FROM SINOP IN TURKEY
Our departure early one Wednesday morning was not auspicious. My back was still playing up; I was nursing a cold, and the dogs were howling their dismay to the skies in a forlorn farewell as we pulled our suitcases up the road in the dark to meet Fintan, who was taking us to the station. We left our trusty house sitters, Ian and Anne, to comfort them.
Nor was the train ride to Lisbon a great improvement in spite of the considerable comfort of 1st class seats on the express. This was mainly because an obese young man, having slowly and appreciatively consumed a large breakfast, promptly fell asleep and began snoring loudly.
BARBARA PATS DIOGENES'S DOG: READ ON!
The efforts of fellow passengers to shut him up were in vain. I twice tried treading on his toes as I passed but he snored on.
At Lisbon airport metro station the turnstile ticket reader declared our tickets invalid although we'd just recharged them and we had to await rescue by an official. From there matters improved. We had a comfortable flight to Istanbul where a driver from our hotel was waiting to meet us. The hotel itself, the Sirceki Mansion, a former villa beneath the walls of the Topkapi Palace, was delightful.
The following morning we spent an hour exploring its environs before taking a taxi to the cruise port.
Our ship, the Celebrity Constellation (dubbed the Consolation or sometimes Consternation by my wife) proved to be large (91,000 tons, some 300m by 30m) although not vast, with all the usual facilities. We had booked a starboard sea view (porthole) cabin amidships, being reluctant to cough up another thousand smackers for the privilege of having a balcony. The cabin was adequate, comfy double-bed, small couch, desk and chair and TV although we had to squeeze past each other to reach the bathroom.
Our route from Istanbul to the Black Sea took us up through the Bosphorus straits between Europe and Asia towards the Bulgarian port of Burgas where, as standard throughout the voyage, we arrived about dawn.
The passage through the Bosphoros Straits takes about two glorious hours, with a vista of passing ships, boats, bridges, buildings, towns and mountains to delight the soul.
The ship had just a few feet to spare between the top of its funnel structure and the high bridges spanning the waters between Europe and Asia.
TYPICALLY DRAB BUILDING IN BURGAS
Burgas did not delight the soul. The city appeared somewhat down at heel in spite of several times having been voted the best place in which to live in Bulgaria. This we gleaned from our excellent guide, Todor, who accompanied us on the coach to the ancient peninsula settlement of Nessebar, some 45 minutes along the coast.
Everywhere we were struck by the decrepit state of old buildings and the skeletons of incomplete new ones, the product of a mad construction frenzy, a la Spain and Ireland.
SKELETON CONSTRUCTIONS LINED THE ROAD
Todor, in private conversation, declared his despair of his country's corrupt politicians and its bleak future.
It was recording negative population growth, he told us, as its youth fled abroad in search of better lives.
The same story, sadly, is true of Portugal and other European countries - as well as much of Africa, come to think of it.
TODOR CONDUCTING US AROUND NESSEBAR
Nessebar itself was well worth the visit, an ancient settlement linked by a sandbar (now paved) to the mainland and inhabited down the millennia by half a dozen different civilizations.
It is best known for its numerous churches, dating back to the dawn of civilization (whenever that was).
Some of these were in ruins. Others had been restored.
Most striking were the glittering icons in both churches and the town museum.
As we made our way around the town we had to fend off the inevitable tourist shop proprietors who hovered at the doors, doing their best to entice visitors in.
Nessebar has more tourist traps than churches but the former were not doing good business on the day we visited. The tourist season was nearing an end and the group stuck close to our guide.
On our return to the ship, both passengers and possessions were screened as they were on all excursions. To my great irritation, a security officer confiscated my Swiss pocket-knife, saying these were not permitted on the ship. I argued my case vociferously for keeping it but to no avail. I was seriously peeved. My pocket knife is an essential tool in my life.
The knife had come aboard in my suitcase which had got through basic port screening in Istanbul with no trouble. I complained about its confiscation to Guest Relations, who gave me a form to fill in relating to my complaint - and fill it in I did at length, of which more later.
Our next stop, the following day, was further along the Bulgarian coast at Varna where we were due to tender ashore.
We were dubious about this prospect for the wind was up and the swell was daunting.
Although the crew were able to lower a couple of boats into the heaving waters it proved impossible to secure them to the platform at the exit.
They bobbed up and down like a busty maiden in a hurry.
TESTING THE WATERS AT VARNA
Excursion organizers got as far as sending us to the door in the hull on deck one where we watched events nervously, before sending us back upstairs to await the captain's decision.
He, wisely, called things off in the interests of passenger safety.
In fact, only the most agile passengers would have been able to transfer to the tenders and such passengers were few and far between.
The majority were senior citizens and many were portly - to put it mildly.
They used only elevators to travel between decks. (We generally climbed.)
Moreover, as the captain noted, there was a danger that the port would be closed if conditions grew worse, stranding us ashore.
Being stranded in Varna was not an appealing prospect. (The excursion organisers reminded us repeatedly to be back on board on time or find our own way to the next port of call!)
Day three brought us to Constanta, Romania's main port and one of the largest in Europe.
Most of the country's navy seemed to be berthed around us along with a variety of shipping and some 15 tugs of all sizes.
Cargo boats were busy loading and unloading at the quayside.
Shuttle buses ran passengers through the port and into the centre of town.
From there we made our way slowly down a newly-paved, semi-pedestrianized street that led towards a square with some official-looking buildings.
The houses on either side of the street were badly in need of a coat of paint. Although obviously once grand, most were shabby and often crumbling.
Numerous signs warned the public to beware of falling debris.
It was advisable to look down as well as up because nasty holes in the road remained to be filled in.
We stopped for coffee at a smart cafe staffed by attractive young English-speaking waiters to take the scene in. Then we made our way in bright sunlight across the square towards the city museum.
Partly blinded by the glare, both Jones and I missed a step to a lower level. She recovered without hurting herself and was quite peeved to find that I had twisted my knee and was reduced to a limp.
I pointed out as I hobbled after her that one could not choose the degree of one's injuries. This was up to fate.
CONSTANTA'S CRUMBLING MUSEUM
So the tour of the museum was a little stressful if interesting. Ditto that of a most beautiful Orthodox Church nearby. Still we made it back safely, if slowly, to the bus and the ship.
Not that Jones had escaped troubles entirely herself. She had by this time picked up my cold although she insisted between sniffles and coughs that she had only a minor dose.
She also one afternoon, distractedly, while trying to find me, walked into a glass door on the ship, skinning and bloodying her nose as well as whacking her expensive front teeth.
Of this I knew nothing until I discovered her bruised and woeful in the cabin.
Throughout the cruise we took our meals mainly at the large 10th deck buffet restaurant and various side grills, seldom visiting the formal dining room. There were numerous bars and lounges where we made good use of the drinks package that we had been awarded for booking early.
However, as I discovered, ours was only the basic drinks package, entitling us to (any number of) drinks priced up to 9 dollars. The superior package brought drinks priced up to 12 dollars and the elite package entitled one to drink in style. As I was unwilling to pay the additional 10 dollars a day to upgrade, we confined ourselves to ordinary wines and spirits.
For the same budgetary considerations we stayed away from the premium restaurants.
Only a gourmet could have complained about the variety and quality of food on offer in the buffet pretty much around the clock. There was a selection to satisfy every taste with optional stir-fry and grill corners as well as minor specialist outlets on the pool deck.
I stopped one lunchtime to ask one of the food servers what they did with the leftovers. We pump them into the sea, she told me. Seeing the surprise on my face, she explained that regulations permitted food to be displayed for a maximum of four hours. Then the remains had to be scrapped. Don't worry, she added; it makes a lot of fish very happy.
Day four was a sea day as we turned south across the Black Sea towards the Turkish port of Trabzon.
The city would not normally have attracted cruise ships but had been hastily added to their itineraries as a result of the expurgation of Crimea.
Trabzon turned out to be a large commercial centre - busy, gritty and down to earth.
After acquiring a map (all but useless), we tramped off in the direction of the Ayasofya mosque, allegedly the prime attraction.
Along the way we passed scores of tiny shops, their proprietors often standing at the door either in hope or conversation.
On the pavements men sat on low stools, playing games or drinking tea/coffee from small glasses.
Sleeping dogs lay sprawled out at the side of the road, indifferent to the traffic of both vehicles and pedestrians.
Several friendly policemen stationed outside the tourist office told us that it was closed for the day.
We speculated that it might be a holiday, which would explain why so many men were simply passing the time on the sidewalks;
although where-ever we went in Turkey we found a lot of guys idling the hours away on the streets and appearing fairly content to be doing so.
So we tramped on, once mutely seeking directions (by pointing at the map) and keeping half an eye on the progress of equally-puzzled fellow passengers.
Some two hours after setting out we came across the mosque, better known for its age and stone construction than any eye-catching features.
In fact, if we hadn't been told it was famous, we would never have guessed.
Non-believers had a separate shoes-on entrance to the mosque, which gave them a view of proceedings, not that there was much to see other than a couple of men kneeling on the extensive carpet and the elevated pulpit from which the imam preached on Fridays.
Still, it was our first visit to a mosque and it was quite interesting to compare its interior with places of worship more familiar to us.
On subsequent visits to other mosques, our guides spoke about mosque etiquette and the requirements of the Islamic religion.
In the gardens outside the mosque an ample Turkish bride clad in white was posing with her groom for pictures.
He appeared to be more of an accessory as grooms so often do. We wondered whether a white dress had the same significance in Turkey as it did in the west (until the presence of the bride's children at the wedding cast it into doubt).
In Trabzon, as elsewhere in Turkey, women's dress ranged through typical western outfits to the all enveloping burqa (although we were told that Arab women rather than Turks wore these) a case of whatever made you, your husband or society happy.
Some of the outfits, while modest in the extreme, were most attractive and left passers-by in no doubt about the slim figures they adorned.
While a majority of women covered their heads with scarves, many didn't and nobody seemed bothered about anybody else's choice of dress.
Men typically wore slacks or jeans. Few wore hats. We gathered that the fez had been banned by Kemal Ataturk when he instituted his reforms of Turkish society.
Day five bought us to the pretty port of Sinop, a town of some 70,000 people.
Phyllis, the young Turkish guide who led our tour of the town, proved to be as knowledgable and fluent as Todor had in Bulgaria.
She had the knack of mixing in the right amount of history, culture and conversation.
It was a treat to have so accomplished a guide.
Our first stop was at the monument and museum marking the 1853 Crimean war. Thence to the main mosque and the adjoining madrassa. The imam was friendly and pleased to allow tour groups in - shoes at the door please.
Worshippers were separated by sex as is customary. In this instance, women worshipped upstairs, men down.
Phyllis commented that one reason put forward for this separation was that worshippers had to bend forward while praying - and it was thought unseemly that they might behold the wrong bottoms.
We spent the afternoon wandering around the town, stopping off for coffee and a sweetmeat at a cafe. Jones tried Turkish coffee. I preferred to stick to cappuccino.
I was looking for a walking stick, which I found, and Jones for a strainer (for her yoghurt culture) which she didn't.
We got back to the ship to find a couple of urgent messages on the phone from Guest Reception asking me to call.
I turned up the following morning to find the heads of Guest Relations and Security anxious to speak to me.
It seems the note I'd written suggesting that the security chiefs be made to walk the plank for contradictions in their policy, and the head of music be shot for the racket we had to endure in the buffet, had worried the senior staff. Did they have a dangerous lunatic on board?
I think I was able to reassure them that I wasn't planning to hijack the ship. In the course of a 15 minute conversation, I pointed out all the inconsistencies in their security that had so irritated me. For their part, they accepted my arguments but explained why these anomalies had arisen and what they were striving to do about them.
OUR 300 METRE CORRIDOR
We parted on speaking terms even if we failed to see eye to eye. Later I received first a complimentary bottle of wine and then a box of chocolates from Guest Relations in what I interpreted as fence-mending gestures. I responded by leaving an anonymous ("From a secret admirer") pot of flowers for my favorite guest relations officer, a woman who had borne my considerable ire with praise-worthy patience.
The ship had a dedicated Internet room on board, along with a couple of staff specializing in and selling Apple products. The team leader gave three lectures on how to make the most of iPhones and iPads, which I found very useful. Wifi was available throughout the vessel albeit at the usual outrageous prices. I shrugged and coughed up.
Another useful facility was the ship's proprietary cellphone system although, to Jones's great frustration, my phone didn't always lock into it and several of her attempts to reach me were fruitless.
There were two guest lecturers on board, both specialists in the history and culture of the region. One, a retired medical doctor, was brilliant.
He really captured the spirit of the place with vivid stories and an inspired turn of phrase.
The other was good but not in the same class. Even so, we attended as many lectures as we could, including those by the art department, and learned a great deal from them.
So did a great many other passengers. The ship's theatre must have accommodated close to a thousand people.
Our initial stop in Greece was at the island of Mykonos.
Ours was the first of three cruise ships to pull in and the only one to tie up at the single quay.
For this advantage we were very grateful as the wind was blowing a gale and the other two ships found that they were unable to tender ashore.
After an hour or two, they upped anchor and took off.
Mykonos is a pretty holiday island.
Hora, the only town of note, lies five minutes' drive away on the far side of the harbour.
It's a maze of narrow streets, with a tourist shopping district leading down to the cafes and bars at the shore.
All the buildings are painted a uniform white, along with some tree trunks and the cement grouting to the slate-paved lanes.
Our real destination, however, was the nearby rocky island of Delos, mythological birthplace of the god, Apollo, and his sister, Artemis.
The impressive archeological remains of houses, shops and temples, occupying several hectares, date back at least six centuries before the birth of Christ.
In some houses impressive mosaics remained.
The town's drainage and water supply system put medieval Europe to shame.
Yet again we had an excellent guide who was able to convey vivid accounts of both the mythology and history of the island.
She explained how, in the absence of newspapers and electronic media, the ancient Greeks had used the theatres largely to educate their youth in the mores and culture of their society with didactic plays.
Many of the statues recovered from the site were on display in the island museum.
The only downside was the rough 30 minute boat ride over to Delos and the hairy return in 45 knot winds.
Passengers at the back of the open deck were soaked with spray.
They could have gone below deck of they'd wanted to stay dry.
Jones had wisely chosen a sheltered seat right behind the cabin. Although we bounced around, we got back to Mykonos none the worse for wear.
When it came to our cruise ship's departure, it took the captain's considerable skill to guide his vessel out of port, with a tug and both port side thrusters battling to hold the high-sided vessel steady against the relentless battering of the wind.
It was all but impossible to stand on the deck without grasping the rail. The wind was gusting, we were informed at up to 55 knots.
It made one aware of just how unpleasant it might be to be caught in a hurricane.
From Mykonos we proceeded to Athens where we'd booked a walking tour of the city.
Both Barbara and I had made previous visits to Athens incorporating the Acropolis. Given the horde of tourists bearing down on the famous hill, we opted not to visit it again.
Instead, under the guidance of Nikos, we took in the ruins of the temple of Zeus, the 19th century Olympic stadium and the Greek presidential guard, as well as some wonderful gardens in the heart of the city.
We were struck by the number of dogs that we saw everywhere, well-fed dogs obviously happy in their skins.
They sauntered along pavements, relaxed in the squares and made themselves at home in the parks. At no point did they threaten anybody other than themselves by crossing busy streets.
Nikos said they were strays but that all had been neutered and vaccinated. Their status was attested by plastic tags in their ears.
The dogs were fed by well-wishers and appeared to co-exist peacefully with their fellow creatures, both canine and feline.
As in Turkey, it was common to see such dogs fast asleep on the side of the road, oblivious to the traffic.
The passing public ignored them and they returned the compliment.
In the Plaka commercial district below the Acropolis, several shopkeepers did their utmost to entice us in.
"Hello", they would say, and "Where are you from?" "I have something to show you. You don't have to buy".
Jones, who is very difficult to tempt, was sorely tempted by a most beautiful necklace.
Had we won the lottery, I'd have been easily enticed into several shops because the quality of the jewellery on offer was outstanding.
Kusadasi was our last stop prior to our return to Istanbul.
It's the Turkish port closest to the ruins of Ephesus, a 45 minute trip away by coach.
We had booked ourselves on a iPod-led walk down the two-mile route through the restored sections of the ancient city.
For once we found ourselves with a young guide who had difficulty communicating. But as her task was merely to deliver us to one gate and fetch us from another, this wasn't serious.
Inevitably we had to share the Ephesus experience with thousands of other visitors, many of them Orientals clustering around their noisy guides.
But there was lots of opportunity to leave the main tourist route and explore areas of interest more closely.
As with Delos, archeologists are continuing to excavate the city, financed by the considerable income from the gate.
Entry cost about ten euros (thirty lira) a head.
On every side languid cats stretched themselves out on rock slabs in the sun, ignoring the tide of humanity sweeping past them.
Ephesus, that part of the city already excavated, is seriously impressive.
It was one of the destinations that had attracted us to the cruise and it didn't disappoint.
We had two hours there on our excursion but could easily have spent four.
The remains of the giant acoustically-perfect theatre were stunning.
Jones had made a previous visit to Ephesus while accompanying an old friend on a cruise.
But, she said, rain had poured down throughout the excursion and they had returned to their ship soaked to the skin. We suffered no such misfortune.
On our return to Kusadasi we unwisely allowed ourselves to be talked into attending an exhibition of Turkish carpets.
Along with many handsome carpets came some very smooth and persuasive salesmen.
After explaining how carpets were made and the various materials used, they set about some serious marketing.
We would probably have come home with a carpet were it not that we had (deliberately) left our credit cards in the cabin, a policy I pursued throughout the trip.
Sharing our pier in Kusadasi was a Celebrity sister-ship, the vast 126,000 ton Reflection, a third bigger than ours.
The cabins - staterooms as they were always referred to - appeared to be balconies only rather than humble portholes.
The suites offered exterior jacuzzis, dining tables and sun-loungers.
The Constellation was quite big enough for us. I have to say that I was impressed by our ship.
The cabin was adequate, the food was good, the guest speakers shone, the excursions were well worth the money and the entertainment was superb.
The vessel was steady in high winds, pitching slightly but hardly rolling. We were never aware of the throb of the engines or propellers, unlike other ships we've been on.
My only complaints were the confiscation of my penknife, the screechy over-amplified music in the lounges and on deck, and the endless slamming of spring-loaded cabin and cupboard doors.
THE CENTRAL LOBBY
In the early hours of the morning these provoked some strong language and hammering on walls.
I asked Guest Relations to have a quiet word with our neighbours, the principal suspects.
If they did, we didn't notice any improvement. Doors clanged and I swore late into the night. Presumably, other passengers were deaf to them or unwilling to complain.
For us, this really detracted from the quality of the cruise.
BLUE MOSQUE INTERIOR
Our final stop was Istanbul, our starting point.
We berthed just after lunch, in time to join an excursion that took us around the glorious Blue Mosque as well as an enormous 6th century underground cistern before dropping us off at the city's famous bazaar, a great network of lanes in which it would be easy to get lost.
The crowds and clamour around the shops there were not my scene but the jewelry and leatherwork were superb and if we'd had money to spare we might have returned home with many a splendid thing.
The following day, after disembarking and getting a taxi to our hotel, we set off on foot for the archeology museum, set in the gardens of the Topkapi Palace whose high walls overlook the hotel. We had hoped to visit the Palace museum as well but found this closed on Tuesdays.
The archeological museum's galleries, scattered among several buildings, are in the process of being redesigned. The displays are extensive.
Trying to take in the detail of where antiquities originated and under whose reign they were produced soon became overwhelming given the region's 8,000 year history.
We concentrated on the most spectacular objects. Just as interesting were the variety of visitors and the dogs and cats that have made themselves at home in the grounds.
The afternoon we devoted to the Ayasofya (church/mosque) museum, separated by a large square (the former hippodrome) from the Blue Mosque.
The building is just as impressive, if not quite as beautiful, as the mosque it faces.
Like the mosque it is vast. The interior, with its mixture of Christian and Islamic iconography, bears testimony to its long religious history.
Some two thirds of the building is closed to the public for badly needed restoration. One can see the water damage to the great cupola high overhead.
To achieve the repairs, engineers have erected a mountain of scaffolding that rises in spidery fashion to the roof.
At corners of the building, interior ramps, set within towers, lead to and from the extensive gallery above.
One can look down on the spot where, for hundreds of years, Byzantium's eastern Roman emperors were crowned.
Outside, persistent trinket sellers and would-be guides pestered tourists unmercifully.
We took to responding to them in either Afrikaans or Portuguese. "You're joking," responded one, (rightly) convinced that we could understand him well enough.
Some shops advertised their wares as GENUINE FAKE WATCHES.
If you wanted to wear a famous brand on your wrist for a small investment, they were delighted to help you.
Finally, we walked home through the great Gulhane park that lies within the palace walls, once the private domain of the Ottoman rulers. It took us half an hour to reach the far gate and as long to make our way back along the Marmara Sea shore to the hotel.
I had long wanted to visit Istanbul - Jones already had - and it didn't disappoint. It's a great place to start and finish a holiday.
Now, once October is out of the way, it's back on to the straight and narrow.
