Istanbul

We are in Istanbul for three days and the fabulosity meter does not stop ringing the entire time. I love this city and three days is not nearly enough. We see everything we can possibly see in three days. We use the trams (packed, but wonderfully easy and clean) and the ferries, and we walk, and walk and walk.




The Blue Mosque



The breathtaking Hagia Sophia Museum and Church of Divine Wisdom

Topkapi Palace....... home to 500 concubines

The steep hills are lined with seemingly endless stairways and narrow streets that no car could ever climb, each one possessing its own neighborhood. One is lined with antique shops, another with trendy boutiques of clothing by local young designers, and another with tiny galleries. All have interesting cafes and restaurants with tables and chairs outside on the steps or leaning precariously on the steep pavement. Some of the less attractive and steeper stairways are not as interesting. We find ourselves on a couple of such passageways. Here students dressed all in black with piercings, tattoos and alarming hairstyles share the steps with the out of work, drowning their sorrows in beer, and the streets in urine. But everywhere feels safe. As in every city there are pickpockets, but we are alert and never experience any trouble, or feel uneasy.
But, what is unpleasant, is the desire of the merchants to cheat you out of your money wherever possible. Haggling is a way of life which we find hard but can cope with, but often means you pay far too much for something you want. But even worse are the taxis that give you the run around and the restaurants that overcharge. We had read that restaurants will always try to overcharge and add things to your bill. Our first experience is lunch where we just have a shish kebab and a drink and think we are fairly safe. But we are not. The waiter charges us substantially more than the menu quotes for the shish kebab and adds a plate of olives. We expect to be charged for the bread and water which automatically appear but he also adds a 20% service fee, when most Turks wouldn't even pay a 10% tip. Lots of bickering gets the tab reduced a little.
From this point on we followed the advice we had read, and sat with a pen and paper beside our plate and wrote down each item we ordered, as we ordered it, together with the menu price. The article advised us to make sure the waiter saw what we were doing. It felt strange to do it and even a little rude, but it worked and from that point on we had no trouble. One waiter even picked up our piece of paper to compare it with his bill, and smiled when he saw we were in agreement.

The only other downside to Istanbul is the traffic and the crowds. We have never been in a City with so much traffic every hour of the day and night. We are used to rush hours in major cities, but here it is like rush hour 24 hours a day. And everywhere you go the streets are crowded with both locals and tourists. It takes a little getting used to.

After the first day in Istanbul we return to the ship and there ,as always, are the Boca Raton Mafia. They are sitting in the lounge with a group of women around them. It seems they have been jewelry shopping (of COURSE they have) and, I mean, jewelry shopping in a very serious way! They are busy showing off their purchases to those less fortunate than themselves.
Louise Brooks has a large ostentatious and very flashy gold necklace studded with small diamonds surrounding large green stones . It is displayed in a large ostentatious and very flashy box to make sure there is no confusion about how much this may have cost. Don Corleone, meanwhile, is sitting quietly with his cocktail in one hand and a small but happy smile on his face, clearly enjoying his wife's moment in the spotlight
She then produces another large ostentatious and very flashy box inside of which nestles earrings and a bracelet to match the necklace.
“I am so happy” she declares “that the fashion now is to have sets of everything”
“A few years ago” she continues “nothing came in sets, so I only got to buy one piece at a time. I so much prefer getting a set of three pieces”
Of COURSE she does.
I politely commend her on her purchase, saying how beautiful it looks.
“It is beautiful, isn't it “ She says “ And I particularly like it because it is so Egyptian looking”
At this point, her husband finally looks up from his cocktail and says
“Honey, its Turkish”
“Yes dear, that's it. And I do adore it”
“But everyone”, she continues, addressing the peasants around her, totally oblivious to any sniggering that might be going on “You have to look at what Beth got. She did SO MUCH BETTER than I did. I am really quite jealous”
As Beth digs deep into a black and gold shopping bag and begins pulling out an array of large ostentatious and flashy jewelry boxes, we quietly slip away listening to the ooohs and aaahs from the less fortunate.
This is in fact, the last night of the cruise for the Boca Raton Mafia, and they are leaving the boat the next morning, although staying in a Hotel for a couple more nights. We have warmed to them over the past few days, and have developed a soft spot for Don Corleone.
After dinner they come over to us and say how much they have enjoyed our company and if we are ever in Boca Raton we must look them up. Louise Brooks hands me a card that is gilt edged (or should that be guilt edged), clasps my hand, and says “Promise to call. We will miss you”
We will miss them too, but perhaps in a slightly different way.

Kusadası and Istanbul

Israel was one highlight of our trip and Ephesus is the other. Today we dock at Kusadasi, a bustling resort town on the Turkish Coast which is the entry point for trips to Ephesus. We have a private guide and car due to meet us at 8am. The ship is going to be in Kusadasi only until 2pm, which gives us plenty of time to see Ephesus but leaves no room for anything to go wrong.
But go wrong it does.

There are 5 cruise ships docked at the port and we are the smallest one. The place is jam packed and we count almost 50 coaches waiting dockside for those people who have booked coach tours.

We go outside to where all the private cars are waiting with signs showing the names of the people who have booked them. We search the dozens of signs but our names are nowhere to be seen. We wait for an hour and watch the occasional late arriving car draw up to the port, but none of them are for us.
Meanwhile a sort of organised chaos continues all around us as the inhabitants of 5 enormous cruise ships try to find their transport. The temperature is already in the 90's. There has been a heatwave following us ever since Egypt and today is the hottest day yet.
We go to an internet cafe to see if there has been any communication from our guide, but there hasn't.
We are getting really upset, but realise there is nothing we can do about it. We are determined not to let this spoil our day, so we take a deep breath and count to ten. Not nearly enough!! So we do it again, and set off along the sea wall. We find a delightful little beach a short walk away, and spend a very pleasant morning sitting on the beach drinking beers. We don't usually drink in the morning, but it seemed this was a special circumstance.


As people start returning from Ephesus we hear that the temperature there was 105 and the humidity was 50%. The place was jammed and you had to queue to walk around every section.
We are sort of relieved that we didn't go, especially as the next cruise we are on calls at Kusadasi as well, so we have another chance to tour Ephesus.
Did you notice how I slipped that in – yes , we have another cruise. This cruise ends tomorrow at Istanbul, but we are staying on the ship for a further 12 days to go round the Dead Sea. Almost everyone on board is leaving tomorrow except for a handful of fabulously indolent passengers, of which, I am proud to say, we are two.
Next morning we sail into Istanbul, and the fabulosity meter rings loud and clear. The approach to Istanbul is breath taking. Istanbul straddles the Bosphorus , which is a narrow channel linking the Eastern Mediterranean with the Black Sea. It is also, so we are told, the busiest shipping channel in the world and certainly seems like it. As we approach the entrance to the Bosphorus , dozens of huge Ocean going tankers are jostling for position and the right to pass through first. However cruise ships always have priority, or, at least the ones I am on, do. And so we find ourselves pushing and shoving our way through an incredible amount of traffic until we are in front. To our left is the old town of Istanbul, rising up on a hill, showing off the Blue Mosque, the Topkapi Palace, and the Hagia Sophia Museum, all dominating the old town skyline. To the right are the greener Hills of the Asian side of Istanbul. Immediately ahead is the entry to the Bosphorous, with the amazing Dolmabahche Palace lining up along the waters edge just ahead of where we dock. And all around us, like a crazy water version of bumper cars, are hundreds of boats all going in different directions. There are dozens of ferries going from one side to the other, all criss crossing in different directions.. Some are modern high speed ferries, while others are older and more sedate, but all are absolutely jammed with passengers. Then there are small fishing boats that get perilously tossed about in the water by the wake from all the ferries, and the tiny water taxis that hardly seem powerful enough to battle the incredibly strong currents (water flows though the Bosphorous at an alarming 8 knots). Dominating everything, are the enormous container ships which determinedly plough their way through it all, completely unable to stop for anything. It is fascinating and scary. But what is truly incredible is the sight of dolphins swimming and jumping between all the ships, seemingly oblivious to any danger.

Our ship docks right in the middle of all this, close to everything and just a stones throw from the tram cars that take you to various parts of the city. The views from the ship are stunning and I have already fallen in love with Istanbul.

Meanwhile, emails have been flying between us and Canada Travels and the tour company. It seems that during all the chaos at Kusadasi, our driver was standing there with a sign with “Koasa” written on it. No one is quite sure where this name came from and it certainly bears no resemblance to our names. The tour company is justifiably mortified and offers profuse apologies. We are due to have another tour around Istanbul with them tomorrow and they promise to treat us to lunch and take us on the Ephesus tour when we return in 10 days. We graciously accept their apology but reserve judgment until tomorrow. We want to make sure they turn up!

Limassol and Marmaris

From Israel we go to Limassol, Cyprus and then to Marmaris, Turkey. We are both a little frazzled after the excitement of Israel and so we do little at either town, and just take advantage of two beautiful places with lovely sea fronts and picture perfect beaches.
We are both dazzled by the extraordinary beauty of the Turkish Coast in this region. Lovely green mountains falling steeply into the crystal blue sea with occasional secluded bays, some with small towns, others seemingly inaccessible other than by boat. And everywhere there are sail boats, quietly cruising the coast. My kind of place!

But enough of this travel stuff – we need to get back to the Boca Raton Mafia, I may not have mentioned them lately, but have been missing them as much as you have. Our three days wandering the wilds of Israel was wonderful, despite the fact that it deprived us of their company. We were certainly not traveling anywhere where we might have bumped into them.
But all is about to change. After our quiet day in Limassol, we return to the boat and immediately spot them sipping cocktails by the pool.. Louise Brooks raises her hand above her head and makes a circular motion with her hand in our direction, causing the sun to glint off the bejeweled fingers. It's not actually a wave, more of a summons. If she could have snapped her fingers she would have, but the fingernails and the jewelry make it hard to do.
She is glowing. Her smile stretches from one ear to another (not easy to do when your skin is that taught) and she looks like the cat that got the cream
“Guess what we have done today” she says breathlessly.
Several things come to mind, but I refrain from mentioning any of them. Instead I wait for the answer that she is so clearly desperate to tell me
“ We had lunch at the Four Seasons Hotel”, she exclaims, positively purring at this point.
“Of COURSE you did”, I reply, intimating that lunching at the Four Seasons was clearly where she belonged, but secretly thinking, “Damn Her! Her day was waaay more fabulous than mine!”
She then links her arm in mine and walks me away from the rest of the Mafia. It is obvious that she is about to spill some private and confidential information, and I can't wait to hear it. And you know me – the soul of discretion
“I am Tony's second wife”, she confides in a stage whisper . This is the first time I have heard his name. To me he will always be Don Corleone, but if that isn't going to be his real name, then Tony is perfect.
She continues “We have been married 5 years, and he is a wonderful man. His first wife died, you know. He has two grown sons who are perfectly pleasant to me , but don't love me, and clearly have no intentions of sharing their inheritance with me. And I have three children of my own, but they are not going to look after me when I get old. So I have to get every thing I can NOW!” The last word was spat out with great emphasis. “This life is all about me, and no one else is going to look after ME, so I am going to spend as much of his money as I can.. And you know....., I am worth it. I am fabulous “ ( not content with his money, she is now stealing my lines), “I look fabulous and I make sure Tony has a good time.”
A little later we see them in the Casino (their usual evening spot, presumably because Don Corleone gets a percentage). I gently tease him about the fact that he is probably trying to earn some more money to pay for their next lunch in the Four Seasons. He shrugs his shoulders and beams. “What's a man to do”, he says. “She loves to do things like that, and I love to make her happy”
How fabulous is that – I hope Gordon is listening!

Israel and the Sea of Galilee

Our third and last day in Israel we travel North to the Sea of Galilee. The countryside changes dramatically to green rolling hills covered in groves of Olive Trees. This is the land of the New Testament and everything about it is evocative of those stories. The Sea of Galilee is lovely, cradled in amongst the green hills with small beaches shaded by olive trees.





But not everything is as we imagined it




At one end of the lake are the Golan Heights which, befitting their reputation, are much less hospitable. They are barren, brown and somewhat threatening. A jarring reminder of the less than friendly world that surrounds Israel
We hurry on to the more spiritual sights of the Mount of Beatitudes and Capernaeum. Everything here is quiet, the crowds of tourists have been left behind, and we are free to soak it all in.
We continue on to Safed, which we have read is a beautiful spot on top of a mountain. A lovely old town and artists colony, with breathtaking views. The perfect spot for lunch, or so we think.
But as so often happens, the reality is less than perfect.
The views are spoiled by a thick haze, the town is old and vaguely attractive, but certainly not beautiful, and the artists colony is obviously a collecting point for artists with very little talent . It is also lacking a nice place for lunch and we end up eating sandwiches on the side of the road.
We continue on our way to Akko, a harbour town and beach resort just north of Haifa. It is only 25 miles north of Haifa, but is noticeably nearer the border of Lebanon. We pass camouflaged tanks by the side of the road while jet fighters fly overhead. Another reminder of where we are.

Akko however, (also known as Acre and Acra, a base for the Knights of St John) turns out to be a favourite place with an old walled town, full of winding passageways, secret tunnels, bazaars and restaurants. This old town sits on a rocky promontory. The fortified walls facing the sea create a lovely walk and an excellent place for children to leap dramatically into the blue sea below, screaming with feigned fright as they plunge into the crystal clear water.
Where the old wall turns inland, there is a rugged stone jetty pointing out to sea, creating a harbour lined with restaurants and filled with small fishing boats and larger recreational yachts. A little further round the headland, the modern part of the city lines neatly up behind a long sandy beach. It is a lovely spot.
As we head back to the ship and take our leave of Israel we can't help but think of the contrasts that make up the land of Israel:
…..... The south of the country is desert landscape, bone dry, supporting no life of any description, other than herds of wandering camels. The northern part of the land is green and lush with farmland supporting crops and animals
….. ...We pass through many fairly affluent towns with comfortable housing, good roads and pleasant parks. But we also pass collections of tiny one room tin shacks with no roads, that are reminiscent of the shanty towns in the south of Peru. The next step up the housing ladder is represented by the clusters of sheds that pass for houses, each with a small fenced yard supporting a couple of animals, and approached by a dirt track.
….. ..There are fabulous modern hotels and spas staffed by surly Israeli staff who it seems would rather be doing anything other than waiting on tourists.
….. ...Hitchhikers are everywhere. Young single women, middle aged business women, elderly men, students, military personnel, all stand by the roadside hitching, and all get rides immediately,. It is perfectly safe to hitchhike and yet there are armed soldiers everywhere.
….. ...Jerusalem is a huge sprawling affluent city centered round the famous old city where the housing for many seems little better than slums.
….. ...We had the best meal of our entire trip in a wonderful French restaurant 100 yards outside the old city walls of Jerusalem, served by attractive waiters and waitresses who fawned over our every need, while inside the city walls the restaurants were mainly poor with service that was distinctly unfriendly.
….....The Sabbath was strictly enforced in parts of the country, and ignored in other areas
….. ..This was one of the most expensive countries we have ever visited, and yet there is a noticeable percentage of the population that is penniless.

….....It was a fascinating country and Jerusalem was definitely the highlight of our trip, and yet we leave it with a sense of relief. We are happy to get out unscathed.

Jerusalem

What a city! Once we enter the old walled city we KNOW we are in Jerusalem.
and this is our hotel.
The Old City is everything we ever imagined Jerusalem would be. It transports us to another age. The City overwhelms the senses. Visually it is stunning, filling our eyes with extraordinary sights. Our noses are assaulted by an aromatic array of smells, some delightfully reminding us of the rich spices and teas that are on sale,

others not so delightfully reminding us that this is an ancient city where not everything works as well as we may like. Our ears are filled with a cacophony of sounds: Church bells ringing, people wailing out their religious prayers, vendors trying to catch our attention, tour guides calling out their stories, and everywhere the sounds of excited conversations carried out in a myriad of incomprehensible tongues.
The walls of the City enclose tiny narrow streets and passageways all paved with stone,worn down over the centuries to a slick, polished finish. The only way through the town is to walk, but it must be done with care. The City is on top of a hill so few of the passageways are level and most seem to have steps every few yards. Many are covered and those that aren't are so narrow that you can not see any landmarks, so we rarely know exactly where we are. But that is part of the charm of the City. We walk for hours exploring these streets. The narrow passageways are lined with stores of all description. The entire walled City seems to be one huge Bazaar.

There are hundreds, if not thousands of shops all seemingly selling the same array of merchandise, spilling out into the passageways. The owner can usually be found sitting in a cheap plastic chair just outside the shop, trying to persuade customers to enter his store rather than the many others surrounding him or, if not succeeding at this endeavour, playing games on his mobile phone. There is everything a tourist could possible wish for and a lot more that he would never wish for. There are cafes, bars and restaurants all selling uninspiring food at awe inspiring prices. And there are rather seedy looking Hookah establishments, where rather seedy looking customers sit in seedy looking chairs, sucking on seedy looking pipes that have already been sucked on by countless other seedy looking customers. None of which deters the habitues from spending more time there than they are aware .
And in between all these establishments, there are tiny nondescript doors that open on to tiny steep grimy unlit stairs taking you up to small courtyards with more tiny doors leading to the homes above the stores. Many are very poor and in an alarming state of disrepair. They are drab and colourless with no plants or greenery to cheer them up. Washing hangs from every available wall. The homes are sad and depressing, in stark contrast to the lovely churches, nunneries and other theological buildings that can be found on the wider streets.
Periodically theses streets and passageways converge onto a small square, sometimes with a church, sometimes facing the city wall, to give you an idea of where you are, but always lined with cafes and more shops, and always full of tourists.
This is an ancient City trying to exist in a modern world. It survives on tourism, but doesn't thrive. Everywhere there are signs of the struggle to keep up. There are power cables of all sorts being looped across the streets, from house to house, with no effort to conceal them. The fabric awnings erected decades ago to protect from the sun, now hang in tatters. The metal awnings survive, but are rusty, and often have trash thrown on top of them. There are children and stray cats everywhere. The stray cats are looking for food and avoid eye contact. The children desperately seek eye contact wanting to show you the way through the maze of passageways in return for a few sheckels. At first it seems charming, until they become quite abusive when the few sheckels you offer are fewer than the amount they have in mind.
But somehow through all this the city charms and delights
The one thing that is really missing is a warm reception.. This is the first place we have been to where the people are not friendly. They often make us feel unwelcome, as if we were imposing on them and their special place. Store keepers and cafe owners are not friendly, which seems so strange for a city living off tourism. And everywhere there is a feeling of tension and on occasions outright hostility, that is at odds with a city that is a spiritual mecca for so many people.

It is also our first encounter with a strictly observed Sabbath. There are places we cannot go, stores that are closed (though the overwhelming number of Old City Arab owned shops are open and doing a thriving trade) and indeed entire streets that are closed. We knew we would be unable to return our rental car this day but we can't even buy tickets to walk the City Walls, or to anything else. And we are made to feel uncomfortable for not knowing. Today gentiles are not allowed to touch the Western (Wailing)Wall so we stand back and watch a huge endless stream of men crowd up to it.

But hostility takes on an entirely new meaning when we try to view the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque. There our way is barred by armed guards. We had already been warned that we would not be allowed inside the Mosque, but these guards won't even let us look at it through the gates of its large courtyard. They wave their guns in our faces and send us scurrying back up the passageway.

The different religions that share this wonderful historic City create the hostility. Is this really what our Gods had in mind?

There is a welcome and inspiring exception to this. For people from a Christian society, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is breathtaking and many people both outside in the square and inside the Church are glowing. We all stand and stare in awe. This is the site where many Christians believe Christ was crucified, buried and rose from the dead.

Many sects have a specific area inside which is carefully guarded. I am not religious but the sense of place and history is inspiring. Those that are religious are easily identified by the blissful look on their faces and beatific smiles. It moves some to tears and others to a spiritual state of wonderment. Women in particular seem to find it especially spiritual and we see several instances of women just standing hugging each other sharing their enrichment. It is hard to imagine anyone being unmoved in this special place.

And, whatever the drawbacks of the City, it inspires similar feelings. It draws you in, envelopes you in its history, paints the pictures of times gone by, never lets you forget its incredible place in the world, and allows and encourages you to immerse yourself in all of this, something that until now you have only been able to imagine.

If you haven't been there, you should go.

Israel

The next day we arrive at Ashdod, just two days after the latest incident with Israel and the Aid ships to Gaza. The Israeli Navy had in fact escorted the Aid ship into the very same dock we are arriving at. Ashdod has a number of docks but we enter the industrial port and moor alongside container ships and just across from several Israeli Naval vessels. It is unnerving to find out that immediately next to us is the Aid ship that was forced into Ashdod. It is not welcoming in any way.
To make matters worse, security is incredibly tight and every passenger has to have a face to face meeting with an Immigration Official. The officials are pleasant enough but the atmosphere is very tense, which is not helped by seeing the occasional passenger being taken aside for a more intense interview .
We have arranged to rent a car in Ashdod for three days. We intend to drive to Jerusalem and spend the night there, and then drive on to Haifa where the ship docks the next day. This is one of the highlights of our trip and we are excited to be setting off, but we soon realise that there is a serious drawback to our plan. We are unable to navigate ourselves through a country where all the road signs are in two languages, and neither one of them uses the Roman Alphabet. All the signs are in Hebrew and Arabic, but they are all dutch to us.
We are totally incapable of finding our way out of Ashdod. We drive round in circles for 90 minutes. pretending we are enjoying the sights of Ashdod.. The city is spotless, modern, and a tremendous contrast to neighbouring Egypt. But we don't want to spend our day driving up and down its streets. The only English word we see anywhere is “Exit” which periodically appears on a blue sign. Frustration is setting in and we haven't even started our journey. Finally we decide that maybe we should follow the Exit signs and see where they lead us. What geniuses we are! The signs direct us to the main road out of town, which then branches off in several directions.
As we drive round Israel we come to realise that this is how their road systems work. The main road out of town is always marked with signs saying exit – which is a definite help and one we are grateful for. But we would be so much more grateful if it would say in what direction it is exiting. It is not until we are out of the City that we can tell whether we are on the correct road, because once out of the City all signs are then posted in three languages, and the third, thank the lord, is English. At that point we can carry on in the correct direction, or head back into town and look for another exit sign. It can be time consuming but we can work with it. However Ashdod has the Mediterranean on one side so the choice of exit roads is very limited and we soon find ourselves on our way.
Our first visit is to Masada, and we are delighted to find a large English sign in one of the towns we pass through, pointing us in the direction of Masada. Once out of town, the road narrows and winds its way through a totally barren landscape. There is no curb or edge, and the sand and rocks often encroach on to the paved road. It winds its way through this moon like surface, often taking sharp hairpin bends to get around the steep hillsides. We travel for some twenty minutes without seeing another car. We are getting worried because we know that Masada is a very busy tourist site and there should be an endless stream of tour buses and cars on this road. But there is nothing; no signs, no traffic, no houses, nothing other than herds of wandering camels roaming the desert at will paying no attention to the road, or to us.


At one point we find a camel lying down in the middle of the road. It refuses to move for us and we have to drive round it.

We are convinced that we are lost, but continue on for another ten minutes until finally we see Masada perched on top of its inaccessible mountain just ahead.

But something is seriously wrong. The car park at the bottom of the mountain is deserted and we cannot see the cable car that we know exists to take people up the mountain to this ancient City. Turns out we have taken the road leading to the nightime sound and light show which dead ends at the base of the mountain. There is one sign in the car park pointing to the mountain. It direct us to a narrow winding rocky footpath that makes its way towards the top of the mountain. I am sure two thousand years ago this was a perfectly acceptable way to get to Masada. But the deserted car parks suggest this is no longer the case. Plus, it is over 100 degrees, and this is one fabulous tourist who has absolutely no intention of getting out of my air conditioned car to climb a mountain
Dejectedly we turn the car around and head back the way we came. The camels show no sign of remembering us
Our next stop is to be the Dead Sea, a much easier target than Masada. It is the lowest point on earth so we know the road should be going downhill. We pass through land that seems purpose built for a film based on the Old Testament. It is just as I imagine it, desolate, barren and baked dry by searing temperatures. The occasional cactus is the only living thing to be seen anywhere.
The Dead Sea spreads out before us, partially covered by haze. There is nothing attractive about it, but there are huge modern resort hotels and spas built every few miles along the coast. The sea itself is quite dead. It is in fact drying up, leaving the older Hotels and Spas up to two kilometres away from the waters edge. It is an almost comical sight to see a beautiful resort Hotel in one spot and its row of beach side umbrellas and chairs in quite another spot, separated by a huge expanse of dried up sea bed which now has to be traversed by the hotel guests in order to take to the waters. For this purpose, the hotels have provided a transport system consisting of wooden trailers with bench seats on them, that are pulled by tractors down a purpose built track. As you go down the track you pass the old drop off points showing where the waters edge was 2 years ago, 4 years ago and so on depending on the age of the Hotel. But despite this lack of fabulosity, the car parks are packed with vehicles and coaches, and the beaches are full of red skinned tourists.
We too want to experience swimming in the Dead Sea. But before we select a place to do so, we miraculously see a beautiful new road turning off to the left signposted to Masada. We figure this can't be worse than our last side trip, so we turn off to see where it leads. We follow it a short way around a cliff and discover right there in front of us, the other side of the inaccessible mountain with Masada perched on top. But, much more encouraging is a car park packed with cars and coaches, a Museum housed in a smart new building and a cable car to the top of the Mountain.
At this stage in the narrative, dear readers, I should point out that I am driving and Gordon is navigating. Yes, we have a map, and yes, it shows this access to Masada. But as I am a saint, and quite fabulous, I make no mention of the fact that if he had read the map correctly we would not have had to spend an hour on a narrow dusty windy road to nowhere, and would be much further on in our days journey. Instead I just smile sweetly and mention how delighted I am that we found the correct entry to Masada.
The cable car ride to the top is dramatic and the remains of the City are incredible and offer breathtaking views of the Dead Sea and the surrounding country.
I am indeed delighted that we found our way up here, but by now the temperature has reached 110 and there is not a patch of shade anywhere. I feel as if I have been put in an oven.
I long for a refreshing swim in the Dead Sea, and the sensation of bobbing on top of this incredibly salty water is definitely something that has to be experienced


But there is nothing refreshing about it. The water is as overheated as I am. It is very shallow and hot enough to cook in. Lying on, rather than in the water, with the top half of my reclining body searing under the sun, and the bottom half being blanched in the water, I feel as if I am still in the oven, but now the broiler has been turned on. I long for the air conditioned car.

From here we drive to Jerusalem. It is about another 90 minutes in the car, during which time we steadily climb until we see that incredible city stretching out on the hills in front of us. It is a huge sprawling City. We have booked a hotel hidden just inside the walls of the Old City, which it appears is a very small section of the modern City of Jerusalem. Due to my navigators earlier problems with finding Masada, and the fact that the road signs have reverted back to just Hebrew and Arabic, I am extremely doubtful about our ability to find our hotel. But Gordon excels (it must be said that he rarely lets us down when we are traveling) and somehow manages to get us there without one wrong turn. The City looks inspiring, and as we carefully negotiate our way through the narrow Jaffa Gate entrance to the old City, and through the throngs of people, the stress of the day washes away and a sense of real excitement takes its place.

Jerusalem looks Fabulous.

Egypt

The next morning we sail into Alexandria.
What a contrast. There is no need to watch the approaching port from our balcony. The approach is the equivalent of driving through a huge freeway junction. There are enormous container ships everywhere, all seemingly going in different directions. In amongst them are the little fishing boats weaving in and out of the larger vessels. It is an extraordinary sight and leaves me wondering how many accidents there must be. My thoughts are answered a little later as we pass into the dock area and see the wrecks of several huge container ships just left to rot on one side of the harbour entrance. The harbour appears to go on for a mile or two with dock after dock servicing the container ships.

Most passengers are taking a daylong trip from here to see Cairo and the Pyramids, but we have seen both on a previous trip and decide to spend the day exploring Alexandria. We assume it will be a wonderful City . It is after all where Cleopatra chose to live and surely the term “FABULOUS!” was created for her. But we forget , that having moved to Alexandria , Cleopatra promptly killed herself, and it doesn't take long to realise why..
In the words of another fabulous woman, “What a dump!”. It has nothing going for it other than our guide. He is a large 35 year old gentleman, with an easy smile, a fun sense of humour ,and a passion for food but not for his wife, all of which he shares with us over the next few hours.
His name is Hosny and he takes us everywhere, but the only place that really holds our interest is the new Library of Alexandria.

It is a fabulous modern building housing several exhibit halls with collections of ancient and modern art and an enormous library arranged in descending tiers that can seat 2000 students.
Hosny also takes us to the well known Abu al-Abbas al-Mursi Mosque. We expect him to explain the history of the Mosque, but he appears to be in an introspective mood and invites us to sit on a bench while he explains the basics of the Muslim Religion, and the purpose of the calling of the prayers. It is a fascinating insight into a religion of which I know little. While he is telling us this I notice that only men are in the Mosque. There is a large partition at the back of the Mosque closing off a small portion where the women are allowed to pray. When I ask why this is, he explains that women are kept segregated and behind the men so that they don't distract the men from their prayers. Considering that the women are mostly covered from head to toe in loose fitting black robes and scarves it is hard to imagine how they could be a distraction.
Interested as we are in this discussion, we fail to realise that Hosny is just getting started on what he really wants to talk about: Life as a Muslim, and in particular his life, and the role of women in a man's world, and in particular, his wife and her role in his world. Things start getting personal really quickly.

He explains that a man cannot marry until he has saved enough money to have an apartment so he can move out from his parents. Because the cost of living is so high, most men nowadays cannot afford to marry until they are in their thirties. Once they have the apartment, they are able to look for a wife. Well, actually that is not strictly true. In most cases once they have the apartment, their MOTHER looks for a suitable wife .
What does the mother look for, we ask. Well, one of the basic requirements is that the woman is a virgin (naturally!) Women can't get married until they are eighteen, and can't have sex before they get married.
We suggest to Hosny that this can't usually be the case, but he explains that this is made possible because of the stigma attached to any woman who has sex before she is married, or later, outside her marriage. So most women will marry as soon as they leave college or at 18. But here's the kicker. The husband must also be a virgin! At 33! So most men are virgins when they get married, or at least they haven't had sex with a woman. Hosny delicately suggests that this may mean the husband is a complete mess by the time he gets married .
We are fascinated, and the script for a soap opera is already beginning to form in my mind. I want to encourage Hosny to tell us more. But I don't have to . Nothing can stop him now.
We start to get to the heart of the story, which is of course all about Hosny. He explains he got married 8 months ago and his wife is 7 months pregnant. We offer our warm congratulations, but they are wasted on him. He tells us that no one ever explained to him that women change after they are married. His wife was charming and pleasant before the marriage but now she is a different person. She has terrible mood swings, he explains, He never knows what mood she is going to be in when he comes home. Why, he asks, are women so volatile while men go through life on an even keel without any moods.
Before we have a chance to attempt to answer his question, he goes on to give a typical example, and a very recent one at that, which explains why we are sitting through this outpouring of emotion.
Last night (a-ha!) he returned home a little late ( he didn't say HOW late). He had been playing video games with his men friends (this is a man of 35), but his wife was convinced that he was out with another woman. She has a terrible temper (something she cleverly never revealed before the marriage) and screamed and shouted and cried all night long. He told her he had to work the next morning and went to sleep on his own. But that made her cry even more. She said was afraid to be left alone in the dark. So he agreed to sleep with her, but only if she shut up (his words.) She said she would , but once he got into bed with her she started all over again. He hadn't slept at all last night
At this point in the story, gentle readers, I would just like to remind you, that all of this is being relayed to us in a place of worship. The story had started off being told in hushed whispers, but as Hosny warms to his subject, and as the subject warms Hosny, his voice becomes louder and louder
When we wonder why he didn't know what his wife was like when they got married, he explains that once his mother had picked his bride for him, they had a supervised visit for 30 minutes. After this initial visit the man and the woman are both able to say no thank you. But if they don't say no thank you at this point, the marriage is basically on! The Bride was gracious and charming at their first meeting, managing to conceal her real character, and so things progressed. But they only met a very few times after that and were usually not left alone. The only unsupervised conversations they could have were telephone calls when the mothers weren't in earshot.
At this point most people in the Mosque are listening in, although presumably few of them understand English. Hosny is oblivious to everything except his sad story. We on the other hand are beginning to feel uncomfortable.
We try to lighten the mood. We have already found out that Hosny has a passion for good food, so we ask Hosny if his wife is a good cook.
No, she is a terrible cook, he says. To start with he wouldn't let her in the kitchen because her cooking was so bad. But then he found cooking for both of them too much work, so he told her she had to go to his mother and ask her to teach her how to cook.
This subject is doing nothing to lighten the mood
Next we ask if wives are allowed to work. It can be allowed, but only if the work does not affect the wives ability to run the household and look after the husband and the children. When we ask who decides if the wife is able to work and look after the family, we already know the answer. It is the husband's job to decide whether the wife can work or not. And of course the wife will seldom earn as much money as the husband, and what she does earn will just be a little extra pocket money for her.
We understand that this is a different culture, and we are fully aware that we are still in a place of worship, but it is very hard not to scream at this point!
However, Hosny brightens considerably, when he tells us that all is not lost as far he is concerned. The wonderful thing is that Muslim men are allowed up to four wives, and Hosny, only 8 months into his first marriage, is already dreaming of his next one. Why he would even consider another one , after this experience, is beyond me. But at least Hosny is cheering up and our interest is definitely peaking again.
What will his first wife think of him getting another wife, we ask (relief, is probably the correct answer). Hosny explains, that incredibly, he has to ask his first wife for permission to have a second wife. Our mouths hang open in disbelief, but he explains that the first wife rarely refuses, because either the first wife loves the husband so much she will not refuse him anything (not the case here, we suspect) or , the first wife will be happy to have a second wife entertain the husband, because she doesn't want to (BINGO!)
We asked Hosny how many husbands a woman is allowed. Now ladies, if you don't know the answer, I am sure you suspect what it is going to be. And you would be correct. A woman is only allowed ONE husband at a time.
So to sum up. Men don't have sex until they are thirty something. Then they marry a woman who is 18 years old. She hasn't had sex either. Then they are surprised that the marriage doesn't go so well. Then the husband takes on another wife or two or three, while the wife is stuck with the man.

And we think our lives are difficult.
OK, hands up all of those who want to move to Egypt

I seem to remember that this started out as a travelogue on our visit to Egypt, so I should just mention that at the end of the day Hosny takes us to see the summer Palace of King Farouk
It sits in prime position on a small headland jutting into the sea, it is unbelievably lavish, it is surrounded by over a hundred acres of gardens, it must have cost millions a year to run, and it is ugly

No wonder the people overthrew him.

Our visit to Egypt continues the next day when the ship docks at Port Said. We have great expectations for this visit as we have been told that Port Said is one of Egypt's most beautiful cities. If that is true, it is very sad. It is a tawdry city, crumbling into decay, with a serious hygiene problem. There is nothing to recommend it, and if this is the best an Egyptian city has to offer we will not be returning.
When we return to the ship we promptly bump into the Boca Raton Mafia. They have just returned from an overnight visit to Cairo and the Pyramids. They are are not looking at their best. They are tired and disheveled. The Louise Brooks hair do is in tatters, and its owner looks every bit as old as the original owner. I would give anything for my camera, but unfortunately it is not with me.
I ask if they enjoyed Cairo and the Pyramids. Louise gives me a look that would kill a lesser mortal, and exclaims “It was filthy! It was ALL filthy”.

And so we leave Egypt.

Crete

We have another day at sea, which we spend avoiding the Florida Mafia. I know I described Floridians as ferociously social in an earlier posting and these two wives take it to a new extreme. They have clearly decided that spending time with us might cause a little of our fabulosity to rub off on them. They seem to be everywhere. We have that English capability of being able to be unfailingly polite to someone we have just met, while making it quite clear that we do not wish our acquaintance to go any further. It is usually effective but has to rely on the other party having some small amount of intelligence, enough at least to read the signals. But these two women have clearly never read anything in their lives and their ability to comprehend any form of subtle social signal is non existent.
At dinner that evening we arrive just as they are about to be seated. They promptly drop the Maitre D' in favour of exchanging air kisses with us . We are terrified that they will invite us to join them, but before the unthinkable can happen, the Maitre D' takes charge and with an uncanny appreciation for what is about to happen quickly guides them away. Which only goes to prove that giving the Maitre D a large tip at the beginning of a cruise can definitely pay dividends
We see them after dinner and they are all over us like flies on honey. They tell us that they got the Maitre D to seat them at a table for 6 and sent him off to get us to join them, but he reported back to them that we had already been seated elsewhere. A further tip to the Maitre D' might be in order.
The Florida Mafia proceed to tell us that they then asked the Maitre D to find another couple to join them at their table, but were disappointed when he reported that he could not find another available couple. Lesser people might read something into this and find sitting at a table with two empty chairs a social slight. But not the Florida Mafia. Louise Brooks consoled herself by telling us that they were obviously too much competition for the other wives, and they were just too fabulous for everyone else. I am not making this up, and yes, she did use the word “fabulous”

We awake the following morning to find our ship approaching Crete. We can again stand on our balcony and watch the ship enter another beautiful port. Well, it hardly seems to qualify as a port. We are arriving at Aghios Nikalaos, and are on a quay no longer than our ship that runs along the main promenade in the center of the town. We literally step off the ship and into town.


There is no security, no port gates, nothing. We are treated no differently from the dozens of small colourful fishing boats tied up all around us. It's sort of fabulous
Most cruise ships arrive at the port of Heraklion. Heraklion is a large sprawling untidy city with nothing much to recommend it. Aghios Nikalaos on the other hand is a picturesque tourist town and fishing village about 30 miles away, and our ship is just small enough to be allowed to dock there. It is about 35 years since we were in Crete. We used to rent an apartment right in the heart of the town and are amazed to find that we are just a couple of streets away from where we used to stay and can recognise much of the harbour and town. Indeed our favourite restaurant on the sea front is still there. It all looks so familiar, but it is not until we explore the streets leading back into the town that we can see how much the town has grown over the years.
We have a car for the day and drive off to see Knossos, which has changed dramatically.

When we were last there, we could clamber over the site unimpeded by other tourists or guards. Today the place is absolutely jammed with tourists and we have to follow marked routes through the ruins, never being allowed to stray from the paths. We leave quite quickly, preferring to have our memories intact, and not spoiled by today's realities.

We then drive up in to the mountains and have a wonderfully peaceful time away from the maddening crowds exploring lesser sites and small villages.

We have rediscovered our love for the island and promise to return soon.

But first we have to return to the ship where we find the Boca Raton Mafia waiting for us as always. They are in the Bar, and as we pass through they wave us over. Actually it appears to be more of a summons. We are at our most obedient, and do as directed.
“Did you have a nice day” asks Louise Brooks
“We had a wonderful day” I reply
“OH!” She exclaims, with an expectant air “What did you buy”
“Buy! Why, nothing”
“NOTHING!” she screeches, making it quite clear that she finds it impossible to believe that anyone can have a wonderful day without buying at least one little trinket. “Well what DID you do?” she asks.
When we describe our day, she looks totally bewildered. Knossos is obviously a word that she is not familiar with, and as for villages in the mountains ! What possible reason could there be for visiting them – the shopping must be virtually non existent.
Recognizing that she has little interest in listening to what we have done, we ask her what she has purchased today.
“I had a very successful day” She says “I found the suntan lotion that I can only get at home through my Plastic Surgeon. You can buy it here over the counter and it is only $40 “
I really want to know how much she pays for it at home, but refrain from asking.
“And I bought two pairs of sandals” she continues. “I really didn't need them but I feel it is important to buy things when you are in these poor countries.”
If she finds it necessary to financially support Crete, I wonder how much she feels she has to spend when she visits third world countries.
We manage to escape before any mention of dinner is made.
At dinner, we find ourselves sitting next to a delightful couple from Washington DC and have a very pleasant evening. So much so, that we arrange to share a table the following night. Things are looking up.

Malta

I have never been to Malta and to approach it by sea is incredible. Entering the port of Valletta (the island's capital) has to be the most breathtaking arrival of any port I have been to. We have booked a cabin right at the front of the ship, just for occasions like this. We love to watch from our balcony as we enter a port, and this morning makes every dollar of the cost worth it.

The Harbour is shaped a little like a hand. The thin wrist being the point of entry from the Mediterranean. On either side are medieval forts guarding the narrow entry. They are truly imposing, and still threaten in their size and structure . Once through the entrance, the natural harbour opens up like the palm of the hand and then divides into inlets or fingers. Between each inlet is a promontory of land which rises up several hundred feet, and is covered with narrow streets and tall buildings. Everything, including the forts, is built with limestone, a pale yellow colour glistening in the sun. Nothing has been allowed to intrude on the look and you can easily imagine that this is how it looked a hundred years ago, maybe even two hundred years ago. Nowhere are there modern flats to spoil the impression. The only colors, other than the pale yellow limestone, are from the gaily painted shutters over the windows. It is breathtaking
The largest finger, or inlet, is the port, built for the largest ships. Here there has to be some machinery and modern structures, but the wharf is still lined with a terrace of 100 year old buildings. Where they were destroyed by bombs during the Second World War, the facades have been rebuilt and now hide the car parks and offices which are a necessity of modern life.
The other inlets are where the true beauty of this port lies. Some have a small beach at the end, others have a marina packed with expensive yachts. All are lined with cafes, and have narrow streets climbing up from the waters edge, many so steep that they are stepped, the limestone houses opening directly on to them.

The protected water inside the inlet is covered with the small colourful fishing boats that are synonymous with Malta, as well as the little boats for carrying passengers that are reminiscent of Gondolas

We could easily spend all day enjoying the sights of Valletta, but there is more of the island that we want to see. So we rent a car and set off to visit the ancient city of Mdina, Malta's first Capital. It looks a little like a fort because of its massive city walls rising out of a limestone plateau high above the rest of the island. Inside the walls the narrow winding streets are lined with imposing aristocratic houses, and huge churches and monasteries.. Even though the town was built in the 18th and 19th centuries it still reeks of the power that created it. And again, nothing has been allowed to alter the original look and feel of the town. Although it is a tourist destination, the shops within the walls are all small with no noticeable signage, and the streets are somehow miraculously quiet.

Our last stop is at Hagar Qim and Mnajdra on the other side of the island. This is a World Heritage Site where archeologists are carefully uncovering two temples, dating back to 3600 BC, which are the oldest freestanding temples known anywhere in the world. Incredibly there are only a handful of people wandering through , and the adjacent museum is virtually empty. It is hard to understand the lack of interest, but the other charms of this beautiful island are obviously more appealing to most of the tourists.

Back on board ship I have an hour to relax before dinner and I take my book to the pool deck. Sitting next to me is a gentleman engrossed in a book. Out of interest, I lean forward to discreetly look at the cover. I wish I hadn't. It has the fascinating title of “Natural Ways to a Healthy Prostate” . I decide conversation with this man is to be avoided at all costs. I just sit there praying that he won't need to do a self examination. I have a long list of books that I would choose to take on vacation , and this is not one of them.

A little later we go up for dinner. We have a table for two next to a couple from Waco, Texas, As soon as they tell us where they are from we know we should move, but we don't. As the evening progresses they start talking to us, and when they find out we are from San Francisco, they decide to share the story of their one visit there several years ago. They arrived late on a Saturday night in June, and checked into their Hotel on Market Street. The next morning they discovered that there was a parade going on right outside their hotel. They took their three young children out to watch it, not knowing that it was, in their words, “the Doo Dah Parade”
We have lived there for years but have never heard of the Doo Dah Parade.
“You know” they tell us “it's the Parade for all the Doo Dahs”
Finally it clicks. They are referring to the Gay Pride Parade, and we are now not so affectionately known as Doo Dahs.
They go on to say that their daughter works for the Peace Corps and is teaching in Bulgaria at the moment.
“What a wonderful young woman she must be”, I say and continue with my usual wit, “You must have a hard time living up to her”
He just gives me a blank uncomprehending stare.
“ We think the Doo Dah Parade was a bad influence on her” he replies, “ she's never been the same since”
This conversation is obviously going nowhere, so we leave.

English v Americans

Our first day on board the Nautica is spent at sea, which allows us more time to get to know our fellow passengers.
There are very few English on board the Nautica, in contrast to Celebrity where a large percentage of the guests were from England. More precisely from Northern England. Dear readers, those of you who are English will know that was a put down. Those of you who know little of England must understand that the country is all about class and breeding, and being from the north of England generally implies a lack of both.
The weather in the North of England is generally grey and depressing and the people need to get away to the sun. But that is not always possible. They must wait for a bargain, and the Transatlantic Cruise on Celebrity was indeed a great deal.
At this point, I should point out that I am from England. Yes, I have lived half my life in California, but you can never take the English out of an Englishman. It stays with you for life.
The English passengers on Celebrity were instantly recognisable, with their pasty white skin, bad teeth, and penchant for inexpensive nautical flavored clothing, usually in navy blue and red with cute little anchors or captains crests, emblazoned all over them. It is one of the rare occasions where Americans show a little more restraint than the English. When an American is tempted by a captains crest, or a cute little anchor, there will just be one of them placed simply on the left breast, in what they hope is a show of European class where less is often considered more. The English, however, go overboard (pardon the pun), covering their top with rows of anchors in an effort to be more outgoing and cute, and, hopefully, American.

And what is it with the English and their teeth. There seems to be a genetic defect which prevents any English person from having straight teeth. And, born this way, they leave them this way, seeing no reason to improve on what God gave them. As they grow older their teeth turn a yellowy brown colour from all that tea , and grow even more crooked, which they believe adds a dash of character and shows a total lack of vanity. I know vanity is a sin, but a total lack of it is not always a good thing.
On the other hand Americans can suffer from an overdose of vanity, causing them to fixate on their teeth, which they straighten, cap, buff, polish, and bleach until they achieve a look so unnatural that you can't take your eyes off them, staring in disbelief at the amount of money that must be invested in their mouth. Indeed, Americans probably invest more time and money in the way they look than any other nation, and certainly much more than the English

The first thing American women do after boarding, is go straight to the beauty salon and book an appointment for their hair and a facial. Englishwomen however, arrive on board with their brand new hair do, often carried on in a box as hand luggage. It can then be brought out and worn at any time a “new do” is needed. Very useful indeed for all those formal nights.

The men too have their differences. American men wear jewelery, and can always be found with at least one of the following adorning their tanned bodies: a heavy gold chain around their neck, often supporting a large medallion which snuggles into their chest hair; a large gold chain around their wrist; a huge, ugly ring often with some garish stone on their pinky finger, and a wedding band. Whatever the jewelery is, it has to be large and has to be gold and it has to be very shiny. Englishmen wouldn't be seen dead wearing any jewelery. Only poofs where jewelry.
American men wear golf shirts and shorts, preferably with a designer logo, and often in pastel colors. They wear slip on shoes with no socks . Their entire wardrobe has been purchased by their wives at either Nordstroms or a designer outlet mall. Englishmen wear plain shirts and shorts in navy blue or grey. Only poofs wear colors. They wouldn't be caught dead without socks, which are always black, even when worn with white gym shoes and shorts. All their clothes were bought by their wives at Marks and Spencer or British Home Stores, preferably in the sale.

Now it has to be said that my comments only apply to the older generation. The younger generation all dress like Americans, regardless of where they come from. Young Englishmen spend so much more money on their appearance than their parents,. They have facials, get their teeth whitened and go to the gym. Soon you won't be able to tell them apart from the Americans.
And that is not necessarily a good thing..

There are only a handful of English on board Nautica, and they are much harder to tell apart from the Americans. It is a much more genteel crowd than on Celebrity, as witnessed by the mornings activities which starts with “coffee, chat and needlepoint with our entertainment Hostess, Margaret” at 9.30.
Somehow, I resist the urge to attend. I am saving my energy for a day in Malta which is next on the agenda.

On Board Nautica

We have sailed with Oceania on the Nautica three times before, and two of those times were for a month each. It is without doubt our favourite cruise line.
As we approach the ship it feels like coming home. We are late boarding after our day in Barcelona , and there are no lines. We are greeted by Sudaya, a lovely young woman for Thailand, who flings her arms around us and kisses us on both cheeks. It has been over two years since we sailed on the ship but she remembers us well and tells us she is thrilled to have us back.
Now THAT'S sort of fabulous!
The ship looks wonderful, and our cabin is spotless with not a scratch or scuff mark to be seen.(We later learn that we are the first people on board following a one week refurbishment). The bed is full size and extraordinarily comfortable, the sofa has arms and can seat two, the balcony has a teak floor and there is a bottle of champagne on ice waiting for us in the cabin. Our cabin attendant introduces herself and fusses around us making sure we are comfortable. Celebrity went out of their way to give us a good time - but this is how we like to sail.
Before I continue I should point out some of the other differences between Oceania and Celebrity, always remembering that Oceania is a different price bracket from Celebrity, which I think makes it remarkable that in some respects Celebrity wins out
1.Celebrity welcomed us on board with a glass of champagne. Oceania did not
2.Celebrity leaves wine glasses in our stateroom for our use, Oceania does not
3.Celebrity brings a small tray of hors d'oeuvres to our stateroom before dinner. Oceania does not.
4.Celebrity keeps a bowl of fresh fruit in our room. Oceania does not
On the other hand
5.Celebrity charges for all soft drinks, Oceania does not
6.Celebrity charges for specialty coffee drinks (capuccinos etc ) Oceania does not
7.Celebrity Charges $35 per person to dine at their Specialty Restaurant. Oceania does not.
8.Oceania supplies soft drinks and water in the mini bar at no charge. Celebrity does not.....
9.Oceania presents you with a bottle of cold water every time you leave the ship. Celebrity has them for sale.
10.Oceania has a bigger and more comfortable stateroom
11.BUT Celebrity has a larger bathroom, better shower and more storage than Oceania.
12.Celebrity has 1800 passengers, Oceania 684
13.Consequently Celebrity can offer much better entertainment. Oceania's shows are poor.
14.Oceania has 400 staff to look after the 684 passengers, and it shows. There is a huge difference in how we are looked after on Oceania. The staff is better trained and more friendly on Oceania.
15.But the main difference is in the quality of the food. Oceania is streaks ahead in their restaurants, the quality of their food and the presentation . Dinners are served on outrageous Versace China.
NOW THAT IS FABULOUS!!!!!!

OK, dear readers, let's get back to fabulous! The first evening we are booked into one of Oceania'a Specialty restaurants. The Sommelier remembers us from two years ago, although we don't remember him. The meal is wonderful but we are seated next to two couples from Boca Raton, who are a little frightening. They immediately try to draw us into their conversation while summing up whether we are worth knowing. Our eyes are drawn to one of the wives, a little as they might be to a road accident. The skin on her face is so tight it is translucent and a ghostly white colour, with the bones shining through. Any dramatic facial expression would completely rip her skin asunder. By contrast, her body is slim and tanned from the sun, and does not appear to belong to the face. To make it even more unnatural there is a perfectly straight line underneath her chin where the color goes from brown to white. Her hair is dyed an striking dark brown, which accentuates the white face. It is cut in a Louise Brooks style, which dates her, me and all of you who recognize the look. Her nails are painted shocking pink which clashes terribly with her deep red dress. As my mother would say, “breeding will out”. All the money spent on the expensive clothes, the endless surgeries, the glittering jewelery , the on-board suite, the daily visits to the spa, all that is undone by one simple gesture, when she picks up the lamb chop in her fingers and gnaws on the bone. They may be deciding whether we are worth knowing, but we made our decision instantly.
Her husband is as expensively groomed as she is. A small man in stature, but much larger in presence. He is wearing an impeccably tailored jacket over an open necked pale blue shirt with initials embroidered on the pocket. A flash of cuffs reveals gold cufflinks in the shape of the same initials. Very useful on those embarrassing occasions when you can't remember your name. He speaks in a soft raspy voice that makes him sound like Don Corleone, and causes the listener to lean in close to hear what he is saying. Whether it is practiced or real, it gives him a menacing air, despite his charming smile.

The other wife is small but with puffed out cheeks like a chipmunk, which comes in useful for storing food, and indeed she seems to chew the cud for hours, without actually putting much in her mouth. She has large round sunglasses with the Chanel logo on the arm that mimic the shape of her cheek. Her hair is tucked under a small jaunty cap that makes her look a little like a jockey. The horse that she is intent on riding to the finish line is a large florid man, with a mass of unruly grey hair. He hardly says a word all evening because he is too busy eating. The only break in the intake of food is caused by bouts of coughing seemingly caused by an excess of phlegm. It is extremely unpleasant to listen to, but no doubt the wife puts up with it because it signals the finish line might not be too far away.
The two women order lobster and the two men have filet mignon. All four complain loudly about their food. Every time they have a new complaint the women just snap their fingers at the Maitre D',t otally ignoring the waiter as if he is beneath their consideration. Don Corleone then voices the complaint, forcing the Maitre D' to bend down so that his ear is near to Don Corleone's mouth. I was concerned for the safety of the Maitre D', as it seems that he is now in danger of having his ear bitten off, or his neck strangled.
We know there are going to be fun people on board. We just hope we find them before we are forced to spend more time with the Boca Raton Mafia.
Our fellow passengers are indeed a very different lot from Celebrity. We are clearly surrounded by more money though, as we have just experienced, this doesn't necessarily mean more fabulous. But it certainly means more glitter, more jewelry and more makeup. It seems as if most of the passengers on this particular cruise are from Florida. What is it about Florida?. The retired population of that state are often scary to look at, ferociously social, and permanently dissatisfied with everything around them except themselves. They are demanding and loud.
To highlight the point, we came across the two lovely ladies pictured below at our first breakfast where, just like the Boca Raton Mafia, they demanded in a very loud voice to be looked after by the Maitre D. The charming waiters in their little white jackets were just not good enough for them.