Cruising around the U.K. July, 2005

July, 2005
Travelin' the British Isles...
A sea of brightly dyed and gelled hair concoctions, tattoos and eyebrow rings proliferates the wide and busy street mall that cuts through the city centre...a sharp contrast to the medieval flavor of this historic, formerly walled town. This disjointed mix truly defines the essence of Southampton!
After unceremoniously dumping our bags in the hotel, and intent on getting our time sequence in whack after various plane, tube, train, bus venues to get here, we set out to scout the town. Remnants of heavily reinforced rock walls intercept modern apartments around the port area...peering through the Westgate archway, we can just imagine Henry V at this very spot fearlessly riding alongside his entourage as he collected his thoughts, contemplating the long voyage to the battlefield of Agincourt in 1415. ("We few, we happy few, we band of brothers...") And here, two hundred years later, our venerated pilgrims, perhaps not quite so fearlessly, boarded the Mayflower on their way to what must have been a vastly terrifying adventure. We strolled alongside the varied sections, climbing up to a lookout with a
tremendous view of the water...and envisioned how beautifully stunning the Titanic must have looked to the excited onlookers as it cruised out of the harbor. This town is a history addict's dream!
Back to the room for a deliciously cold glass of wine, dexterously smuggled into our carryons by our friendly neighborhood Hawaiian Air flight attendants on our flight to Los Angeles. The next morning we boarded a bus to Stonehenge...somehow not quite as wondrous as we had anticipated.
Having no sacrifice to make at the slaughter stone (although several suggestions came quickly to mind and were just as quickly suppressed...) we jumped a bus heading to Salisbury. What a magnificent cathedral!
Built in a comparatively short period of time for that 13th century era, its gothic elegance compliments the surrounding vast greenery of the close. A chorale group from Texas happened to be performing during our visit, successfully showing off its all encompassing acoustics. Interesting to note were the numerous pet dogs wandering among the pews and cloisters with their owners. The highlight, though, had to be the display of one of the four remaining copies of the Magna Carta in one of the vestibules...from a calligrapher's point of view an exquisite piece, and from that of an historian, equally amazing. What a coup for them barons...carefully articulating in print the rights that have so painstakingly been reiterated in our own declaration/constitution (we resist here, with much difficulty, the urge to comment on our present American political state...).Back to Southampton on a double decker bus, sitting upstairs, front row, branches from huge, adjacent trees whipping at the window as the driver barrelled down the road at what seemed like 90 miles an hour, lurching through stop signs and making seemingly impossible tight turns through small alleyways in ensuing towns. Between holding onto our seats for dear life, a wondrous landscape of rolling green hills dotted with sheep, horses, the occasional manorial home, and dark green trees. All quite an adventure, to say the least. Our jaunt ended with a clipped "Good day, love" coming from the eyebrow ringed, Jeb Bush lookalike bus driver.
It’s Friday; after enjoying our requisite Starbucks coffee, we're eager to board the ship. Next stop, Dublin!

The tiny caterpillar, showing off a brilliant shade of green, dropped onto Fred's hand from his salad plate. He laughingly handed it to a waiter, who then passed it along to the chef... A beautiful array of chocolated dipped strawberries appeared in our cabin later than evening, with an obsequious apology from said chef. Hmmm...what kind of "incident" might prompt a free cruise...
Ireland's landscape sparkles in a similar luminescent shade of caterpillar green... disembarking in Dublin we headed straight for Trinity college and the Book of Kells. The detailed artistry of both the lettering and illustrations is breathtaking.... beyond awesome. Gotta give it to those monks, and acknowledge what years of boredom helped them develop!
On to St. Patrick's Cathedral, which amazingly survived the Reformation, and into Dublin Castle. This city is incredibly easy to explore, with myriad cobblestone streets leading to pubs, parks, pubs, churches, pubs, castles, museums ...and pubs. 10,000 of 'em in the city. Ruddy cheeks and red hair abound, and a brogue that at times is REALLY hard to understand, so we do a lot of nodding and sincere eye contact that belie our lack of comprehension. sigh.
Our Guinness Brewery tour reminded us of our excursion to the Heineken counterpart years ago... the free beer flowed on the top floor bar, with a panoramic view of the city. The lovely, embossed glass somehow ended up in Fred's backpack on our way out.
We tried to stay away from politically hot topics, but ended up in a fascinating conversation with a fellow bus rider on our way to Temple Garden (to a pub...) He explained the significance of the occasional placard we observed on several street lamps: 26 + 6 = 1. The 'one' stands for Ireland...then we got it. He spoke of the Troubles matter of factly, an understandable position with the country's bottom 26 independence assured. We're eager to involve ourselves in Protestant POV 101, second semester once we reach Belfast, one of the "6".
Our last two stops in Dublin: Kilmainham Gaol and Malahide Castle. The latter not too interesting... the jail, however, fascinating. Dark and damp, this must have been a horrific experience for its interred prisoners, many on political charges. Hangings in the center quad ended when the gov't realized that this was fomenting far more resentment than serving to deter protest against the UK powers that be.

Here a sheep, there a sheep, everywhere a sheep sheep. Rolling hills and dark green foliage define most of the environs of Holyhead, Wales. Off to Beaumaris, one of the finest of Edwardian castles, perfect in design. Seagulls floated everywhere, the water fronting most of the edges of the fortress. The English monarchy proved once again its ability to defend.From here to Caernorfon Castle to stroll its battlements and climb its many towers. This, where Charles was invested as Prince of Wales in 1969, is the most magnificent of all the castles we've seen. On the way back to port, a quick photo op stop at llanfairpwllgwngyllgogerychwymdrobwlllantysiliogogogoch. Seriously. Now you know why this town is a photo opp stop.
And a quick note regarding the jovial cabbie we hired. As we entered the cab, Welsh chorale music filled the air... nice, for a while... four...long...hours...later... we agreed (silently, of course) that we had found the perfect sacrificial offering for the slaughter stone back at Stonehenge.
And the cabbie was one of the singers.
More when we reach Belfast.

We're riveted to the TV, both selfishly wondering how the explosion that ripped the top off of a bus near Russel Square this morning is going to affect our time in London after the cruise...and angrily trying to comprehend how these ***holes can rationalize damaging the lives of innocent people. While in Glasgow yesterday, lines and lines of mostly young people boarded bus after bus at George Square in the center of town heading for Edinburgh to protest the G-8 summit in nearby Stirling... that morning there had already been some damage done to a Burger King in the area; blame is being funneled towards an anarchist group from Italy (who apparently show up at all G-8, IMF, World Bank, and such meetings to create chaos.) One of the guides on the hop on hop off bus we were riding predicted that there would be trouble in London rather than Edinburgh due to the extensive blanketing security in the latter. She also slipped in a comment about the famous jail in Stirling, quite big enough, really, to house both Blair and Bush. Above all, She was a Scot. What a world we live in... and somehow our penchant for being in the thick of things during our travels still holding true...
And speaking of conflict... thoughts on the tensions surrounding the tenuous peace agreement in Belfast unfolded before us as we enmeshed ourselves in a heavy duty conversation with a cabbie who drove us around the area of the Peace Wall. (The irony here being that this corrugated/wired barrier actually exists to separate the Protestant area of Shankill Rd. with the Catholic area of Falls Rd....and the gate in the middle is locked at night...)
Our cabbie lives on the Shankill side with his wife and five children (he laughed raucously when we chided him that he mut be a closet Catholic with his brood...) He carried a rather raw point of view about the "Troubles" in Ireland... there are murals everywhere, on both sides, painted on the sides of the apartment buildings. Those on the Shankill side lauding the paramilitaries who are trying to keep the union together. Interestingly enough, our cabbie explained that most of the killings in recent years have been committed by opposing groups on the same side. Sigh. Once we drove to the Falls Road side the slant turns to martyrdom, i.e. paintings extolling the virtues of the likes of Bobby Sands and other hunger strikers who died in jail. On this Republican/ Catholic side we observed several "Free Sean Kelly" signs, to which our cabbie explained that the IRA and other Catholic groups want the convictions of Sean Kelly and others jailed for activities resisting the unionist government (often through bombings) changed from the nomer terrorists to political prisoners, but, he added, "any way you look at it, they're f**king terrorists." So there's this resentment and frustration bubbling right below the surface on both sides...i.e. a fellow passenger bought a poster at the Sinn Fein headquarters (the political arm of the IRA) and was advised to keep it rolled up until he returned to the ship. We did not see any 26 + 6 = 1 posters here...we assume the Catholics in Dublin who compose the vast majority in Ireland feel less threatened to make polarized statements than the C's in Belfast, where the ratio evens out in
favor of the Protestants. A caveat here: most will say that this is not about religion, but about politics.
At the end of the day we went to our cabbie's favorite pub where he expanded on his views concerning the Peace Agreement of '98... his main thrust: let go of the past, cover the murals with neutral paint, and bring up the children from both sides with less bias. Taking sides, albeit a sad reality, can certainly be tempered through education. Let's hope.

"...and you, my dear, need a facelift...." This uttered in wonderful brogue by a young Scot in response to being called 'fatso' by an incensed Golda Maier lookalike. The woman's obvious umbrage and subsequent name calling stemmed from being roughly pushed aside by the young man's bike as he plunged contra flow through the thick crowd, maneuvering his way frustratingly up the path in an attempt to reach the soon-to-depart Edinburgh train from which we had all just disembarked.Watching the altercation unfold from about 20 feet away (off to one side like good boys and girls..) we couldn't help but shake our heads as Golda and her bevy of botoxed, bleached blonde buddies (all American, unfortunately...) continued to walk on obliviously, four abreast, husbands in tow, blocking once again any access to the train platform.
He missed the train. And as he resignedly peered over the railing at all of us below, we caught his eye and smiled in empathy, and gave him a thumb's up. He shrugged and smiled back. Whew. Score one for the CARAT brigade (Countering Actions of Rude American Tourists).
Backing up here a bit... we arrived that morning at the quaint, seaside town of South Queensferry, door to Edinburgh. We cruised under a bridge partially shrouded in mist, giving it a Brigadoon-esque quality; surely at any moment, if we believed strongly enough, Gene Kelly was going to appear tap dancing and singing his way across ...

Once firmly docked we raced to Edinburgh, a quick 20 minute train ride, discovering quickly enough that this fabulous city deserves a great deal more time than a day. Edinburgh castle sits majestically at one end of the Royal Mile, seemingly growing out of the cliffs. Old Town is filled with cars and pedestrians weaving their way along cobblestone streets graced with classically gothic buildings, archways and monuments, and a massive number of pubs. All of this in the midst of a set of rolling hills. Unbelievable. We ended the day with a visit to the Writer's Museum... carved in the doorway: "Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!" Mark Twain had a similar refrain... tell the truth and you won't have to remember anything... did he know Sir Walter?! This was a wonderful look see into the lives of Robert Burns, Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson.
Backtracing once more... the previous day we explored Kirkwall in the Oarkney Islands...way, way north in Scotland. There were more shades of green here than we had ever seen, with fields studded with animals and an occasional house. Its claim to fame: a neolithic 5,000 year old, recently discovered village, a quaint chapel built by Italian prisoners of war during WWII, and a lake filled with self scuttled German ships.And now we are in London... life seems to be going on for these resilient Brits... traffic in a complete gridlock the day we arrived due to the distrust in the public transport system (no *&#@*), with everyone driving their own vehicles. By the second day, the Tube and buses seemed to be filled. We timorously boarded a double decker, then settled in for the long haul. A quick visit to Kew Gardens, with an amazing Chihooly exhibit.
Cruising Trafalgar and several plays...we will be ready for home in a few days.

European River Cruising... July, 2006

Feeding our travel addiction, we left for Prague on July 4... our adventures over the last several days in fast forward: staying at the Red Chair, a wonderful little pension in Old Town, we wandered lost thru the cobblestone alleys, polishing off a LOT of beer/wine and food along the way... cruised the boardwalks alongside the river, meandered across the Charles Bridge admiring the artisans' work, hiked up to Prague Castle, hitting the requisite sections of this vast empire... perched ourselves on a wall looking down at the brazillion (you must have heard that Bush anecdote by now) red rooftops studded with church spires, trammed down south to this hillside park, surrounded by thunderclouds and anorexic lightning... then boarded a train yesterday for the 7 hour trek to Budapest. Once here, ensconced at the Intercontinental (pure luxury) we funiculared up to the Buda castle, watched a human chessgame *very cool* and crept through a cave labyrinth tightly gripping lanterns to guide our way, polished off lots more very good beer and wine at a fabulous terrace overlooking the city, ate at a fine restaurant where we were the only guests andcatered to by the owner as we savored cognac soup, wienershnitzel, venison, roast pork and more wonderful wine and beer... cruised through the town squares into a sea of shaved heads with itsy bitsy ponytails and lots of chanting...a Hare Krishna outdoor convention...replete with a life sized plastic Ghandiesque statue, a gleaming red dot emanating from said forehead... we are now ready to board our cruiser ship today for a 2 week jaunt up the river to Amsterdam.

Bratislava is Prague out of focus...certainly a city of contrasts: in one moment a babushka covered woman wearing 'how the other half lives' clothing, trudging along with 2-handled, frayed raffia bags, in the next, a Kate Moss lookalike with purple-tipped, buzzed hair, hoop earrings as big as saucers and sporting a chic and very expensive leather mini skirt. A splendid, immense cathedral butts up to a house with missing windows, decaying bricks pushing through peeled back plaster. The square typical of those Old Towns all across Europe... cobblestones, fountain, cafes, flower beds, decorative street lights, then.... looking up... metal sculptures of acrobats, 25 feet apart, each perfectly balanced on a taut wire strung from one side of the street to the other. Smack in the middle of the sidewalk in need of repair, a bronze statue of a sewer cleaner climbing out of a manhole. Trendy boutiques are interspersed with the Slovakian version of mom and pop stores. Old and new, ordinary and bizarre, the expected and then suddenly a surprise...
Vienna oozes architectural lavishness...incredible edifices.... emperors and their ladies, angels and winged charioteers carved into every available crevice, framed by Corinthian columns gilded in gold... and occasionally, a crowning statue, perched dead center, of a bronze, rearing horse, a warrior at its side, placating and cajoling... wide avenues, affluence everywhere... in the back of our minds a restless thought: the disproportionate number of leaders in the concentration camps having come from this Austrian culture. Still hard to fathom...
Wandering around the city, we came across a fabulous market... every kind of goody imaginable... dried and fresh fruits, high end produce, vinegar stalls (with droppers to place a speck on one's wrist... fig vinegar a definite winner), olives stuffed with garlic or peppers or grape leaves or herbs... take away food or sit down terraces everywhere...a clear, middle eastern influence. With a few chosen Arabic words (held over from Egypt), we impressed our lunch waiter, chalking up another point for American travelers everywhere.
Last night a concert in a small palace... 9 of the 40 who play in the Vienna Chamber Orchestra. The lead violinist marvelous, bow dancing across the strings. A ballet duo performed, she beautiful albeit anorexic, he twirling her in the air, we unable to fathom how the violinist and cellist behind would not even flinch when her foot would swipe through the air no more than a centimeter or two from their faces.
Off to Melk.

Similar to the Nile, riverboats on the Dánube jockey for position and stack side by side at each itinerary-designated port. Between stops, gliding down this well-traveled artery, we pass tree-lined banks, terraced vineyards... obsolete, battered castles...fairy tale villages spoking out from their ever present 'center of town' churches...transiting the myriad locks (68, we're told) that take us from one needed water level to another.
This is a picnic-friendly country with a multitude of sun/bathing seekers crowding the banks, RVs and tents packed closely together on the roads close behind.
Town centers with their outdoor cafes and abundant shops beckon each time we disembark. Churches transform into cathedrals in the bigger towns and cities: gothic, dark, immense vaulted ceilings, exquisite stained glass...stunning in their size and simplicity. We never get cathedraled out; these such powerful examples of the unifying force of medieval Christendom. The Abbey church (not a cathedral...evidently there is no residing bishop....) at Melk astounding... standing in the middle doing a slow pirouette (sp?)...a shipmate whispered, "Do you think anyone ever voiced, at some point during the reconstruction, that this might be a bit much?" A vast understatement. Clumps of curly Q leaves sprout everywhere, clinging to every column...statues, pulpits, paintings and sanctuaries compete for space... every inch of the ceiling boasts bordered frescoes. Gold gilding is everywhere. This baroque masterpiece is at once breathtaking and uncomfortably ostentatious. All this to tell the unfolding story of the monks' victorious battle for virtue. An oddly decadent way ro depict this theological message...
Re: the cathedral in Passau...there we were, seated in a sea of churchgoers, tourist and local, eagerly anticipating the acoustic wonder of one of the world's largest church organs...when we heard what sounded like heavy chains dropping from above... looking up behind us we saw the organist frenetically darting back and forth on the balcony, throwing up her hands and finally announcing something in German to the crowd...this followed by a rising, not happy murmur. The woman seated to our right looked over at us and simply said, "kaput!" Apparently the light above the organ crashed down,leaving bits of glass embedded between the keys. So much for our concert. The adventure continues!

We crashed a wedding in Regensberg. Strolling down the road connecting the river (canal, at this point) to the domplatz, we spotted a parade of top-hatted gentlemen in tails w/ brass buttons, each carrying an old fashioned straw broom. Using a smattering of German along with accompanying hand gestures, we asked a local frau what this group represented... our clearly unsuccessful comprehension of her quasi charades/German response caused her to exclaim in exasperation, "Mary Poppins!" and begin to hum the wedding march. She beamed broadly as we conveyed understanding with our Aha's... we quickly shadowed the chimney sweeps to St. Peter's Cathedral, where they were welcomed joyfully by the milling crowd. Four more sweeps joined in, these the poorer cousins with faces blackened in soot, beggars' robes hanging loosely and ladders in hand. They lined both sides of the entrance to the church alongside their society brethren, and as the last song belted out by the neighborhood choir and band waned, the invitees poured into the cathedral, emptying the plaza. (This a tradition that invites a bit or research...)
Two solitary figures remained outside: the bride and who we perceived to be the best man. They kept peering down the street, looks of impatience woven with a wee bit of worry on their faces....we envisioned a 'runaway groom' scenario...when over the cobblestones a '59 aqua cadillac came rumbling, groom in the passenger seat, grinning from ear to ear. This turn of events surely saving the bride from certain ruin, we took this as an opportunity to explore the rest of this wonderful city. Great little shops and cafes, monuments, fountains and ambiance. We then drifted back to the pier where several townspeople had finished setting up stalls for a festival, an annual event that neatly coincided with the pronouncement a day earlier that Regensberg had been declared a World Heritage site by UNESCO. We had to help toast the occasion. By late afternoon we were deep in celebration, and as our ship coasted off towards Nuremberg, the wedding party passed by continuing their celebration on a local ferry. I missed this particular sighting as I was making sangria in our cabin. There are priorities...
"Nuns' Little Farts"...that's the nickname for these biscuit type cookies here in Franconia (Franconians still holding a bitter, long memory of being usurped by the Bavarian princes moons ago...a local anecdote: Bavaria may have its hills, but we Franconians have much more horizon.)
Mornings continue to be serene and cool; tufts of fog blanket the river early on...as low as 50 degrees, steadily rising as the day wanes, often approaching 90. Then cools off again as we float into darkness around 8. The scenery barely changes... flatlands around Budapest have turned into hills, but the scenery is picture postcard beautiful everywhere. In this area vineyards are rampant, planted vertically to let the cold winds blow through. "Ein trocken weisswine und ein bier, bitte!" We have our important culinary linguistic needs down pat. We experienced an intriguing wine
tasting in Nuremberg, where we happened upon another local beer fest. Stalls lined the pathways and eked into the fields...the oddest things for sale: white out, carrot peelers, balloons shaped like cell phones. Weird.
But the grilled bratwurst sandwiches with sweet mustard and french fries made up for the flea market... and were a much needed respite after our jaunt into the city ro visit the unfinished Congress first, followed by Zeppelin Field, notorious for its Nazi Party rallies...along with the courtroom where the famed trials took place. Frightening to realize that a very viable Nazi element still lurks.... friend with whom we are traveling recounted a story where they were in a restaurant somewhere in Germany where an intoxicated group of locals were dining nearby. Suddenly one of the men stood up and shouted "Heil, Hitler!"...hand gestures and all... a deadly
pall, then all diners went back to their own conversations, as if nothing had occurred at all. Ouch.
Bamberg is like a little Venice, absolutely gorgeous...and Rothenberg undoubtedly one of the best preserved walled towns in Germany.Must hustle back to the ship, where only four tables/chairs are situated under shady umbrellas on the top deck. We strategize every morning how and when to grab one of 'em. We used to run the ship, but are now beginning to get outfoxed. And we need our card playing, drink holding table....

As we strolled back to the ship (pronounced 'sheep' by our friendly neighborhood cruise manager....) along the boardwalk by the pier at Rudesheim last night, a R.O.U.S (c'mon, think Princess Bride) raced across our path, flying over the feet of one of our travelin' buddies. I never realized I was a soprano...
Particularly intriguing considering that this high note (scream, actually) differed greatly from our voices only a few moments earlier during our myriad singalongs with each subsequent live band working their proprietary beer halls as we wandered the ever present cobblestoned streets... These groups, mostly male/female duets, seem to have a penchant for Elvis or ABBA, both ever so conducive to showcasing our karaoke talent. The looks conveyed by the 'within earshot' passerbys ranged from "They're having so much fun!"
to "Veritable sirens, those two....and perhaps they should relocate to the cliff of the Lorelei where they can continue to kill off sailors rather than us townspeople... "§$%& unappreciative lot, these carousers....
Such a lively town, Rudesheim, where our adventure began with a ride up a cable car in the late afternoon, gently swinging over an oasis of vineyards...with a spectacular view of the Rhine and its adjacent villages from the bar at the top. Life just doesn't get any better....

They're baaaack.... overflowing Dam Square here in Amsterdam.... the same Hare Krishna convention...of course they're following us...
We are at the end point of our trip - two nights here and we head for home. We strolled the red light district last night, "goods" a bit rough around the edges... (and we could only wince as we envisioned the chastity belts encased in the Medieval Torture Museum a week or so ago, those having the added amenity of serrated edges... use your imagination....this same museum highlighting the original exercise machines...a.k.a. stretching racks...)This has been quite the experience with gaudy, greedy residences of the bishop princes' escalating the opulence at Versailles with 3-D statuaries coming out of the ceilings via the frescoes... to castles perched one
hillside after another on the Rhine, great wines and beers... pretty, half-timbered houses...the magnificent, immense cathedral in Cologne... the precious, priceless, hand-calligraphed Bible in the Gutenberg Museum in Mainz with gorgeous illuminations next to one of the 49 first edition printed ones...a feat that has changed the world (China deserves first credit...but how could a printing press be useful if one's language carries thousands of characters??!!)
...And permeating all of this the constant barrage of news of the travesty in Israel, Lebanon and Gaza... we are grateful for thoughtful travel opportunities that have disintegrated our hometown blinders...we only wish this kind of education into open-mindedness could be afforded to all to counter the ethnocentrism and blind following that is all too alive and well in this world.

Egypt & Jordan May, 2006

Thoughts #1
Descending into Cairo at twilight, a dusky, blood orange sun hovered over a vast sandbox speckled with multi-eyed concrete buildings, looming domes and backlit, architecturally laced minarets. The Nile floated into view, accompanied by ephemeral glimpses of green. Egypt. Land of the Pharaohs. We are here.
The Cairo Marriott, once a palace built on an island to host European monarchs during the opening of the Suez Canal, is truly a tourist mecca. "The answer is yes...what is the question?" signs everywhere. There may be one less tomorrow....
Up early this morning and off to the Egyptian Museum. The ride was terrifying. Pedestrians calmly arch their bodies like bullfighters as cars scream by.... drivers unceasingly slam their multilingual horns as they jockey into position. There are no rules. Lights are ignored. Lane markers are mere decoration. In what should surely accommodate no more than 3 or 4 cars, 7 manage, still leaving enough room for a donkey pulling a cart. Barely. Gripping the seat back in front, eyes open wide and mouths in silent screams, we try and focus on the people outside. We notice few hijab (full head covering) on the women... very much a western visage everywhere.
Tutankhamun treasures just as incredible as our visit here several years ago... alabaster vessels, remains of the royal mummies (Ramses II and Hatshepsut's husband!) the statues, chariots... unbelievable.
On to the citadel, built by Saladhin to fortify the city.... off in the distance from the verandah the pyramids of Giza. Back for a rest...tomorrow we fly to Luxor.

Thoughts #2
Ramses, no! Fatima is my only daughter...you cannot take her away from us! (Mother wails in background.) As her father I vow on my papyrus farm that I will have my revenge! (Gasp…) Oh, is that a sharp, bejeweled saber that you now have in your hand? Here, take this baklava... Fatima can feed it to you on your journey...
Yes, we succumbed to the enticement of a sound and light show at the pyramids of Giza...seated in an outdoor plaza under the stars, a gazillion decibels of recorded orchestra music blasted out from speakers hidden behind the vast desert site. Reaching a crescendo, the three pyramids lit up in sequence, emanating a dazzling display of colors...and then...be still our beating hearts... the sphinx spoke. And the pharaonic history of Egypt played out before us, with images projected onto a flat limestone wall. (Fatima wasn't REALLY a part of the story...) A befitting finale followed: a dozen or so men with black and gold striped cloths wound around their heads a la Tutankhamun appeared from stage right...marching in step and playing, swear to Ra, bagpipes.
We rolled back onto the bus...the sight of our two accompanying bodyguards with automatics bulging out from their jackets couldn't dampen our mirth on the way "home." (Where we almost took out an aging Nubian as he shuffled across the highway...3 million cars and few accidents, so we hear... luck or skill?)
Speaking of security, armed guards are everywhere. The airport in Cairo offers up at least a legion of soldiers, planted 10 feet apart in successive picket fence-like rows. Very secure, one would think.
But there we were, checked in for our flight to Luxor, placing our bags on the conveyor belt like good little boys and girls, only to notice the friendly neighborhood Egyptian counterpart of a TSA agent ogling the ring attached to the navel of a shapely young female tourist ahead of us... so enraptured that the telling x-rayed outlines of all of our belongings sailed by on the screen behind his head, sans audience. Ma'alesh. (This an Egyptian version of that useful expression: que sera, sera...c'est le vie... whatever, it doesn't matter, so sorry....)
We made a final dash to the Temple of Relief (so named by our wildly entertaining tour guide), planting that ubiquitous one pound Egyptian note into the ba’asheesh-seeking hands of the attendant, in return for a 6 inch sliver of embossed paper towel...then off to our Petroleum Air Services flight (no kidding) and 90 minutes later in Luxor.

Thoughts #3
The Nile is thick with river boats similar to ours, the Giselle, with 4 decks: a restaurant conducive to buffets below the water line, 2 levels of staterooms with lounge above lobby, and a top deck rampant with deck chairs, tables, and tents for shade along with a requisite bar. And, at the stern, mounted dead center, a machine gun. (At one point a small boat with two farmers crossed diagonally behind the boat, and our two ever-present guards gravitated towards this spot, observant and alert, melting back into the fray once the boat had reached the opposite side.)
These cruisers often dock at the same pier at the same time, stacked side by side, parallel to the shore. Yesterday we were in position #6; to disembark we passed through the lobbies of five boats, greeting each subsequent receptionist with "Sabah il kheer!" as we trekked through.
We enjoy early mornings and evenings most, with our coffee or wine/beer, depending on the hour. We wave at children excitedly congregating on the river banks, watch the egrets explode out of the trees, and generally just enjoy the peaceful ambiance as we float by. In one strange moment a ludicrous memory of a 60s commercial disrupted our contemplative state: I dreamed I was barging down the Nile in my Maidenform bra...
And lest we forget to mention the purpose of this trip, why we are on this lower Nile adventure, what truly defines Egypt and what we have come to view in awe: the temples and tombs are completely and utterly extraordinary! (The pyramids and, of course, that loquacious sphinx, await us back in Cairo.)

Thoughts #4
Hieroglyphics abound. History unfolds in tales of cow goddesses and masked, treacherous priests, in omniscient pharaohs and their queens (including notable Hatshepsut, who presented herself as a pharaonic entity...), hippopotami demons and serpents... all these lovingly and carefully carved in raised relief, displayed to educate generations who followed. Repeated on monument to temple to tomb: Dendera, Luxor, Karnak, Horus, Kom Onbu...Valley of the Kings and Queens, the tombs of Ramses I, II, III, IV...., the Colossi of Memnon....stories giving tribute to those wielding power, and created to last an eternity.
Insidiously evident, religious zealotry has left its mark. Vandalism is rampant; small, closely placed gouges disfigure faces, arms, legs... done by early Christians (and subsequent Muslims, we presume), determined to preclude a return to polytheistic worship.
Notable Hatshepsut's Temple exempted...this desecration having been ordered by Thutmoses III, her bitter successor...how dare she consider herself a pharaoh!
This 'holier than thou' fanaticism remains firmly ensconced in present day beliefs...think Afghanistan and the explosive destruction of the immense Buddhist statues by the Taliban not too many years ago. Yet the sheer splendor of these magnificent, open-air museums defies this travesty.
Essam (our guide)ism: 'Listen carefully and get friendly (huddle in)… this will be on your final exam. Whether or not it is multiple choice will be up to you.’ Ack. Frightening memories of High School history creep into our minds...
We approached the Esna locks at sunset...where dozens of small rowboats appeared out of nowhere, sidling up to the ship. Working in twos, a rower and a seller, each pair hawked the wares stuffed between them. Suddenly a tightly sealed plastic bag containing a scarf or galabeyya or tablecloth or towel or belly dancing outfit would land at someone's feet, perfectly placed (perhaps the Texas Rangers should consider this a recruiting stop...), with an accompanying phrase along the lines of 'look at my rubbish!' The aimee would either fling it back or keep it, replacing the coveted item with money, once again placed in the plastic bag and tightly sealed....dropping it down into the respective, beckoning hands. As the locks loomed, the shouting became more apoplectic as the twosomes lunged for that last profitable sale. Then silence as we became engulfed in the narrow concrete passageway.
Essam-ism: in response to a question about smoking: ' 9 out of 10 men who tried camels prefer women.’
At the close of another day, the Allah-praising, undulating, overlapping voices emanating from loudspeakers atop the minarets dotting the landscape lend an air of continuity to this essence of Egypt we are experiencing. Our machine gun has disappeared. We're taking this as a good sign.

Thoughts #5
Cardamom, coriander, black cumin, chamomile, multi-colored peppers and curries, meter long cinnamon sticks and elegant saffron...the scent of spices wafts through the dun-colored alleys of this noisy, colorful souk in Aswan... 3 kilometers of tourist paraphernalia, crammed into tiny stalls, one blending into the next, a cacophony of phrases competing for our attention:
'I think you are looking for my shop!' 'You're a lucky man!' 'Everything is free!' 'Welcome to Alaska!' 'Sorry, we are open!' 'Don't worry, I give you good price - this is government shop!' We have become very ma'alesh about haggling...walking out increases one's chances of a better deal, and if the price is still wanting, that thing so desperately coveted will repeat itself just a stall or two away. The process then begins again...the sighs, the rolling of the eyes, and further groans… countered with the proclamation that we are driving the seller into destitution. It's pure entertainment :0)
Later that day, gliding towards Elephantine Island on a felucca, two small boys paddle up in a crate using what looked like two wooden pot holders for paddles... softly singing 'she'll be coming around the mountain when she comes...,' each word barely a twice-removed phonetic cousin of the actual, but recognizable.
Our destination: high tea at the Old Cataract Hotel, where we sat on the terrace in the midst of brilliant poinciana and bougainvillea, visions of Agatha Christie penning away Death on the Nile fleetingly interspersed with the scenery. Felucca sails posed for Kodak moment photo opps as they jockeyed for position in the calm, palm tree infested river.
Then off to the Temple of Philae for yet another sound and light show...gratefully less kitschy than the spectacle at the pyramids...same voices projected through loudspeakers (usually Isis conversing with the river Nile) but this time we wandered from courtyard to sanctuary to gardens, following the story...the lighting was stunning, both within the temple and out, where the Big Dipper floated above. The only marring memory: graffiti a la ‘Pierre was here – 1828’ scraped between the elegant carvings by early 1800s military occupiers.
Up early the next morning we boarded a 30 minute flight on Memphis Air to Abu Simbel... a quick bus ride later we spilled out next to a mountainous structure... circling counter clockwise via a dusty pathway swarming with feral cats we reached the other side...and... were left speechless. Four immense statues of Ramses II guard an extraordinarily beautiful, well-preserved interior temple, this dwarfing a smaller, adjacent, equally fascinating edifice in tribute to Nefertari, his fave queen. All this moved piece by piece from its sandy, submerged state through a feat of Swedish engineering. We can't articulate a superlative that would give this temple its due. So we won't.
Back to the bus, making a quick stop at the Aswan Dam (Big. Powerful. Eh.) before arriving at the airport. Herded en masse through several security checkpoints, once again on the plane. Identity is clearly not an issue. We were designated "Elfrieda" and "Japry" respectively on our boarding passes.
Heading back to the Giselle, I enviously watched Fred down a cold, Sakara beer while I experienced, with pursed mouth, the Egyptian rendition of white wine… which I will diplomatically define as a cross between ouzo and kerosene.

Thoughts #6
"Lean back! Lean Back!" This warning, albeit a tad bit late, saved us from certain injury... a tumbling off the front of the camel when she (he?) suddenly genuflected. Ornery creatures, they is.... After loping about for a few hundred yards, trying desperately not to use the reins to swat away these incessant flies in fear that this might signal a trot… we carefully, very carefully, disembarked (not from the front, Siana and Connor...). One last look through the haze at the pyramids of Giza, and back to that palatial Marriott in downtown Cairo.
Yes, we're back in the city of organized chaos. Our last day on the Nile down South consisted of a close up tour of the Temple of Luxor via a horse and buggy ride down the causeway... we then left the ship and flew once again on Petroleum Air Services, arriving in Cairo just in time to meet a guide, Samir, with whom we had made arrangements via the Internet for a hyper-visit to several Lonely Planet 'must see' destinations. Samir took us first to the City of the Dead, where hovels and tombs are juxtaposed...the dead and living, side by side. Eerie. Then to this incredibly beautiful mosque (the vast majority are...) where we hiked up to the top of the minaret to view the vast expanse of Cairo. On to the Khan al Khalili bazaar... a typical souk in many ways: plastic toys, faux alabaster pyramids, beautiful sheesha (brass water pipes), fragrant spices... each narrow alley devoted to a particular craft or trade. Spotting a wonderfully decorated Mamaluk mosque within the souk, we asked a nearby seller if he thought we could enter. He disappeared for a bit, then beckoned for us to follow... we slid off our shoes and made our way over the foot worn carpets. He introduced us to the imam while giving us a quick tour of the interior rooms and up the minaret...he asked for no ba'asheesh at the end...simply delighted at our interest.
Mentioning a desire to purchase vanilla beans and saffron, he led us down a pebble strewn corridor to his buddy's (or cousin's, uncle's, brother's...you get the drift) shop... the usual bargaining ensued... we threw out several Arabic phrases that we have picked up, much to their glee, and in no time we had quite a few neighborhood sellers peripherally involved in the negotiations... walking out half a dozen times, the 'contract' ended in laughter, with us looking forward to a dynamite paella in weeks to come, and Ahmed successfully attaining a surely inflated profit.
That evening we dined at a local restaurant where waterpipes flourished in a litany of flavors a la Baskin and Robbins. We crashed early and today had our last tour with Essam: the pyramids, Sphinx, Memphis and Sakkara.
So...back to the pyramids...we made the acquaintance of a future mafia don in my quest to purchase enough cheap papyrus bookmarks for the entire 5th grade at Noelani where I have placed most of my contingent of student teachers. Bilala, 7 or 8 years old, had an entourage of 6: his consiglieri (around 11 or 12 yrs. old) barked out Bilala's instructions/directions to the 4 minions (ages 5 to 9 or so) who subsequently fanned out quickly towards the approaching herds of tourists, hitting them up for the max they could get using that face only the young can do. Bilala and I got into a bargaining dance, and in mutual appreciation we agreed on a price. (How
could I resist his "please try to say yes!" ) I then bought double. He hugged me, kissed me on the cheek, and we continuously waved at each other during our remaining time traipsing around Giza. He was ever so street wise and utterly delightful (his laughter at our camel debacle notwithstanding).
So... tomorrow a morning tour with Samir to cruise through Coptic Cairo and then off to Jordan in the afternoon.
More intrigue awaits!

Thoughts #7
"Souvenirs...novelties....party tricks...." We have found the aging understudy for the street seller's role in History of the World Part I, lurking in the shadows of Hadrian's Arch at the entrance to the Roman ruins of Jerash.... same monotonous voice, apathetic demeanor, expressionless face...
We arrived in Amman last night via Egypt Air (where we somehow scored business class seats; pity it was just a one hour flight...), crashed instantly and began our trek north early this morning. These ruins surpass Turkey’s Ephesus in their scope and completeness...giving a far greater picture of the layout of this Roman era community. We then headed south across this huge, arid sandbox of Jordan, stopping to capture (via photos) 2 crusader fortresses: Kerak and Shobak. The battle for Jerusalem proving at long last a lost cause, those hyper religious crusaders discovered a pursuit they could attack with equal fervor: trade. These behemoth castles are reminiscent of those in Europe, arrow slits and all... with a glaring difference...no moats. And off in the distance...through the haze... a glimpse of the southern tip of the Dead Sea.
Along the way we passed drab Bedouin tents and the occasional shepherd with donkeys, sheep and camels intermixed...the latter having cloth restraints binding their front legs (so they don't run away and join the Giza circus?!)
Our driver drifts back and forth across oncoming lanes, as do most others... hopefully we'll get used to it. Our troupe of 22 has shrunk to 7 for this Jordan segment.
We are presently in a bar at the Crowne Plaza ... a fabulous retreat just a 2 minute walk from Petra... to say that we're eager to tackle this area tomorrow is an understatement.
To backtrack a bit... we covered quite a bit of ground on our last day in Cairo with Samir... Bab Zulweyla and its view-enticing minarets at the cornerstone of medieval Cairo, Ibn Tulun mosque, Coptic Cairo with the Hanging Church and St. George, and one last meandering down side alleys, watching tea sellers carrying huge silver urns from car to car selling refreshments. We ended the day in a cafe drinking mint tea and trying a few totes from a honey flavored sheesha.
We'll have much to share tomorrow...

Thoughts #8
Great. Just great. Indicating an object, or the view, or a buffet spread, or simply a general demeanor, and usually accompanied by a sweeping motion with my hand... in my very best Arabic I would exclaim, "Beautiful!"
Apparently, though, my syllabic 'e' took a different fork in the linguistic road at one point, and I've been exclaiming, "Camel!" This explains the gleeful reaction...
We have seen the pinnacle...if there were a "Miss Global Ruins" beauty contest, Petra would claim the title at the onset; it is achingly beautiful. Think Indiana Jones. We were among the first three to arrive in the area yesterday morning...over a mile hike through a narrow gorge, often only 5 feet or so wide (but hundreds of feet tall)... one final curve and peeking majestically through the vertically elongated opening... the Treasury glowed. It is astounding. An incredible facade carved out of the rocky face of the mountain... interior room excavated to reveal square corners at the depth.
Simply unbelievable. We hiked the 825 step way (we counted...and this did not include the rocky, dirt inclines) to the Monastery (actually a temple built by the Nabataeans, pre-Christianity...renamed by the Romans)... another incredible facade...we sat on carpeted sofas in a cave cum cafe fronting the scene...drinking mango juice and just soaking in the scene before us... as we stared in contemplative pleasure, a crazy Bedouin (the words of the cafe owner) climbed up the side of the mountain, scaled the globe-shaped crown, and stood on the top, hands at his hips. The four of us up there could only stare in wonder.
Back down and across the ruins to the tomb filled caves, some still occupied by Bedouins (descendants of the Nabataeans, unwilling to move, although coaxed heavily by the Jordanian government to pursue a less nomadic lifestyle...) to the High Place of Sacrifice with a 360-degree view of Petra... then back to the Monastery for a second view gilded in the afternoon sun...this time by donkey (we had met Salim, the donkeys' owner, upon entering, and he patiently waited for us to gallivant around on our own before succumbing to tired feet...). My donkey, naturally, hugged the precipice, riding that ragged edge as I smiled calmly...outwardly. This afternoon vista even more beautiful than expected.
We scrambled up and down mountains and tombs and temples for 9 hours... culminating our visit with a trip to the Cave Bar down the street from the hotel, just making happy hour which ended at 7. An amazing day.
Today we drove to Wadi Rum... jumped a 4X4 and jostled through the desert in search of Thamudic petroglyphs... passing Bedouin tents complete with carpets and pickup trucks. The jebel (mountains) splayed across the sky in a dazzling array of stratiated colors... we could just envision Laurence of Arabia riding over these stomping grounds of his circa WW1.
From there to Aqaba... a fairly wealthy community, we noted the plethora of red-patterned male head dresses held in place by halos of cording (info we discovered: for the most part, solid white coverings are Saudi, black with white cross hatching Syrian, white with black cross hatching Palestinian...) and meandered down the city alleys to the shore to dip our toes in the Red Sea via the Gulf of Aqaba. Buildings within Israel clear on the horizon, Egypt farther southwest. We are now back in the hotel enjoying happy hour, ready to pack and depart tomorrow for Mt. Nebo and the Palestine mosaic at Makaba.
Such a grand adventure! We have many other tales (especially the political intrigue...we got into several fascinating discussions...).

China...March, 2007

We have left the Olympic madness (and great expectorations) of Beijing, and are presently in an Internet cafe in Lhasa... an incredible place...Tibetan women are strikingly beautiful, with hesitant smiles (children, however, are eager to laugh...) the Sera Monastery with plazas filled with debating monks (some clearly amused with us touri watching intently) the summer palace of the Dalai Lama, which he inhabited for a few paltry years before his escape to India... a wonderful guide who shared his perspective on the 'liberation' of Tibet (more on that when we are back having a wine or two on our balcony)... breakfast at Hard Yak Cafe (yes. sorry.) lunch at a restaurant with kittens crawling on our laps.... tomorrow the Potala Palace and Barkhor market...
We sent no e-mails earlier due to the sparse availability of internet cafes... clearly way too dangerous to allow too much of the outside world in... but we began in Narita and took the express train into the Ginza area of Tokyo - riding around the subway, eating the absolute best yaki soba, spotless sidewalks (unlike Singapore, we think, where cleanliness in more out of fear of reprisal...in Japan it seems intentional) elegant, kimono-clad young women with flawless skin... more neon than Las Vegas (maybe...)
Beijing changing...two years ago there were tons of bicycles, now more cars. yech.
Must go, cigarette smoke permeating our good nature...

The Terra Cotta Warriors...just as spectacular as before... such a feat. Riding around in a van (replete with upholstery covered in "I love you"s in both Chinese and English, encased in lovely hearts...) we covered Xi'an in two days... guided surely by an offspring of former Red Guards... one intriguing remark: the 4 major religions of the world include Buddhism, Taoism, Islam and Christianity. The Tang Art Museum, showcasing the perfect woman (plump with double chins and a pot belly... am seriously considering that era when reincarnating...) offered up a wonderful tour - the guide: "concubines ate well, dined well and lived well, but with empty minds... they were blonde." Then a delightful grin....
We sadly left Tibet two days previously (we endured a bit of high altitude malaise, but minimal...). What an incredible place. Prostraters spilling out into the temple plaza by the market, jostling pilgrims eyeing goods...and us. (Standing around our Tibetan, and fabulous, guide... we would suddenly find...or feel, rather... a chin millimeters above our shoulders, gazing in fascination at both our little group of four and the mouth of our guide, listening to his melodic English. Locals breaking into broad smiles as we greeted them. Buddha, manifestations, Buddha, offerings, incense, protectors, Buddha, yak butter floating in bowls (come to find that there is no such thing as yak butter... 'yaks' are male... an amusing aside from our guide...) tan, weathered faces in glorious ethnic dress and turquoise earrings... braids woven with silk, babies slung across backs with long cloths..... so much to tell.

Off to Guilin and the Li River.

We are moving to Guilin. A sea of multi-colored, brightly lit palm trees greeted us as we exited the airport.... a short drive to the city to a laid back river-hugging community set in a forest of staunchly vertical, craggy hills... mist tucked into the crevices (a rock climber's dream)... a scene so often depicted in those ubiquitous Chinese brush paintings...a too quick night and whisked off onto a boat heading down the Li River to Yongshuo.
Bend after bend of magnificent skyscraper cliffs, fishermen with cormorants tethered to their rafts to assist in fish catching, ropes neatly tied around their necks so as to share their bounty rather than selfishly swallow... quaint villages, water buffalo grazing lazily in the fields.... we were in the midsection of a slew of boats, giving us a way too clear view of the cooks in the vessel just ahead, kneading chicken parts in huge bowls, floors scattered with leftovers. Breakfast suddenly seemed SO filling....
Docked in Yangshuo, we found a bargainer’s paradise... alley after alley of kiosks rivals those in the huge markets of the big cities. 18 well-stashed, not yet released in the U.S. dvds later we ambled into an Aussie bar and played cards, enjoying happy hour and indulging in cheesy garlic bread and spring rolls. A bit more shopping followed (unavoidable with sellers swarming, sticking to one like opihi if the slightest interest was evident... this is where sunglasses come in quite handy....).
The next morning, not feeling particularly suicidal, we opted out of renting bicycles and wandered for two hours through the local, non-touristy section of Yangshuo to the famed, albeit elusive, Big Banyan Tree. Along the way: cakes decorated in snake decorations, recycled cooking oil, shelves of centipede wine, squat toilets for sale (we envisioned purchasing one for our guest bathroom, but fear we would become pariah dinner hosts...).
We came upon a trio of pet monkeys in a park, ludicrously dressed, their owner commanding 5 yuan (about 60 cents) for posing with said monkeys as a photo opp... if you ask nicely we will share this wincingly amusing pic.
Off to Chengdu and the Panda center...

Coffins visible in cliff wall caves... steep walls with scattered vegetation...occasional signs marking the final 175 meter water level once the dam is complete.... monkeys barely visible as they scamper off on the sides slightly above the water... a foursome a la barbershop quartet serenading us from a boat anchored on the side as we drift down a tributary on a saipan.... back on board the Victoria Queen for yet another buffet western/chinese lunch and looking forward to happy hour...
Several days ago a stop in Chengdu, another overcrowded industrial city... if only we could have smuggled a baby panda into our bags; there were a total of nine wee ones at the research base. We watched a rather interesting film while there... including a short snippet we can only categorize as panda porn (the research base, working feverishly to expand the panda population both for zoos around the world and to repopulate the wild, wanted to demo their successes...). From there a visit to People's Park: ballroom dancing, karaoke voices screaming from different podiums, different sellers with unique items (rooster lollipops created from spun sugar...) those toddler split pants everywhere.... we were clearly somewhat of a novelty as evidenced by the stares (one daddy asked if he could take a photo of us with his son...) That evening our local guide here offered to show us a hot pot restaurant (the second 'must do' on the list for Chengdu...third is the teahouse....) so we asked him to join us with his significant other... what a night! A boiling pot with both a spicy and regular side (in the shape of yin and yang) and Kevin and Java (her nickname from college is 'coffee') ordered all kinds of delicacies, some of which they suggested we eat sans knowledge of what the bits were... sage advice, as we discovered...the trick was to grab a tidbit and wave it around in the liquid for a few minutes without losing it, until cooked... all this chased down with beer. Kevin and Java live together and will get married once they get enough money to have a blowout wedding... she claims he's addicted to mahjong, and he claims she's addicted to shopping - they are both tour guides and very funny :0) We had a very entertaining eve... we also visited a fabulous museum encasing, and showcasing, a 3-4,000 year old culture discovered recently via artifacts. Incredible architecture with copper and gilding, wide spaces and polished parquet floors. Then we went to use the restroom, and lo and behold, a trough going down the long side with partitions, no doors... cultural priorities certainly evident in that one quick moment. Once outside we waved to a bride and bridegroom and they beckoned us over to be in their professional photos... under her dress, bluejeans, and when not hidden by her carefully placed train, he sported athletic shoes...
From Chengdu to Chonqing by train (with piped in, knock off Kenny G music... which we appreciated ever so much more once that changed to Chinese opera...) across from our seats a gaggle of women who wanted to share all of their mountainous snacks.... Chonqing an even bigger industrial city ...and then this Victoria Cruises segment.
Shanghai tomorrow -- a fabulously fun city on our last visit --for a few days, then home.