Pirate's Lady, a True Adventure

Dear Reader,

Here's a scuba diving tale about our very first live aboard dive experience. John and I had been scuba diving for about four or five years, always on land based vacations staying in hotels or condos, before deciding to try a live aboard dive boat. It seemed like a really good idea to float around all day and night diving four to six times per day without ever having to trudge back ashore and clean up and walk in the heat looking for food or lubrication. In other words: Lazy and easy is what we wanted.

When I saw the advertisement for a really cheap seven day live aboard trip around the Bahamas I jumped at the chance to go. The company is called Blackbeard’s and the price was an astonishingly low $595.00 at the time. For you experienced scuba divers, I’m sure most of you have heard of Blackbeard’s. For non scuba divers, let me say that $595.00 was roughly half the cost of any other live aboard operation I had ever seen.

One day we were telling our good friends, Kim and John, about the upcoming dive trip. Kim got very excited about it and wanted to join us but we told them both that they must be certified scuba divers, which they were not. The next thing I knew Kim and John had both signed up for scuba lessons at our local dive shop, Dolphin Dive and Swim School. This really took me by surprise because I didn’t think Kim liked the water that much and it was a very brave thing to do.

As the weeks passed Kim and John were nearing completion of their scuba lessons and definitely wanted to join us on our Blackbeard’s cruise so I signed them up. When they graduated, Kim advised that the entire class had been talked into taking Advanced Scuba Diver classes starting immediately. She wanted us to join her and John. My John and I were rather surprised at this and tried to dissuade them from going straight into advanced scuba diving without getting any open water dives other than their two graduation dives under their belts but she was determined so John and I also signed up for Advanced Scuba Diver lessons.

I won’t bore you with the details of scuba classes but for Advanced Scuba Diver you are required to do a deep water dive and a search and recovery dive which we had to do in Lake Tahoe in March, followed by a navigation dive as well as a night dive, which we did in Monterrey, California.

The deep water dive was a real debacle. John and I were the only experienced divers in the entire group. I’ve never seen so many people panic all at once in my life. While we waited at 90 feet holding a balloon which we were supposed to inflate we saw people falling like rocks, kicking the white sand on the steep slope as they descended. At one moment we saw Kim fly by and John reached out and grabbed her fin before she could drop too deep. Lake Tahoe is ice cold and very high in altitude at around 5,000 plus feet. This has a strange effect on divers. Also I just hate wearing a wetsuit!

Our final dives in Monterrey were more fun but the water is still too cold to dive without a wetsuit. I got terribly lost on my navigation dive. We were supposed to swim a complete square but I ended up in the middle of the bay instead. John said that’s typical of me. I can’t even find my way around above ground. I thought that was a bit harsh because I think I’m really good at giving directions and remembering how to get places, at least I used to be. That night John couldn’t see a thing because before he had Lazik eye surgery he was almost blind and had to wear a prescription dive mask. I had to walk him into the water like leading a blind man and he proceeded to drop his mask. While we were searching for it everyone else went in and we had to catch up. Then I was attacked by a sea otter and almost lost my mask!

But this is supposed to be about the Pirate’s Lady, not about scuba lessons. I’ll leave it at this: we all passed the course, even though I still can’t navigate under water, and got our Advanced Scuba Diver certifications. I am also grateful to Kim and John for talking us into taking the class because it began our quest to become Master Scuba Divers which we finally completed in 2005.

Blackbeard's Cruises offer unlimited daily scuba diving as well as all you can eat, soft drinks plus unlimited rum punch. Anyone who's ever been on a dive trip knows that divers tend to really party. Providing unlimited rum punch to a bunch of divers is the same as handing over the car keys to a sixteen year old. As soon as we set sail from Miami the party started. Everyone was very happy and boisterous and drinking like mad. The four of us were enjoying ourselves as well but our friend, John, didn't look too well. I think he was feeling a bit sea sick. The music was loud and the partiers louder. I sat on the deck watching the sunset when I noticed the sound abating. Finally it was just me and the music. I looked around and everyone including my friends and my husband were laid out on the deck sound asleep! I should have taken a picture because it was very odd, rather spooky! Not too many of us showed up for dinner that night because they had terrible hangovers. Oh well, more food for us!

  

The Pirate’s Lady is one of a small fleet of sail boats operated by Blackbeard’s Cruises. It wasn’t as large as I had expected which made it very crowded but it was an adventure. The cabin choices include several double bunk beds with curtains in the all purpose dining and meeting room one deck below, two tiny cabins forward with two double bunk beds and perhaps three really tiny cabins all the way forward in the bow which you can only access by crawling inside. The bow cabins made me claustrophobic just to look at and the bunks in the all purpose room looked too public so we opted for the quad cabin with the two very tiny double bunk beds. When I say tiny, I mean bunk beds just barely larger than a single bed. John and I had the upper bunk which was about three feet from the ceiling. I really don’t know how we did it. John is a very tall guy and his feet were up on the wall in order to straighten his legs.

There was actually a fourth option which we didn’t know about before boarding the ship and that was sleeping on the top deck on an air mattress. A very large group of divers, who were all on a dive trip through their local shop, brought their own air mattresses and slept on top. After our experience I know why they choose to sleep there instead of in a cabin. If I ever take another Blackbeard's Cruise I will definitely choose the bunks inside the all purpose room because even though they are quite public it is the only area on the ship that does not turn off the air conditioning.

Every morning I would awake instantly sea-sick and hit my head on the ceiling when I sat up. Being in the wall side upper bunk meant that I was the last person to be able to leave the cabin every morning which was miserable. While I suffered with reeling nausea and sweats,(oh yeah, did I tell you they turned off the air-conditioning every morning at 7:00AM?) Kim, John and John got to visit the head, which was right next door, one at a time and brush their teeth, and do any other ablutions necessary before I could leave. Depending upon the nature of the ablutions this could take quite some time. There were actually eight of us sharing the same head and sometimes I had to wait for the others as well. By the time I got to the head I was barely able to keep my dinner down and I won’t even go into the smell! I could barely pump the thing long enough to make it flush before feeling like death.

Needless to say, as soon as I could I would race up top and get some fresh air. John knew I was sick so he would serve up my breakfast from below and hand it up to me where we would all dine al fresco before our days diving. As soon as I ate, I was fine. The food was wonderful. We had a very young chef named Mark who had studied culinary arts in Chicago and everything he created was delightful.

Mark fed us well and often. After our first morning dive, he would be waiting for us with fresh fruit and other tasty snacks. After our second morning dive he would serve a delicious lunch. After our first afternoon dive we would get more tasty snacks, little sandwiches, ceviche, and other finger foods. Than after our second afternoon dive it was party time!  

After that first evening one would expect everyone to be a bit more reserved in their drinking but that was not the case. But before the party could begin it we had to get cleaned off otherwise your skin becomes encrusted with salt. There was only one shower on the ship and each of us was limited to one minute of hot water. The line was very long as well and since the shower was down below off the all purpose room it felt like it was rocking and the feeling of sea sickness could easily return. However, Blackbeard’s has a fine tradition as an alternative to taking a shower. It’s called a “Joy bath” which consists of hosing yourself off with water from the compressor hose then pouring Joy dish detergent all over your head and rubbing it all over your body. Then you jump off of the back of the boat to rinse off, then climb back aboard and rinse off the salt water with more compression water. There was always a rope dangling off the aft to grab onto in case the ship was moving so no one got left behind. At first we thought that was pretty weird but we came to look forward to our Joy baths. We were like a bunch of kids jumping around slathered in dish detergent saying “Joy bath, Joy bath”. All we needed was a rubber ducky.

Every night the four of us would play pinochle in the all purpose room while the large group was partying up top and everywhere. We would drink some beer or rum punch but never got out of hand like the others did. Night diving was offered every night but we usually were too tired to go and knew it would postpone our happy hour. No drinking and diving!

The diving was fun and the water crystal clear. The Bahamas diving is mostly sandy bottom but we did dive some magnificent and very deep walls which are gorgeous. At one dive spot resided a local resident barracuda named Boz, after the then football player, Brian Bosworth who was rather large, the football player as well as the barracuda! This was the largest barracuda I’ve ever seen at about six feet long he must have weighed about one hundred pounds. The crew would always feed him by throwing chicken bones and beef or pork ribs overboard. Boz would leap out of the sea, mouth wide open, and swallow everything whole. When he ate his color changed from almost black to silver. It was really cool.

One evening we were all in the all purpose room playing pinochle when we felt a huge thud. The four of us looked up from our cards briefly and exchanged quizzical looks and then resumed playing. About an hour later there was much commotion up top and lots of shouting so we went up to see what was happening. Then we discovered that our ship had run aground on a shallow reef and there was a hole ripped into the hull. We were sinking! The crew gathered up all the passengers and asked us to stand on the bow to help balance the ship while they attempted to pull us off of the coral reef. It didn’t work. The ship was stuck on the reef and sinking by the aft. So the Bahamian coast guard had to come to our rescue. It was bizarre standing there on the bow with twenty one other people watching the helicopter above and the coast guard ship in the distance while snapping photos left and right. John took his share of pictures too. No one seemed one bit afraid and we were having a jolly old time of it. Perhaps it was because we are all divers or perhaps it was the rum punch but we rode it out like heroes while we were towed ashore to the island of Andros.

I had noticed before how tense our friend John was throughout the diving. He was always signaling to one of us wanting to know exactly where the ship was. Of course it wasn’t always visible from depth and often had gone ahead to pick us up after a drift dive so we would assure him that the boat was up in a particular direction. Having a hole ripped into the hull made him even more nervous. While the crew began work that night at Andros Island we had a beach party with a bonfire and drank lots of rum punch but John kept wanting to see the bottom of the boat.

That night most of us returned to the ship because the “no see ems” (tiny mosquitoes) were eating us alive. Ever since we had been docked the bugs had been after us so we were all slathered up with bug juice. A popular favorite amongst divers is an Avon lotion which for some reason repels mosquitoes. There was so much of the stuff going around that it got on the decks and several of us slipped and fell as a result. I recall that Kim’s John slipped and slid right into the hatch leading down to the kitchen banging his head. It was time to go to bed.

The next day Blackbeard’s hired a local dive operator to take us out for our diving while they continued to patch the hole. It was a fun day and very classy of Blackbeard’s to do this for us so we didn’t miss out on any dives. When we returned, the hole was repaired and we were ready to continue our dive trip except for one thing; we drank all of the rum punch and they had to re-supply before we could leave. The crew advised that this was the first time any divers on their ships had ever finished off the rum punch in the middle of a dive trip. Leave it to us to make our mark in that fashion!

The rest of the trip returned to business as usual except for our friend constantly checking the bottom of the boat on every dive to see if it was leaking. At the end we had a special treat: A stop at a small caye where Ernest Hemmingway used to party down with the locals. We all went to Hemmingway’s bar to celebrate and drink and play on land. Land felt very unstable by this point so mass quantities of beer were required to counterbalance the effect. Everyone in the bar seemed to be playing an odd game by slinging a metal ring suspended on a string and attempting to catch it on a coat hook. It looked pretty simple but the darned thing just wouldn’t go the right direction. There were lots of oohs and ahs whenever anyone got close to the prize but there were no winners. After a few beers John can get pretty cocky and crazy and so he marched up to the locals who were playing and announced he could make it on one try. In fact he said he could do it backwards without even looking. And so he did. He held the ring up above eye level with his back turned to the wall and let it fly. Sure enough, the ring landed on the hook and everyone was amazed and impressed. It’s very easy to impress a bunch of drunks but John still enjoyed all the attention for his great feat.

The next day, alas, our dive trip was over. Having logged in some forty two dives, we were both feeling quite comfortable and confident as divers. Sadly Kim and John never went diving again. I guess they were more afraid than they had let on. That was too bad and I wished they had given it more time before giving up.

Our Blackbeard’s dive trip was our first but not last one yet it still remains strong in my memory and is one of my favorite vacations of all time. For anyone else out there who dives and likes to rough it a bit and likes adventure, I recommend Blackbeard’s. They are still in business and their rates haven’t gone up all that much, though I caution anyone considering it to book directly through them or a travel agent because the group I mentioned paid $1195.00 each for the same trip booked through their dive shop. This extra money pays for their dive instructor to come along plus commissions for the shop.

I enjoyed every single minute of the trip except perhaps waking up in our tiny cabin but the memories of our adventure will last forever.

Ahoy Me Matey!

Do You Think the Lamp Will Fit On My Stool?

Dear Reader,

Before I begin this story I wish to apologize in advance to any English people out there who may reading. Any insult is, believe me, unintentional. I love England and all of Great Britain and have visited on at least 12 occasions. My paternal grandfather was  English and Welsh, though he had a French name, and my paternal grandmother was English and Scottish. I adore your beer. In my opinion it’s the best in the world and your pubs are the greatest. Your countryside, castles, cathedrals, great manor houses and Roman antiquities are all top notch as are your people. When I complain about the cuisine please understand that it is just a cultural difference and unsettling to a stomach unaccustomed to it. However, let me state here and now that your Indian food is to die for and I’ve noticed a definite improvement in the pub food providing salads and other green vegetables over my last two to three visits.

It’s time for me to tell the York story. Yes, York, England, home of the infamous King Richard III, former Duke of York. York, the land invaded on a yearly basis by the Vikings. York, the home of Europe’s best railroad museum. York, where over 300 Jewish people committed suicide in the large tower to prevent capture during a medieval pogrom. York, the location of one of England’s greatest and largest cathedrals, York Minster. York, for you Saturday Night Live fans, the home of Theodoric of York, medieval barber, judge and physician played by Steve Martin. Yes, York is all of these things and also happens to be one of our favorite destinations. Every other trip to England includes a visit here and should be on your list as well.

It was on one of our routine visits to England beginning in London, as always, and then taking the train north to York. Arriving in York by train is rather like arriving at an amusement park or perhaps a Renaissance Faire.

There are so many people milling around and a row of medieval buildings pop up directly across the street as you are walking next to the ruins of one of the ancient walls. The city is very lovely with green gardens all the way from the station to the center along the ruined walls. There are flowers in bloom everywhere and it can be quite warm in the summer.

You know immediately when you have arrived at the center of York because there is a very large and imposing gate on your right side connected to very high walls. On this particular visit we had reservations in a great pub directly across the street from the main gate into the old city. Our room was huge and had lots of windows. It was on a corner of the pub which was rounded on that end so we had views of the street on one side, the gate and walls on the end and other side as well as the gardens. As is typical in England and all of Europe for that matter, there were twin beds with a tiny end table in-between them with an even tinier lamp. John and I both like to read at night and I was perplexed this time because I could find nothing to raise up the lamp onto so that the light would actually shine over our heads so we could see the print. The overhead light was worthless so we would either have to forgo reading for three nights or find some way to make the tiny lamp useful.

First, we had some touring to do. Yes, even though we’d been to York several times, there is always something to see. Neither of us had walked the ramparts for awhile nor had we visited the new railroad museum so we set off to do these things before dark. Of course, it was also almost lunchtime so a good pub from my list would be located first. We found one from my list inside the old city which literally looks like the Renaissance Pleasure Faire that we used to have in northern California. All of the city is made of half-timbered two story buildings and lots of stone with cobblestone streets.

The pub was very welcoming and had a charming cobbled courtyard. We had some giant beers which were excellent and proceeded to order our food with the usual anticipation. Here I must interject that we had been in England for a week already and as usual I was very constipated. The problem with eating pub food every day is the lack of green vegetables and finding a salad is even more difficult. The usual “green” vegetable served with most meals is peas, which aren’t a green vegetable but rather a yellow one. The English do love their peas. I like peas too but apparently they don’t serve well as the daily requirement of green vegetables. Hence, my constipation.

John and I enjoyed our lunch that day but once again mine came with peas which were overcooked and floating in brown gravy. I was devastated and began to worry about my condition. I would have taken some Immodium but was fearful of having the opposite reaction and that would have been much worse for the backpacking tourist.

Throughout the day I found myself feeling more and more bloated and complaining a lot about the way I felt. This didn’t stop me from enjoying the railroad museum and a nice walk on the ramparts that day but I was feeling a bit desperate. John began to make jokes about it, which is his way and we laughed all day long. I told him I was sick of pub food though and we would have to find something else, preferably Asian, because I needed some vegetables.

That night we found an Asian restaurant which was also on my list. It was in one of the tiny half-timbered buildings on the second floor but the floors were so short John had to walk bent over. We were seated next to a window overlooking the cobblestone street which was only about six feet below us. It was rather strange and we found this amusing. Between courses John had me in hysterics as the comments flew out of his mouth. I was in tears every time the waitress showed up and then we would both stop laughing and pretend to be serious. I wish I could remember the nature of all of his funny comments besides all of the constipation jokes but the only one that comes to mind was regarding a bunch of young people who were parading down the street en masse. I don’t know where they were coming from but it must have closed for there to be such a crowd. One guy trying to impress a girl, I suppose, walked up to a pay phone outside our window and just started punching it repeatedly with his fist. John said “He should learn to use a phone.”, which got us both laughing hysterically until our waitress returned again.

Back in our room that evening we both struggled to read our books while trying everything from hanging our heads over the side of the beds to lying flat on our backs holding our books out directly underneath the tiny lamp but it was no use. My arm got too tired in an extended position and I’m really not good at reading upside down so we finally gave up. I had a very restless night tossing and turning because it had been a long time since I had, well you know, been to the bathroom.

The next day I was really hurting. My stomach was killing me and half the time I had to hold it. After another pub lunch where broccoli was promised with the fish turned into peas. They had just run out of broccoli. It was hopeless. I felt as if I might need to go to hospital if there was no relief. Still we enjoyed touring the medieval guild house and the rather cheesy Richard III museum in one of the other gate towers. We also returned to visit the large tower where the massacre had occurred during the pogrom. It was quite hot so we went to a pub to cool off both inside and outside.

 On our way back to our room we passed by a carvery. I glanced into the window and saw the lovely meats on display being carved and low and behold one of the most beautiful sights I’d seen in weeks, a large salad bar.  I got very excited at the sight of the lettuce, carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, celery, and other greens available such as green beans. This is what I needed so we decided to return later for dinner.

When we returned to the carvery I grabbed a large plate and ran past all of the meats and headed straight for the salad bar. Even though the meats looked absolutely delicious, I decided to just have a big salad instead. I loaded up my plate with everything that would fit except starchy things like cheese and croutons. I just wanted the vegetables. Then I smothered it in a nice light dressing and sat down to devour it. John joined me shortly with his plate of luscious turkey and pork roast, mashed potatoes with gravy and green beans along with a side plate of salad. I had taken two bites when a waiter came over to our table to offer drinks and commented on my salad. He advised me that the large plates are only for the carvery and the small plates are for salads. I looked at him in confusement because what he said made no sense. What difference did it make what size plate I used? I would just go refill it when finished anyway. He shook his head and started to take my plate away but I think I must have looked about to cry because he changed his mind and just said not to tell anyone. I’ve kept my word until now!

It was such a lovely salad and I felt better already by the time we left the carvery. We were strolling back to our room enjoying the fine warm evening and the moon and the stars and my step was quite jaunty. All of a sudden I had an epiphany, which I often do while traveling, and blurted it out to John: “I know what to do, do you think the lamp will fit on my stool?” He turned and looked at me very calmly and replied “Just how stopped up are you?” Then in an instant we once again both lost it in laughter. I don’t know why it seemed so funny at the time but we could not stop laughing. And of course, we both embellished the idea of putting a lamp on top of a giant pile of crap just to make it tall enough to read under. There were all kinds of variations of the joke which went on most of the night, even after we returned to our room and I put the little footstool in the room on top of the nightstand and then placed the lamp on top of the stool, which fit and worked just fine. It was too hard to look at what I’d done and not start laughing all over again.

Luckily for me the salad must have done the trick. I felt much better the next day and finally felt normal for the remainder of our vacation. I had no further stool problems or any peculiar room problems except for having to buy a washcloth because the British apparently don’t use them. I find it very difficult to wash my face with only my hands and then try to throw the water into my face to rinse it off without getting water everywhere. This is an item I usually carry in my suitcase but had forgotten to bring that time. I highly recommend bringing a washcloth when traveling just in case. They really come in handy for showers as well and most reasonably priced accommodations have only showers in the rooms but most have a tiny reading lamp and a nightstand and sometimes even a stool.

Since that day whenever we travel to a place where the reading lamp is too tiny to sit under we always ask each other if it would fit on my stool and start laughing all over again. I guess you’d have to be there but remember these words of wisdom when in a foreign place, if the stool fits wear it.

I’m glad I did not seek the treatment of Theodoric of York who would have said “Bleed Her!”

Dubi Dubi Du' with Cobo at the Fischbank Bar in Bolzano, Italy

Dear Reader,

There comes a time in every vacation when you just need a break, a little vacation from your vacation. The same goes for writing about vacations. It's time for a pleasant departure from the daily activities and details of traveling to talk about once again, the Art of Doing Nothing. The key is one must find the right place to practice said art. Next one must allow oneself to go with the flow and forget about the clock and just enjoy whatever may come.

Last year in Bolzano, Italy we found the perfect place to practice our Art of Doing Nothing: The Fischbank Bar and Restaurant owned by Rino Zullo, playfully known as Cobo. For those of you who have been following my blog since the beginning, you know all about that wonderful evening. When we decided to return to Bolzano again this year both John and I knew we had to continue our fun at the Fischbank Bar. What we didn't know was that Cobo would remember us from last year. I also wrote briefly about that pleasant surprise in a blog last month named: "A Wonderful Trip in Review".

Hot, dusty, tired and very thirsty we stumbled into the Fishbank Bar without a map. It seemed as if our noses just led us there without a wrong turn or even a moment's hesitation. I guess we were a bit early because we actually beat the crowd and found available stools at our favorite table. As soon as Cobo saw us he ran up and told me "You're famous! I read your blog!" I was amazed and very pleased, I must say. After all the thousands of people who find their way to his bar every year who would expect to be remembered after only one evening a year ago?

We ordered our Venezianas, a most delightful and refreshing drink on a hot day consisting of an Italian liquor called Aperol with Prosecco which is the Italian sparkling wine common to northern Italy's Veneto region, a touch of sparkling mineral water, a slice of orange all poured over lots of ice. Cobo generously serves his Venezianas in rather large goblets but we were so thirsty I believe ours were gone in two or three gulps. It was time for another round.

Cobo came with our next round and stayed awhile as we discussed where we'd been our our travels lately and what we had seen that day in Bolzano and also what we planned to see over the next few days. We told him that we were once again staying up the mountain in Soprabolzano which I could tell by his expression did not appeal to Cobo. He advised us that Soprabolzano is nice but everything is happening down here in Bolzano. Of course, he's right. Cobo has been a resident of Bolzano for many many years and knows every inch of the place. He's also drawn pictures of Bolzano and the interesting old buildings and cobbled streets in his cartoon books. Did I mention that Cobo is a renowned artist and famous in his own right?

While we were relaxing and enjoying our third or fourth Venezianas the crowd began to fill the place and the noise level increased gradually. No problem. Cobo turned up the volume on his little CD player so we could still enjoy the modern jazz which goes so well with Venezianas, I must say. He also brought us two gifts: a cartoon book about Bolzano with wonderful drawings and a comic book about the pigeons of Bolzano which is hilarious. Even though neither John nor I could read the subtitles which are in both Italian and German we were both able to enjoy and understand the drawings. The pigeon comic book speaks for itself. You see pigeons arriving by tour bus in Bolzano and visiting all the sights of Bolzano and gathering at the Fischbank Bar and finally leaving town on the bus. Some of their comments were obvious even in Italian. We were having a good time already and the books had us laughing our heads off.

Cobo said he invented a new drink and wanted us to try it. He calls it a Hugo after the famous French author, Victor Hugo. Being good sports and as part of our practicing the Art of Doing Nothing we volunteered to try a Hugo. It is another very refreshing drink consisting of Prosecco, mineral water and fresh mint over ice. In fact, I'd say it was wonderful. Then I looked around the bar and noticed people were drinking Hugos all over the place. I thought at the time "this drink sure caught on quickly".

Of course, one cannot sit and just drink. You must have something to munch on or risk falling off of your stool more than once. Cobo always provides baskets of very tasty potato chips but on our first evening he insisted we have some bruschetta even though we told him we had eaten a huge lunch very late that day. So he made up his wonderful homemade bruschetta, which are enormous, very fresh and irresistable. There are four bruschetta to a plate and every ingredient is fresh from the market and grown locally except the tomatoes which are from Sicily and shipped weekly, I believe. After managing to eat all four bruschetta, John and I agreed we would probably not be needing any dinner that night. And it was a good thing because by the time we left the Fischbank Bar it was too late to eat dinner and still make the last funicular back up to Soprabolzano.

As I gazed around the now packed bar I saw a lot of bruschetta going around plus other very delicious looking appetizers, all the size of full meals. No wonder this bar is so popular. Not only does Cobo provide wonderful and very reasonably priced drinks but also delcious homemade food called appetizers which are actually full meals for the price of an appetizer. If this bar was in my town I'd be there every day of the week. I guess it's a good thing it isn't. I also discovered that we aren't the only out of towners or even out of country fans who return to Bolzano and the Fischbank bar every year. That evening Cobo introduced us to a couple from England who have visited Bolzano either four or five years in a row now and spend every evening at his bar. Somehow, this is a very comforting thought. Perhaps a reminder that such a wonderful place will continue to be there in the future as long as we can continue to travel there. At least I hope so.

After a few drinks, John always begins to get really funny. He's a very sharp and intuitive wit who never misses a straight line or any opportunity for an amuzing comment. Cobo is also a very funny man of wit and humor and we had lots of laughs that night. I really admire his state of mind and the funny signs he has scattered throughout his bar such as "No Stress Zone" and my favorite, the first line of which is in German but you can figure it out, "Die Philosophie", Kant - "To Be is to Do", Nietzsche - "To Do is to Be", Cobo - Dubi Dubi Du'". I'd never heard of the philosopher, Kant, but am familiar with Nietzsche and understand perfectly the meaning of the sign: "Don't take yourself so seriously". What a great philosophy that is.

The bar, which is on a cobbled narrow street that was once part of the moat surrounding the medieval city, this year is decorated in lavendar with lavendar Chinese lanterns, lavendar umbrellas and pretty purple, lavendar, pink and white petunias in hanging baskets plus various lavender table items such as a ceramic shoe and a ceramic dwarf wearing a lavender hat. I commented on the color arrangement to Cobo and told him I like it but wasn't his place all decorated in red last year? Cobo advised me that he changes his color scheme every year so the place remains inviting and fresh to his customers. How wonderful. He also has lots and lots of greenery, bushes as well as hanging plants, ferns, spider plants and vines which add the outdoor feeling. His next door neighbor runs a small nursery (next to the bar) and also visits the bar frequently so I imagine he helps provide the plants or at least advises what to plant. Cobo told me that I should follow suit and plant a bunch of petunias in pots to add more color to my Secret Garden even though they die off every year. He said so what if they die, we would be able to enjoy them for months before then and just replace them the next year with new colors. This is advice I took to heart and acted upon immediately once home again.

We spent our three nights in Bolzano, technically Soprabolzano where we slept, at the Fischbank Bar enjoying Cobo's company, the ambience and the surroundings. Across the narrow street are a row of very tall peaked houses which are connected. Cobo advised that the houses were once the outer wall to the old city. Just down the street a bit is an archway connecting the buildings on Cobo's side to the houses. There are arches like that all over Bolzano which makes it a very cool looking place.

Every evening at dusk a young man would arrive across the street with three dogs on leashes: a black Lab, a Border Collie mix and a brown short haired muscular looking dog. He would always salute Cobo and Cobo would salute him back, then run over with a bag of treats, the contents of which I have no idea, and toss a treat to each dog in the same order, black, collie, brown. Each dog in turn would attempt to catch the treat in mid-air but only the brown dog caught every treat without fail. It was amuzing to watch and they were so well behaved sitting on their haunches waiting their turn patiently. Then to our surprise, Cobo took the leash of the brown dog and ran upstairs to the first floor of one of the medieval houses across the street. I had no idea that Cobo lives right across the street but it makes sense. When I inquired he told me that is one of his places. Lucky guy! Cobo also advised that the dog's name is Nietzsche, of course, but it's actually his son's dog. John asked why he doesn't keep Nietzsche at the bar and Cobo said it isn't good for dogs to lie around all day, they need exercise and space to roam so he has the college guy take care of him and walk him every day. Cobo knows the college student, whom I believe is studying Engineering, because even though it's a large city, it's a small community in the old town and everyone seems to know everyone. That's a very comforting thought which appeals to me a great deal. I've always longed for such community which cannot be found living in the suburbs of California.

The dog ritual occurred every day but on our last evening only Nietzsche showed up. Naturally, that was the evening I brought my camcorder to film the event. At least I was able to record the liveliness and fun times at the Fischbank Bar but I doubt I was able to capture the essence of the place. You'll just have to take my word for it or go there yourselves.

As I mentioned in my previous article about the Fischbank Bar, Cobo always likes for his customers to meet each other and goes out of his way to introduce people who he thinks might have something in common such as the English couple we met on our first evening. He also introduced us to his neighbor across the street who is apparently a psychiatrist but Cobo introduced him as a psycho! The neighbor laughed and then told us he is a psychiatrist.

On our second evening an eldery gentleman dressed in a suit with a plaid vest came shuffling into the bar. I mean literally shuffling like Mr. Tudball, played by Tim Conway, on the Carol Burnett show for those of you who remember. It was hilarious to watch him shuffling around. He shuffled up to Cobo while I was standing talking to Cobo and then leaned forward and stared at me really hard with a serious expression on his face. Before I could speak Cobo told the man to "forget her, she's owned by him" and pointed to John who was flexing his muscles at the guy. Without a word, the elderly gentleman made a right turn and shuffled off to some other people. Cobo told me he's a real local character who shuffles several kilometers every day all over Bolzano. It's his means of exercise. I could see that there was nothing at all wrong with the gentleman as he was chatting and laughing with some other people he knows. What a character indeed!

One evening, which one I cannot say for certain, a young Chinese student from San Francisco arrived with a bright pink ukelele. This grabbed our attention as well as Cobo's. Cobo insisted he play the thing and sing a song which after much resistance he did. The kid could play the ukelele fairly well and didn't have a bad voice either but he told Cobo the reason he carries it is to take the place of a diary of his travels by collecting the signatures of people he meets. He traveled to Bolzano just to meet Cobo and gain his signature. I noticed that the ukelele was covered with signatures already and in conversation with the student we discovered that he had been traveling without any plan whatsoever all over Europe for a month. He'd had some pretty wild adventures already and even had a date that evening with a girl he'd met on Facebook. We wished him well and never saw him again. I hope she liked him in person. He had planned to cook her dinner! What a guy.

Cobo also has a new student waiter who I believe is Korean but may be from Italy because his name is Mario. He speaks very good English as well as Italian and German, I believe, and also has a great since of humor. Once John spooked him by shouting his name out very loudly right as the music abruptly ended. Then we all burst out laughing. He's a great guy and very lucky to have found the Fischbank bar and Cobo as an employer. I wish him well and hope to see him again one day.

On our last evening at the Fishbank Bar, we arrived early to get a seat and found Cobo exhausted in a chair with his feet up. He greated us as usual, "Hey California" and brought us an ice bucket with Prosecco and mineral water. Then he brought two glasses with ice, a plate of sliced oranges and our own bottle of Aperol. He said he was too tired to wait on us and to make our own drinks! This brought much laughter but also concern...had we overstayed our welcome? How do we make a Veneziana? John told Cobo we didn't know what we were doing and he said we'd figure it out. We did eventually through tasting and experimentation. I still can't believe how fast that first bottle of Aperol went! It is one refreshing drink!

 We were naturally sad on our final evening in Bolzano and having to say farewell once again to Cobo, whom I truly believe I can call "friend". It's amazing how you can know someone for years and never truly feel they are a friend and yet meet someone and know instantly that they are a friend. This is the way that Cobo makes all of his customers feel, which is a true talent but not fake or feigned. He really truly does like people and loves running his bar. A guy like Cobo who is a world traveler and artist could live anywhere he wants and do anything he wants but he chooses the Fischbank Bar which allows him to socialize with locals as well as people from all over the world plus he gets to enjoy and relax several months out of the year when he closes the bar for winter. (If you plan to go to Bolzano, be sure to wait until May when the bar reopens.)

One last thing I'd like to say to Cobo, if you are reading this, thank you again for all the free drinks! We never in our wildest imaginations expected such a generous treat nor would expect that to be repeated the next time we visit. If during your travels you come to Sacramento, you must promise to let us know so we can show you the same hospitality that you always have given to us!

Salute,

Got That Monkey Off My Back

Dear Reader,

As you might have guessed by now, when I like a place a lot I try to go there as often as possible. In my case this usually means no more than once per year with some local exceptions such as San Francisco. John and I used to go to New Orleans twice per year but then the economy bombed and well you know the rest.

Some places, Paris for instance, I can never get enough of no matter how many times I've visited. It never mattered to me once if I didn't manage to visit the Louvre, which I didn't until my fifth visit to the most beautiful city in the world, because I knew I'd return. Other places that I love to visit often are Carcassonne, France, not for the sights but for the ambience and just being there. John and I have lots of places in Europe we feel that way about: Venice, Arles, France, Sarlat, France, Dinan, Brittany, York, England, Edinburgh, Scotland, Orvieto, Italy, Sorrento, Italy, just to name a few, where we enjoy being and strolling and people watching rather than for sightseeing. They all have sights, for sure, but once you've seen them, then the real fun begins.

There are other places, however, that I have visited repeatedly for a completely other reason: To get that Monkey off my back. If I visit a town or area with a major sight and for some reason cannot see it because it is closed on Mondays or it's a major holiday or there's a fete in town or the Pope is visiting or daylight savings time, for whatever reason, it really burns me up and I get determined to remedy that situation by re-visiting in the future and touring that major sight. Over the last 27 years everyone of these reasons has caused me to miss a sight I was set on seeing. Sometimes the sight is the only reason I went there in the first place which really bums me out.

I call this determination "Getting that monkey off my back" so that I can move on and see new places and sights. Just like ESPN sportscasters love to repeat over and over again: "Will he ever get that monkey off his back?" Or "Do you think he'll get that monkey off his back tonight?" I can't wait to get it off my back. I remember how long Steve Young of the 49ers had to hear that stupid phrase until he finally won his Super Bowl. I could just see that hairy creature slide off his head and down to the ground where, hopefully Steve stomped the crap out of it.

Firenze or as we call it, Florence, Italy was a huge monkey on my back. In fact it was a gorilla. The first time we visited was on our first trip to Europe and we were on the run from place to place constantly. We did the best we could with 2-3 days but really couldn't make a dent in the place. To make things worse, Firenze can be quite hot and humid, has little public transportation to speak of and is really hard on the feet. The city is jam packed with major sights, all of which must be seen but none so important as the famous Uffizi Art Gallery. The Uffizi reminded me of a very large prison when I first laid eyes on it with miles of arches. The Piazza della Signoria on the other hand is bustling with people, bars and gelaterias. We had already toured the Duomo, the Bapistery, climbed Giotto's Tower, walked the Via Calzaiuoli, visited Santa Croce and crossed the Ponte Veccio to the other side of the Fiume' river. We made one of our earliest executive decisions about taking full advantage of enjoying a place and decided to skip the Uffizi on that trip. We'll see it next time, we agreed.

Seven or more visits later we still had not toured the Uffizi, not necessarily by choice so that monkey kept growing and growing. One year there was a terrorist bombing, a car bomb was driven into the Uffizi two weeks before our visit so it was closed. Another year there had been a terrible flood and much damage to the building so the Uffizi was closed. Another year, determined to see it, we followed the advice of a well known travel guru who advised it best to visit after 3:00PM but when we got there we found a huge line several people deep which extended the full length of the building. This was just too much. I began to wonder if the Uffizi is really worth all of this trouble. But my shoulders continued to sag as the weight of the giant monkey became more and more.

On one final attempt I had a stroke of luck. The Uffizi had developed their own website where tourists could purchase tickets in advance and choose a time to visit by appointment. I decided to give it a try and we went once again. There was a huge line outside and I was very disappointed until the ticket clerk waved us past the line and allowed us inside straight away. I felt giddy as a child running through the hallways, fighting my way through crowds of Japanese tourists taking photos of every painting and sublimely astonished at the sight of the original Botticeli's Three Graces and the Birth of Venus. Now I was happy. There are rooms filled with DaVincis and Michelangelos as well as Rafael, Titan, Reubens and the list goes on. The rooms are intimate and make enjoyment of each painting easy but one of my favorite sights in the museum is the hall of Roman emperor's busts. I swear they must have every single Roman emperor's likeness along with a lot of wives, children and anonymous boys. It was great to be face to face with the actual face of Augustus and Julius Caesar and the evil Livia.

We still visit Firenze, of course, when in Northern Italy and have enjoyed many more of the sights and the beauty of the place, not to mention some of the best food I've eaten anywhere. John always wants me to mention Il Latini because it is his favorite restaurant and we always try to eat one dinner there. Even though it is highly popular and in almost every guide book now, the quality and the fun atmosphere have not changed since we first ate there in 1983. They have two seatings only and you usually have to share a table with strangers, which is the best part, besides the food of course. It's a bit hard to find but once you find the right street you'll know it by the large crowd waiting outside drinking wine and eating prosciuto which is handed out on trays by the man in charge, The Bull. He keeps everyone happy while waiting and decides who gets to go inside next. It reminded John of the movie Casablanca waiting for the visas to arrive so you can get out of that place and away from the Nazi threat. Once seated the waiters bring course after course of food on large platters along with an endless bottle of Chianti. You get to choose between several primis and secondis and also desert but the antipastis are some of everything. After dinner they brought lemoncello to top it off. It's a set price meal with everything included and a bit pricey for some but definitely worth it.

The newest monkey to climb onto my back was the Acropolis in Athens, Greece. Our first visit was four years ago and the vacation got off to a very rocky start. We had flown for nine hours to London Heathrow Airport arriving at 6:00AM only to be forced into a holding pattern for an hour and one half because there had been an accident on one of the runways and they had to clean it up. By the time we got off the plane, through customs and then ran all the way from terminal one to terminal five we missed our connecting Swiss Air flight to Athens via Zurich. This was a long long run involving loads of escalators, another security check, and finally a bus ride to get there. Then the final run to the Swiss Air gates where we saw the attendant closing the door. We could see our aircraft sitting on the other side with the ramp still attached but she refused to re-open the door for us and let us board. This was very frustrating and we were very tired from lack of sleep, a 4 mile run and very sweaty. We were told to visit United Airlines's customer service desk which was, guess where?, back at terminal one.

We returned to terminal one much more slowly than we had left it and explained our dilemma to the agent. He was terrific. The next Swiss Air flight was not leaving for four hours and we would not have arrived in Athens until after midnight. I was terrified because the Athens metro stops running at midnight and we would have no way to get to our hotel. Worse yet, we would have to take a taxi which are notorious in Athens for ripping off the customers and taking extra long routes. After that we would have to attempt to navigate in the dark streets of the Placa, the old city to find our hotel. This looked bad so the very helpful agent said he would attempt to place us on another airline leaving sooner and to give him some time to do this.

We sat down, heads hanging low and totally bummed out when I looked over and noticed a nice gentleman offering tastes of Scotch whiskey to customers in his duty free shop. I pointed it out to John even though it was only about 9:00AM and suggested he go taste some Scotch. This he did and he tasted some excellent and some very old single malts. He returned with a smile on his face which really helped our circumstances.

When the agent called us back he had good news. He had put us on a non-stop British Airways flight to Athens and we still got to keep our first class seats. Even better, we got to use their first class lounge while waiting and were able to clean up and eat a nice breakfast there. Things were looking up indeed.

The flight was passable with decent Indian food but I swear half of the aircraft must have been occupied by "The Eastenders" who yelled at each other in their thick London accents and allowed their children to roll in the isles. One couple was so dumb they tried to seat their daughter on the arm rest between them! I watched a woman in line during boarding who absolutely refused to let someone out of the toilet which she was blocking. No matter how many times the person was asked to move, she refused. I was so tired that I actually dozed off during the flight numerous times in-between the little girl behind me exclaiming "Daddy" at the top of her lungs. The he would let her run up and down the isle. 

We finally got to Athens and it was still before dark so we were ready to follow my practical tips and get to the Placa as quickly as possible. After gaining our luggage and navigating our way to the metro stop we found the ATM machine where John would obtain our first supply of Euros using our USAA ATM card. This was carefully planned in advance to save money on the exchange rate and avoid ATM fees. For years we simply used a credit card with a zero balance. Right before a trip to Europe I would send a payment to that credit card to create a credit balance large enough to cover cash withdrawals for the entire trip. Finally the credit card companies quit allowing customers to make payments over the amount actually due. That was a minor tragedy because it worked like a charm and we were never charged any fees at all. So I opened a checking account with USAA because they have no ATMs of their own and therefore reimburse their customers the cost of any ATM fees charged using their card. It's the next best thing but I can't get around their foreign exchange fee which all banks charge. In any event, we had the USAA ATM card with the required four digit pin used in Europe and John went to the first Bankomat to collect some dough. It didn't work! Sometimes after 24 hours of travel especially with problems involved, it's easy to suddenly forget how to do something you do all the time, or forget your pin number or put the card in upside down. Whatever the reason, John could not get the card to work at all and we had no Euros with us. After his third attempt, USAA cancelled the card and wouldn't allow another try. We couldn't even get into Athens without Euros!

Our only option was to return to the airport and go to one of the rip-off currency exchange booths and trade some US dollars for Euros which John did while I waited at the metro station with the bags. I had to pee pretty bad by this time as well. Once again, we were not happy. But John got the cash and we caught the metro without issue and even found our hotel in the Placa without too much trouble. I immediately called USAA to ask for help but was told the bank was closed and I would have to call back the next day. So we were stuck with very little cash in a city which, unbeknownst to me, rarely accepts anything but cash.

That night we did manage to find a lovely little outdoor restaurant in the Placa which accepted credit cards and drank a bunch of beer before retiring to our hot tiny little room with the two tiniest twin beds I've ever seen. Earlier I had tried to figure out how to get the AC on but nothing worked so I finally called the front desk and asked what to do. I was informed that you must call the front desk if you want air-conditioning but he didn't think it was very hot. I told him I was very hot and insisted he turn it on. And believe it or not, that hotel cost well over 100.00 Euros per night. It had the typical tiny shower that John can't even fit into and you can't flush the toilet paper down the toilet! They required that you put it in the waste basket which is one of the most disgusting things about visiting Greece. I fail to understand a country which is fully modern and 21st century with all of the same technology that we have cannot figure out how to make toilets that can flush toilet paper. Using a public toilet in Greece is a real treat, I tell you, well not actually. It's awful.

The next day I was very anxious to see the sights because we had only one touring day. The cost of that hotel was so expensive that I had to reduce our desire to spend four nights to spending only two and then get out of town. Top on my list was the Acropolis, of course, followed by the Roman and Greek Agoras and the museum in the Greek Agora. Since every one of these sights is located in the same place, it seemed very doable. I called USAA first but was told they would have to issue a new PIN number and it would take another 24 hours. John was worried we wouldn't have enough money for the train out of Athens the next day and said we'd have to be very careful with our cash. So we set off bright and early to visit the Acropolis first. We wandered the maze of streets in the Placa following a back route John had found on the map and then started to climb the mountain gradually on cobbled residential streets which rise one half the way up the Acropolis. Finally we reached a wide paved road which looked promising and headed the wrong way. Then we turned around and began searching for any signs of an entrance or a ticket booth.

When we finally found the ticket booth and asked for two tickets the lady in the booth said "No credit cards". The tickets were quite expensive at twelve euros each so John announced we would have to skip it! I was beside myself and reminded him that we had traveled 10,000 miles to see the Acropolis. I tried to think of ways to get cash with our credit card such as buying a guide book at one of the many shops nearby and getting extra cash but he was convinced that none would accept credit cards either. So we went all the way to Athens and didn't get to visit the Acropolis. We did the next best thing though. We continued around the mountain and found a giant rock with people all over it which overlooked the Greek Agora and had a great view of the Parthenon. There was a sign stating that St. Paul had preached the gospel from that rock so we walked on it ourselves. Then we went back down the mountain into the Placa to visit the two Agoras (forums in Rome) but one was closed and actually looked abandoned and the other took cash only so we gave up.

The city of Athens had recently beautified their city for the Olympics and created a wonderful walking path all the way around the base of the Acropolis and the agoras going all the way to the other side to the temple of Hercules so John and I followed the path and got a good look at the Greek Agora, nice distance views of the Acropolis and some interesting Byzantine churches opposite. We walked all the way to the temple which we couldn't visit closer because it was cash only but got some nice photos of it as well. Then we found a wonderful taverna on the side of the Acropolis in that residential neighborhood where we started the day and sat on a tiny balcony for two eating platters of medzes (appetizers) with a giant bottle of ice cold water and a liter of ice cold white wine which was absolutely delicious. Our day in Athens was very pleasant and the remainder of our trip through Greece's Peleponnese followed by our first Greek Cruise was fabulous. Of course, not visiting the Acropolis created another monkey on my back which I would not be happy until it was removed.

After three Greek cruises, I finally found one that returned to Athens, which was the main reason I chose it. This is the cruise that we just took from Venice on our last vacation in May. I was ready this time and planned everything out very carefully as usual to make sure nothing went wrong. Other than there being no bus ticket booth at the port nor bus tickets sold by newstands everything went very smoothly. There was an Bankomat near the bus stop so John could get more euros. The bus came almost immediately and the driver gave us a free ride to the metro station. We got right on the metro and it whisked us into Athens but some tracks were down so we had to make an unexpected train change. No biggie. We had gotten a nice early start and arrived at the Acropolis metro stop by 8:30AM. We beat the crowds, especially the tour bus crowds which were at that time stuck in rush hour traffic jams. This was going to be good.

Athens has a brand new Acropolis Museum which is right above the metro stop and can't be missed. It contains all of the artifacts found at the Acropolis and is very well designed and laid out. The modern three story building has glass floors in many places so you can look down onto the sights below. On the ground floor at the entrance you are actually walking over archeologists working on digging out ancient streets no doubt uncovered by the excavation for the new museum. It's very cool. The museum is filled with natural light by the enormous floor to ceiling windows and the pieces are well displayed, most with signs in English. The original four Caryatids which adorned the Erectheon are on display in this museum and a sight to behold. You can walk right up to the giant statues which once adorned the cupola over the Parthenon and see how enormous they actually are. I could have spent all day in that museum but we had the Acropolis waiting and my monkey had to go. We ended up spending two hours there as it was and unfortunately by the time we climbed up to the entrance of the Acropolis, the tour buses had arrived.

I knew when planning our day we should have seen the Acropolis first before the crowds but I didn't want to climb the mountain twice which we would have had to do to see it first, climb down one side to see the museum, and then back up and over to the other side for the agoras. This was too much climbing in the heat without shade of any kind so we chose to see the museum first to my regret. When we entered the Acropolis and began climbing the grand stairs, there are eighty five I believe, we went at a crawl and had to make frequent stops because there were so many people on the stairs who kept stopping to take pictures with their cell phones and others who got tired there was just no way around them. It was very frustrating trying to marvel at this ancient sight with 10,000 of my new best friends but I made the best of it. By the time we got to the top it was impossible to even get a snapshot of the gigantic Temple of Venus which we had arrived through because it was hidden behind the crowds. The Parthenon is so huge it's impossible to capture in one photo so it required several different angles and ends all of which were loaded with people. I did manage a photo of the Erectheon without people but it took several attempts after waiting patiently for someone to have their picture taken then they would stand or walk directly in front of me while I took mine. Arggg! But I didn't care because the monkey was now off my back and it only took four years. Also, I feel complete that I've seen it and done that and won't ever feel the need to see it again.

On the other hand, I still want to visit the Roman and Greek Agoras as well as the National Museum which contains almost all the major ancient artifacts from the entire country! We were going to attempt to do all of this that day but after lunch. We headed next to the same taverna we had enjoyed before but were lured into a fine little place with a rooftop terrace and had a wonderful lunch and a liter of ice cold white wine. It was so delightful there surrounded by bouganvellia and a nice soft breeze that we had another liter of cold white wine while contemplating the hard road ahead. John and I both came to the same conclusion that the National Museum was out. It required just too much walking to get to from the metro stop and neither of us could face another giant museum that day. We both agreed to save it for next time. However, we still agreed to visit the agoras, which were nearby so after lunch we walked down to the Roman Agora which was inexplicably closed. There was no sign of explanation so we continued to the Greek Agora which is far more important, larger and more interesting but it was closed as well! There was a sign stating that it closed at 3:00PM but my practical tips gleaned from the Athens tourism website and confirmed by two Athens guidebooks stated that the Greek Agora is open until 8:00PM. Oh well, there was nothing we could do about it so we decided to sit at one of the dozen outside bars across from the agora and have some beer before heading back to Piraeus and our ship.

We felt that our day had been a success and know that we will return in the near future to Athens and get those minor monkeys off our backs when we do. Maybe if Greece can solve their economic problems in the meantime their hotels might become a bit more competitive with the rest of Europe? One can always be hopeful.

Kaleeneekhta

When in Doubt, Shrug Your Shoulders

Dear Reader,

Once again I have been neglectful in not writing my blog. There are so many stories I have yet to tell about my most recent vacation in Italy, Croatia, Greece and Turkey, and yet somehow there never seems to be enough time. Lately I've spent a lot of time planting petunias and marigolds in the garden. My good friend, Cobo, the owner of the Fischbanke Bar in Bolzano, recommended planting lots of annuals every year as he does at his bar. It makes everything so much more festive and doesn't cost very much to buy every year. He is right. Our vegetable garden now looks very festive and colorful. But I digress and must bring my thoughts back to travel.

I'm really becomming a big fan of the eastern country of Croatia. This was our second visit to that beautiful emerald land with her thousand miles plus of beaches and islands along with an ancient history pre-dating the Greeks. The food is very good and the people are very friendly. Surprisingly many of them speak English. They also make a very good wine and beer. One of the biggest advantages of visiting Croatia is that they are not yet on the Euro and their currency, the Kuna, is weaker than the dollar at 5.6 Kuna per one U.S. dollar as of May. This makes Croatia a reasonable country to visit.

The first time we went to Croatia we visited the large city of Split's old town. This is not a little cutesy "old town" with spruced up quaint buildings and people in costumes. This old town is ancient and yet thriving. It was originally settled when the Slavs attacked their nearby city and the Croatians fled for cover inside the old Roman Palace built by Emperor Diocletian as his retirement home on the coast. I don't know why the palace was unoccupied at the time but the entire city moved into the palace and later became the city of Split. The sight is quite remarkable. The palace walls line the broad waterfront boulevard which is now lined with bars and restaurants with outdoor tables and umbrellas plants and lawns. It looks like a fortress but an attractive one. You enter the palace, and the city, through a large archway which leads you into the former basement of the palace and continue straight through to a set of broad stairs on the opposite side through another large archway. The thoroughfare is lined with small shops selling local handicrafts and postcards. Before leaving the basement you can take a self guided tour of the various rooms, mostly empty, but interesting.

Once you step outside through the second archway you'll find yourself right in the middle of the thriving main square which is oddly shaped because of a giant temple of Venus which looms diagonally on the right. It is right next to a broad long set of stairs leading up to the hidden Cathedral which dates back to the 10th century and which is next to the tower which can be climbed for a small fee. Across the square are medieval buildings jammed together, some with partial Roman parts such as steps and columns incorporated into them. The square itself still has the original marble floor paving from the palace itself. It's difficult to envision, but we had just stepped into the courtyard of the palace which was square in shape surrounding a square court. This was a typical Roman construction for dwellings. We walked through the entire old town and out the far gate through many narrow cobblestone streets lined with medieval buildings. We visited the Bapistery which was originally built by Diocletian as a temple for his own burial but later Christianized. It's a fascinating place with lots of small local eateries and bars to make it very cheerful indeed.

This year we had the good fortune of returning to Split as well as visiting the famous Unesco National Heritage city of Dubrovnik, a place I'd always wanted to see. Dubrovnik is a favorite stopping place for cruise ships not just because of its beauty but also for its manageable size. The entire city is inside medieval walls which are fully intact and contain four fortresses, one on each corner. The walls are about two miles long I believe and the walk, which involves a good deal of climbing, takes about two hours if you're not making too many photo stops. The location could not be more beautiful surrounded on three sides by crystal clear blue ocean and a green mountain on the fourth side.

The walls, which are eighty feet high in some places, are built on top of sheer rock cliffs on the ocean sides and the views are magnificent. They were originally built by the Romans but later fortified by the Croatians in the 15th century as extra protection from a Venetian invasion. It worked. The walls were never breached by Venetians or any other enemies until the 1991 war with Serbia when the Serbian army bombed Dubrovnik for weeks on end destroying most of the city. The brave civilians of Dubrovnik stayed throughout the bombing, hiding in the fortresses and underground while their homes were being destoyed and while their brave young men gathered their grandfather's hunting rifles and made a stand in the highest fortress on the mountain above the city, determined to hold the Serbians from entering Dubrovnik. This tragedy was finally brought to an end when the rest of the world finally took notice and joined to put a stop to it. The damage was horrendous but the people rebuilt and the walls were repaired and it is once again a thriving and living city and major tourist site. The major difference as you gaze down into the city from the walls are the bright orange tile roofs which replaced the old faded brown ones. Very little other evidence of the tragedy remains but you can see a memorial exhibit to the brave who fought and died in one of the museums.

Inside the walls, Dubrovnik is very lively and packed with tourists by day. The main street called the Stradum or the Placa divides the city right down the middle and is a broad pedestrian only street made of marble. There are fountains at either end from the Renaissance plus many other fine Renaissance buildings to see. This is the place where people like to stroll in the evening and sit at outdoor cafes and bars and eat gelato. It has an interesting history too. Originally it was a small inland ocean canal which separated the mainland from an island. The Romans settled on the mainland and when the Slavs invaded they settled on the island. Strangely enough they left each other in peace and a couple of hundred years later decided to fill it in and join the two cities.

But even more interesting to me are the extremely narrow side streets running perpendicular to the Stradum on each side. These are very medieval and some are so close you could easily touch both sides at once with your hands. On the east side the streets are steep and many have steps to help climb to the tops which end at the wall. The streets to the west are mostly flat with only a bit of a climb on some. These side streets are where the most local restaurants are to be found. But first we had to have a drink at the Busa Bar inside the wall over the ocean. Everyone goes to the Busa Bar but I still wanted to go anyway because of its location. You have to find a little sign that says "Cold Drinks" on the inside of the wall and follow the wall until you see a hole about six feet tall. My husband only had to duck a bit so the hole wasn't as small as advertised. Once through the hole you go down steps which have been carved right into the side of the cliff and down to the first level, a giant slab covered with umbrellas, a drink cooler and a tiny bar. We ordred two pivos (beer) and drank their local with plastic cups while we gazed down at the ocean and an island very close by and our cruise ship off in the distance. It was near sunset and very beautiful. There is another lower level and also big rocks to sit on and drink, sunbathe and also for diving into the ocean. Further down we noticed more stairs carved into the rocks right from the ocean to welcome swimmers ashore as well as kyackers and other boaters. It was a great place to rest up in the middle of all that wall climbing.

After finishing the wall we ate dinner at a tiny restaurant we had spotted from the wall earlier and which happened to be on my list of recommended local eateries. It was fantastic. John says it was our best meal of the trip. He had a seafood pasta and I had scampi which were very messy in a wonderful red bussola sauce. The scampi were huge and had to be completely peeled but I managed not to spill on my clothes. We were very thirsty so we had two liters of white Croatian wine which was crisp, dry and lovely. After that our waitress brought us complimentary Croatian brandy which is similar to Italian grappa but much smoother. It was very nice. But alas we had a ship to catch so we strolled back towards the main gate past people in the square eating and drinking outdoors with open wood fires and grills burning. There were torches lining the square and the street leading back to the gate. I wanted to stay and join the party and am determined to return for that reason. The last tender back to our ship was delayed so we had time for one more treat, homemade gelato. It was every bit as good as the gelato in Italy and something I always miss upon returning home.

When we returned to Split, having already toured the city in the past, we decided it would be fun to visit the nearby tiny island town of Trogir. It is only a mile long and completely medieval and the long distances buses all stop there so it seemed a convenient thing to do. The trip takes only 20 minutes by long distance buses heading north or 30 minutes by the local bus #37 or an hour by ferry. Always worrying about time and missing our ship we opted for the fastest route and headed straight for the bus depot from where all the buses depart. I would not have even recognized the strip mall like building with the giant valvoline sign painted on the end as the bus depot if I had not researched it in advance and seen the photo. My advance information indicated that long distance buses leave every ten minutes and to just catch the first one leaving when we get there. I had also noted not to buy a round trip ticket because we would then be stuck with the same bus company and might have to wait longer than necessary upon our return.

My first disappointment upon arrival and a brisk walk along the water front was that the next bus was not leaving for one half hour. There were no other bus companies that I could discern or even ask about, because I didn't know how to ask that question in Croatian, which might leave earlier, so we waited. At least we used the time wisely and found a Bankomat to get some Kunas so we were armed and ready to go. They let us board the bus early, which was nice because it was getting hot outside, and it is airconditioned.

The bus is very luxurious and comfortable and left right on schedule dropping us off across the street from a little bridge which connects to Trogir. We decided to be smart before crossing over to Trogir to confirm my return bus schedule and get our return tickets at the tiny bus station first. We also wanted to know exactly where to catch the return bus because this can also be tricky. But, alas, this was where the lost in translation problem stepped in. The clerk spoke to us in English but didn't quite understand my questions. We asked him what times the return buses to Trogir would leave. He told us there is only one per hour and gave us the approximate times. I should have been more specific about the buses but just couldn't get it out and I knew that didn't sound right. He also told us to buy our tickets when we returned which also didn't sound right but not knowing what to do, we went on across the bridge into tiny Trogir.

Trogir is another city completely inside walls but it is entirely medieval and the architecture is very consistent throughout being from around the 11th century. It is a maze of narrow streets inside which have no rhyme or reason for their direction making it very easy to get turned around in a hurry. The good news is that it is a tiny town so you know you will eventually get to the other end or the middle or the sides. The walls are made of a pleasant golden stone which makes it unusually bright and though the walls are high and buildings tall, the sun shines down to street level with a brilliance unusual to medieval towns.

Our main goal in Trogir is their magnificent 11th century cathedral with its unusual three architectural leveled tower. The cathedral itself is vast and dark inside, afterall, it is Romanesque and was built before the flying buttresses and stained glass windows. However, the tower is ornate and very attractive. The lower portion is Romanesque, the middle portion Gothic and the top section is Renaissance. It is only about maybe ten stories high but the climb is worth it for the nice view of the entire island as well as the water surrounding it and the rooftops of the town itself. It's an easy climb too because it is an open tower inside with wide modern rod iron stairs for the most part, though I met a girl who was afraid to do the climb because you can see all the way down. I guess it's not for those with acrophobia but the rest of us love it! At the very top it gets a little difficult because the stairs turn to stone and are very steep and narrow and worn down. There is a small opening at the top that you have to climb through to get to the roof. I was worried John would get stuck but he managed alright. The tower overlooks the main square and the museum, the two main sites of the town.

We enjoyed our afternoon in Trogir and found a nice seafood restaurant for lunch. There were pleasant surprises around every corner and every restaurant had fresh seafood on display. I could have spent some quality time there as well. At last we reached the large square Venetian fortress outside the walls and took a very pleasant waterfront stroll lined with grass and palm trees and lots of bars and restaurants with the usual outdoor seating. Behind them appeared to be grand hotels and apartments. The water was filled with yachts and other nice watercraft. It appeared to be a very affluent area. But our ship was awaiting so we headed back to the bus station for our 4:05PM bus back to Split.

When we returned to the bus station the man who had helped us before was gone. A young woman who was very nice advised us that we had just missed the bus to Split. It had left right at 4:00PM. I knew it! I knew the information had been wrong. I realized then that the man had assumed I was asking about the local bus, not the long distance bus.  She also said the next bus would not leave for another 40 minutes but it is the local bus #37 which takes a lot longer. We were worried. Our ship set sail at 6:00PM. We anxiously bought tickets and then she suggested we go look for the bus as perhaps it might still be out there so we ran out to the parking lot and looked at all the buses. We couldn't tell one from the other. None had names on the front except the obvious tour buses which had signs such as "Norwegian Jade" , which was our ship, in the windshield. So I ran back inside and asked her exactly where the bus would be parked and she advised to the left of the lot. It was the best I could do. But when I got to the lot there were only two buses parked on the left side and they both were tour buses. The bus in front had a sign "Norwegian Jade" in the windshield and there was no driver nor tour guide present. There were people on board however which indicated they must be departing soon. Sometimes you just have to fly by the seat of your pants so I made my decision and told John we were getting on that bus. He was agreeable to this idea as we hadn't many options and suggested we sit way in the back.

The bus wasn't even half full so we weren't fearful of taking someone's seat when we hurried to the back of the bus. Several people stared at us and one said "no" as we passed but I didn't care at that point. I was determined to get on that bus and no one was going to get me off of it. John and I were slumping down in the back with our hats pulled brims low over our foreheads trying not to giggle out loud. It wasn't easy because it was extremely funny, or so we thought. A very few short minutes later the driver and tour guide jumped on board and we took off without even a head count. Phew! What a relief.

We were on our way back to Split and doing a good clip when the tour guide commenced her narrative about Split in French. Oops, we had gotten on the French tour bus. This could be bad afterall. But ever the optimist I held my ground and my tounge and just signalled to John to do the same. I was enjoying her talk about the history of Split and what to do when there was some babble from some of the guests up front which I only partially understood. I heard her say "Group four?" and some more talk ensued. This was not good. Her speach was interrupted. I leaned over to John and told him that she thinks we are with group four and that theirs was group seven. I suggested we both keep our mouths shut and just pretend not to understand her. Suddenly she was standing there staring at us and yelled at us in French. We just sat there and tried looking stupid and shrugged our shoulders. So she yelled in English "Who are you?" Uh oh, we can't pretend not to understand her now. What to do? She commented next "I have to ask in English to get an answer from you!" This ticked me off a bit so I decided not to answer her at all. So she turned on John and asked him if we were supposed to be on another bus. Always quick, John said we were with group four and must be on the wrong bus. I interjected that we saw the sign on the front of the bus and we are on the Norwegian Jade and there was no one around to ask if it was the correct bus so we were afraid of missing it if we didn't board. She looked furious and got on the phone and called, I presume, group four to tell them they had two missing passengers but they didn't. Then she confronted us again and we both just shrugged again. I repeated that all we knew was we saw the sign and throught it was our bus. She turned and stomped back to the front and took up her narrative once again. But I heard lots of laughter from the others and know she said some snide things about us and probably how stupid Americans can be.

John and I held hands and smiled in relief. We got to stay on the bus. What could they do, turn around and take us back to Trogir? We weren't going to miss our ship afterall and in fact, would even have time to do some things in Split before boarding. It was all good and we were pleased that we can think on our feet and fly by the seat of our pants when necessary since, as we know, all the research in the world can not guarantee a flawless trip. This was one of those moments when we like to "high five" and enjoy the thrill of victory when the chips seem to be down. We could only sit and wonder what our friends would have thought of this had they come along as planned. Would they have agreed to jump on the bus or insisted on waiting for the local bus? What would they have thought about our bending of the truth? I would like to think they would have enjoyed it. Afterall, these are the stories that are fun to tell back on the ship while relaxing in the spa with new friends and for years afterwards because it will always bring laughter.

Dobargenie

Lost in Translation

Dear Reader,

I'm sure you've all heard the saying "Lost in Translation" and many of you might even have seen the movie so you'll understand this little tale from my most recent visit to Italy, Croatia, Greece and Turkey.

First I'd like to say that I always work very hard at speaking the language no matter where I am. In some places, France, Italy and Spain, for instance, I do very well, particularly in France. I studied Greek for about three months before our first adventure to that country and even made up a list of helpful words and phrases to use in Croatia. It's fun attempting to speak different languages and also very rewarding when they understand you. This is why it can be extremely frustrating when they don't.

We had rented an apartment in Bergamo, Italy in advance and being that it was our first stop after a very long flight, a shorter flight and then a 2 hour train ride, I wanted everything to go smoothly. Most of the transportation did go smoothly. The flights were on time. The train left right on schedule but then there was the hour's delay I mentioned before. This put our arrival in Bergamo after 9:00PM.

Since we had never arrived in Bergamo by train before, I asked the landlord if he meet us there. He responded that it is an easy 20 minute walk from the station to the funicular or a short bus ride and he would meet us at the top of the funicular. He said to send him a text upon our arrival and not to call him. Keep in mind, Bergamo is a hilltown. The lower city, the Citta Bassa, is modern and sprawling but flat. The upper city, the Citta Alta, is quite a climb and is best reached by the funicular which goes right up the side to the top. There are higher points than that in the Citta Alta and also another funicular leaving from the opposite side going up to another village which is even higher than Bergamo. This funicular is called Colle Aperto.

Before we left home as part of my extensive preparation and planning, all of which I type up in my "Practical Tips", I researched the buses in Bergamo and found that the number 1 bus leaves directly from the station in the direction of Colle Aperto and stops at the funicular station that we wanted. It is always important when traveling in a strange city in Europe especially to know the name of the end of the line for the buses so you don't go in the wrong direction. This happened to us years ago in Siena and we had a very long ride into the countryside in the wrong direction. Never again! Most buses have two directions unless you happen to be boarding at the beginning of the line. The bus number 1, for instance goes to Colle Aperto and in the opposite direction to the airport. These names are usually in large print on the front of the bus.

I printed out the schedule and directions to find the correct bus so we wouldn't waste time wandering about. Not all buses stop directly in front of the station. Several stop in an area off to the right across the small traffic circle. According to Fodor's, I believe, the number 1 bus was one of the latter. As soon as we arrived we headed out the front door of the station across the traffic circle to the bus stop. It was dark and there were lots of buses coming and going but no number 1. In the meantime, I sent a text to our landlord who said he would be waiting for us at the top of the funicular by the time we arrived. Finally I asked someone where the number 1 bus comes and she pointed to the front of the train station. Of course, one simple little piece of information had to be wrong. It happens all the time.

We returned to the front of the station where there is a traffic island in the middle with buses stopping on the left and on the right. None of them were number 1s. I sent another text to our landlord and he said again to take the bus to the funicular and he'd meet us. So we waited. We were both exhausted. No one standing outside the station, and by this point there were very few, knew about the number 1 bus. I saw two buses pass that said Aeropuerto (airport) so it made sense that the number 1 bus was still running. I began boarding every bus that arrived and asking them about the bus to Colle Aperto. Each driver said no, not this bus. I was beginning to worry at this point. Finally a bus arrived in the correct spot so I asked the driver in my best Italian if the bus went to Colle Aperto. He said "No, finished." in English. He said we would have to walk. Before I could clarify my question, he took off. I told John what the driver said and he replied "I knew it.".

At this point I sent a text to our landlord advising that the bus is no longer running and we would have to walk. He texted back again saying to take the bus to the funicular and he would meed us at the top. Obviously he did not get my meaning. I decided to call him even though he said not to but got no answer. Now I was mad. I knew we had to get off at the funicular. I knew we had to take the number 1 bus towards Colle Aperto. I just couldn't explain it in a text. Again I attempted to text my landlord but my Italian phone was somehow stuck on an unfamiliar program that changed every letter I typed to something else as it was guessing what I was trying to say. It was impossible to send a text that made any sense at all so we decided to hoof it to the funicular.

It was already well after 10:00PM by this time and we were wiped out. Every step felt like slugging through wet sand and my back was getting tired. As we reached the half way point to the funicular I glanced at the street and saw a number 1 bus with no sign stopped a few cars back from a traffic light in the middle lane. I started waiving my arms but he started to drive off so I ran into the street and banged on the door. The driver shook his head and pointed ahead to what I presumed was another bus stop. I shook my head as well and kept banging on the door until he opened it. I asked one simple question: "Funicular". He said "Si" so I waved at John and made him come running into the street with cars on either side of us and we got on board.

Two stops later we arrived at the funicular station. It wasn't a long wait for the funicular for which I was grateful but when we got to the piazza at the top we could not find our landlord, Gianmauro. Of course, it had been over an hour since my first text to him so I wasn't surprised. The problem was, even though we new approximately where the apartment is located, generally apartments don't have an office of any kind and the landlord needs to give you a key to get in. I tried texting Gianmauro again but the same stupid program kept changing my letters again. It was idiotic and I wanted to stomp on the stupid phone!

There's a nice little bar, gelateria across the piazza from the funicular. I remembered it well from last year when we had to call our landlord and wait for her to show up. I also had trouble last year calling our landlord because apparently I was not supposed to include the city area code or I was supposed to include it. It got lost in translation but fortunately, a very nice woman who works in the bar used her phone to call our landlord for us last year and explained to her that we were waiting.

Here we were again at the same bar waiting for our landlord. John sat down in one of their outdoor chairs but I felt too guilty to sit without buying something. So I went about asking every man if he was Gianmauro. Most of them looked at me like I was nuts. I kept trying to text with no good results. Finally, the angel from the bar asked if she could help me. There was no way I could explain to her in Italian why I couldn't text. I asked if she knows Gianmauro but she shook her head. I told her the name of the apartment and then some recognition came into her eyes. I showed her Gianmauro's phone number and she called him from her phone and he answered. Amazing. This made two years in a row that we were helped by the woman at the bar. It was embarrasing and I hope she doesn't recognize us the next time we are in Bergamo!

Gianmauro was at the apartment and said he'd be right over. When he arrived I tried to explain to him about the buses and the texts but it was lost in translation. He spoke very good English as well but didn't understand what I was saying about the Colle Aperto bus. He told me then that Colle Aperto is on the opposite side of the Citta Alta where the second funicular is located. He said people make that mistake all the time and go all the way to Colle Aperto and then have to walk across town to his apartment. I tried to explain that was not my intent, just the direction we needed but he just shook his head as if saying "stupid tourists" so I gave up. Even in English, I can't explain myself sometimes. Maybe it was just going for over 24 hours without any sleep and trying to concentrate on my Italian and all that walking that caused my inability to communicate. Plus having to use a foreign phone that I use only once per year when we go abroad made things even more difficult. Whatever the reason, it was a great relief to find Gianmauro still waiting around and to have such a wonderful apartment to rest in. I decided to concentrate on small talk and find out what restaurants might still be open at 11:00PM. 

In Croatia I put my list of words to work with mostly positive reviews. I knew how to say "please and thank you" and how to order a beer and a whole list of restaurant talk which I put to use first in Dubrovnik, then later in Split and Trogir. When we were walking the ramparts of Dubrovnik we stopped at a public WC where a very nice restroom attendant was in charge. I greated her in Croatian and she greated me back in kind. I got out my list of words to ask her a question and she gave me an entire Croatian language lesson while I waited for the john. It was fun. I had forgotten the word for goodbye so she told me that too and when I left I said goodbye and thank you in Croatian. She was all smiles.

In Athens I impressed the hell out of every clerk and waiter with my pronunciation of thank you which I cannot spell here but it sounds like "heff car east toe'". I could also greet them with the non-formal "Yassas", which is much easier than their formal greetings. Nothing there was lost in translation, though the only bus we took was in Piraeus to the metro stop and we had no tickets when we boarded because my practical tips advised we could purchase them from a newstand or ticket box. There was no ticket box at the cruise terminal in Piraeus so we went to a newstand only to find out they don't sell bus tickets. The good news is that the bus driver spoke English and gave us a free ride. We promised to buy our all day metro/bus passes at the metro station. Outstanding! Nothing was lost in translation there.

Being misunderstood or lost in translation isn't always a bad thing. The first time we went to Verona, Italy many years ago, I told John he was going to practice his Italian on that particular trip. I even enrolled both of us in an Italian 1 course which we both enjoyed immensly. Still, throughout the entire trip all over Italy, John froze up and made me do the talking. When we approached the desk clerk at a hotel in Verona, I nodded to John that it was his turn. He had all the words memorized and was ready to go. John politely greeted the desk clerk. He correctly requested a double room with private bath. He even asked for the nightly rate. I was impressed. Then John asked the clerk "Acete carta di genica?", or in English "Do you accept toilet paper?". The clerk looked at me with a very bemused face and we both lost it at the same time. Poor John, we howling in laughter and John didn't even know what he'd said. Before I could ask the clerk myself if he accepted credit cards he shrugged his shoulders and said "Maybe". We laughed some more and then he agreed they also accept credit cards.

For months after we returned home I looked for the charge for our stay in Verona on my credit card statements but we were never charged for our two night stay. Perhaps a little "lost in translation" can be a good thing, an ice-breaker, even a way to make new friends, as long as you can laugh about it.

Dobragenie (I think that's how it's spelled)