Cruise 2009 part 3 (Spain and Portugal)

The next two ports of call were in Vigo, Spain, and in Funchal, Portugal. We got geocaches in both of them.

Vigo

We had read on Cruise Critic that Vigo is such an "uninteresting place"... which cinched it for us. We knew without a doubt that this was going to be a great place to visit. We actually had three caches loaded into the GPS unit, but the map I printed for us had a somewhat larger scale than I realized, so we settled for just one of them, once we had climbed to the top of the hill (3/4 of a mile as the crow flies), scored the cache, and seen the beautiful historic castle with its lovely landscaping. I can see now why so few people from the cruise ships come up here, especially since they're mostly geriatrics, unlike GA and me. We're still young and spry.

Every once in a while you can get a really neat photo that just has that nice composition and subject matter. After logging the cache, we kept going up the hill and discovered this castle in Castro Park, which nobody had mentioned in the literature, but which made the climb worthwhile. As we got our first view, we saw this:


Man with dog overlooking the bay from the castle in Vigo. Photo by Wm

I don't care who you are or if you like the photo. Well, to be honest, I do care if you like the photo, because I like it. It's a nice photo. So if you don't like it, leave this blog right now and go watch your TV set, loser.

Now this one isn't quite as nice, because of the nasty graffiti, but I like the door, anyway. GA likes doors, and I think sometimes they make good pictures. We can pretend that the graffiti is historic, probably put there by the Spanish Inquisition.


Wm posing at a door in a Spanish castle in Vigo. Photo by GA.

You know, I'm reminded of one session of a seminar that I attended on the cruise. Some British guy was teaching us about digital photography, and he was trying to explain to us about the difference between photographs and art. Now, I will say that this guy took some very nice photos, and that I would consider them to be good art as well, but he was trying to tell us that a photograph is just a record of something you saw, while with art, you have to do something extra to it to make it art. But then he showed us a photo of a lake, which was beautiful, and he tried to claim that since he composed it with the reflection, that made it art - not realizing that he had just trashed his own definition. So I'm back with my original assumption about the subject: art is whatever the artist says it is, and it's entirely subjective, and entirely dependent on what the photographer intended.

This, for instance:


Bench overlooking pool, photo by Wm

That's a beautiful photograph. I didn't really intend it to be art, but I did intend to make it as pleasing as possible to the eye while capturing the reality of it all. But I could just as easily tell you that the empty bench is symbolic of the emptiness of the human condition, and it would be art. But who cares? It's both art and a nice photograph - unless I decide to enter it into a contest, in which case that bench holds the very meaning of life. Which, ahem, it does.

Now this, on the other hand, is indisputably art, because the stairs are a statement on man's climb toward greatness, safety, beauty, and spiritual renewal:

Stairs, photo (I mean art) by Wm

Part of the way back down to sea level, we stopped at Jackie's Cafetería. Here was yet another reason to strike out on our own, rather than follow the footsteps of other tourists from the ship. We were the only non-locals eating there, and with yours truly speaking only a little español, and our waiter speaking only a little inglés, we somehow managed to strike a deal as to lunch. GA had cabbage soup, as it turned out, and I had the hake platter. Both were delicious. For dessert, how could we not have flan con nata, washed down with espresso? Take my word for it that this was the best flan I have ever tasted in my short but eventful life.


After a lovely day of touring castles and practicing arty stuff, we eventually had to go back down to the lowlands, where we found this lovely sculpture, which is art, so that the photo is merely a record of existing art, and not art itself - except that I added something, so maybe it's art after all:


harB sitting in the lap of Jules Verne. Photo by Wm

Now why would Jules Verne be depicted here sitting on a giant squid? Because, dear readers, he favorably mentioned Vigo in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, and is therefore beloved of all Vigans. The lesson is that if you ever write a book, mention some obscure little town somewhere, and they will make a statue of you, and hippos will climb on it some day.

Now this next one was absolutely intended to be art, as the sun set behind our cruise ship, and the sea life teemed:


The sun sets in Vigo. Photo by Wm


Funchal

In Funchal, we had three more possible geocaches, but really only intended to get two of them, the third requiring a cable car journey at some expense, and therefore to be used as backup in the event that we failed to find either of the first two. One of these was the Funchal Walkabout, which was very inefficient, strictly in terms of effort to get one little cache - but which was to serve as our tour guide, as it is a multi-cache, taking us to several interesting sites in Funchal, with puzzles to solve at each stage. And the other cache happened to be close to stage three of the multi-cache, so off we went.

Now most of these sites won't be listed on Wikipedia, but that's the point. When caching, you get to see things that are interesting, but which are not on an official tourist guide. Take this interesting little statue on a hidden street:


Statue hidden among buildings in Funchal, photo by Wm

All I can tell you is that each stage had something nice enough to visit. How about this door? I like doors, and they can make interesting photographs, or dare I say it... art? Yes, art. Why not?


Spanish door, behind which the Spanish Inquisition may have tortured a heretic centuries ago. Photo by Wm.

Or try this:


Wm on the Vagrant. Photo by GA.

Know what that is? That, my friends, is stage eight, with the final clue to the real cache. It is also the Vagrant, a yacht once owned by the Beatles. In this photo, I am standing on a spot on the yacht where it is virtually certain that all four of the Fab Four stepped at one time or another. I am therefore blessed among men, for I have trod where Ringo hath trod. (Cue choir music here).
Would I have found this historic vessel had I not been pursuing this cache? Possibly. Just possibly. But nobody else from the Independence knew about it. Pity them.

Still not convinced? OK, remember that second geocache I mentioned, that we picked up after the third stage of the multi-cache? It was placed near a restaurant. This restaurant, the Muralha (which means "the wall") had outdoor seating, and seemed to be as charming as anything you could want. So we ate there after completing the cache:


Wm holding his wine while gazing at his lady in admiration. Photo by GA

We enjoyed battered scabbard, with fried bananas, and it was the best nom noms you can imagine. It was such a sweet, exquisite fish, and it went so well with a local wine that I can't even describe the sheer gastronomic pleasure. I still feel a little faint, just trying to describe it.

Here is what the fish actually looks like:

Photo stolen from Wikipedia

OK, not so appetizing before cooking, but it sure tastes good on a plate.

And finally, here is a photo of the view from the final goal of that multi-cache, a lovely garden area overlooking our cruise ship, as it awaited our return:


The Independence of the Seas, docked in Funchal. Photo by Wm.

Next: the Days at Sea

Cruise 2009 part 2 (France)

We began the actual cruise on November 23rd. GA arranged for us to get to the ship from London by taking a limo service - well, actually a "private car service," using a van. This was actually cheaper than taking the cruise shuttle, because we shared it with three other cruisers, thus splitting it five ways. An added bonus was that the driver stopped at a grocery store on the way, so we could buy our liquid supplies, but mostly so we could buy me some McVities cookies, in the ginger nut and shortbread varieties.

Boarding wasn't bad at all, even with the fact that the Independence is a huge beast cramming 3800 passengers into its vast belly. The lines were long, but they moved quickly, and we were all processed efficiently.

We knew our cabin wouldn't be ready this early, but the Windjammer was open - that's the dining area where you can get just about anything from the buffet. On a previous cruise, we had made friends with some people on Cruise Critic, and it was great to see them in person. This time, for whatever reason, there were very few people we hit it off with on that discussion board. There were a few, mind you, but not so many - and they were hard to find on such a huge ship.

We made a brief tour of the ship, as best we could, bearing in mind that on a ship this size, you can't see everything with a brief stroll. There are three formal dining areas on the beast, on decks three through five, named "Romeo and Juliet," "MacBeth," and "King Lear" respectively. Of course, we were careful to refer to the one on deck four as the "Scottish Play dining room."


GA snickering at the name of the dining room on deck four. Photo by Wm

GA surprised me with a balcony on our cabin - a little more expensive, yes, but it certainly made the cruise even more pleasant, especially since a view of the sea is such a long hike from the inner cabins, and since they were usually crowded, with the chairs already taken most of the time.

The first full day of the cruise, we docked on the coast of France, and took the bus excursion to Paris. There, we saw the Eiffel Tower (of course) as well as dozens of sites in Paris seen from our bus windows, including the Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame, the Louvre, and the Champs Elyseese. At the tower, we were allowed to wander around on our own for a few hours, so we logged three geocaches, all within sight of the Eiffel Tower.


Wm, GA, and harB near the Eiffel Tower. Photo by unknown tourist.



The third of these caches was the Liberty Flame, a virtual cache, which means you get credit for it not by signing a physical log, but by taking a photo of yourself holding the GPS in front of it. This was not only the cache farthest from our home coordinates, but was also the farthest point we had ever been from our own front porch, since it was the farthest east of the bus waiting for us. 5,040 miles from home is a long way - this could be hard to beat. Everything after this on the cruise would be heading westward, toward home sweet home.


GA and harB at the Liberty Flame. Photo by Wm

While trying to discreetly log La passerelle avec une vue superbe, a woman came up to us to show us what appeared to be a gold ring which she had found. It was actually a brass ring, and she was trying to get us to accept it and then give her money as a reward. Several other folks on the bus later told us they had been approached with the same scam, but by different people.

The bus trip was a blast, partly because we were seated near that rare commodity, a British lady with a sense of humor. Our tour guide had been trying to tell us the history of France's involvement in WWII, and since we were a bus full of Americans and Brits, she was kind of stammering through it and trying to justify the fact that the French had given up without firing a shot and had simply let the Germans in to rule them. "Don't mention the war," said our British friend, reminding us all of that famous Fawlty Towers episode. Laughter broke out in the rear of the bus, and I'm sure the guide wondered what was so funny.

We had intended to find a little sidewalk café where we could have bread and wine and a rude waiter, but there weren't any cafés close enough to the tower to do that, so we had a delicious panini from a local vendor, and ate it while sitting on a park bench. Life is good.

Of course, life isn't perfect. Public toilets are not easy to find in Paris, but there was fortunately one placed very near the tower, but it was so busy that there was a traffic director stationed at the bottom of the stairs saying "one man," or "two women," whichever became available. Of course he said it in French, so it was "un homme" or some such. Hey, I don't speaka de French.

The architecture is beautiful in Paris, and the only problem I saw with it was that horrible, ugly glass pyramid in front of the Louvre. I cannot believe they have that eyesore in front of such a beautiful building.

The next day, the ship docked at another port in France, this time for our excursion to the American Cemetery, just above Omaha Beach. This was a solemn occasion. On the way back, our guide pointed out the cemetery where they buried the German soldiers. It was marked by a giant black cross, and we were told that the families of these soldiers were required to pay the burial expenses.

But the American Cemetery is treated with respect by the French, well cared for, and protected by French soldiers. It made me feel good.


Grave markers at the American Cemetery in France. Photo by Wm.


Next: Spain and Portugal

Cruise 2009 part 1 (England)

If you're going to take a cruise, you might as well make the most of it. I think we did.
We took the transatlantic repositioning cruise with Royal Caribbean, but this time we did it from east to west, flying in to Heathrow in London, three days early, so we could enjoy London as well as the cruise.

DAY ONE:
We arrived at noon in London, but remember that that's 6:00 am Texas time. One must find a way of dealing with jet lag when one is a jet setter, and our method was to check into the hotel, and take a four hour nap. That left us sleepy, so we could go to sleep properly by England time, yet not exhaust ourselves into a brain fried state. Once awake, we went down to the lobby to buy a Coke and a Dr Pepper - yes, they have those there, being at least semi-civilized. We returned to the room and our smuggled munchies and had a quiet dinner of almonds and soft drinks and crackers. Why didn't we go have a proper English meal downstairs? Because, dear friends, we hadn't taken the time to shower yet, and besides, the exchange rate is such that a six dollar meal in the USA is the equivalent of a ten dollar meal in England - not that I was going to worry about the exchange rate, since I intended to have a good time worthy of the expense of flying all the way to London.
So then we went to bed at the proper time - not sundown, because in England in the winter, the sun sets at about 4:00, or 1600 as they express it. We slept about ten hours, and in the morning we were all set for British time.

DAY TWO:
We skipped breakfast for some reason, mostly because we weren't really hungry, and we walked to The Plough after getting some advice on how to use public transport in London. The Plough is both a pub and a bus stop. It cost £2 (pounds sterling) for each of us to ride the bus to the nearest tube station, where we invested in two one-day passes for public transportation, which let us wave a little ticket around or feed it into a turnstile thingy whenever we wanted to ride a train or a bus (thus saving the £2 for the return trip on the bus). It took us a little figuring at first, but then it became sort of clear. So from the Plough, we took the 222 to Hounslough West, where we took the train to Piccadilly Circus - which isn't really a circus, with clowns and stuff, but kind of a neighborhood or shopping district. After climbing out of the tube station to the busy sidewalk above, we discovered that the GPS didn't work among the tall buildings in London, because it couldn't see the sky. Come to think of it, neither could we. We had meant to mark a waypoint on the GPS so we could find our way back, but we had to settle for breadcrumbs.
So we wandered down the street, dropping our bread crumbs, until we saw a promising looking alley, which contained a sandwich shop callled "Piggy's." It's a little different in London; you order, you eat, and then you pay, even in a sandwich shop. If you tip at all - and Brits are notoriously bad tippers - you tip no more than 10%, no matter how good the service. The sandwiches were delicious, but the salt and vinegar chips weren't really strong enough to suit me. In Texas, they almost blow your nose for you, but I guess in England they're more subtle.
It was fortuitously the first day of Christmas shopping in London. Imagine that: we didn't bump into Ebenezer Scrooge or any crippled orphans, but where else would you want to be when doing your Christmas shopping? Lights were strung over the streets, and the sidewalks were crowded to near-capacity. We weren't sure which side of the sidewalk was appropriate, because after all, they drive on the wrong side of the road in England, but then in America there is no set side of the sidewalk for directions of walking, either. It turned out that the direction of travel is entirely random. In fact, you can be walking with the crowd on the right side, and then after crossing the street, they will have reversed it so you have to walk on the left! If you don't think that makes for a lot of bumping and excuse-me-ing, think again.
We found ourselves shopping at Selfridge's, which apparently is mentioned in some Christmas movie or another, and which may have been GA's objective in the first place. In any case, they have a men's room on the second floor, and a women's room on the fourth, so it's a good thing we went shopping, if you know what I mean. We bought a nice little roll of orange candies for me, mostly because it was made with chiles, and I always love a good chile candy.
Getting back on the train was a little more interesting than coming downtown, because it was kind of like rush hour for people getting off work, and because it was, after all, the first day of the shopping season. So we got crammed into the train, and stood up until we got back to Hounslough West station, and then found a bus stop to catch good old 222.
The first 222 that came by was full. They let off a half dozen people, but didn't even open the doors for anybody to get on, which I guess made sense, as there really wasn't even standing room. No problem, we'll just wait for the next bus.
It was almost full, too, but they let on a few and then closed the doors before we could get on. OK... GA suggested that we needed to be a bit more aggressive about staying close to the front for boarding.
The third bus didn't even open its doors.
It started raining, and getting colder. We were sharing the stop with about two dozen folks, mostly Indians and Muslim women wearing burkhas.
The fourth bus was full, too. Now, the other routes all had room, and people were getting on them with no problem, but 222 seemed to be greatly under served. Then too, all the other routes had those cool British double deckers, with double capacity. Ours was your standard government issue one story buses.
Now, there is a lane reserved briefly for the bus stop as you drive by one. Only buses are allowed in it. But after the fourth bus left, here came a taxi who was in a hurry, and so he veered into the bus lane to get around the traffic which was stopped for about a block, waiting to get through the intersection. He wasn't there legally, so he had to make it fast, of course, so he wouldn't get caught - and as he flew by our little bus stop he hit the puddle which had formed as a result of the nice, new rain, thereby splashing most of us waiting for yet another 222 to come by. We almost saw it in slow motion, all of us gasping in unison, all of us knowing our world was about to get a lot colder and wetter, all of us knowing it was too late to get out of the way, because we were packed like little British sardines trying to stay dry under the shelter.
Nobody complained except us, so I guess they're used to it by now. In Texas, that taxi driver might have his taxi shoved up his street, if you get my drift.
The fifth bus had room, sort of, so GA and I were hanging onto the straps with one hand and our shopping bags with the other. The bus made a sudden halt (probably to avoid a taxi), and all of us standing were thrown forward into each other, almost into laps had it not been for the straps not breaking. I made the mistake of using humor to make things more comfortable, as I would have in Texas. "Well, I guess we're all good friends now!" No response at all. Brits are so stuffy, sometimes.
We made it back to the Plough, and then to the hotel, where we had "proper" fish and chips, which means that it wasn't wrapped in a newspaper, but served on an actual plate. This was explained to us by a British couple there, who suggested Boddingtons, a particular beer which was on tap, and which I bought, just in case maybe I might actually like it for a change - but I didn't, though I will admit it came closer to being drinkable than most American beers. So I had wine, and gave the beer to GA.

DAY THREE: Today, the plan was to go visit Kew Gardens. I particularly wanted to do that, since I so enjoy the Mary Hopkin song about it, but I also happen to like plants and gardens, especially British gardens. So we made the short hike back to the Plough, caught the 222, much less crowded this time, and this time made a different connection on the tube, and then another bus to Kew Gardens. That's pretty much the key to getting around in London - get that pass, and take a bus to the train, and then take the train to the next bus, which takes you where you want to be.
We bought our tickets in the rain, but we had our umbrellas, and the plan was to go straight for one of the snack shops, but immediately after we bought our tickets, a storm blew in, which means that the rain falls sideways and comes at you like wet little bullets. So we got to the nearest shelter, and spent the time letting GA decide what she was going to buy for Christmas presents before we went home. After a while the rain was only coming down at a sharp angle, rather than straight sideways, which we figured was good enough, so we began our little tour. It's a beautiful place, with one lane roads taking the visitor from one section to the next, so we aimed generally toward the White Peaks Café, where we enjoyed delicious ham sandwiches with butter and English mustard, washed down with fermented lemonade. I told GA that as soon as were finished with lunch, the rain would stop, the sun would come out, and we would have a perfect day. And since the day had started out wet and miserable, the crowds would be thin, too. As it happens, I was right. Actually, God had done that for us many times, such as at the panda exhibit at the Atlanta Zoo, and I have gotten used to the pattern. God is, after all, in charge of the weather, not Harry Potter, even in London.
Knowing we were going to Kew Gardens, we had already gotten the coordinates for a virtual cache in Kew Gardens, conveniently loaded into the GPS. This was going to be our next objective, and it would be our first cache in Europe, and for the time being the furthest from our home. All we had to do is either take a photo of ourselves with our GPS, or else answer two questions posted on the geocaching website.
We did both, just to make sure:

Photo by GA

When I turned on our new camera, which is a video camera that also takes still shots, I got a message about a low battery. I kind of panicked, and I took less video than I had planned, because I wanted to get at least the best stuff in the garden. Turns out later that it's a false alarm, and may be just part of the booting up process, because there was actually plenty of juice left in the battery. Later, I discovered that that false warning is an even greater annoyance than I at first understood, mainly because if you press the record button before that warning goes away, it doesn't count - which means you think you're recording some great, Oscar-winning video of a place you'll never see again, but you're actually about to get a two second clip of your scene after you think you've stopped the camera, just before you close the thing and then it stops - usually as you're saying something like "that's going to look great when we get home," as you swing down to a lovely view of the sidewalk and your shoes.
We saw some wonderful plants at Kew Gardens, including the Sago Palm specimens, which can be purchased at our local fruit stand for $15, Texan, though you have to plant it yourself.
Yes, I also took actual photographs, which did, in fact, turn out:


GA standing among the lovely flowers of Kew Gardens. Photo by Wm



Wm standing by a picturesque brick wall in Kew Gardens. Photo by GA.



harB admiring the lovely statuary in Kew Gardens. Photo by Wm.

Next: France, including Paris and the American Cemetery above Omaha Beach.