The Captain’s name is Massimo Pennnisi - can you guess where he’s from? He is 39 years old (a mere baby by our standards) and has worked with Cruise Lines since he was 18. He looks very handsome in his white uniform and is fluent in at least five languages. Ho hum…isn’t everybody? He says his wife is glad to get rid of him for five or six months at a time.
At dinner the second night the damage in the Fantasia had disappeared and it was business as usual. Everything related to the dining rooms: food, service, ambiance, menu choices, quality of china and cutlery are equal to any cruise line. The dining rooms are decorated with pleasing décor and abundant with comfortable chairs, a real bonus for people on the ‘gain’ plan (more about that follows). Linen table cloths, polished glasses, charger plates, three forks, countless knives and dozens of other pieces of cutlery are scattered around each setting – only Julie & Julia know what they’re for. Each course is served on a charger plate that is set on top of the permanent charger plate which is not taken away until desert is served. For example, a simple bowl of soup involves a large plate, a small plate, the bowl and the main charger. 2300 passengers times 3 meals a day plus tea, snacks, pizzas, occasional deserts and whatever else equals seven to ten thousand meals per day. Each meal involves countless plates, bowls, glasses, saucers, cups and cutlery. 750 staff from 80 countries times tree meals a day, many cooked specific to ethnicity – it just gets so complicated we often rush to the buffet just for comfort. Even with 25 full time dishwashers, how do they keep up? Mark, our head waiter and Philippe, our server produce five star service in white tux and tie every night and almost never make a mistake – no one knows how they do it. The crispness of their service makes us shudder at how wrinkled and unpolished we must appear, and how refined they are in their impeccable, supercilious way. A serious rubbing of Silvo would do budget travellers like us a world of good. On the other hand, no one knows the history behind these gentlemen when they are not working. Philippe is from Brazil and his contract will end in Buenos Aires. Mark is from the Philippines and his contract was also up in BA, but Costa asked him to stay on for another two months – a very hard decision because he is so exhausted and has not seen his wife and child for many months.
The dinner menu is presented in leather binding with the insert printed in a script similar to that of William and Kate’s wedding invitation. It takes time to read a menu printed in six languages filled with fancy words in sinuous script and unheard of ingredients. Course after course just for the asking and since it’s an Italian line, can you imagine the bread and pasta? We are being conservative at all times and try to keep food consumption, no matter how delicious, down to about 1,000 pounds per person, per day. It’s not that easy but we are determined. Remember the joke about my cruise clients coming onboard as passengers and leaving as freight? Well we don’t want to be lifted off by a crane…
What is not so much fun is the ‘butting in’ by the astonishingly aggressive Italians. It is something to see how they push or reach in front of you into a line or stop dead right in front of you when walking for no apparent reason. If two or three are walking abreast they will not move over but will ‘innocently’ ram you and carry on like nothing happened. Maybe it’s because Costa is Italian so they have first rights to everything. We notice some Germans and French are a little like that too so maybe it’s just people in general in small spaces. Breakfast is served in three areas, two are huge buffets. You should see what people shove into themselves, and we’re not kidding. All restaurants close for 1 ½ hours then lunch is served in three places with the same result. Afternoon tea with fancy food is served in two places and then of course, there’s dinner which is served in two or three places, depending on the day. One night we didn’t eat dinner in the dining room, we chose instead to go to the pizza parlour at 10pm. We could not believe the number of people who had eaten a fancy dinner and were there eating again! During breakfast with our Aussie friends, Allan and Margo, we were joking about the pushing and shoving Italians. Then the conversation wandered to the subject of crime and express kidnappings in Brazil, and Richard dryly added that the Italians would probably struggle and push to be at the head of that line too, ‘get out of my way, I wanna be first to go to the bank with these people’.
We share our table with some mighty interesting folk. One couple, Kevin and Shirley, (married 30 years) are from Durban, South Africa, very knowledgeable about the itinerary and ports because this is their third Trans Atlantic sailing between Europe and South America. When they finish this cruise they will fly to Florida from Buenos Aires and do a sailing on the Oasis of the Seas, Royal Caribbean’s massive new floating city. Another couple, Paul and Lindsey (in their 20’s), from California, are on an extended honeymoon and celebrated their 2nd anniversary on December 6th. By the time they boarded the Victoria in Savona they had been travelling the world for seven months, and I mean the world – high energy adventure travel with amazing accomplishments on mountains and seas on almost all continents, a result of immense planning and budgeting the bucks. They worked several jobs and saved religiously to pay for their one year journey and plan to be home in April 2011. Only young people make that kind of travel look easy. We should kill them.
Lindsey and Paul mentioned they were in Paris when they decided to book this cruise, so they went to the Brazilian consulate to apply for the visas. They had to give up their passports for a week which meant they could not leave Paris. OMG, stuck in Paris??!!! What bothered them about applying in Paris - apparently Brazil has a ‘pay back’ clause with the US and although it is not called a visa fee, Brazil charges US citizens US$140.00 per passport plus shipping for permission to enter Brazil – that’s if the application is made at a consulate in the US. Well of course they applied in Paris so the fee was in euros – 140 euros X 2 equals about US400. For Canadians the Brazilian visas are good for five years (because passports are only valid for five years), but not in their case. Theirs is ten. Bonus.
Lindsey and Paul told us that when they were checking in for the cruise in Savona they met a Russian couple from Florida who did not have the Brazilian visas. They were denied boarding and advised to take the first train to Milan, fly to Barcelona and find a hotel, taxi to the Brazilian consulate the next morning and see if the officials would expedite the visas, then transfer to the port and board the ship before it sailed at 5pm. Tremendous Travel Terror! They stood to lose everything. We later learned that twenty people in total (mostly Americans) were denied boarding because of the visa problem. Of the twenty, nine gave up in Savona and forfeited the cruise. Eleven did fly to Barcelona from Milan and they all went together to the Brazilian Consulate the next day. The queue outside the consulate was already huge by the time the doors opened so their chance of success was almost nil. Two more dropped out. After hours of dread and uncertainty and much later in the day the consulate decided to grant the visas. The remaining nine were able to make the ship in time for sailing. These folks paid the same for their visas, 140 euros, but they were only valid for 90 days. Imagine the collective sigh of relief when they set foot inside their cabins.
Third night at dinner the two empty chairs at our table were occupied by Tom and Tom. They are two wonderful guys from the Tampa area and wow, did they have a story to tell. They rented a car to drive three hours from their home to the Miami airport, cheaper than leaving their car in paid parking. They slowly moved through the queue and were asked for their passports at Air France check in. Well. Tom remembered he did not have his; he had left it in the photocopier at home. They knew there was no way they could make the flight so they rented another car and drove home, heartbroken and deflated because everything was lost, the cruise, the airfare, hotel and car expenses, everything. Then Tom realized they still had one chance – the Victoria’s first port of call was Barcelona and she would remain there until 5pm December 3rd. Tom searched for internet options and considered buying two new tickets on a routing that involved two changes, one in Warsaw, Poland, if you can imagine - about as far in the wrong direction in Europe as you can get. Then he called Delta and spoke with an agent who said, let me see what I can do. The agent was off the line for awhile and returned to say he had found a way to get them to Barcelona. It would involve only one transfer and Delta would only charge them a ‘change fee’ of $150.00 per ticket. YeeHaa! The Delta rep became the hero of the century. To make a long story short, they arrived in Barcelona and were at the port when the Victoria arrived - two of the happiest and most excited men on the planet.
December 4, 2010 the Victoria was abuzz with the news. Spanish air traffic controllers went on strike that day and shut down all of the airports (every single one!) in Spain for the entire day…
Horseshoes! Every one of those delayed people had horseshoes, that’s all we can say!
That’s it for now. Stay tuned, there’s more to follow – some if it may even be true.
Hugs from R and D adrift off coastal Brazil.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Savona - Victoria day
December 2, 2010, 6:30am Victoria day. We walked briskly through the dark to the train station in Nice. There was no talking. We knew the way; we knew what had to be done. As if the first one to speak would spoil the dream. Our roller bags, Thelma and Louis, droned noisily behind, humming and bumping over every irregularity. Quiet, deserted streets still wet and glistening from their nightly wash seemed to welcome our early arrival and enticed us to stay with a remarkable cabaret of luminous black shine pierced by long reams of colourful reflections, so French, so hypnotic. So lost and lonely. It was two tall shadows passing through the foreground of a Toulouse Lautrec painting.
This is exactly what we bought with 35 euros – two 2nd class one-way tickets on two SNCF commuter trains and one Intercity Italian train from Nice to Savona. The two-tier French trains were clean and smooth and shiny and busy as hundreds of commuters disembarked in Monaco. The Italian train, well, it was just another graffiti filled rattling story. The scenery from the French to the Italian Riviera was picturesque and appealing and we clung to the coastal cliffs like sticky flies, flashed through dark tunnels and over bridges and paused in small romantic towns where people went about their business like they owned the place. The cadence of each train blended easily into the rhythm of the land and seemed at ease with the people and the houses and the farms, but cars and congested roads, traffic lights and parking lots did not belong.
We were surprised to see so much snow in the high mountains in France and Italy – no wonder it was so cold. The last thing we did before we checked out of the Hotel New-York was watch the BBC news. We were shocked to learn that much of England was under heavy snowfall and Gatwick Airport had been closed for more than 24 hours. Thank goodness we flew out of Gatwick a few days early. But were other Costa cruise passengers stranded there?
In Savona we set out for the port immediately at 10:30am. We walked past the queue of taxis outside the station with our noses high in the cool morning air. Thelma and Louis did the same. No thank you. A glimmer of a smile settled lightly on our lips. There’s something a little bit naughty about aging budget travellers being able to outsmart the extravagance of taxis and expensive hotels and the high cost of food in France and finding emergency bathrooms in five star hotels and…. We didn’t even notice if the drivers cared about our impecunious whimsy, we were so excited and so full of ourselves. Savona is a lovely city centered around shoe stores, little tiny cups of coffee and Italians. We would love to have lingered for a couple of nights but we could not find an affordable hotel. Expedia.ca listed only three in the city, but dozens along the Italian Riviera which was not what we wanted. Richard stopped at a travel agency to ask about hotels for our next visit, but they quickly referred him to the Tourist Office in the city centre. Anyway, Savona was our loss. We stopped at a coffee shop for a little teensy cup of coffee. The cup and saucer were like toys from Barbie’s kitchen – one large gulp and the cup would be empty. You could stick your tongue into the bottom of the cup and it would double back so far you would choke. So we practiced the sip. As thin as a lick of the lips. But it was ohhh so delicious. Savona is filled with exotic Italian things and as Richard pointed out, ‘we’ve been on the loose in Italy for well over an hour and haven’t even been robbed yet’.
As we approached the port a section of the road ahead was well under construction which meant a detour; walking along the side of the motorway in single file. Thelma and Louis were scared. At no time, as cars whizzed past only inches from our healthy future, did either of us shout out the word ‘taxi’ like it was a curse, or a death wish or any other kind of profanity, but the expression ‘What were we thinking?’ started cartwheeling across our sugary smiles like…and suddenly there it was! The Costa Terminal. And looming high into the sky above, the Costa Victoria. Sudden Death ha! Sudden Euphoria come on in! Our bags were taken over by eager handlers outside the terminal – tagged and carried off by conveyor into the belly of the ship. ‘Hope we meet up with you kids in the cabin later’, I whispered. Scenes from an old black and white movie flickered in my mind where the distraught wife and her angry husband were denied boarding and left at the dock while for some bleak and unknown reason the savvy luggage, Thelma and Louis, stood waving white handkerchiefs at the rail. ‘Goodbye Richard and Donna. See you when the war is over. We’ll write every day!’ ‘Bon voyage Thelma and Louis, ya dirty rats’.
I think about the following true story every time we take a cruise. During my years in the travel industry, a disaster happened to one of my best cruise clients, a very large, robust lady. She and her companion were booked on a Princess Cruise that included air from Calgary and transfers from LAX to the port in San Pedro. They flew Air Canada and to make a long story short, her luggage never arrived with the flight. Frantic searching by the AC baggage department produced no results and eventually the transfer company would wait no longer. Angry and upset she boarded the ship with nothing but her carry-on. Her bags never did show up because the ship was in a different port or at sea every day and the airline would not keep track. So she faced the 10 day cruise with just the clothes on her back. Because of her large size she couldn’t even buy new underwear at the various ports, let alone suitable cruise attire, bathing suit, etc. Negotiation with the airline resulted in a small stipend, which she spent on cosmetics and whatever clothes she could find. She received her luggage a few days after returning home, but of course it was too late. As further compensation, she was given two 50% discount vouchers for a future cruise. She had better luck on that one.
The excitement inside the terminal where hundreds of people were waiting to board their trip of a lifetime was disappointing. Everyone looked so unenthused, so bored. Eventually our group number was called and the check-in process began. There were more layers of security and regulations than a song has words but of primary importance to Costa were the Brazilian visas. The visas had to be inside some passports (depending on the country) ready for inspection. Some nations, for example citizens of the UK and South Africa, did not require visas because of homeland agreements with Brazil, but most European countries, Russia, United States, Canada, well…you better have that visa or there’s gonna be trouble! We were ready. In October Richard applied for a visa from the Brazilian consulate in Vancouver and was relieved to see, when he got his passport back, that his request had been granted. Visa cost for Canadians including courier in both directions, CA$105. Donna travelled with two passports, Canadian and United Kingdom, as per advice of the same consulate, and therefore did not need a visa.
More about Brazilian visas later.
We passed all the check-in tests as did thousands of others whom we later encountered at the welcome aboard lunch buffet. We were surprised at how conniving and muscular the Europeans can be when it comes to food. We entered Cabin 90218, Tosca Deck 9. Months of research had uncovered a lot of things about this cruise besides the extremely low price. First concern was stars. Costa Victoria only rated three, about as low as you can go in the cruise world today. So when we agreed to ‘book it’ we made up our minds that no matter what, the cruise was going to be amazing. I mean, if you knew about some of the bad hostels in some of the dodgy cities in our past, you would agree that a three star Costa cruise is a constellation.
Do you want to hear the real truth or do you want me to make something up about 90218 (so like 90210, isn’t it?). It was the rhythm of the rumba, it was the energy of the cha cha, it was the beauty, flash and glitz of the tango. It was ‘eat your heart out you expensive restaurants in Nice’! It was ‘take that, you ridiculously expensive taxi, I’m riding as a passenger on a three star ship to Buenos Aires instead of in the back seat of your one star worn out car. Oh, and by the way, how much would you charge to take us from the port in Savona, Italy to the port in Buenos Aries, Argentina with two pieces of luggage and a chip on each shoulder’? Okay, okay, perhaps the dance comparison was a little overstated but the cabin was absolutely lovely. King bed, fresh crisp linens, fluffy towels, in room safe, shower, ensuite toilet – you name it, we had it including the charming Elena, our cabin steward who promised to look after us faithfully and clean our cabin twice a day and supply us with ice and fix our bed and bring us news and more. Way more.
Or do you want the truth about ‘W’? Dubya. We only had two windows in our cabin, one of opportunity and the other running my computer. When we looked around 90218 there was no other W. Not that we weren’t aware of that in advance – we didn’t pay for a W. One can always hope, can one not? W’s cost twice as much, sometimes even more. Did Donna want a window? Although a window would have been nice the Victoria far exceeded our expectations? The constantly moving horizon would have made Richard seasick? The sun shining into the cabin all day long would have made it too hot? The sunrise would have been too bright? Too many people from passing ships would be staring inside our cabin? Rough seas would have made the window dirty anyway? Looking outside all the time is hard on your eyes? You can’t see anything at night so what’s the use?
Thelma and Louis were waiting for us in 90218. Lucky us. Lucky them.
Did I mention the weather? In Savona the sun was shining but it was cold, and I mean it. Lots of snow in the mountains nearby. Mean. We were wearing all the warm clothes we owned and we were still two miles short of being warm. Wait a minute, weren’t we on the Italian Riviera? Well not for long. At 5pm three long whistle blasts announced to all of Europe that the Costa Victoria was moving out. It was very chilly on deck when the bow thrusters revved up passengers fled indoors as soon a possible. In no time at all though, everyone was called back outside to pre-assigned life boat stations for the emergency drill. By that time the Vic was well under way and creating even more cold wind. More than two thousand passengers stood freezing on deck for about thirty minutes. Everyone had to participate in the drill - that’s the law.
First seating for dinner was at 6:30 and the dress was casual. There are two main dining rooms on the Victoria; we did not know we were in the wrong line. After waiting patiently the doors opened and seconds later we were kicked the heck out because we were at the wrong restaurant. So we and dozens of others stampeded over to the Fantasia – in case the more savvy and muscular Europeans had already eaten everything in sight. Whew! The doors of the Fantasia were still closed. And that’s how they stayed. About 400 frustrated people waited for almost an hour before they opened. Poor Costa. They had an opening night nightmare. A worst case scenario. Apparently a broken pipe inside the ceiling in the dining room flooded the carpet over a large area. They had to quickly cordon off the space, suck up the water and expedite repairs – but for hygienic and safety reasons they could not use that part of the dining room. The maitre de had to frantically redo his table lists to condense all first seating guests into a much smaller area. Members of the dining room staff were completely knocked off balance working from the wrong stations and in much tighter quarters, but they went about the business of serving late dinner to hundreds of grumpy guests. They did an amazing job. We felt sorry for Costa on the first night of a 20 night cruise because second seating would also be delayed. We shared a table with a French couple from Marseille, his name was Michelle and he looked exactly like the actor who played the part of the contractor in the series ‘A Year in Provence’, and an Australian couple, Allan and Margo from Canberra. Turned out Allan does contract work for the Australian Navy and Margo was a former Australian champion free-style skier. She was one of the Australian judges at the Calgary Olympics in 1988.
That’s all for now, ciao!
This is exactly what we bought with 35 euros – two 2nd class one-way tickets on two SNCF commuter trains and one Intercity Italian train from Nice to Savona. The two-tier French trains were clean and smooth and shiny and busy as hundreds of commuters disembarked in Monaco. The Italian train, well, it was just another graffiti filled rattling story. The scenery from the French to the Italian Riviera was picturesque and appealing and we clung to the coastal cliffs like sticky flies, flashed through dark tunnels and over bridges and paused in small romantic towns where people went about their business like they owned the place. The cadence of each train blended easily into the rhythm of the land and seemed at ease with the people and the houses and the farms, but cars and congested roads, traffic lights and parking lots did not belong.
We were surprised to see so much snow in the high mountains in France and Italy – no wonder it was so cold. The last thing we did before we checked out of the Hotel New-York was watch the BBC news. We were shocked to learn that much of England was under heavy snowfall and Gatwick Airport had been closed for more than 24 hours. Thank goodness we flew out of Gatwick a few days early. But were other Costa cruise passengers stranded there?
In Savona we set out for the port immediately at 10:30am. We walked past the queue of taxis outside the station with our noses high in the cool morning air. Thelma and Louis did the same. No thank you. A glimmer of a smile settled lightly on our lips. There’s something a little bit naughty about aging budget travellers being able to outsmart the extravagance of taxis and expensive hotels and the high cost of food in France and finding emergency bathrooms in five star hotels and…. We didn’t even notice if the drivers cared about our impecunious whimsy, we were so excited and so full of ourselves. Savona is a lovely city centered around shoe stores, little tiny cups of coffee and Italians. We would love to have lingered for a couple of nights but we could not find an affordable hotel. Expedia.ca listed only three in the city, but dozens along the Italian Riviera which was not what we wanted. Richard stopped at a travel agency to ask about hotels for our next visit, but they quickly referred him to the Tourist Office in the city centre. Anyway, Savona was our loss. We stopped at a coffee shop for a little teensy cup of coffee. The cup and saucer were like toys from Barbie’s kitchen – one large gulp and the cup would be empty. You could stick your tongue into the bottom of the cup and it would double back so far you would choke. So we practiced the sip. As thin as a lick of the lips. But it was ohhh so delicious. Savona is filled with exotic Italian things and as Richard pointed out, ‘we’ve been on the loose in Italy for well over an hour and haven’t even been robbed yet’.
As we approached the port a section of the road ahead was well under construction which meant a detour; walking along the side of the motorway in single file. Thelma and Louis were scared. At no time, as cars whizzed past only inches from our healthy future, did either of us shout out the word ‘taxi’ like it was a curse, or a death wish or any other kind of profanity, but the expression ‘What were we thinking?’ started cartwheeling across our sugary smiles like…and suddenly there it was! The Costa Terminal. And looming high into the sky above, the Costa Victoria. Sudden Death ha! Sudden Euphoria come on in! Our bags were taken over by eager handlers outside the terminal – tagged and carried off by conveyor into the belly of the ship. ‘Hope we meet up with you kids in the cabin later’, I whispered. Scenes from an old black and white movie flickered in my mind where the distraught wife and her angry husband were denied boarding and left at the dock while for some bleak and unknown reason the savvy luggage, Thelma and Louis, stood waving white handkerchiefs at the rail. ‘Goodbye Richard and Donna. See you when the war is over. We’ll write every day!’ ‘Bon voyage Thelma and Louis, ya dirty rats’.
I think about the following true story every time we take a cruise. During my years in the travel industry, a disaster happened to one of my best cruise clients, a very large, robust lady. She and her companion were booked on a Princess Cruise that included air from Calgary and transfers from LAX to the port in San Pedro. They flew Air Canada and to make a long story short, her luggage never arrived with the flight. Frantic searching by the AC baggage department produced no results and eventually the transfer company would wait no longer. Angry and upset she boarded the ship with nothing but her carry-on. Her bags never did show up because the ship was in a different port or at sea every day and the airline would not keep track. So she faced the 10 day cruise with just the clothes on her back. Because of her large size she couldn’t even buy new underwear at the various ports, let alone suitable cruise attire, bathing suit, etc. Negotiation with the airline resulted in a small stipend, which she spent on cosmetics and whatever clothes she could find. She received her luggage a few days after returning home, but of course it was too late. As further compensation, she was given two 50% discount vouchers for a future cruise. She had better luck on that one.
The excitement inside the terminal where hundreds of people were waiting to board their trip of a lifetime was disappointing. Everyone looked so unenthused, so bored. Eventually our group number was called and the check-in process began. There were more layers of security and regulations than a song has words but of primary importance to Costa were the Brazilian visas. The visas had to be inside some passports (depending on the country) ready for inspection. Some nations, for example citizens of the UK and South Africa, did not require visas because of homeland agreements with Brazil, but most European countries, Russia, United States, Canada, well…you better have that visa or there’s gonna be trouble! We were ready. In October Richard applied for a visa from the Brazilian consulate in Vancouver and was relieved to see, when he got his passport back, that his request had been granted. Visa cost for Canadians including courier in both directions, CA$105. Donna travelled with two passports, Canadian and United Kingdom, as per advice of the same consulate, and therefore did not need a visa.
More about Brazilian visas later.
We passed all the check-in tests as did thousands of others whom we later encountered at the welcome aboard lunch buffet. We were surprised at how conniving and muscular the Europeans can be when it comes to food. We entered Cabin 90218, Tosca Deck 9. Months of research had uncovered a lot of things about this cruise besides the extremely low price. First concern was stars. Costa Victoria only rated three, about as low as you can go in the cruise world today. So when we agreed to ‘book it’ we made up our minds that no matter what, the cruise was going to be amazing. I mean, if you knew about some of the bad hostels in some of the dodgy cities in our past, you would agree that a three star Costa cruise is a constellation.
Do you want to hear the real truth or do you want me to make something up about 90218 (so like 90210, isn’t it?). It was the rhythm of the rumba, it was the energy of the cha cha, it was the beauty, flash and glitz of the tango. It was ‘eat your heart out you expensive restaurants in Nice’! It was ‘take that, you ridiculously expensive taxi, I’m riding as a passenger on a three star ship to Buenos Aires instead of in the back seat of your one star worn out car. Oh, and by the way, how much would you charge to take us from the port in Savona, Italy to the port in Buenos Aries, Argentina with two pieces of luggage and a chip on each shoulder’? Okay, okay, perhaps the dance comparison was a little overstated but the cabin was absolutely lovely. King bed, fresh crisp linens, fluffy towels, in room safe, shower, ensuite toilet – you name it, we had it including the charming Elena, our cabin steward who promised to look after us faithfully and clean our cabin twice a day and supply us with ice and fix our bed and bring us news and more. Way more.
Or do you want the truth about ‘W’? Dubya. We only had two windows in our cabin, one of opportunity and the other running my computer. When we looked around 90218 there was no other W. Not that we weren’t aware of that in advance – we didn’t pay for a W. One can always hope, can one not? W’s cost twice as much, sometimes even more. Did Donna want a window? Although a window would have been nice the Victoria far exceeded our expectations? The constantly moving horizon would have made Richard seasick? The sun shining into the cabin all day long would have made it too hot? The sunrise would have been too bright? Too many people from passing ships would be staring inside our cabin? Rough seas would have made the window dirty anyway? Looking outside all the time is hard on your eyes? You can’t see anything at night so what’s the use?
Thelma and Louis were waiting for us in 90218. Lucky us. Lucky them.
Did I mention the weather? In Savona the sun was shining but it was cold, and I mean it. Lots of snow in the mountains nearby. Mean. We were wearing all the warm clothes we owned and we were still two miles short of being warm. Wait a minute, weren’t we on the Italian Riviera? Well not for long. At 5pm three long whistle blasts announced to all of Europe that the Costa Victoria was moving out. It was very chilly on deck when the bow thrusters revved up passengers fled indoors as soon a possible. In no time at all though, everyone was called back outside to pre-assigned life boat stations for the emergency drill. By that time the Vic was well under way and creating even more cold wind. More than two thousand passengers stood freezing on deck for about thirty minutes. Everyone had to participate in the drill - that’s the law.
First seating for dinner was at 6:30 and the dress was casual. There are two main dining rooms on the Victoria; we did not know we were in the wrong line. After waiting patiently the doors opened and seconds later we were kicked the heck out because we were at the wrong restaurant. So we and dozens of others stampeded over to the Fantasia – in case the more savvy and muscular Europeans had already eaten everything in sight. Whew! The doors of the Fantasia were still closed. And that’s how they stayed. About 400 frustrated people waited for almost an hour before they opened. Poor Costa. They had an opening night nightmare. A worst case scenario. Apparently a broken pipe inside the ceiling in the dining room flooded the carpet over a large area. They had to quickly cordon off the space, suck up the water and expedite repairs – but for hygienic and safety reasons they could not use that part of the dining room. The maitre de had to frantically redo his table lists to condense all first seating guests into a much smaller area. Members of the dining room staff were completely knocked off balance working from the wrong stations and in much tighter quarters, but they went about the business of serving late dinner to hundreds of grumpy guests. They did an amazing job. We felt sorry for Costa on the first night of a 20 night cruise because second seating would also be delayed. We shared a table with a French couple from Marseille, his name was Michelle and he looked exactly like the actor who played the part of the contractor in the series ‘A Year in Provence’, and an Australian couple, Allan and Margo from Canberra. Turned out Allan does contract work for the Australian Navy and Margo was a former Australian champion free-style skier. She was one of the Australian judges at the Calgary Olympics in 1988.
That’s all for now, ciao!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Bonjour Mesdames et Messieurs
Foreign languages - the most difficult aspect of travel aside from a ridiculously absurd ‘no taxi’ policy. From Spain, where we managed well and understood a little, to the UK where we managed better and understood a little more, to France where, mon dieu, people speak faster than machines and we understand almost nothing unless it’s in English. In France our ears are in constant confusion and our tongues are tied up like hostages, trying to remember a French word when there’s only Spanish. Hopefully things will improve when we pass through Italy….ha ha.
Easy Jet from Alicante to Gatwick was Easy – the hard part was adjusting to the change in weather. We quickly learned that the UK had dipped into the coldest deepfreeze in 17 years. What about our luggage full of shorts and Tilley Hats, we snivelled? We paid UKL5.40 (about CA$4.75 per ticket) for the ten minute train ride to Crawley, a town near Gatwick where many of the airport employees live. From the train station we were able to ask directions to the Holiday Inn Express and walk to the hotel. Most of England, Scotland and Ireland were under snowfall warnings but London was clear, just cold. By the time we reached the hotel we were baffled as to why we would leave a sunny place like Benidorm, where every UK citizen with a day off was currently smoking and drinking, for England where our upper lips had quickly become stiff and our faces started crackling with ice. Oh well we said, let’s just kill ourselves. Just kidding, we thawed out at the hotel and immediately did what every good red-blooded Canadian does when the weather is bad. We went to the mall. Seriously. We wanted to experience a round of pushing and shoving from the weekend Christmas crowds and thrill to a jolly good price thrashing. Even Santa Claus was shopping, we saw him in one of the stores. Crawley has an excellent mall with adjacent pedestrian shopping streets and all of the stores have heat. Mmm. Heeeat. We bought nothing.
It was fun to spend a little time in a London suburb where there are few tourists because we realized while we were bumping around like ping pong balls that the majority of older folks seemed healthy and the younger folks had kids and babies and strollers and were not like the stereotypical Brits we had seen in Benidorm. The British at home were of normal weight and size, most men seemed to have hair and the ladies appeared stylish and happy. Also to our amazement, Crawley and Gatwick had serious smoking bans; maybe all of England for that matter as we could easily breathe through the two little passages above our stiff upper lips. So I guess, just like partying Canadians at resorts in Mexico, Benidorm attracts specific types of vacationers.
We had been to Crawley several times in the past because during my travel agent years we would fly into Gatwick on a reduced fare and hang out until we found a last minute deal at a Crawley travel agency, then we would fly away that night or the next day to some exotic destination. In fact we visited Tunisia, Majorca, and the Costa del Sol on last-minute bargain packages. So here’s a tip - if you are travelling anywhere in Europe and don’t much care where it is, then fly into Gatwick and spend a night in Crawley. You too will find some mighty fine deals.
On day two in Crawley we planned to go into London and visit the Bridge and the Park and the Queen, but no, she was off travelling in the Middle East where the weather was warm. Without the Queen London was just too empty so we hung out at Crawley another day and wandered the streets as good as any homeless couple anywhere. You see, we did not have a hotel for the second night. Early morning flight to Nice with very early check in made another night at Gatwick a good option. It was fun; we got to the airport early on bus number 20 (cost UKL1.70 per ticket) from Crawley and quickly scored two of the best benches in the South Terminal. Envious people wandering around in transit daze all night stopped to covet our restful space. We came prepared. We had food and drink and a cable lock for our luggage and our Gore Tex jackets for covers. We still froze.
The miracle of travel. A few hours later, voila! Nous sommes a Nice. Like being dipped in the world’s finest chocolate and rolled in nuts. We had been to Nice many times while travelling on rail passes in 1994 and 1997 so the area was familiar. Bus 99 from the airport cost 4.00 euros each and dropped us off at the train station. We made the walk to the hotel in about 10 minutes. Yes it was overcast and cool, but not as cold as London. Well the lovely receptionist at the Best Western New-York Hotel (don’t ya just love the name - they must have run out of French cities) was so overwhelmingly French that we wanted to kiss her on both cheeks and speed away in her Renault. But non! We just stood there and paid for the room with cozy little smiles pasted on our faces. The BW hotel is very well located, couldn’t be better in fact, and fairly priced for low season in a class destination, so we were happy. It wasn’t until two days later that we learned the truth. The beautiful blond receptionist is actually not French at all; she’s from Slovakia and speaks four languages, Slovak, French, English and German. Well la di da…she seemed French!
The first problem we encountered in Nice was a big one. We couldn’t afford to eat. A coffee and croissant cost more than our entire Costa Cruise. Restaurants, even the bad ones, charge more for dinner that the GNP of some small countries. And that’s without frills like cutlery and napkins. More about food later if we haven’t starved to death…
And what about Nice, you ask? Well aside from the language, architecture, culture, epicurean cuisine, designer clothes, exotic wines and quaint little idiosyncrasies like low body weight and large determination, the French in Nice are just the same as people everywhere. And just a note about dogs - there are way more Yorkshire Terriers sniffing the poles of Nice than poodles. We have enjoyed all the sights on our walking tours, especially the architecture. Nice does not have a lovely sandy beach like Benidorm, her classy shores are miles of gravel and not so photogenic but she is being prettied up for Christmas and new decorations appear each day. Even the huge Ferris wheel is lit up at night.
Now let’s return to our lovely front desk receptionist, Nella, because she can help us understand why the French are so damned French better than any adjective or noun. We received our Costa Cruise documents online and some pages had to be printed for presentation to the cruise line at check-in. We wandered around Nice for an hour looking for an internet café. Finally down in old town we found a smoke filled dingy hole in the back of a small café. We agreed on a price with the owner for internet use and for printing (rule number one) before we started to log on. ‘Well, look at that’, Donna said to Richard. ‘At what’? Richard asked. ‘The keyboard’! Donna replied. ‘Some keys are in the wrong place. I can’t use this computer’. Could not believe it! So we left after trying to explain why to the owner. We resumed the search and later found an area with three internet cafes. Sure enough, all the keyboards were the same as the first. We decided to return to the Best Western and see if they could help us. We explained our keyboard problem to Nella, who said, ‘yes because I am from Slovakia I know the keyboards are different in France. I had the same problem when I arrived’. Then she hesitated for a second and said, ‘there is something about the French that is always different. In fact they HAVE TO BE DIFFERENT!’ Richard and Donna got it. They HAVE to be different, that is the law in France. Nella printed the pages for us, no problem.
And now a word about dining. Don’t know if you remember an earlier post where we could buy an English breakfast in Benidorm for 2 euros. We stopped at the Four Points Sheraton in Nice to use the washroom during our walk. We saw the sign, Petit Dejunner 21.50 euros. 21.50 X 2 = CA$60.00 for breakfast! What about lunch? What about dinner? And a snack with a café noir? A couple with an unrestricted budget could spend more on food in Nice in a week than a one week all-inclusive package with air from Gatwick to Benidorm. We truly do not understand how the French can afford to live in their country. Pretty sure we will never complain about the price of groceries in Calgary again.
One of our favourite finds in Nice was really very special. Estandon 2009 vin rouge. The nicest wine I think we have ever tasted. Another favourite was a lovely crepe lunch at a cozy little restaurant in old town. Run by a handsome Frenchman who had no problems with English and went about the business of serving up the best crepes in France. The petit café had eight tables inside (more outside) that would each seat two people. Most of them were full; two were pushed together to seat four young girls in their late teens or early twenties. You should have seen them. So absolutely, radiantly movie-star beautiful you have to wonder how it would be possible that so much splendour could fit into such a small space. They chatted and laughed with each other and the owner like they were regulars. Why them? Donna wondered without intending to stab them over and over with her crepe encrusted fork of jealousy. Well, it’s because the French are different. They HAVE to be different. That’s why.
And finally it’s time to talk about boots. In Spain if a lady doesn’t have a scarf tied around her neck, she’s not Spanish. In France if a lady doesn’t have a scarf around her neck and high boots on her legs she’s not French. You should see them - the boots I mean, sashaying down the rue below the slimmest designer clothes imaginable. Just like on the runway, and I don’t mean Gatwick. So much fun to watch it is worth the trip just for that! Meanwhile, I know people in France have been talking about Richard as well. This trip he is wearing the same plum coloured Gore Tex jacket he wore when he was here in Nineteen Ninety Four - sounds so Orwellian, doesn’t it - 1994? I think we’ve seen some French designers whispering with each other as we pass, ‘Mon Dieu, regardez cette jakat, now zair ees a fashion statement!’
Au revoir mon amour
Easy Jet from Alicante to Gatwick was Easy – the hard part was adjusting to the change in weather. We quickly learned that the UK had dipped into the coldest deepfreeze in 17 years. What about our luggage full of shorts and Tilley Hats, we snivelled? We paid UKL5.40 (about CA$4.75 per ticket) for the ten minute train ride to Crawley, a town near Gatwick where many of the airport employees live. From the train station we were able to ask directions to the Holiday Inn Express and walk to the hotel. Most of England, Scotland and Ireland were under snowfall warnings but London was clear, just cold. By the time we reached the hotel we were baffled as to why we would leave a sunny place like Benidorm, where every UK citizen with a day off was currently smoking and drinking, for England where our upper lips had quickly become stiff and our faces started crackling with ice. Oh well we said, let’s just kill ourselves. Just kidding, we thawed out at the hotel and immediately did what every good red-blooded Canadian does when the weather is bad. We went to the mall. Seriously. We wanted to experience a round of pushing and shoving from the weekend Christmas crowds and thrill to a jolly good price thrashing. Even Santa Claus was shopping, we saw him in one of the stores. Crawley has an excellent mall with adjacent pedestrian shopping streets and all of the stores have heat. Mmm. Heeeat. We bought nothing.
It was fun to spend a little time in a London suburb where there are few tourists because we realized while we were bumping around like ping pong balls that the majority of older folks seemed healthy and the younger folks had kids and babies and strollers and were not like the stereotypical Brits we had seen in Benidorm. The British at home were of normal weight and size, most men seemed to have hair and the ladies appeared stylish and happy. Also to our amazement, Crawley and Gatwick had serious smoking bans; maybe all of England for that matter as we could easily breathe through the two little passages above our stiff upper lips. So I guess, just like partying Canadians at resorts in Mexico, Benidorm attracts specific types of vacationers.
We had been to Crawley several times in the past because during my travel agent years we would fly into Gatwick on a reduced fare and hang out until we found a last minute deal at a Crawley travel agency, then we would fly away that night or the next day to some exotic destination. In fact we visited Tunisia, Majorca, and the Costa del Sol on last-minute bargain packages. So here’s a tip - if you are travelling anywhere in Europe and don’t much care where it is, then fly into Gatwick and spend a night in Crawley. You too will find some mighty fine deals.
On day two in Crawley we planned to go into London and visit the Bridge and the Park and the Queen, but no, she was off travelling in the Middle East where the weather was warm. Without the Queen London was just too empty so we hung out at Crawley another day and wandered the streets as good as any homeless couple anywhere. You see, we did not have a hotel for the second night. Early morning flight to Nice with very early check in made another night at Gatwick a good option. It was fun; we got to the airport early on bus number 20 (cost UKL1.70 per ticket) from Crawley and quickly scored two of the best benches in the South Terminal. Envious people wandering around in transit daze all night stopped to covet our restful space. We came prepared. We had food and drink and a cable lock for our luggage and our Gore Tex jackets for covers. We still froze.
The miracle of travel. A few hours later, voila! Nous sommes a Nice. Like being dipped in the world’s finest chocolate and rolled in nuts. We had been to Nice many times while travelling on rail passes in 1994 and 1997 so the area was familiar. Bus 99 from the airport cost 4.00 euros each and dropped us off at the train station. We made the walk to the hotel in about 10 minutes. Yes it was overcast and cool, but not as cold as London. Well the lovely receptionist at the Best Western New-York Hotel (don’t ya just love the name - they must have run out of French cities) was so overwhelmingly French that we wanted to kiss her on both cheeks and speed away in her Renault. But non! We just stood there and paid for the room with cozy little smiles pasted on our faces. The BW hotel is very well located, couldn’t be better in fact, and fairly priced for low season in a class destination, so we were happy. It wasn’t until two days later that we learned the truth. The beautiful blond receptionist is actually not French at all; she’s from Slovakia and speaks four languages, Slovak, French, English and German. Well la di da…she seemed French!
The first problem we encountered in Nice was a big one. We couldn’t afford to eat. A coffee and croissant cost more than our entire Costa Cruise. Restaurants, even the bad ones, charge more for dinner that the GNP of some small countries. And that’s without frills like cutlery and napkins. More about food later if we haven’t starved to death…
And what about Nice, you ask? Well aside from the language, architecture, culture, epicurean cuisine, designer clothes, exotic wines and quaint little idiosyncrasies like low body weight and large determination, the French in Nice are just the same as people everywhere. And just a note about dogs - there are way more Yorkshire Terriers sniffing the poles of Nice than poodles. We have enjoyed all the sights on our walking tours, especially the architecture. Nice does not have a lovely sandy beach like Benidorm, her classy shores are miles of gravel and not so photogenic but she is being prettied up for Christmas and new decorations appear each day. Even the huge Ferris wheel is lit up at night.
Now let’s return to our lovely front desk receptionist, Nella, because she can help us understand why the French are so damned French better than any adjective or noun. We received our Costa Cruise documents online and some pages had to be printed for presentation to the cruise line at check-in. We wandered around Nice for an hour looking for an internet café. Finally down in old town we found a smoke filled dingy hole in the back of a small café. We agreed on a price with the owner for internet use and for printing (rule number one) before we started to log on. ‘Well, look at that’, Donna said to Richard. ‘At what’? Richard asked. ‘The keyboard’! Donna replied. ‘Some keys are in the wrong place. I can’t use this computer’. Could not believe it! So we left after trying to explain why to the owner. We resumed the search and later found an area with three internet cafes. Sure enough, all the keyboards were the same as the first. We decided to return to the Best Western and see if they could help us. We explained our keyboard problem to Nella, who said, ‘yes because I am from Slovakia I know the keyboards are different in France. I had the same problem when I arrived’. Then she hesitated for a second and said, ‘there is something about the French that is always different. In fact they HAVE TO BE DIFFERENT!’ Richard and Donna got it. They HAVE to be different, that is the law in France. Nella printed the pages for us, no problem.
And now a word about dining. Don’t know if you remember an earlier post where we could buy an English breakfast in Benidorm for 2 euros. We stopped at the Four Points Sheraton in Nice to use the washroom during our walk. We saw the sign, Petit Dejunner 21.50 euros. 21.50 X 2 = CA$60.00 for breakfast! What about lunch? What about dinner? And a snack with a café noir? A couple with an unrestricted budget could spend more on food in Nice in a week than a one week all-inclusive package with air from Gatwick to Benidorm. We truly do not understand how the French can afford to live in their country. Pretty sure we will never complain about the price of groceries in Calgary again.
One of our favourite finds in Nice was really very special. Estandon 2009 vin rouge. The nicest wine I think we have ever tasted. Another favourite was a lovely crepe lunch at a cozy little restaurant in old town. Run by a handsome Frenchman who had no problems with English and went about the business of serving up the best crepes in France. The petit café had eight tables inside (more outside) that would each seat two people. Most of them were full; two were pushed together to seat four young girls in their late teens or early twenties. You should have seen them. So absolutely, radiantly movie-star beautiful you have to wonder how it would be possible that so much splendour could fit into such a small space. They chatted and laughed with each other and the owner like they were regulars. Why them? Donna wondered without intending to stab them over and over with her crepe encrusted fork of jealousy. Well, it’s because the French are different. They HAVE to be different. That’s why.
And finally it’s time to talk about boots. In Spain if a lady doesn’t have a scarf tied around her neck, she’s not Spanish. In France if a lady doesn’t have a scarf around her neck and high boots on her legs she’s not French. You should see them - the boots I mean, sashaying down the rue below the slimmest designer clothes imaginable. Just like on the runway, and I don’t mean Gatwick. So much fun to watch it is worth the trip just for that! Meanwhile, I know people in France have been talking about Richard as well. This trip he is wearing the same plum coloured Gore Tex jacket he wore when he was here in Nineteen Ninety Four - sounds so Orwellian, doesn’t it - 1994? I think we’ve seen some French designers whispering with each other as we pass, ‘Mon Dieu, regardez cette jakat, now zair ees a fashion statement!’
Au revoir mon amour
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