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Venice

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We landed on Venetian Sovereignty by boat taxi after landing by plane at the nearby airport. We disembarked about one block from out hotel, a converted monastery located near the train station. Everything is within walking distance, as that is the only mode of transportation besides the boats
Venice was built before the dark ages, in a swamp to discourage local and foreign invaders. The only way to and from there was by water. Early Venetians drove wooden poles below the waterline to support the buildings. Through the centuries the town morphed into what we see today, a city totally intertwined with various sizes of canals. Horses and autos were never allowed on the island. All goods and fuel was transported to the city by water, as it is today. The city became rich trading to nearby city-states, and eventually to far away countries.

After securing lodging for our allotted stay, we walked around in a light rain, more like a mist. Residents and tourists alike donned umbrellas, and took up a swift pace to avoid the weather. We embraced it. The sunlight broke through the foreboding sky onto the multicolored pastel buildings, making the afternoon take on a magical quality. We proceeded to explore the labyrinth of back streets, open markets and hidden restaurants. Once again my geographically challenged family attempted to “guide” us on our way. After numerous course changes, we arrived back at our hotel as the sun was setting. They could get lost on an island, not I.

We found out the next day where all the main tourist attractions (shopping) were, and I vowed to avoid them. Carrie and Katie vowed to spend everything they had. We did find a great restaurant deep into the maze. It featured some of the best street food (pizza like material, covered with meats and cheese) in all of Europe, or at least that street. We enjoyed a light meal and a glass of wine while people watching from the outdoor dining tables. It was a very nice way to pass the time.

The next day while exploring, a hard rain was upon us. This was like walking in a waterfall. We took refuge in the lobby of a hotel along our route, and were welcomed by the staff to say while the monsoon had passed. Katie stood in the doorway and invited everyone within shouting range to join us in the dry lobby. Some took her up on her offer, and the staff never complained. A very hospitable city.

After buying supplies (wine) at a local Co-op, we embarked upon our journey. We boarded the Princess Cruise ship “Behemoth”. A slightly smaller version of  a nuclear aircraft carrier, but not by much. We would spend days finding our way through the bowels of the beast

As we left Venice, the ships giant movie screen and speakers played the opera piece by Sarah Brightman & Andrea Bocelli “Time to say goodbye”. It seemed so perfect as we cruised by Piazza San Marco, far below and filled with people, on such a beautiful day. It had rained earlier that morning, and now the sky was clear except for clouds on the horizon. Venice seemed to glow in the late spring air.
The ships staff had heard the music, probably every time they set sail, and a few stopped to join in the song, even the hand gestures. With such a diverse crew from countries all over the world, it was really quit a sight.

The French Underground

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City of Lights? I think not, more likely City of Stairs!
Our maps of Paris and its underground Metro system were lovely but undecipherable – displaying what seemed to be a never-ending labyrinth of road and rail in print so small it could be read only by our daughter, Catherine, whose youthful eyesight remains keen. To even reach the nearest Metro station, we would have to navigate a maze of streets, stairs and platforms – so we kept our plans modest. Venturing away from our hotel on the outskirts of Paris for the first time, we sought only to get to the Eiffel Tower.
Nonetheless, our travels beneath La Ville-Lumiere (City of Lights) began badly. It was only after several false starts that we arrived at the iconic monolith.
It was worth the effort.
The view from the top of the tower – where we toasted the sunset with a glass of Champagne – was splendid. And our successful voyage left us feeling more confident about using the Metro to explore the city further – to the Arc de Triomphe, and later to … somewhere else.
It has been said that the French are extremely rude. Our experiences on the Metro convinced me otherwise. The people I asked for directions were helpful and forgiving of the language barrier. I did find that the further we were from any tourist attraction, the friendlier everyone seemed – including myself. I did witness an older French woman shove herself on the train into a young woman, semi-crushing her, then saying “pardon,” just before sneezing right in her face, and then proceeded a friendly conversation like they had known each other for years. C’est la vie, such is life.
Late at night, the Metro itself becomes a destination. At one station, a vocalist – equipped with her microphone and boom box – sang an old romantic song. At another, two guys with accordions played French music. Everyone except me stared with disdain. I am no fan of accordions – I happen to believe they provide the background music in hell. But too tired to escape after a long day of climbing Paris stairs, I could only laugh.
After we had been using the Metro for a few days, we noticed the detailed – and easy to understand – maps displayed on station walls and inside train cars. Using them we had a much easier time getting around.
Nonetheless, our Metro ride to the Chateau de Versailles (Palace of Versailles) proved challenging. It required three transfers, which turned out to be more than we could handle. What should have been a one-hour trip from our hotel instead took four hours. Along the way we met other groups of lost travelers. We wished them well and continued on our way. Only later did we realize where we went wrong: If you get on a train to Versailles, you might think you will end up at the palace. Wrong. The train to the palace has a totally different name.
One night, just before the Metro was due to close for the evening, we met an American couple.
The man explained that he had been pick-pocketed on their first day in Paris. Someone bumped into him on the train and lifted his wallet – and with it, $700 in cash. They asked us for directions. Unfortunately, we couldn’t help. As they left our train car, unsure of where to go, my wife, Carrie, asked me, “Do you think they will be lost?”
“This is the French Underground,” I replied. “Losses are to be expected.”

The Cinque Terre

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Our Italian adventures weren’t over yet.
We traveled from Rome to the coastal town of Rapallo by train. There is one group worse than pickpockets in Rome, and that would be the dreaded baggage handlers. Men appear from nowhere, look at your ticket, give the impression of being on your side and working to make your life easier, grab your baggage and rush off to your train car.
At first you think they may be going for the Olympic gold of theft. They are taking it all!
Then you think that they may be employed by the train station. In either case, you run right along with them because they have taken everything you own. You arrive at your car, they stow your baggage and then ask for 20 euros.
A high price to pay for getting in the correct seat? I think not. You could miss the train, and all that it could possibly offer.
After paying the small ransom for the services of the pirate porter, we were off to our destination.
Rapallo is a municipality in the province of Genoa, in Liguria, northern Italy. The ride was exceptional, and views spectacular. North of Pisa, we saw snow-covered mountains. This was strange because they were not that high, and it was very warm. As we got closer, we realized that it was not snow, but marble excavations and quarries near the town of Carrara.
So this is where all the marble comes from.
Upon arrival, we stopped by a refreshment establishment and were enjoying ice-cold beverages, when I was asked by the proprietor, “Are you American?” I answered yes.
He asked “California?” Again, I answered yes.
As he “mime ran” in slow motion, he asked, “Baywatch?”
I started laughing.
He then went on to explain in broken English about the local television station that had programs such as “Baywatch” and “Dallas” are broadcast there on Thursday nights. I guess that this was American culture night, and the locals loved it. He and another customer talked of Larry Hagman’s acting on “Dallas.” This was a kind of time-warp view of America – it’s been many years since “Dallas” has been on as an original program.
We settled in at the Hotel Europa, a place with wonderful views and service.
My wife, Carrie, had planned out this trip literally years in advance, and Rapallo was the perfect place to stay while exploring the surrounding area by train. Our destination was the small quaint area to the south called “The Cinque Terre,” which was a pretty remote place before the advent of rail travel. The towns are now accessible by boat, car (park outside the towns) and rail. As previously discussed, driving in Italy was out of the question.
We value life.
The Cinque Terre, which means “five lands” in Italian, is an 11-mile stretch of steep, rocky coastline in northwest Italy and includes the towns of Manarola, Monterosso al Mare, Riomaggiore, Corniglia and Vernazza.Manarola is the most picturesque of the five, although they are all beautiful: deep blue sea, pastel homes and shops.
We took the train to the most southern town and walked along the coast until we tired, had lunch, and then got back on the train to the next town. One can walk from town to town, but we wanted to see all we could in the time allowed.
Back in Rapallo, Carrie and my daughter, Katie, again found another hole-in-the-wall bake shop, which mainly featured all kinds of pizza. These were cut in squares and sold as individual pieces. Again they were great tasting and cost so much less than at a restaurant. The shop also featured heat. It was hotter than a Laundromat in Fresno during summer. I entered the furnace-like establishment behind my family. I thought they might absorb the brunt of the heat. I was not so lucky. I noticed a single chair in the shop. This appeared to be a “man chair,” the kind you see men sitting in when women are shopping. Almost losing consciousness, I found myself sitting in it and feeling much cooler. I looked behind me and there was an electric fan. I was now much happier. The harried baker shot from customer to customer, with a determined look of vigilance, and maybe heat stroke, as he had no fan upon him.
He suddenly looked right at me sitting in the cool chair, smiled, and loudly declared with arms opened wide, “It’s wonderful!”
And it WAS wonderful!

Croatia

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We boarded the ship; it was the Princess Cruise Lines Star Princess, which I later christened “The S S Behemoth”. This ship is 950 feet long, more than big enough to be lost at sea for 12 days.

Looking to one of the pools on the upper deck, I noticed the age of fellow passengers and wondered where the life generating cocoons were located. This was a country for old men. A nursing home at sea.

I could only look forward to following their walkers around the decks and on the elevators.

We arrived in Croatia at sunrise. The captain had obviously planned this, as it seemed much too coincidental. As a matter of fact, we arrived at every port of call at sunrise. This in itself confirmed my hunch about the captain and his plans. He had done this before.

I had expected to play “dodge bullet” in Croatia. All I had seen on television was people running from building to building with little puffs of dust from sniper fire following them. I did not look forward to this trek at all. The war was long over, but the haunting images seemed fresh in my mind. When informed of this excursion during the planning stages of our trip, I had suggested a quick jaunt to Somalia if we were still alive. All this proved to be false as the country was brochure-beautiful and peaceful with the exception of a few unruly tourists, but I will not speak of them as they are family.

We secured a taxi at the port, which took us to the “old city” of Dubrovnik. His command of the English language was intriguing. We learned he was raised in Sunnyvale, California, and had repatriated a few years before the war. He had not intended to join, even with the city under attack, until his neighbor and son was killed on his street. He was attempting to put out the fire in his car, when shelling resumed. They both died in our cab driver’s garage. So much for pacifism.

He told us of the constant bombardment from the Serbian Army, who held the high ground above the city. The signs of war can still be seen. A short drive to the top of the mountain and the war memorial consisting of a giant cross, a hole in a wall from a Serbian tank can still there. The wall was made by the Napoleonic army when they were defending the same ground a couple of hundred of years ago.

While admiring the grand view of the old town of Dubrovnik below, he explained that after the war children, and some adults, had the misfortune of “finding” some of the land mines left behind. There were thousands of them. One idea came to mind was to heard sheep through the suspected areas, and when a land mine was found they had a BBQ. This practice was put to a stop by international indignation.

“Would they rather have our children find them?”