Jan arrived safe and sound in BA on January 6th. She is a friend from Calgary who winters in Palm Springs with her husband and dozens of close friends. Jan is just the best house guest ever; she is physically fit, has an unfailing sense of humour, is ready for whatever comes next and she loves to shop. Ha, ha, let’s not get carried away, let’s just say she takes shopping to a higher level than normally can be seen with a telescope. At one point we joked about buying a sturdy leather leash and collar like the dog walkers use in Buenos Aires. To hold her back from scourging the inside every dress store in the city. Every single dress store.
There are more dress stores in Buenos Aires than fire hydrants.
As I said in a previous post, Buenos Aires has many faces and some of them were ignoring us. Of course, BA is ‘Tango’ and Jan is a big fan. We attended three shows at the Borges Cultural Centre which is attached to the Gallerias Pacifico Shopping Centre on Florida Street. One was flamenco dance (ho hum) and the other two were tango (yee ha!) These shows are held in small theatres without flossy sets and are sold at bargain prices. The tango shows have a dancing cast of eight, a live orchestra and a Carlos Gardel type singer. The dance is edge of your seat remarkable and every complex step demonstrates the intricacy and intensity of the teamwork – they are the best in the world. A four inch heel could spike distress into a partner if timing is just a little off. We also visited the Carlos Gardel museum to discover the central history of the tango. Carlos was a singer, songwriter and actor who’s voice lifted the sultry music out of the brothels of la Boca and on to the world stage. The internet is filled to the brim of Gardel’s hat with information about his biography and the dispute about where he was born and the origins of the dance. If you are interested please read the attached Wikipedia link.
Another museum that caught our attention was so brand new it opened while we were in BA. The Beatles Museum. But make no mistake; nothing about the Beatle’s Museum was easy for the wimpy Spanglish. There were a couple of small write-ups in an English online newspaper but the location was sketchy and we had asked at an information booth the day before about the new museum, but the rep didn’t know anything, made a phone call and still knew nothing. After a great deal of online research we were pretty sure we could find it, so off we went on foot – a very long walk along overcrowded streets on a sizzling hot day. Pouring hot coffee over a ten mile chain of confused army ants would be a fair description of the walk. We stopped for help at another tourist information booth and bingo – this one knew the drill. Unfortunately she marked the museum in the wrong place but had the right street so we eventually found the entrance after a rather undainty walk of about 76 blocks in the wrong direction. Inside Paseo de la Plaza we asked one of the maintenance men for the exact location of the museum. He did not know. Even though it was only a few feet away, he just did not know! Hot. Did I mention that by the time we arrived, Jan was ready to rewrite It’s Been a Hard Days Night into It’s Been Hell All Day and then murder the Fabulous Four as well as the not so fabulous two. Honestly, she was good sport about anger management even after we found out the museum did not open until 5pm. Alas we were turned away and again slunk off into the searing melee with our tempers bumping along behind. We were Day Trippers gone bad. But now this! We returned another day and everything was so easy. What was all that fuss about anyway? The museum boasts the largest collection of Beatle memorabilia in the world. It includes a brick from The Cavern Club, the original club in Liverpool, a check for £11 signed by Ringo Starr and even a box of condoms branded with the names of John Lennon and Yoko Ono. The collection is the work of Rodolfo Vazquez, a 53-year-old accountant who became a fan at the age of 10 when he got their album Rubber Soul. Since then he has collected everything he can related to the Fab Four and has amassed more than 8,500 items. In 2001 he was recognised by Guinness World Records as having the planet's largest collection, with a hoard of 5,612 items. But his haul has kept growing and his museum, which opened on Avenue Corrientes is attracting tourists from all over the world. Imagine how busy it would be if people could actually find the place!
We stopped at many other tourist sights that were also entertaining. The Steel Flower was inaugurated in April 2002 and become one of the icons of Buenos Aires. Officially the flower goes by the name of Floralis Generica, but since nobody remembers the 'scientific' name it is called the Big Steel Flower. And big it is at 23 metres high, weighing 18 tonnes. The petals used to open and close but the mechanism broke so lately it has been stationary. When the petals are open they span 32 metres and the flower sits in the middle of a pond to enhance the reflection. Interesting!
The famous Recoletta Cemetery also merits mention because it receives about 500,000 visitors a year and they can’t all be wrong. As one of the guide books states, you can spend hours wandering the grounds that cover 4 city blocks, full of tombs adorned with works by local and international sculptors. More than 6,400 mausoleums form an architectural digest. The most popular is the tomb of Eva "Evita" Perón, which is always heaped with flowers and letters from fans. To prevent her body from being stolen, as it had been many times by the various military governments installed after her husband's fall from grace in 1955, she was finally buried in a concrete vault 27 feet underground in 1976. Many other rich or famous Argentines are buried there as well, including a number of Argentine presidents.
Out of curiously Jan asked a guide at the entrance to Recoletta about the body of Juan Peron. Well that is an interesting story! Perón was buried in La Chacarita Cemetery in Buenos Aires. In 1987, his tomb was desecrated and his hands and some personal effects, including his sword, were stolen. Perón's hands were cut off with a chainsaw. A ransom letter asking for US$8 million was sent to some Peronist members of Congress. This profanation was a ritualistic act to condemn Perón's spirit to eternal unrest, according the book La segunda muerte (Peron's Second Death), which connected it to military officers involved during Argentina's Dirty War. The bizarre incident remains unresolved.
On 17 October 2006 his body was moved to his former summer residence in the Buenos Aires suburb of San Vincente. People were injured in riots, as Peronist trade unions fought over access to the ceremony. The police contained the violence enough for the procession to move to the mausoleum. This move of Perón's body offered his self-proclaimed illegitimate daughter the opportunity to obtain a DNA sample from his corpse. Martha Holgado, 72, had been trying for 15 years to do this DNA analysis, which, in November 2006, proved she was not his daughter. Martha Holgado died of liver cancer, on June 7, 2007. Before her death, she vowed to continue the legal battle to prove her patronage to Peron.
The Eva Peron Museum was also a highlight, and the lunch in the courtyard was one of our favourites. We also walked the length of Florida Street with its relentless pressure of dizzying crowds way too many times, shopping and visiting the Borges Cultural centre. We took a day trip by train to el Tigre, a charming area 17 miles north of BA. Tigre lies on the Paraná Delta and is a huge tourist attraction but it is also a residential destination as hundreds of beautiful weekend cottages are scattered along the banks of the canals. El Tigre sits on an island created by several small streams and rivers and was founded in 1820, after floods destroyed other settlements in the area. We took a one hour boat ride along the canals and enjoyed insight into the priveleged lives of rich and famous Argentines. A wonderful way to spend an afternoon except for one thing. Jan took a tumble, a bad one. We thought she broke her glasses, nose and front teeth. Alas, you simply cannot keep an old travel agent down. She was back up in no time, not complaining, whining or moaning and, after a quick clean up, went on about the business of being a die hard toursit. Nose, lip, knee and elbow all with collateral damage. Yikes! Poor Baby! After that, we were all more careful.
We rode the subway, waited for busses, strolled and ran and sometimes we even walked in the right direction. We visited shopping malls, grocery stores, market stalls and thousands of small dress shops; we went to San Telmo twice, La Boca three times, visited Puerto Madero and strolled along Avenida Santa Fe (and a few hundred other Avenidas). We had dinner in an overpriced restaurant on trendy Baez Street, we ate breakfast in the apartment and at our favourite sidewalk cafe, we enjoyed many dinners at our beloved empanada restaurant and at our affordable and delicious state of the art vegetarian restaurant. We were there in the crowd, on the street to welcome the back the participants of the Dakar race - almost as exciting to see them finish - and a once in a lifetime thrill for us all. In fact we did a lot more than this report could ever reveal, but you are quite tired of reading and enough is enough.
We left the apartment at 6am on January 21st by taxi headed for the airport, but good old reliable Jan stayed behind to clean up our affairs. At 2:30pm she met with a representative of the landlord for the outgoing inspection and accepted on our behalf, the return of our US$300.00 deposit, then took a pre-arranged taxi to the airport herself. Her flight wasn’t until 8pm. What follows is her email sent to us in Quito, but it is so good I asked for permission to add it to the blog. She’s an excellent writer and after years of being in the travel industry (she managed a large agency in Calgary with about 15 employees) she knows bad service when she meets it face to face. Enjoy!
Monday, January 24, 2011
Jan's Email
January 23, 2011
Hi you two,
I finally got home @ 1645 on the 22nd. Far cry from the original 1000 arrival. I went to bed at 1730 and woke up at 0730 this am. Yikes!
So sorry to hear about the food poisoning, what a disaster. Hope you are all better now. Did the medicine that Richard & I used in BA help at all? I do not think you will give the cute little restaurant a second chance. Probably had chipped cups as well!
No problems after you left the hacienda of Carlos. I went back to bed and got up about 1000. I started to pack using your roll method. It worked well. I had a leisurely shower complete with water perfection and none on floor...rah.
I thought to myself, self why not hang wet towel on balcony for a few minutes to speed drying of same . I was pretty sure it was rude and a no no, but I gave in to my impulse. I hung it, walked to the side of the bed and the phone rang. It was Carlos, telling me to get rid of the towel...not allowed. This brings rise to the question...where was Carlos lurking and had he been there all along??? Perhaps he was one of our buddies in the sandbox?
I'm not kidding, not even four minutes lapsed between hanging of towel and phone call. H'mmmm I decided only to dress in the bathroom, not the bedroom. Needless to say the towel as quickly removed from balcony.
I finished packing and even got the suitcase closed. Since it was only 1130, I went to the Arretta for cafe con leche and a scone. I had two of each (both coffees in a chipped cup) but they were delicious. The waitress was the cute (and very thin) one we had before. She told me the people who sat behind us while you where working on the internet were also Canadians. She (waitress) was very nice and her English was pretty good. It was a lovely morning and I was sitting outside and loving it all.
Man in wheelchair had different clothing on (I suspect he is really Carlos) and was looking quite presentable. Went back to apt. and changed in bathroom and awaited the "inspection". Carlos' sister arrived (very young, thin & gorgeous). Inspection took two seconds and I am now clutching your $300.00 (no penalty for towel). I may not have it by Mar 30th but we'll see. Sister called the taxi company for me and they arrived soon after. A very nice man took me to the aeropuerto, and I got there about 1515. I tipped him twenty pesos and he was pleased.
I could not check in until 1630 so finished my book and gave it to a woman who was travelling home to Wyoming. I whiled away the rest of the time by paying fifty pesos to have my bag wrapped in plastic. I was so paranoid that the cheap damn thing might explode in transit and then where would I be. It gave me GREAT peace of mind so it was worth it.
As I stood in the huge lineup to check in, I was wondering how you folks did, if you had enough time for all the line ups...it took forever. On to security, and another massive lineup, but finally got through. When I was eventually released into the departure area, I found it to be one giant duty free shopping area. You will be so amazed to learn that I did no shopping except for a bag of potato chips which I proceed to wolf down.
At last we boarded and off to Lima. The Lima airport is the best, once you get into the waiting area, the first thing you see is the H. Stern jewelry store. WOW....my credit card was trembling, but I calmed it and assured that would be more time later. There was a group of Peruvian musicians playing in the lobby. They were not looking for tourist money and they looked like they were having a great time. Lots of interesting shops to peruse, but by now was too tired to do more than look.
Finally on the plane to SFO. Stewardii acting like it was privilege for us to have contact with them, very superior, very haughty, very boring. I watched three movies but sleep would not come
My seatmate did not have the same problem I have never seen anyone sleep like that in a plane. Not even one trip to the washroom during the whole nine hour flight! Her kidney's were a lot younger than mine. I spent some time hovering around the staff area of the plane just to get some standing room. They did not like that much...did I care...NO!
Arrived in SFO at 0730 on time. Thought lots of time for my legal connection. Wrong...huge line up for customs where they gave the entire plane a thorough going over. Found plastic wrapped case (still intact) and headed for UA to get on flight to PSP at 0852. Only one clerk on duty and who had a PHD in WITCH and STUPIDITY. No one cared that I was missing my flight while she diddled around with some client who could not decide what she was doing. The clerk finally granted me an audience at 0815 only to tell me there would be no 0852 flight for me, I would have to wait until 1455 for the next flight. By this time I was almost hysterical with tiredness. Miss WITCH informed me that she was doing me a favour by not charging me a change fee for missing the first flight. She does not know it but she almost suffered a near death experience. I think she knew I was at the edge so there was no discussion about baggage fees.
I wandered around the terminal which I now know well enough to lead guided tours through. Had a hamburger...not nearly as good as the one on Libratador and twice as expensive. Read another book and moaned (not too) quietly. Listened to two Filipina UA uniformed staff members talk loudly in their first language (not English), laugh gleefully at their conversation, fiddle with an electronic device, talk on that (not in English), sit down, yawn, stand up, open strap on security gate, close it, sit, laugh, talk, and generally do nothing for three hours at least. I WANT THAT JOB.
Finally I am aboard the flight to PSP. Stewardess is named Sueann and must be in her sixties, very professional, very nice, not worried about picking up a rich old guy and ignoring all else. Why do they only put bimbos on international flights and check in counters and save the good ones for minor domestics?????
John was waiting for me when I got off the plane complete with a dozen red roses! I was so tired that the poor soul got little thanks or conversation. Got home...went to bed (alone) By the time I got up this am, he was gone. I know he said something about golfing with cousin George but I have no idea when!
It is great to be here but I am already planning my next trip to BA. Want to come?
Be safe and well and write me when you get this tome.
Thanks again for a wonderful time. I never would have made it to BA without you two.
Jan
Hi you two,
I finally got home @ 1645 on the 22nd. Far cry from the original 1000 arrival. I went to bed at 1730 and woke up at 0730 this am. Yikes!
So sorry to hear about the food poisoning, what a disaster. Hope you are all better now. Did the medicine that Richard & I used in BA help at all? I do not think you will give the cute little restaurant a second chance. Probably had chipped cups as well!
No problems after you left the hacienda of Carlos. I went back to bed and got up about 1000. I started to pack using your roll method. It worked well. I had a leisurely shower complete with water perfection and none on floor...rah.
I thought to myself, self why not hang wet towel on balcony for a few minutes to speed drying of same . I was pretty sure it was rude and a no no, but I gave in to my impulse. I hung it, walked to the side of the bed and the phone rang. It was Carlos, telling me to get rid of the towel...not allowed. This brings rise to the question...where was Carlos lurking and had he been there all along??? Perhaps he was one of our buddies in the sandbox?
I'm not kidding, not even four minutes lapsed between hanging of towel and phone call. H'mmmm I decided only to dress in the bathroom, not the bedroom. Needless to say the towel as quickly removed from balcony.
I finished packing and even got the suitcase closed. Since it was only 1130, I went to the Arretta for cafe con leche and a scone. I had two of each (both coffees in a chipped cup) but they were delicious. The waitress was the cute (and very thin) one we had before. She told me the people who sat behind us while you where working on the internet were also Canadians. She (waitress) was very nice and her English was pretty good. It was a lovely morning and I was sitting outside and loving it all.
Man in wheelchair had different clothing on (I suspect he is really Carlos) and was looking quite presentable. Went back to apt. and changed in bathroom and awaited the "inspection". Carlos' sister arrived (very young, thin & gorgeous). Inspection took two seconds and I am now clutching your $300.00 (no penalty for towel). I may not have it by Mar 30th but we'll see. Sister called the taxi company for me and they arrived soon after. A very nice man took me to the aeropuerto, and I got there about 1515. I tipped him twenty pesos and he was pleased.
I could not check in until 1630 so finished my book and gave it to a woman who was travelling home to Wyoming. I whiled away the rest of the time by paying fifty pesos to have my bag wrapped in plastic. I was so paranoid that the cheap damn thing might explode in transit and then where would I be. It gave me GREAT peace of mind so it was worth it.
As I stood in the huge lineup to check in, I was wondering how you folks did, if you had enough time for all the line ups...it took forever. On to security, and another massive lineup, but finally got through. When I was eventually released into the departure area, I found it to be one giant duty free shopping area. You will be so amazed to learn that I did no shopping except for a bag of potato chips which I proceed to wolf down.
At last we boarded and off to Lima. The Lima airport is the best, once you get into the waiting area, the first thing you see is the H. Stern jewelry store. WOW....my credit card was trembling, but I calmed it and assured that would be more time later. There was a group of Peruvian musicians playing in the lobby. They were not looking for tourist money and they looked like they were having a great time. Lots of interesting shops to peruse, but by now was too tired to do more than look.
Finally on the plane to SFO. Stewardii acting like it was privilege for us to have contact with them, very superior, very haughty, very boring. I watched three movies but sleep would not come
My seatmate did not have the same problem I have never seen anyone sleep like that in a plane. Not even one trip to the washroom during the whole nine hour flight! Her kidney's were a lot younger than mine. I spent some time hovering around the staff area of the plane just to get some standing room. They did not like that much...did I care...NO!
Arrived in SFO at 0730 on time. Thought lots of time for my legal connection. Wrong...huge line up for customs where they gave the entire plane a thorough going over. Found plastic wrapped case (still intact) and headed for UA to get on flight to PSP at 0852. Only one clerk on duty and who had a PHD in WITCH and STUPIDITY. No one cared that I was missing my flight while she diddled around with some client who could not decide what she was doing. The clerk finally granted me an audience at 0815 only to tell me there would be no 0852 flight for me, I would have to wait until 1455 for the next flight. By this time I was almost hysterical with tiredness. Miss WITCH informed me that she was doing me a favour by not charging me a change fee for missing the first flight. She does not know it but she almost suffered a near death experience. I think she knew I was at the edge so there was no discussion about baggage fees.
I wandered around the terminal which I now know well enough to lead guided tours through. Had a hamburger...not nearly as good as the one on Libratador and twice as expensive. Read another book and moaned (not too) quietly. Listened to two Filipina UA uniformed staff members talk loudly in their first language (not English), laugh gleefully at their conversation, fiddle with an electronic device, talk on that (not in English), sit down, yawn, stand up, open strap on security gate, close it, sit, laugh, talk, and generally do nothing for three hours at least. I WANT THAT JOB.
Finally I am aboard the flight to PSP. Stewardess is named Sueann and must be in her sixties, very professional, very nice, not worried about picking up a rich old guy and ignoring all else. Why do they only put bimbos on international flights and check in counters and save the good ones for minor domestics?????
John was waiting for me when I got off the plane complete with a dozen red roses! I was so tired that the poor soul got little thanks or conversation. Got home...went to bed (alone) By the time I got up this am, he was gone. I know he said something about golfing with cousin George but I have no idea when!
It is great to be here but I am already planning my next trip to BA. Want to come?
Be safe and well and write me when you get this tome.
Thanks again for a wonderful time. I never would have made it to BA without you two.
Jan
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
From the Sidewalk Cafe
Buenos Aires is Sidewalk Cafes. Forget everything else. The greatest happiness of your life is as follows; you see your favourite café from afar and spot an empty table in the shade. Your eyes squint to full zoom –yes, vacant. Your pace quickens. Like the devious and impulsive Mr. Bean, you look around warily to see if someone else also has an eye on your table - and $150 Nikes on their feet. You begin to really hustle - even though you didn’t actually see anyone else closing in, you can sense their presence and know they can run faster than you. Argentines can be so aggressive. You break into a full out run – it is imperative that you arrive before any and all competitors. Your finger touches the arm of the vacant chair. Home free, ha ha! na na! You look around with a wad of gloat smacked on your face and then spectacularly settle into the well-deserved winner’s seat. Puffed up and satisfied, even a little breathless, you don’t even notice that the chair is quite without back support and a tad uncomfortable, that there’s not much room for your legs under the table and that the table is rickety and wobbly. You completely disregard (for now) the delivery truck idling a few feet away, filling the area with fumes. The waitress comes out fashionably late. Young, slender, good looking, dangling earrings, friendly, speaks not a word of English. ‘Café con leche y tres media lunas, por favor’ – standard BA lingo for desayuno – breakfast of coffee with milk and three small croissants. From the winner’s circle you can now relax and gaze expertly over the rim of your cup as you lovingly polish the apple of your eye. You are ready. The real fun is about to begin.
A café junkie. Thousands of cafes line the leafy sidewalks and corners in BA and every one of them is busy – from morning until late at night. By city ordinance, the buildings on every street corner have to be cut at an angle to enlarge the sidewalk area and allow more light to filter through. The entire planet walks and drives past your wobbly table during a single café con leche and every passer-by is a ‘person of interest’ to your investigation. Let’s start with shoes. Because BA in summer it is so hot and humid, it is always worthwhile to see how well people’s feet are coping. Oddly enough everyone seems to be wearing shoes. Flip flops, sandals, high top sandals, wedgies, high heels, flat shoes, dress shoes, runners – you name it, they wear them. Well there’s nothing different about that, is there? The majority of people in the neighbourhood look European – they could be from France, Italy or Spain, Germany, on and on. For the most part though, they do not look Mexican, American or Canadian which you might think is surprising because how would we know the difference? Well it is almost impossible to not spot North American tourists; even though they try and blend in they look different. Portenos, as people from Buenos Aires are known, are slender – young or old it doesn’t matter, they are thin. It is a ridiculous physical condition and how dare they flaunt the fact that they eat less and exercise more than anyone else? Of course, Argentina is a world leader in implants and plastic surgery, so some of those slender gals with wrinkle free skin and more dangerous curves than a slippery slope are targets for nonchalant scrutiny from every sidewalk café in town. Generally, Argentines are not particularly tall, but some are. They do not seem to have a ‘defining set’ of features that would enable you to say, ‘this man or that lady is Argentine’. Not by hair color, facial features or bone structure. BA is an energetic young city and it appears that there are far more people in the neighbourhood wearing sexy jogging attire and $150 Nikes than people wearing housedresses and sensible shoes. Further to that, possibly because of the heat or possibly because of a reason that has never occurred to people who were born where the weather is cold 300 days a year, most women, young and old, wear dresses and skirts when they are not jogging or sun bathing, but not slacks or jeans. Some wear little bitty teeny skirts at that. Possibly related to that topic but maybe not, for some reason there are lots of women pushing baby strollers, lots of mothers walking with children, lots of families out for dinner on Sundays. Like their parents, Argentine babies do not have any defining characteristics except they love their soothers as much as their parents love sidewalk cafés. Like everywhere else except maybe Asia and India, some babies have blond curly hair, others are bald, some are blue eyed, etc. All of them stare up into your face suspiciously as they roll past. The baby strollers themselves are as varied and colourful as fruit at the market, all of them look expensive and a few appear to be sturdy enough for the Dakar. Some people may have even sold the baby in order to afford the stroller, which they then use for moving groceries. And that’s another thing. We find almost everything to be quite expensive including groceries – even with Canadian currency. A good steak dinner at a fancy parrillia (grill) restaurant starts at, let’s say 160 pesos. Divided by four equals CA$40. Last time we were here (November 2007) the exchange was a division of three – but the meal cost 90 pesos, about CA$30. Even with a strong Canadian dollar inflation has hit Argentina hard and porteno life is expensive. In fact Richard says he is running through cash faster than his legs will carry him to the bank. Maybe he needs new Nikes (and a sexy little jogging shirt).
Meanwhile, back behind the rim of the cup, the sidewalk café is busy and other patrons don’t seem to care who got to the vacant chair first. They are reading their newspapers, working on laptops, chatting with friends. A little dog is sometimes sprawled out and asleep at parton's feet. Not one person at the outdoor café realizes or cares that what they are doing at this exact moment is impossible everywhere in Canada. In an entire country. It is just not fair. The white coffee tastes yummy, better than hot chocolate even, but as it disappears, fear begins to dig its surly fingers into the complacency of the muse. The beautiful moment is rushing past like an out of control pendulum and the only way to prolong it is to order another cafe con leche. Yes indeed, you need more time. A dog nanny walks past with seven or eight dogs of varying sizes and colors strung together on sturdy leather leashes. They all seem to be having fun, these dogs. Instead of being locked up in a pen or inside an apartment, they go out and meet their friends’ and play in the park while their parents are at work. It’s a great system – a sane system because everyone has at least one dog. Meanwhile, the black and yellow taxis flit past, one after another after another like bumble bees pollinating flowers. A delivery truck double parks across the street and the driver leaves the motor running while he makes his delivery. It's not his gasoline. Everyone is carrying something as they wander by – a bag, a purse, a book, a backpack. Business suits, high heels, slinky skirts, shorts, long hair, short hair, well dressed, poorly dressed - they are all on the sidewalk, fenced in by the perimeter of the view, focused on their business at hand. And what is their business at hand? Well according to BA sources there are 40,000 taxis and all of them need at least one driver. There are 144 bus lines running thousands of city busses and many of them need drivers. The subway line covers 46 kilometres with 80 stations and they need drivers, ticket sellers, security, and maintenance and so on. There are thousands and thousands of apartment buildings in dozens of Buenos Aires barrios and each one requires maintenance and cleaners and security. So here’s the thing. Instead of ever-sprawling suburbs filled with high profit big box stores found in Canada and America, BA neighbourhoods are manageable and self contained. They have small and smaller grocery stores, small shops of every kind and plenty of them, expensive restaurants, sidewalk cafes, toy stores, hardware, laundries, bakeries, hospitals, clinics, drug stores, parks, transportation – in fact every neighbourhood is entirely self sufficient. In a city of millions you live and shop in your own neighbourhood and you don’t need to drive your car for basic necessities. You support your local business and the business in turn supports the neighbourhood. It’s a novel concept. Why didn’t we think of that?
For sure one of the quirks of BA city life is this. Garbage. How does a city of 13 million, give or take, deal with garbage? Well here’s what we have observed. Citizens carry their garbage to assigned corners and place their bag, or bags, on the street. I know, I know, it doesn’t seem realistic. Or hygienic. And what about sipping café con leche in your favourite restaurant behind piles of garbage? Well we recommend that you choose your café carefully. As day passes into night, the piles grow larger. And then, quite late every night men with little carts come along and look inside every bag and remove the cardboard and bottles and whatever else they recycle for cash. So the beauty of all this is, at 7:30am every single morning you can hear the unbelievably noisy garbage truck roar around the corner a block away. You wait patiently as the collectors’ work their way along, clinking and banging and slamming, closer and noisier by the second. You hold your breath until they are outside your building, and then you let it all out when they move on. Miraculous really – by the time you head for your morning coffee, it’s all gone. We have wracked our brains to try and figure a more efficient, more sanitary method for handling garbage in such a large city and we have come up empty headed. Life is so tightly packed all over BA – no back alleys, no extra room for anything and they have developed a system that works in spite of what we think we know.
One thing that is a bargain in BA is public transport - trains, busses and metro. But don’t think it’s easy. You have to share everything public with a few million others and there’s never any air conditioning. Regular gasoline costs about CA$4.60 per imperial gallon, much cheaper than in Europe, more expensive than in Brazil but similar to what we pay in western Canada. Since our arrival we have not seen a single Hummer or very many SUVs or trucks, mostly cars, many new. Lots of motorcycles, scooters and power bikes. Clothing is sometimes expensive, especially name brands, but shoes are not. Leather goods are less expensive, electronics are outrageous. When we were in BA three years ago, internet cafes were plentiful and cheap to use. Now they are pretty much gone completely. Every restaurant, café, library and public washroom has free wifi. If electronics are so expensive, how do so many afford them? We don’t know. Since or arrival, twice there have been rumours about bank machines being out of cash and television interviews of frantic people unable to make withdrawals. Also, we have seen long lines of automobiles waiting to buy gasoline – gas shortage or news hype, we don’t know. On January 4th a big story hit the news. It was about the bank robbery – just like the movie the Bank Job – look it up! From a building rented six months earlier, thieves tunnelled 98 feet into a BA bank during New Years and broke into and robbed 130 safety deposit boxes. Many Argentines began storing their cash and savings in safety deposit boxes after the financial crisis of 2001, when thousands of people with bank deposit accounts lost a lot of money. Well you gotta feel sorry for them – it’s a sad way to start the New Year.
Beside our apartment and across the street from one of the sidewalk cafés is a little park. When we arrived on December 22nd, the park was alone all night and only busy with moms and dogs and children during the day. Lately though, the park has been occupied full time by a couple of homeless men, one with a wheelchair because he only has one leg. They sleep in the park and they sit on the retaining wall all day. We’re not sure if they use the sandbox, but they have become as permanent in the neighbourhood as a sidewalk cafe. Sometimes we say hello to them on our way in and out of the apartment. They are quite friendly. They ask for nothing. They are very unwashed, seem intelligent and in fact they seem quite happy - but to us they are oh so vulnerable and helpless. It is such a heartache. We feel for their situation but, even though it is inexcusable to do nothing, we realize there are thousands more like them scattered around this massive city. How do we help them? We do not know.
Well, the second cup of coffee is gone and it's time to move along. Any minute now someone will spot the empty table from afar and hustle over with their little dog. It is always coffee time at the sidewalk cafes in Buenos Aires.
Another post will soon follow with information about Jan’s visit and the sights of Buenos Aires.
Hasta Luego!
A café junkie. Thousands of cafes line the leafy sidewalks and corners in BA and every one of them is busy – from morning until late at night. By city ordinance, the buildings on every street corner have to be cut at an angle to enlarge the sidewalk area and allow more light to filter through. The entire planet walks and drives past your wobbly table during a single café con leche and every passer-by is a ‘person of interest’ to your investigation. Let’s start with shoes. Because BA in summer it is so hot and humid, it is always worthwhile to see how well people’s feet are coping. Oddly enough everyone seems to be wearing shoes. Flip flops, sandals, high top sandals, wedgies, high heels, flat shoes, dress shoes, runners – you name it, they wear them. Well there’s nothing different about that, is there? The majority of people in the neighbourhood look European – they could be from France, Italy or Spain, Germany, on and on. For the most part though, they do not look Mexican, American or Canadian which you might think is surprising because how would we know the difference? Well it is almost impossible to not spot North American tourists; even though they try and blend in they look different. Portenos, as people from Buenos Aires are known, are slender – young or old it doesn’t matter, they are thin. It is a ridiculous physical condition and how dare they flaunt the fact that they eat less and exercise more than anyone else? Of course, Argentina is a world leader in implants and plastic surgery, so some of those slender gals with wrinkle free skin and more dangerous curves than a slippery slope are targets for nonchalant scrutiny from every sidewalk café in town. Generally, Argentines are not particularly tall, but some are. They do not seem to have a ‘defining set’ of features that would enable you to say, ‘this man or that lady is Argentine’. Not by hair color, facial features or bone structure. BA is an energetic young city and it appears that there are far more people in the neighbourhood wearing sexy jogging attire and $150 Nikes than people wearing housedresses and sensible shoes. Further to that, possibly because of the heat or possibly because of a reason that has never occurred to people who were born where the weather is cold 300 days a year, most women, young and old, wear dresses and skirts when they are not jogging or sun bathing, but not slacks or jeans. Some wear little bitty teeny skirts at that. Possibly related to that topic but maybe not, for some reason there are lots of women pushing baby strollers, lots of mothers walking with children, lots of families out for dinner on Sundays. Like their parents, Argentine babies do not have any defining characteristics except they love their soothers as much as their parents love sidewalk cafés. Like everywhere else except maybe Asia and India, some babies have blond curly hair, others are bald, some are blue eyed, etc. All of them stare up into your face suspiciously as they roll past. The baby strollers themselves are as varied and colourful as fruit at the market, all of them look expensive and a few appear to be sturdy enough for the Dakar. Some people may have even sold the baby in order to afford the stroller, which they then use for moving groceries. And that’s another thing. We find almost everything to be quite expensive including groceries – even with Canadian currency. A good steak dinner at a fancy parrillia (grill) restaurant starts at, let’s say 160 pesos. Divided by four equals CA$40. Last time we were here (November 2007) the exchange was a division of three – but the meal cost 90 pesos, about CA$30. Even with a strong Canadian dollar inflation has hit Argentina hard and porteno life is expensive. In fact Richard says he is running through cash faster than his legs will carry him to the bank. Maybe he needs new Nikes (and a sexy little jogging shirt).
Meanwhile, back behind the rim of the cup, the sidewalk café is busy and other patrons don’t seem to care who got to the vacant chair first. They are reading their newspapers, working on laptops, chatting with friends. A little dog is sometimes sprawled out and asleep at parton's feet. Not one person at the outdoor café realizes or cares that what they are doing at this exact moment is impossible everywhere in Canada. In an entire country. It is just not fair. The white coffee tastes yummy, better than hot chocolate even, but as it disappears, fear begins to dig its surly fingers into the complacency of the muse. The beautiful moment is rushing past like an out of control pendulum and the only way to prolong it is to order another cafe con leche. Yes indeed, you need more time. A dog nanny walks past with seven or eight dogs of varying sizes and colors strung together on sturdy leather leashes. They all seem to be having fun, these dogs. Instead of being locked up in a pen or inside an apartment, they go out and meet their friends’ and play in the park while their parents are at work. It’s a great system – a sane system because everyone has at least one dog. Meanwhile, the black and yellow taxis flit past, one after another after another like bumble bees pollinating flowers. A delivery truck double parks across the street and the driver leaves the motor running while he makes his delivery. It's not his gasoline. Everyone is carrying something as they wander by – a bag, a purse, a book, a backpack. Business suits, high heels, slinky skirts, shorts, long hair, short hair, well dressed, poorly dressed - they are all on the sidewalk, fenced in by the perimeter of the view, focused on their business at hand. And what is their business at hand? Well according to BA sources there are 40,000 taxis and all of them need at least one driver. There are 144 bus lines running thousands of city busses and many of them need drivers. The subway line covers 46 kilometres with 80 stations and they need drivers, ticket sellers, security, and maintenance and so on. There are thousands and thousands of apartment buildings in dozens of Buenos Aires barrios and each one requires maintenance and cleaners and security. So here’s the thing. Instead of ever-sprawling suburbs filled with high profit big box stores found in Canada and America, BA neighbourhoods are manageable and self contained. They have small and smaller grocery stores, small shops of every kind and plenty of them, expensive restaurants, sidewalk cafes, toy stores, hardware, laundries, bakeries, hospitals, clinics, drug stores, parks, transportation – in fact every neighbourhood is entirely self sufficient. In a city of millions you live and shop in your own neighbourhood and you don’t need to drive your car for basic necessities. You support your local business and the business in turn supports the neighbourhood. It’s a novel concept. Why didn’t we think of that?
For sure one of the quirks of BA city life is this. Garbage. How does a city of 13 million, give or take, deal with garbage? Well here’s what we have observed. Citizens carry their garbage to assigned corners and place their bag, or bags, on the street. I know, I know, it doesn’t seem realistic. Or hygienic. And what about sipping café con leche in your favourite restaurant behind piles of garbage? Well we recommend that you choose your café carefully. As day passes into night, the piles grow larger. And then, quite late every night men with little carts come along and look inside every bag and remove the cardboard and bottles and whatever else they recycle for cash. So the beauty of all this is, at 7:30am every single morning you can hear the unbelievably noisy garbage truck roar around the corner a block away. You wait patiently as the collectors’ work their way along, clinking and banging and slamming, closer and noisier by the second. You hold your breath until they are outside your building, and then you let it all out when they move on. Miraculous really – by the time you head for your morning coffee, it’s all gone. We have wracked our brains to try and figure a more efficient, more sanitary method for handling garbage in such a large city and we have come up empty headed. Life is so tightly packed all over BA – no back alleys, no extra room for anything and they have developed a system that works in spite of what we think we know.
One thing that is a bargain in BA is public transport - trains, busses and metro. But don’t think it’s easy. You have to share everything public with a few million others and there’s never any air conditioning. Regular gasoline costs about CA$4.60 per imperial gallon, much cheaper than in Europe, more expensive than in Brazil but similar to what we pay in western Canada. Since our arrival we have not seen a single Hummer or very many SUVs or trucks, mostly cars, many new. Lots of motorcycles, scooters and power bikes. Clothing is sometimes expensive, especially name brands, but shoes are not. Leather goods are less expensive, electronics are outrageous. When we were in BA three years ago, internet cafes were plentiful and cheap to use. Now they are pretty much gone completely. Every restaurant, café, library and public washroom has free wifi. If electronics are so expensive, how do so many afford them? We don’t know. Since or arrival, twice there have been rumours about bank machines being out of cash and television interviews of frantic people unable to make withdrawals. Also, we have seen long lines of automobiles waiting to buy gasoline – gas shortage or news hype, we don’t know. On January 4th a big story hit the news. It was about the bank robbery – just like the movie the Bank Job – look it up! From a building rented six months earlier, thieves tunnelled 98 feet into a BA bank during New Years and broke into and robbed 130 safety deposit boxes. Many Argentines began storing their cash and savings in safety deposit boxes after the financial crisis of 2001, when thousands of people with bank deposit accounts lost a lot of money. Well you gotta feel sorry for them – it’s a sad way to start the New Year.
Beside our apartment and across the street from one of the sidewalk cafés is a little park. When we arrived on December 22nd, the park was alone all night and only busy with moms and dogs and children during the day. Lately though, the park has been occupied full time by a couple of homeless men, one with a wheelchair because he only has one leg. They sleep in the park and they sit on the retaining wall all day. We’re not sure if they use the sandbox, but they have become as permanent in the neighbourhood as a sidewalk cafe. Sometimes we say hello to them on our way in and out of the apartment. They are quite friendly. They ask for nothing. They are very unwashed, seem intelligent and in fact they seem quite happy - but to us they are oh so vulnerable and helpless. It is such a heartache. We feel for their situation but, even though it is inexcusable to do nothing, we realize there are thousands more like them scattered around this massive city. How do we help them? We do not know.
Well, the second cup of coffee is gone and it's time to move along. Any minute now someone will spot the empty table from afar and hustle over with their little dog. It is always coffee time at the sidewalk cafes in Buenos Aires.
Another post will soon follow with information about Jan’s visit and the sights of Buenos Aires.
Hasta Luego!
Monday, January 3, 2011
Adios Costa Victoria, Hola Buenos Aires
Message posted on Facebook by Janet Beaucage Halada, January 1, 2011
In my next life I want to come back as you!! Oh what fun and how wonderful it is that you can see the world. You two are the matching pair of bookends! Thanks for taking me along on your odessy. Happy New Year to you both, I can only imagine what it will bring.
Love ya, Janet
Adios Costa Victoria
At the start of the cruise, passports were taken away from all passengers by the officers of the Costa Victoria and locked in the safe. There is a reason for that.
Here’s the main thing you should know about cruise ships – when they say the ship sails at 5pm, you better be on it or be ready to wave goodbye from the pier. As per marine protocol for tides, pilot boats and a myriad of red tape issues, even if passengers are delayed for important reasons the ship will sail on time. We spoke with Bob from Florida and he told us his story. He and his friend were taken to a different jewellery store in Rio, but they got caught in serious traffic and were not back by departure time. In fact when they heard the three long blasts they were still in traffic, sweating and turning themselves inside out with worry. Finally, agonizingly late, they arrived at the dock in time to see the Victoria sailing out of the bay. Costa ground staff at the terminal apologized for the fact that Bob and friend were stuck in Rio while all their possessions were floating to Ilhabela. Fortunately, because of the above rule, their passports had been left for them by the ship’s officers. Costa staff worked with them to find a solution and suggested a limousine. For US$800, a limousine and driver would take them in comfort to the ferry and across to the island of Ilhabela. If all went well, they could join up with the ship the next morning. The rest is history. They arrived in Ilhabela at 3:30 am and hung out until the ship dropped anchor at 8:00am. None the worse really, only their wallet had lost a few pounds. It’s a good story. It’s a good lesson.
We loved the people at our table on the ship – in fact they were all so much fun and so different that it was a race to get there every night. No one wanted to skip an evening meal because that would mean missing the laughter and fun at the table, especially from the Tom and Tom comedy team. Since we parted company, one by one we have been in touch with all our table friends through Skype. Nice people now scattered across the globe. Ships passing…
Paul and Lindsey, the young backpackers from California, spent two steamy nights at a hostel without air con before they moved in with us. Lucky us, they were our Christmas presents! (Along with the little red tree donated by Tom and the beautiful little photo album from Sheldon and Leanna). Christmas dinner for four – gourmet chicken sandwiches and fruit salad. If independent travel was a calculator, Paul and Lindsey’s mathematical numbers would reach the top; electronically savvy, energetic, cheerful, adventurous – two downright nice people. When they return home in April 2011, they will have experienced the majority of the world’s wonders in a single trip. Check out the link to their blog.
And as for us, well Buenos Aires is a high-flying Shirley cartwheel! It is the second largest city in South America with a metro population of 13 million but the city proper is much smaller. Two thirds of the residents live in apartments – that suits us fine. BA has suffered dramatically throughout her turbulent past – dictatorships, the dirty war that killed 30,000 and the New Year’s fire at the Republica Cromagnon Nightclub in 2004 that killed more than 200 people, bombings, on and on. But she has also thrived and for the moment she is one gorgeous babe all dressed up for a night out.
This time our apartment is in Palermo, an even better location than our 2007 apartment in Barrio Norte. Not too many tourists in Palermo, just a lovely residential area. Our apartment is on the first floor of tree lined Ruggieri Street where, within a three block radius there are dozens of little restaurants and side-walk cafes. BA culture is so comfortable; it’s like settling into your favourite chair to read your favourite book. Most people do not own washers and dryers, instead they use local laundry services, one on every block, to wash, dry and fold their clothes. Cost is 15 pesos per load, about CA$4. Every block has at least one bakery with fresh media lunas (small croissants with a sweet coating, shaped like little moons) and a myriad of tempting and delicious treats. Dulce de leche (sweet milk) is everywhere, in ice cream, in sauces, in jars and bottles, in baked products, you name it - in fact you could spread dulce de leche on a banana peel or mashed turnips and they would be worth eating. There are many grocery stores in the neighbourhood, Carrefour, Disco, Coto and more. Not as large as Canadian stores but they have a more neighbourly feel. Believe it or not, Disco offers home delivery service and every Disco store has half a dozen people filling delivery baskets and loading them in trucks. But did I mention pizzas? Well hold on to your tango shoes because you gotta hear this. There is at least one pizza / empanada restaurant on every block, sometimes two or three. Each restaurant has a delivery team, three or so employees who do nothing but deliver all evening long. Busier than Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. Some delivery boys ride bicycles. Some ride mopeds. But our favourite – roller blades. That’s right; they skate down the street at 200 miles an hour carrying boxes and bags of pizzas and accessories. ‘Oh my goodness Richard, did you see that?’ ‘See what?’ ‘That flash of red that just smoked past us.’ ‘Nope, didn’t see it – but it sure smells like pizza!’
The essence of Buenos Aires is ‘class’. It is not Paris but it is like Paris in some ways. It is not Italy but there are many Italian aspects. It is not always the tango in a slinky dress and heels, sometimes it is a slow waltz in sandals with your lover. Remember the movie, The Three Faces of Eve? Well Buenos Aires is The Million Faces of Eve. Our apartment is only a single block from one of the most beautiful boulevards in the world – Avenida del Libertador. Lined with parks, wide driving lanes, expensive apartments, consulates, museums, restaurants and dogs that are so elegant they have their own nannies. In the opposite direction a few blocks away is Avenida Santa Fe, filled with grocery stores, convenience stores, shoe stores and restaurants, the metro line, busses, shopping malls and pedestrians so thick you need a fly swatter. Buenos Aires is one of the best walking cities in the world, second only to Paris in our opinion.
And how about this! Since our years in the motorcycle business we have been aware of the Paris-Dakar race, one of the most gruelling off-road events on earth. In 2008 due to security issues in Africa, the Dakar race was moved to South America and now runs between Argentina and Northern Chile. It started in Buenos Aires on January 1st and will end on January 16th and will cover more than 9,500 km, including 5,000 km of racing. Dakar 2011 is a punishing route that crosses mountains and deserts and is specifically adapted for four different types of participating vehicles.
Total number of vehicles competing: 430
Cars: 146 - Bikes: 183 - Quads: 33 - Trucks: 68
51 nationalities
13 women, all categories included.
First-time participants: 64 bikes - 21 quads - 50 cars - 1 truck.
The staging ground for Dakar 2011 was Plaza Italia, an easy walk from our apartment. On December 31st all competing vehicles were smartly displayed for public viewing. Tens of thousands of people were there and so were we! Such a thrill to wander through the gut of thing! Nexr day, January 1st at 2:30pm, beginning with the motorocycles, one by one the competitors were sent on their way, spaced about a minute apart. They had to parade down Libertador, right near our apartment and eventurally pass the obelisk on Avenida 9 de Julio, the widest street in the world. Along the route the streets were lined with cheering fans for hours - the last vehicle passed at 8:30pm. Inside-out exciting!
But now hear this. It has nothing to do with racing but is proof that life is not always filled with little happy high-notes. I went for a haircut today, entered a nice little shop and told the nice little lady how I wanted my hair cut. She spoke not a single word of English. So I told her in Spanish. Well. Without one single letter, word, adjetctive, noun or pronoun to descriptive excess – there is absolutey no doubt whatsoever that she gave me the worst haircut I have ever had in my life. It is awful and I mean itl!!
So Alan walks in to the barbershop. The barber says, 'What will it be today?
Alan replies, 'Well I want it going with my waves on top, faded on one side, plug the other, and just make it all out of shape and messed up.' The barber answers frowning, 'Now why in the world do you want your hair cut like that?'
Alan says, 'That's how you cut it last time.'
Adios Amigos!
In my next life I want to come back as you!! Oh what fun and how wonderful it is that you can see the world. You two are the matching pair of bookends! Thanks for taking me along on your odessy. Happy New Year to you both, I can only imagine what it will bring.
Love ya, Janet
Adios Costa Victoria
At the start of the cruise, passports were taken away from all passengers by the officers of the Costa Victoria and locked in the safe. There is a reason for that.
Here’s the main thing you should know about cruise ships – when they say the ship sails at 5pm, you better be on it or be ready to wave goodbye from the pier. As per marine protocol for tides, pilot boats and a myriad of red tape issues, even if passengers are delayed for important reasons the ship will sail on time. We spoke with Bob from Florida and he told us his story. He and his friend were taken to a different jewellery store in Rio, but they got caught in serious traffic and were not back by departure time. In fact when they heard the three long blasts they were still in traffic, sweating and turning themselves inside out with worry. Finally, agonizingly late, they arrived at the dock in time to see the Victoria sailing out of the bay. Costa ground staff at the terminal apologized for the fact that Bob and friend were stuck in Rio while all their possessions were floating to Ilhabela. Fortunately, because of the above rule, their passports had been left for them by the ship’s officers. Costa staff worked with them to find a solution and suggested a limousine. For US$800, a limousine and driver would take them in comfort to the ferry and across to the island of Ilhabela. If all went well, they could join up with the ship the next morning. The rest is history. They arrived in Ilhabela at 3:30 am and hung out until the ship dropped anchor at 8:00am. None the worse really, only their wallet had lost a few pounds. It’s a good story. It’s a good lesson.
We loved the people at our table on the ship – in fact they were all so much fun and so different that it was a race to get there every night. No one wanted to skip an evening meal because that would mean missing the laughter and fun at the table, especially from the Tom and Tom comedy team. Since we parted company, one by one we have been in touch with all our table friends through Skype. Nice people now scattered across the globe. Ships passing…
Paul and Lindsey, the young backpackers from California, spent two steamy nights at a hostel without air con before they moved in with us. Lucky us, they were our Christmas presents! (Along with the little red tree donated by Tom and the beautiful little photo album from Sheldon and Leanna). Christmas dinner for four – gourmet chicken sandwiches and fruit salad. If independent travel was a calculator, Paul and Lindsey’s mathematical numbers would reach the top; electronically savvy, energetic, cheerful, adventurous – two downright nice people. When they return home in April 2011, they will have experienced the majority of the world’s wonders in a single trip. Check out the link to their blog.
And as for us, well Buenos Aires is a high-flying Shirley cartwheel! It is the second largest city in South America with a metro population of 13 million but the city proper is much smaller. Two thirds of the residents live in apartments – that suits us fine. BA has suffered dramatically throughout her turbulent past – dictatorships, the dirty war that killed 30,000 and the New Year’s fire at the Republica Cromagnon Nightclub in 2004 that killed more than 200 people, bombings, on and on. But she has also thrived and for the moment she is one gorgeous babe all dressed up for a night out.
This time our apartment is in Palermo, an even better location than our 2007 apartment in Barrio Norte. Not too many tourists in Palermo, just a lovely residential area. Our apartment is on the first floor of tree lined Ruggieri Street where, within a three block radius there are dozens of little restaurants and side-walk cafes. BA culture is so comfortable; it’s like settling into your favourite chair to read your favourite book. Most people do not own washers and dryers, instead they use local laundry services, one on every block, to wash, dry and fold their clothes. Cost is 15 pesos per load, about CA$4. Every block has at least one bakery with fresh media lunas (small croissants with a sweet coating, shaped like little moons) and a myriad of tempting and delicious treats. Dulce de leche (sweet milk) is everywhere, in ice cream, in sauces, in jars and bottles, in baked products, you name it - in fact you could spread dulce de leche on a banana peel or mashed turnips and they would be worth eating. There are many grocery stores in the neighbourhood, Carrefour, Disco, Coto and more. Not as large as Canadian stores but they have a more neighbourly feel. Believe it or not, Disco offers home delivery service and every Disco store has half a dozen people filling delivery baskets and loading them in trucks. But did I mention pizzas? Well hold on to your tango shoes because you gotta hear this. There is at least one pizza / empanada restaurant on every block, sometimes two or three. Each restaurant has a delivery team, three or so employees who do nothing but deliver all evening long. Busier than Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. Some delivery boys ride bicycles. Some ride mopeds. But our favourite – roller blades. That’s right; they skate down the street at 200 miles an hour carrying boxes and bags of pizzas and accessories. ‘Oh my goodness Richard, did you see that?’ ‘See what?’ ‘That flash of red that just smoked past us.’ ‘Nope, didn’t see it – but it sure smells like pizza!’
The essence of Buenos Aires is ‘class’. It is not Paris but it is like Paris in some ways. It is not Italy but there are many Italian aspects. It is not always the tango in a slinky dress and heels, sometimes it is a slow waltz in sandals with your lover. Remember the movie, The Three Faces of Eve? Well Buenos Aires is The Million Faces of Eve. Our apartment is only a single block from one of the most beautiful boulevards in the world – Avenida del Libertador. Lined with parks, wide driving lanes, expensive apartments, consulates, museums, restaurants and dogs that are so elegant they have their own nannies. In the opposite direction a few blocks away is Avenida Santa Fe, filled with grocery stores, convenience stores, shoe stores and restaurants, the metro line, busses, shopping malls and pedestrians so thick you need a fly swatter. Buenos Aires is one of the best walking cities in the world, second only to Paris in our opinion.
And how about this! Since our years in the motorcycle business we have been aware of the Paris-Dakar race, one of the most gruelling off-road events on earth. In 2008 due to security issues in Africa, the Dakar race was moved to South America and now runs between Argentina and Northern Chile. It started in Buenos Aires on January 1st and will end on January 16th and will cover more than 9,500 km, including 5,000 km of racing. Dakar 2011 is a punishing route that crosses mountains and deserts and is specifically adapted for four different types of participating vehicles.
Total number of vehicles competing: 430
Cars: 146 - Bikes: 183 - Quads: 33 - Trucks: 68
51 nationalities
13 women, all categories included.
First-time participants: 64 bikes - 21 quads - 50 cars - 1 truck.
The staging ground for Dakar 2011 was Plaza Italia, an easy walk from our apartment. On December 31st all competing vehicles were smartly displayed for public viewing. Tens of thousands of people were there and so were we! Such a thrill to wander through the gut of thing! Nexr day, January 1st at 2:30pm, beginning with the motorocycles, one by one the competitors were sent on their way, spaced about a minute apart. They had to parade down Libertador, right near our apartment and eventurally pass the obelisk on Avenida 9 de Julio, the widest street in the world. Along the route the streets were lined with cheering fans for hours - the last vehicle passed at 8:30pm. Inside-out exciting!
But now hear this. It has nothing to do with racing but is proof that life is not always filled with little happy high-notes. I went for a haircut today, entered a nice little shop and told the nice little lady how I wanted my hair cut. She spoke not a single word of English. So I told her in Spanish. Well. Without one single letter, word, adjetctive, noun or pronoun to descriptive excess – there is absolutey no doubt whatsoever that she gave me the worst haircut I have ever had in my life. It is awful and I mean itl!!
So Alan walks in to the barbershop. The barber says, 'What will it be today?
Alan replies, 'Well I want it going with my waves on top, faded on one side, plug the other, and just make it all out of shape and messed up.' The barber answers frowning, 'Now why in the world do you want your hair cut like that?'
Alan says, 'That's how you cut it last time.'
Adios Amigos!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
From Savona to Buenos Aires
Well this update is a handful. How to compress three weeks of binging, port calls and associations with fly by night passengers who are forcibly gripping dining room cutlery, into a few hundred words of happy-go-lucky prose that will be enjoyable for all. Yes, even the Queen of England reads this!
Our first port city was Casablanca, Morocco. You remember Humphrey Bogart, don’t you? His 1942 Movie called Casablanca? The city is very proud of this famous association and even though Humphrey passed away in 1957, one year after Morocco gained independence from France, you can still sense his obscure presence loitering in the shadows of the street corner, wrinkled white suit, hat brim pulled down, cigarette dangling from thirsty lips, eyes wary and watching for voluptuous female operatives. So here’s the thing, 68 years after Casablanca hit the theatres, 68 years after Richard was born and 53 years after independence celebrations, the Costa Victoria sailed into Casablanca harbour at sunrise on a beautiful day. Richard and Donna disembarked soon thereafter and were delighted to wander the crooked streets of the medina, searching for anything and everything bargain related. Many passengers joined day tours to Marrakech or Fez but we chose to chat and bargain with the men in the little shops. All of them spoke Arabic of course, and French, but also English – just to put things in perspective. We found the men to be polite and full of sardonic humour. They are all good at bargaining, of course, that’s their job, and we had fun with two men in a little shop over the purchase of a spiffy new Prada handbag. Yes, the kind the devil wears, ha!
By early afternoon the medina became hot and overcrowded so we decided to soak up a few exhaust fumes on Main Street before running back to the ship for late lunch. The medina is in the oldest part of the city and is a permanent market where everything from pets to purses, fruit to frocks, shirts to shoes, haircuts to cut hares is sold. There are a couple of what appeared to be low-cost hotels inside the walls so we considered a future return, what do you think? There were no Moroccan women working in the shops in the medina, only men. To see photos of Casablanca (and all our port stops) you can watch the slideshows embedded in the blog. Also, you can click on ‘view all’ at the lower left corner of any slideshow and it will take you to our Picasa Web Albums where photos can be viewed in larger format. It’s easy – just give it a try.
Next stop was the island of Tenerife, the largest and most populous of seven Canary Islands. St. Cruz de Tenerife is a gorgeous, clean, well mannered Spanish dancer and we were delighted to explore her pedestrian streets and amazed to find that many items were priced lower there than in Benidorm. We rode the tram to the end of the line, about ½ hour, which took us to an outlying town called Trinidad. Quaint and charming streets lined with shops filled with German style traditional clothing and enticing food dishes – that’s Trinidad. Tenerife is a for sure return.
At 5pm when the Costa Victoria pulled up rope in St. Cruz and blew our ears with off with the traditional three long blasts, everyone aboard was a little excited because the next port would be Recife, Brazil – five full sea days away. How would Richard (and everyone else) manage if the seas were rough crossing the Atlantic? It was a worry. But here’s the surprise. The sailing was smooth as the skin on a new baby’s back. The further south we sailed the higher rose the temperature, the hungrier everyone became and the faster Richard and Donna power-walked deck 6. At midnight on the third day we crossed the equator so the captain and his staff of slaves hosted a late night Equator party on swimming pool deck, complete with buffet, Brazilian music and dancing beneath a colossal map of sparking diamonds. The glossy sea continuously rolled and smoothed itself out underneath our bow, silent and deep and mysterious. It was a remarkable night, an experience I hope we will always remember.
The Victoria visited five ports in Brazil, three of which were associated with H. Stern, a Brazilian jewellery manufacturer that distributes and sells some of the most expensive and exquisite jewellery in the world. Please see their link near the photos for more information. H. Stern operates on the same principle as time share sellers in Mexico. They will give you something free if you visit their retail store and look at their jewellery. Sounded like a fair deal to us. So their generous transfers, some with tours to various venues, allowed passengers including us to explore Recife, Salvador and Rio - a great saving compared to buying tours from Costa. In Recife, Allan, Margot, Richard and I were taken to the H. Stern store across from Boa Viagem, the sprawling and inviting beach that was alive with rolling surf and sand the color of your fondest dream. We walked to the shopping mall not far away but it seemed like miles because it was so hot. After returning to the ship for lunch we later walked into the core of Recife where life seemed dirtier, much more frantic, somewhat broken and somewhat steamy, yet when we sailed away, vast suburbs filled with high rise apartments planted themselves in our camera lens. Too bad for Recife though, we could not find any souvenir tee shirts so we left empty handed. And just one more thing - our Recife slideshow does not really reveal the truth about the city. About the heat. Or did I forget to mention it was hot?
Next port was Maceio, 259 driving miles south of Recife. We loved Maceio – it is a sophisticated, densely populated coastal resort city that boasts some of Brazil’s most delightful beaches. Nearby the ship was a handicraft market – good planning on the part of the merchants and even better, it had fans blowing the air into our faces as we panted, red faced and sweating, in front of them. Hot yes. Well stocked with souvenirs and tee shirts of all kinds. Lucky us, lucky them. Again we walked into the core of the city and took time to marvel at how busy the city really was. Pedestrian streets clashing with people - enough to do any city proud. We spent some time at an internet café and left satisfied that all was well at home – always a big thing in our heads when we travel. The color and flavour of Maceio was remarkably different from Recife and as the ship sailed away we fell in love with the clear emerald green waters. Brilliant. Maceio was just brilliant!
We had been hearing about the culture and rhythm of Salvador da Bahia for years so it was hard to believe we were actually there. When you enter the city, these are the words you read - Salvador da Bahia is the place where you breathe the history, soul and essence of Brazil. The city was founded on All Saints Day in the 16th century and boasts 365 churches - built by the determined Portuguese, one for every day of the year. But in the past the churches had to share Salvador with voodoo spiritualism from Africa, brought into Brazil by thousands of African slaves. Salvador is the ‘blackest’ city in Brazil and has a reputation for being unsafe, especially at night. In spite of the warnings we felt quite at home and literally fell in love with the revitalized heart of the city for its rhythmic music, unique black population, and outstanding central plaza – all located high on a hill that overlooks the port area. The easiest way to access the top is by an elevator that costs 15 cents, but you only have to pay one way. The line for the elevator was very long and never seemed to catch up with itself. Although H. Stern offered transfers to their store near the square, we chose to take the elevator and do our own exploring. As we sailed away, once again we were amazed at the urban aspect of Salvador with life spread along the contours of hills and beaches and implanted with enough high rise condos to make a concrete forest. Amazing, photogenic, colourful, world class Salvador da Bahia – we look forward to an early return!
How could your heart do nothing but stop when you realize you are sailing into Rio de Janeiro (River of January). Rio truly is one of the world’s most spectacular cities (population 7 million) and we saw enough outstanding sights to fill up Sugarloaf Mountain. But for the sake of your eyes we will keep the words down. Our little group took the H Stern advantage and were driven to Corocvado, the 2,300 foot granite mountain in central Rio that boasts the 125 foot statue of Jesus. Our lovely tour guide, Luiza helped buy our tickets and accompanied us to the top. In spite of having to share the space with hundreds and hundreds of equally eager tourists, standing beneath the world famous statue that towers high above the city was an outstanding highlight of our trip. Rio had experienced a lot of rain the day before so unfortunately when we arrived it was still misty below, but we didn’t care, we crammed our addiction for excitement right up to the highest mark. Next we were taken to lunch at a packed-out restaurant down the street from H Stern. Mmmm delicious food and we were introduced to the Brazilian specialty drink called a caipirinha. Our stop at H. Stern headquarters was interesting but took up too much time. Margot purchased a piece of jewellery from them and, wow, a lovely pendant it is. On the way back to the ship we became entrapped in the crazy, crazy traffic of Rio. We were able to see but not visit the famous Ipanema and Copacabana beaches and the billion dollar apartments that cling to their shores. We made the ship only twenty minutes before sailing. Rio! Ah Rio Rio Rio….
Last in Brazil was Ilhabela, a delightful sleepy little island as opposite to Rio as you could get in one country. Beautiful beaches, expensive yachts, sweeping bays, you name it, Ilhabela has it. One of our favourite sights was Nicholas and Lucas, identical twins from South Africa, being pushed along the path in their stroller. We found it remarkable (and slightly terrifying) that a young couple had enough finances and energy to take the two little boys on such a big trip. And therein lies the beauty of that - life is full of remarkables!
And finally, last port of the cruise before Buenos Aires was Punta del Este, Uruguay. It’s an expensive playground for the super rich from all around the world. Even Shakira has a summer home there. Spotlessly clean, beautifully maintained, it has free wifi in the town square but we paid to use a computer in an internet cafe. As we headed back to the ship, we were quite thrilled to see a naked sunbather at the yacht club. What do you think of her? Better take a look.
On December 21st at 8am the Costa Victoria docked at the port of beautiful Buenos Aires and settled in. We were allowed go off sightseeing for the day and return to sleep on board that night. But our exit was final on the 22nd. Kicked off. Our floating dream was already boarding replacements by the time we left to collect Thelma and Louis in the terminal. How hurtful was that? We knew where our rental apartment was – but therein lurked a big problem. Buenos Aires was stuck in the middle of a ‘red alert’ heat wave, the highest their scale goes. Smokin! So here’s the thing. It was too difficult to move Thelma and Louis up and down the metro stairs. It was too hot to stand outside and wait for bus 92 at Retiro station. It was way, way too hot and too far to walk. So with sinking hearts and a wallet full of dread we walked a few blocks away from the port and hailed a cab. Yes, that’s right, I said taxi! But it wasn’t air conditioned, if that helps. We agreed on a fare in advance with the driver - twenty pesos, about CA$5 and he dropped us at the door. He was a very nice man and went a long way to set our minds at ease about all taxi drivers being thieves. We spoke in Spanish on the way, ha ha, ha, and he explained a few things about his beautiful city. He was awesome. Then came the next problem. Thelma and Louis were outraged that they had been dumped in the hot trunk. They love to sight see too.
That’s it for now. More is sure to follow!
Our first port city was Casablanca, Morocco. You remember Humphrey Bogart, don’t you? His 1942 Movie called Casablanca? The city is very proud of this famous association and even though Humphrey passed away in 1957, one year after Morocco gained independence from France, you can still sense his obscure presence loitering in the shadows of the street corner, wrinkled white suit, hat brim pulled down, cigarette dangling from thirsty lips, eyes wary and watching for voluptuous female operatives. So here’s the thing, 68 years after Casablanca hit the theatres, 68 years after Richard was born and 53 years after independence celebrations, the Costa Victoria sailed into Casablanca harbour at sunrise on a beautiful day. Richard and Donna disembarked soon thereafter and were delighted to wander the crooked streets of the medina, searching for anything and everything bargain related. Many passengers joined day tours to Marrakech or Fez but we chose to chat and bargain with the men in the little shops. All of them spoke Arabic of course, and French, but also English – just to put things in perspective. We found the men to be polite and full of sardonic humour. They are all good at bargaining, of course, that’s their job, and we had fun with two men in a little shop over the purchase of a spiffy new Prada handbag. Yes, the kind the devil wears, ha!
By early afternoon the medina became hot and overcrowded so we decided to soak up a few exhaust fumes on Main Street before running back to the ship for late lunch. The medina is in the oldest part of the city and is a permanent market where everything from pets to purses, fruit to frocks, shirts to shoes, haircuts to cut hares is sold. There are a couple of what appeared to be low-cost hotels inside the walls so we considered a future return, what do you think? There were no Moroccan women working in the shops in the medina, only men. To see photos of Casablanca (and all our port stops) you can watch the slideshows embedded in the blog. Also, you can click on ‘view all’ at the lower left corner of any slideshow and it will take you to our Picasa Web Albums where photos can be viewed in larger format. It’s easy – just give it a try.
Next stop was the island of Tenerife, the largest and most populous of seven Canary Islands. St. Cruz de Tenerife is a gorgeous, clean, well mannered Spanish dancer and we were delighted to explore her pedestrian streets and amazed to find that many items were priced lower there than in Benidorm. We rode the tram to the end of the line, about ½ hour, which took us to an outlying town called Trinidad. Quaint and charming streets lined with shops filled with German style traditional clothing and enticing food dishes – that’s Trinidad. Tenerife is a for sure return.
At 5pm when the Costa Victoria pulled up rope in St. Cruz and blew our ears with off with the traditional three long blasts, everyone aboard was a little excited because the next port would be Recife, Brazil – five full sea days away. How would Richard (and everyone else) manage if the seas were rough crossing the Atlantic? It was a worry. But here’s the surprise. The sailing was smooth as the skin on a new baby’s back. The further south we sailed the higher rose the temperature, the hungrier everyone became and the faster Richard and Donna power-walked deck 6. At midnight on the third day we crossed the equator so the captain and his staff of slaves hosted a late night Equator party on swimming pool deck, complete with buffet, Brazilian music and dancing beneath a colossal map of sparking diamonds. The glossy sea continuously rolled and smoothed itself out underneath our bow, silent and deep and mysterious. It was a remarkable night, an experience I hope we will always remember.
The Victoria visited five ports in Brazil, three of which were associated with H. Stern, a Brazilian jewellery manufacturer that distributes and sells some of the most expensive and exquisite jewellery in the world. Please see their link near the photos for more information. H. Stern operates on the same principle as time share sellers in Mexico. They will give you something free if you visit their retail store and look at their jewellery. Sounded like a fair deal to us. So their generous transfers, some with tours to various venues, allowed passengers including us to explore Recife, Salvador and Rio - a great saving compared to buying tours from Costa. In Recife, Allan, Margot, Richard and I were taken to the H. Stern store across from Boa Viagem, the sprawling and inviting beach that was alive with rolling surf and sand the color of your fondest dream. We walked to the shopping mall not far away but it seemed like miles because it was so hot. After returning to the ship for lunch we later walked into the core of Recife where life seemed dirtier, much more frantic, somewhat broken and somewhat steamy, yet when we sailed away, vast suburbs filled with high rise apartments planted themselves in our camera lens. Too bad for Recife though, we could not find any souvenir tee shirts so we left empty handed. And just one more thing - our Recife slideshow does not really reveal the truth about the city. About the heat. Or did I forget to mention it was hot?
Next port was Maceio, 259 driving miles south of Recife. We loved Maceio – it is a sophisticated, densely populated coastal resort city that boasts some of Brazil’s most delightful beaches. Nearby the ship was a handicraft market – good planning on the part of the merchants and even better, it had fans blowing the air into our faces as we panted, red faced and sweating, in front of them. Hot yes. Well stocked with souvenirs and tee shirts of all kinds. Lucky us, lucky them. Again we walked into the core of the city and took time to marvel at how busy the city really was. Pedestrian streets clashing with people - enough to do any city proud. We spent some time at an internet café and left satisfied that all was well at home – always a big thing in our heads when we travel. The color and flavour of Maceio was remarkably different from Recife and as the ship sailed away we fell in love with the clear emerald green waters. Brilliant. Maceio was just brilliant!
We had been hearing about the culture and rhythm of Salvador da Bahia for years so it was hard to believe we were actually there. When you enter the city, these are the words you read - Salvador da Bahia is the place where you breathe the history, soul and essence of Brazil. The city was founded on All Saints Day in the 16th century and boasts 365 churches - built by the determined Portuguese, one for every day of the year. But in the past the churches had to share Salvador with voodoo spiritualism from Africa, brought into Brazil by thousands of African slaves. Salvador is the ‘blackest’ city in Brazil and has a reputation for being unsafe, especially at night. In spite of the warnings we felt quite at home and literally fell in love with the revitalized heart of the city for its rhythmic music, unique black population, and outstanding central plaza – all located high on a hill that overlooks the port area. The easiest way to access the top is by an elevator that costs 15 cents, but you only have to pay one way. The line for the elevator was very long and never seemed to catch up with itself. Although H. Stern offered transfers to their store near the square, we chose to take the elevator and do our own exploring. As we sailed away, once again we were amazed at the urban aspect of Salvador with life spread along the contours of hills and beaches and implanted with enough high rise condos to make a concrete forest. Amazing, photogenic, colourful, world class Salvador da Bahia – we look forward to an early return!
How could your heart do nothing but stop when you realize you are sailing into Rio de Janeiro (River of January). Rio truly is one of the world’s most spectacular cities (population 7 million) and we saw enough outstanding sights to fill up Sugarloaf Mountain. But for the sake of your eyes we will keep the words down. Our little group took the H Stern advantage and were driven to Corocvado, the 2,300 foot granite mountain in central Rio that boasts the 125 foot statue of Jesus. Our lovely tour guide, Luiza helped buy our tickets and accompanied us to the top. In spite of having to share the space with hundreds and hundreds of equally eager tourists, standing beneath the world famous statue that towers high above the city was an outstanding highlight of our trip. Rio had experienced a lot of rain the day before so unfortunately when we arrived it was still misty below, but we didn’t care, we crammed our addiction for excitement right up to the highest mark. Next we were taken to lunch at a packed-out restaurant down the street from H Stern. Mmmm delicious food and we were introduced to the Brazilian specialty drink called a caipirinha. Our stop at H. Stern headquarters was interesting but took up too much time. Margot purchased a piece of jewellery from them and, wow, a lovely pendant it is. On the way back to the ship we became entrapped in the crazy, crazy traffic of Rio. We were able to see but not visit the famous Ipanema and Copacabana beaches and the billion dollar apartments that cling to their shores. We made the ship only twenty minutes before sailing. Rio! Ah Rio Rio Rio….
Last in Brazil was Ilhabela, a delightful sleepy little island as opposite to Rio as you could get in one country. Beautiful beaches, expensive yachts, sweeping bays, you name it, Ilhabela has it. One of our favourite sights was Nicholas and Lucas, identical twins from South Africa, being pushed along the path in their stroller. We found it remarkable (and slightly terrifying) that a young couple had enough finances and energy to take the two little boys on such a big trip. And therein lies the beauty of that - life is full of remarkables!
And finally, last port of the cruise before Buenos Aires was Punta del Este, Uruguay. It’s an expensive playground for the super rich from all around the world. Even Shakira has a summer home there. Spotlessly clean, beautifully maintained, it has free wifi in the town square but we paid to use a computer in an internet cafe. As we headed back to the ship, we were quite thrilled to see a naked sunbather at the yacht club. What do you think of her? Better take a look.
On December 21st at 8am the Costa Victoria docked at the port of beautiful Buenos Aires and settled in. We were allowed go off sightseeing for the day and return to sleep on board that night. But our exit was final on the 22nd. Kicked off. Our floating dream was already boarding replacements by the time we left to collect Thelma and Louis in the terminal. How hurtful was that? We knew where our rental apartment was – but therein lurked a big problem. Buenos Aires was stuck in the middle of a ‘red alert’ heat wave, the highest their scale goes. Smokin! So here’s the thing. It was too difficult to move Thelma and Louis up and down the metro stairs. It was too hot to stand outside and wait for bus 92 at Retiro station. It was way, way too hot and too far to walk. So with sinking hearts and a wallet full of dread we walked a few blocks away from the port and hailed a cab. Yes, that’s right, I said taxi! But it wasn’t air conditioned, if that helps. We agreed on a fare in advance with the driver - twenty pesos, about CA$5 and he dropped us at the door. He was a very nice man and went a long way to set our minds at ease about all taxi drivers being thieves. We spoke in Spanish on the way, ha ha, ha, and he explained a few things about his beautiful city. He was awesome. Then came the next problem. Thelma and Louis were outraged that they had been dumped in the hot trunk. They love to sight see too.
That’s it for now. More is sure to follow!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Adrift at Sea
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.
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.
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
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Spain - Si Bueno
Well life goes on, doesn’t it? Whether you are here, there or somewhere else. Whether you are paying particular attention to the line of a million sparkling diamonds spread across the sea or just paying the phone bill online, life goes on. Most of the people visiting Benidorm stroll along the stunning promenade, play in the sun, drink a frothy pint, sip a café con leche, have a laugh or two, and then fly away home. The best of their Benidorm days are only a whimsical manifestation of who they were and what they did during that moment in time, but now, this morning back at home, they have to pioneer themselves back from the comfortable folds of escapism to the tough stretch of reality. Soon enough, only a single jiffy later so it seems, even the strongest happy memories of Benidorm begin to fade – and that’s the beauty of it. Benidorm is just a happy dream. You cannot roll it up and take it home like a wet towel; you have to leave it drying in the sun. You cannot export the sensation of life in Benidorm to another time and place, you can only export yourself. You cannot own the aura no matter how much time you have or money you pay; you can only enjoy temporary immersion because permanent residency would never be the same. So life in Benidorm goes on, new people arrive all the time while others roll up their towels and leave – but we’re still here. For the moment anyway. Can you spot us in the crowd? We’re over here – walking along the promenade.
We also spend time in our apartment on the 14th floor of the Levant Lux. Yes, we changed homes after eight days. All the apartments on the 2nd floor are in the shade most of the time and feel cold. When we asked Mourad at the front desk about changing rooms, he wanted to know why. We replied that apartment 2c is very nice but not enough sun. He spent a few seconds on the computer and then phoned the head housekeeper. Between the two of them, they found an apartment that would be available for the duration. He said, almost apologetically, we have only the 14th floor available, apartment 14C. Can you move on Saturday? We don’t know why he was apologetic; we could not have done better because, even though we didn’t know it at the time, fourteen is the top floor. So we moved. Planta catorce has views of fireworks, glimpses of the sea, shoreline and Alicante, people walking, pubs, lovely deluxe and delicious sunshine, mountains and more. What took us so long, we wondered? Well, it was The Elevator. On two we could climb the stairs. On catorce we ride in one of two little tiny elevator cars that are so small they have to have mirrors on the ceilings to double the space. They lurch and jerk and rattle and bounce (can you please come and fix them, Byron?), but in actual fact the ride is a small price to pay because, as it turns out, now we are dead even with the locals. Seagulls. They glide past our balcony when we are fine dining on baguette and cheese and laugh at us in their special laughing way, always with a keen eye on our victuals. During a fly-by this morning Richard commented that it’s a good thing birds aren’t afraid of heights. I said, ‘you could be a British comedian with an observation like that’. You see, Tony Scott, the fellow we saw two weeks ago said, ‘what did one bird say to the other while they were sitting on a perch?’ The answer is, ‘do you smell fish?’ Of course neither of us or anyone else in the audience got it until Tony repeated it about catorce times. Well, do you get it now? Another joke he told was about the woodworm that went into a bar and asked, ‘is the bartender here?’ Of course we didn’t get that one either until he repeated it catorce times. Oh well. We’re Canadian…
Most people working in hotels and restaurants in Benidorm speak more languages than sharks have teeth. Of course, everyone speaks Spanish, but many also speak English, Dutch, German or French. Front desk representative, Mourad, the fellow I was just telling you about, came to the Levante Lux Apartments from Algeria a few years ago, fluent in Arabic, French, Spanish and English. He looks so normal, standing there behind the counter, doing his job. This unassuming, polite and handsome man. He studied at university for a degree in graphic arts, but he could not find a job in that field in Benidorm so he went to work for the Levante Hotel Group. His language skills alone put him at the top of amazing. He is married to an artist, also from Algeria, and they have a three year old daughter who goes to Spanish school. They have applied to the Canadian Government for the right to live and work in Quebec, because French is his first language after Arabic, and because he has a friend who lives there who told him Canada has the best life.
My first unfortunate discovery in 14c happened the day after the move. When I tried to use the shower the whole contraption fell off the wall and crashed noisily into the bathtub - nozzle, hose and bracket. No matter what, I could not re-attach the bracket, so I took a bath instead. The issue was soon reported to Richard that we would have to ask the front desk for maintenance. Well after a few tapping and drumming minutes Richard said, ‘I think your problem is solved’. ‘What the sam hill’, I said, ‘did you fix it?’ Sure enough, the bracket was tight on the wall with the hose nestled perfectly inside and at the proper angle. ‘How did you do it?” I asked, amazed. “Well I used the screw driver that I always carry with me, then I had to make a spacer for a washer and I put it all back together’. Note to self: What do we really ever know about people? I have been travelling with this man on overseas trips since the mid ‘80s. I did not know he carried a screwdriver. No wonder he is my hero.
My second unfortunate discovery came later that week. And it was big. High floor, sunshine, lovely view indeed. Benidorm weather took a nasty turn. Fog, mist, low clouds, rain, cold, windy. Even an entire tool kit couldn’t fix it.
We’ve had time to explore a few nearby coastal towns; there are many and some are lovely. Number one on our list of course, was Calpe - about ½ hour away. We just had to go back. We first visited Calpe in January, 1997 and stopped for lunch at a gorgeous little outdoor café called the Peanut Bar, right on the promenade with brilliant sea view, fabulous location and drop-dead-gorgeous owners. The restaurant was quite new and the proud owner husband told us that a seaside life in Spain had been their dream. He said that his wife was from France and he was from Belgium, and between them they spoke seven languages (I said seven!). He was hopeful that they could handle the slow season in Calpe, which was when we were there, because in the busy season he knew their business would take off. Our lunch was charming, delicious and downright memorable. How could it not be when the food was prepared by a beautiful French chef who inherently knows about croissants and cheese and wine and poodles? And the table faced the promenade where dozens of Europeans strolled by on a beautiful sunny day. So the mood of the place seared into the ‘favourite travel memory’ section of our brains like a branding iron. When we left the Peanut Bar, Richard and Donna agreed that if a person could live and work anywhere in the world and had the intelligent advantage of seven languages, then Calpe, on the sunny, upscale coast of Spain was as good as it gets. We were envious. In fact we were downright jealous. So from that day forward the Peanut Bar received the highest rating on our ‘living a good life’ measuring stick. We told everyone about it.
We next visited Benidorm in January, 2000 and took the train to Calpe to see if the Peanut Bar still justified the highest rank. We stood aghast. The place was closed out, grown over, abandoned – like a western movie scene where the tumbleweeds bounce along the dusty road and the swinging doors of the saloon sway mindlessly in the wind. We know that restaurants come and go all the time, all over the world. We know that many businesses in resort areas are vulnerable and as unstable as Calgary weather. But the Peanut Bar was special to us and we were counting on continued success for our own reasons. It was very depressing. It still is.
So this trip, almost eleven years later, we again returned to Calpe on the first of our visits to surrounding towns. At the place where the Peanut Bar had been we recognized that someone else (and who knows, maybe even more) had opened a restaurant at some point - but it had long since closed. Sadness came upon us again, not for the loss of the replacement restaurant but because of the cold wind that blew through one of our favourite sunny daydreams. We will always wonder about that lovely couple. What happened to them? And where are they now?
Meanwhile, life in Calpe goes on. It is a lovely world-class destination that has attracted long-stays and inventors for years. The resort areas spread along two beaches, one that parallels the city centre and the other that faces the sea in a gorgeous resort setting filled with massive and modern condominium development. Both have up-scale, well maintained promenades. The second beach is quite deserted in the winter months but even then it is popular with Dutch, German and French Europeans, many of whom winter in Calpe every year. Unfortunately this is where the Peanut Bar was located. Ifach Rock is Calpe’s grey signature statement - it sits at the corner of the two beaches and towers high into the sky. It is visible for miles and can easily be seen from Altea and Albir. Calpe is accessible from Benidorm and Alicante by Alsa Bus Lines and the tram train.
A few days later we rode in comfort to Denia on the tram train which leaves once an hour from Benidorm. We had never been to Denia before and were quite amazed to see how ‘Dutch’ the city centre looked. Reminded us completely of being in Holland, in Gouda for example. We wandered around and found the port where the ferries leave for Ibiza. Hmmm, tempting…but for another time. Denia’s boast is a massive castle on the mountain right in the middle of the city, similar to Alicante and Malaga. We stopped at a quaint little coffee house for café con leche and croissants that you would swim the Med for – they were sooooo delicious. Denia, a lovely but unremarkable city that we wouldn’t want to move to. The best part of the day was the tram train which hugged the coastline for miles and provided exquisite vistas of life in coastal Spain.
The route for city bus number 10 takes you to Albir and Altea, two lovely little resort towns that are connected to Benidorm by a very interesting half hour bus ride. A & A are bedroom communities that are separated from each other by a span of pebbly beach. You can easily walk from one promenade to the other along a gravel sidewalk. Altea is just lovely with dozens and dozens of seaside restaurants that are busy day and night. We noticed that meals are a little more expensive.
The tram train that runs from Benidorm to Alicante is not diesel, it is electric. It departs twice an hour and the trip takes about 1 hour 20 minutes. This trip to Alicante was our fourth (over the years) and while we were there we stopped by the Hotel Rambla to see what happened with our reservation. When we cancelled the booking online in Calgary because of the flight delay, the cancellation confirmation said we would be charged for the room because we were already inside the penalty period. The gorgeous young lady at the Rambla front desk went into the office and checked for us. ‘No’, she said, ‘everything is okay. You were not charged’. Good to know. That left us with a clear conscience to source out delicious food for lunch somewhere in central Alicante. And find it we did. Bet you could never guess where we ate. It was outdoors in the middle of Alicante’s remarkable pedestrian boulevard that runs parallel to the harbour. We shared a footlong sandwich – vegetarian, lightly toasted. Yes, we chose Subway, if you can imagine. And it was delicious. So much for sampling exotic Spanish tapas. Oh well, it’s only food, right?
Alicante boasts a large harbour with hundreds of yachts and sailboats – glamorous accessories of the wealthy. In fact the contrast takes your breath away, the stunning rows of expensive white fibreglass set against the expanse of shimmering blue sea. But who are those people that can afford to pay for parking in a harbour in a downtown parking lot? Where did they come from and what do they do? Everyone in Calgary has been complaining about the high cost of parking for years. Well we say, ‘ha!’ You should see the size of the stalls in Alicante harbour if you think downtown Calgary is expensive!
The day we were there the sun streamed down to earth with legendary brightness and we couldn’t think of a single reason why we should be anywhere else on earth at that moment – except for one thing. Grandkids.
That’s all for now. Hasta luego!
We also spend time in our apartment on the 14th floor of the Levant Lux. Yes, we changed homes after eight days. All the apartments on the 2nd floor are in the shade most of the time and feel cold. When we asked Mourad at the front desk about changing rooms, he wanted to know why. We replied that apartment 2c is very nice but not enough sun. He spent a few seconds on the computer and then phoned the head housekeeper. Between the two of them, they found an apartment that would be available for the duration. He said, almost apologetically, we have only the 14th floor available, apartment 14C. Can you move on Saturday? We don’t know why he was apologetic; we could not have done better because, even though we didn’t know it at the time, fourteen is the top floor. So we moved. Planta catorce has views of fireworks, glimpses of the sea, shoreline and Alicante, people walking, pubs, lovely deluxe and delicious sunshine, mountains and more. What took us so long, we wondered? Well, it was The Elevator. On two we could climb the stairs. On catorce we ride in one of two little tiny elevator cars that are so small they have to have mirrors on the ceilings to double the space. They lurch and jerk and rattle and bounce (can you please come and fix them, Byron?), but in actual fact the ride is a small price to pay because, as it turns out, now we are dead even with the locals. Seagulls. They glide past our balcony when we are fine dining on baguette and cheese and laugh at us in their special laughing way, always with a keen eye on our victuals. During a fly-by this morning Richard commented that it’s a good thing birds aren’t afraid of heights. I said, ‘you could be a British comedian with an observation like that’. You see, Tony Scott, the fellow we saw two weeks ago said, ‘what did one bird say to the other while they were sitting on a perch?’ The answer is, ‘do you smell fish?’ Of course neither of us or anyone else in the audience got it until Tony repeated it about catorce times. Well, do you get it now? Another joke he told was about the woodworm that went into a bar and asked, ‘is the bartender here?’ Of course we didn’t get that one either until he repeated it catorce times. Oh well. We’re Canadian…
Most people working in hotels and restaurants in Benidorm speak more languages than sharks have teeth. Of course, everyone speaks Spanish, but many also speak English, Dutch, German or French. Front desk representative, Mourad, the fellow I was just telling you about, came to the Levante Lux Apartments from Algeria a few years ago, fluent in Arabic, French, Spanish and English. He looks so normal, standing there behind the counter, doing his job. This unassuming, polite and handsome man. He studied at university for a degree in graphic arts, but he could not find a job in that field in Benidorm so he went to work for the Levante Hotel Group. His language skills alone put him at the top of amazing. He is married to an artist, also from Algeria, and they have a three year old daughter who goes to Spanish school. They have applied to the Canadian Government for the right to live and work in Quebec, because French is his first language after Arabic, and because he has a friend who lives there who told him Canada has the best life.
My first unfortunate discovery in 14c happened the day after the move. When I tried to use the shower the whole contraption fell off the wall and crashed noisily into the bathtub - nozzle, hose and bracket. No matter what, I could not re-attach the bracket, so I took a bath instead. The issue was soon reported to Richard that we would have to ask the front desk for maintenance. Well after a few tapping and drumming minutes Richard said, ‘I think your problem is solved’. ‘What the sam hill’, I said, ‘did you fix it?’ Sure enough, the bracket was tight on the wall with the hose nestled perfectly inside and at the proper angle. ‘How did you do it?” I asked, amazed. “Well I used the screw driver that I always carry with me, then I had to make a spacer for a washer and I put it all back together’. Note to self: What do we really ever know about people? I have been travelling with this man on overseas trips since the mid ‘80s. I did not know he carried a screwdriver. No wonder he is my hero.
My second unfortunate discovery came later that week. And it was big. High floor, sunshine, lovely view indeed. Benidorm weather took a nasty turn. Fog, mist, low clouds, rain, cold, windy. Even an entire tool kit couldn’t fix it.
We’ve had time to explore a few nearby coastal towns; there are many and some are lovely. Number one on our list of course, was Calpe - about ½ hour away. We just had to go back. We first visited Calpe in January, 1997 and stopped for lunch at a gorgeous little outdoor café called the Peanut Bar, right on the promenade with brilliant sea view, fabulous location and drop-dead-gorgeous owners. The restaurant was quite new and the proud owner husband told us that a seaside life in Spain had been their dream. He said that his wife was from France and he was from Belgium, and between them they spoke seven languages (I said seven!). He was hopeful that they could handle the slow season in Calpe, which was when we were there, because in the busy season he knew their business would take off. Our lunch was charming, delicious and downright memorable. How could it not be when the food was prepared by a beautiful French chef who inherently knows about croissants and cheese and wine and poodles? And the table faced the promenade where dozens of Europeans strolled by on a beautiful sunny day. So the mood of the place seared into the ‘favourite travel memory’ section of our brains like a branding iron. When we left the Peanut Bar, Richard and Donna agreed that if a person could live and work anywhere in the world and had the intelligent advantage of seven languages, then Calpe, on the sunny, upscale coast of Spain was as good as it gets. We were envious. In fact we were downright jealous. So from that day forward the Peanut Bar received the highest rating on our ‘living a good life’ measuring stick. We told everyone about it.
We next visited Benidorm in January, 2000 and took the train to Calpe to see if the Peanut Bar still justified the highest rank. We stood aghast. The place was closed out, grown over, abandoned – like a western movie scene where the tumbleweeds bounce along the dusty road and the swinging doors of the saloon sway mindlessly in the wind. We know that restaurants come and go all the time, all over the world. We know that many businesses in resort areas are vulnerable and as unstable as Calgary weather. But the Peanut Bar was special to us and we were counting on continued success for our own reasons. It was very depressing. It still is.
So this trip, almost eleven years later, we again returned to Calpe on the first of our visits to surrounding towns. At the place where the Peanut Bar had been we recognized that someone else (and who knows, maybe even more) had opened a restaurant at some point - but it had long since closed. Sadness came upon us again, not for the loss of the replacement restaurant but because of the cold wind that blew through one of our favourite sunny daydreams. We will always wonder about that lovely couple. What happened to them? And where are they now?
Meanwhile, life in Calpe goes on. It is a lovely world-class destination that has attracted long-stays and inventors for years. The resort areas spread along two beaches, one that parallels the city centre and the other that faces the sea in a gorgeous resort setting filled with massive and modern condominium development. Both have up-scale, well maintained promenades. The second beach is quite deserted in the winter months but even then it is popular with Dutch, German and French Europeans, many of whom winter in Calpe every year. Unfortunately this is where the Peanut Bar was located. Ifach Rock is Calpe’s grey signature statement - it sits at the corner of the two beaches and towers high into the sky. It is visible for miles and can easily be seen from Altea and Albir. Calpe is accessible from Benidorm and Alicante by Alsa Bus Lines and the tram train.
A few days later we rode in comfort to Denia on the tram train which leaves once an hour from Benidorm. We had never been to Denia before and were quite amazed to see how ‘Dutch’ the city centre looked. Reminded us completely of being in Holland, in Gouda for example. We wandered around and found the port where the ferries leave for Ibiza. Hmmm, tempting…but for another time. Denia’s boast is a massive castle on the mountain right in the middle of the city, similar to Alicante and Malaga. We stopped at a quaint little coffee house for café con leche and croissants that you would swim the Med for – they were sooooo delicious. Denia, a lovely but unremarkable city that we wouldn’t want to move to. The best part of the day was the tram train which hugged the coastline for miles and provided exquisite vistas of life in coastal Spain.
The route for city bus number 10 takes you to Albir and Altea, two lovely little resort towns that are connected to Benidorm by a very interesting half hour bus ride. A & A are bedroom communities that are separated from each other by a span of pebbly beach. You can easily walk from one promenade to the other along a gravel sidewalk. Altea is just lovely with dozens and dozens of seaside restaurants that are busy day and night. We noticed that meals are a little more expensive.
The tram train that runs from Benidorm to Alicante is not diesel, it is electric. It departs twice an hour and the trip takes about 1 hour 20 minutes. This trip to Alicante was our fourth (over the years) and while we were there we stopped by the Hotel Rambla to see what happened with our reservation. When we cancelled the booking online in Calgary because of the flight delay, the cancellation confirmation said we would be charged for the room because we were already inside the penalty period. The gorgeous young lady at the Rambla front desk went into the office and checked for us. ‘No’, she said, ‘everything is okay. You were not charged’. Good to know. That left us with a clear conscience to source out delicious food for lunch somewhere in central Alicante. And find it we did. Bet you could never guess where we ate. It was outdoors in the middle of Alicante’s remarkable pedestrian boulevard that runs parallel to the harbour. We shared a footlong sandwich – vegetarian, lightly toasted. Yes, we chose Subway, if you can imagine. And it was delicious. So much for sampling exotic Spanish tapas. Oh well, it’s only food, right?
Alicante boasts a large harbour with hundreds of yachts and sailboats – glamorous accessories of the wealthy. In fact the contrast takes your breath away, the stunning rows of expensive white fibreglass set against the expanse of shimmering blue sea. But who are those people that can afford to pay for parking in a harbour in a downtown parking lot? Where did they come from and what do they do? Everyone in Calgary has been complaining about the high cost of parking for years. Well we say, ‘ha!’ You should see the size of the stalls in Alicante harbour if you think downtown Calgary is expensive!
The day we were there the sun streamed down to earth with legendary brightness and we couldn’t think of a single reason why we should be anywhere else on earth at that moment – except for one thing. Grandkids.
That’s all for now. Hasta luego!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Benidorm
Benidorm
November 13, 2010
18:00
Well, we have endured a week and a half of good and bad weather, good and bad food, cheap beer in delightful British pubs that are so filled with cigarette smoke we cannot stand being inside and several visits to the state of the art gym in the new Levante Beach Hotel (sister property). When we are not gasping for air, either from the smoke or the work-out, we have been walking, walking, walking. Things have changed in Benidorm since our last visit almost eleven years ago. There are dozens of new high-rise hotels and condominiums stacked up the hillsides as well as spiffy new roads, pubs and shopping centres. Change is also apparent in the small tourist shops that line the busy streets because most of them are now run by Chinese, who are not that fluent in Spanish. Nothing wrong with that, just different. Also, almost all the goods in those and many other shops have been imported from China, a grand testament to Chinese marketing but a sad reality for Spanish industry, whose fine leather purses, jackets and shoes we used to covet everywhere in Spain. On the other hand, Spain now grows and markets mandarin and clemintine oranges along with their Valencias and other varieties.
More changes are evident. Bangers and mash. Shepherd’s pie. Chip butty’s. English breakfasts. Fish and chips...all things Union Jack are mighty and visible and competition for the British euro (pound) is fiercely apparent, but now there are new additions - like Chinese restaurants, Chinese buffets, Indian restaurants advertising chicken or beef curry with rice or chips or both, chips with curry and so on. A decade ago there was not a single taste of curry anywhere in Beni, now it is everywhere.
Benidorm now sports a world class shopping centre called Marina Mall, on the Northern outskirts that is easily accessible on new roads and with great bus connections. That’s another thing; the city busses are clean and modern and seem to run on time. A single ticket costs 1.25 euros. While we’re on the transportation subject, the old rattle-trap, narrow gauge train has been replaced by a modern new diesel tram which runs regularly from Alicante to Denia. A return ticket from Benidorm to Alicante costs 5.25 euros, not bad!
Some things have not changed at all since we first visited in 1997. Europeans in general flock to Benidorm and the Costa Blanca to live and to holiday. Many spend up to six months in Spain every year, like snowbirds in Arizona and California, but the majority fly in on one or two week packages from home airports. We have never been to Benidorm in summer or at Christmas, but in November, January and February, the seaside promenade is full day and night with strollers. Our personal promenade stroller calculation - about 40% are from the British Isles, 40% are Spanish and the rest are from Holland, Germany, France, Belgium, Canada, USA, Asia, North Africa…you name it. The majority are retired but there are also families, young couples, yuppies, wannabe’s and people with dogs. Now here’s the interesting part: the retired Spanish dress exactly the same as they did when we were here thirteen years ago. The majority of aging Spanish ladies are dark haired, short and solidly rectangular. They wear reasonably sensible shoes, nylons, straight skirts, blouses and sweaters. The majority of the men are also short but not as solid. They wear dress pants and nice shirts and almost always have a sweater tied neatly around their shoulders. For some reason their hair shows a lot more grey than their female companions. Aging Spanish women seem to wear a lot of black, but this year more than ever we notice lots of red too – shoes, jackets and purses. If you pass an elderly Spanish lady on the promenade and she doesn’t have a scarf tied around her neck, then someone just lifted it because scarves are definitely the defining factor. A huge percentage of retired Spanish are smokers, and they love to dine late and dance even later. They also enjoy a glass of brandy with their morning coffee, or their afternoon coffee, or with their night coffee. When they are talking together in little groups in restaurants or in coffee shops, we understand almost nothing they say.
Now…moving right along…please do not confuse the aging Spanish with their children, young and old, because they are not like their parents. As in most countries, young people wear timely clothes, sometimes timely to the extreme and to the ridiculous extreme. Young Spanish women do not have short, dark hair; they have hair in all shapes, lengths and colors. They wear tight jeans, short skirts, short shorts and very high heels – just like females everywhere. They also wear scarves around their necks, large earrings, and many are absolutely beautiful. And the young men? RrrrWow! Enough said about them, winners of the World Cup are winners, period.
So now we get to the next interesting part. The other strolling majority on the promenade are from the UK and some of them are retirees who look young and robust. But they are with friends and relatives who are not. It is clearly visible how injured and/or disabled many of the British are as they roll up and down the streets on rented scooters (the four wheel kind), or lumber slowly along with canes, or walkers, or are pushed along in wheelchairs. Benidorm has done a good job of adapting itself to the handicapped, and there seem to be hundreds of them. The British Isles come in all shapes and sizes and many of the retirees are in good physical condition, but the majority seem to be largely out of shape, particularly the ladies, even young ladies. British men are an interesting study; for a lot of them the style seems to be ‘no hair’ at all, so young and old have fairly close shaved heads. Of course there are always exceptions, but British males are taller, broader, and thicker through the upper body than Spanish males, and they have muscular legs, wear muscle shirts that show off miles of tattoos, they hug their girls when they walk, and they laugh out loud - oh, I could go on and on - they wear sports shorts that hang down below their knees and big, expensive running shoes, and they seem to enjoy themselves totally while on vacation. I know it’s hard to believe but we have seen with our own eyes, Brits that wait until 9:00 or even 9:02 am before they start drinking beer. We realize now there really is a connection between Winston Churchill and the Proper British Bull Dog. But you know what? While we cannot speak for their behaviour at home, in Benidorm, this large and sparsely dressed portion of the population seem to be having fun all the time. Delightful, rowdy, good to know you, fun! They laugh and drink and smoke and party and sing and shout and have a first-rate time. Every evening they trickle into the pubs, nightclubs and discos and before you know it, every chair is occupied with high expectations and smoke that coils around thicker than a Manchester accent. They love British comedians, who are as common in Benidorm as whitecaps on the Med. These comedians (if you can understand them) can be outrageously, stomach twisting funny, but they border on lewd and vulgar, and claim emphatically that the British own Benidorm so the Spanish should just f*** off.
On many November nights in the Costa Blanca, after the sun has gone down, a bit of a wind pushes the damp air around the bay in a chilly circle. When that happens, Richard and Donna immediately run for sweaters and long pants. The Spanish run for sweaters, long pants and scarves. But what about the British? Well they’re still strolling along or sitting outside at pubs, wearing shorts, flip flops, ladies in string tee’s, men in muscle shirts, tattoos, bare skin, heads, legs and shoulders exposed, chatting and laughing, most of them enjoying a wee smoke with their wee pint. My God they are tough! We Canadians have no idea whatsoever about survival, and have a lot to learn about staying ‘warm’ from the inside out. One more thing, when they are talking together in little groups in pubs or in coffee shops, because of their diverse regional accents, we really understand very little of what they say.
And finally, a weighty but thoughtful conclusion - our own opinion, of course, nothing official. It is harsh but true that Spain subjugated and colonized most of the land in the Americas from Mexico south to Peru. There are a few exceptions of course, the biggest being Brazil, which is Portuguese. But after living in Mexico for almost three years - Mexico, with its Spanish language, architecture, devout Roman Catholic religion, inherited corruption and disturbing poverty - it is inconceivable and almost impossible for us to understand that the small, solid Spanish women, with or without scarves, who are strolling the Benidorm promenade today, descended from their mothers, who came from their mother’s mothers, and so on...all the way down to the very mothers who gave birth to the conquerors of millions of indigenous peoples in Mexico and Central and South America. In 1519, half a world away!
Conclusion Part II. And what about the British?
November 13, 2010
18:00
Well, we have endured a week and a half of good and bad weather, good and bad food, cheap beer in delightful British pubs that are so filled with cigarette smoke we cannot stand being inside and several visits to the state of the art gym in the new Levante Beach Hotel (sister property). When we are not gasping for air, either from the smoke or the work-out, we have been walking, walking, walking. Things have changed in Benidorm since our last visit almost eleven years ago. There are dozens of new high-rise hotels and condominiums stacked up the hillsides as well as spiffy new roads, pubs and shopping centres. Change is also apparent in the small tourist shops that line the busy streets because most of them are now run by Chinese, who are not that fluent in Spanish. Nothing wrong with that, just different. Also, almost all the goods in those and many other shops have been imported from China, a grand testament to Chinese marketing but a sad reality for Spanish industry, whose fine leather purses, jackets and shoes we used to covet everywhere in Spain. On the other hand, Spain now grows and markets mandarin and clemintine oranges along with their Valencias and other varieties.
More changes are evident. Bangers and mash. Shepherd’s pie. Chip butty’s. English breakfasts. Fish and chips...all things Union Jack are mighty and visible and competition for the British euro (pound) is fiercely apparent, but now there are new additions - like Chinese restaurants, Chinese buffets, Indian restaurants advertising chicken or beef curry with rice or chips or both, chips with curry and so on. A decade ago there was not a single taste of curry anywhere in Beni, now it is everywhere.
Benidorm now sports a world class shopping centre called Marina Mall, on the Northern outskirts that is easily accessible on new roads and with great bus connections. That’s another thing; the city busses are clean and modern and seem to run on time. A single ticket costs 1.25 euros. While we’re on the transportation subject, the old rattle-trap, narrow gauge train has been replaced by a modern new diesel tram which runs regularly from Alicante to Denia. A return ticket from Benidorm to Alicante costs 5.25 euros, not bad!
Some things have not changed at all since we first visited in 1997. Europeans in general flock to Benidorm and the Costa Blanca to live and to holiday. Many spend up to six months in Spain every year, like snowbirds in Arizona and California, but the majority fly in on one or two week packages from home airports. We have never been to Benidorm in summer or at Christmas, but in November, January and February, the seaside promenade is full day and night with strollers. Our personal promenade stroller calculation - about 40% are from the British Isles, 40% are Spanish and the rest are from Holland, Germany, France, Belgium, Canada, USA, Asia, North Africa…you name it. The majority are retired but there are also families, young couples, yuppies, wannabe’s and people with dogs. Now here’s the interesting part: the retired Spanish dress exactly the same as they did when we were here thirteen years ago. The majority of aging Spanish ladies are dark haired, short and solidly rectangular. They wear reasonably sensible shoes, nylons, straight skirts, blouses and sweaters. The majority of the men are also short but not as solid. They wear dress pants and nice shirts and almost always have a sweater tied neatly around their shoulders. For some reason their hair shows a lot more grey than their female companions. Aging Spanish women seem to wear a lot of black, but this year more than ever we notice lots of red too – shoes, jackets and purses. If you pass an elderly Spanish lady on the promenade and she doesn’t have a scarf tied around her neck, then someone just lifted it because scarves are definitely the defining factor. A huge percentage of retired Spanish are smokers, and they love to dine late and dance even later. They also enjoy a glass of brandy with their morning coffee, or their afternoon coffee, or with their night coffee. When they are talking together in little groups in restaurants or in coffee shops, we understand almost nothing they say.
Now…moving right along…please do not confuse the aging Spanish with their children, young and old, because they are not like their parents. As in most countries, young people wear timely clothes, sometimes timely to the extreme and to the ridiculous extreme. Young Spanish women do not have short, dark hair; they have hair in all shapes, lengths and colors. They wear tight jeans, short skirts, short shorts and very high heels – just like females everywhere. They also wear scarves around their necks, large earrings, and many are absolutely beautiful. And the young men? RrrrWow! Enough said about them, winners of the World Cup are winners, period.
So now we get to the next interesting part. The other strolling majority on the promenade are from the UK and some of them are retirees who look young and robust. But they are with friends and relatives who are not. It is clearly visible how injured and/or disabled many of the British are as they roll up and down the streets on rented scooters (the four wheel kind), or lumber slowly along with canes, or walkers, or are pushed along in wheelchairs. Benidorm has done a good job of adapting itself to the handicapped, and there seem to be hundreds of them. The British Isles come in all shapes and sizes and many of the retirees are in good physical condition, but the majority seem to be largely out of shape, particularly the ladies, even young ladies. British men are an interesting study; for a lot of them the style seems to be ‘no hair’ at all, so young and old have fairly close shaved heads. Of course there are always exceptions, but British males are taller, broader, and thicker through the upper body than Spanish males, and they have muscular legs, wear muscle shirts that show off miles of tattoos, they hug their girls when they walk, and they laugh out loud - oh, I could go on and on - they wear sports shorts that hang down below their knees and big, expensive running shoes, and they seem to enjoy themselves totally while on vacation. I know it’s hard to believe but we have seen with our own eyes, Brits that wait until 9:00 or even 9:02 am before they start drinking beer. We realize now there really is a connection between Winston Churchill and the Proper British Bull Dog. But you know what? While we cannot speak for their behaviour at home, in Benidorm, this large and sparsely dressed portion of the population seem to be having fun all the time. Delightful, rowdy, good to know you, fun! They laugh and drink and smoke and party and sing and shout and have a first-rate time. Every evening they trickle into the pubs, nightclubs and discos and before you know it, every chair is occupied with high expectations and smoke that coils around thicker than a Manchester accent. They love British comedians, who are as common in Benidorm as whitecaps on the Med. These comedians (if you can understand them) can be outrageously, stomach twisting funny, but they border on lewd and vulgar, and claim emphatically that the British own Benidorm so the Spanish should just f*** off.
On many November nights in the Costa Blanca, after the sun has gone down, a bit of a wind pushes the damp air around the bay in a chilly circle. When that happens, Richard and Donna immediately run for sweaters and long pants. The Spanish run for sweaters, long pants and scarves. But what about the British? Well they’re still strolling along or sitting outside at pubs, wearing shorts, flip flops, ladies in string tee’s, men in muscle shirts, tattoos, bare skin, heads, legs and shoulders exposed, chatting and laughing, most of them enjoying a wee smoke with their wee pint. My God they are tough! We Canadians have no idea whatsoever about survival, and have a lot to learn about staying ‘warm’ from the inside out. One more thing, when they are talking together in little groups in pubs or in coffee shops, because of their diverse regional accents, we really understand very little of what they say.
And finally, a weighty but thoughtful conclusion - our own opinion, of course, nothing official. It is harsh but true that Spain subjugated and colonized most of the land in the Americas from Mexico south to Peru. There are a few exceptions of course, the biggest being Brazil, which is Portuguese. But after living in Mexico for almost three years - Mexico, with its Spanish language, architecture, devout Roman Catholic religion, inherited corruption and disturbing poverty - it is inconceivable and almost impossible for us to understand that the small, solid Spanish women, with or without scarves, who are strolling the Benidorm promenade today, descended from their mothers, who came from their mother’s mothers, and so on...all the way down to the very mothers who gave birth to the conquerors of millions of indigenous peoples in Mexico and Central and South America. In 1519, half a world away!
Conclusion Part II. And what about the British?
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