My trip to Dublin was motivated by one fact – to spend a large stack of Euro coins that had accumulated from my previous travels. The €1 and €2 I did not mind, for they are hefty and feel important, but I had 55¢ comprised of 1, 2, 5 and 10¢ coins that took up space but did not amount to much. It was these coins that plagued me for the journey.
I arrived in Dublin slightly before noon and made my way to Temple Bar, a pedestrian district full of pubs, restaurants and small shops. Being Ireland, they were open at noon and the streets were bustling with people having a mid-day drink. Narrow streets wind around just off of the river and the music of an accordion player filled the streets. I had Guinness for lunch. I am sure St. Paddy would approve.
I headed in the direction of the Irish Museum of Modern Art and found their exhibit on Hospitals to be incredible. I was very impressed on how they were able to capture the artistic reality of health. The bottles of the pharmacy room made an intriguing mosaic on the wall. Actors playing doctors pushed gurneys with other actors playing patients. IV’s hung realistically from patient’s rooms. The ICU Exhibit even had a reenactment of a cardiac arrest. I walked away in awe of the imaginative uniqueness of the exhibit. Later on that night, I glanced at map and found that the Museum was right next to the local hospital. How wonderful it is for the two institutions to have such a close relationship.
Meanwhile, I had been unable to spend the €0.55. Everywhere I went, I was stymied. Museum? Free. Lunch? Too expensive for cash – had to be charged. How I wished they simply charged €0.50! I wandered around town looking for a place to buy something small and found a fruit cart with a sign “8 plumbs for €1”. I ordered four, but was told that they did not do half orders. They weren’t that sweet either.
So I found myself at the Dublin Airport, with my last chance of spending the loose change. Not only was I ineffective in spending 55¢, over the course of the day, it had grown to 87¢. Have you ever tried to find something at the airport that cost less than 87¢? It is hard. Caviar is €800. Whisky is €20. Even little things like candy bars were €0.95. I walked up and down the airport mall nearly three times frantically looking for something cheap. Finally, underneath the cash register at a coffee shop, I found my El Dorado – a 70¢ bag of salt and vinegar potato chips.
So here I am, sitting on the no-frills Ryan Air flight back to London. The interior is bright yellow and the flight attendants treat you as if you’re on a bus. But no matter – I have successfully spent my loose change and am munching on chips!
Monday, December 22, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Santa Claus is Buried in Bari
It’s true, you know. Saint Nicholas’s final resting place is in the local basilica. So if a kid ever asks me again if I believe in Santa Claus, I can answer, “Yes, I do. But he’s dead now.” Then I can show him a photo of his grave. I am sure the kid will thank me in the long run for telling the truth!
I arrived after a one hour bus ride and set off looking for a hotel. The Moderna was recommended as reasonably priced for a lone traveler, but I was unhappy to learn that there was only one room left at the price of €70.
“€70!” I said. “Is there any place cheaper?” The man laughed and said, “You can try beyond the city center. This area will be hard.”
I had thought that traveling in mid-September would have allowed me to escape the tourist rush. I asked him “Is there a special event going on?”
“Si, the Exhibition.” He answered, as if I should have known that already.
“Exhibition!” My ears perked. I had attended Expo2000, the Universal Exhibition in Hannover, Germany and greatly enjoyed the experience. “Can you tell me more?”
He stared me incredulously. “You did not know about the exhibition?” He cleared his throat and put himself into travel guide mode. “Every year, there is an exhibition. It is the largest one of its kind in Italy, and larger than many in Europe. Many countries come and exhibit. You can eat their foods. It is good. You should go.” That was all he had to say. I took the room and half an hour later, entered the fairgrounds.
The expo was good sized, with about a third dedicated to random countries. India had the largest booth while Peru and Columbia were close behind. France actually had its own building full of chocolate, candies and crepes. The place was packed. About a third of the exhibit was for interior design. It was reminiscent of walking through IKEA. Countless numbers of bedrooms, kitchens and dining room sets were displayed with virtually all combinations of colors. The most visually stunning booth was the company selling staircases. Half a dozen spiral staircases that led to nowhere stood in the center of the exhibition floor.
The rest of the exhibition was for selling everything else. You could watch demonstrations of fruit slicers, talk to the Roomba salesman, or buy self-cleaning pans. There were electronic gadgets and washing machines and blenders and antiques. There was a large emphasis on meat slicers and industrial sized automatic pasta makers. Leave it up to the Italians to value their Salami and Linguini.
By this point, I felt it necessary to purchase something Italian. I had been in Italy for two whole days and all I had to show for it was a Babushka doll from the Russian booth. In the agriculture building, sausage, prosciutto, wine and cheese filled the room. After browsing the stalls, I decided that the best thing to buy was olive oil, especially given the number of olive trees I saw during the bus ride from Taranto.
I walked up to a guy standing in front of a row of bottles and told him that I was interested in buying one.
“Ah, non, signore, we are not selling here. We can offer you a tasting of the region’s best olive oil.” I had never heard of an olive oil tasting before, so I went for it. He handed me a shot glass of olive oil and began his personalized lecture. Ten cups later, he was still going strong on his “light” vs “filtered” vs “produced by a 2000 year old tradition”. He found many words to describe the differences in the species of olives from Lecce to Brindisi. Never once did he use the words “extra” and “virgin”, the only two words I associate with olive oil. Truth be told, I could smell the difference with my nose, see the difference in swirling the cup and taste the difference as I rolled it over my tongue. But after 15 cups, I felt sick. Mercifully, he ended his talk.
Taking my newfound knowledge in olive oil, I walked to the closest booth that sold the oils. “I’ll take that one!” I said, pointing to the first one I saw. I still don’t know if it’s best suited for salads or to be cooked with meats.
I arrived after a one hour bus ride and set off looking for a hotel. The Moderna was recommended as reasonably priced for a lone traveler, but I was unhappy to learn that there was only one room left at the price of €70.
“€70!” I said. “Is there any place cheaper?” The man laughed and said, “You can try beyond the city center. This area will be hard.”
I had thought that traveling in mid-September would have allowed me to escape the tourist rush. I asked him “Is there a special event going on?”
“Si, the Exhibition.” He answered, as if I should have known that already.
“Exhibition!” My ears perked. I had attended Expo2000, the Universal Exhibition in Hannover, Germany and greatly enjoyed the experience. “Can you tell me more?”
He stared me incredulously. “You did not know about the exhibition?” He cleared his throat and put himself into travel guide mode. “Every year, there is an exhibition. It is the largest one of its kind in Italy, and larger than many in Europe. Many countries come and exhibit. You can eat their foods. It is good. You should go.” That was all he had to say. I took the room and half an hour later, entered the fairgrounds.
The expo was good sized, with about a third dedicated to random countries. India had the largest booth while Peru and Columbia were close behind. France actually had its own building full of chocolate, candies and crepes. The place was packed. About a third of the exhibit was for interior design. It was reminiscent of walking through IKEA. Countless numbers of bedrooms, kitchens and dining room sets were displayed with virtually all combinations of colors. The most visually stunning booth was the company selling staircases. Half a dozen spiral staircases that led to nowhere stood in the center of the exhibition floor.
The rest of the exhibition was for selling everything else. You could watch demonstrations of fruit slicers, talk to the Roomba salesman, or buy self-cleaning pans. There were electronic gadgets and washing machines and blenders and antiques. There was a large emphasis on meat slicers and industrial sized automatic pasta makers. Leave it up to the Italians to value their Salami and Linguini.
By this point, I felt it necessary to purchase something Italian. I had been in Italy for two whole days and all I had to show for it was a Babushka doll from the Russian booth. In the agriculture building, sausage, prosciutto, wine and cheese filled the room. After browsing the stalls, I decided that the best thing to buy was olive oil, especially given the number of olive trees I saw during the bus ride from Taranto.
I walked up to a guy standing in front of a row of bottles and told him that I was interested in buying one.
“Ah, non, signore, we are not selling here. We can offer you a tasting of the region’s best olive oil.” I had never heard of an olive oil tasting before, so I went for it. He handed me a shot glass of olive oil and began his personalized lecture. Ten cups later, he was still going strong on his “light” vs “filtered” vs “produced by a 2000 year old tradition”. He found many words to describe the differences in the species of olives from Lecce to Brindisi. Never once did he use the words “extra” and “virgin”, the only two words I associate with olive oil. Truth be told, I could smell the difference with my nose, see the difference in swirling the cup and taste the difference as I rolled it over my tongue. But after 15 cups, I felt sick. Mercifully, he ended his talk.
Taking my newfound knowledge in olive oil, I walked to the closest booth that sold the oils. “I’ll take that one!” I said, pointing to the first one I saw. I still don’t know if it’s best suited for salads or to be cooked with meats.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Taranto, not Toronto
We arrived in Taranto, Italy, in the cover of the night – appropriate for a town that has been invaded at least four times and completely razed at least once in its 2500 year history. A glance out of my freighter window when I awoke gave a most depressing sight of a petroleum refinery spewing tons of pollutants. Taranto is an industrial city and the skyline reflected that fact. To my surprise, the giant cranes here are candy striped. Yes, they looked like giant candy canes.
People here functioned on Italian time and the inefficiencies it caused would plague me for the rest of the day. Even though the ship docked a 4:00AM, the customs agent did not arrive until 9:00. We met and he was kind enough to arrange a taxi for me and told me that I could leave by 11:00 – that was when the immigration officer would arrive and process the paperwork. I was stranded on the vessel until then even though I woke up at sunrise in order to get an early start.
Upon reaching the city at noon, I armed myself with a Gelato and began my explorations, partially to stretch the legs after two weeks of atrophy. Taranto was founded by Greeks and functioned as the capital of the colony. Over time, it was conquered by X, razed by Y and pillaged by the Z’s. In the old city, ancient Grecian columns have survived and still stand next to 200-year old infants. In the new city, Roman ruins and archaeological sites are open to the public. It was quite humbling to walk around the Archaeological Museum and see the ancient history of the local artifacts.
Halfway through the afternoon, it began to thunderstorm and I retired to my hotel. The exhaustion of the day must have caught up with me because I soon fell fast asleep. I considered setting my alarm clock but was asleep before I was able to do so. It did not matter, for Italian Inefficiency interrupted my slumber at 4:00PM. I was woken up by a knock on my door. A loud voice echoed through, “Mr Jia! This is Customs! I have an urgent matter to attend to!” I nearly jumped into my pants. In my head flew dozens of illogical explanations for all possible international crises that could have been caused by my arrival. I opened the door and there stood the customs official I had met earlier in a wet uniform jacket looking apologetic. “I am sorry to disturb you but there has been a misunderstanding. The Immigration official neglected to stamp your passport!”
He was kind enough to drive me back to the immigration building where three officials carefully inspected my passport. Keep in mind, immigration office at the port usually doesn’t have much to do. Every once and awhile there is a crew change and once in a blue moon a passenger disembarks. This was the most excitement they had in years. Eventually, the senior official got up and opened a safe on the other side of the room. He took out a lockbox and set it on the table. He ceremoniously opened the lockbox and set a large stamp on the table. I am sure that it had not been used in many months. He carefully tested it at couple of times on a blank piece of paper to check if it had any ink left and to update the date. Finally, in a regal manner, he gave my passport a long, firm, stamping.
As we left, the customs agent thanked me profusely for my troubles. It turned out that he drove around Taranto for nearly two and a half hours before tracking me down to the hotel. He offered to drop me off anywhere I wanted in the city. I thought carefully for a moment and knew exactly where I wanted to go.
“Take me to your best seafood restaurant!”
I wish every international crisis could be resolved so happily.
People here functioned on Italian time and the inefficiencies it caused would plague me for the rest of the day. Even though the ship docked a 4:00AM, the customs agent did not arrive until 9:00. We met and he was kind enough to arrange a taxi for me and told me that I could leave by 11:00 – that was when the immigration officer would arrive and process the paperwork. I was stranded on the vessel until then even though I woke up at sunrise in order to get an early start.
Upon reaching the city at noon, I armed myself with a Gelato and began my explorations, partially to stretch the legs after two weeks of atrophy. Taranto was founded by Greeks and functioned as the capital of the colony. Over time, it was conquered by X, razed by Y and pillaged by the Z’s. In the old city, ancient Grecian columns have survived and still stand next to 200-year old infants. In the new city, Roman ruins and archaeological sites are open to the public. It was quite humbling to walk around the Archaeological Museum and see the ancient history of the local artifacts.
Halfway through the afternoon, it began to thunderstorm and I retired to my hotel. The exhaustion of the day must have caught up with me because I soon fell fast asleep. I considered setting my alarm clock but was asleep before I was able to do so. It did not matter, for Italian Inefficiency interrupted my slumber at 4:00PM. I was woken up by a knock on my door. A loud voice echoed through, “Mr Jia! This is Customs! I have an urgent matter to attend to!” I nearly jumped into my pants. In my head flew dozens of illogical explanations for all possible international crises that could have been caused by my arrival. I opened the door and there stood the customs official I had met earlier in a wet uniform jacket looking apologetic. “I am sorry to disturb you but there has been a misunderstanding. The Immigration official neglected to stamp your passport!”
He was kind enough to drive me back to the immigration building where three officials carefully inspected my passport. Keep in mind, immigration office at the port usually doesn’t have much to do. Every once and awhile there is a crew change and once in a blue moon a passenger disembarks. This was the most excitement they had in years. Eventually, the senior official got up and opened a safe on the other side of the room. He took out a lockbox and set it on the table. He ceremoniously opened the lockbox and set a large stamp on the table. I am sure that it had not been used in many months. He carefully tested it at couple of times on a blank piece of paper to check if it had any ink left and to update the date. Finally, in a regal manner, he gave my passport a long, firm, stamping.
As we left, the customs agent thanked me profusely for my troubles. It turned out that he drove around Taranto for nearly two and a half hours before tracking me down to the hotel. He offered to drop me off anywhere I wanted in the city. I thought carefully for a moment and knew exactly where I wanted to go.
“Take me to your best seafood restaurant!”
I wish every international crisis could be resolved so happily.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Vegetables of the Voyage
I arrived on the vessel on August 31 and had my first meal on board that evening. I walked into the Officer’s Mess and was greeted by the Steward. He showed me to my seat and brought the food to my table and waited on me for the entire meal. Once I was done, he cleaned the table. It was quite nice to be waited on so promptly and expertly. As I sat there digesting my meal, I reflected on the meal and how impressed I was with the food. But would the quality stay steady?
That first meal was steak flanks with asparagus as a side dish. The dish was expertly prepared and the vegetables were freshly procured from the Savannah, GA markets. But such fresh vegetables do not last very long, even with modern day advances in refrigeration. With a 12-day journey ahead of us, I was curious as to what sort of meals to expect.
The first few days after we left port, we had a fresh salad for every meal. The tomatoes were ripe, the cucumbers were fresh and the lettuce was crunchy. The crew and I found ourselves in good spirits as people smiled and laughed their way around the vessel. While walking around the bow, I would find myself humming a tune while staring at the endless horizon, looking forward to the journey.
Soon, the tomatoes were replaced by radishes in the salads. Starchier vegetables, like cauliflower and broccoli appeared in the cooked meals. The dishes were still very comforting and filling. They gave much energy to everyone on board, as the officers would intently mark our progress on the navigation charts. The engineers scurried around below deck, adhering carefully to the maintenance schedule and taking inventory of all spare parts. During this phase, the ping pong games were very competitive. Everyone would intently concentrate on the ball and ready to smash a point for victory.
A few more days later and the radish-and-carrot salad were garnished with a few lettuce leafs. Carrots also show up in the cooked meals, alternating days with canned beets. The meals were hearty and got one through the day, but there is no more joy. One eats to work and works to eat. People become automatic machines, performing their routine and nothing more. This is the phase where drinking starts. Only later did I notice that patches of my hair had fallen off.
But then you run out of the root vegetables and dinner comes with canned peas. Canned peas have an odd effect on the human psyche. They are small wrinkled green dots that temporarily shrink your brain to their size. Capabilities for physical motion are greatly diminished and spoken language is reduced to babble. I struggled at times to have enough energy for a game of darts and could barely manage change my own clothes.
You wonder how much worse it can get, and then you see the vegetable of the day: brussel sprouts. I don’t exactly remember what happened after that meal, but I remember waking up the next morning having gnawed off the leg of my chair. In walking around the next day, I noticed strange graffiti around the vessel and zombie-like sounds emanating from the cargo holds.
Luckily, we were within site of Malta and a chance to replenish our supplies. Indeed, when at our next meal, when we had a bowlful of lettuce in our salads, the crew’s and my joviality returned to normal.
Now, dear reader, I do have to admit, this is a slight exaggeration of what happens due to the lack of fresh vegetables. But it does explain the straight jacket found in my closet.
That first meal was steak flanks with asparagus as a side dish. The dish was expertly prepared and the vegetables were freshly procured from the Savannah, GA markets. But such fresh vegetables do not last very long, even with modern day advances in refrigeration. With a 12-day journey ahead of us, I was curious as to what sort of meals to expect.
The first few days after we left port, we had a fresh salad for every meal. The tomatoes were ripe, the cucumbers were fresh and the lettuce was crunchy. The crew and I found ourselves in good spirits as people smiled and laughed their way around the vessel. While walking around the bow, I would find myself humming a tune while staring at the endless horizon, looking forward to the journey.
Soon, the tomatoes were replaced by radishes in the salads. Starchier vegetables, like cauliflower and broccoli appeared in the cooked meals. The dishes were still very comforting and filling. They gave much energy to everyone on board, as the officers would intently mark our progress on the navigation charts. The engineers scurried around below deck, adhering carefully to the maintenance schedule and taking inventory of all spare parts. During this phase, the ping pong games were very competitive. Everyone would intently concentrate on the ball and ready to smash a point for victory.
A few more days later and the radish-and-carrot salad were garnished with a few lettuce leafs. Carrots also show up in the cooked meals, alternating days with canned beets. The meals were hearty and got one through the day, but there is no more joy. One eats to work and works to eat. People become automatic machines, performing their routine and nothing more. This is the phase where drinking starts. Only later did I notice that patches of my hair had fallen off.
But then you run out of the root vegetables and dinner comes with canned peas. Canned peas have an odd effect on the human psyche. They are small wrinkled green dots that temporarily shrink your brain to their size. Capabilities for physical motion are greatly diminished and spoken language is reduced to babble. I struggled at times to have enough energy for a game of darts and could barely manage change my own clothes.
You wonder how much worse it can get, and then you see the vegetable of the day: brussel sprouts. I don’t exactly remember what happened after that meal, but I remember waking up the next morning having gnawed off the leg of my chair. In walking around the next day, I noticed strange graffiti around the vessel and zombie-like sounds emanating from the cargo holds.
Luckily, we were within site of Malta and a chance to replenish our supplies. Indeed, when at our next meal, when we had a bowlful of lettuce in our salads, the crew’s and my joviality returned to normal.
Now, dear reader, I do have to admit, this is a slight exaggeration of what happens due to the lack of fresh vegetables. But it does explain the straight jacket found in my closet.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Fruits of the Road Trip
Consider the grape. It is probably the most perfect fruit to have in the car while driving across the country. It is bite sized so it is easy to handle. There are no seeds to dispose of, at least if they are seedless grapes. They are juicy, thus they hydrate you on a hot summer’s drive. One can easily eat grapes while concentrating intently on the road. They are the most delightful gift a traveler can receive and I started off my journey thankful for a bag of grapes given to me by a friend.
Cherries, purchased in a roadside farm stand, are a good secondary choice. They too are bite sized and the stem makes handling the fruit very simple. The only downside is the pit. It is a minor inconvenience to collect them in your cheek as you begin to chew fresh cherry. Every once and awhile, you can shoot them out of the window in a steady stream, not unlike machine gun fire.
Probably the most difficult fruit to eat while driving is a watermelon. Ideally, you would want one hand to hold the knife and the other to steady the melon. This is the point where you wish you had a third hand to steer the car, but thankful that you have an extra foot (assuming your car has automatic transmission). As you eat your slices, your hands will become irreversibly sticky, but the smell of watermelon will be authentic, unlike the watermelon-scented air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. That freshness will be short-lived, however, as the sugars ferment in the oppressive heat of a non air-conditioned car.
But the oppressive heat makes cooking a pot roast easier. Just prepare everything as if you were going to put it into an oven. Then roll up all of the windows and put the pot in the sun while you drive. When you reach your destination 8 hours later, dinner will be ready.
Perhaps the most difficult dish to prepare in a car is a daquiri. This is because hardly anyone manufactures a blender with a 12V adapter. In fact, you will have to splice the wire yourself and modify the circuit of the blender to work in those conditions. Since it consumes a lot of electricity, you also have to drive your car extra fast to recharge the battery such that it can keep up with the appliance’s demand. This is best done on a rural interstate where there are fewer obstructions in the road.
Unfortunately, the state trooper in South Dakota did not accept that as an excuse as he booked me for speeding.
Cherries, purchased in a roadside farm stand, are a good secondary choice. They too are bite sized and the stem makes handling the fruit very simple. The only downside is the pit. It is a minor inconvenience to collect them in your cheek as you begin to chew fresh cherry. Every once and awhile, you can shoot them out of the window in a steady stream, not unlike machine gun fire.
Probably the most difficult fruit to eat while driving is a watermelon. Ideally, you would want one hand to hold the knife and the other to steady the melon. This is the point where you wish you had a third hand to steer the car, but thankful that you have an extra foot (assuming your car has automatic transmission). As you eat your slices, your hands will become irreversibly sticky, but the smell of watermelon will be authentic, unlike the watermelon-scented air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. That freshness will be short-lived, however, as the sugars ferment in the oppressive heat of a non air-conditioned car.
But the oppressive heat makes cooking a pot roast easier. Just prepare everything as if you were going to put it into an oven. Then roll up all of the windows and put the pot in the sun while you drive. When you reach your destination 8 hours later, dinner will be ready.
Perhaps the most difficult dish to prepare in a car is a daquiri. This is because hardly anyone manufactures a blender with a 12V adapter. In fact, you will have to splice the wire yourself and modify the circuit of the blender to work in those conditions. Since it consumes a lot of electricity, you also have to drive your car extra fast to recharge the battery such that it can keep up with the appliance’s demand. This is best done on a rural interstate where there are fewer obstructions in the road.
Unfortunately, the state trooper in South Dakota did not accept that as an excuse as he booked me for speeding.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Voyage: 5 Seconds in Malta
Malta is pretty much as far off the beaten track of Europe as you can get. It is a little island between Sicily and Libya, stranded all by its lonesome in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. On our approach you could see the entire width of the island in one fell swoop. Huge cliffs grew to the left and right with the gentle slope of the port city in front. However, the cannons of the fortress were aimed directly at the passage to the harbor, deterring anyone from the notion of invasion. Soon, little tug boats appeared and started to nudge us in the direction of our berth. It made me feel like a kid playing in a bathtub, except the tug was dark green and I wasn’t splashing around water.
Marsaxlokk is as far off the beaten path in Malta as you can get. It is at the southern tip of the island and there really isn’t much here except for some beaches, lighthouses, and the port. A quick walk through the seaside and you could feel the influences of all the cultures that intersect here. Pizza joints littered the streets gave it a feeling of lower Manhattan while the light sandstone gave the buildings a distinct Mediterranean look. All signs were printed in English and people drove on the left side of the road. The Maltese dialect is a mixture of Italian, English, French, and languages from the other 184 countries that have tried to conquer it. As far as I know, Turkmenistan is the only country so far that has not launched an invasion at one point or another. But they will correct that discrepancy as soon as they commission their navy.
Our arrival in Malta was not exactly opportune. We docked at 5:00 PM on a Sunday in this heavily Catholic country and were not able to leave the ship till nearly 6:00 PM. Since we were to launch sometime in the early morning, we had to be content with seeing as much as we could in the few remaining hours of daylight. The only thing that could have made the timing worse was if the thunderstorm lurking off the coast had decided to make landfall. Lucky for us, we only found all shops to be closed and the streets nearly deserted.
We jumped on the bus for Valetta, the capitol, and immediately I had a “We’re not in Kansas anymore” moment. For one thing, although Valetta is half the island away, it took us a mere 30 minutes to reach it. For another, the bus drove the entire way without bothering to shut the door! I thought, “Why did they bother installing one anyways? Couldn’t they have saved the steel and glass for some other construction project?” In addition, the bus would not even stop completely to let someone off. The bus would slow down and the passengers would hop off as we continued on our merry way.
Valetta was founded in 1566 on the eastern side of the island and its fortifications extend over 27 km. We entered the city walls and were welcomed by the historical architecture. Unfortunately, we did not have the luxury to admire any one site as our ration of daylight was running short. Eventually our wanderings brought us to a park on the top of a fortress overlooking the city and bay. The blue from the water, yellow from the stone buildings, and orange from the streetlights presented a magnificent feast for the eyes. By this point, the sun had set, making it too dark to do any more sightseeing. Instead, we settled down in an Internet Café and reacquainted ourselves with the rest of the world.
Indeed, our time in Malta was too short to satisfy one’s curiosity, but this sort of view can only inspire a return visit.
Marsaxlokk is as far off the beaten path in Malta as you can get. It is at the southern tip of the island and there really isn’t much here except for some beaches, lighthouses, and the port. A quick walk through the seaside and you could feel the influences of all the cultures that intersect here. Pizza joints littered the streets gave it a feeling of lower Manhattan while the light sandstone gave the buildings a distinct Mediterranean look. All signs were printed in English and people drove on the left side of the road. The Maltese dialect is a mixture of Italian, English, French, and languages from the other 184 countries that have tried to conquer it. As far as I know, Turkmenistan is the only country so far that has not launched an invasion at one point or another. But they will correct that discrepancy as soon as they commission their navy.
Our arrival in Malta was not exactly opportune. We docked at 5:00 PM on a Sunday in this heavily Catholic country and were not able to leave the ship till nearly 6:00 PM. Since we were to launch sometime in the early morning, we had to be content with seeing as much as we could in the few remaining hours of daylight. The only thing that could have made the timing worse was if the thunderstorm lurking off the coast had decided to make landfall. Lucky for us, we only found all shops to be closed and the streets nearly deserted.
We jumped on the bus for Valetta, the capitol, and immediately I had a “We’re not in Kansas anymore” moment. For one thing, although Valetta is half the island away, it took us a mere 30 minutes to reach it. For another, the bus drove the entire way without bothering to shut the door! I thought, “Why did they bother installing one anyways? Couldn’t they have saved the steel and glass for some other construction project?” In addition, the bus would not even stop completely to let someone off. The bus would slow down and the passengers would hop off as we continued on our merry way.
Valetta was founded in 1566 on the eastern side of the island and its fortifications extend over 27 km. We entered the city walls and were welcomed by the historical architecture. Unfortunately, we did not have the luxury to admire any one site as our ration of daylight was running short. Eventually our wanderings brought us to a park on the top of a fortress overlooking the city and bay. The blue from the water, yellow from the stone buildings, and orange from the streetlights presented a magnificent feast for the eyes. By this point, the sun had set, making it too dark to do any more sightseeing. Instead, we settled down in an Internet Café and reacquainted ourselves with the rest of the world.
Indeed, our time in Malta was too short to satisfy one’s curiosity, but this sort of view can only inspire a return visit.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Voyage: On Crossing Gibraltar
Sight of land! What a wonderful change to the monotony of sea. Two continents at once fill your view with mountains growing out of the water on both sides. We arrived at the Strait at 8pm and saw the mountains reflecting the deep orange glow of the sun. Mark Twain, in his The Innocents Abroad puts it succinctly, “The picture … was very beautiful to the eyes weary of the changeless sea”
During the ten days of the ocean crossing, there is a slow but gradual buildup of tension. This tension comes from the constant rumbling of the engine, the rocking movement of the ship, and the difficulty to find quiet places to get away. It was considered eventful if we saw one ship in a day. But every day, you cheerfully carried on by looking for the simple amusements to occupy the mind.
But here, the entire traffic of the Mediterranean is squeezed through a channel 13 miles wide. First we saw ships, over a dozen on the horizon. Then we spot birds. And finally, the green mountains make their majestic appearance. At that moment, I got caught off guard by a wave of relief that flowed through my body. It was the culmination of a week and a half of patiently enduring the slow passage of time. It did not matter that we will not dock for two more days. Land has been sighted. Land is near. It brought comfort to the mind and soul.
Sadly, we crossed Gibraltar itself after dark. It was a blurry silhouette against a black background. For most of the next day, we hugged the African coast, passing Algeria, Tunisia and going between Africa and the Ile de la Galite. I asked the 2nd mate why we were traveling so close to land when the Mediterranean Sea was so large. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “So we can get cell phone and TV reception.”
It is nice to be close to land!
During the ten days of the ocean crossing, there is a slow but gradual buildup of tension. This tension comes from the constant rumbling of the engine, the rocking movement of the ship, and the difficulty to find quiet places to get away. It was considered eventful if we saw one ship in a day. But every day, you cheerfully carried on by looking for the simple amusements to occupy the mind.
But here, the entire traffic of the Mediterranean is squeezed through a channel 13 miles wide. First we saw ships, over a dozen on the horizon. Then we spot birds. And finally, the green mountains make their majestic appearance. At that moment, I got caught off guard by a wave of relief that flowed through my body. It was the culmination of a week and a half of patiently enduring the slow passage of time. It did not matter that we will not dock for two more days. Land has been sighted. Land is near. It brought comfort to the mind and soul.
Sadly, we crossed Gibraltar itself after dark. It was a blurry silhouette against a black background. For most of the next day, we hugged the African coast, passing Algeria, Tunisia and going between Africa and the Ile de la Galite. I asked the 2nd mate why we were traveling so close to land when the Mediterranean Sea was so large. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “So we can get cell phone and TV reception.”
It is nice to be close to land!
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