Years ago, on a trip to Europe, Kernie and I had an epiphany: many of our co-travelers were of retirement age and could not enjoy half the things we took for granted—biking, walking 15 miles, and getting off a gangplank without looking like help should be on the way. We resolved then to get us much travel in before we were physically limited — as unlikely as that possibility was.
We are now in our seventies with a pent-up need to travel post-Covid and decided on an experiment: an ocean cruise (not our first choice—we much prefer river cruises) in the Mediterranean, calling on ports we would be unlikely to ever see otherwise. Through Darby (the famous Darby of Sixth Man, associated with Norwegian Cruise Lines), we decided to try Regent Seven Seas Cruises (a Mercedes or Jaguar brand, if you will). What follows is our travel log with some digressions:
One of the nice things about Regents, is the cost of the trip includes the airfare to Europe in business class. Kernie, ever the compulsive travel agent, could not compete with their pricing of this as part of the package when she looked into flights independently. And we could not have picked better connections. Two interesting points regarding our flight to Europe:
1) We assume business class luggage does not get lost…….but just to be sure, we had copies of our passports in our checked luggage along with Apple air tags for localization. Having transferred planes in Paris, we awaited our luggage in Nice and while doing so, consulted our phones, both on airplane mode using wi fi in the airport—Randy’s luggage was less than 100 yards away, but Kernie’s was still at Charles DeGaul……until we saw it appear on the belt—panic averted. A second and third look at the phone later that evening saw the correction. We would meet fellow passengers on the ship whose luggage did not make it. British Airways having gotten the luggage to the hotel in Monte Carlo, was done and the ship, now in the Mediterranean found the luggage owners playing catch up trying to get their luggage to a port to be……and after two weeks, they gave up.
2) I am retired. I am a physician. Restless and drowsy on an overnight flight, the PA system, in pitch dark called for medical personnel to report to the back of the plane. On arrival, a flight attendant asked if I was a doctor and when I nodded the affirmative, the radiologist who got there first smiled broadly and exited. There were too many people squeezed in around a thin woman who was a bit pale but awake on the floor. She was fine —and after ten minutes, we got her to her seat. Ninety minutes later, a second call and this time, an abbreviated response—far fewer people coming to help. I thought I was seeing the same woman but as I talked to her, it became clear she was new to me. She was unconscious when I arrived, pale, cold, and, clammy. Her heels now on my shoulder, I almost did the knuckles-to-chest approach to waking someone up (used commonly in the ER in my time—but not with civilians looking on) but refrained; happily she woke up within a few seconds. Both women that night were thin, almost undernourished in appearance, sleep deprived, and by history, with no chronic illness or regular medication use. Both appeared to have fainted and neither had ever done it before…….Problems evaluating a perfect stranger lying on a plane floor? Lack of space, the ambient noise from the engines (both women spoke in whispers), crowds of looky-loos, and my temperament does not slide into leadership quickly—the crowd needed to be thinned and roles assigned. The second patient found me linked smoothly with a very pleasant middle aged woman who I took by her disposition to be nurse—she was an obstetrician from Estonia who marveled that I knew where that was………
In the Paris airport, finding our connecting flight I concluded that concerns about Covid are mostly gone; I saw several people open their mouths widely and sneeze into really crowded walking spaces. Not a mask in sight.
From Nice, we spent 18 hours in Monte Carlo. Sleep deprived, we did get some walking in and took the sights, such as they are. Despite seeing To Catch a Thief and having seen the MTV video of Elton John singing and dancing in front of the casino, I can’t say I was impressed. I expected more visually— it has the appearance of many small European cities. Expensive stores are to be found lots of places…..nothing special about that. I always like the contrast of modern buildings next to the old—and there was plenty of that—and apartment buildings marched up the steep hillsides, all densely packed. The parking space in front of our hotel (the Fairmont) made the expected impression when we arrived: expensive sports cars all lined up neatly. At breakfast I made acquaintance with an old English couple also going on Regent trip. I introduced myself, “Hi, I am Randy,” and then corrected myself remembering she was English, “I should say, my name is Randy.” She smiled mischievously, “Oh, I see that.”
Marseille: I learned the Marseille (France’s national anthem) in French when I was eight years old. I was curious to see what the fuss was all about. Somehow, the message I have had from fellow travelers is that there is not much to it—its value is as a stepping stone to Provence and beyond. I believe Rick Steves does not recommend exploring Marseille. Lesson One from this trip: doing city tours on a bus with 20 people detracts from the experience. If you want to learn about a place and you are going to have limited time to do it, either take a food tour (usually in a setting for talking history while trying the food) or spend the money on a small tour—-especially if you can set a goal of what you want to see or learn. The high points for us was the cathedral overlooking the harbor and the 142 steps to be climbed getting to it from the drop off zone (if that was a high point of the tour……) and a walk through the old harbor. The city hall was the only old building left in the old harbor, the rest having been blown up by the retreating Germans in WWII. The face below King Louis’s bust has become my new Facebook profile picture……
Malaga: For some reason, this name conjures up romantic visions. Lesson one repeated…..our guide was elderly (I felt like I was getting advice from my mother other than this woman was very hard to understand) as she laid out the city and its attractions. My favorites? A picture taken next to a statue of Picasso who was born in Malaga. There were Jacaranda trees in bloom everywhere and the Roman ruins were very cool. Young people and children were found everywhere. Lunch in a bar did not feel genuine but I liked the three piece string band and instructions to the bathroom, in Spanish, which I followed —with success. My interest in speaking Spanish was mostly thwarted in the tour. On this tour, I got a good listen to Spanish— the speakers linked to the guide were on as she had multiple belligerent conversations on her cell phone.
Tangiers: Lesson One repeated. As Marseille, one had the feeling for the couple of hours on tour, they had to take you somewhere so we drove by compounds housing the wealthy, down a lovely coast to the Caves of Hercules. OK. From the coast one can see Gibralter (I think….nope! It was a Gibralter wannabe) which may or may not be one of the Pillars of Hercules. And then the Casbah (where the guide added, we could “Rock.”). Tangiers, if you have money looks like an interesting place to live with a nice climate—a la Southern California. We shuffled in and out of the third story of a tea house to be processed (an almond cookie and mint tea) before making way for more tourists. As we looked in this crowded central part of the city, the people walking and working could not be distinguished from their peers in Southern Spain or Portugal. Our ship was docked with a full view of the Casbah and it was within walking distance. Of interest, were we to have walked it, we would have passed four “Putin Yachts” ie larger than life luxury yachts—and three of the four had British/Commonwealth flags…..
In the Casbah
Cadiz: apparently the city to which Columbus first returned from voyage #1. No city tour for us on this day—we signed up for the bike tour in the country for five hours, round trip. I presented with my Italian bike jersey and got admiring glances…only to find that our group of 12 people were not so engaged with the biking world. We drove out of the city and then up the coast— which was spectacular. Going inland, we took hairpins and eventually were at the base of a hill with a town of white buildings set up to look like a medieval village. This was a community for well-to-do people and was green ie the town uses local wind generated electricity and solar panels to meet its energy needs. It was tidy, visually impressive, with healthy people walking everywhere. We found our way to a deserted, “under construction” borderland and met up with the bike touring leaders. Despite giving my height ahead of time, there was no bike that would properly fit me—I got a mountain bike that had faulty gearing and I raised the seat as high as possible to avoid cramping the legs. We wandered one lane roads periodically pulling over for a view or to repair a non functioning bike. Kernie’s chain actually broke and the replacement bike was an E bike but lacking any battery power so that while rideable, it proved very heavy. We did ride through a pine forest for perhaps ten to fifteen minutes and then had a 20-30 minute downhill ride to the coast. We stopped for an hour for coffee and a “walk the beach tour” and then back home to a congested city. We biked for perhaps an hour in the five hour round trip……Once home, we did walk the old city which was a hundred yards from the gangway. A quarter of a mile from that, there was an impressive cathedral and another quarter mile beyond that, the ocean. It was a beautiful city that we walked right in the middle of siesta time. I put in my mental file, “come back to Cadiz!”—and then we sailed on to Lisbon.
Lisbon: Arrived to a typical spring “Olympia” day—cool temperature, light rain, sun, and more clouds. As we have done two city tours here in the past, we hoofed it through Lisbon accumulating 20,000 steps, some nice memories, and once more, a favorable impression with it as a city. I can see the appeal of Lisbon for American expatriates.
Porto - I think this is one of the nicest cities in Europe. We abandoned the city tour and took off on our own. There was a lot of construction which found us walking, one more time, up alleys with trashcans and no people to be seen— but eventually Kernie sighted a tourist office. The clerk spoke English and got us re-oriented and when asked about a place for lunch, away from the central touristed area, she sent us to a place she used. I had octopus in a sea of pickled onions. A “glass” of wine was a small bottle (300 cc’s) which I could not finish. Kernie had garlic shrimp and we shared great bread. Not a word of English heard. A great place to people-watch-and listen.
A well known reference point in Porto
Ferrol —My brother drove through Galicia decades ago and told me of a new language, “Portañol” ie a mix of Spanish and Portuguese. It turns out, that language is in fact, Galician. Galicia as a part of Spain is counter intuitive. The Spain we know of is in the South—Mediterranean in emphasis and culture. Here, we might as well have been in the Willamette Valley—it was that green (and wet). This bus tour was more engaging with great views and history totally unfamiliar. Bagpipes! Red heads and blonds (the Vikings came here too!). From a small fishing village on an estuary complete with gothic towers and an open market we drove to Betanzos, a middling city whose downtown was clean and organized, but with a depressed economy; half the store-fronts were empty and many clearance sales were advertised in those remaining. We were told of the specialty of the region, a tortilla which we ordered for lunch, and were distressed to see a huge plate of baked eggs—still runny mixed 1:1 with onions, all undercooked beneath a crust. The beer and bread were good as was the Calamari. In both towns we saw markers for the Camino de Santiago route and there were treckers to be seen. I am sorely tempted…….Leaving the port, the military history of Ferrol and current presence there was obvious. We got a salute as we passed the ancient fort.
The famous tortilla
Bilbao—The point of this port was the Guggenheim museum. I am glad I saw it. Regarding what we saw inside—-there were astounding objects simply for their mass and the simplicity of the design. With others, my ever present, “but is it art?” I prefer New York’s Guggenheim. The city of Bilbao is an example of what Portland should be—visually the similarities were startling.
One of my, 'but is it art? ' examples
Bordeaux: My mother married a widower whose wife had been a French woman from Western France. Her bathroom had watercolors from near Bordeaux that intrigued me with this visit in mind. I was awake as the sun rose and for hours we had land on both sides of us, no city in sight. Soon, we went under a suspension bridge and as we entered the city, a modern bridge whose middle span raised above the level of the ship. Once through, inside the city, the ship using bow thrusters and one tug did a 180 degree turn in a river that did not look wide enough to fit the ship turning sidewise to the current. There was plenty of room. We docked next to the central city and below us, an esplanade of grass and paved areas full of joggers, cyclist, and picnickers. A modern tram paralleled the river. The buildings were large 18th century structures of stone, three and four stories high. We continued with Seattle-like weather and started a city tour with a very impressive guide but Rule number one still applied—he was hard to understand and the large group had people who could only walk at a glacial pace. Kern took advantage of this and bought a half dozen Canilés, a delicious honey flavored pastry to die for—especially when warm as in just out of the oven. She did not get lost and did catch up with us, the lumbering crowd. Half way into the walk, we separated—with our remaining canilés. We found a seedier part of Bordeaux in search of the, “Market of St Michele,” one of the few things open on a Sunday. Along the way: most stores and restaurants were closed but sports bars were open. Lots of trashcans were overflowing. Bordeaux is diverse, racially and culturally; we saw and heard young men from Africa and the Middle East speaking native tongues, many with beer in hand and unsteady on their feet. We found the market. It was brimming with locals who it seemed, bought food in the market and took it to restaurant stalls for cooking. The spices and foods were from all over the world. Kern was in her element and this experience made up for all the closed storefronts. We eventually got back to the ship, intent on finding a local restaurant. The internet search could find only one within walking distance that was open and when we got there, the line (of locals) was out the door and down the block. We ate lightly on board, resolved for a meal the next day.
Day two in Bordeaux included a bike tour. This experience was good. The bikes fit, were in good shape, and the guide quite interesting to listen to. Roman ruins were found between feudal streets and eventually a church built during the reign of Eleanor of Aquitaine. We made our way across a brick bridge to the opposite bank and found an old army barracks, abandoned during the cold war, and then taken over by squatters. It is now being developed as a young-adult oriented commercial space, complete with outdoor couches supporting internet cafes, art work, a bar with pinball machines, a chocolate manufacturer, and a bakery. The guide bought us coffees and we split up baguettes. We crossed the bridge that had been raised for us learning that it had counterweights that made the energy expenditure pretty minimal when raised and lowered compared to conventional designs. I finally had a “French lunch” in that a cafe overlooking the river provided me with a collection of cured thinly slice ham and a variety of cheeses. The native Frenchman next to me ate a cheeseburger with fries which from my observations, reflects reality; it seems the French do like burgers and fries…..
I can go back to Bordeaux……
Typical scene in the old city by the old gate into the city.
Our last port, near Biarritz, was cancelled as entry required portage and the seas were deemed too rough. We had our last two days at sea. Lesson number two: Randy does not like days at sea. There were however some exceptional moments. Kernie and I took two cooking classes: one on French cooking and one with Paella as the object of our work. It was inspirational in that the chef was an excellent communicator at all levels. We ate our completed work. We drank fine wines as we cooked. Randy made a quiche and paella as well as crepes suzette. It is a new world.
Observations on board a “Mercedes” cruise: I came with prejudices, expecting an elderly and wealthy class of people. Superficially, my prejudices were supported but on reflection, dinner after dinner and walking the decks, I think Kernie and I were in the middling age group for this collection of passengers which numbered around 600 people. All stages of health were evident and I got an eyeful of slow lumbering gaits, kyphotic curvatures, and edematous lower extremities. I also saw engaged and athletic Medicare-aged people. And then there were the non-medicare passengers…….and here I was astounded to meet so many people who retired in their fifties. Regarding wealth, we were clearly in the lower quartile as expectations and plans were reviewed. There are people for whom cruising is a lifestyle to avoid being home (the choice typically being between two or more homes) during the hot season (think Florida or Texas). Happily, politics were mostly avoided and when it came up, people seemed mostly centrists in their orientation to economic and social policies. A fascinating woman met at dinner was from Australia where she owned a cotton farming business. She complained bitterly over Australian tax laws that included taxing her on rainfall (?) —if she kept more than 10% of collected water. Later in the trip she lamented that as she is retired, she no longer has use of her private jet which she sold……..
Despite my stated non preference for ocean travel, I have never slept better in my life—I attribute the gentle movement of the ship during the night along with a superb mattress and pillows—no small thing. My pattern in the mornings was to awaken with sunrise and shortly thereafter, I would walk the promenade and get Kernie a coffee. Then as later in the day, music played in the open areas—and that was what I now label as colonoscopy music. When partially sedated awaiting colonoscopy, patients of a certain age while waiting are reassured and calmed by the music of their coming of age: the Beatles, the Stones, Jackson Brown, CSNY, the Beachboy’s, Joni Mitchell, Simon and Garfunkel, Cat Stevens, etc………and that is what played more often than not in the English Channel as we approached Southampton.
While the price tag was high, I was impressed by Regents and in my dotage would consider going again. They took good care of us and our time on board was quite pleasurable. Rules numbers one and two would still apply and we will adjust accordingly.
The SS Splendor as seen during breakfast in Monte Carlo
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