The Old (Wo)man and the Sea

I am learning–painfully–to exist in a world of intermittent internet, and to seek out hot spots and internet cafes when possible (i.e., when in port.) In Dubrovnik, we found a small cafe in what would have been an alley at home, but in this city of small warrens perched precariously on hills, was a thriving commercial way. 

The price for an hour’s connectivity was 20 kuna (seems high until you realize that converts to around 3 dollars), and the young man in charge could not have been more helpful. That made me feel even worse when I threw up in the only bathroom–I evidently caught a bug, and that episode began a rather embarrassing series of times I proceeded to “decorate” the Aegean coast.

I was still feeling uneasy when we boarded our boat,The Atlantia. We settled into our cabin (approximately the size of our bedroom’s walk-in closet) and were sitting on the back deck getting acquainted with the other passengers, when the boat took off in what I was to learn was a (thankfully) unusually rough sea. Let me just say I did NOT make it to my tiny en-suite bathroom.
The crew could not have been nicer or more helpful, and later that day, I would discover that one of our fellow passengers is a doctor. Thanks to her tube of magic pills and a much calmer sea (and the evident passage of whatever it was I’d caught), things on that front improved dramatically.

Every trip has its surprises; in this case, it has been the boat and crew of the Atlantia, and the surprises have all been wonderful.

If the crew of three has a motto, it is “no problem.” Whatever we need, whatever we ask, is “no problem.” Moreover, they are all amicable, personable, and just plain nice. Dom, the captain, and Ivan (who may be his brother, we aren’t sure) are handsome young men who seem to speak a number of languages, as does Tom, the cook.

Tom is older, and the biggest surprise. To call him a cook is an insult; even calling him a chef doesn’t do him justice. We found out that this trip isn’t his day job–off-season, he and his son run a large catering operation out of Zagreb. The ship provides breakfast and lunch, and the quality of the meals has been absolutely superb; local seafood, homemade pastas, wonderful fresh breads….we think they are missing a potential market by failing to advertise this as a gourmet cruise!

Another pleasant surprise has been the other passengers. As I noted in my last post, there are 11 of us: five French, four Australians, and us. The French include Natalie (the miracle doctor), her husband Bruno and son Paul, and two single women friends, Isabel and Michelle. Bruno and the other women are all in pharmaceuticals and evidently worked together for many years at Pfizer. The women look  just like we all think French women look like–not just slender, but svelte, with great figures. If they weren’t all so nice, I’d hate them. Paul, Bruno and Natalie’s 14 year old, is one of the most pleasant children I’ve been around–sunny and polite. All the French speak halting English–much better than the rest of us speak French.

One Australian couple is young–both engineers. The other is a couple a bit younger than Bob and I. Neil is a retired engineer, and against all odds, Barbara is a retired professor of public administration! We have had a great time comparing governmental structures and public policies.

(Speaking of policy, discussions with our fellow passengers–as well as the student I mentioned in my last post-have all included questions about US gun laws, which all other people seem to find absolutely mystifying. It is hard to explain the concerns of the NRA to civilized people .)

Our daily routine is as follows: we have breakfast at 8, then most of us lie sunning on the white mattresses on the ship’s bow. Others read or kibbutz. Most take swims in the sea, which is crystal-clear (Paul dives right off the bow). Yesterday, Ivan lost his cell-phone overboard, and they all dived for it. They could see it clearly on the bottom, although it was too deep to reach. 

We then have lunch, and sail to our next scheduled port. We go into the island (so far, they are magnificent–old, old cities, flowers everywhere, shops and restaurants), returning to the boat at our leisure, since it stays moored until the next day, when we do it all again.

Umm…remind me why I am coming home? 

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Sporadic Posting, Unconnected Observations

We left the Villa Fabrioni and the attentive hosts Sergio and Stefano, and after a night in Florence in a surprisingly good hotel near the train station (booked purely for convenience), we took a day-long train trip, first to Bologna where we spent a few hours marveling at the architecture, then on to Bari where we were to catch the ferry to Dubrovnik.

We had a momentary scare when the board first announced that our train was 50 minutes late, amid a number of “cancelletos.” But our train did in fact appear, and only 20 minutes late. While we were waiting, we struck up a conversation with a lovely young student from Argentina who–during our talk–asked me whether most young Americans were like those she met traveling. She tried to be diplomatic, but basically was appalled at how ignorant our college-age students were–not just about other countries and cultures, but about their own. She did not find this among her peers from other countries. It was difficult to argue with her perceptions, although I could assure her that there ARE bright and educated young people in the US. I must agree, however, that they are a minority, and that doesn’t bode well for our future.

And speaking for the impression left by our citizens, as we waited for the ferry, we met a truly embarrassing man from Florida. He took great pains to impress us–I assume he tries to impress everyone he meets, he seemed the sort–and he was everything we used to mean by the term “Ugly American.” He said he’d been coming to Italy for 20 years, and it was awful and getting worse. The decline, we found, was due to immigration, “just like at home.” I heard him talking to an English-speaking Italian woman about how dangerous the “dark people” were, and in lowered tones about Obama and his “socialism.” He told me he was an ex-Marine, so he knew how dangerous the Italians were (if he’d been describing their driving, fair enough, but he wasn’t), and proceeded to show me the knife he always brought to protect himself and his wife. All in all, a perfectly appalling specimen.

We got to Dubrovnik early the next morning, after a trip on a pretty gross ferry, and everything you have read about Dubrovnik is true. It is magnificent. The old city is a world heritage site, restored by Unesco, and it defies description. unfortunately, every tourist in the world has also read about it. The crush of tourism is unbelievable, and while a boon to the local economy, subtracts from the overall experience a bit.

At 2 in the afternoon, we boarded our small boat. We had worried because it only carries 12 passengers, and there are a lot of young, boisterous party people who choose to travel this way. We lucked out. We have 11 on board; five French, four Australians and us. Most are in their late forties or fifties, so we don’t feel QUITE so old. The trip has been fantastic so far, and I will write about the trip, the passengers–educated, thoughtful, and really nice–the next time I have internet.

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Disconnection from the Collective

Okay–I’ll admit it. I’m addicted.

Those of you who are Star Trek fans will recall the Borg–the species without individuals, who could not survive when severed from the Collective. I think I may be going in that direction. We lost internet two days ago (the whole village experienced an outage), and I felt utterly helpless.

Without internet, how could I look up information? How could I blog? What emails were going unanswered? To say the experience was anxiety-producing would be an understatement.

There are lessons to ponder, and not just that we may be becoming Borg-like. What would happen if a terrorist–or accident–took down the internet, or some substantial portion of it? We have created systems–banking, policing, communicating, etc. etc.-that simply would shut down if computerized systems no longer worked. Not to mention the psychic shock to our increasingly interconnected social systems.

I am one of those people who welcome change. Generally, I think technological innovation aids human progress. But I have to admit that our increasingly wired world has made it more difficult to disconnect, to be alone with our own thoughts and selves for extended periods of time. There is much research–and concern–that suggests these new technologies may be changing brain patterns in unanticipated ways.

In any event, I will have to cope with the experience for over a week, since it is unlikely that the small boat we will take from Dubrovnik will have wifi.

Blogging will be VERY spotty until we return to the US in early August. I know all of you will be fine–there’s plenty of other reading available to the connected.

If the last two days are any indication, I’m not so sure that I’ll make it.

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The Kindness of Strangers

What was that line from A Streetcar Named Desire about “always depending on the kindness of strangers?” Over the last day or so, that’s what we’ve done–and the strangers have been very kind.

We took a coach train from Berlin’s utterly magnificent new train station to Bologne, where we changed to a sleeper going overnight to Florence. Both trains were very nice–the 1st class coach was particulary spiffy. The sleeper itself evidently had been redone recently and would have been perfect had we not experienced what my family calls “the curse of Sheila”–no matter where we go, if there is a crying baby, it will be next to me. There was a very unhappy baby with excellent lungs in the next compartment; I could hear the parents desperately trying to “shush” him, but he cried most of the night. Needless to say, we slept fitfully.

We were pretty beat when we got to Florence, and (I hate to admit this) feeling stressed by our extended absence from wifi. This time, the trains didn’t offer internet access! (My god, how do they expect you to cope?) We saw an obviously high-end hotel, and had an overpriced breakfast in its restaurant in order to use the complimentary wifi.

Then our adventure began. We had the name of the Villa that daughter Kelly had booked, and the address shown on its internet site. It seemed clear that we should take a bus to the small town of Greve-in-Chianti, and a taxi to the Villa. We managed the bus, and thanks to kind strangers riding with us, also managed to disembark in the correct village (I tend to panic and get off too soon when I don’t know what I am doing and am inept at the language — both of which problems were present.)

Our first clue that we might have miscalculated came when we realized that there was no bus station. We walked across the street from where we had disembarked, to a bar/cafe, and asked the waiter whether there were any taxis that we might engage. He spoke halting English (a lot less halting than my Italian, admittedly). It turned out that there are two taxis in Greve, and neither was available. As we ate our lunch–delicious–he called the Villa for directions, and informed us that it was approximately 15 Kilometers.

We certainly weren’t going to walk, and our waiter said he could call a taxi from the next town, but that it would take an hour to arrive. So he called his father, who came a few minutes later and drove us to what proved to be a nearly-impossible-to-locate villa high in the hills around the neighboring village of–I think–S.Paolo. He had to stop four times to ask directions, and we made more than one wrong turn. He spoke no English, we speak no Italian except “gratzsi” (which I repeated fervently as we drove). I only hope the tip I pressed on him–he didn’t charge us–was sufficient.

Talk about the kindness of strangers!

I am writing this in a villa that has been restored and turned into seven or eight guest quarters of varying sizes, and waiting for the rest of the clan to arrive via rental cars. (Having driven in Italy before, Bob and I opted not to rent a car.) I hope they find this place; I’m not too confident!

We only got here because kind strangers took pity on two very tired, bewildered, elderly tourists.

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