Our previous map made the cruise ship look like a pinball ricochetting around the eastern Med. And that's actually what it felt like at times as we crossed our own path from port to port. Part of this had to do with canceling the Israel portion because Syria's Assad gassed his own people and threatened other countries nearby. But part of it was due to the hassles of scheduling large ships into the small islands and ports of the Med. We're just glad it was someone else's headache and we could take a break from booking hotels, buying train tickets, and shagging bags across the continent.
The second segment of our cruise began in Athens where we had the pleasure of finding the Melina Mercouri Foundation near the Acropolis and learning more about this remarkable Greek actress and patriot.
She had memorable roles in such movies as "Never on Sunday," "Topkapi," and "Phaedra." But she also fought for democracy against the Greek dictatorship and later became a cultural ambassador for her country. She remains an inspiration to many.
As our ship left the harbor at Piraeus we settled in to another night of fine food and entertainment, and awoke in the morning to the magnificent sight of Santorini at dawn.
The caldera of Santorini (Thira, to the Greeks) was formed when the volcano exploded, leaving a large sea-filled crater. Over the centuries hardy Greeks fished these waters and built cliff-hugging villages. Today, they're open for business whenever a cruise ship hoves into sight. We decided not to take the donkey ride to the top of the rim, but opted for a fast (and wet) boat to the village of Oia and a bus back to the main town. The streets are gorgeously narrow, with expensive jewelry and art shops to lure the unwary. And each corner offers a new vista to shoot. It's every bit as dramatic as the pictures in the travel mags, and lunch overlooking our ship floating in blue waters far below was a high point. Reluctantly, we took the cable car back down to the harbor and the tender back to the ship.
Next, we awoke to what has to be one of the most impressive harbor entries in the world as the ship cruised slowly into Venice and we watched the city unfold before us. After we parked (with the other cruise ships), it was time to return to the charming streets of Venice. But this time we were looking for the Biennale. Every two years Venice has a huge international art fair and this was the year. We had seen the large red signboards from the ship as we cruised the waterfront, and then we hopped on a 'water bus' to the old Arsenale for the show.
It seems appropriate that the art show is held in the funkier part of town, where actual Venicians live and work. Art-related sayings decorate many of the shop windows, and street art abounds.
The Biennale grounds are the repurposed buildings of the ancient military arsenal, and the cavernous spaces provide plenty of room for art and, well, artistic 'statements' of all kinds. Some of it is brilliant and some is just odd. But taken all together, it makes for an excellent and provocative way to spend some time.
Dozens of countries also have pavilions to showcase their own artists. A few of the more memorable were the Russian exhibit of coins showering into a pile to represent avarice, and the Hungarian exhibit of unexploded bombs found in their country. Perhaps the most poignant was the Lebanese "Letter to a Refusing Pilot." In 1982 an Israeli pilot was ordered to bomb a certain building in Lebanon, but when he saw it was clearly a school he refused to follow orders and dropped his bombs into the ocean instead.
After the show we cross one of Venice's many bridges just as a wedding party is cruising by in a procession of gondolas – with an opera singer aboard. A few minutes later some guys in costumes wander by as we find a classical music concert to enjoy before retiring for the night.
We have two days in Venice, so in the morning we make our way to the Peggy Guggenheim Museum to enjoy works by many of the most famous artists in recent history.
Afterward, we find our way back through the maze of streets and enjoy a last cappuccino before reboarding the ship.
Dubrovnik was one of the places we had given up visiting because of the cost, but it would be our next stop on this cruise. The Croatian coast is a spectacular area of islands and rocky coves dotted with red tile roofed villages.
A ride on the aerial tram gets you a view of the city, the islands, and the Adriatic Sea. It also gets you to the museum commemorating the recent war of "Serbian and Montenegrin aggression" against Croatia and the senseless bombardment of historic Dubrovnik. It's an intense experience to see the exhibits and look out to the nearby mountains where the Serb artillery was stationed.
Back in the town below, the narrow streets of Dubrovnik are enclosed within ancient city walls and, for a few Euros, you can walk the entire length of the battlements. At a few points, the destruction of the Serbian-Montenegrin war is still evident in the burned out homes below.
Our next stop will be Kotor, Montenegro, yet another charming walled medieval city. We pull in as the sun begins to light the canyon walls. We don't know the current Montenegrin opinion of their nearby neighbors in Dubrovnik, and decide not to ask. But the thick walls surrounding each town speak of centuries of local conflict.
This time there's no aerial tram, so we hike to the top for the view, passing flowers and a small chapel on the way up to where the colorful Montenegrin flag flies in the breeze. Our ship is anchored far below in what's called a 'fjord.' But it's not glacially formed, so the city really rests in a protected location in a spectacular canyon off the sea. Back in town we stop for a pizza and some very good local red wine.
The Greek island of Corfu is next on the list. By this time we were both feeling "ruined" and didn't bother to look for more ancient piles of rocks. We just spent a nice day wandering the shore with sailing boats on the sea and the mountains of Albania in the distance. Plenty of local people were enjoying a morning swim, and we wished we'd thought to wear our suits.
But we enjoyed a cappuccino instead and rubbed the bright nose of Lawrence Durrell, an irreverent character, author of The Alexandria Quartet and one of the foremost 'Mediterranean' writers of the 20th century. I still want to walk along the Grand Corniche in Alexandria some day.
(http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/4720/the-art-of-fiction-no-23-lawrence-durrell)
In the afternoon, a regatta of yachts was returning to port as our ship pulled away from Corfu. For sailors like us, it looked like a fine place to return some day.
Corfu was our last stop before the cruise ended at Civitavecchia, the port city for Rome. It would also be our last "Formal Night, so we got as formal as we could manage – but I needed to wear sandals because my feet get hot in shoes. The question arises, "Are sandals really 'formal,' or not?" To which I have to reply, "WWJD?" (What Would Jesus Do?) Right, I think he'd wear his sandals.
But in the morning there were still a couple of final viewing opportunities. It was drizzly as we passed the Calabrian coast and rain swept the rear deck, but it eased as we entered the Straits of Messina, where Odysseus long ago fought off Scylla the dragon, and Charybdis the whirlpool. The cloud-shrouded mass of Mt. Etna loomed over the port of Messina on the Sicilian side.
And an hour or so later, we passed the smoking throat of Stromboli, Europe's most active volcano. KK, the ship's tour director reminded us of the torrid and scandalous affair between Ingrid Bergman and Roberto Rossellini when he directed her in the film called "Stromboli," using island residents as actors and extras.
Strangely enough, it was on the telly our first night in Rome, and we watched it for the scenes of village life at the time. The movie was in Italian, but we didn't have too much trouble figuring out the plot, and the pictures of island life in the early 1950s were worth the effort.
Next we'll make our way north through Italy by train, and have some adventures along the way. Be sure to join us. — PRW