I really didn’t know what to expect. Marseille turned out to be an absolute delight. Boats. Cafes (of course!). Clear sunlit views from Notre Dame de la Garde which stands high above the port. I want to return to Marseilles and spend rather longer. Please.
Actually Florence is our favourite city in the whole world. Or it is today. We have never actually managed to get into the Uffizzi – but thanks to an internet advance booking we have reserve tickets. For me all the exhibits were forgettable, compared with the view from the gallery towards the river and the Ponte Vecchio beyond. The Umbrian colours make this the most mellow of cities. Thank you for this chance to see it again.
Call us romantic! The eternal city is probably the most romantic and delightful place to wind up for our anniversary. After a drive from the port of Civitavecchia we find ourselves launched into the city from our bus right alongside St Peter’s Square. We walk from St Peter’s across the Tiber, past the Castel Sant’Angelo, made our way past the Pantheon, towards our destination, the Trevi Fountain. We’d tried to find it on a previous visit many years earlier, but here it is. Absolutely wonderful – a complete delight!
Having reached one goal we started on a further challenge – to track down the Spanish Steps, which we did, and then walked back towards St Peter’s to pick up our chariot. On the way we stopped for a late and fairly basic (for an Anniversary) lunch.
We suspected some surprises ahead when we returned to the ship. But the best surprise was waiting in our cabin. A wonderful bouquet and bottle of champagne from our amazing children. Thank you!
Having worked proudly with the Coastguard in the UK, I’ve become something of a Coastguard anorak! Here in Messina the Straits of Messina, between Sicily and Italy, are inevitably patrolled by a fleet of (inevitably!) smart Coastguard vessels. From the deck of the ship, parked alongside the not-terribly-inspiring port of Messina, we can see beyond the harbour and right across the narrow Straits to the mainland, or rather the ‘toe’, of Italy.
As we leave Messina, we head north up the coast of Italy we pass the extraordinary sight of Stromboli, a volcanic island roughly in line with Naples. The most extraordinary aspect of the island for us was the small settlement and extensive marina, right alongside the dark brown slick of a huge lava flow from the summit down to the sea.
The ship kept on going past the island … thankfully. Ahead of us is our special day, the 40th anniversary of our wedding, which we spend in Rome.
A day at sea on a luxury liner is a day to relish. Especially crossing south from the Aegean into the Med, round the ‘udders’ peninsulas that hang beneath Greece, under the foot of Italy, ending up in the Straits of Messina.
But what a ship she is, the Queen Victoria!
At 3.50am I am awoken, nearly falling out of bed as the ship takes dramatic avoiding action, turning first to port then to starboard. I go out on the balcony – just open sea. I turn on the TV to see the ‘Report from the Bridge’ where our location is charted – nothing out of the ordinary. Over the following day or so, rumours circulate that we had a ‘near miss’ with another vessel that had turned into our path. One account blamed a fishing boat, another a container carrier. Crew members were reported never to have experienced anything like it in many years at sea. Thankfully the outcome was safe – but probably not good for Cunard to announce it too publicly.
Kusadasi is one of Turkey’s more significant ports, though not on the scale of Istanbul. It co-exists with the ancient site, or rather sites of Ephesus. Settled from the neolithic period, the city has re-located several times as the sea retreated and the port had to move. Once associated with the Oracle of Delphi, with Artemis myths and the many-breasted ‘Lady of Ephesus’, it is now a wonderful archaeological site in which to imagine what it was like when John (possibly) wrote his Gospel there and when addressed the Ephesians as one of the seven churches of Asia in the book of Revelation. When Paul lived there for more than two years and preached to the Ephesians in the great Theatre. And when (possibly) Mary, the mother of Jesus, lived out her latter years under the protection of John, to whom Jesus had left her protection as he hung on the cross.
We are travelling by bus to the ancient site of the basilica and tomb of John. It was fairly unadorned with a stone plinth and some pillars, but it marked the (likely) burial of one of Jesus disciples, and seeing it causes me quite a shiver of emotion. I think we were told he was the only disciple to die peacefully. And of course Jesus had charged him with the protection of his mother, Mary.
Mary’s House is some way on, up in the hills where it is alleged she spent her last years. Of course not everyone accepts this, and the site is associated with much Catholic dogma and is effectively of course a shrine to her. For instance I was not aware that some Catholics believe she was resurrected, just as Jesus was. Which is why there is no tomb associated with this place. There had been chapels here since the 1st Century, but the John connection is fairly compelling, and apparently local tradition has it that Mary had actually lived here (compounded no doubt by the ancient ‘Lady of Ephesus’ legends perhaps). Also, bizarrely, the exact place and its surroundings were very accurately described in a vision of a German nun in the 19th Century.
I would love to think this building is on the site of the actual house Mary lived in … but honestly does it really matter much if it isn’t?
How could anyone not be stirred with anticipation at the sight of the skyline of Istanbul? Anyone can be stirred by the sheer extravagence and scale of modern cities like New York. I prefer the tantalising promise of Istanbul. On the Bosphorus, which is said to be where East meets West, Istanbul holds out many of its jewels to the visitor arriving by sea. And the promise is more than fulfilled.
We drive into the city by bus and are dropped in a prosperous shopping street. Most of the Americans, wary of the undercurrent of Islam, stick with the shops. But right there by a mosque lies the entrance to the magnificent Bazaar – 4000 stalls and workshops, filled with gorgeous fabrics, leather goods, carpets and jewellery go on for ever.
Outside the Bazaar the sky darkens. Above us what seemes like the whole of Europe’s population of storks heads south. There must have been thousands.
We make our way on foot through the city towards the Blue Mosque. The beautiful Hagia Sofya cathedral is closed to the public on Mondays except for organised parties (and we had been too mean (again!) to book a trip from Cunard!). So we walked on by to the Blue Mosque and just gaped in awe at the majesty of the building, the dome, the carpet, the colour, the wonderful decoration and the surrounding gardens too.
Next we headed for Hagia Eirene, the Christian Church of Divine Peace. It was originally constructed by Constantine (the city was Constantinople of course!) in, wait for it, the fourth century, it was burnt down and re-built in 532!!! It makes our cathedrals quite youthful by comparison. To our deep regret, Hagia Eirene was also closed and only opens for concerts during the Istanbul festival. Hey ho … time for coffee.
Coffee in Turkey can only mean one thing – a strong thick dark liquid in a tiny cup. The Green Corner Cafe stood invitingly on a corner sheltered by cool greenery. Beneath the branches were tables … and some truly enormous sofas where you can put your feet up (take off your shoes!) and take coffee in exotic luxury. You can even order your hookah with a range of smoking materials on offer (no I didn’t, but I was tempted!)
Istanbul is hectic but never dull. There seemed to be no graffiti – and that matters because most metropolitan cities are afflicted by a plague of it. I adore Islamic art which we had first encoutered at the Alhambra in Granada, Spain, and it makes the beauty of Istanbul timeless and magical …
We leave Istanbul wanting more. Next stop, Ephesus.
Awoke looking out over what could only be a Greek landscape. Funny how geology and vegetation, sun, rain and culture all conspire to identify an area. The harbour contained QV and a Thompson vessel, so expect about three thousand additional population on the island this morning. Bus to the town of Mykonos round the bay. Walk along the waterfront, the bars and restaurants all have that ‘morning after’ feel – owners washing off the tiled ground with water washing into the sea, a few broken bottles, a dazed look to the few customers enjoying a coffee or an early beer. The town is freshly coloured white and blue, very narrow streets just wide enough for those little motorised carts that chug about, a few pleasant green corners. From the waterfront the island is crowned by the four skeletal windmills shown in all the postcards, and a few charming small white chapels stand open for visitors. We loved the charm, the quaint streets and blue-and-white buildings, but didn’t care for evidence of the boozy night before. Outside the harbour sits a grand four-masted sailing ship, and over there the Queen Vic. How DO they manoeuvre that massive hull into such places?
After taking in the town we go back to the ship. Along the quay from QV, an inter-island ferry is disgorging cars and ruck-sack toting foot passengers by the score. It had been my dream for my retirement to go island-hopping in the Greek Islands, to be one of them. Not too sure now. Sue says she’d refuse to live out of a ruck-sack nowadays, and I’m not convinced life would as idyllic in these quaint places as I imagined. Maybe this taste of the Mediterranean has achieved its first goal. I now know where we probably won’t be going again.
The ship sails away from Mykonos and turns north. Runs past the coast of Turkey through what I’m told are the cleanest seas in the Mediterranean area.
After dinner that night we have entered the Dardanelles, that narrow strait between Turkey to the South and the Gallipoli Peninsula to the north, which links the Aegean to the Sea of Marmara. This is beginning to feel quite exotic. The Greek name for the Dardanelles, Hellespont, echoes of classical history, of Troy located near the western end of the strait, of Hero and Leander, Xerxes, Alexander the Great, the Ottoman Empire, and of the Battle of Gallipoli, where more that 200,000 lost their lives in 1915, including countless New Zealand and Australian troops.
Over night we’ll sail across the Sea of Marmara and in the morning Istanbul, which it is my personal dream to visit.
The Peloponese, the southern part of Greece which dangles it’s fingers in the Mediterranean and gave rise to the warring Spartans, is also home to Olympia. We were there during the Beijing Olympics, which added a certain intensity to the meaning of our visit.
The picture says as much as anything can say about an archaeological site. This is the athletics stadium and the stone line at Sue’s feet were the starting blocks for athletes who came to Olympia as we did during the first full moon of August. The athletes ran in the buff!
The spot where the ‘vestal virgins’ (actresses) light the Olympic flame looks like – well a pile of rocks, which it is. They use the rays of the sun and a curved mirror to ignite a jet of gas.
Queen Victoria meanwhile is moored at Katakolon, about an hour away by road.
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