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As Regatta sailed up the Sea of Marmara, the sun setting behind us, we savoured our window seats and steak frites in the Grand Dining Room. Our last meal onboard, as it were, would indeed be the grand finale. With dusk gaining momentum and the lights of Istanbul becoming closer and brighter, we experienced the greatest way to arrive into an old city - on an elegant ship, dining on fine cuisine, sailing into the Bosporus Strait with Europe on the port side and Asia on the starboard. Ferries passed back and forth, their passengers admiring our vessel and even taking photos with modern cell phones. The ship made a slow 180-degree turn, the Bosporus Bridge lit up before us, linking two continents, then giving way to the minarets of old Constantinople and the skyscrapers of new Istanbul, before the engines slowed and we eased into our berth, punctuating our Mediterranean journey with great flair.
(View pictures of our travels and cruise ships)
Athens
The journey began prior to stepping aboard Regatta, of course, back in Athens, the embarkation point of Oceania Cruises' "Sanctuaries of the Greek Gods" 10-day sailing. After unremarkable Lufthansa flights from Toronto via Frankfurt, we arrived to Athens amidst mild labour protests - not totally unexpected in these parts - and perfectly clear skies that would pervade in rich blueness for much of our two weeks. A 40-minute trip on the new line of the Athens metro took us to Omonia Square, where we wandered around like jetlagged jackasses, bags in tow, until the right questions found us the right answers as to hotel directions. One of the top rated properties on TripAdvisor.com, the recently remodelled Art Hotel did not disappoint, avant-garde furnishings within walking distance of most of Athens' sights. Athens, ancient glory aside, gets a bad rap among travellers - "dirty" is a word that gets bantered about quite frequently. And with a garbage strike and swirling winds, Athens was definitely not the cleanest capital we've visited. But Athens is a must for any visitor to Greece, and for a day or two is able to provide more than enough of what to see and do.
A quick trip on the metro and this became immediately apparent, as within two minutes of exiting the station we were at the foot of the Acropolis, and already in awe of one of the world's wonders. Facing the main entrance is a hill where, upon climbing the rocky slope, one gets an uninterrupted (and nearly silent, save for the wind catching the olive trees below) view of the Acropolis in the immediate foreground, with the remaining 270-degrees showing off the Agora, Plaka, and sprawling Athens as far as the mountains to the north and the beaches and harbours of the Mediterranean to the south. We could have spent the remainder of the day on that hill, and in fact didn’t stray too far, wandering through the Plaka and walking around the central core of Athens before winding up at a taverna near Monastiraki, the setting sun giving way to lights rising on the Acropolis as we dipped into some tsatziki in the shadow of 2500 years of history.
A full night’s rest was well in order, what with all the travelling, and although we didn’t hit the Acropolis quite at the crack of dawn, we were treated to azure skies and thin crowds that allowed us to explore this historical gem. Walking up the hill, one is treated to various ruins such as the Theatre of Dionysus, and the functioning Odeum of Herodes Atticus, but nothing can prepare even the experienced traveller and student of history for the feeling of walking through the Propyla gate and seeing the Parthenon up close in all its glory. We admired the temple from various angles, letting school groups go by and wondering if they appreciated the kind of field trip they were privy to, and simply sat on the walls soaking in the view in front of us and all around – truly a spectacle that clichés cannot do justice.
After deciding that we could have stayed all day on that spot but did indeed have a boat to catch at some point, we made our way down the hill and through the Agora and Temple of Heracles before hitting our lunch spot, an establishment at Monastiraki where the owner seemed to know every guest by name and had photographs of dignitaries Greek and international adorning the walls. The souvlaki, gyros, tsatziki, and eggplant were certainly up to par, but the best part of the meal was the dessert, simple as it was, a very thick plain yoghurt swirled with fresh honey. Epharisto, Greek bees! A quick ride on the metro brought us to our final sight of the day, the National Archeological Museum, which houses treasures from around the country (and region) dating back four millennia. I admit it was overwhelming at some point, though truly awesome nonetheless, to see this magnitude of a collection assembled under one roof. Still, we’d been warned about ‘old rock fatigue,’ and, knowing we’d have several days of ancient sites and treasures ahead of us, we gradually made our way back to the hotel and onward via metro to the port of Piraeus.
Having sailed on a few cruises already, we’ve come to expect embarkation to be a hurry-up-and-wait process. Taking the short cab ride from Piraeus station to the ship – and being charged by an honest driver the four euros he’d quoted instead of the nearly five euros that the meter indicated – we were met by an Oceania Cruises agent and whisked through check-in procedures, up the gangway and into the lobby, where, amidst the melodies of string quartet, one of a line of white-gloved attendants escorted us to our stateroom. In barely an hour this time, we’d made the journey from the hotel lobby in central Athens to our home-away-from-home for the next ten days. And though we did not have a balcony as we’d treated ourselves to the last cruise around, we were impressed with the appearance, layout, and functionality of Oceania’s standard cabin. Goose-down pillows and duvet, along with Egyptian cotton sheets adorned the bed, while ample closet and storage space enabled us to unpack and have our bags out of sight in no time at all.
This first evening aboard, after exploring more of the ship and doing the muster drill, we enjoyed a fine assortment of sushi and sashimi, fried calamari, and other seafood treats, while looking out onto the comings and goings of Piraeus, the sun setting behind the Attica hills and the finishing provisions arriving into Regatta’s inventory before we were underway. The radiance of Piraeus and Athens became smaller as Regatta sailed out into the Mediterranean, and a small gathering of us were out on deck – no Bahama-mamas or sail-away fiesta on this line – soaking in the sea breeze and moonlight.
The first full day was spent at sea, as Regatta circumnavigated the Peloponnese, picking up some wind and chop – and an early rain shower, which would prove to be the only precipitation for the entire journey – while turning west and then north towards the Adriatic. Still being springtime, we knew the climate wouldn’t exactly accommodate sunbathing by the pool a la Caribbean cruises, but we were pleasantly surprised by being able to relax on the wooden chaise lounges with a blanket and a book, entertained by ice sculpting demonstrations and live music from the eight-piece orchestra. Lunch on the patio and champagne at the art auction, well that wasn’t a departure from our previous sailings on Celebrity or Princess, but then it was time for high tea. While Celebrity only does this once per cruise, Oceania offers daily white-glove tea in the bright and elegant Horizons Lounge, top deck forward with panoramic views, complete with a buffet of finger-sandwiches, pastries, and cookies. Select items, though, were brought around the room on a trolley: scones, strawberries and cream being a standard, but the gem was the Sacher torte, rivalling those we’ve enjoyed in Vienna and Salzburg.
Dubrovnik
Regarding some of our favourite European cities, we were introduced to a new one the next day: Dubrovnik. The “Pearl of the Adriatic” as it’s often dubbed, this once-medieval power is today a city that has rebuilt from the war for Croatian independence in 1991 and now stands as a UNESCO World Heritage site. We’d had an eye on Dubrovnik as a destination for a few years, and held it as a priority in choosing a Mediterranean cruise itinerary. So it was with much anticipation that we woke up that morning, saw a clear blue sky and a mountainside port on the bridge cam, and quickly made our way to the old town. The timing could not have been better, as we paid our kuna and climbed up the stairs to walk the walls of the old city, realising that we’d arrived ahead of much of the tourist crowd.
From the moment one reaches the top of the walls, where a sufficiently wide path stretches around the entire old city for a circumference of about 2 km, the vista is one breathtaking moment after another. The azure sky, the faded brick of the walls and the buildings, and the bright orange tile rooftops, with steep hills on one side and clear blue sea on the other three – a sight we will never forget. We’d walk about forty or fifty meters, not much further, and stop for the next photo-op and soak in the scenery – narrow alleyways below; youth playing soccer (football) in the courtyards; a small island off the coast.
As we rounded the corner and saw the harbour, we could not help but think back just fifteen years, when Dubrovnik came under siege during the 1991 civil war. Two thirds of the buildings had been shelled, as well as scores of direct hits on the walls, leaving hundreds dead and wounded. Dubrovnik’s recovery from that tragic time has been remarkable, and today much has been restored to beyond what existed under communism, to the level of grandeur that existed in the middle ages. Still, evidence of the shelling is apparent around the old city, with rubble visible here and there from atop the walls. The work continues, and the tourism continues to grow here. With Croatia’s entry into the European Union, Dubrovnik is sure to progress.
Rounding another corner, this one at the highest point of the walls where the city protrudes into the Adriatic, Jen spotted a restaurant tucked away in a cove opposite where we stood, and suggested we try to find it. Sure enough, after finishing the wall course and exiting the old city, we made our way through the ‘new’ part of town – made to resemble the old city, with the same creme and orange scheme – and around a few alleyways down to the shore and the place Jen had spotted from up high. We were a bit curious, since it was noon and the tables were empty, but we followed our instinct and were treated to a wonderful experience, sitting at our private table on the patio, perched over the small marina surrounded by high cliffs and the towering walls of the old city, the entrance to the sea shimmering beyond. The calamari and hake were fresh and tasty as well, but the memory we’ll always treasure will be of that view.
We could have spent the day at that cove, but we had more to see, and continued our walk through the old city itself, through streets and squares and alleys, among the tourists and away from them as well. Eventually we made our way back to the port, this time eschewing the 10 euro taxi for a 1 euro bus ride, and stopped in a supermarket – as is our wont when visiting different countries – before boarding. As elsewhere in eastern Europe, the cost of foodstuffs – which were varied and in plentiful supply – was comparable to what we’d see at home, meaning that ‘Euro prices’ must surely be having an impact on Croatians, whose salaries are still well behind those of their western European counterparts. The beer was well priced, and I was tempted to take some aboard ship, but our cabin lacked a refrigerator and so we moved on. As we sailed out of port and down the coastlines of Croatia and Montenegro, enjoying high tea from our floor-to-ceiling window seat on Deck Ten, we reflected on the past and future of this region, and knew someday we’d like to return and spend more time here.
Corfu (Kerkyra)
The next day was Easter Sunday for much of the Christian world, but in Greek Orthodoxy it was Palm Sunday, and we had been advised prior to our arrival in Corfu that much of the island would be at a standstill and that the streets of Corfu (Kerkyra) town itself would be blocked off for a parade. We had inquired about private excursions to other parts of the island, but quickly gave up on that notion and instead walked from the port area towards the main part of the town. Our first impression was that of shabby streets and nothing special, but we bore in mind that ports are often located in such areas. Eventually we joined up with other Greeks, who were arriving off smaller boats from neighbouring Ionian islands, and made our way to the older, more Italian looking section of Corfu. Not a coincidence, since Corfu was occupied by Venetians for five centuries, and retains much of its Italianate architectural influence.
The streets began to fill with Greeks in their Sunday best – Palm Sunday best, in fact, with gentleman in coats, women in sober dresses, young men in white coats, and young women in blue suits and white gloves. Each block seemed to have its own procession gathering, with marching bands from around the region tuning up for the big parade. We wandered around the cliffs above the old port, past McDonald’s (sorry, progress isn’t always good) and through rows of onlookers, and ended up barricaded into a small lane that led to the town’s main church. Here, locals stood against the buildings while church officials in navy blue robes, altar boys in solid yellow or red robes, and priests in ornate robes of gold and silver gathered in the lane to begin the procession. We stood out like sore thumbs, in obvious tourist wear, but that actually bought us some good will, foreigners taking part in a Greek ritual, taking pictures and being curious. When the bells started ringing – and rang for several minutes at very high decibels! – and the procession began, we stepped into a tourist shop and watched it all unfold. First the priests marched by in their flowing robes, then the officials carrying palms and giant candles, then the shrine itself carried by four elders, followed by a horde of locals that kept coming and coming as if streaming in from various alleys that fed into the main procession. All the while we were playing the tourist role, snapping pictures and gawking, smiling, even bought some kumquat liqueur from the store we’d taken shelter in, our memory of that day.
Once the streets emptied out we wandered a bit, strolling the pedestrian zones and parks, walking up to the fortress for a birdseye view of the town, in fact much of the island, as well as of Albania across the water in the distance. Without transport to see or do much else, and our meals paid for as part of the cruise of course, we opted to walk back to the port and enjoy the rest of the afternoon aboard ship, having lunch and falling asleep in the sun on the pool deck. In the evening we’d enjoy another fine meal in the Grand Dining Room, at a window table for two (as we had every time) with the Albanian and Greek coasts passing by. ** For more on the dining experiences, see the detailed ship review that follows. **
Ancient Olympia (and Katakolon)
Day Four, and our third stop on this “Sanctuaries of the Greek Gods” itinerary landed us on the Peloponnese, at the Ionian Sea fishing village of Katakolon. Itself not much more than one street of shops and services, Katakolon serves as the gateway to Olympia. For this port we’d gone back and forth on whether to purchase the ship’s excursion at $180 for the two of us, or hire a taxi for less than half that, knowing that the latter would mean we’d have transportation to the site but no guide to take us through. Our wallet decided this one, and we tucked away the difference for shopping that day and later. The decision proved beneficial, as we negotiated a price at the dock and had a driver who spoke English well and had a sister and nephew living in Montreal. The forty minute drive through the countryside gave us a good look at rural Greece, with olive trees, orchards, and farms eventually giving way to mountainous terrain. We drove through the town of Olympia, a modern stretch of little more than tourist shops and hotels, and in a few minutes drove past the tour buses and to the entrance to Ancient Olympia.
The museum would not open until noon, and with the ship leaving at two o’clock this meant we’d see only the site itself – “only” is definitely the wrong word, however, as this is definitely one of those “I can’t believe we’re here” venues. And being untethered from an organised excursion was definitely the way to see it – we could move about at our pace, stay away from large groups for the most part, and yet tag along for guidance and info when we wanted. Entering the site we were immediately overwhelmed by the ancient Judas trees, their magenta and pink flowers making an unforgettable backdrop – come in the spring when Greece is in bloom. The first buildings to be seen are the Palestra and the Gymnasium, where athletes practised events such as wrestling, boxing, javelin, and discus. Beyond this are the Temple of Hera and the Philippeion, well excavated but of course only shadows of their ancient grandeur. It is at the Temple of Hera where the Olympic flame is lit every two years to begin its journey to the host city of the winter or summer games. Fairly quickly, however, seeing that the groups were elsewhere on the grounds, we were drawn into the Stadium.
Walking under the archway into the ancient Stadium made walking through the tunnel onto the field of the Los Angeles Coliseum pale in comparison. Dating back to the 5th century BC, the Stadium today is little more than a clay floor surrounded by grassy hills, but of course represents so much more than that. To the left as you enter, in the ‘seating area’, is the altar to Demeter Chamyne, and on the opposite side is the judges platform. In its day the Stadium hosted nearly a millennium of Olympic games, and could hold up to 45,000 spectators, many of whom had made the journey from Athens, often by foot. We found ourselves alone in the Stadium for fifteen minutes, meandering about the grassy knoll, walking around the track, wondering what the event must have been like.
We proceeded around the corner to see the villa of Roman Emperor Nero, then waited for a tour group to pass before entering the Temple of Zeus. One of the seven wonders of the ancient world, much of the temple’s grandeur and glory is of course long gone, and yet even with what remains of it one can imagine what used to be. Pieces of the immense Doric columns surround the foundation, having fallen in the many earthquakes over the centuries, some stacked in angles like dominoes. A few columns are still upright, giving a better idea of this shrine to the King of the Gods, Zeus. One can imagine the gargantuan statue of Zeus that, at 12 meters high, would have towered over pilgrims to this shrine.
After exploring the rest of the site, including the well preserved columns of the Palaestra and Gymnasium as well as the Judas trees in bloom throughout, we relaxed on the drive back to Katakolon, and enjoyed an al fresco lunch aboard ship. Remember the earthquakes that strike the region periodically? Well one happened while we were sitting on the aft patio at lunch, an odd feeling to be sure as we were not on land but on the water – energy transfers through nonetheless, and although this was one of a series of temblors to hit the region over several days, fortunately nobody was hurt. We did some light shopping on the three-block long street that composes the port of Katakolon, meeting some friendly Greeks before setting sail for our next port.
Santorini
Our journey continued southward through the Ionian Sea and into the Mediterranean, and by dawn the next day we were in the heart of the Greek Isles, the Cyclades. Knowing that the arrival into Santorini was considered by many to be a highlight of this itinerary, we awoke early and were up on deck as the fog was starting to lift, revealing rock-like small islands and jagged crests. Eventually the silhouette of Santorini became apparent, and with the sun starting to burn through, we entered the caldera and were soon surrounded by towering cliffs. As Regatta took its position in the centre and was set to anchor, the sun rose over the villages on the cliff tops – Fira, immediately in front of us, and northward past Imerovigli all the way to Oia at the tip. Whitewashed houses, blue domes, and pastel coloured buildings dotted the crest, with reddish-green volcanic cliffs extending seemingly straight down into the water.
After breakfast we found our travelling companions for the day, Ronna and Stan from Chicago, and took the tender boat ashore to the base of Fira. We’d considered taking the donkeys as transportation up to the top, but as they neither looked nor smelled particularly good, we opted instead for the funicular. The houses, churches, and other buildings soon transformed from dots to life size, and in no time we were admiring the view from the top, still in awe at the natural beauty of this setting as well as the architecture – this was the postcard Greece, pure and simple.
The taxi ride from Fira to Oia (Ia) provides awe-inspiring views of the caldera as well as the eastern coast of the island, but also has you clinging to that which is bolted down in the vehicle and suddenly turning religious. Blind curves and switchbacks are of little concern for the local drivers, and speed limits and no-passing zones seem to have missed this part of the world. Stan has his eyes closed for some of the journey, and at one point asks half-jokingly if anyone has ever lost their lives on this drive. “Many people,” the driver says, matter-of-fact. Reassured, we focus on the scenery and architecture, and in a few more death-defying minutes have reached the end of the road, the parking lot / bus stop / taxi stand / convenience store / Internet café for the village of Oia. A couple of tour buses have arrived ahead of us, and the shops and alleyways are doing brisk business on this, one of the first days of the tourist season. The fog has completely lifted now, and the Mediterranean glistens under the morning sun as we look out from the town square down to the village and caldera below.
The moment, the view, the entire milieu exceeds all expectations. For all that is overblown with hyperbole in life, setting up high expectations that inevitably lead to disappointment, there comes a rare (and ironically unexpected, since we’ve somehow come to expect the less-than-expected) instance when we’re overwhelmed. We had perhaps a half dozen such instances this trip – the grandeur and glory of the Acropolis; the walled city of Dubrovnik; the reverence of Ancient Olympia; the preservation of Ancient Ephesus; the magnitude, history and detail of the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. And in the midst of this we had Santorini. In fairness, no comparison does justice to Santorini. But for purposes of frames of reference, I’ll borrow a notion from a fellow cruiser – picture Santa Fe, but perched on a cliff and sloping down to the sea, and instead of adobe with whitewash and pastels, blue church domes and a labyrinth of archways and alleys. Where the road ended, life has transformed into this fantasy village of Oia – no cars, no real traces of modern urban life (other than a lone automated bank machine), simply a blend of cliff-side villas and flats, small tavernas and boutiques, an occasional inn, and sun-soaked lanes, walls, and domes.
We’d have spent a week or more at this place, and surely we will go back as a destination. As it was, we had the morning and afternoon to explore, soak in the ambience, fill a memory card on the camera, and generally stand in awe. We had lunch on the patio overlooking the caldera and small marina of Oia, the warm sun combining with the sea breeze for an ideal temperature. It’s said to be quite hot here in the summer, and July and August must be particularly crowded. All the more reason to savour the day we had.
Another hair-raising cab ride back to Fira, and more exploring in a slightly more developed place (read a few cars, more hotels, and a bit livelier crowd), we once again eschewed the donkeys (they’re said to be a bit hellish on the descent) and took the funicular down to the waterside, where we regrettably took the tender back to the ship. We’d bid farewell to Santorini by sailing out of the caldera slowly, past the cliffs and around Oia, then circumnavigating the eastern side of the island and looping westward again in time for sunset, enjoyed from the aft patio with sushi, sashimi, and assorted tapas – East meets West, cruising Med style.
Delos & Mykonos
The next morning saw some overcast skies, and a bit of a chill (at least for those from southern climes, though not for us) in the air, as we anchored off the island of Delos. A holy sanctuary only accessible during the daytime – humans have been forbidden to sleep, be born, or even die here, lest we should incur the wrath of Apollo – Delos is most often visited as an excursion from Mykonos. Life on Delos goes back about four millennia, and, being considered the birthplace of Artemis and Apollo, this island was held sacred from about the 5th century BC, through Ionian, Athenian, and Roman times, until about the 3rd century AD. Today Delos is a UNESCO World Heritage site, an archaeological treasure (despite some of its highlights being housed in Athens or London) that’s worth a few hours of exploration. With the Mykonos crowd yet to arrive and only about half of our ship coming ashore, we had much of Delos to ourselves, roaming about its expanse of agora, temples, statues (including replicas of the Naxos lions outdoors), theatre, and ancient homes and buildings in various states of ruins. Also on the site is the Archaeological Museum of Delos, with highlights including statues of Apollo and Boreas, a bronze mask of Dionysus, and the original marble lions of Naxos.
“Anchors Aweigh” was the theme that the all-Polish band played on deck as we sailed out of Delos, an odd contrast to the isle of antiquity we’d just experienced. After lunch under clearing skies we docked at Mykonos, and, having been told that only twenty or so taxis were available for the whole island, we opted out of the $20 shuttle scheme offered by the cruise line (they all have their profit centres) and instead took a leisurely, 45-minute stroll into town. On the ideal itinerary, Mykonos would occur before Santorini, if only for the expectation factor discussed before, albeit this time in reverse. Mykonos is a nice enough island, rather rugged in terrain, but with an attractive bay that naturally accommodates the town of Hora. Whitewash is in the building code for Hora, with right angles de rigueur, a contrast to the wilder colours and shapes of Santorini. The town itself has its charm, to be sure, with alleys leading in every which way to blue trimmed houses and flats, and red trimmed churches. Jewellery stores are hard to come by in Hora - *ahem* sarcasm alert! – and it has an adequate supply of overpriced tavernas and cafes as well. Especially on a day such as we had, at the very beginning of the tourist season, with relatively thin crowds and no oppressive heat, Hora made for good walking and exploring. Not avid shoppers, we checked out the famed windmills, then found fellow cruisers Max & Marilyn at a harbour-front café, and relaxed for a while in the late afternoon sun with some nice beverages. So with all this, you say, where I am I leading, where’s the “but”?
After Santorini, anyplace we’d have visited next – he says in such a jaded tone – would inevitably have been a bit of a letdown. Then add the hype and anticipation surrounding Mykonos, known worldwide as a long favourite destination for the beach and party set and as a quintessential Greek isle. Had we not yet seen Santorini, and had we not heard much about this Mykonos, we'd most certainly have seen this day through different eyes. As it was, we enjoyed it for what it was, and though the ship would be in port until late in the evening, we opted to take a taxi ("How much?" "Five Euros." "How about three?" "Five Euros." "Four?" "Five Euros.") back to the ship, tailed in yet another taxi (we suspect they were in more plentiful supply than what the cruise line had quoted) by our stateroom attendant Aleksandra, and her husband Buca who worked in the restaurants. The "Five Euros" was more impactful on their Montenegro budget and humble cruise wage, and we'd felt bad that we hadn't seen them sooner and been able to cover their ride. With much of the ship ashore that evening, we were able to get a second reservation (one evening is guaranteed to each cabin) at Toscana, the ship's Italian restaurant – see more in the ship review section. And as the sun set on Mykonos and the lights of Hora came on, and a second cruise ship (the only other we'd see the entire journey) pulled into port for an overnight stop, we dined on veal chop and creamy polenta, filet mignon and ravioli, and superb antipasti. Our tablemates? Join the jaded crowd – hailing from Santa Fe, Cape Cod, and St. Augustine.
Rhodos (Rhodes)
We awoke the next morning already docked in Rhodes, directly in front of the gate to the old city, and immediately next to the harbour where the Colossus of Rhodes – one of the seven wonders of the ancient world – once stood. Rhodes is a fairly sizeable island, and its beaches and history make it a popular draw nearly year-round. On our initial to-do list for Rhodes was the Lindos Acropolis, but we were also didn't want to fall ill to 'rock fatigue' as some travellers experience, the fine line of seeing too much antiquity at once and thus running the risk of everything starting to seem the same. Having been where we’d already been, and knowing we’d be at Ephesus the next day, we opted out of the trek down to Lindos and stayed at Rhodes Town itself, getting an early start to have much of the Old City nearly to ourselves.
Civilisation on Rhodes dates back to ancient times, of course, but it played a vital role in the Middle Ages as well. The Knights of St John arrived here in 1306, and Rhodes was a strategic point in the Crusades. Much today remains intact of that medieval city, and is the focal point of the Rhodes Town. Though it would have been nice to walk the walls as we’d done in Dubrovnik, we enjoyed strolling through the medieval lanes and alleyways, seeing the Palace of the Grand Masters, and experiencing the Avenue of the Knights and all the history it contains. Rhodes Old Town was also no exception to our phrase, “Europe is not a museum but a living monument to history,” and today is a functioning, if touristed, community. 6000 people live and work in the same buildings in which the Knights of St John lived seven centuries ago. We found a restaurant patio on an attractive and quiet courtyard, and enjoyed a light meal, dessert, and Greek coffee at a leisurely pace before continuing our walk through Old Town, on streets named after Socrates, Pythagoras, Sophocles, Plato, et al.
Jen would return here later for some bargain shopping, but first we left the medieval walls and walked along the water as far as the entrance to the harbour, marked by two pillars. This is where the Colossus of Rhodes once hulked over the harbour, nearly 120 feet high with one foot on either side of the entrance. Next to the harbour is the New Town, with streets of upscale shops and cafes reminiscent of other Mediterranean ports such as Nice. Searching for an Internet café, we were advised to proceed up the hill and it would be “just past McDonald’s.” Not finding it after some time, I reluctantly asked a shopkeeper where McDonald’s was – he chuckled and gave a nod that relayed something like, ‘of course you foreigners want your McDonald’s.’ Before he could send us in the right way, I corrected the destination, saying that we were in fact looking for the Internet place nearby and oh, please be assured, I love Greek food and actually have no intention of setting foot in McDonald’s. Don’t you just hate cultural apologists like me?
Kusadasi / Ephesus
We’d enjoyed good conditions ever since the first afternoon at sea, and by now were in a climate that sees over 300 days of sunshine in an average year. Our luck with travel weather goes well back – in over 100 days in Europe across the past six years, we’ve seen less than 10 with any precipitation, and even that was largely sporadic. And that small hurricane on our Pacific sailing last year notwithstanding, we’ve really had some ideal weather throughout our travels, from clear skies and mainly calm seas in the Caribbean, to comfortably mild temps in normally-boiling Southeast Asia. Our first morning in Turkey was no exception, with the sun rising over the port city of Kusadasi as we had robust croissants – soft and warm on the inside, perfectly flaked on the outside – up top at Horizons lounge. Portside we were greeted by our local guide for the day, and together with Ronna and Stan we shared a spacious van – with club seating and beverage – and were soon at the first stop, the Temple of Artemis.
Though a bit inland at present due to silting, this was once a seaside temple four times the size of the Parthenon. Today the site is more swamp than anything recognisable as one of the Seven Ancient Wonders – in fact it was the largest building of its time – although a wall and a grand column do remain. On the hill overlooking this site are ruins of the Basilica of St John, constructed by Emperor Justinian in the 6th century and believed to be where John the Apostle was buried. Up the hills we go next, Stan’s eyes closed once again as I give him the play-by-play of the beautiful scenery below us – far below us, Stan, lol – and before long we’re at the House of the Virgin Mary. John brought Mary here, they say, shortly before the crucifixion, and it was here that she lived the rest of her life. Today this is a pilgrimage site, sacred to both Christians and Muslims worldwide, and its ‘holy’ water is drunken and bottled by visitors as they leave the home itself. Nice men’s room here, too, with views of the hills and valleys from the picture window above the urinals.
Down the hill sits our highlight of the day, and one of the gems of this itinerary – Ancient Ephesus. With some of the most well-preserved Roman ruins in the world today, Ephesus civilisation dates back to the Greeks in the second millennium BCE. The height of Roman times in Ephesus occurred from about 31 BCE, when residents Marc Antony and Cleopatra were defeated and the Roman imperial era began, through the Pax Romana under Augustus Caesar and Marcus Aurelius until 180 AD. Ephesus was called the first metropolis of Asia, holding a half million inhabitants at its peak. and was a centre for both religion and trade.
The upper entrance to Ephesus – there are two, and it’s far preferable to do the tour downhiil with your driver meeting you at the base, especially on days later on in the season and far hotter than what we experienced – has you going through a set of turnstiles with your bar-coded ticket, feeling momentarily like Disneyland and not a Roman ruins. That soon changes, however, upon seeing the State Agora and public baths, preserved fairly well and a good photo op. Then there’s the Odeon, the small theatre that’s in reasonable shape, but the columns are tightening, the archways looking solid, and you know the good stuff is soon to come. The archaeological excavation is really going strong around the Temple of Domitian, fronted by a square with relics galore, almost the least of which is a sculpture of the goddess Nike. We wait here a bit, as it's a nice break to sip some water and wait for the school groups to pass in the opposite direction. It's a kind of children's week in Turkey, and youth from around the country are here for some gathering. Like when we were at the Acropolis in Athens, I thought, these kids probably don't realise how lucky they are to have such a field trip.
Pass through the Gates of Heracles, and you're on the Street of Curetes, a sloping thoroughfare lined with temples and statues, with a direct view to the bottom where the Celsus Library facade stands out as the symbol of Ephesus. We explore the Temple of Hadrian, Trajan's Fountain, the latrine, and the brothel, before stopping for history and photos in front of the grand library facade. Its preservation and restoration has made this one of Turkey's most photographed and recognisable venues. We walk along Marble Way, above the lower agora, and into the Great Theatre, a well preserved facility that holds 25,000 spectators. The theatre is still in use today, for concerts as well as for Turkey's annual camel wrestling championships. After loitering here for a bit, we proceed out Harbor Avenue (no harbour nearby anymore, but we can imagine) and, after one last look at the Colonnade and Theatre, we exit the grounds, do some bargain shopping, and head for our first Turkish meal, pleasing enough and, while not remarkable, definitely 'safe' food while on an excursion.
After paying a visit to the Ephesus Museum, which houses some of the treasures unearthed at the site -- though many of the best pieces are in London or elsewhere -- we take a drive through some towns and into the hills (more trauma for Stan), reaching in less than thirty minutes the village of Sirince. With a population of about 600, this hill town was established in modern Greek times, and today is home to vineyards, peach orchards, and olive groves. We walked around the steep streets, looking at the rustic homes, with locals saying hello and going about their working day. A covered alleyway of shops caters to tourists in leather, wine, fruits and nuts, Turkish sweets, and other souvenirs, and here we found a pleasant cafe to relax and drink some apple tea. The site of a donkey walking by carrying a load of wood adds to the ambience of this rustic village. The drive back is relaxing, save for the stop at the carpet weaving centre which inevitably turns into a sales opportunity (we get some edification but are not buying), and we take a little time to explore the port town of Kusadasi. The selling continues here at our first brush with urban Turkey, with shopkeepers beckoning us to come "look only" at their leather, rugs, and the like. We try to get away by walking along the seafront promenade, quiet for a while until we're approached by a guy selling fragrances -- "I'm not dangerous," he keeps trying to assure us. So we walk some more through the town, hearing the call to prayer and seeing locals on their way to various mosques. It's a place unlike any that Jen has ever visited, with the sights, sounds, and smells reminding us we're in the gateway to a different region of the world. Quite a departure from your typical cruise port in the Caribbean, to be sure.
Dardanelles / Sea of Marmara
Our last day at sea has us sailing up the Aegean Sea and ready to enter the Dardanelles Straits at mid-morning. We slowly pass Gallipoli, where almost 91 years ago to the day, Australian and New Zealand (Anzac) troops landed on the peninsula, marking the beginning of the Dardanelles campaign of World War One. The goal was to capture the Ottoman capital of Constantinople (now Istanbul, to where we were sailing) In all, over 130,000 died at Gallipoli, with another twofold injured. Regatta's captain, whom we'd met several times throughout the cruise, gave the history over the ship's public address system as many of us gathered on the port rail to look. Later we'd enjoy a final lunch on the aft patio -- more sushi and calamari, shrimp and steak -- and lounged by the pool before one more afternoon tea, sailing across the Sea of Marmara and rapidly approaching Istanbul. Her faded glory brightened with city lights ablaze on both the Asia and Europe sides as we entered the Bosporus Strait, and from the top deck later that night we could hear the call to prayer and see minarets and domes in every direction. Also at the dock was a Greek ship named Perla – significant in that I’d seen this ship 26 years ago, as a youth, docked at Ocho Rios when it was Norwegian Cruise Lines’ Southward, and at the time my father commented that he’d seen this ship when it was being built a decade before that.
Istanbul
The next morning we disembarked Regatta, and within twenty minutes had picked up our luggage, negotiated a taxi, and had sped across the Galata Bridge over the Golden Horn, and through the quiet streets of old Istanbul leading to our hotel in the historic Sultanahmet district. After checking into the hotel and placing our bags in the room – a bit of a letdown after 10 days onboard a premium cruise, but we’d expected as much – we walked up to the rooftop restaurant and were treated to a picture postcard view of two grand sights, the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia. Some yoghurt, pastries, and apple tea gave us sustenance for a day of sightseeing ahead, and we eagerly walked down the street (dodging two streetcar lines) and through the park to our first stop, the Blue Mosque.
Nearly four centuries old, the Blue Mosque was ordered built by the Sultan Ahmet I, with construction taking place from 1609-1616. The Blue Mosque faces the Hagia Sophia in the historic heart of the old city, in what was the centre of Constantinople, with the Hippodrome on one side of the mosque, and Topkapi Palace beyond the Sophia. Rather than having four minarets as most mosques would, the Blue Mosque has six, the result, the legend says, of the Sultan Ahmet asking for a gold minaret – “altin” in Turkish – and instead getting the order placed as “alti” or six. As one with some service experience, I shudder to think of the compensation demanded on an error like that one. We stroll around the courtyard, the height and stature of this building immense, and queue up at the entrance for non-Muslims. In no time we’re sans shoes and on the carpet of this magnificent work, gazing up in awe at the 43m (140 feet) high dome, surrounded by semi-domes and all decorated in blue Iznik tiles (over 20,000 fill the Blue Mosque, each a hand-painted contribution to the history and meaning of this place).
We were in no hurry to leave the Blue Mosque, taking in the beauty and grandeur from different angles; counting the number of rugs to see how many people could stand (I figured conservatively over 10,000) or pray (some 4,000) here at once and the number of stained glass windows (260, but I got dizzy before then); and soaking in the scene as Muslims and non-Muslims from all over the world all experienced its wonder. The crowd was very orderly, despite that this was National Sovereignty Day and Children’s Day, as well as being two days before Anzac/Gallipoli day, a popular time for Aussies and Kiwis to visit Turkey. The courtyard and park that led to the Hagia Sophia were also bustling, and with the sun beginning to burn through the morning fog, we walked around here for a bit, admiring the colourful flower displays that were a part of the Istanbul Tulip Festival. It turns out that tulips, which we often associate with the Dutch, in fact are said to have originated in Turkey, and every Turk we met was proud to boast of this.
The second sight was beckoning, though, and after procuring our tickets (a little impatience in this line, the guilty parties being a female guide and an older American gentleman) we entered the Hagia Sophia and were once again in awe. Some 12m (40 feet) higher than the Blue Mosque and 31m (102 feet), the Hagia Sofia’s dome is comparable to the Pantheon in Rome. Churches on this site date back to the 4th century, and after two were destroyed, emperor Justinian I’s Hagia Sophia was completed in the year 537. Today it stands as perhaps the greatest surviving piece of Byzantine architecture. This was originally built as a church, serving as the seat of the Orthodox Patriarch of Constantonople for nearly a milennium. Appropriate then, that we’ve come to visit on Orthodox Easter Sunday. When Constantonople fell to the Ottoman Turks in 1453, the Hagia Sophia was converted into a mosque, evident today from the minarets on the outside and the minbar (pulpit) at the front of the interior. Since 1935 this wonder has served as a museum, and restorations have endeavoured to maintain the balance between Christianity and Islam reflected in the history of the Hagia Sophia.
The foyer alone is worth a stop, getting a feel for the history here, but quickly we’re drawn into the grand interior of the main floor. “Amazing” doesn’t begin to describe this. The marble floors, walls, and pillars are brightened by the sunlight streaking through the arched windows of the second and third floors and under the dome itself. Look up and be dazzled by the mosaics of both Islam and Christianity, all on gold backgrounds that practically shine. The dome itself is of exhausting detail as well, sharing some similarity in pattern to that of the Blue Mosque, but here done in gold with black, red, blue, and green trim. Proceeding past the scaffolding that is the ongoing restoration work in the centre, the wide archways narrow into the apse, above which the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus look down on a gold altar and an elongated minbar – again, Christianity and Islam side by side. The crowds leading up to the second and third floors are growing, but it’s worth the patience for the slow journey up (and back), to see this place from a bird’s eye view. Also up here are elaborate mosaics including: Justinian and Constantine offering the city of Constantinople to the Virgin Mary; one of Virgin Mary and child; and an icon of Christ Pantocrator.
Lunch time approaching, we checked the guide book for a place we’d seen on the Travel channel – turns out it was just up the street, and a stone’s throw form our hotel. The Sultanahmet Köftecisi has been a local establishment for over eighty years, serving up köfte (meatballs) and kebab cooked on an open-flame grill in the front of the restaurant. Anyone who’s been to Schwartz’s in Montreal will get the ambience of this place, with an omnipresent queue out the door and up the block, and a simple menu that ensures consistency and quality. Autographed photos of and letters from Turkish celebrities and lawmakers adorn the walls, and patrons are seated family-style (we were at the same table as the TV host) in this long and narrow space. The meat is brought out within minutes, and is accompanied by fluffy rice, white bean salad, and crispy bread. Bottled water is still a wise choice here, but we also order some ayran, a yoghurt-based drink that’s slightly salty, slightly sweet, and a good drink for travellers.
A hearty lunch in place, we continued our walk through historic Istanbul, around the Cistern and past the Hagia Sohpia to the water’s edge, admiring the entrance to the Bosporus as we made our way to Topkapi Palace. But since Valerie Pringle was right about lunch, her take on the Topkapi was echoing in our heads. Not wanting to spend the exorbitant entrance fees only to have a disappointment, we instead strolled around the outer grounds, admiring the tulips, and eventually getting swept with the crowd into an outdoor festival, with live music and what looked to be a TV program being beamed out, all part of the Children’s Day goings-on. Thousands of local families had come out for this, and the park was full of food vendors, games, and good spirits.
Finally we reached the Golden Horn, and walked to the tip to experience the view – Topkapi Palace on the hill facing the Sea of Marmara to our right; the Galata Bridge, and newer parts of Istanbul beyond it, to our left; the Bosporus Bridge just up the strait; and Istanbul in Asia right across from us. This was the view I’d imagined, the convergence of two continents, all on the site of one of the world’s most historic cities. Soon we partook what millions here do every day, the ferry crossing from one continent to the other. The Asian side is perhaps a bit quieter, as it’s more residential than business or tourist focused. Here we had a nice walk along the water, and got great views of the Bosporus Bridge, before relaxing on the return ferry.
That night we walked up from the hotel and used a guidebook recommendation for some authentic Antalyan food. Sure the restaurant was geared a bit towards the tourist set – most guidebook places are – but the Cennet is an experience we’re glad we didn’t miss. Crepes are the specialty of the house, with the rolling and baking done by older women who are seated in the sunken centre of the establishment. Low-flung tables are dotted around the baking area, with diners seated on floor cushions or on tree trunk chairs. Rugs adorn the walls and floors, and a house band – donned with fez and all – play traditional music... and maybe it was an off glass of Raki, but I swear that was “Hava Nagila” they just belted out! Good meze (appetizers) come out quickly, most notable was the eggplant, followed by a bowl of manti, Turkish ravioli. Eastern Europeans, think pilmeni. And I’d been thinking throughout the day, hearing the language spoken, that Turkish had an odd similarity to Korean, somehow. Well, manti in Turkish for ravioli or dumpings; and mandu in Korean, for dumplings – any link? The main course of kebab and gözelme(crepes filled with spinach, potato, cheese, and meat, with the wraps having been created by the old ladies just now) surpass our expectations. Top it all off with some baklava and apple tea for dessert, with belly dancing and the band roaming the room (did I skimp on their tip?!), and the whole evening was memorable.
In no hurry to get back to the hotel, we promenaded around Sultanahmet and its many shops still open at night, entering a courtyard and invited into a carpet and handicraft store by a nice young man. We had tea and a nice chat together, and received the background and sales pitch, and said we’d come back the next day when he’d invited us for dinner. The streets quieter now (though one must note that Istanbul is quite a safe city for its size), we retreated to the hotel rooftop and were treated to a nighttime view of the old city. The Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia were lit up for all to see their glory, and from our patio perch we indulged in a nightcap amidst this unforgettable ambience.
Our last full day of the journey gave us an opportunity for a more leisurely pace. We started out with a quick but highly satisfying Doner sandwich – who says it’s not for breakfast anymore?! – and proceeded up the crowded streets out of Sultanahmet. Istanbul’s population is estimated at anywhere from 12 to 15 million, depending on whom and what you count, and during our time here we definitely felt the difference. Having lived and travelled in Asia, I was more or less used to crowded streets, noise, pollution, and the general feeling of being surrounded by a swarm of humanity. This was Jen’s first real experience with such a phenomenon, however, and the impression was an immediate one. The streets seem crowded any time of day, but we began to wonder at mid-morning now why the crowds? One gets the feeling, after while, that either unemployment is high, or everybody works in the service business.
No greater a place is that ‘service business’ felt than in Turkey’s bastion of enterprise and capitalism, the Grand Bazaar. With about 4500 shops on and around some 65 covered streets, the Grand Bazaar is the oldest shopping mall (over 500 years) and largest covered building (compare its 75 acres to the Pentagon’s 34) in the world. It puts the West Edmonton Mall to shame. Approaching the Grand Bazaar, though, there’s no distinct sense of a ‘mall’ standing out from street level – no Nordstrom or Sears multilevel department store jumping out, no mammoth multiplex cinemas, just some sidewalk shops that at first you think are a part of the regular city blocks. Around the corner, though, as the sea of humanity is converging in a specific direction, you realise that this is something special. A pedestrian street leads past leather merchants, jewellers, doner joints and tea shops, and soon you’re through one of the entrances and at an ‘intersection’ – to your left, a massive covered lane of jewellers; and to your right, the same. Ahead is an alley the descends a bit, and takes you, hell, you have no idea where it takes you. So you walk down the jewellery lane, several blocks long, interspersed with shops selling souvenirs, carpets, clothing, you name it. Intersection after intersection, street after street, the shops go on and on – you see daylight ahead, and wind to the left following another lane of jewellery, more carpet shops, antiques, handicrafts, and the like. The place is a labyrinth. And after a while, the store begin to look all alike. Like a mouse who’s followed the maze and seeks his cheese, you duck into a shop selling nargile water pipes and tobacco. You’ve got two hookahs at home, but do a little bargaining for some tobacco. The bargaining process is a bit awkward, seems a little hostile at first, but you get used to it, and now you’re tempted to go into a carpet store – but ultimately decide against it, here in the home of the hard sell, lest you should walk out of there with a purchase.
It’s overwhelming after a while, the sights, sounds, smells, and feel of the Grand Bazaar. Indeed, much of the same merchandise seems to be repeated throughout the place. That’s a bit overgeneralising, perhaps, and if one is in the market for something specific, such as a carpet, a gold necklace, or some lovely Turkish pottery, this would be the place. As it was, we opted to get out for some fresh air, and wound our way through the maze of streets that leads out of the main building, up the hill a bit and into the wholesale and odds-and-ends section of the market. On one block we found pots and pans, mannequins, ball bearings, and guns and ammunition. Looking for an evil eye amulet? There are stores that sell nothing but, from two millimetre size up to two metres. The nargile/shisha tobacco is much cheaper here as well, even if they don’t speak English, reminding me of the expression “walk up and save.” We’re at the crest of the hill now, the merchants here offering all sorts of plastic and cardboard goods, and we can see down to the Golden Horn and Galata Bridge.
A few more blocks and the merchandise changes to kitchen supplies – a right turn, and we’re on a street packed with people, scooters, and the occasional car even, all struggling to get in their respective directions. The smoke and smell of grilling kebab and doner fill the air, and soon we’re at the entrance to the Spice Bazaar. Not technically connected to the Grand Bazaar, and a bit smaller in physical expanse, the Spice Bazaar does seem to exude more character and that exotic flavour we’ve been seeking. On the outer lanes and alleyways of this place are stalls selling meat, cheese, bread, aromatic coffee, and the like, and we’re starting to develop an appetite for lunch. Enter the core, and it’s an expanse of shops offering exotic spices in all varieties of scents and colours, from saffron to cardamom, ginger to cloves to turmeric to cumin, mint and thyme, chili and pepper, paprika and oregano, all in large bulk bins open for the buyer to peruse and bargain. Some stands sell nothing but olives, varieties and shapes and colours and names of olives you hadn’t even considered. Our favourites were the lokum shops, hundreds of them, all selling mounds of Turkish delight, that sweet and chewy confection that’s laid out here in row upon row, in colours and flavours ranging from pistachio (my addiction, and don’t even get me started on the pistachio helvasi or halvah!) to hazelnut, orange, raisin, almond, date, coconut... in colours of white, pink, green, red, orange, blue, yellow... It’s a dizzying array. The best signs we saw, though, were for “Turkish Viagra,” generally offered as a pomegranite outside, stuffed with figs, walnuts, and spices.
Our appetites sufficiently whetted, we go back to the Köftecisi for more meatballs and kebab. It’s simple, nothing fancy, but really good stuff. Later we stroll through the Bazaar, and take a side-trek over to the Suleiman Mosque. On a hill perch overlooking the Golden Horn, this 450-year old grand mosque was built by the Sultan Suleiman I as an answer to the Hagia Sophia, but with more symmetrical and rationalized forms, and filled with more light. Back to the Bazaar we go for some end-of-the-journey shopping, followed by a stop at the Grand Bazaar’s famed Nargile café, where we relaxed on the carpets outdoors and had mint and apple teas while I smoked a large water pipe. That evening we returned to the carpet store nearer to the hotel, where we’d been the previous night, and had dinner (of kebab, stuffed eggplant, meatballs, vegetables, and freshly baked Turkish bread, all from the restaurant upstairs in the same building) with our host while going through dozens of carpets that he’d pulled in the hopes of piquing our interest. Ultimately we did not find one particular carpet that jumped out and said “take me home,” and, having survived the Istanbul carpet hard sell and come out non-buyers, we repayed for our meal by purchasing some souvenirs at ‘sticker’ price.
The next morning, as our taxi left the hotel at dawn, we marveled once more at old Constantinople, then saw another interesting sight – all the ships lined up, either at anchor or simply floating, waiting to enter the Bosporus Strait. We must have counted at least a hundred vessels, from oil tankers and cargo containers to passenger liners, and were reminded of the strategic importance, both politically and economically, of this particular patch of the globe.
Epi(nay)logue
Air France check-in, Ataturk Airport, 7am, and the queue is long and not moving. We’ve allowed plenty of time to make our 9:30 flight, but an hour later, we’ve only moved perhaps halfway to the counter. An airline rep has come out for what we thought was to give out some information, but instead all she dealt was luggage tags and more confusion. At the counter we realised that the computers were down and the staff were checking faxed reservation lists and writing tickets and boarding passes by hand – so this was the delay. Problem was, the queue behind us was still back near to the doors. Boarding commenced within a few minutes of the scheduled time, but we sat on the tarmac for an hour and a half before eventually taking off for Paris. The captain announced that our arrival would be two hours late, apologised for the glitch which apparently was affecting Air France computers elsewhere as well, but gave no more updates as to onward connections. We had no idea if our flight to Toronto would be departing on time, or if it too – we could only hope – would be delayed.
After landing on the far runway and taxiing for what seemed an eternity, we deplaned only to see the Toronto flight, along with a good many others, posted on the flight monitors as “go to transit desk.” Said counter and its predictable queue we found easily enough, but with no boarding pass in hand and no knowledge of what gate the flight would be at, we had no choice but to wait here. Twenty minutes passed as two staff handled passengers transiting from all over the world, one of whom went on her mandatory break in the midst of “helping” someone – but not before shouting out a list of destinations to which passengers would be out of luck, Toronto among them. Order began to break down. Passengers yelled out to get more information, only to have a short, effeminate staff insist that he not be yelled at or he would not assist anyone. Sorry I didn’t notice, had he been assisting before?
I turned around, and noticed that a middle-aged man in a leather jacket had taken a place in line in front of us. Repeated calls to get his attention ignored as he chatted away into his mobile phone, I got in his face and asked him what the fuck he was doing. The entire gang of passengers behind me chimed in, irate at the whole situation and perfectly willing to take it out on Mr. Linecutter. “I have a special problem,” he said. “Oh, you have a special problem, do you?” I couldn’t help but get dramatic. “Ladies and gentlemen, this man claims he has a ‘special problem.’ He thinks he’s better than the rest of us, that the rules don’t apply to him.” Calls for his head came out from the pack. As Linecutter refused to surrender his position and in fact stepped forward a bit, I knew that in the absence of order at this moment, I had carte blanche to do more or less whatever I deemed necessary to move him to the back of the line. Rather than take a swing at him, though, I continued my barrage of yelling, moving towards him and forcing him to take several steps backwards. Honestly, I cannot recall how exactly this ended, other than there was an announcement about which passengers were to proceed to where, and the entire queue moved quickly in one of two ways, half the group leaving the scene and the other half storming the counter.
I cornered a staffer who suggested we clear customs and proceed upstairs to check-in, where a larger customer service (a relative term, to be sure) counter was available. A short while later, during which we were congratulated by two people who had been in the chaos as well and saw what went down with Linecutter, we were told that all connections to Toronto were done for the day, and we’d be booked on tomorrow’s flight. We were handed a hotel voucher and told that, as the airport area properties were sold out, we’d be put up at an Ibis in a town called Epinay-sur-Seine, bus for which leaving in two hours. We considered calling the office and having them make a reservation for a hotel in Paris itself, but collect calls were out of order and I knew that even with my industry rate, we’d pay a pretty penny for that room, and not have much time to spend in the city anyway. I thought about calling my family in the States and finding out the number for my cousin Richard who lives in Paris, but at this point we had more or less surrendered (in France, no less!) to a night wherever the airline placed us, knowing we had to be back at Charles de Gaulle the next morning anyway.
An hour on the bus before leaving the terminal, and another forty minutes in expressway traffic, and we were in the northern Paris suburbs, past Le Bourget and St. Denis (home of the Stade de France), winding through local streets and ending up at an Ibis hotel that appeared to once have been a dormitory of some sort. We had a Kronenbourg with another Canadian couple, and then went out to explore the area. Those Paris suburbs that had been in the news as of late, with all the ethnic tension and strife amongst disaffected youth? We were in the heart of it. Walking through streets in a community that was borderline housing project, we found an Internet café (no coffee, just eight of ten terminals broken in a photocopy, fax, and telegram shop) and reported back to home and work of our 24-hour delay. Later we enjoyed a decent meal at the Ibis, complete with salad and appetizer buffet, a biftec entree, and decent bread and house red wine. Well fell asleep watching Champions League soccer on TV, and had a 5am wake-up for what was purported to be the only bus to the airport at 6am.
A breakfast buffet was put out, again compliments of Air France, and by 6:30 we were back at Charles de Gaulle, seven hours to kill. A return visit to the customer service desk procured the information that a second bus should have been available to leave Epinay at 10am, but since this was relayed to us perhaps a bit too late, we were given vouchers for “un sandwich et un boisson” for each of us. With all that time on our hands, we scoured the terminals for the most expensive sandwich and boisson on offer, and enjoyed the ridiculousness of it all – along with brie on a baguette – before going through security, duty free, and eventually boarding our day-late return journey to Toronto.
Air France got enough right on the second day, especially the in-flight service including decent food and drink as well as personal video entertainment, but the events of the previous day still left a bit of a scar on an otherwise stellar trip. Oddly enough, upon arrival at Toronto, we hopped the Park&Fly shuttle and saw the same couple who’d parked their car near ours and took the same shuttle when we departed. Normally we’d ask, ‘what are the odds’? Tired, we simply pointed the car towards Ottawa and closed in on the last four hours of our 48-hour journey home.
Ship Review
Regatta, at 30,000 tonnes and a capacity of 670 passengers and 400 crew, is more akin to a yacht when lined up against today’s mega-ships. Originally built as a series of eight vessels for the luxury line Renaissance Cruises, Regatta and sisters Nautica and Insignia were each given 5-million-dollar facelifts and compose the entire Oceania fleet today (meaning that one ship on Royal Caribbean, Carnival, or Princess would be larger than all of Oceania Cruises). From our stateroom amidships on Deck Seven, we were within a three or four minute walk of essentially everywhere onboard, a feat not possible with larger vessels. Not that we mind the walking, especially with all the food bound to be consumed on one of these sailings, yet it’s nice to have it all on a manageable scale. Up top and forward is Horizons lounge, royal blue and plaid motif with generous cherry-wood paneling and floor-to-ceiling, 180-degree views. Horizons serves as the music and dancing venue in the evenings; is used for continental breakfast on port days – best croissants at sea, crusty and flaky on the outside, light and fluffy on the inside – and elegant afternoon tea every day, scones and the string quartet, not to be missed. Above Horizons is the sun deck, with private cabanas rarely if ever in use during the entire duration of the cruise, while below is the spa and fitness centre. Outside the spa are what had been two conference rooms, one of which has been converted into a card room and the other into Oceania@Sea, the ship’s internet and computer facility. While we did not go online at $0.95 per minute, we did take advantage of a couple of free classes on digital photography and Adobe PhotoShop; and even better were able to download our digital photos every day, sort through and touch them up, and burn two CDs (we’d taken nearly 1500 pictures, after all) at the end of the cruise, all for a $30 fee. Amidships is the teak-decked pool area, with a running track circling the top, a salt-water pool and two hot tubs, comfortable lounge chairs running along the port and starboard sides, and wooden double benches that face either end of the pool and were oh, so relaxing when at sea. Aft of the pool area, top deck, is one of the nicest areas on Regatta, the library. With over a thousand titles available – I took Tom Friedman’s latest (while also reading “Devils of the Deep Blue Sea,” a tome about the cruise industry presumably not on the shelves of any ship at sea) – this wood-paneled room is a cozy spot to read or chat.
The library leads to Regatta’s two specialty restaurants, each of which occupies an aft corner. Toscana, where we dined twice, is a contemporary trattoria with favourites such as osso buco, pastas and risotto, antipasti such as carpaccio or calamari, and a nice selection of meats and seafood. The tiramisu is not to be misssed. Polo Grill, on the starboard aft corner, is a classic steakhouse, with mahogany panels and generous hunter greens. Our meal here on the second to last night of the cruise would feature a powerful set of courses including shrimp cocktail with the largest and most succulent shrimp we’d ever sunk our teeth into; a rich lobster bisque; caesar salad prepared tableside; classic surf and turf accompanied with oversized asparagus and creamed spinach; and a key lime pie and Tahitian vanilla bean ice cream that left us staggering out of the establishment.
Leveraging the kitchen upstairs, Deck Nine aft offers the Terrace, home to breakfast and lunch buffets, and evening ‘Tapas on the Terrace.’ While the indoor eating areas are bright and airy, the highlight by far is the teak-floored, umbrella-festooned aft patio, and we’d come to eat many a meal out here, enjoying sea breezes and views of ports and sunsets. The Terrace, like each of the five dining venues, has its own china pattern, but its staff rotate from the other venues, meaning passengers and staff get to know each other, another nice feature of the small ship experience. That’s why, when you return from port, staff always greet you with “welcome home.”
Of the ten suppers aboard Regatta, we ate in the Grand Dining Room six times, read the menu on the other evenings, and never saw anything of the rotating entrees or appetizers repeated. A solid ‘A’ to Oceania for creativity and variety in its menu planning, even if not every dish was a complete hit. Appetizers included tiger prawns with orange Sauce and onion confit; chicken mousseline sausage with roquefort; and a salmon and scallop tartare for which Jen procured the recipe at the cooking demonstration. Salads were crisp, soups were varied, and an intermezzo of sorbet or daiquiri ice were de rigueur before entrees such as roasted lamb rack Provencale with herb crust, or sautéed sea bream fillet with rosemary butter. The desserts were consistently good, with daily rotating ice creams complementing a line of cakes and creations, chocolate and otherwise, though I sometimes opted for a simple sorbet along with a selection from the cheese trolley. All that is no surprise, given that the ‘chef’ for Oceania – not onboard but the consulting chef to the line – is Jacques Pepin, TV host, author, and chef extraordinaire. With that billing, one might look for some flaws in the dining experience, which Oceania boats to be “the finest at sea.” And so we looked.
Though the experience in the main dining room was overall an “A-”, we found some inconsistencies among the various staff. Unlike traditional cruises, Oceania offers anytime dining, meaning one can visit the dining room within a three-hour window and could end up with a different serving team each night. Some staff were energetic and highly efficient, while a few did seem, to us at least, to be a bit perfunctory in carrying out their work. And we encountered the occasional faux pas such as reaching across the table to place an item rather than walking around, or serving from the cheese tray in a haphazard manner that resulted in a less-than-attractive plating as well as cheese becoming mixed on the tray. On the Terrace, most staff eagerly served the iced tea, coffee/espresso/cappuccino (very nice, by the way, and not at an extra charge like many lines), lemonade and so forth from the quasi-self-serve station, but a few seemed to be standing by and not taking much interest in their work. In the specialty venues the service was outstanding, though compared to those on Celebrity Cruises perhaps not quite on the ‘impeccable’ level – ordering wine by the glass seemed off-putting once at Toscana. As for the cuisine itself, as stated above the creativity gets high marks, but the end results were sometimes only fair. One of the Jacques Pepin signature dishes is the herb-crusted rotisserie chicken, available every night along with the aforementioned signature steak frites. While the latter was succulent and was worth ordering (even as a ‘second entree’) on subsequent nights, we found the chicken to be unremarkable and on the dry side. At least two of the soups had far too much salt, surprising when much of the clientele are older and health-conscious. And a couple of the more adventurous entrees, such as the attempt at ‘tandoori chicken,’ simply fell flat.
All that being said, however, we’d recommend Oceania to just about anyone looking for a cruise experience, and would add that, in a time when mainstream cruise lines are cutting back their food budgets, Oceania probably does offer some of the best dining at sea. The ship’s crew and staff in general are quite friendly, saying “hello” whenever you see them and going out of their way to help whenever possible. As said before, the clientele aboard Oceania’s sailings to tend to be a bit older, although here on the Mediterranean they seem to be a more fit and energetic lot. Still, this can present certain challenges for crew and staff, and we thought the Oceania gang did a fine job. Cruise director David Shermet was informative and entertaining, and we had several nice chats, most notably about how he’d played baseball at the University of Arizona and who we knew in common. While the Oceania ships are too small for Broadway-scale production shows, the theatre is intimate and hosted daily entertainment ranging from a musical revue, to comedy and magic, to the talented violinist Hanna Starosta. And the martini bar, itself a cozy space at both day and night, featured lively piano music and good spirits sailing well into the night.
As on most cruises, we were disappointed to have to leave Regatta, and of course the 10 days had sailed by (sorry, couldn’t resist the pun) far too quickly. We’d most certainly sail with Oceania in the future, particularly if their itineraries can get more exotic and the ‘2-for-1’ and ‘free air’ deal is available again.
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