Diary

I am resting in my hotel room in Nice after a trip by train to Monte Carlo today to visit the enrichment manager for Silversea. I find bus and train stations more stressful than airports for some reason I can’t quite put a finger on (Fewer information kiosks? Poor signage? General grimness? I’m not sure. ) But how  utterly luxurious it was to travel somewhere without my suitcases, and with a ticket that worked not just for a specific train, like airlines do for planes, but for any train between Nice and Monte Carlo that day.  Easy?  Travel can be easy?  I had forgotten.

That appointment was the only thing I had to do at a specific time while in Nice, except go to the airport to pick up my partner, Dan, on Sunday night, when he joins me for our long-awaited cruise from Monte Carlo to Venice.  Until then,  there’s no need to watch the clock, or put together much in the way of a plan for my time.

My “breather,” as usual, includes work, since I am not quite done with all my lectures for the Baltic in July.  Here’s my plan:  work until late morning, play through lunchtime until  mid-afternoon, then work again until I don’t want to anymore, sometime in the evening. That’s about all the structure I need.

So tomorrow, I will jump into the roughly half-hour segment I need on Copenhagen, then go poke around Old Nice, then back to work on Copenhagen again. Two days, and that talk will ( I hope) be ready to go.  Then if I do the same for the next two days, Stockholm will be in the bag just as Dan arrives.  That would be perfect, since those  cities are the last two things I need to finish up for the Baltic.

Breathe then? Well, a little, but those really deep breaths, the ones that turn into happy sighs and melted limbs, will have to wait till the bags are packed up, transported, unpacked again, and the ship has set sail.

 

UPDATE:  Got all the work done. Drove myself pretty hard, but ready  for the Baltic!  Dan arrives this evening. Let the vacation begin!

 

Alzheimer’s is the source of both the greatest fears and the most frequent jokes in my generation. Any time we forget something, we laugh (sort of) and claim brain fog. 

Yes, in my case, it’s true that my complete inability to remember numbers is as bad or worse than ever, and when I was really on top of things, I often remembered people’s names the first time around. Though my numbers thing I suspect really is a brain mis-wiring, the lessened ability to remember names is largely laziness on  my part.  I think if you actually listen when people introduce themselves, you are more than halfway to remembering, and if you repeat it to yourself while looking at the person, or play a name association game, you are up to way more than a 75% chance, which will rise to 100% if you repeat the above when you have to ask a second time.  

I am thinking senior brain has some positives to it as well. A few years back, when I was traveling in Italy and France, I found I couldn’t “code switch,” as linguists refer to it, meaning turn on the French in France and the Italian in Italy the way I used to do.  I used to be pretty good at both languages, being able to carry on fairly lengthy and complex conversations, and rarely having to work around words, idioms, or grammatical constructions I hadn’t learned yet. I thought those days were over, and I would be reduced from now on to asking for the bathroom or the bill and little more,  so it came as quite a surprise to me in Marseille yesterday that I was handling everything in French with ease. 

I don’t know what to attribute this to, but I think some of it might be that my brain has cleared out whatever it was that was keeping me from code switching. It used to be that a couple of glasses of wine could do the trick, but apparently aging has the same effect. Maybe it’s that I care a lot less about being perfect, and will settle simply for being understood. Maybe it’s that I am not trying to solve the world’s problems in a foreign language, but just want to deal with hotels, restaurants, and shops. And drink wine too.  Let’s not forget that!

Whatever the cause, I hope it lasts in both languages, and if it does, I am going to have so much fun, since I love the way it feels to sound words through the nose with a barely open mouth (French), or just let it rip from the chest and throat (Italian). Chissa’.  Je ne sais quoi.  It’s still rock and roll to me.  

After warning people in my cruise lectures about the problems with pickpockets in Barcelona, I was a victim yesterday, for only the second time in almost two decades of European travel.  Despite how careful I am to hold my bag close and keep my hand on it, and bandolier it across my chest much of the time, the zipper style allowed someone to pull it down along the back side and reach in from behind.

Things like this can reveal a lot about ourselves to ourselves.  We may think we are one way and then stress reminds us we are not what we tell ourselves we are.  Or maybe we discover we actually are.  It’s an opportunity to learn, and for me that is the silver lining in everything.

Some things I have observed from this:

—I am a lot more confident than I used to be.  I didn’t doubt even momentarily that I could solve this  problem

—I never for one minute thought anything about my trip, or even the great day I had had, was ruined.

—It didn’t change my view of Barcelona.  I was careless, there was a thief around who took advantage.  The end.

—I benefited from all the “what if’s” I had thought through before I left—even some I had forgotten about.  I have been carrying around some travelers checks since the pre-ATM era, when that was simply what you did. I had thought about cashing them while there was still anyone alive who remembered what they were, but just always liked the feeling of that back up plan.  I also totally forgot about the couple of hundred dollar bills I had slipped in with them. Dollars from heaven!

—I don’t freak out any more about setbacks.  I just immediately go into the mode of sizing up the problem and what I need to do to get the solution underway.  It helps immensely that credit cards can be sent fairly quickly abroad. They will be overnighted at no expense to the customer, and the only delay can be with getting the mail through international customs.

And finally, the single biggest thing I realized in all this is how many friends I have who would help me out in a heartbeat.  Taking care of relationships, and treating people with respect and kindness is its own reward, and I really try to do that consistently. Still, the best part was feeling  that small army at my back.

So here is my advice:  wherever you travel, have a financial backup plan that will get you, without a debit or credit card, through the amount of time it will take to get replacements.  In Europe, that will be a week  or so as a safe bet. Prepaying as much as you can for  things like hotels and tours might be a plan, if you know for sure where you intend to be, as long as there won’t be penalties you can’t live with if your plans change.

Always get travel insurance. It is amazingly cheap, and policies usually include some way of helping you with cash for emergencies.  Plus, under some circumstances, you may be able to file a claim for any prepaid things you were unable to do.

I am thinking I might set up a separate emergency bank account with its own debit card that I would keep in the hotel safe with my passport and never carry in my wallet.  Sounds a lot better than stashing a week’s worth of cash in a handbag or luggage, or even in a hotel safe.

Put that on my list of things to do when I am home, but for now, it’s morning here, and it is time to go out and enjoy this beautiful city.

 

 

I arrived in Barcelona yesterday, and as I wandered around the city I felt myself pleasantly letting down from some of the stresses of my cruising experience. This is very far from “poor me,” and in fact is not even a complaint but simply an observation.  Whenever I am in a public space on the ship, I am “the lecturer,” and though the majority of people onboard wouldn’t recognize me (and a sizable number probably aren’t even aware there are lectures), it is likely that at any given time, someone is finding me of interest to observe. Though I guess being well behaved is pretty ingrained by now, it is still a hidden stressor.  Yesterday, there was no Cruise  Laurel to be, and it felt good.

Another wonderful thing is that it doesn’t matter what time it is. On a cruise one must always watch the clock when ashore, because the ship will indeed, and without hesitation, leave without you.  Yesterday, I just got to drift, taking as much time as I wanted with everything.

Yes, there will be a bill every time I eat or drink something, and no one will pick me up at the door to whisk me away to whatever I have planned for the day, but this is a nice trade off.

In my hotel, the breakfast room is one floor down from the lobby, and it must also be where the equipment for the elevator is located.  I kept hearing this sort of whooshing  motor noise, and I got momentarily confused, wondering, “is the ship leaving?”  Sounded just the same, but I had to smile, because the ship has already left, and I,  quite happily for now, am not on it.

Anyone who has ever cruised knows the dreaded suitcase day, when after having been blissfully unpacked and comfortable, the luggage comes out and it is time to go home, or onward to whatever is next. That day has come.

It’s raining in Palma de Mallorca this morning, adding to the sense of melancholy, but if this is my idea of a downer, it just shows how blessed I am. Elsa is off seeing this marvelous city, and I will go in later to poke around, putting off the inevitable packing for debarkation tomorrow in Barcelona.

One of the cast shows on board includes “Another Suitcase in Another Hall,” from Evita. A good  anthem for today, except in the song she is trying to be cheery about her life not going so well.  For me, suitcase day just means the next adventure awaits.

Next up:  Four days in Barcelona, with the delightful plus of meeting up with new friends one evening for drinks at their rooftop  hotel bar, which is said to have one of the best views of the city. Looking forward to showing Elsa the sights, and then for her it is back home to San Diego, and for me, two days in Marseille and a few days in Nice before Dan arrives and it’s on to the next assignment, Monte Carlo to Venice. Living Travelly is great—except for those exhausting suitcases.

There comes a point in a cruise where I look at the menu and say,”I don’t want any of this.”  I will have zero courses tonight, thank you.  It’s easy to skip breakfast ( I do that 90% of the time) and pick at the buffet lunch, but dinner is another matter, since it is such a big part of the sociability of a cruise.

At my age, I just don’t need that many calories to maintain my body, even with moderate exercise, and it is so much easier to eat more than one needs than to lose weight by eating less than one needs, despite all the claims of magic diets.

I have been cruising for almost six years and have gained less than five pounds total. I think I am okay on My Year of Living Travelly so far, though I don’t have a scale. I have done this by having rules, and here are a few of them:

—No bread, except at dinner, and try to be reasonable about it then

—No desserts, except healthy ones, and the occasional exception for bread pudding or creme brûlée.  These are God’s gifts to the dessert tray and require indulgence

—No seconds—ever.  Enjoy the amount you took originally.  Period.

—Vegetables and proteins for lunch. Avoid starches.

—you don’t need to finish anything.  Have the amount you really want, then stop. You are an adult; you don’t need to clean your plate.

—pass on the little goodies at happy hour, and no afternoon snacking unless you missed lunch AND breakfast.

—have all the champagne you want!  As my late husband Jim used to say, “it’s a diet, not a sentence.”  Besides, champagne is lower in calories than just about any other alcoholic drink, and the glasses are smaller.  That’s  my rationalization and I’m sticking to it!

So what will it be tonight? Here’s a photo of the menu preview they leave in the room.

 

Carpaccio for starters I think, then either herb-seared shrimp, or, most likely, truffle-roasted chicken.  Note to self: pass on dessert.  It’s  not just about what I want today, it’s about how I want to feel tomorrow, next week and next month.  For me, that’s motivation enough to put down the fork.

 

 

Yesterday in Livorno one of those big cruise ships was docked near us. It wasn’t anywhere near the biggest—maybe 3-4000 guest capacity, but massive next to the 450-guest Seabourn Quest.  It had a water amusement thing on the top deck—a big slide and other such things, and I am sure it is utterly crammed with things to do inside.

Seeing those ships while onboard some of the smallest ones plying the world’s waters, I am always struck by the fact that despite the lack of loads of activities, I always feel so busy, even on days like today when I am not going out on an excursion.  On “my” ships,  there may be just one special activity going on at a time (they usually try to avoid competition), but it is almost always something I want to do.  And if not, that’s a good opening to go to the gym, or fall asleep by the pool.

Either way, inevitably the clock says there’s barely time to shower and dress for dinner.  Again!  How did that happen? It is the number one FAQ of my cruising life

For me, the pace is perfect.  Sometimes when I was younger, there was a lovely kind of exhaustion at the end of a fast-paced vacation, but that’s not what I want now.  I want the steady grin that comes from that zone where everything seems pretty close to perfect right then—and  I want to  stay in that zone as long as I can.  My life gives me so much opportunity for that, and I am truly blessed. Grinning here in Santa Margherita Ligure today, and hoping your life is putting a smile on your face too.

 

 

I am sitting in Barcelona now, thinking back about the experiences I just had in Cornwall. A couple of years back I met my hosts, Peter and Sue, on a cruise, and though we had wanted to meet up again,  it seemed as if we had just missed seeing each other (by days sometimes), as our paths failed to cross. When I had to change my travel plans so as not to overstay my tourist visa in Europe before I go home in July, a few days in England were in order.  Peter and Sue were home, and lo and behold, there I was, hanging out in their cottage.  Here it is.

But with Peter and Sue, time at home is what happens between everything else. Peter knows every nook and cranny of Cornwall, and a car ride with him turns into a history lesson and a highlights reel of the beauty of this region. Sue  and their dogs took me out on a two hour walk over the fields, beaches and clifftops, with the promise of excellent coffee at the end. Here we are, properly caffeinated.

Now normally after seven miles, one would think a non-strenuous afternoon would be in order, but not chez Sue and Peter.  Another walk took us to a place called the Hidden Hut, a modest—well, hut— overlooking a beach, where a local chef turns out four or five soups and all sorts of yummy desserts for anyone who knows where to look and doesn’t mind the short trek to get there.

is it time to rest yet?  Nope.  Home for a few minutes, then off to Caerhays castle, a favorite of Prince Charles,  to see the extensive gardens with  azaleas, rhododendrons, and other flowers in full bloom.

And throughout, the hospitality was extraordinary, not just from Sue, who fed me well and copiously, and Peter, who plied me with wine and excellent coffee, but from all the friends of theirs I met, and even a few waving and smiling strangers.

When I told Peter I had been to Cornwall before, and rattled off what I had seen, he said, “oh good!  Sue and I were worried you might want to go see those things.” Just as when people come to San Diego, if they really want to do the Top 5, that’s okay, but I’d really so much rather show them the hidden gems.  I had two days of those, and my heart is happy. Cornwall, I’m yours.

 

 

 

 

Travel can be dicey, and though people like to complain,  I think the airlines do a  good job of getting me where I want to go reasonably close to when I expected to get there, and reunite me with my bags in short order.  Yeah, not always, but most of the time.

Today started out great. Got to Newquay airport in Cornwall, then to London Gatwick, then to Barcelona with nothing more than the tiniest of hassles. Then, when I turned on my phone in Barcelona while waiting for my luggage, I found an email from the airline I am taking to Rome day after tomorrow, saying that they would be on strike and my flight was canceled. I also got an email from my friend Elsa, who is meeting me for this cruise, asking what we do now.

The good news is that I was in the airport we were leaving from and could just walk over to the airline  office and ask them what could be done. The bad news is that the two-day strike meant that the first flight they could offer was the day after the ship had left Rome. Oh dear, not good at all!

Anyway, since Elsa gets in at 4pm, I thought maybe we could get out before the strike started.  So now, we are booked for the last flight tomorrow night, before the strike, leaving at 10:15pm and getting into Rome around midnight. Poor Elsa is in for a grueling time getting to the fun, I fear.

The film Casablanca revolves around struggles to get onto the Lisbon transport and escape from Nazi-occupied Morocco. My overactive brain synapses started making  associations between the last climactic scenes where the plane takes off (but barely, before the nefarious forces of evil close in) and me trying to get to Rome before the airline strike.   I know the comparison is ridiculous, but I have had a little fun with it.

Ingrid Bergman’s character is named Ilsa. I’m going on the Rome transport with Elsa.  And I won’t regret it—not now, and not for the rest of my life.  Here’s looking at all of you, kids!

 

 

Tomorrow morning early, I will be leaving London for two days in Cornwall before heading out on my next cruise assignment, the second in My Year of Living Travelly.

It’s a good time to step back for a little self-evaluation. I have traveled alone a great deal, so no pats on the back for handling that, but I did note how far more comfortable I am going into a pub and ordering a pint, or going to a restaurant alone than I once was. That’s good!

I am also proud of myself for a doing few things that were outside my comfort zone.  I needed to get my roots and brows done, and instead of chickening our and doing it on the ship ($$$$$) I found a hair salon, made an appointment, and voila, it looks fine. I also made a quick stop into a nail salon offering brow services and  fifteen minutes I was back continuing my walk, all fixed up. Little steps towards a more confident, competent me.

I hopped on a train today and went out to see some friends I met on a cruise a few years back.  They live less than an hour out of London, and I got to see some countryside and real English life. I was thinking on the train back how easy that was, and how next time here I wouldn’t focus on “pick a park” ( though that was lovely too—my selfie from yesterday is included here) but rather on “pick a town.” Just push the zone out a little, every time.

But my biggest takeaway is that I really love this  I am very happy with my adventure.  A week from today I will be in Tuscany, with adventures in between now and then.  At the top of my self-evaluation, as always, is the realization of how very, very blessed I am.