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!