Saturday May 9, 2015

Malaga, Spain

A big city -- 600,000 residents -- with perfect (lots of sun and little rain) seventy five degree weather. Plus beaches. Spain's Southern California? Only problem with that comparison is that Malaga is two thousand years old. A two thousand year old beach community?! We must be in Spain.

Another bus tour, botanical garden and walking tour combo. The botanical garden was founded by woman who went on two year honeymoon and then had eleven children. All the girls were given names that incorporated "Immaculate" owing to her devotion to the "Immaculate Conception". She also collected Roman ruins -- go figure. 

An allee at "Conception" Botanical Garden. 

Preparations for a First Communion party! Can you imagine? A catered affair for one hundred plus Punch-and-Judy type puppet show for the kids! Distressing to find that American, reality show type excess has made it across the pond.

A shaggy hillside

You've heard of Spanish Flu? Here's Spanish Fly! (Not as big as Portuguese fly).

Note: bull ring in foreground and our ship in distance at left

Pablo Picasso's birthplace

They are turning Picasso into an industry here. His birthplace and the accompanying museum have added a cultural reason to visit this traditionally beach and retirement community.

The artist (he was smaller than the statue)

Not sure what this is all about! In children's store window.

Notice Moorish influence in decorative pattern work on this Church tower. The Moors were in this part of Spain for 800 years.

Moorish castle built on top of Roman arena. Amazing.

Your intrepid reporter with trusty sidekick!

Thursday May 8, 2015

Cadiz, Spain

First impression: The word "civilized" pops immediately into my head and I am not sure that I know what I mean by that. Is it the the wrought iron lamps, the people at outdoor cafes enjoying life or is it the space itself wide and open punctuated with stately palms, benches and sculpture.

Lunch: An accordionist plays Edith Piaf. Tiny, scruffy birds dart in and out of citrus trees, leaving a trail of chirps behind. Children squeal and shout as they return home from school. My scrambled eggs are bright yellow and thus not terribly appetizing to me. I eat them anyway and they are surprisingly good. The chorizo is smokey and full flavored and I am pleased that the potatoes are both fully cooked and slightly greasy. R's macaroni with Bolagnese sauce is really penne with meat sauce. The sauce is watery and one-note not at all like the rich, velvety and unctuous sauce of its namesake. 

We dodge the smoke from our neighbor's cigarettes and try to flag down the harried and aloof waiter. I want another tiny Diet Coke (actually I would very much prefer a "normal" sized Diet Coke but as it appears that tiny bottles are all they have, another tiny bottle for me it will have to be!).  I am glad that I ordered what I wanted to eat rather than allowing my superego to bully me into seafood -- "You are on the Atlantic! You should eat seafood. You saw how fresh the seafood was at the market. Probably just off the boat. Only an idiot wouldn't order seafood here." 

"But I don't like seafood."

"By G-- it's a bloody peninsula! You are literally surrounded by water!" 

"But I don't like seafood." 

"What are you thinking? Scrambled eggs? Blimey what kind of a fool are you?" (Apparently my superego speaks with a decidedly English accent). 

"But I don't like seafood." Scrambled eggs it is.

An overweight, ten year old (?) boy kicks a soccer ball against a centuries old (?!) church. Fellow cafe goers -- a mix of tourists and locals some of whom are eating while others only drink -- speak in a low but continuous chatter. I am cool now, in the shade of a patio umbrella which I realize (too late ) is not clean. There is a gentle breeze. The waiter slams down my drink ("wham") on the plastic coated table cloth brought out especially for us (are they trying to tell us something?).

Later we visit a garden. There is the ever present sound of water. Cool green contrasts with bright light and green blue sea. An enormous ficus or rubber tree sinks it's fingers into the bear earth with smooth limbs that beg for climbing. Giant topiaries flank a wide, soft, ochre pathway. Citrus trees show themselves dark green and bright orange. The scent of sweet blooms comes and goes. Moorish motifs decorate the iron work and exuberant tiles add color to shady spots. We are in Spain. We are in Spain. We are in Spain.

Thursday May 7, 2015

A wonderful day in Lisbon that we very nearly missed. 

View of Lisbon from ship's deck

We were sitting in our room enjoying our breakfast and Russell looked at the tour tickets only to discover that we were supposed to be downstairs in the theatre at quarter to nine. It was 9:07! So we both hightailed it to the theater, got a special escort past security and ended up being one of the first couples on the final bus. A near miss for sure.

The city tour was pretty basic and probably not worth the money we spent but at least it was easy and convenient. It consisted of a drive to Belem where we saw the Belem Tower, the Monument to the Discoveries and the St. Jerome Monastery church. 

Belem Tower

As we were one of the final buses to leave this morning it unfortunately meant that we had trouble parking the bus (due to all the other buses already parked) and it meant that the sights were crowded. 

Our first experience with crowds of tourists!

Tomb of Vasco da Gama (it's in there somewhere!)

Lisbon is not really set up well for bus touring. The traffic is bad, the streets are narrow and tight and parking is, as I said, difficult. 

After a brief walking tour of the Alfama area Russell and I broke away from the tour group and went walking on our own. We had a tasty prosciutto and cheese sandwich while sitting in a park and people watching. After lunch, we walked the main commercial street in the Baixia district and headed back to the ship. 

Russell in streets of Alfama district

A most pleasant day made even better by the fact that Russell and I were patient with one another and very much resigned to the fact that we could not possibly see all of Lisbon in one day so why drive ourselves nuts trying to?

Funky pavement -- actually hard to walk on

Observations? Young people seem to dress more conservatively here than young people in America. They like to blame "gypsies" for their pick pocket problem. They (we) love pastry. They value tradition. They are okay with travel by little cars (see below).

Pastries -- we particularly liked the egg custards -- yummy!

Car for one

My unique souvenir -- purchased to prevent thermal melt downs in tour buses with inadequate or non-existent air conditioning! I am just sayin'.

Monday May 4, 2015

Today we visited the Azores, specifically Punta Delgado on the island of São Paulo. The Azores are an archipelago of 13 islands located 700 miles from the mainland of Portugal. 

The island of São Paulo is known as the "Green Island" and it truly is lush and well foliated (I think I just coined a word). We were very lucky with the weather as it rains here quite a bit but not today. Today it was mostly sunny with a high temperature in the upper sixties.

Used the selfie stick for this one!

We signed up for one of the tours offered by the cruise ship. Taking a tour with a cruise ship involves a whole procedure in and of itself. First there are the incessant infomercials on the ship's TV. Once you've signed up, you have to go to the theater where you will wait in line to get assigned a bus. Then you sit for what can be a long time but today wasn't too long for your bus number to be called. Then it's more waiting in line to get off the ship, the inevitable competition for the 'best' bus seats and the introduction by the local tour guide who may or may not speak English very well. Today's guide spoke English fairly well. Not great but not horrible either.

Waiting for our bus number to be called

Headed for the bus

First stop was a pineapple "plantation" which consisted of a group of maybe twenty greenhouses. 

The plants are grown under glass because the air temperature is inadequate for the pineapple plant's needs. The climate here is Mediterranean, that is it never gets colder than fifty nor much hotter than eighty. Pineapples in order to ripen need temperatures in the nineties.

Portuguese pineapple!

More driving through green fields, past volcanic rock walls and Friesan cows to our second stop -- Sete Cidades. This scenic lookout was quite crowded 

but featured a fine view of two lakes as well as a village and forested hillsides all within a collapsed volcano.

Our final stop on the tour was a pleasant but not particularly well labeled or maintained botanical garden back in town. 

Portuguese slackers in botanical park

We returned to the boat for lunch (too much mediocre pizza) and went out again after lunch. We walked around the town, bought some stuff (any stuff! It hardly mattered after a week of cruise ship shopping!) and used some free wifi.

Portuguese fly (it was very big)

Impressions? Well, I would say that the Azores were nicer than I expected. 

It was good to get off the bus as I said. The birds, traffic, trees, flowers, sirens and airplanes-- you miss all sorts of things on the "high seas". I certainly did not expect the island to be so agricultural nor did I expect to see so many (that is any) cows. The island appeared more prosperous than I had thought it would also. 

Russell says he doesn't need to come back, not enough to do for him but as for me I am not so sure. I could come back and probably find enough to do here for a few days, perhaps a week.

Russell wanted to remove this Swiss gentleman's toupee but he managed to control himself!

Saturday May 2, 2015

So, I just had lunch and the damnedest thing happened. I had gotten a plate full of Indian food (because after much experimentation I have discovered it is the best lunch option) and also two slices of French bread (for wiping the plate clean) and I move the bread to the side because it's getting curry sauce on it (I don't like my food to mix with one another) and no sooner have I done this than a big wind blows the bread into my white shirt and gets curry sauce on it. What are the chances? I swear if it is physically possible for one to get a stain it will happen to me. And of course this is the first time I have worn this particular shirt and not being near home it is unlikely I will be able to get the stain out but you never know. Maybe I'll get lucky.

Better weather today. Yeah!

I have often wondered what lesson I am supposed to learn from stains on clothing. I assume that it has something to do with detachment/attachment in the zen way of thinking. I mustn't be attached to a perfectly white shirt. I must learn to accept the soiled aspect of life. "Nothing gold can stay" and all that. Of course I could just as easily conclude that the lesson from today's stain is always to eat Indian food with your back to the wind! 

Le stain de jour 

Before I go any further about stains on clothing, Russell tells me that I should tell readers of this blog that the reason I am talking about loud pants, charge cards and stained clothing is because we are in the middle of the ocean with very little to report on. He's right of course but I don't have the heart to tell him that I am likely to write about this same level of stupid stuff even in the middle of the Greek isles! 

Seriously though I promise we will get to some sights soon! Day after tomorrow we will be in the Azores. Then a couple days at sea and Lisbon.

But right now, let's get back to stains. Is there anything profound to be said about stains? Is there anything useful to come out of stains? What is a stain but unwanted color? Evidence of previous activity. Impurity. A stain equals a scarlet letter. A mark, a brand. Evidence of uncleanliness. It represents a lack of control. History. Also, a failure to prepare, to anticipate --slovenliness. 

Having said all that let me also say that I am not prepared to do the things necessary to live a stain-free life (as if such a life was even possible). The point is in order to avoid stains one would have to: a.) avoid all food that might possibly stain (coffee, tomato sauce -- (my God even pizza) -- red wine, chocolate, etc) b.) only wear clothing where a stain won't stick (e.g., Teflon coated (thus v. likely ridiculously hot thus causing other unpleasant problems) or c.) only wear clothing clothing where a stain won't show (that is clothing that is the same color as the stain (v. difficult to anticipate) or patterned, stain-colored camouflage type clothing (which v. likely would be hideously ugly, hard to find and also pretty boring after awhile). So, since I am unwilling to do any of these things, or to wrap myself from head to toe in napkins before every meal and since I tend to pay more attention to the people I am eating with than the potential staining hazard of the food I am consuming  -- stains, to use a biblical phrase, I shall always have with me. The good news though is that with the loud pants that I have been wearing nobody is looking at my stains. 😆

Today's pants

Friday May 1, 2015

I've been wearing some bright pants on this cruise. In fact it seems that nearly every pair of pants I've brought with me are bright. For example:

And:

What's the problem? Well I am not sure I have the confidence to carry off these pants. I mean they've been getting me some looks and I am not sure I like that. Of course if I saw someone with my pants on for sure I would look and probably even comment to Russell about them too. I am just not used to deliberately placing myself on the receiving end of looks and comments. I like to be noticed of course but am not too fond of or used to bemused looks and whispered comments. (Listen to me, like I am the center of everyone's attention on this boat!)

There is something about loud clothing that seems sort of juvenile to me. "Look at me! Look at me!" -- that is what people with blue hair and mohawks (and loud clothing) seem to me to be saying. On the other hand there is a part of me that admires the people who do these things also. It seems courageous to me to do something so out of the ordinary and something that will obviously make one stand out and thus a possible target for ridicule. So which is it? Corageous or immature? Probably both (or neither). When I think about the alternative to bright pants -- always wearing  conservative, appropriate and safe clothing -- I have to say I prefer the bright pants. It's good to wear bright pants sometimes and it's good for me to feel uncomfortable doing so because it means I am stretching myself, pushing the boundaries of my box. If I wanted to stretch the meaning of wearing bright pants even further I would say that wearing them and feeling uncomfortable shows that I am still alive and growing and isn't that a good thing? Of course that's probably taking one's clothing a little bit further than really they ought to go. I mean they are just pants and it is just me on this little boat in this big ocean on this small planet in this huge universe.

The punk weather continues 

Speaking of the boat, our journey is progressing nicely. This morning at one a.m. we passed the half way mark in our voyage across the North Atlantic. We still have two days before the Azores. Tonight we are having dinner with Rob and Nancy from Miami 

who we met from around the ship. Last night we chatted with a few other couples at dinner time so slowly we are meeting some people. Still haven't made it to any activities but thought about it. Would have gone to a tour of the cooking facilities this morning but overslept. Still having a little trouble adjusting to time changes. 

The weather continues to be spring-like (i.e., not great). Gray skies, gray water. We did have warmer temps today and a couple brief peaks of sunshine but it is definitely not shorts weather. I guess I will just have to wear some more bright pants tomorrow!

View from my balcony as I write this afternoon