Good Omens in Oman: Dispatch Eight from the Passage to the Far East

Somehow Oman isn’t anything like what I expected. To the degree that I ever thought about the country before this trip, it was to lump it together with Yemen and think of it as a poorer, strife-ridden cousin of a place like Dubai or Kuwait. Well, I have a new perspective. It appears very modern, prosperous and peaceful.

Sailing into Muscat is beautiful. High mountains ring the city. The waters are clear. The old earth colored fortress and the white minarets of the mosques define the skyline.

We decide to take a daylong tour titled the Enchanting Forts of Nizwa. This tour of four forts will take us a hundred or so miles inland and through the Hajar Mountains.

As the bus wends westward, the landscape reminds me of Palm Springs and its environs. Tall mountains circle a sere, flat valley bisected by a broad freeway. There is little vegetation, and there are broad, dry washes from when it does rain. The many modern housing developments favor a heavy planting of palm trees. On the outskirts of Muscat, there is a long row of lavish car dealerships, representing every European, American, Japanese and Chinese car manufacturer (and a couple I don’t know). And don’t forget the Pizza Hut, McDonalds, Burger King and Hardees franchise restaurants along the highway.

Just add a heavy dose of crenellations to the house rooftops (Omanis seem to want everything to look like the old fortresses that dot the landscape). And instead of encircling the developments with gates and walls, they separate each property with its own tall wall and entry. And change all the highway and store signs to display both English and Arabic. And, of course, dress the men in white robes and cover the heads of all the women.

Oh . . . and ensure that there is no sign anywhere of litter, graffiti, poverty, homelessness, or potholes. And then tell me that there are no taxes of any kind and that gas sell for about $1 for three liters. Okay, I guess it’s not so much like Palm Springs after all. When you sit on a pool of oil and have a benevolent Sultan, life is different.

But back to the forts. We visit the 17^th century fort called Nizwa and the major souk, or marketplace that borders it. We also stop at the very impressive Bahla fort and tour Jabrin Castle—which has a particularly impressive set of painted ceilings. This castle was once the palace of the emir. All of the stops offer impressive views and lots of staircases to clamor about.

In addition, every fort we visit is either beautifully restored or in the process of reaching that state. Apparently, the current Sultan is a strong proponent of restoration and preservation. However, some of my fellow passengers disapprove. Apparently they prefer decaying ruins. They complain it looks too much like the Morocco pavilion at Disney’s Epcot; incredibly they think things look too clean and grumble that like in Disneyland, you can’t buy a drink. (I give them a pass. I’m sure they’re just trying to be clever, and that’s why I pass along their words.)

In the meantime, I am eager for our next stops in Abu Dhabi and Dubai, which promise to show off spectacular modern architecture.

Robert adds: I have just (more or less) recovered from the small cold I caught. There is something that is jokingly referred to as “cruise ship croup”—especially on ships with predominantly older passengers. It’s basically a phlegmy and rheumy cough that makes its way from cabin to cabin, deck to deck. Honestly, in one of the lectures last week, I felt like I was sitting in the middle of a tuberculosis ward in an asylum back in the 1880s. But do these people stay in their cabins to recuperate? No they do not.

My own illness was just a day of sore throat followed by the inevitable (for me) cold. Nothing a good dose or two of Nyquil couldn’t conquer, but I did spend almost an entire day indoors and sleeping. Thanks to my medical professional siblings for always stressing that advice to me over the years.

But because I was only just starting to feel chipper, I did not go with Dennis on his 9-hour tour, but instead took the shuttle into the heart of Muscat town and walked around for a couple hours. I got to take my time and really watch the people go about their business. The souk marketplace was mostly crowded with tourists. (Our ship was just one of three docked in the harbor that day, and we are currently chasing them on our way to the next port. I hope our paths diverge soon because it just overwhelms some ports when there are multiple ships at the same time.)

I was able to concentrate on small details like the ornamentation around a window, the shape of a street lamp, and the decorative concrete tiles of the sidewalk. And as I’ve done on previous worldly visits, I found a couple street cats to sit down with and exchange a few meows. It’s a nice international language. We ended the day with a glass of champagne under the stars on the back deck of the ship, looking out at the colorful lights of the Muscat harbor. Just then, the minarets came alive with the musical call to prayer over their loudspeakers. It was a perfect way to end the day in Oman.

To check out Dennis’s novels, visit www.amazon.com/author/dennisfrahmann

A Perfect Night for Stargazing: Dispatch Seven from the Passage to the Far East

Last night proved to be a perfect time for looking at stars. On our many sea days between Crete and Oman, we had just entered the Arabian Sea. As darkness fell, the sea settled into the calm of a placid lake, with only the lightest of mists drifting above the water’s surface. No clouds masked the near full, but already waning, moon, and we were told Jupiter was visible just above the horizon. The night air was still and balmy—ideal weather for being outdoors.

But what made it a perfect night for checking out the belt of Orion and other constellations? Well, we’ve been listing to a lot of lecturers on these sea days who always take their time at wending their way to making their point. So in a homage to them, here’s my roundabout answer.

Our stops so far on this cruise have reminded us time and again how so much of the Mediterranean world was once Islamic—from the Moors in Portugal and France to the Ottoman empire that ruled Egypt, Crete and Malta. The influence remains in language, architecture, food and even many of the scientific ideas that fueled the Renaissance and create our modern technological world.

Both the sights and our lecturers remind us also of the many battles across the centuries between Christians and Muslims. It wasn’t just the Crusades. The back-and-forth is long and complex. A lecturer yesterday reviewed the many people involved with dividing the Middle East between French and British influence after World War I. The separation wasn’t very logical, and its illogic helps fuel the flames of current battles.

Up ahead will be stops in Oman, Abu Dhabi and Dubai. We’ve been drilled on the appropriate dress and behavior in these Islamic ports.

In short, this sea voyage has opened my eyes to many of the centuries-long ebbs and flows of history that continue to shape the battles between a Caliphate and the West, between Christian and Islamic traditions.

And that brings me to my starry nights. If it weren’t for the strife in Somalia and the threats of terrorists, this ship wouldn’t be sailing through these seas in a near blackout condition. But if the usual festoons of lights were blazing on the upper decks, there would be no way we could gaze out at the myriad of stars and contemplate our own insignificance.

Robert is taking a breather, and will be back on our next post after Muscat, Oman.

 

To check out Dennis’s novels, visit www.amazon.com/author/dennisfrahmann

Transit Through the Suez Canal: Dispatch Six from the Passage to the Far East

Considering that we first reserved this cruise over a year ago and that we subsequently told dozens, if not hundreds, of people about the ship’s itinerary, one might think we would have figured out all the countries that we would pass on our eight sea days from Crete to Oman, via the Suez Canal. (A journey about as long as crossing the continental United States.)

Or maybe we just blocked out that piece of information. After all, the list isn’t exactly a recounting of the safest places in the world: Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Sudan, Eritrea, Djibouti, Somaliland, Somalia, Yemen, and Iran (and we don’t get to stop in one of them).

But there you have it—that’s our route for this week. We’ll be sailing somewhere off of Port Sudan today. Originally the cruise planned stops in Egypt, but the general deterioration of tourism safety prompted cancellation of those ports months ago. Also, just in case of pirates or terrorists, the ship requires all drapes to be closed at night on this leg of the journey, has mounted fire hoses on the deck railings, posts lookout guards on the promenade, and alerted us to a new series of alarm bells in case of suspicious craft nearby. The captain also assures us in a letter recently delivered to the room: “We are continuously being monitored by warships of the coalition forces and while you might not see them, they are never far away.” Comforting.

Despite all that, it was fascinating to go through the Suez Canal. We were lucky to have a calm, sunny day so it was perfect for standing on deck and watching the world go by. The mainland of the Egyptian side (technically Africa) was lined with a number of large cities and settlements; the opposite side (the Sinai and technically Asia) was mostly sand dunes. The canal has no locks and for much of its length is only broad enough for ships to go in one direction. A widening completed last year opened a two-lane section in the middle of the route, which allows the scheduled passage of ships in both directions for part of the day.

All the ships that plan to go through the canal must arrive in the seawaters off the canal by midnight. Then the authorities determine a convoy order and allow ships to enter the canal, around 3:30 am, with the fastest ship placed at the front of the convoy. This made our M.S. Rotterdam the head of the pack, so we led the way. We exited the canal a little after 2 p.m., with one container ship and tanker after another trailing us in a steady row.

After leaving the canal, we sailed into the Gulf of Suez, are now in the Red Sea (which seems a little wide to have been easily parted and walked across), will be going through Gulf of Aden and rounding the corner into the Arabian Sea and onto Muscat, Oman.

Robert adds: Dennis has said it all about the Suez Canal. For me, as well as many others on board, I was just eager to continue sailing south so we could get into warmer territory. Sure enough, yesterday was in the low 70s, and today it was supposed to be 81 degrees. Not to worry, though. I’m sure people will soon be complaining about the dreadful 90+ degree heat soon enough in a couple weeks. You know how it goes.

Otherwise, we started in on one of our cruise traditions—competing in the trivia contest. We had missed/skipped the first week’s sessions, so we have started at a distinct disadvantage as far as cumulative points goes, but after all, it’s just for fun. Yesterday was our first day playing and we did okay for a start. Alas, our cocktail knowledge failed us when we did not know what the ingredients were used to make a Black Velvet [Guinness and champagne, which sounds positively awful if you ask me].

Today, we were firing on all cylinders and our team won. I was particularly happy that my Disney expertise came through to identify what cartoon character is called Topolino in Italian [Mickey Mouse], and also for being able to say that February in 1900 only had 28 days, not 29. “What’s that?” you say. Now this is really trivia—I remembered a quirk in the rule for what makes a Leap Year. Yes, it’s every four years, but for years that end in ’00,’ it will only be a Leap Year if the year is also divisible by 200…(or is it 400?). Well, either way, 1900 was not a Leap Year. Not such a useless bit of knowledge after all, eh?

To check out Dennis’s novels, visit www.amazon.com/author/dennisfrahmann

Getting to Know Knossos and #UpstreamSalmonPeople: Dispatch Five from the Passage to the Far East

For a while, I thought our stay in Greece would have to forego sightseeing. The day before we arrived in Athens, I bit down on something that my capped front tooth found immovable. One of those new-fangled caps that get built up in the dentist’s office on some fancy laser machine—it simply shattered and gave me quite the hillbilly grin. So when we arrived in Athens, I spent much of the day at a local dentist being fitted with a temporary cap. (Let’s hope this one lasts another eighty days!).

While Robert and I missed Athens, our next day in the Cretan port of Heraklion and a visit to the nearby ancient palace of Knossos was truly memorable. For those who might not know their ancient Mediterranean civilizations, the Minoan culture was centered here long before the rise of the Greeks. They appeared to have been a prosperous and peaceful population of traders who understood the value of running water and flushing toilets. Unfortunately for them, a massive volcano eruption some 3400 hundred years ago (the one that created the incredible caldera harbor in Santorini) resulted in earthquakes, tsunami, and fire that pretty much leveled their main center called Knossos. Their massive dark storerooms of olive oil were only lit by lamps, so when the earthquake dropped those open flames into the oil, the fire raced through the complex built with a heavy use of wooden beams for structural support. Everything collapsed. The alabaster walls are still darkened from the flames.

If you know anything of Knossos and the Minoan world, it’s probably the legend of the fearsome Minotaur (half man, half bull) that lived in the labyrinth beneath the palace and was fed seven young men and seven young women from Greece on a regular basis. According to myth, King Minos was given a massive bull that was supposed to have been sacrificed to the gods, but the King thought it was too beautiful to kill. The vengeful gods made Minos’s wife fall in love and mate with the beast resulting in a man-hungry monster. Oh, those Greek gods. There are many remaining frescos that play homage to the way Minoans worshipped bulls.

Back to the palace. Its excavation began in the early 1900s, and the man who funded it had no qualms about rebuilding portions of the ruins with modern concrete. While archeologists today tut about that, there is something cool in wandering around this massive building and encountering the occasional reconstructed wall or pillar. It lets you imagine how the complex might once have appeared, which foundation walls alone would never have inspired.

In a way, I feel I have been here before. Back in the late sixties, my sister lived in Heraklion when her husband was stationed here for the Air Force. This former brother-in-law was both an ardent photographer and lecturer. When he and my sister returned to the States, he presented his Knossos talk to the family more than once. (Even to a Mercer (WI) High School history class as I recall!) In any case, despite his sometimes overzealous slide shows, I’ve long wanted to see Knossos for myself—and now I have.

If the walls could talk, I’m sure they would have many stories to tell. But since no one has yet been able to decipher the original Minoan writing (called Linear A), we will probably never know what exactly those stories are. Given the beautiful setting of the place and the general lack of fortifications, I’d like to think they were happy ones.

Robert adds: So we have another ancient civilization under our belts—the Minoans. And what a weather day we’ve had—40-degree morning, overcast skies, light sprinkles of rain, followed by heavy downpour, and then even a brief period of hail! Fortunately, we were under cover for that last bit. Returning to the ship at the end of the tour, we could see an incredible rainbow over the sea, and snow on the 8,000-foot mountain peak of Crete. Beautiful.

But speaking of ancient peoples, I wanted to also acknowledge a comment my Uncle Robin made a few days ago. When we left Gibraltar, he reminded me that recent DNA genetic tracing revealed that remnants of the last known tribes of Neanderthal man lived in the Gibraltar area as recently (in geologic time) as 30,000 years ago. I would hasten to add that I think there might be a few holdouts here among the passengers of the Rotterdam. They haven’t consented to inner cheek swabs, but I base it on circumstantial evidence that is almost too strong to ignore and I now present for you—“Tales of the Oblivious.”

Long-standing shipboard tradition of “walking the promenade” has been to process in a counterclockwise fashion in the direction of travel. In other words, starting from the front, one walks to the back of the ship on the left (port) side, and then continues from back to front on the starboard side. On our earliest cruises in the mid-80s, the ships had directional signs—“Walk This Direction”—with an arrow pointing in the proper way. Even though these signs are no more, most people seem to know the correct way to promenade. But, what about the one or two people walking against the stream? We see them on every cruise, and I have to think, “Don’t they notice that they’re going completely opposite everyone else?” Do they not wonder, “Why is everybody going in the other direction?” And the thing is, there are times when there are lots and lots of people walking, and these USP—the “upstream salmon people”—really do stick out like a sore thumb. So, are they just oblivious, meandering in blissful ignorance? Or is it even worse, recognizing the opposite flow and just not caring? I can’t decide which is worse.

Meanwhile, we are enjoying reading comments that people leave here, so keep ’em coming.

To check out Dennis’s novels, visit www.amazon.com/author/dennisfrahmann

Why Aren’t the Maltese Cross? Dispatch Four from the Passage to the Far East

Sailing into the dock for Valetta, Malta makes me feel as though I’m a character in a Game of Thrones novel. The heavily fortified walls of the multiple isthmuses that surround the main harbor are lined with tall ramparts of aged limestone and truly suggest one of the most intriguing places I’ve ever been. It looks like a place that Brianne of Tarth should visit.

For some reason, I’ve never paid much attention to the country of Malta and barely knew where to place it on a map of the Mediterranean. Now that I’ve been here and know a bit of its history, it seems remarkable that its inhabitants don’t fume about the way centuries of invaders have fought over it. Everyone seems to have invaded at one time or another—the Arabs, the Italians, the French, the Spanish, the British. (Its first residents built Stonehenge-like stone megaliths that date back 6000 years—that’s before the Pyramids, folks!)

Today, the area’s distinctive look is largely the legacy of the last major victors over the island—the Knights of St. John who arrived in 1530 and then decisively defeated the Ottomans at a battle in 1565, ensuring Western Europe stayed Christian. Various Catholic monarchs rewarded the Knights’ success with enormous funds, which allowed the order to build the huge fortresses that still dominate the city landscape.

Of course, the sixteenth century wasn’t the last time war focused on the island. During WWII, it was a major front between the Allies and the Axis, and the island suffered more bomb attacks than London. But there’s little visible evidence remaining of that devastation. The bombed-out historic sites were carefully rebuilt and restored; since the local limestone quickly ages to the same uniform color, everything now looks like it’s been there for five hundred years. (At one point driving from the town of Vittoriosa to the capital of Valetta, I was astonished to see that one of the “historic” buildings I was admiring displayed a capstone over its entry announcing it was built in 1998!)

These towns were designed as fortified cities that could be easily defended. The streets are narrow; there is little vegetation; and the ramparts offer fantastic views. Since the monastic Knights from each country acted a bit like some wealthy fraternities living in their own respective houses, it has also resulted in a lot of interesting historic architecture. Unfortunately for us, it started raining heavily during our visit and we were whipped by a cold wind. So we chose to cut short our walking tour, descend in a tall modern elevator to the wharf where the MS Rotterdam was docked, and enjoy a hot lunch while we contemplated the need to return to Malta someday soon.

Robert adds: What a fantastic place this is! We frequently say, on these cruises, that we just get a taste of some of the ports, and think that someday we might revisit them more in depth. This island nation is definitely someplace we would like to return to. Here are some random interesting tidbits:

We started our tour in a town called Marsa, which we learned means “port” (in Arabic I think, but don’t quote me on that). It is the same root word – Marsa/port – that gives us Marseille in France and Marsala in Italy. I found that fascinating.

The Maltese language is a polyglot, with many borrowings from Italian, Spanish, French, and English (coinciding with the various occupations over the centuries), but the roots are Arabic. However, their written language uses the Roman alphabet and not Arabic script. Nice blending of cultures there, I think.

Speaking of which, the predominant religion in Malta is Roman Catholic, but our guide explained that again they use a mixture of words. The Virgin Mary is referred to interchangeably as Blessed Virgin, Madonna (Spanish), or Sultana (Arabic). But here’s where it gets really interesting: even though they are Catholics, for “God” they use the word “Allah.” No one fusses or fumes over it. One God, different names. Now wouldn’t it be great if this kind of peaceful coexistence and multiculturalism were the norm?

 

To check out Dennis’s novels, visit www.amazon.com/author/dennisfrahmann

Going for the Wild Side in Spain: Dispatch Three from the Passage to the Far East

When we docked in Malaga, Robert and I decided to branch out to see the Spanish countryside. (There will be many stops with cathedrals, forts and ruins in the days ahead.) Booking a 4X4 tour, our guide would drive us through fir and oak forests to head up the steep mountains of a nearby national park. For me, the day would also include a bit of a journey back in history.

A day earlier, when Robert and I traveled to the top of Gibraltar, we saw more than the giant rock and its famous Barbary Apes. We also gazed upon the shores of Morocco across the straits. Another continent was so close. Seeing it reminded me how the Moors conquered the Iberian Peninsula more than a millennium ago.

We were reminded of that historical fact again in Malaga. As our guide drove the 4X4 out of the city, he noted that the Moors lived in this Andalusian region of Spain for far longer than the Catholics, who after all only entered 500 years ago. Our route away from the coast and into the pine-covered mountains followed an old mule path that once connected the port of Malaga with the inland city of Granada. This was also the route used by disposed Moors in the fifteenth century to retreat from the coast into the hills and escape the conquering Catholic kings. Apparently, in these hard-to-reach valleys of the Sierra Tejeda, the Islamic refugees were left alone.

The guide noted that in the small villages of the hills that we were about to visit, we would still see elements of Moorish architecture and would hear the tones of Arabic in the spoken Spanish. My ear is not good enough to pick up tones of abandoned languages, but we definitely saw the architectural elements in the small communities of Frigiliana, Acebuchal and Cómpeta. At the same time, these towns glimmered with the gloss of modern rehabilitation and polish. Buildings seem almost too charming to be true.

The same couldn’t be said of the mountain trails we traversed—steep, marked by continuous switchbacks, filled with boulders and ruts, and edged by drops of hundreds of feet lacking both guardrails or trees to keep your from a tumbling disaster—they provided both a thrilling ride and beautiful views. Luckily, I wasn’t driving or our 90-day trip would already be over.

At the end of the mountain trek, we ended up in a café in Cómpeta’s central plaza. Sipping local sherry and snacking on green olives cured with thyme and tapas of local ham and a Spanish tortilla with potato and hot peppers, we snacked under a shining sun and a bright blue sky, cooled by a light breeze that filtered up from the sea miles away. It would have been a delight to linger longer.

But it was time to return to the ship and head toward Malta.

Robert adds: Sailing into the Straits of Gibraltar is one of the special wonders of cruising, with a different continent on each side, plus many other ships large and small going in and out. Fun Fact: the water in the Mediterranean Sea is saltier than the water of the Atlantic Ocean. Who knew? I was also interested to see many tall wind turbines on both sides of the Strait.

I will add two things to Dennis’ commentary about our 4×4 jaunt outside of Malaga. First is another Fun Fact, that Malaga is Europe’s southernmost city. I had to blink and think twice about that, certain that it couldn’t be true, what with Italy’s “boot” sticking down into the sea. But sure enough, look at the map…I learned something new.

And about the Moorish influence on the Spanish language, I learned that pretty much any Spanish word starting with “al” is probably Moorish in origin. I was reminded of the “Alfama” district we walked through in Lisbon, and also the Alhambra, and Alcazar in Spain. Quite by accident, I also glanced at the atlas on display in the ship’s library and noticed that the Egyptian city of Alexandria was similarly “al” inspired. Along the same lines, while we were bouncing up and down the mountain road, we were surrounded at one point by large flowering trees. Dennis and I should have recognized these, having seen them many times in central California, but we were drawing a blank. I asked our driver, and he called them almendra trees (in Spanish), ie. almond. Again, “al.” He also told us that the entire region used to be predominantly used for olives and grapes, but about 10 years or so ago, everyone started planting avocado groves and they were everywhere. So much of the typical Mediterranean climate flora that we know as “normal” in California, and which evokes oohs and aahs from our fellow passengers from Canada, England and the like. You should hear them exclaim about a gigantic overhang of bougainvillea against a white stucco home, and the Californians among our group shrug with a big “enh.” HA!

To check out Dennis’s novels, visit www.amazon.com/author/dennisfrahmann

Discovering Lisbon’s Layers: Dispatch Two from the Passage to the Far East

On a glorious, calm sunlit morning in Lisbon, we’re ready to stroll this historical city stretching across multiple hills on the River Tagus. After two days of stormy seas, we think a walking tour along the town’s limestone and granite cobblestone streets sounds ideal. We soon discover that this world capital comprises complex layers of history.

Layer One: We entered the city by sailing under the famous 25^th of April Bridge spanning the broad river. Looking like a longer and more modern version of the Golden Gate Bridge, this twentieth-century icon connects Lisbon with its suburbs on the opposite side of the river.

Layer Two: The nineteenth century is equally present. To reach the famous São Pedro de Alcântara viewpoint (which provided a good view of the aforementioned bridge), we entered the giant Gloria public elevator built in the late 1800s, wrapped in complex ironwork, and designed by a disciple of Eiffel. After picture taking, we then descended to the shopping district below by way of a funicular that dated back to a similar era, although it was bedecked with enough graffiti that I thought I was back in New York City in the 1970s.

Layer Three: Much of the city near the harbor dates to the late eighteenth century. We walk through historic neighborhoods like Commerce Square and the Chiado quarter. Few buildings are older than 1776, because Lisbon suffered an enormous earthquake in 1775. Not only did the large quake destroy most of the town, but it also generated a tsunami that washed away much along the harbor. Large waves even reached the shores of the eastern United States, but  historians only realized years later that these were the indicators of devastation in Portugal.

Layer Four: We take a tram back up the hills to reach the Castle of St. George, where Portugal’s first Catholic kings reigned after routing the Moors in medieval times. Today, the ruins dominate the hillside and provide a spectacular site to view the city—as well as lots of steep stone staircases to climb and ramparts to guard.

Layer Five: We wend our way back to the harbor by walking the narrow, switchback-like streets of the Alfama area. The prefix “Al” in Portugal usually indicates remnants of Islamic Moorish days. Some buildings in this section date back that far. Having survived the earthquake of 1775, today, they show indicators of retrofitting iron staples.

Layer Six: Underneath it all lies one of the oldest cities in Europe, older than Rome, dating back to an early Phoenician trading post. This was a perfect spot for those old traders: a broad estuarial river providing a safe harbor, plenty of salt and fresh water in the same spot, and abounding with fish and wildlife.

But now it’s time to board the ship. We’re on to Gibraltar and then Malaga, Spain.

Robert adds: Our walking tour was a success thanks in no small part to our tour guide, Tiago (similar to Diego in Spanish). He was very knowledgeable with a great sense of humor. At one of the breaks during the morning, he pointed out several cafes in one of the town squares where we could take a coffee. Coffee, he pointed out, was taken very seriously in Portugal. If you order “a coffee” you will get a small cup of strong espresso. He also pointed out one place where mostly only tourists go where you could get what Tiago called “a drink with some coffee in it”—Starbucks. Dennis & I opted for one of the local cafes and also enjoyed a pastel do natal, a traditional Portuguese custard tart.

Time for “Priorities on Parade, part 1”—Our tour began at 8:30am and before we were all gathered, one woman quizzed Tiago about the exact timing of the tour which was scheduled to end at 1:00pm. Specifically, could he maybe cut a corner here or there to ensure we were all back to the ship well before 1:00. You may wonder why, as I did. It turns out, she needed to be back in time to watch the 1 o’clock movie in the ship’s theater (sigh), and this, in spite of the fact that the film was also being shown at 6pm and 9pm, and all day on the cabin TVs the following day. Fortunately, we all enjoyed a complete tour, but I did notice that woman scurrying toward the gangway at the last minute. [The movie, by the way, was “Night Train to Lisbon” starring Jeremy Irons. We went to the 6pm showing, and while I gave it a hearty thumbs down, it was fun to see so many scenes filmed in locations we had just walked.]

 

To check out Dennis’s novels, visit www.amazon.com/author/dennisfrahmann

Paying Attention to Rules—London’s Oldest Restaurant. Dispatch One from the Passage to the Far East

In the drizzle, we’re walking to Rules, London’s oldest restaurant dating back to 1798. The start to our trip has been a wet one—beginning with rain and power outages in Cambria when we left on Tuesday, a mudslide causing an hour delay on the 101 north of Ventura, a major downpour when we left LAX and a nice steady rain upon arrival at Heathrow.

But somehow it wouldn’t be England if it weren’t wet, so I’m perfectly happy strolling in the mist from our hotel on the Strand to the nearby restaurant by Covent Garden. After all, this trip is all about tradition.

We’re feeling a little groggy—not really enough sleep on the flight over. Because we were using frequent flyer mileage for Business Class tickets, we ended up on a route requiring a change in Newark. Well, that just didn’t leave enough time for sleep. To make matters worse, I cleverly selected seats based on how LA flights were configured on this run some 10 years. It turns out, things change and I accidentally picked the worst Business Class seats on the plane. As we boarded, the flight attendant commiserated with our poor luck—about to be tormented by noise from the galley near our seats, constant buzz from the air intake, and traffic to the bathroom behind us. I couldn’t very well tell him that when I made the reservations nearly a year ago I chose those very seats even though I could have picked almost any other pair of seats.

But all’s well. Every flight was on time, the ATM handed out English pounds on my U.S. debit card with no complaints (although my US bank’s fraud department promptly sought to confirm we were in actually in England by calling our home phone number and requesting a return call to an 888 number that can only reached from a U.S. phone!), the Waldorf Hilton let us check in early (funny how European hotels usually take that 3:00 check-in so seriously), and we had time to wander down the Strand to visit the Savoy (where I picked up a unique pop-up book at its bar which I had read about on the United airline magazine while flying over).

But back to Rules. The place is marked by high ceilings, gilded wood paneling, white tablecloths, waiters in tuxedos and a plethora of antlers of every type adorning the walls. The menu celebrates all the wildlife of the English countryside. The walls are also bedecked with a variety of prints of English actors and writers over the ages. There’s a reason that a pivotal scene of Downton Abbey involving Lady Mary was filmed in its interior.

The restaurant boasts that its game birds and venison comes the Lartington Estate in the heart of the High Pennines. With choices like pheasant and two types of partridge, we opted for something else. I chose the wild rabbit braised in apple cider—and it reminded me of the way my mother made both rabbit and wild squirrel (yes, we were children of the wild back in Wisconsin.). Robert went for the braised pork cheeks, which were just about the most tender things ever. Despite a friend’s high recommendation for the sticky toffee pudding, we went another route, although all cakes covered with puddings tend to run rich and gooey.

I’m sure the restaurant makes much of its money these days off the tourist trade. During the second week of January, we were told business was a little slow, but we had a fine time. And the atmosphere was a perfect prelude to the march of antiquities we will see in the weeks ahead—from the ruins of Knossos to the wonders of Petra to the fields of temples in the heartland of Myanmar. It always pays to appreciate the old.

Robert adds: The stormy weather continues. But first…check-in at the cruise terminal in Southampton was pretty much the usual. Lots of people grumbling about the long lines. Because of the itinerary and length of the cruise, I suspect most of the passengers have cruised before. Probably many times. And yet it still astounds me that so many of them haven’t gotten it into their systems that check-in, security, and boarding just takes time. Looking around the seating area—aka Heaven’s Waiting Room—I pegged the average age in the low-hundreds, so in a way, these people don’t have any time to waste.

Once on board ourselves, we very quickly slipped back into our own shipboard routines. We explored our cabin, enjoyed lunch at the Lido, and walked around all the decks to get the lay of the land. The Rotterdam is a sister ship to one we’ve been on before, so it really feels like home. We reconnected with Mark & Kent, two friends we met on the World Cruise 2013, and met some new folks at the LGBT gathering in the cocktail bar. Off to our dining table next, and we’re happy to report that it seems like a good bunch. Two couples from Canada and a couple from England, plus us.

The Captain warned us earlier that we would be entering stormy seas once we left the English Channel. He wasn’t kidding. Day Two on board has been the rockiest and stormiest we’ve ever encountered on any of our trips. We had a fine breakfast, but I retired to the room around 10:30am. With apologies to a classic TV show:

The weather started getting rough
The tiny ship was tossed
If not for the comfort of my stateroom bed
My breakfast would be lost…..

Dennis braved a few of the daytime lectures, but we’re skipping the first Formal Night dinner, hoping for a calmer tomorrow.

 

To check out Dennis’s novels, visit www.amazon.com/author/dennisfrahmann

A Visit to Los Angeles . . .and then the world

It’s 2016, and just days before we leave once again for Los Angeles where we’ll catch a flight to London and then travel to Southhampton to board the Holland American Rotterdam for its 89-day Passage to the Far East.

As usual on our journeys, my husband Robert and I will be making frequent joint postings on what we see and encounter. Previous readers will know that I tend to focus on the sights and history, while Robert’s piercing prose captures the foibles and eccentricities of the folks along the way. So stay tuned.

As a warm up, just before Christmas, we spent a few days in Los Angeles before flying to Texas for a family holiday. That stop provided a preview of what will likely be two themes in the months ahead.

The first is that we sometimes feel like the members of the Last Generation—the last group of people who still like going to theater, dressing up for dinner, reading the newspaper and being courteous. We went to a matinee of a traveling musical called If/Then starring Idina Menzel. The theater at the Pantages Theater in Hollywood was packed. But even though we are now in our early sixties, we definitely felt among the youngest and spriest on the floor. Do you need to qualify for a senior discount to be able to buy an orchestra seat?

Well, we better get used to it. People who take long cruises have to be free of jobs, children and other day-to-day responsibilities, so like the Pantages crowd, the average age on the Rotterdam is going to be in top quintile.

We can accept aging, but another observation in L.A. really smacked us in the face. Where we’re headed, we expect to see poverty and suffering, but we never expected to see it so visible on the streets of our former hometown. Along Beaudry, which runs parallel to a freeway going through downtown L.A., the sidewalks for a mile or more was lined with tents erected by the homeless—a shantytown set among skyscrapers. The modern subway was crowded with people, but the cars were dirty and we saw people literally sleeping on the seats, completely covering themselves with makeshift blanket tents. When we moved out of our loft in downtown L.A. just three years ago, neither such sight existed.

As usual on our city jaunts, we wanted to visit a new restaurant. This time we chose Neal Fraser’s Redbird, nestled in the peaceful courtyard of the former St. Vibiana Cathedral in downtown L.A. It was a jarring transition to move from the decrepit streets of the central city to that elegant interior, where a crowd of Millennials drank expensive craft cocktails and dined on exotic entrees even as a third-world scene co-existed in the surrounding blocks.

We’ll keep that observation in mind when we hear Americans on the cruise ahead tut-tut about the extremes that we will no doubt encounter along the way. We’ll remember that there’s a lot of work to be done at home.

Our next post will be from England after we board the ship.

 

To check out my novels, visit www.amazon.com/author/dennisfrahmann