Friday morning bright and early (or, not so bright but definitely early), I said goodbye to a sleepy Menchi and got to Barajas. I had the darnedest time trying to check in, since Dad bought my ticket to Venice with the credit card that I didn’t have, which apparently they require you to produce in order to confirm your identity. I ended up switching the payment method to my credit card, which means paying another 230 euro, but the original ticket should be refunded. We’ll find out.
I thought I had a good story for Mom and Dad then when I saw them in Venice. My flight was fine and I had no inclination of the so-called “Chaos in Europe” as airports in northern Europe got dumped on in terms of snow and then delayed passengers. I waited 8 hours in the Venice Airport for them, first not knowing that their flight from Munich had been cancelled, then finally getting word that they would be flying into Verona and taking a bus down, a normally hour and a half drive that took closer to 4. So I ended up going to the hotel and checking in. When they got there, it turns out we were not supposed to stay there on the front end of the trip after all – whoops. So I retrieved my belongings (sorry about drinking that cup of tea, Laguna Palace Hotel) and we got into another cab to go the correct hotel. It’s snowing up a storm and we are staying in the center of Venice, how nice, the party with all the canals, except that I’m dragging probably 25 kilos of luggage, my seventy-eight year old grandmother walks with a cane, and her bag has lost a wheel. Well, we made it over thankfully only one bridge and got in. The fun was not over, however, because we were all starving and it was about 10pm. We went out in search of a restaurant, not one open to be found. I was flabbergasted – in Madrid real Spaniards don’t eat until 10pm.
So we had a lovely day in Venice on Saturday the 18th, taking a little walk and eating pasta in a Trattoria, and anxiously tracking the flights that Ann and Dana were on. Before they even crossed the Atlantic, their flight from Frankfurt to Venice was cancelled, so we knew there was going to be issues. They didn’t show up on Sunday, the day the boat left, so we waited and waited for news. Dana called the boat and delivered the message that they were going to try to get to Bari, the second stop in southern Italy, otherwise they probably wouldn’t make it at all. So we were all very happy to see them about 4pm on Monday, and they told us their travel saga. Everything was smooth sailing until Frankfurt, as thousands of passengers learned last weekend. Long story short, they kept getting rebooked and cancelled until they said eff it, let’s take a train. Which they did. A train to Munchen in southern Germany and then overnight into Bologna, then one more down to Bari. So got here, but their luggage was a different story. So, Ann raided my suitcases (which were full of half-dirty clothes anyway) to supplement her wardrobe of a pair of slacks, jeans, a polo and a sweater.
Throughout the cruise, we watched as CNN reported on the travel chaos in Europe, involving planes, trains, and automobiles, and we hoped that 5 of the 6 of us would be able to get back through Germany when the time came. I, of course, was travelling through Spain, so my travel troubles would surely manifest themselves in JFK, La Guardia, or Minneapolis, where at least everyone speaks English.
Vacation itself
Now, I’m not the world’s biggest fan of the cruise. I’ve only been on one before, in the Caribbean with family, also at Christmas, when I was about 16. At the time, I remember being appalled at the extravagance of the boat and comparing it to the Titanic. Mostly, I chalked up my dislike of the travel form to my age, which was awkward and the cruise didn’t have much to offer me. This time, after a semester of travel, I think the reason I am not a huge cruiser is because it is a very artificial form of travel. It is all the comforts of home with small, controlled, safe excursions where you are only exposed to a selection of the local flavor. I don’t like the onboard activities, which consist of gambling, drinking, playing games, taking dance lessons, and watching shows. Ok, actually, I do like those things, but not at the cost of 10 euro per drink, and not hanging out with 50-70 year old strangers. But I digress – on the boat I was and on the boat I would remain.
Venice – December 17-19, 2010
We ended up spending two nights in Venice in a hotel one block away from the Grand Canal and facing right up to another (less grand, I suppose) canal. Venice is no joke – all canals, all teeny streets and, finally, no cars. After Córdoba, Toledo, Segovia, Granada, and Sevilla, finally, a city comes to its senses and there are no cars on too narrow roads. Although, come to think of it, the proliferation of canals and footbridges might have something to do with that. Even though it was snowy out (how picturesque), we took one little paseo around a bit of the city and had lunch in a trattoria across the canal from our hotel. I had spaghetti. How Italian of me, right? We spent much of our time in Venice a) trying to track down Mom’s missing luggage, b) worrying about Ann and Dana’s flights, and c) catching up on sleep. I am sorry to say that we did not actually see much of the city even though we spent two days there. We actually saw the most famous parts of Venice, the Plaza San Marco and the church, on the boat on our way out of the city after dark.
Bari – December 20, 2010
Mom was not too happy with me in Bari because once we got off the boat, my jaded, “I’ve been in Europe for three months and all cathedrals look the same” side came out. We visited a Norman castle, but since I’d already seen the Chateau of William the Conqueror in Caen (and they let you climb around on that one) I was not impressed. Roman ruins? Meh. Church after church after church? Been there, done that. I was not even interested in the little souvenir shops near the Basilica of San Nicola. Of course, whilst we were in Bari Ann and Dana showed up, too, which also overshadowed the little town on the spur of the Italian boot that I was not impressed with because it resembled every other town in western Europe I’d visited so far. Sorry, Bari.
Rhodes – December 22, 2010
After a day at sea (which was rough and which we spent most of sleeping, except for the “gala” that Dad and I went to for free drinks and a “gala show” in the theater that was about as nice as a high school production), we arrived in Rhodes. I wish I knew more Greek than “tzatziki” and “spanakopita,” but, sadly I didn’t. My first experience of the Greeks – very friendly, but also very savvy because it seems the entire economy of one side of Rhodes (the city, also the island) depends on the tourist trade. We saw the old castle of the Knights Templar, and walked down the street with all the buildings of each order of warrior-monks separated by nationality/country of origin. We walked around the old city, saw the city wall, and the public library, and the Muslim library, and two mosques and a third in disrepair, and a clock tower that I suspect was once a minaret as well. Mom and I also walked through a bit of the non-touristy town, and saw old, run down buildings, lots of feral cats and dogs, and lots of motos. Dear family, welcome to Europe, where the mopeds and motorcycles will run you over in the narrow streets.
Back on the boat, we (finally!) soaked up some rays before lunch. Let it be noted: December 22, 2010: I sunbathed and it was awesome. We also checked out a lecture after lunch on the Knight’s Hospitallers, which was an order of knights during the crusades that fought against the Muslims (as all crusaders did) and gave food and shelter to pilgrims to Jerusalem, and was a nice complement to the castle we saw in Rhodes itself.
Alexandria/Cairo, or Inshallah – December 23, 2010
The biggest thing I was looking forward to on this trip was the pyramids. Today, we saw them. And more mosques than in my whole life. And pushy vendors selling King Tut death masks and sphinx heads. And a police officer on his prayer carpet, praying at 4:15pm. And, of course, a Turkish consulate, although I didn’t get a photo. And every puddle, canal, and river was riddled with garbage. And Egypt has more brutalist-style buildings than BU. And McDonald’s, KFC (Kentucky Fried Camel) and Pizza Hut (Giza Hut) all spelled in Arabic.
Today I felt like a privileged American. We drove the three hours between Alexandria, where the boat landed, and Cairo, where all the good stuff is, in a convoy of about 40 busses, each with a “security escort” on board and with a police detail that made traffic less of a problem. And at the museums and where we had lunch – armed guards and metal detectors. Feel much like we’re not in Kansas anymore? The traffic snarled around both cities, but Cairo, with a population of 18 million versus Alexandria’s 5, was ten times worse. Our tour guide explained that because of the oil industry, as evidenced by the burning excess off the refineries, made petrol cheap so almost each of those 18 million could afford to own a car.
We began with the three-hour (approximate) bus ride from downtown Alexandria to downtown Cairo. Our guide, Muhammad, informed us that the state of squalor we observed was actually a vast improvement with the improving economic situation. That was a bit of a paradigm shift – to challenge my notions of development and materialism, I think. We passed the bus ride by listening to Muhammad explain to us the most important details about ancient Egypt: upper and lower kingdoms, history of Ramses and Tutankhamon, even what King Tut’s name means (tut = image, ankh = life, amon = sun god; Tutankhamon = living image of the sun god). He also taught us some Arabic – inshallah = God willing, salaam = hello/goodbye, chokran = thank you – and he gave us some helpful hints for dealing with the rather aggressive vendors at the tourist sites. First stop was at Giza, where we admired the great pyramid and the middle pyramid from up close, then drove around to the other side and admired all three from afar while getting close to the sphinx. Lunch was next at a pretty fancy hotel, again, guarded by the ever-present metal detector, x-ray machine, and armed security. We had some yummy pita and hummus (among other things, then left again for the Egyptian Museum. I’d say we spent about an hour and a half in traffic, and when we got there Muhammad took us to see the highlights, aka mostly the artifacts from King Tut’s tomb. Finally, we went to a gift shop and saw how papyrus was made (for the most part), and then rode the bus the three hours back to Alexandria, where we were tired and sandy and wanted nothing more than to not be on that bus a second longer.
My experience in Egypt has left me with a few conclusions. 1. Since Giza was lleno de turistas, as you would expect, we spent a lot of time setting up nice photographs and little time actually appreciating the moment. As Rafa, my literature professor in Madrid would say, we were Corte Inglés people. It still all seems very surreal that we were in Africa, we were in Egypt, we were at the pyramids at Giza, we saw the sphinx at Giza, we saw Tutankhamon’s tomb, and that we spent all that time taking photos to remember forever but just stumbled through the motions while we were actually in the moment. 2. The sort of impromptu marketplaces that sprang up all around the tourist areas, the many schemes and products being hawked, and the atmosphere of the cities has been sort of an impetus to reexamine my own notions of prosperity and what it means to live in the upper middle class of America. Am I feeling the white man’s burden? Maybe a little bit, but that’s probably healthy to bear in mind in your everyday life.
These bigger, philosophical questions will remain in my head, and I will ponder them as I look back on the photos my family and I took, and they will probably remain unanswerable. But most importantly, I’m taking away from Alexandria and Cairo and the pyramids and the Eyptian Museum an Egyptian stamp in my passport.
Katakolon – December 25, 2010
We pretty much skipped Katakolon, a city of about 400 that makes its living on tourists, instead choosing to take the bus to the ruins of ancient Olympia, which were incidentally closed for Christmas Day. So we went on a bit of a walking tour around the outside, but we saw plenty of ruins from beyond the fence. Our Guide, Maria, explained some of the Greek myths so everyone understood the origins of the ancient games, the story of Zeus, and the origin of the modern games. She explained that early Christians not only destroyed the temples to the Greek Gods, but also the athletic facilities because athletic competitions were part of festivals that honored the pagan gods as well. Thanks, early Christians.
We saw the ruins of the training facilities, the gymnasium (which comes from the word for naked. Think about that the next time you go to FitRec) and the palestra, where they practiced boxing. There was one column of the remains of Zeus’ temple, where they crowned the champions, and really the only recognizable ruin was the stadium, which was basically a straight race track surrounded by a grassy field, where the spectators sat, and a teensy bit of remains of seats for the high priestess (the only woman allowed to watch the games) and the thrones of the judges of the competitions and, you know, whatever VIPs showed up. Finally, we went to see the monument of Baron or Count or Lord Coubertin who was one of the men who re-started the Olympic Games in the modern era, where his heart is entombed. Yes, that’s a lovely sentiment – according to his last wishes, he wanted his heart to be left in Olympia, where it belonged. But practically speaking, ew.
On our way back to the boat, we stopped in the little town of Olympia, which also depends on tourists for, you know, all their economic activity. You can totally tell that they are doing their best to capitalize on the ruins of the premodern Olympic stadium – not only are the shops filled with Ancient Greek-esque tchotchkes, but all the restaurants and hotels bear the name of one God or another. On the ride back to the port, I noticed the subtle little signs of Greece’s economic issues. It took the form of a sensation of urban decay – vacant storefronts, half-finished buildings, empty houses all along the little highway we drove down. We didn’t stop in Katakolon, mostly because all it offered was more of the same souvenirs in the little shops. I guess looking back on it, we probably could have done more to help out the struggling Greek economy and help, you know, avoid another bailout. Oops.
Dubrovnik – December 26, 2010
Though rainy, Dubrovnik is certainly picturesque. We arrived in port, which is surrounded land on both sides covered in buildings clinging to the sides of the green hills. We took the shuttle to the “old city”, which is surrounded by fortified walls and looks from the outside like a medieval castle. Inside, there are shops and houses and a number of churches, including the cathedral. Since Dubrovnik was our last stop on the cruise, we spent lots of time in the souvenir shops looking to complete our gift lists, especially Dad. And, because Croatia is not a part of the EU, getting our hands on some non-euro currency was also an attractive prospect. The krone is worth 5 to the dollar and 7 to the euro, just like the Egyptian pound (more or less).
The old part of the city of Dubrovnik reminds me a bit of some of the old parts of the cities in Spain, except that the fortifications are much better preserved in Croatia. But the calles estrechas could belong in the judería of Córdoba or the Albaycin in Granada. The other distinguishing factor was the rain – it started out as a sprinkle, then the sun came out, and finally the skies opened up and we all got drenched as we decided to return on the shuttle bus. Oh, and then we saw a slight scuffle between Ann and some woman behind her in line. We were behind them a few families, but I guess some French woman tried to cut in line and then trip Grandma, so Ann got all up in her face and there was a bit of a dust up. I guess no vacation would be complete without a little drama.
Speaking of drama, at this point the English-speaking media, or at least CNN and the BBC, shifted their attention away from Europe’s weather crisis to “the blizzard” on the US east coast. I tried to take their coverage with a grain of salt, knowing that it makes good news to have bookended storms around Christmas and all, and knowing that nor’easters are not all that uncommon, and bearing in mind that with the European weather crisis (and bad press for unpreparedness) just behind them, the US cities would learn their lesson and make it work. Or at least, that’s the impression I got from Mayor Bloomberg. Don’t let me down, Mike.
Oh, and you say you want photos? Facebook people. Do you realize how long it would take to upload all those photos on here? No thank you.
No comments:
Post a Comment