate ‘Governance and Democracy’ program from the American
University of Rome, first semester abroad scholarship awarded to Ashesi student
2005 Cultivation of herb
gardens and first bio-degradable prototype boxes from coconut fiber produced/
begin formal relationship with Rhode Island School of Design
2006 Development of
small-scale development projects
At roadsides,
amongst the cars and trucks at traffic lights, in villages and at all the
markets in Ghana you see women majestically carrying the heaviest loads on
their heads as if they weighed nothing. They wrap a scarf expertly around their
crown to make a flat base and then put on a basket, a box, a platter, or some
kind of rack loaded up with goods to sell.
Eggs, cakes, candy, drinks, shoes,
hats, games, bags, kitchen goods, anything and everything domestic piled up
high to sell. Skipping the traffic, hunting for change in their apron pockets,
they rarely drop anything. Men also carry goods in the same way but, in a kind
of unspoken gender segregation, they tend to sell electrical goods, auto parts
and accessories, sunglasses, more male-oriented wares.
 |
| Choosing fabric in Accra |
In a
country dominated by churches and religious practices – both Christian and
tribal – biblical phrases have infiltrated into the marketing sphere. Thus,
shops – set up in huts and half-finished buildings – sport persuasive names
such as:
Hot
Eternity Metal Craft; In His Time Fashion Design; God is King Furniture; God’s
Way Haircuts; Yes Lord Cars; Only Believe Aluminium; Wonderful God Beauty
Salon; Omnipotent House; Give Jesus A Clap Ventures; God is in Control Chop
Shop; Jesus is the Word Spraying Shop; Have Faith Enterprises; With God All
Things Are Possible Mart; Be Humble to God Barbering Salon; God First Candy
Shop.
 |
| Italian-designed apartment buildings in outskirts of Accra sporting a kente cloth motif |
Having
plenty of time on my hands in the lengthy bus trips, monsoon diversions (yes
November is the rainy season) and gridlock traffic jams, I morphed into
imagining my own. Here are a few of my best:
Turn The
Other Cheek Swimwear; You Reap What You Sew Fabric Store; Cast The First Stone
Pottery; Turn Water into Wine Vineyard; Jesus Saves Bank; Cain and Abel
Conflict Resolution; Thou Shalt Not Kill Exterminators; Jesus Has Risen Bakery;
Whey of the Lord Dairy; The Meek Shall Inherit The Earth Will Planning; Walk on
Water Footwear; Mary Magdalene’s Naughty Underwear Boutique; and Adam and Eve
Leaf Blowing Services.
Having
worn myself out inventing shop names, I started looking elsewhere for
entertainment on another of my interminable bus rides (yes, we had snarl ups
all five days to varying excruciating extents of boredom once the tour guide
ran out of spiel). Of the inventive school names I particularly liked was Miracle
Child Academy with its nod to proud parental adulation for their offspring who,
if their early promise endures, presumably graduate later to Brain Storm
College. I began to notice, too, a few confusing street names such as Location
Road and Bipolar Avenue – hard to determine up or down on either of these. I
thought Dandelion Avenue was a good excuse for front yard neglect. Office of
the Administrator of Stool Lands was possibly the most perplexing sign. Which
type of stools and what can either possibly have to do with lands or
administration?!
 |
| Oldest cocoa tree at Mampong |
In case you would like to know
about one of the bad experiences during our visit (which I prefer not to
remember as three out of our five days were positive):
Day 3: After
an hour's wait from our 6:30 meeting time, we finally boarded the bus at 7:30.
A fellow SASer (an abbreviation I don’t particularly like) said "Have you
seen how old this bus is? Are they all like this? This one looks like it is
going to break down, perhaps that is why there are so many tour guides on
board, so they can push!" Two hours later we were broken down, the four
tour guides and driver could not fix the problem or push, and it took an hour
and 40 minutes for a replacement bus to arrive despite promises of "just
30 minutes". We were only updated on what was happening during this delay when
our Trip Liaison (Simon, poor thing) asked the local tour guides for info -
they didn't volunteer any news or any apologies at any time.
When we
finally reached our first stop-off, we didn't realize the cursory demonstration
in the cocoa plantation at Mampong was going to be the highlight of the day.
Due to only one toilet, many of us (remember we had been on the go since 6:30
am by then with no bathroom stops) actually missed a portion of this precious
presentation.
 |
| With one sharp slash, cocoa pod falls to the forest floor |
I was lucky in getting the chance to use the long pole with a
sharp 90 degree knife at the end to bring down a cocoa pod.
The opportunity to
try a raw cocoa bean was somewhat less fortunate in that it tasted awful.
Hasn’t
cured me of the finished product though!
 |
| Demonstration of cocoa bean storage in banana leaves held down with stones for fermentation |
Whisked
off to lunch, we were all psyched up for both a feast and the "live
entertainment" promised on the schedule (who could blame us for imagining
singing, drumming and dancing while in Ghana?) only to find dirty plastic
tables, insufficient seating and chairs in disarray, no food, no lights, no
atmosphere and definitely no entertainment in the tired-looking old golf
clubhouse. Perhaps the many lizards inhabiting the patio over the tired golf
course were meant to be the live entertainment?
When the
food arrived, it was plonked on a trestle table by very reluctant staff -
perhaps they knew how inedible it was going to be? We had eaten pretty much the
same menu the day before on the excellent Kokrobitey Insititute visit, so it
was easy to make a comparison. No dessert at the golf course and no drinks
(despite a fridge right there which they refused to open). When the Trip Liaison
pointed out that the SAS program description included soft drinks, they were unenthusiastically
procured from somewhere and finally handed out on the bus rather than
accompanying the meagre meal. I would suggest that the tour operator samples
this meal and then compares it with the equivalent at Kokorobitey to experience
the inequities.
With time
running out, we went to CRIG, the important-sounding Chocolate Research Institute
of Ghana, only to find that our experience was merely another trestle table set
outside a building with a few samples of products made with cocoa which we were
allowed to sniff. We opted to miss the presumably equally underwhelming
fermentation room in order to have time to buy chocolate which, by now,
everyone needed desperately in order to have something decent to eat on the long
bus ride home.
Getting
soaked - as the driver decided to park a distance away from the shop - we
rushed into the store only to find it had room for about 10 people including
the staff (and we were a group of 41). The shelves were ominously low on stock
and most of us got sopping wet waiting outside, huddling up against the
building to find a modicum of shelter from the corrugated roof overhang. The Trip
Liaison managed to persuade the driver to move nearer for pickup but we then
found that the bus leaked inside and so a couple of us (including me) had to
don raincoats with hoods for much of the long journey home.
 |
| Tina Bratt coping with indoor rain! |
The driver
had insisted it was just a two hour drive despite the Trip Liaison's
protestations that it was at least three, so I went round the bus advising
everyone to buckle their belts as I had an inkling that the driver would try to
prove Simon wrong. Speeding, with horn honking the whole way at pedestrians,
livestock and other vehicles, we drove at breakneck pace and yet the journey
back to the ship still took three hours, making us half an hour late for onship
time and an hour later than our schedule promised.
To add
insult to injury, when I tried "the best quality chocolate in the
world" it was stale - not out of date but it had obviously not been kept
in a temperature regulated room and had that unappetizing white glaze to it. All
in all, we spent nine hours on a bus for two hours of tourism at the cost of
$175 a head. Bring on the Cadbury’s!
One of our
other day trips was beleaguered by rain, floods, and a four-and-a-half hour
delay returning to the ship. We missed dinner – actually a bonus as we were
given carte blanche with the snack menu in the Fritz Bar, a welcome change from
the buffet, but didn’t quite make up for the uninteresting itinerary on the
day’s City Orientation.
 |
| University of Ghana, Accra |
If I just
say we were given a 90-minute guided tour of the university's Balme Library with a
dialogue to suit the comprehension level of a five-year-old who has never been
into a library before you will begin to understand how our day started. Why was
a university library even included in a city orientation? Why did we not get
out of the bus in any downtown area to explore the hub of Accra, the nation’s
capital? Why did we just drive past several monuments?
 |
Kwame Nkrumah mausoleum monument
- definitely worth stopping at even in the rain |
Perhaps it was because
there was even less to see there than at the Kwame Nkrumah Mausoleum Museum
which we did visit. With dusty,
plastic-covered relics thrown haphazardly around a bare square room - featuring
a hip height wall stain that disturbingly resembled urine (I didn’t get near
enough to sniff for fear of being proved right) - it looked like a pile of yard
sale rejects from clearing out a deceased loved-one’s attic.
 |
| Lunch at trendy/traditional Tam Tam was great! |
The photography of
Nkrumah meeting with world leaders was vaguely interesting, but the top row was
too high to see the pictures or read the tags. Considering the national
adulation of this hero of Ghana’s Independence, the mouldy museum seemed rather
irreverent.
Inevitably, the highlight of the day – for some – was the Art and
Handicraft Market which turned out to be the same old market with exactly the
same merchandise that you see all over Accra and which is replicated in
miniature right on the port by our ship.
Our other
two good days in Ghana were one spent independently wandering around Takoradi
(shopping, the miracle of fast internet in an air-conditioned seaview hotel
with great cappuccino and, later, cocktails and dinner back there) and another
on a Field Program to Kakum National Park.
Going to Kakum
was a challenge I set myself - with its seven wobbly plank/rope canopy bridges
swinging 40-feet above the rainforest floor, it was a severe test of my
lifelong battle with vertigo. While everyone else was shrieking happily,
snapping the view and fearlessly looking down, my white-knuckling tentative
baby steps, with eyes fixed firmly on the next footfall, slowly and painfully got
me back to the safety of solid ground. Was I happy when it was over!
Once my
hands had stopped shaking, I was able to enjoy the lunch and afternoon show.
The drummers were, to me, like the Philharmonic of native African music. The
nuances they were able to produce from the wide range of drums were so impressive
and they were masters of flutes (two played at once by the same person, each hand
playing a different melody), xylophones, and a sweet-sounding small square box
with metal keys, known colloquially as a thumb piano. Veterans of international
festivals all over the world, the band members are often invited individually
to join other bands and most of them have bachelors and/or masters degrees and
other careers. Several of the students had lessons on the drums and put
together a performance and I didn’t have to be asked twice to join in the outdoor
dancing! What’s a little more sweat when you are already bathed in it!
Nov 10 - SALVADOR, BRAZIL!!
(This is a work in very slow progress!........)
 |
| Beach near Lighthouse |
I don’t love Salvador – but then again as the city
that saw millions of African captives pass through over 366 lamentable years of
slavery, with an historic district named Pelhourinha which means whipping post,
and now known for its poverty, crime, gangs and drug problems, why should
anyone really expect to love or even like it? Despite great meals, a few serendipitous
conversations, the colourful artwork that captures the pastel painted historic
architecture, a relaxing trip to a pretty beach and some fun market-bargain
hunting in the Mercado Modelo, there was nothing to persuade me to hang around
for too long.
 |
Salvador's Elevador taking cruise passengers up to
Pelhourinha, the historic old town - convenient by day,
scary by night |
At the Logistical Pre-Port the night before docking, the
favelas (slum housing communities which I had hoped had gentrified since my
2006 visit) were pronounced out-of-bounds for our students due to “extreme
violence”; the Elevador lift linking the port area to Pelhourinha was
considered safe by day but not at night and we were advised to take taxis -
which, after dark, race rashly through red lights rather than risk car-jacking
- right to the port gate; using public buses and visiting beaches after dark
were deemed foolhardy; and we were warned to be discreet at ATMs, leave all
valuables on the ship, and travel in groups. This is the only place in the
world that I take off my wedding ring rather than risk having my finger cut
off! And, I’m not exaggerating the dangers - military police are stationed at
regular intervals throughout the tourist district – a reassuring but still
unnerving accommodation for visitors. And, despite the wise warnings, many
students, Lifelong Learners and Staculty were robbed, one terrifyingly at
machete-point.
 |
| Student, Zach getting into the Salvador vibe the first day |
Most people on the voyage spent a day or two in Salvador and
then went off on organized Field Programs (to the Amazon, Iguassu Falls, Rio or
Sao Paulo) or plonked themselves on idyllic islands or north coast eco resorts
in search of the more hospitable, lighter and brighter side of the bubbly
Brazilian culture. Last time we were there we retreated from the city squalor
to Praia da Forte, a manicured seaside village sporting an eco resort, lots of
boutique pousadas, and a turtle sanctuary. This time we decided to brave the
Amazon.
Getting up at 1am, boarding three planes, three buses, and
two boats during a 15-hour journey, slipping in mud, napping upright, hauling
hand luggage, fielding various versions of ‘are we there yet?’ from the group
of 30, and subsisting on only sugary and salty snacks. What on Earth
destination could be worth that kind of journey? The Amazon perhaps – but only
just and, after the even longer journey home, I’ll never do it again using that
circuitous route. If only I could have sent myself by the other Amazon, I would
have got there quicker.
 |
| Reached the Rio Marmuri at last for the final leg of the endless journey |
Gliding across glistening green reflections in small motor
boats, our Semester at Sea Field Program group finally made it, smelly and
sleep-deprived, to our thatched lodge at sundown after much neck-craning bird
spotting en route: elegant egrets, circling ospreys, spooky vultures, majestic
herons, distant macaws, tiny yellow birds, and busy cormorants. Shoot me for expecting
flocks of parrots, colourful cockatiels, toucans in treetops, alligators
slithering into the river, watched by gangs of monkeys swinging through the
canopy! I soon realized I would have to lower my fauna expectations. Yes, the
Amazon Rainforest is home to all of these and much more but it takes time,
silence and being in the right place at the right time to see them.
 |
| Tarantula Terror-tory! |
 |
| Edson at work! |
Led by Edson, a highly educated primatologist, botanist and biologist, our guides did manage to find us a
tarantula, a three-foot caiman (the Amazonian version of an alligator), a
poisonous frog, a couple of cavorting capuchins, a glimpse of a hasty howler
monkey, a cuddly tree rat that looked more like a possum or a marmot, and a
distant sluggish sloth. But the noises and ravages of tourism – and maybe
hunting, deforestation and farming – would seem to have driven other wildlife
further into the refuges of the rainforest.
 |
|
Having let go of my preconceptions of teeming wildlife, I
concentrated on the intense greenery and the soothing serenity of water travel
on the Rio Mamuri. The line between the reality of the riverbanks and the mirrored
reflection below became hypnotic. Birds at work, stalking, diving and hovering;
insects flitting; fish rippling the surface; and - joy of joys - dolphins! We
saw pods of grey dolphins dancing their diving duets. But the highlight was several
sightings of the Amazonian pink dolphin. I had expected a pinkish tinge but
these are garishly pink – Pepto pink, in fact, the same colour as the neon
tablets that Dr Phil (our Semester at Sea physician) suggests we ingest before
every meal in order not to suffer from cleanliness deficiencies. No photos -
these wild dolphins are far too quick and I hate seeing wildlife just through a
lens.
A four-hour trek into the humid and humming jungle revealed
exotic plant life – bromeliads clinging halfway up ancient trees; immense root
systems naked above ground; tendrilly ferns; towering brazil nut trees; fungus
and colourful mushrooms emerging from festering fallen leaves and tree stumps; and
hot house plants that you usually only see in the indoor section of the garden
centre. Ducking around giant webs with their creepy creators, we skipped over
hordes of massive ants, emulating their single line marching order as we
navigated the narrow track hacked out for us by our guides with machetes that
reminded me eerily of Salvador.
Suddenly, a bright blue butterfly, almost as
big as my two hands, fluttered by – so intensely azure that it looked like an
animation from Avatar. We saw another one later and noted that it was blue on
top and black underneath. With mosquitoes hovering around bare ankles in front
of me, I was glad of my long Smartwool hiking socks and Bos & Co boots
tucked into full length pants. Yes, they were far too warm in the sweltering
humidity, but everyone was sweating profusely whatever they were wearing and at
least my ankles weren’t getting those red swollen welts that are so itchy and,
here, could lead to dengue fever, chikungunya or other tropical viruses. Having
heeded all mosquito advice, I had bought light-coloured long-legged and
long-sleeved clothing and a pharmacy of repellents including DEET lotions,
sprays and wipes which I reapplied four or five times per day.
 |
| Poaching piranhas! But this one was too small to eat |
Fishing was fun but fruitless for me, although you can see that Simon had some success. I was one of the few
people who couldn’t seem to add another piercing to the petite piranhas.
They
successfully nibbled every bit of bait I threw out, so I was actually feeding
them rather than fishing for them. Looks like the ferocious little under-biters
have some of us tourists figured out!
I chose acai (pronounced ah-sigh-eeee) when it came to tree
planting. This is an eco activity that the Amazon Turtle Lodge encourages with each
visitor providing the Amazon with one more tree. A drop in the ocean considering
all the denuded and burnt areas we saw en route, clumsily cleared for
cultivation and cattle grazing. But every little bit helps, right? And I loved
my tree!
I’ve always been fascinated by acai ever since buying a tincture of it
from a health food shop when it was first touted as a superfood.
Simon, on the
other hand, picked a tiny cocoa plant – in ironic homage to the ill-fated cocoa
plantation trip in Ghana.
The guides wielded immense shear-like diggers which
swiftly made the holes for us soft city slickers.
 |
| Riverine entrance to Amazon Turtle Lodge |
The Lodge is owned by Max Maia’s family and he is also
executive manager of Maia Expeditions.
A decade ago, Turtle Lodge was a cattle ranch but the family reinvented their
land as a sustainable tourism destination, employing family members and other
local people, supplied by farms along the river. It has grown each year and now
offers various packages staying in cute thatched cottages, some of which (not
mine) have A/C and hot water (not mine) as well as camping, kayaking and
survival treks.
The campsite alongside the river is a mere collection of
hammocks you string up yourself between trees with flimsy mosquito nets the only barrier between
you and indigenous jaguars, anacondas, caiman, tarantulas, poison dart frogs,
pit vipers, and 118 species of primates. Not my cup of tea, but Simon pulled
the short straw when some of our students opted for a night under the stars,
spending just two hours sleeping and the rest disturbed by girly gossip,
snoring, and Howler monkeys. He worked out that he only notched up 10 hours of
decent sleep in a 100-hour period.
 |
| Plenty of time for reflection |
Then, finally, came the real adventure. Everything had been
softly sculpted for us with fab food, comfy accommodation, meticulous guides,
even the weather was beneficent with clouds protecting us from sun and heat,
cooling breezes, and no rain. The last day we’d explored a cassava farm along
the river, watching a fraction of the arduous three-hour stirring process
required to get all the cyanide out of manioc flour, the basic starch used for
Amazonian fare.
After lunch we’d paddled canoes and one hardy/reckless student
threw himself in the murky waters. And, then, when we were all packed for our
final boat trip, the deluge began: a vertical tropical downpour complete with overhead
thunder and lightning. The boats had plastic covers to protect us from the
worst of it but they also obscured the front of the boat, giving the pilot very
limited visibility. Navigating the shallows and zigzagging bends, the doughty
driver occasionally turned up a lower corner of the plastic to ‘see’ where we
were. Although expert, we couldn’t count on that until an hour later when we
reached the shore safely.
 |
| Turtle Lodge transport - see that orange clay? That's the road we had to bump over to get to the next boat! Particularly difficult on the way back when we had floods due to massive thunderstorm. That's when the adventure went from 'soft' to 'hard'!! |
Next hurdle was the orange mud. That terracotta clay is
great for roofing tiles and making oven dishes, but not quite so effective as a
road covering especially during an inundation. Our potholed bumpy road from the
way in had now deteriorated to deep rutted orange slush which our driver
negotiated like someone driving through thick snow, wrenching the steering
wheel in the opposite direction in order to counter the skidding. Sliding and
lurching for about 40 minutes, he – and his wife who hadn’t stopped talking to
him the whole way – jumped out at the tarmac highway and gave over the job to
another, presumably less skilled, driver. How we didn’t overturn in the mud I will
never know.
 |
| The Meeting of the Waters - where the Amazon River (lighter coloured silt) meets the Rio Negro |
En route to the airport we got stuck at the Meeting of the
Waters ferry port for an hour, waiting for a clearing in the downpour. Next, in
pitch darkness, we did a cursory tour of Manaus, driving past the huge market
and stopping for pics at the beautiful pastel pink Opera House where sparklingly
clean people in elegant gowns and dinner jackets traversing the red carpet at
the entrance made us feel even more bedraggled. Dinner was a Brazilian barbecue
buffet and then off to the airport for the first of only two flights – one to
Rio and the second to Salvador, traveling through the night. The bliss of
hitting a beautifully made bed in my World
Odyssey cabin, 20 hours after leaving Turtle Lodge, was beyond literary
description - suffice it to say I felt much like a cherub looks when reclining on a cloud. And
having my filthy Amazon attire freshly laundered within 24 hours was as cushy
as ship life gets.
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| Manaus Opera House |
BTW - I’m reading a great book about a fictional Semester at
Sea voyage – The Williamson Turn by
P.J. Kluge – which starts in Manaus. Apparently – or at least in the book - you
can dock right there negating the need for three flights to access the Amazon!
This book is frowned upon by the SAS admin due to some of its exaggerated
drama, no doubt, but it sums up much of the atmosphere of the voyage quite
succinctly. The protagonists are trying to make sense of why the students – and
the staff – are actually doing the voyage. For example, questioning how can you
get deep into each country when you are there for the first time and haven’t
even done the touristy things yet? How can you question the country’s poverty
gap, racism, political and social injustices when you haven’t even experienced
the music, beach vibe, food, architecture and art?
This is a conundrum for everyone in the book and in reality
– except for the self-avowed partyers who just race off guiltlessly to the best
beaches, shops and nightlife – as we are supposed to be sight-thinkers rather
than sightsee-ers. My thinking is that you choose your land itinerary, you
absorb the places, people and activities as they happen (either planned or
unexpected), ask questions whenever you can, and then figure out what it all
means at some later date when you are back on the ship.
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| Doughnut on a string eating contest - Photo by Dean Paul Doherty |
Only problem with this is that there is such a busy academic
and work – and social - schedule onboard that it is tricky to find time to
process all the experiences. No sooner are you leaving Brazil than you are en
route to Trinidad. You have interport students and lecturers newly boarded who
are keen to get you up to speed with their country – ie the next country on the
schedule. The previous country’s students and lecturers have already
disembarked so you can’t go to them for help in processing what you’ve seen. It
is up to you to try to put it all into perspective.
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| Chin up contest - Photo by Dean Paul Doherty |
We have a class called
“Intercultural Reflections” which we conduct with small groups of students and also
with the LifeLong Learners. This helps a little in bringing out common threads,
questions and sometimes answers – although I don’t like how it focuses more on
the differences in cultures rather
than the similarities. But there is still a need to de-brief with other
passengers and find time to think and process our experiences.
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| Photo by Dean Paul Doherty |
Oh well, no time for that now, I’m in the midst of organizing the Ship Kids, Staculty, Companions and Lifelong Learners in the Sea Olympics which starts in a couple of days. I volunteered to be the Sea Captain in charge of communications for our motley team. Due to the disparate range of ages and roles, we decided to call ourselves the “Odder Sea” – a play on Odyssey (some people get it, some don’t). The other six ‘Seas’ are groups of students, arranged by corridor, who will no doubt put up fierce and energetic competition.
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| Photo by Dean Paul Doherty |
It all kicks off with an Opening Ceremony and a Spirit Competition comprising banner waving, mascots, costumes in our designated colour (silver), and team chants. There’s also a Mystery event in which we had to field two team members, so we chose our Executive Dean, John Tymitz, and one of the youngest ship kids. The next day, 17 events range all over the ship from 11-7, with everything from Tug-of-War to Frozen T-shirt to Backward Spelling Bee, and there’s a brief respite until the finale which is the Lip Sync contest.
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| Sea Olympics team Odder Sea - Photo by Dean Paul Doherty |
You can just imagine how good the students will be at this – all those dancers, gymnasts, cheerleaders, boy bands, etc. Our only hope is to use all the comedy and sympathy we can garner from fielding faculty as they have never been seen before, cute kids, and rickety LLLs. We are lucky to have an ace choreographer in our midst and lots of game volunteers, happy to humble themselves to the strains of Bohemian Rhapsody. But so far we have had only one rehearsal and there is only time for one more before the big event!
This afternoon’s task is a silver accessory making workshop (see pics above for some of the results) in The Fritz Bar where we gather to keep everything covert. Tinfoil and Christmas tinsel should help add some wow factor to our amateur efforts and many of us have gathered silver accessories, nail polish and glitter makeup from recent ports. The chant is composed – a spin on the “I don’t know where I come from” US military ‘call-and-response’ marching song. Today the most artistic among us are decorating our banner in silver. The mascot costume is all ready, our Spirit Captain having pre-ordered it for delivery via one of the Lifelong Learners who was boarding the ship in Brazil as a partial voyager.
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| Dean John, part of our Synchro Swim team - renamed by me 'Sink or Swim' |
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Me concentrating hard during the (winning)
Backward Spelling Bee - yes, we got Gold!!
Photo by Stephanie Nowack |
The Ship Kids have thoroughly rehearsed their segment of the Lip Sync. The rest of us are gamely trying to learn words such as ‘Scaramoush, Scaramoush, Can you do the Fandango’ in time to simple but, if we manage to synchronize, dramatic dance moves, and planning our all-black outfits with silver accessories such as tinfoil bow ties, tinsel bracelets and foil leis. Simon has been beating all the students at Ping Pong, having won the ship league recently, so cross fingers for success in that event. And I can only hope that our Oceanographer is practicing his Chin-Ups as I write! Regardless of how we do in the Games, you have to admit we’re giving it our best shot.
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| Our Lip Sync - Photo by Sheryl Zimmerman |
Result - We came THIRD overall! A stellar effort from everyone with five individual event wins (including the Ping Pong and my Backward Spelling team), loads of seconds and thirds, and a fabulous fourth place in the Lip Sync!! What a dazzling day!
Links:
Amazon Turtle Lodge - https://www.amazonturtlelodge.com/
www.maiaexpeditions.com
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| Staff Photo |
Nov 24 - TRINIDAD FOR THE DAY!!
Trinidad looked beautiful once you saw past the industrial port zone, bland highrise hotels and brassy billboards for US-style shopping malls. The Port of Spain - home to several ornately pretty Victorian buildings, shady parks, and the Caribbean’s first Carnival HQ set in the middle of the world’s largest traffic circle - is bordered by lush forested hills bathed in wispy cloud and hugged by hedonistic homes with a view. We drove right across the central mountainous part of the island, meandering through hilly villages and dense tropical forest, spotting gorgeous white and red flowers known, our guide said, as Napoleon’s Foot (haven’t been able to identify them online), among the hothouse greenery engulfing human habitation.
Once on the east of the island, we motored past long swathes of white sandy beach, narrow, but bordered by languorously leaning palm trees with rolling surf pounding the shore. How badly we all wanted to stop and settle for a picnic on the beach! But, intent on providing a running commentary on every little thing from KFC outlets to the highlights of the Water and Sewage Authority, our guide Miriam was not planning to detour from her itinerary and, instead, suggested we take photos through the grainy windows in drive-by shooting style.
Unfortunately, Miriam’s itinerary and the one we were given differed considerably. Although we didn’t have high expectations of the ‘Day in the Life of a Kernaham Villager in the Nariva Swamp’ due in part to the worries about Dengue-infected mosquitoes, we did expect at least to have the “entertaining cookery class” when we would cook our own Trinidadian lunch with locals as well as have informative interactions with various villagers from Kernaham. Not much to ask for, you would think, but apparently too much for us to expect.
After several wrong turns, about-turns and U-turns on the bus, our second ‘village’ guide, Indra, told us she doesn’t actually live in Kernaham at all but has moved to England. Having left the swamp years ago she was just back for a visit. And the only other villagers we officially came into contact with were, firstly, the fisherman who failed to catch a cascadou (the local swamp fish we’d heard so much about on the two-and-a-half hour bus journey). He tried to teach a couple of students to throw the net but the only thing they caught was an old tin can, part of a considerable amount of refuse I saw clogging up the much vaunted eco-swamp. And, secondly, a shy young girl who played the steel pan drums exquisitely and let us all have an amateur go.
I say ‘officially’ as we did actually come into quite close contact unofficially with some other locals. We had decided to insist on a brief beach visit even if it was only a couple of minutes. Accordingly, Indra led us down right after lunch – which inexplicably was exactly the same sort of food we had had on board ship the night before – today served in Styrofoam boxes with a schoolkid juice box. No freshly squeezed local fruits that I’d been craving every time we passed a well-stocked fruit stall at 60 miles per hour, and not a freshly-made lunch we had cooked with the group under local supervision as promised! And the drab community centre, with only one functional toilet for 42 people all hopping to go after the long bus journey, didn’t even seem to house a kitchen – and, if it did, hidden in some closet somewhere, it could definitely not be big enough for a cookery class for 42 plus instructors! So, obviously, there had been no intention of having a cookery class at any point despite that being a major selling feature of the doomed daytrip description. We couldn’t help but wonder if someone had sneaked the Styrofoam containers complete with last night’s leftovers onto the bus that morning and that we’d been unwittingly carrying our own lunch with us the whole time.
Anyway, back to the unofficial locals: they were the kind souls who allowed us a modicum of shelter under their rickety roadside watermelon-and-large-black-snail stall awning to protect us from the sudden tropical downpour which inundated our five-minute trip to the shore. Literally, the instant we stepped on erosion-prevention rocks bordering the beach to take our seascape pics the skies went from blue to dense grey, unloading their cloudy contents on us all, soaking us to the skin in seconds.
After several rain dances and desultory photo attempts, our buses grudgingly arrived to our rescue and took us back to the sterile community centre so we could fight over the one washroom and attempt to dry ourselves on a few scanty paper towels. Our garrulous guide promised a stop a bit later on at the Manzanilla Boardwalk if we could snatch a dry spell in between inundations. That proved too much to ask for but we stopped anyway as you can’t get any wetter when already drenched. Or at least we thought you couldn’t until two students were hit by a rogue wave when leaning on the promenade railing for an ocean shot, adding seawater insult to the freshwater injury.
We’d heard the swamp was the habitat for rare manatees, red howler monkeys, scarlet ibis, and white-chested capuchins but by now we knew better than to expect those in teeming populations (although a lucky lifelong learner on another trip that day actually saw hundreds of scarlet ibis congregating in trees at dusk). At least our expectations were met in this: we saw none of the above.
I have written all this at the great risk of sounding like a serial whinger. After all, so many of our daytrips have been beleaguered with problems that you might think we are the miserable common denominator. Not so – we have tried our hardest to make the best of a bad thing and to keep morale up among the group. But sometimes it just isn’t possible to save a trip that has failed to live up to even the lowest expectations. Throughout the mind-numbing monologue on the interminable bus journey to Kernaham, the guide had taunted our tastebuds with tales of cascadou (the tasters of which are fate-bound to come back to Trinidad again before they die, she said), pilau, roti, Trinidad’s superior spices, and ‘doubles’ – the fried variously-filled sandwiches that we had been advised to try. She even said in her lilting accent “lunch is going to be a big surprise for you, it could be any of 'dese tings', we’ll just to wait and see”. So, you can just imagine our shock when it turned out to be none of the items she had so lyrically described, let alone the products of a hands-on cooking workshop.
The Nariva Swamp is serenely beautiful in its lack of development, with only ramshackle farms interrupting nature. But, protected by government decree as a sustainable sanctuary for rare wildlife and eco-systems, it is also home to a research facility for mosquito-borne diseases whose bearers emerge in their trillions from the murky waters every night. Their daytime kin are also under scrutiny as they are the Dengue and Zika carriers – hence our being doused from head to foot in every type of DEET. I had a comprehensive supply of sprays, lotions and wipes with me ready for when sweat – and also, as it turned out, rain - washed off my early morning application.
The moral of this travel tale: is Trinidad in touch with tourism? Its little sister isle, Tobago, is all set with resorts complementing beautiful beaches, calm blue sea, fertile forests and dramatic waterfalls. But Trinidad, long the centre for the sugar cane industry and now a significant oil producer, seems to have neglected adding tourist infrastructure to facilitate appreciation of its natural attributes. A good time for hardy travelers to explore, perhaps, before its authenticity is compromised by mass tourism. But head to Tobago if you want to snorkel with stingrays, swim in waterfall pools, watch the wonderful wildlife, kayak through mangroves, or even - dare I suggest? - attend a cooking class.
Nov 28 - Panama Canal
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| The prettiest ship in the Panama Canal |
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| Going through the lock |
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This is the ramp that the mechanical 'mule' goes
along to drag us through the lock |
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| All this rain makes for very bright green grass! |
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| Loved the red against the grey of the drizzle |
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| Would love to be in a small boat exploring all the inlets |
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| The "mule" |
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| Prof and student hanging out on Panama Canal Day |
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Our multi-cultural Extended Family - we are British, Chinese, Ukrainian, Canadian, and American.
Pictured here having afternoon tea with cake on Panama Canal Day |
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| Extended Family Daughters |
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| 'Turkey Trot' walk around Deck 9 on Panama Canal Day |
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| Lock gates at the Panama Canal - our gateway into the Pacific Ocean |
Dec 2 - GUAYAQUIL, ECUADOR!!
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| Ingapirca - Inca ruins in background |
(This is a work in progress, adding pictures whenever internet strong enough, and text will gradually follow!)
We're here at last - a fifteen day stretch at sea with just a few hours off in Trinidad. After getting our passports which seemed to take an interminably long time, we were on the first bus out of the port. Our bus tour guide - a very chatty chap happy to introduce us to his country and city - showed us around Parque Seminario before taking us to a hotel to get a taxi. You can't just jump in any old taxi here as they may be driven by imposters - ie robbers!
The really lovely park, with an ornate hexagonal band stand and surrounded by towering colonial edifices, is otherwise known as Iguana Park due to its almost pet-like inhabitants who hang from the trees, where they feed, and drop down to sun themselves in prehistoric profusion.
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Dima, one of our "Extended Family" of students, at Iguana Park
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A brief taxi trip to the bus terminal - a massive airport-like layout
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| Hotel Santa Lucia |
with dozens of shops, cafes, and ticket booths - and we were on our four-hour winding way through the mountains to Cuenca. A colonial city in the Andes, it is a hub for particularly US ex-pats and retirees and that is actually why we were going there. Last year I had interviewed a US retiree who had moved there for a 'destination retirement' and lifestyle re-invention. This was for our book - A Worldwide Guide to Retirement Destinations - which just came out earlier this month. You can read her story there but here's a teaser: from the LA film business to fame on House Hunters International via Cuenca.
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| Hotel Santa Lucia Cuenca |
Colonial Cuenca is full of Spanish architecture, shady squares, massive opulent churches, and cobbled streets with verdant views of the surrounding mountains. Our boutique hotel, the Santa Lucia, is a beautiful example of the Moorish riad style - a central atrium lit by a very high glass ceiling, with bedrooms looking down from four sides arranged around a second-floor balcony.
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| Black and White of the central restaurant at the Santa Lucia Hotel - so elegant! |
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| Old World grandeur |
Decor scheme: old dark timber balustrades, beams and pillars, dangling wrought iron chandeliers and cage-style lamps, ornate tapestry rugs set on expensive wood floors, dramatic staircases enlarged by giant mirrors and bordered by intricately carved bannisters and wainscoting, fancy ceilings, abundant tropical plants, antique furnishings, immense murals and lots of fascinating artwork and artisanal ornaments.
So plushly gorgeous I was absolutely breath-taken, rushing around with the camera trying to capture the elegant essence of it all.
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| Christmas arrangement in the plush upper storey sitting room at the Santa Lucia Hotel, Cuenca |
Owned by the Vintimilla family for three generations, the
Santa Lucia is a mainstay of the hotel industry of Cuenca. The family also own
the Villarosa Restaurant, one of the best in Ecuador, internationally acclaimed
in travel guides. Right in the centre of the historic district, the house was
built in 1859 by the governor of the province, Don Manuel Vega Davila, remaining
in the family for more than a hundred years. Restored and adapted into a
boutique hotel in 1999, the architecture and appurtenances were preserved as a
prime example of traditional 19th century housing, adding modern
bathrooms for contemporary tastes. It won the Fray Jose Maria Vargas award for best
restoration of a historic building in 2002 by the City of Cuenca.
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| Crepe Suzette at the Fondue Garden |
Wandering around the grid-like streets and statued-squares
that first day, we stumbled upon the Fondue Garden restaurant by
the weeping willow-lined river. Run by British expat Bonnie and her boyfriend,
it is the third restaurant founded by his brother, Felipe Rivadeneira, a famous master
chef, cooking teacher, cookbook author and TV show celebrity chef. Based around
a pungent cheese fondue recipe, the menu incorporates customizable fondue pots,
fondue nachos, fondue-doused sandwiches, steak with cheese fondue sauce, and an
array of chocolate fondue desserts. I could go there every night for a week and
not be bored with the choices!
As well as being a lovely chatty hostess, Bonnie
gave us lots of very useful recommendations for coffee shops, museums and other
Cuenca attractions.
One of her suggestions was the Pumapungo Museum, set on
an Incan archeological site discovered in the 1920s, with ruins dotted around
the surrounding gardens. This was our first taste of Inca relics, brought to
life by miniature re-creations inside the free museum. Presumably the Inca remains
as well as the Spanish colonial downtown are some of the ingredients that make Cuenca
a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
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| Pumapongo |
Panama hats, you would think, are from Panama, correct? But we
were told in no uncertain terms by our first bus guide that they are in fact
Ecuadorian hats – or Monte Cristo hats – and that they are made in Cuenca. If
they cost under $50, he said, they are fake and he warned that they can go up to around $400.
We saw lots of market stalls and shops selling them but were not tempted due to
the difficulties of packing them in our already over-burdened baggage. But, in
their myriad versions of size, weave, colour and trim, they were pretty hard to
resist.
Other Ecuadorian specialties include roses, coffee, candy and chocolate most of which we failed to resist. There were lots of Semester at Sea passengers going to visit the cocoa plantations
but I didn’t dare risk a visit after our Ghana disaster (see in the Ghana tales above). However, I bought the local
chocolate highly recommended by Bonnie from the supermarket.
The smell of
coffee wafts out of countless quaint coffee shops all over Cuenca, some with riad-style
courtyards tucked behind narrow entrances all redolent with the alluring aroma of freshly
milled beans. It reminded me of those Starbucks murals depicting the coffee
industry of Ecuador – I felt like I was in the mural.
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| Espresso Martini - on the house at the Fondue Garden |
Sold at local farmers’
markets and corner stalls are all the fresh fruits and other produce from the
surrounding rural areas. And cafés and bars have succulent freshly-squeezed orange
juice that makes even a vodka seem healthy.
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| Dress up time at Posada Ingapirca |
Creative craftsmanship – whether it’s jewelry, leather goods,
metalwork, ceramics, knitted and embroidered shawls, ponchos, sweaters, jackets,
or traditional Andean costumes – is on display and for sale at markets, street
stalls and boutique-style shops around Cuenca. Traditional dress for women
includes gathered knee-length skirts, often in velvet, trimmed with pompoms or
fancy braids, worn with cardigans or tailored jackets and topped off with black
almost-bowler hats but with bigger brims usually with hair in thick braids.
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| Couldn't resist buying a sweater from this lovely lady at Ingapirca |
Add
a chunky blanket-style shawl for both genders who appear to feel the cold much
more than us. We were walking around in tank tops and sandals while the locals
were wrapped up in boots and winter garb. Men’s attire includes the same type
of hat and embroidered waistcoats but I saw more women than men in national
costume.
'Almuerzo $2.50' - this is the local lunch, with daily differences, that includes an entree such as local trout, rice and vegetables, as well as a drink. And, yes, this is American dollars – dollarization, as
our Interport Lecturer Santiago Hidalgo, told us has improved the country’s
economy whilst, of course, making it beholden for the USA for its coins and paper money
which arrives in massive piles (since they typically import bills only up to
$20) in heavily guarded armoured trucks to the many banks of Cuenca. Our hotel
seemed to be surrounded by these banks. The bills themselves are secondhand – re-used
US cast offs - old and raggedy, complemented by dollar
coins which Ecuador has minted itself.
Ingapirca:
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| View from the closest coffee shop to the ruins |
A trip to Ecuador's Inca Trail was a must for our visit even though it entailed a bumpy two-hour bus drive through the Andes to the tiny enclave of Ingapirca. Actually, the trip was an important component of the adventure with the 'direct' bus - from Terminal Terrestre in Cuenca - stopping regularly for locals of all ages to hop on and off at schools, a university hospital, bus terminals, workplaces, farmsteads and sometimes in the middle of nowhere. A mix of western wear and colourful traditional dress.
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| Simon says he is sorry for eating lamb stew at the Posada |
Winding up, down and over the Andes, every brow or corner revealed agricultural landscapes in every shade of green. Fields were laid out in variegated hilly pastures with cows, sheep, pigs and chickens foraging around farms and rickety shacks. And we passed by more substantial homes, churches, businesses, and industry in big cities like Canar, Azogues and Biblian.
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| Posada Ingapirca |
Fortified with cabra fresca (fresh goats’ cheese) and homemade bread from two shops in Cuenca, we watched the rural lifestyle unfold as we ascended from 2500 metres in the city to over 3000 metres by the time we reached the bus stop right at the Ingapirca Ruins.
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| Spanish colonial dining room in the former hacienda |
Having claimed to be just a few metres from the ruins, the Posada Ingapirca was somewhat economical with the truth necessitating a 15 min uphill trudge dragging wheelie bags on a muddy and rutted dirt/stone track in light rain. Thank goodness I’ve been working out almost daily in the World Odyssey gym – and joining Barbara sometimes on her walks/trots around the decks – otherwise I don’t think I would have made it. As I type this, I’m recovering from a mild asthma attack caused by the sudden heavy exertion at high altitude.
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| Ceviche at the Posada Ingapirca |
The Posada, rebuilt from a Spanish hacienca, is cute – lots of dark wood-beamed and white adobe rooms spread around the higgledy-piggledy shaped campus with a central check-in and restaurant: all high-backed Spanish dark wood chairs upholstered with Ecuadorian fabrics and religious pictures and indigenous artifacts. Interspersed around the grounds are lots of umbrella-ed outdoor seating arrangements from which to admire the misty views and bright coloured flowers (once I got my breath back).
The ruins at Ingapirca are unusual: they incorporate both an Inca and Canari township as well as religious temples for each, one worshipping the sun and the other the moon, respectively. This was the outcome of a truce after a 30 year war between the locals and the Inca invaders. The differences in their building styles are evident - the Canaris used odd shaped local rocks joined together with smaller stones and mortar and the Incas carved rocks so precisely that they could stay securely together for hundreds of years regardless of regular earthquakes.
The Canaris also built their enclosures in circles and elliptical shapes whereas the Incas favoured squares and rectangles. However, at Ingapirca, because the highest land was already in a more oval shape due to bedrock, the Incas used the elliptical base for their rectangular temple.
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| Canari moon temple and baths below |
The Canari temple has a series of baths below it so that ceremonial washing could precede worship. You can still see the shapes of the baths. Other walls represent areas and building foundations, some designated for making ceramics, jewelry, utensils, weapons, some store rooms. another a big communal kitchen and the rest dwellings. The houses were all the same for rich or poor but some were larger and the Incan workmanship was better quality and longer lasting in a land of regular earthquakes.
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| Inca Temple |
Set on a hill, with some walls still intact, the Inca temple had a more sophisticated master plan, constructed in synchronicity with the sun. The door facing east allowed the first rays of sunrise on June 21 (summer solstice) to come in and reflect off golden ornamentation in a sconce in the wall. Another sconce performed the same function on Oct 21 (autumn solstice) at sunrise. On the opposite side of the building, facing west a mirror-image door enabled the last rays of sunset to enter and light up the whole interior by bouncing off more gold set in a sconce - one on June 21 and another on Oct 21. This was considered to be the sun god entering the temple.
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| Lunar Calendar |
A riverstone with 28 holes carved out served as a lunar calendar, one hole for each day. By this, people knew the date and directed their farming schedule by it.
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| Recreation of a typical Canari house |
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| Hot milk and then add your own coffee! |
The thatched houses built both by the Canaris and the Incas were destroyed by the Spanish conquistadors who
also took away all the tools with which the Incas had methodically created their exact stonework. When archeologists in the mid 1990s unearthed pots, utensils, jewelry, skeletons all buried beneath centuries of landfalls, they didn't find a single tool.
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| Village of Incapirca |
Although all buildings had been looted for their stones, lintels, wooden beams and roof thatching, the original Canari and Inca walls were found below ground still intact, as well as inventive aqueducts and graves. Many of the looted stones were found in houses, schools and churches in Ingapirca village and these have been returned to the site.
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| Rock marking the spot of 11 graves |
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| Inca Face (looks strangely like British comedian, Russ Abbott!) |
Included in the $2 fee is a guided tour (in English or Spanish) around the sacred sites as well as an unattended walk around a 45 minute, somewhat precipitous, hiking path to see more important Inca icons including the natural 'Inca Face'.
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| Great interpretation of the Inca and Canari ruins in English |
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| Gorge - ous! |
This is all part of a four-day Inca Trail that links other important enclaves around the Ecuador Andes to all the Inca Trails of South America. Tourists can hike the four-day trail or do it in 13 hours on horseback.
The authenticity of the fledgling tourism here is amazing. Houses and farmsteads that happened to overlook the ruins remain pretty much the same as ever, just a few basic necessities for rambling tourists added, such as 'banos', craft shops and cafes created out of the front of domestic environments. Everything cheap, cheerful, and casual but with million-dollar views.
The peace of the sylvan scenery is only interrupted by a Cuenca bus twice per day and sporadic farm vehicles. Grazing in impossibly steep fields are groups of llamas (or alpaca) who gambol across the ruins ignoring the signs warning against walking on the grass. Donkeys, horses, mules,
pigs, geese, ducks, chickens, sheep and cows similarly munch on mountainsides, unfazed by the altitude, gradient or the afternoon mists that hydrate the verdant foliage.
Locals, many in traditional dress, trudge along, up and down muddy dirt roads in rubber boots or board the backs of pickup trucks. They still till the fields by hand and can be seen doubled over or crouching at their labour. Kids, in matching tracksuit school uniforms, tumble off buses around noon to greet their pet dogs. Their schoolday over, it's now time to help around the farms.
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| Fellow travellers - Rudi and Gabi from Switzerland |
Hosteria Dos Chorreras in Cayas National Park:
This signature Inn is 3,400 metres above sea level, in the foothills of the Cayas National Park which is the main source of clean and clear mountain water for Cuenca. The waterfalls after which it is named (chorreras) gush all around the beautiful Inn which is the hub for eco-tourism programs, visits to some of the 250 lagoons, horseback riding, biking, hiking and sport fishing. We planned to go to the indigenous Canari village of Guavidula by horse our last morning.
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| Our bedroom at the Hosteria dos Chorreras |
The afternoon before when we had arrived by taxi from Ingapirca, rain stopped play at least outdoors. Indoors we had much to explore as the hotel is an attraction in itself full of rocks, roots and water features from the outside that have been incorporated into the interior design. Our room - named Mamamag - is a hedonistic heaven with a huge chunky log bed, beautiful rustic decor elements, compelling views over the alpaca-filled gorge, and a jacuzzi bathroom. Complete with a bottle of Trapiche rose, we didn't need to go far to have fun.
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| Lavish Xmas decorations in the Chocolateria |
Later, exploring the elaborate Christmas decorations, colourful shops, opulent seating areas and traditional artwork around the hotel, we wandered out to the Chocolateria: a cross between Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and a full on Christmas Store. Although now time for dinner, we promised ourselves some choccy indulgence later for dessert, earmarking the chocolate volcano with ice cream (which didn't disappoint).
Unlike the horseriding trip to Guavidula - which thoroughly disappointed. Due either to a breakdown of customer service or the thick mud and incessant rain outside, the trip was off. We were told we could negotiate the steep track in 12-inch mud if we wanted to try to reach the horses but, after having waited around for at least half an hour for our steeds by that point, we realized that the hurdles they were putting in our way meant that they didn't really want us to do this highly-advertised, signature 'actividade'. Equally the hiking or biking which were both up the same squelchy trail.
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| View from the Hosteria |
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| Sitting room at the Hosteria |
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| Truffle Art |
Concluding in the sodden downpour that we had got the most out of the Hosteria, we decided to cut our losses and travel on to our next - and final - stop, Guayaquil. Already half an hour out of Cuenca, we were reluctant to double back there to get the Guayaquil direct bus, so we got a taxi to drop us in the Cajas National Park at a convenient roadside place for us to hail a bus as we had seen locals doing on our previous travels. This worked like clockwork despite anxiety in the taxi ride there as the driver doubled the speed limit, overtook everything in his way, crossing double white lines round hairpin bends. The bus dropped us off around two hours later at a crossroads and, again like magic, another bus stopped for us this time taking us all the way to the Guayquil bus station. I like this ad hoc system! You just pay the conductor onboard and they help with your luggage, too. It's entertaining watching the salesmen who hop on and off with various wares. Pretty good sales' pitches and persuasive personalities although none of the odd items appealed to us.
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| Father Christmas in Cuenca |
Last Day in Guayaquil:
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| Massive Nativity Scene on the seafront |
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| Botanical gardens in the Malecón Simón Bolivar Guayaquil |
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| Best use of bottle tops ever! |
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| Indigenous re-creations by local kids on display at the Malecón Simón Bolivar Museum |
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| Santa Ana - Guayaquil's first neighbourhood |
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| Had to share a bench with this guy - he was responsible for the regeneration of Santa Ana, Guayaquil |
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| Loved the pastel paintwork of Santa Ana |
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| Check out the mural..... |
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..... looks like Sherwin Williams provided all the paint for the regeneration of Santa Ana in Guayaquil! Innovative way of
advertising on one of the walls. |
Dec 11 - PUNTARENAS, COSTA RICA!!
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| Our villa complex - just two villas sharing the tropical gardens and pool |
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| Sunset from our patio |
A stately palm tree pregnant with
coconuts, a squat banana tree dangling heavy fruit from its pendulous
purple protrusion, birds cheerfully chirping or cawing, and insects happily
humming: the scene and sounds of a jungly beach enclave in Northwest Costa Rica. Perched
above Playa Copal, a notoriously windy kiteboarding community, our accommodation
was a cute little villa which shared a lush garden and pool with a second
similar dwelling. Cushy!
Hammock on the veranda and outdoor bench dining set
and a washing line where nothing dried due to the humidity. This quote which I
saw in the Deans’ Memo onboard ship seems quite appropriate at this point in my
ramblings:
“To my mind, the greatest reward and
luxury of travel is to be able to experience everyday things as if for the
first time, to be in a position in which almost nothing is so familiar it is
taken for granted” – Bill Bryson
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| Kiteboarding view from our villa |
So kiteboarding. Let’s get this
straight: I had no intention of trying it. That’s Simon’s domain particularly
after an inspirational course of lessons in Aruba where we were working for a
few months last year. Determined to get past the beginner hurdles, he thinks
it’s worth the bruises, muscle fatigue, and continuous salty dunkings – not to
mention the threat of stingrays shallowly buried under the sand. I’m far more
interested in chilling, re-energizing, and exercising my beach biceps turning
book pages – think Costa Rican sloth and you can imagine the pace of my plans here.
Planted, like the hibiscus
bushes, right by the pool I watched a dinosaur-like three-foot iguana
slithering along the branches to munch the greenest leaves and the occasional
bright red bloom. That must have been the main course, as it was determined,
despite considerable rocking and dipping as it deftly distributed his weight along
the thin branches, to access the flamboyant flowers. A shiny navy blue bird popped
by every now and again, butterflies and dragonflies flitted like fairies, and I
had to save large grasshoppers from the chlorinated pool. The only thing to
disturb my relaxing rural reverie was the pool guy but he seemed content to leech
my fast internet from my porch rather than ruin the mellow mood with mowing.
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| Our beach, Playa Copal, late pm |
So how rustic was this rural
resort? Kiteboarding Costa Rica, as our outfit is called, is pretty far off the
mass tourist track, surrounded by unspoilt beaches. No stores in the immediate
vicinity, bar the mini mart on the main road which is no good unless you want
chips or soda (crisps or pop to non-US readers). Unpaved dirt track for access,
dense jungle all around, no bars, no boutiques, no artisan or farmers’ markets
– just a tiny village of tin-roofed shacks and simple farms. The first night’s
dinner, however, was beautifully-spiced chicken and ribs, Nicaraguan style,
following an odd starter of fried, squashed plantain topped with large chunks
of smoked cheese on cocktail sticks and an oniony dip. We were at the only
restaurant within walking distance – Oceanview, which also had a communal pool.
Simon liked the starter enough to take the leftovers home (in case of a highly probable supplies emergency), but I was a bit tastebud-baffled by it.
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| Rainbow on Playa Copal, our kite boarding beach |
Due to the remoteness of the
location around 20km from the Nicaraguan border, and the fact that we had our
own kitchen, we had stopped off en route from our dock in Puntarenas to supply
our four-day excursion. The Super Compro in Liberia turned out to be rather
less than super unless they meant the prices. For just four breakfasts and four
simple bread-and-cheese lunches, a few snacks, basic fruit, tomatoes, bottle of
wine and six beers we had to fork out $90 – ski resort prices and this is very
much a locals’ area rather than a tourist town. Everything at the Super Compro
was shrink-wrapped, processed or packaged. Purchasing the bare necessities, we hoped
to come across fresh produce stands and a smelling-of-real-bread bakery over
the following few days. Spoiler: we were to be disappointed.
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| Simon chilling |
The Punta Descartes Bar & Restaurante was underlined on the map provided in our villa as a MUST SEE place
in La Cruz. We had no idea why but who are we to ignore a tip? From the outside it was very underwhelming
– in fact, Simon walked past at a rapid pace as if appalled by the dilapidation
of the fading facade. I called him back. A little more inquisitive and used to
seeking speciality shops hidden in narrow alleys or secreted up stairwells all
over the world, I decided it was worth exploring a bit further.
Passing through
a ramshackle array of rooms - stone floors, tin roof, rustic boho furnishings,
covered courtyards, ladies working in outdoor kitchens, and waiters starting to
set up bar for the evening - I progressed towards a shining, almost blinding,
light. At first thinking it was a lake, I then realized I was seeing the sea
with a spectacular sunset starting over the hazy horizon. But not just any old
sunset. I was now on a rickety wooden veranda that was jutting out from a
mountain with a precipitous drop through jungle foliage to the valley floor.
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Note the cute tables made out of carved wood on top of old Singer sewing machine bases - at
Punta Descartes La Cruz
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It
was a Narnia moment – I had come through the wardrobe (in this case an
unprepossessing bar in a seedy city street with honking traffic) into a
completely different world of the most beautiful unspoilt nature and
tranquility that you could possibly imagine. Simon had reluctantly turned back
to follow me in but was equally wowed by the wonderland the other side of the
bar. Emerging back into the grim reality of the road after promising to return,
we raced through our shopping – in yet another Super Compro that by now I had re-dubbed
the Super Compromise – and returned to this Narnian nirvana of nature.
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Sunset view at Punta Descartes La Cruz
|
The back veranda of this unassuming
and remarkably unattended bar is probably the best – and certainly the most
underplayed - sunset viewing platform of our lives. Perched pendulously at the
top of the tropical mountain looking over the vertiginous drop, we saw grassy hills
miles below giving way to valley greenery that extended its sylvan tentacles
right to the shore. The ocean was prettily punctuated with promontories and
islands – an idyllic watercolour work of art.
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| Sunset from Punta Descartes La Cruz |
Mosquito heaven though. Later I
paid the penalty of lingering over libations as I’d forgotten my bug spray,
lotions, and wipes (yes I have the full set but no use if they are back in the
bathroom). But who could miss this magical moment just because of mozzies? As I
sipped my strawberry margharita, I was imagining that this untrammeled
landscape was how the world looked everywhere before mankind began his
money-making meddling.
Rather than facing the La Cruz potholes
again the next night, we drove to a closer, but also highly recommended,
restaurant El Fogon de Juana. Strewn
with cheesy Xmas decorations including a somewhat gruesome box that kept
opening with a Santa head inside, it somehow still retained a simple rustic charm.
The twinkling fairy lights lit up jungly foliage and somewhat beautified the corrugated
iron roof.
Didn’t like the silence though – no music and the other patrons didn’t
seem to be having much fun, their eyes glued to their phones or just staring
into space. When one gentleman started streaming a soap loudly while automatically
scoffing his supper, I was forced to ask the server for some music to cover up
this churlish din. In answer to what kind of music would I like, I said accommodatingly
“Costa Rican maybe?” To which she answered confusingly “Adele?” So, we just
went with that. It helped restore a more festive atmosphere but occasionally cut
out and went crackly. Both food and drink were substantial and tasty - although
the three types of lasagna were mysteriously off the menu – and the service was
slow but successful.
The area is not entirely unspoilt
– there’s a big new development, a 300-room all-inclusive luxury hotel called
Dreams Las Mareas sprawling along one of the sandy coves. We never saw it but
spied the signposts and encountered one or two resort buses slaloming the
potholes with us.
Since Dreams opened in 2016 or so, it would seem that every
luck-seeking landowner in northwest Costa Rica has listed their property for
sale, hoping for a big payout from other tourism prospectors. Their listings
are priced correspondingly high, apparently, but the take-up has been zero so
far.
We saw ‘se vende’ signs everywhere – mainly pristine parcels of
jungle-edged fields sometimes with a house or small hotel already constructed.
Kiteboarding instructor Clem, who has been there for 17 years, says that no-one
ever ‘dreamt’ that a huge hotel would plonk itself on one of their beautiful,
rugged beaches, spoiling it forever. The mainly US guests, who can swim up to
their rooms if they can still manage it after eating and drinking all they want,
might disagree about the ‘spoiling’. But when you see the whole Guanacaste area
from above – for example from our vantage point at the Punta Descartes in La Cruz – you can’t help but appreciate the raw nature of the area and wish it
could be kept that way.
Oh, are you wondering how Simon did at kiteboarding? Well, let's just say that he'll need a few more lessons on the lake near us in the Algarve before I let him loose on the Atlantic!
SHIP LIFE:
LIFELONG LEARNERS:
Dec 23 - SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA - Disembark
Notching up nearly seven miles that first day around Gdansk’s cobbled and colourful Old Town, we found amber and artisan stores in towering townhouses, ancient churches and government buildings surrounded by a myriad of market stalls, a bustling harbour front with river cruisers and old sailing ships, talented street performers, a people-watching pavement café culture, and impressive old granaries, walls, arched gates and architecture attesting to the city’s Mediaeval history. A living museum, really, with the contemporary neatly juxtaposed to the ancient. Nothing knocked down here just because it’s old – everything re-used, re-purposed and re-invented. Food was fabulous (scrumptious, plentiful and affordable), service generally friendly, and infrastructure on a sophisticated par with western Europe.
The Solidarity Museum is in the less salubrious but interesting shipyard area and well worth the schlep to re-live Lech Walesa’s inspirational campaign to unite the country via trade unions – the end result of which was the ‘little people’ beating the system over many years of mostly peaceful protests. Although chilled by installations like the memorial to murdered comrades (with their boots, hard hats, and overalls suspended over plaques), I felt that the museum emits an eventual feel-good factor in confirming that right can overcome wrong in the political world if enough people stand up to unite behind their ideals. After touring the installations, you can ascend to the rooftop to get an aerial perspective of the city.
The other thing with train travel is that you have to start getting savvy about the lingo. Words like ‘Glowny’ started to make sense – must mean something like Central or Main as in station. ‘Peron’ magically equated with platform (peroni and an arrow being platforms rather than directions to an Italian beer stand); ‘kasa’ with ticket office; and ginkweeya (approximate phonetic spelling) with thank you. And, by the way, the Pre-Port advice (on board ship) to approach younger Poles for English language ability was spot on. 
Suitably stuffed, we re-located our luggage at our second night’s stop: the Hotel Legenda which, learning our lesson, we’d chosen for its authentic architecture and delightful décor right in the main building – first room on the left up the creaky old stairs. This was diagonally opposite Toruń’s oldest bar, the Gospoda Pod Modrym Fartuchem (some of which means Blue Apron) which has famously featured in Poland’s most celebrated 1964 Western, Law and the Fist - so famous in fact that the bartender said no-one ever comes in and asks about it. We found another old bar by the walls of this grid-organized town, housed in a 600-year old building, where the taciturn tender grudgingly serve us local beer and an unexpected Portuguese Fonseca wine. Have you noticed how Portuguese wines are cropping up all over the place these days?
On a lighter note there's the Gingerbread Museum - Toruń calls itself the Gingerbread Capital of the world - offering a hands-on opportunity to make gingerbread from an ancient recipe involving rye and wheat flours, honey, ginger, cinnamon, cloves, black pepper, and nutmeg. Our clumsy attempts didn't look very appetizing but later on proved a fun snack to share with Simon's students - and no teeth lost!
Quaint enough but spectacularly failing to take advantage of the floral Kashubian embroidery that is characteristic of the region (one dinner napkin printed in the traditional design). There were Kashubian options on the menu but the Kashubian fish medley turned out to be breaded fried fish and crab in the basket, a bit like a pub meal in rural England from the 1970s. The herring in cream sauce was more like it, but the server warned us against ordering the Kashubian steak - his ominous expression spoke louder than words, suggesting very low quality meat of dubious ancestry! Didn’t see any Kashubian pottery anywhere except in the museum. 
The Kashubian Museum was an interesting but somewhat brief experience – a couple of floors of the lovely old wood-beamed and white house and a sprinkling of exhibits in the grounds. Very little was written in English so just an opportunity to view old furniture, clothing, pictures, farming tools and handmade equipment with no interpretation. It also cost nothing to go in, so it was almost worth the price! Verdict: this is very low-key fledgling tourism that still has a long way to go in leveraging its history and traditions.
With just one day in Lisbon before setting off for the Western Algarve, the sunny schedule was a fast-paced pedestrian peruse of the Old Town with a side quest for fabric for our onboard Project Patchwork group. 
We started off in the Castelo Sao Jorge area, wandering downhill via narrow streets full of pretty pavement cafés, souvenir shops, colourfully-painted and balconied buildings, and lots of traditional tile detail. Tile designs extended to scarves, bags, tea towels, t-shirts, magnets, and paintings - all reflecting Portugal’s prowess in painted tile work. And I made sure to pick a fabric with a nod to that artistry. Cork was the other material dominating market stalls and shops, with everything from belts, to bags, to jewelry, to shoes, to postcards made of cork. After the advent of screw tops, Portugal – for whom cork wine stoppers had been one of the top industries – had to diversify its applications of cork hence the creative range of products now very affordably available.
The village and harbour at Cavtat (pronounced more like Savtat) is picturesque, set in a couple of crescent coves with finger-like promontories in between. 
Stony alleyways leading to coffee culture in laid-back waterfront eateries. As Dan Dakovich, our Interport Lecturer, had told us "There's no 'Coffee to Go' in Croatia". Similarly, slow, sociable, mindful dining is also, thankfully, the norm. 
A forested walk up to the Racic Family Mausoleum, created by Croatian sculptor Ivan Mestrovic out of Brac stone, in a graveyard for all the wealthy dignitaries of the past 150 or so years, ornately memorialized with lofty vistas over the bay – and, while we were there, Chelsea football team owner, Roman Abramovich’s 70-bed yacht complete with several heli-pads! 
On entering the 13th century walled city, the 'Game of Thrones' award-winning theme score played by a lovely duo dressed in matching burgundy velvet greeted us. 
We each had a day ticket bought from the port office (for 250 kunas) which included unlimited bus trips, wall pass, and entry to around seven of the Baroque, Gothic and Renaissance museums, monasteries and churches. This starts to make financial sense if you do the wall, two bus trips, and one museum. 
After two busy days on the mainland, we were really ready for the beach. To be fair, we're always ready for the beach, but this time we'd actually earned it with all that hard work aboard the ship and sight-learning (we're not allowed to sight-see). 
Serenely
beautiful, Chefchaouen is nestled on the mountainside beneath
the peaks of the Rif Mountains which, due to the area’s hippy hashish hangouts,
are reputed to be the derivation of the word ‘reefer’. It’s also the capital of
goats’ cheese, according to Hajar. 
The former military bastion now incongruously encloses tranquil gardens and an
ethnographic museum within its chunky stonework. When we visited it was also
the finishing line for a randonée running race and we had to dodge sweaty
competitors who’d done 15 cross-country kilometres as we toured the interior. 
Diving into the Blue: Like the underwater world of an
aqua lagoon, the paintwork of the medina mixes baby blue, turquoise, azure, sky
blue, royal blue, eggshell blue, and sea blue with Smurf-like cobalt. “Fifty
shades of blue,” as Hajar quipped. Every nook, every corner, every stairwell
and shop front, balcony and balustrade, window and wall – whether newly daubed
or fading gracefully – has some kind of blue hue and they all look pretty,
peaceful and perfectly photogenic. 
Most of us dressed in our best blues hoping
to disappear chameleon-like into the backdrop. Orangey terracotta roof tiles
make a counterpoint to the deeper blues and whitewash sets off the paler
shades. From a distance it doesn’t look as wholeheartedly blue as close up. But
once you are in the medina, you become submerged in the colour-blocked and
ombré-ed blues. Here and there,
townsfolk and traders have contrasted it with pink pots of pastel flowers,
creating artsy installations that visitors line up to photograph. 
Half a day
and one night was not enough to absorb the manmade and natural beauties of
Chefchaouen with its cool nights, abundance of hikes, and magnificent views.
Intersecting mountains, much like the Colorado Rockies, are not merely the
background but are integrated into the sprawling city which tiers up the
mountain face. 
To me it felt like a magical land – one of the worlds at the top
of the Faraway Tree (for Enid Blyton fans) or something Walt Disney, the
Brothers Grimm, or J.K. Rowling could have designed. 
Volubilis transported me to ramblings round Rome, reminiscent
also of a pivotal school trip to Fishbourne in the South of England, where
extensive Roman remains really resonated with the 10-year-old me. 
And, just like 50
years ago, I loved the mosaics, some complete, others painstakingly repaired,
depicting scenes and icons from Roman mythology in tiny stones of marble,
anthracite, terracotta and malachite. 
He relished words such as vomitorium,
a facility he said that was required to unload some of the excess that rich and
reveling Romans indulged in on a daily basis so they could go back to enjoy the
feast. Looking this up afterwards I discovered there is an element of myth
about this and vomitoria may have been series of ingenious hallways used to
disgorge a huge amount of people at one time into stadiums. But, anyway, along
with the apodyterium (locker room), solarium (sunbathing and massage area),
caldarium (hot pool), tepidarium (pore opening pool) and frigidarium (cool
plunge pool), it seemed that there was an “arium”, “erium” or “orium” for
everything. 
Fascinating and fabulous Fes was closed. Heeding warnings about
over-crowding, intense retail hassling, potential pickpocketing, we had all overly
prepared ourselves for dangers which didn’t materialize. It was Friday, a weekly
holy day in the Islamic calendar, and so 90 percent of shops and stalls were shut,
giving us free rein. The massive medina, with its miniscule Hug Me corridor and
tiny tributaries flowing in every direction, was luxuriously empty. 
Our lonely footsteps
and eerily audible chatter echoed down dark narrow stairwells, up past tightly shuttered
balconies and bounced off intricately carved wooden ceilings. At anything that was open, we felt
like honoured guests. Lunch was at Nejarin Restaurant, the beautiful building
dating back to the fifteenth century. 
Initially part
of the old city, ceramics works have all been relocated outside because of
pollution concerns. An opportunity for the students to try the challenging potters’
wheel was somewhat eclipsed when one of the Lifelong Learners stepped backwards
to get a better view thus plunging her plimsoll into a pile of the area’s
finest grey clay. As strong as sinking sand, first foot then shoe were stickily
extricated to much hilarity. 
There is an
exotic thrill in entering Moroccan cities: the dense terracotta stone walls are
punctuated by lofty carved gates – called Babs – as imposing as Marble Arch in
London or the Arc de Triomphe in Paris but more lavishly decorated. Passing
through feels like making a grand arrival, our coach party like a royal retinue.
You can imagine the caravans of camels and Jewish and Arab traders laden with gold
and salt arriving at the gates and heading for the caravanserai where upper
floor balconied bedrooms give overnight respite while the animals snooze in the
open atrium below. Many of these caravanserai are still intact, repurposed as
marketplaces selling intricate carpets, filigree metal lamps and leather goods.
Before our
three-night tour, we’d had two days to explore Casablanca which turned out to be surprisingly interesting beyond
the first impressions of honking traffic, dirty streets, and always-under-construction
city chaos. Hajar told us that, despite its five million strong population,
Moroccans don’t rate Casablanca very highly. The medina was manageable – we
found a corner café which was a convenient marker that we all managed to get
back to for coffee and, later, to reconvene ready for our lunch foray. 
The café
was like all the pavement establishments we saw around Morocco – chairs lined
up facing outwards onto the street for ultimate people-watching, filled with
cigarette-toting Moroccan men sipping strong espresso – slightly intimidating
to enter as a female and, seemingly, never frequented by Moroccan women. The
robed gentleman who had decided it was his mission in life to guide us to said
café – which as I mentioned we had already scouted and knew perfectly well its
location – tried dictatorially to order us four espressos the minute we were
seated. I had to intervene at that point as we didn’t all want espressos and
there was a perfectly good menu of lattes and cappuccinos and, moreover, I knew
it was a ploy to ‘host’ us in order to get commission from the owners. Pretty
unfair, considering we had known where we were going all along and never solicited
his directions or help. 
Having organized an interview with
the general manager, we arrived an hour in advance of our group booking to be
treated to ice cold champagne. Our host, Issam (‘Play it again I-Sam’) Chabaa
originally came to Rick’s on opening day in March 2004 as a last-minute fill-in
for the original hire, playing piano nightly, and very soon promoted to restaurant
manager. Even now as GM, he plays piano in rotation with other musicians. Attracting
mostly international visitors and occasional locals celebrating special
occasions, Rick’s is an intrinsically romantic destination so waiters work hard
to control the snapshots by offering their services rather than having
phone-touting tourists posing and snapping away all around the rarefied
interior. 
Nothing was
different on the menu than at other places we ate in Ghana. However, the
difference in the cooking, the delicate spicing and the polished presentation
was vast. Accompanied by coconut milk straight out of the shell, this is where
I actually enjoyed the jollof (rice in spicy tomato sauce), fried plantain, and
chicken – all wrapped up in a huge banana leaf to keep it piping hot. 
Eggs, cakes, candy, drinks, shoes,
hats, games, bags, kitchen goods, anything and everything domestic piled up
high to sell. Skipping the traffic, hunting for change in their apron pockets,
they rarely drop anything. Men also carry goods in the same way but, in a kind
of unspoken gender segregation, they tend to sell electrical goods, auto parts
and accessories, sunglasses, more male-oriented wares. 
When we
finally reached our first stop-off, we didn't realize the cursory demonstration
in the cocoa plantation at Mampong was going to be the highlight of the day. 
The photography of
Nkrumah meeting with world leaders was vaguely interesting, but the top row was
too high to see the pictures or read the tags. Considering the national
adulation of this hero of Ghana’s Independence, the mouldy museum seemed rather
irreverent. 
Our other
two good days in Ghana were one spent independently wandering around Takoradi
(shopping, the miracle of fast internet in an air-conditioned seaview hotel
with great cappuccino and, later, cocktails and dinner back there) and another
on a Field Program to Kakum National Park. 
I don’t love Salvador – but then again as the city
that saw millions of African captives pass through over 366 lamentable years of
slavery, with an historic district named Pelhourinha which means whipping post,
and now known for its poverty, crime, gangs and drug problems, why should
anyone really expect to love or even like it? Despite great meals, a few serendipitous
conversations, the colourful artwork that captures the pastel painted historic
architecture, a relaxing trip to a pretty beach and some fun market-bargain
hunting in the Mercado Modelo, there was nothing to persuade me to hang around
for too long. 
I’ve always been fascinated by acai ever since buying a tincture of it
from a health food shop when it was first touted as a superfood. 
After several wrong turns, about-turns and U-turns on the bus, our second ‘village’ guide, Indra, told us she doesn’t actually live in Kernaham at all but has moved to England. Having left the swamp years ago she was just back for a visit. And the only other villagers we officially came into contact with were, firstly, the fisherman who failed to catch a cascadou (the local swamp fish we’d heard so much about on the two-and-a-half hour bus journey). He tried to teach a couple of students to throw the net but the only thing they caught was an old tin can, part of a considerable amount of refuse I saw clogging up the much vaunted eco-swamp. And, secondly, a shy young girl who played the steel pan drums exquisitely and let us all have an amateur go.
'Almuerzo $2.50' - this is the local lunch, with daily differences, that includes an entree such as local trout, rice and vegetables, as well as a drink. And, yes, this is American dollars – dollarization, as
our Interport Lecturer Santiago Hidalgo, told us has improved the country’s
economy whilst, of course, making it beholden for the USA for its coins and paper money
which arrives in massive piles (since they typically import bills only up to
$20) in heavily guarded armoured trucks to the many banks of Cuenca. Our hotel
seemed to be surrounded by these banks. The bills themselves are secondhand – re-used
US cast offs - old and raggedy, complemented by dollar
coins which Ecuador has minted itself.
The Posada, rebuilt from a Spanish hacienca, is cute – lots of dark wood-beamed and white adobe rooms spread around the higgledy-piggledy shaped campus with a central check-in and restaurant: all high-backed Spanish dark wood chairs upholstered with Ecuadorian fabrics and religious pictures and indigenous artifacts. Interspersed around the grounds are lots of umbrella-ed outdoor seating arrangements from which to admire the misty views and bright coloured flowers (once I got my breath back). 
The ruins at Ingapirca are unusual: they incorporate both an Inca and Canari township as well as religious temples for each, one worshipping the sun and the other the moon, respectively. This was the outcome of a truce after a 30 year war between the locals and the Inca invaders. The differences in their building styles are evident - the Canaris used odd shaped local rocks joined together with smaller stones and mortar and the Incas carved rocks so precisely that they could stay securely together for hundreds of years regardless of regular earthquakes. 
The authenticity of the fledgling tourism here is amazing. Houses and farmsteads that happened to overlook the ruins remain pretty much the same as ever, just a few basic necessities for rambling tourists added, such as 'banos', craft shops and cafes created out of the front of domestic environments. Everything cheap, cheerful, and casual but with million-dollar views.
The peace of the sylvan scenery is only interrupted by a Cuenca bus twice per day and sporadic farm vehicles. Grazing in impossibly steep fields are groups of llamas (or alpaca) who gambol across the ruins ignoring the signs warning against walking on the grass. Donkeys, horses, mules,
pigs, geese, ducks, chickens, sheep and cows similarly munch on mountainsides, unfazed by the altitude, gradient or the afternoon mists that hydrate the verdant foliage. 
Locals, many in traditional dress, trudge along, up and down muddy dirt roads in rubber boots or board the backs of pickup trucks. They still till the fields by hand and can be seen doubled over or crouching at their labour. Kids, in matching tracksuit school uniforms, tumble off buses around noon to greet their pet dogs. Their schoolday over, it's now time to help around the farms. 
Later, exploring the elaborate Christmas decorations, colourful shops, opulent seating areas and traditional artwork around the hotel, we wandered out to the Chocolateria: a cross between Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and a full on Christmas Store. Although now time for dinner, we promised ourselves some choccy indulgence later for dessert, earmarking the chocolate volcano with ice cream (which didn't disappoint). 
Planted, like the hibiscus
bushes, right by the pool I watched a dinosaur-like three-foot iguana
slithering along the branches to munch the greenest leaves and the occasional
bright red bloom. That must have been the main course, as it was determined,
despite considerable rocking and dipping as it deftly distributed his weight along
the thin branches, to access the flamboyant flowers. A shiny navy blue bird popped
by every now and again, butterflies and dragonflies flitted like fairies, and I
had to save large grasshoppers from the chlorinated pool. The only thing to
disturb my relaxing rural reverie was the pool guy but he seemed content to leech
my fast internet from my porch rather than ruin the mellow mood with mowing. 
So how rustic was this rural
resort? Kiteboarding Costa Rica, as our outfit is called, is pretty far off the
mass tourist track, surrounded by unspoilt beaches. No stores in the immediate
vicinity, bar the mini mart on the main road which is no good unless you want
chips or soda (crisps or pop to non-US readers). Unpaved dirt track for access,
dense jungle all around, no bars, no boutiques, no artisan or farmers’ markets
– just a tiny village of tin-roofed shacks and simple farms. The first night’s
dinner, however, was beautifully-spiced chicken and ribs, Nicaraguan style,
following an odd starter of fried, squashed plantain topped with large chunks
of smoked cheese on cocktail sticks and an oniony dip. We were at the only
restaurant within walking distance – Oceanview, which also had a communal pool.
Simon liked the starter enough to take the leftovers home (in case of a highly probable supplies emergency), but I was a bit tastebud-baffled by it.
Rather than facing the La Cruz potholes
again the next night, we drove to a closer, but also highly recommended,
restaurant El Fogon de Juana. Strewn
with cheesy Xmas decorations including a somewhat gruesome box that kept
opening with a Santa head inside, it somehow still retained a simple rustic charm.
The twinkling fairy lights lit up jungly foliage and somewhat beautified the corrugated
iron roof. 
Didn’t like the silence though – no music and the other patrons didn’t
seem to be having much fun, their eyes glued to their phones or just staring
into space. When one gentleman started streaming a soap loudly while automatically
scoffing his supper, I was forced to ask the server for some music to cover up
this churlish din. In answer to what kind of music would I like, I said accommodatingly
“Costa Rican maybe?” To which she answered confusingly “Adele?” So, we just
went with that. It helped restore a more festive atmosphere but occasionally cut
out and went crackly. Both food and drink were substantial and tasty - although
the three types of lasagna were mysteriously off the menu – and the service was
slow but successful. 
The area is not entirely unspoilt
– there’s a big new development, a 300-room all-inclusive luxury hotel called
Dreams Las Mareas sprawling along one of the sandy coves. We never saw it but
spied the signposts and encountered one or two resort buses slaloming the
potholes with us. 
