GAUDI'S SAGRADA FAMILIA

Friday, April 29^th

We've been complaining so much about the crush of tourists everywhere that we should give a glimmer of hope for anyone thinking of traveling to Europe. Yes, tourists are everywhere (us included), but the travel writer Rick Steves suggested that a good way to beat the long lines at many places. Buy tickets or passes on line, and usually, you can go in a special entrance, or at least, jump to the head of the line.

This morning, at just before 9:00 am, we arrived at Antoni Gaudi's most famous building, the Cathedral Sagrada Familia (Holy Family), the one with towers that look like partially melted candles. Already, the line went around the block. So, we went looking for a separate entrance and followed people down a path next to a construction hut into the building. No one asked for any tickets at all, and we discovered that a mass was about to begin behind the high altar.

This wasn't what Steves intended with his advice, but it gave us an unexpected and rare opportunity to look back and see the cathedral virtually empty of the hordes that would soon fill it. We think that we could have stayed for part of the mass and then just mingled with the hordes free of charge ( ! ), but it being a church, and all, we went back out, jumped to the head of the line, and entered with the timed-entry tickets that the Kesslers had bought for us the day before we arrived.

We also followed Steves' advice to go to the museum areas in the crypt first, including a twenty minute film in English on the construction of the cathedral. Most of the areas were entirely deserted. Later, we discovered that everyone else had been advised to see the cathedral first, then the museums.

Gaudi, who died in 1926, never finished his great cathedral, but others have taken over the project and it's projected to be completed in another few decades. However, he did finish enough of it to put his unique stamp on it, and he left notes and designs for those who followed him.

Gaudi used nature as inspiration for all his work, and someday, when the front entrance is finished, the first thing you'll see when you look down the long, center aisle is the main altar. (We saw it from inside.) On the way are rows of columns, but unlike those in a medieval cathedral, his resemble tall trees with branches. The desired effect is like being on the floor of a rain forest with light filtering in from breaks in the lofty canopy.

[Remember: You can click on photos to enlarge them, and then click again to see fine details.]

Far above the main alter is a skylight that illuminates a lace-like ceiling that is hard to describe, but miraculous to look at. It's like gazing up at sunlight through the flimsy petals of a flower. The effect is at once delicate and inspiring. This is something you'd never expect in a massive cathedral, just as delicate rose windows, especially in solid medieval cathedrals, seem oddly out of place.

Gaudi once wrote that the tree outside his window was his “master,” and his towering, slender columns are a testament to that, but even small details come from natural models. Just to the right of the front entrance, for example, is a font for holy water molded in the shape of sea shell. Outside too, in addition to such religious scenes as the nativity, are sculptures of real animals.

It's hard to get good shots of the exterior of the cathedral, but Bob did his best, and all of us were moved by our visit to Barcelona's most famous landmark. After, we again followed Rick Steves' advice and took the #50 bus all the way across town to the huge Montjuic Park. We had planned to visit the castle at the top of the hill, but by then, it had begun to rain off and on, so we got off at the Fundacio Joan Miro, which has the world's best collection of his art. (Again, having bought Art Pass cards, we jumped to the head of the line.)

Because it's mostly abstract, Miro is hard to understand intellectually, but Rick Steves gives the following useful advice: “First meditate on it, then read the title (for example, The Smile of a Tear), then meditate on it again. Repeat the process until you have an epiphany.” At one point, the group had to come back to pick up Stew, who was still sitting on a bench awaiting his.

Finally, we trudged, museum-wearily down hill to the Catalan Art Museum, which is housed in a huge, probably 19^th Century building that was gutted so that the interior could be totally rebuilt. It now has a seemingly endless number of modern galleries, although the wing housing the oldest part of its collection was closed. We did manage to tour galleries of impressive Spanish impressionists and several rooms of fascinating art nouveau furniture and other pieces of art before throwing in our towels.

After, we caught another bus back to our part of the city, had some much-needed down time, and met later for more wine and tapas. We also promised ourselves that tomorrow would not be quite so filled with activities.

BARCELONA

REMEMBER I TOLD YOU TO CLICK ON THE PICS FOR LARGER VERSIONS?

WELL, YOU CAN ALSO CLICK ON THAT LARGER VERSION AND GET AN EVEN BIGGER IMAGE...ONE THAT SHOWS ALL THE DETAILS!

Thursday, April 28^th, Barcelona.

We found our way to the hotel by bus (feeling very proud of ourselves), and met our friends from Tucson, the Kesslers, who had arrived yesterday. 

Then we all went together to Guell Park, which had been designed a century ago by Gaudi. It is now so famous that tour buses deposit hundreds of people there, pretty much spoiling the visit for everyone including those on the buses. 

We had hoped to go to one of the houses Gaudi designed (The Casa Mila), but the line to get in was so long we opted to admire it from the outside.

In the evening, we went to a tapas bar, sat at the counter, and just pointed to one selection after another. Amazing food.

CADIZ, MALAGA, AND LAST DAY AT SEA

REMEMBER TO CLICK ON THE PICS FOR LARGER VERSIONS!!!!



Monday April 25^th, Cadiz, Spain

Often when traveling, the best experiences come when you least expect them. Cadiz (pronounced (Cah'-deeth) was one of those. We had not expected much, and it did help that the sun shown, there was a slight breeze, and the temperature was around 70 degrees. Perfect.

Two local tourist agents came aboard ship to give us maps and advice. We've never been to a city that was better organized. The map was as clear as that for the London underground, and it had four, color-coded walking tours including the Medieval District, Castles and Bastions, and shopping. Much to our surprise, we discovered that once we were on the streets, there were color-coded lines on the sidewalks to follow, like the Freedom Trail in Boston.

 

We circled the city counter-clockwise beginning with a stroll along an ancient wall that once defended it from an attack from the sea. It included a small but beautiful park with some ancient trees that were easily twenty feet in diameter.

 

A short detour inland took us along narrow cobble-stoned streets into interesting squares, including one named Plaza de San Francisco. It had a small church and a couple of cafes, but that was not enough to leave our hearts in. Another place had a more beautiful church, and after seeing even more later in the day, we didn't even bother to photograph the cathedral when we came to it.

There were more gardens, though, including a most impressive one that had topiary,  a fanciful waterfall,

 

and a fountain with a couple of kids under an umbrella. 

Eventually, we found ourselves in a market area that included stalls for meats, vegetables, pastries, leather goods, and lots of other things.

 

We returned to the ship for lunch and to pick up our travel computer, and in the afternoon, we sat in one of three parks where the city provides free wi-fi. There we updated our blog, answered emails, and watched people going by. When it came time to return to the ship, we didn't want to leave.

That evening, we learned that our waiter, Irwin, would be leaving the next day to fly home to join his wife, who is in the hospital with their first child. We will miss his nightly greetings of “Sir Bob” and “Sir Steward.”

Tuesday, April 26^th, Malaga and a day-trip to the Alhambra.

The Alhambra is perhaps Spain's most famous World Heritage Site (along with the City of Toledo). Because it was almost two hours from our port, Malaga (pronounced (MAH-lah-gah), we opted to take a tour. Since ship-organized tours are usually overcrowded and always over-priced, we opted for one that Stew found on line (Top Ten Tours). It too was expensive, but it promised no more than ten to eighteen people per group.

Just after 8:00 am, our guide Debbie along with our driver Pepe (honest to God!) met us and our twelve fellow travelers, and all the way, she babbled on about the countryside and herself. She's from Birmingham, England, but has lived for twenty years in Spain. Some roadsigns shaped like bulls used to be owned by a liquor company but are now nationalized, and personally, Debbie does not approve of bull fighting. Oh, and great matadors make as much money as great football (soccer) players.

We beat the ship's tour buses to the Alhambra, where we met our licensed tour guide, Marie Something that begins with a rolled R. She handed out timed-entry tickets and battery-powered ear phones that worked once in awhile. Then she herded us through the first of several gates where ticket takers registered our entry by scanning our bar codes.

The Alhambra covers a large area on top  of a hill. (This is a view from a balcony of the Alhambra.) Built over many centuries, it reflects many ages, styles, and cultures, most predominantly the Moors, and its gardens and buildings are designed to please all the senses. We noted in particular the scent of flowers including a wall of yellow Lady Banks roses (like those at home that we call 'Tombstone Roses') and everywhere, inside and out, there were fountains, reflecting pools, and babbling sluices. Water, it seems, was not only the source of life, but also of welcome. Sadly, many fountains were dry, and the most famous one, which had twelve marble lions spouting water toward a center fountain, was closed for repair. Only the restored lions were on display in a special room. (No photos, please.)

Neatly trimmed myrtle or boxwood hedges bordered the many individual gardens, and spikes of towering cypress lined the walkways. Some areas had shady arbors, and others had covered gates carved out of green banks of cypress leading to new vistas. Pansies and early roses were in bloom.

The palaces had intricate Arabic decorations on their walls, arches, pillars, and ceilings. Marie said something about their relation to mathematics, the science that comes closest to divine perfection (as you know, Joe), but it was hard to catch what she said. No decorations were representational, since that would be sacrilegious.

Bob only took a few photographs, because masses of impatient and irritable tour-bus-deposited sightseers covered nearly every square inch of the Alhambra, both inside and out. Somehow, our group of fourteen managed to stick together most of the time, but having one guide in an undulating sea of tourists and other guides gave us no advantage. Sometimes, narratives from other tour leaders even infiltrated our earphones.

Once, when waiting in a crush of tour groups for our next timed-entry, Marie explained that in order for her to be licensed as a guide, she had had to be a university graduate and then pass a series of special examinations in history, horticulture (to identify plants that tourists might point at), and site-specific information. She then expressed her disgust at ship-organized tour guides who had little or no training, but led huge busloads of unquestioning people.

On the long bus ride back to the ship, we overheard fellow passengers discuss our shared cultural experiences.

“Enjoy the trip?”

“Wonderful.”

“Just amazing.”

“Never knew such a place existed.”

“Nice they included so many rest stops.”

“Have a coffee at one cafe; get rid of it at the next cafe. Recycle!”

(Laughter)

When a wife of a couple of fellow travelers asked Bob, “Wasn't that wonderful?” Bob hesitated, then bravely replied with a shrug,

“I found it rather underwhelming.”

“I agree,” said the man.

“Really?” said the woman.

We know that the Brucatos, our savvy, world-traveling neighbors up the street, loved their visit to the Alhambra, but typically, they went on their own, spent two nights in town, and probably bribed the gatekeepers to let them slip in well ahead of the crowds. That would have made all the difference.

Wednesday, April 27, at sea.

Ian, or terminally chirpy cruise director, urged us not to spend the day packing. It is packed with fun activities. At a disembarkation presentation in the morning, we were told there would be time later to pack. Just push all the dirty laundry in your bag, and if it won't fit, get your Indonesian room steward to get inside and help pull it things in.

“Just don't forget to let him back out. I accidentily have two at home and they're fantastic!”

At breakfast, we ran into Irwin (our dining room evening steward). He was unable to fly home from Malaga, because he had to get a Spanish visa, available only in Barcelona. His wife has not delivered their baby yet, but she does have family with her.

Holland America is arranging his flight to Indonesia, but it will withhold all of his pay ($50/month, plus tips) and all of his share of all those tips collected from all of the passengers during our 16-day trip. He'll even owe the company another one or two thousand, because he had to break his contract to be with his wife.

His annual salary depends almost entirely on his share of tips and ranges from $18,000 to $24,000 per year, but that is four times what he could earn at home. Holland America requires a ten-month contract, but Disney offers some for six months. Although he has been with HAL since 2004, he may switch to Disney in order to see his family more often.

Somehow, we feel guilty having anything to do with Carnival, the corporation that owns HAL and even bought the Cunard Line a few years ago. By registering their ships in foreign countries, they can employ slave labor, but if passengers did not buy tickets and agree to pay $11/day/person for staff, Irwin and others would have no jobs. So what do you do besides give your wait-staff side tips?

Bob wondered whether or not Irwin could have invented his story to encourage larger tips. Neither of us think so, but the world we live in has taught us to be aware of scams. If Irwin's is one of them, he would almost deserve his extra tip for being such a good actor.

At dinner, we bade farewell to Barbro and Gören and to Ingegärd and Gun. After dinner, we went up to the Silk Den watching a red sun set for about an hour hoping to say goodbye Ron and Paul, and to Robin and Cesar, but none of them showed up. We've exchanged email addresses and everyone has the address of this web site. Will we ever see or hear from any of them again, or will they just be “shipboard romances”?

PORTIMAO - A QUAINT FISHING VILLAGE

Sunday, April 24^th, Portimao, Portugal. (Easter Sunday)

From what we'd read, Portimao, on the southern Algarve Coast of Portugal, would be a sleepy fishing village with quaint shops, cobble-stoned streets, and a long promenade along the coastline. It is famous for nothing in particular except grilled sardine sandwiches, the aroma of which “permeates every street.”

The view from the ship suggested that it was about as quaint as Miami. Since we had to moor outside the harbor, so we took a tender in, and almost fell for the ship-supplied shuttle bus in town.

“How much?” Stew asked.

$10 each, round-trip.”

“How far is it?”

“Four kilometers.” [About a mile.]

Needless to say, we started off on foot and soon found ourselves lost in an area with tall buildings and totally empty streets. It was like something out of a sci-fi movie, where all inhabitants had been abducted by aliens. Eventually, we stumbled onto a corner cafe where we showed a few locals the map our ship had provided. The lady at the counter called over an elderly gentleman, and together, they studied it as if it were something from our space ship. Clearly, we were way off the map.

Through hand-signals, shrugs, and head-shaking, the man finally pointed us in a direction where little streets turned into larger ones, eventually producing a “centro” sign with an arrow pointing toward the old town. There, we did find cobble-stoned streets, and they were filled with tourists gazing at shops shuttered for Easter Sunday. Sounds of singing came from a small church.

After a while, we also found the promenade, where a free-internet cafe allowed us to update our blog and answer email. Bob had a coffee and Stew sampled a world-famous toasted sardine sandwich. He agreed with a friend who later commented,

“It was the best sardine sandwich I've ever had.”

PORTIMAO, PORTUGAL

Wednesday, April 20^th. Ponta Delgada, The Azores.

Yesterday, we overheard three street-toughened women with Brooklyn accents discuss our next port of call.

“It's in Europe, isn't it?” asked one.

“They speak European.”

“Portuguese.”

“Whatever.”

Pause.

“It's lunchtime. I'm getting a hawt dawh-wug.”

“Okay. Have a good one.”

Ponta Delgada is on the volcanic island of Sao Miguel, the largest of nine that make up the autonomous region of the Azores. It's 900 nautical miles from Portugal, which discovered it in 1427. The area's total population is 237,000.

The city is not known for much of anything. Our normally chirpy ship's newsletter admits that the 16^th Century religious paintings in its museum are by unknown artists, but are “nevertheless beautiful.” An on-line site states flat-out that the food is “generally poor, but squid can be good.”

We wandered up a hill to a dramatic but somewhat decrepit church on the highest point of land. A dozen or more ancient trees stood guard around it, and the view was excellent. After, Bob bought a couple of bottles of wine to bring back to the ship, and we found a cafe with free internet. Bob uploaded the blog and answered some emails while we both enjoyed lattes (1 euro/each or $1.44/each!) The connection wasn't the fastest so we basically read our emails and only answered those that required immediate responses.

If more people wrote us emails, we'd answer those too, especially when we get to our hotel in Barcelona a week from now. Take note Pam, David, Joe Jr., Cheryl, Margaret, Ellen, Karin . . . And thank you, Gary and Bob G, for keeping us up to date!

Friday, April 22^nd. Lisbon. (Good Friday)

After another day at sea (April 21^st), we sailed under Lisbon's version of the Golden Gate Bridge and arrived at a new dock around 2:00 pm. The new dock is east of the center of town (old dock is west) and none of our maps or the one the ship handed out showed this dock, but we could see St. George's Castle at the top of the hill. That, we thought, should be an easy stroll to acquaint us with the city.

The Alfama area beneath the castle is the oldest in the city, having survived the devastating earthquake of 1755. The problem is that its streets are like a tangle of yarn, some going straight up, some veering off to the left or right, and some disappearing altogether through a doorway with steps leading to who-knows-where? How invading armies ever found the castle at all is a mystery.

Houses in the area are also a jumble. You'd have to be born here to find your way home. Meanwhile, intermittent light drizzle began to turn into real rain, so instead of exploring further, we called it a day after two or three hours.

Saturday, April 23^rd, Lisbon.

We took the metro from a station right across from the ship's dock up to the Calouste Gulbenkian Museum, established in 1955 by “one of the 20^th Century's wealthiest men.” It's a small, modern building with what might best be described as an eclectic collection that includes ancient Egyptian and Greek coins, a mummy's mask, Islamic ceramics, oriental carpets and wall hangings, illustrated Medieval books, a della Robbia plaque, a sprinkling of medieval religious paintings, some sculptures by Houdon and Rodin, a few rooms of Louis XIV furniture and paintings, a Rembrandt, a Monet, a Cassett mother and child, a couple of early Turner seascapes, a Sargent portrait, a Gainsborough, some 18^th Century silverware, and some odds and ends of art nouveau.

After this whirlwind tour of eastern and western art, we took the metro back to Restauraddores Station, which is in the Rossario section of the city. By then, the drizzle was getting heavier, and by the time we passed the Elevador Santa Justa with its long line of passengers waiting to get on, the rain began to come down in earnest.

Bob took a photo of the central walking street, Rue Augusta, in the Baxia (pronounced BAI sha) District, facing the Victoria Arch, filled with people carrying umbrellas. We stopped awhile under the awning of a shop, where Bob took another photo of wet tourists and locals. You can see how many of the streets are made from black and white small stones formed into dramatic patterns. Finally, as the shower let up, we continued on down to the city's central square, Praca do Comércio, on the waterfront, with its sculpture of someone on horseback.

This section of the city was well laid out after the great earthquake of 1755, and from there, it was a short walk back to the ship in time for a late lunch.

It is from this exact spot in the Praca do Comércio that Bob had his picture taken exactly 41 years ago to the month when he stopped here on a Northern European Cruise while in the US Navy. Sadly, this picture can no longer be found. (Whew!)

Today we are in Portimao, Portugal. The sun has come out and the computer battery is running low. Till later...

IN PONTA DELGARDA, AZORES

April 16 – 19

Four days at sea on Holland America's Eurodam. It's a tough life.

Breakfast is on the Lido Deck, where one can choose from a vast buffet of egg dishes (scrambled, fried, poached, soft-boiled, and omelets with your choice of almost anything added), hot and cold cereals, fruit of all kinds, yogurt in boxes or in a parfait with fruit and a touch of granola, breads, muffins, pastries, coffee, and a variety of teas. An eight-page digest of news from the New York Times is available for reading over a second cup of coffee.

Speed-walking on the Promenade Deck is nothing like that in Tucson. The track at Morris Udall is steady, but in the middle of the Atlantic, when the ship rides up an ocean swell, it feels as if you're lugging a ten-pound weight in each hand; then, when it dips down, you feel like Bugs Bunny racing in mid-air after dropping off a cliff.

Meanwhile, waves tip the ship from side to side, so walkers stagger about like drunken sailors. At home, the Zs and Slow-Bob may cruise serenely like the Queen Mary in calm seas; Rose may tack like a skiff in a light breeze, and Jean may sip by like a Chris-Craft, but on deck, you lurch from railing to deck chairs, hoping not to collide with other passengers.

Then there's the wind. Add 27 knots to however many the ship is cruising at, and on one side, you lean into it like a speed-racer; on the other, you just hoist your spinnaker and let it carry you along. At 55 degrees, it bracing, to say the least. You're also aware, always, that there's over three miles of dark water straight down between you and terra firma.

The ship's menu of activities for the day runs from 7:00 am to 11:00 pm and includes such options as Tai Chi on Deck, Sudoku, Mass, Acupuncture (most stimulating with 4 – 5 meter waves), travel lectures, a seminar on how to eat more and weigh less, bridge, golf putting, line dancing, culinary arts demonstrations, chess tournaments, tea at 3:00 pm, bingo, meeting of Friends of Bill (AA), an abs class, pre-and-post dinner shows of comedians, jugglers, dancers and singers belting out songs from the 60s and 70s, pub crawls, a trio, jazz, and dancing. And of course, there's the sing-a-long bar!

Usually we read in the library/computer area and find time for at least one nap. In the evening, we continue to meet in the Silk Den for discussions with our shipboard-friends about the same topics that dominate those at the Morris Udall Walk Track in Tucson—health (cardiac by-passes, cancer, etc.), food, and maybe politics (after carefully testing the waters to detect any lurking Republicans).

Dinner (“smart casual” or “formal,” which means only jacket and tie on this ship—unlike the Queens) is the highlight of the day. Unless we skip out for another restaurant such as Pinnacle Grill ($20/person extra unless you have a gift certificate from your travel agent, as we did once), Tamarind Pan Asian Cuisine (only $15/person, but we're too cheap), the Lido (buffet), or Canaletto Italian (free!), we join our four Swedish friends and a couple from “near San Francisco” who, because we suspect that they're not-so-secret Republican sympathizers, are seated, fortunately, at the far end of the table from us. The Swedes, like a delegation from the United Nations, provide a buffer zone.

This is Table 35:

Barbo, Göran, Bob, Stew, Ingegärd and Gun.

Bob and Göran entertain our end of the table with jokes and friendly insults. Göran turns red as a ripe tomato when he laughs too hard. This is hard to capture on film, but at least we have photographic evidence of his existence along with his wife Barbro. On the other side of the table are the other two members of our Swedish delegation, sisters Ingegärd and Gun.

Our waiter, Irwin (pronounced Ere-WHAN—here with Ingegärd & Gun) is from Indonesia, as are most of the service staff on the ship.

We usually sleep from ten pm to eight am, even with 4 – 5 meter seas, which make the bed feel like a gently rocking hammock. Every day or two we set our watches ahead an hour at two pm, as we gradually shift from east-coast time to European.

We are pleased that at our table is an important Rotarian from Sweden: Barbo and her husband, Göran.

APRIL 12 - 13- 14- 15 (BERMUDA!)

April 12

Our ship, Holland America's “Eurodam,” is the least impressive of any we've been on—confusing layout, no grand atrium, dated-looking. The guests appear to be mostly retirees, but more mobile than the ones on our Hawaiian tour. Many are international. Four at our dinner table are from a Swedish tour (fly over, sail back, fly home), and two at lunch the next day were from Spain.

Our first evening we saw “Butiful,” the Academy Award nominated film with Javier Bardem. The acting was amazing, but the film was overwhelmingly depressing, an odd choice for the ship's first night at sea.

April 13

After a ten-hour sleep, we began to feel adjusted to east-coast time, and began our speed-walking on the Promenade Deck. At lunch, we sat with a charming couple from Majorca. She spoke no English; he said that his was from school, 42 years ago. The other two were women from Sun City, Blufton, SC, although they did not know the Poiriers! One of them, a Republican version of Adelaide, from “Guys and Dolls,” quickly established that this was her first trip abroad, she had left her diamonds at home so they wouldn't be stolen by Gypsies, and “those people” (Spanish-speaking Mexicans) were moving in “everywhere.” Much of our discussion was with the Spanish couple who told us where to find the best flamenco.

In the Silk Den Lounge that evening, we met an interesting retired, married couple from San Francisco. Ron was a teacher and Paul a librarian. The former is four-star Mariner with Holland America (over two hundred days at sea), so he knew all the ins and outs of the ship and gets lots of perks including free laundry.

April 14

Perhaps we hadn't adjusted to east-coast time, because Bob needed a nap in the morning and another in the afternoon. Stew also had one in the afternoon. Or maybe it was just our settling into the slower pace of life on the sea.

Dinner was in Pinnacle Grill, the ship's up-scale restaurant, compliments of our agent who booked the cruise. The highlight was volcano cake, a version of the lava cake we'd had on our first cruise—a chocaholic's dream. Then we met Ron and Paul in the Silk Den for after-dinner drinks. Also with them were a deaf couple, Caesar and Robin, and their ship-supplied interpreter. Caesar signed an amazing story of his moving to this country from Spain when he was in his early twenties and having to learn not only a new language, but a new sign language.

April 15

Bermuda. 70s and sunny. Azure water. Took ferry to Hamilton, a tidy small village with overpriced shoppes. Took ferry back to ship for lunch on board.

After lunch headed out again to walk the area around the ship...King's Wharf...the old Royal Dockyards. Finally found a WiFi spot!

TUCSON TO FT LAUDERDALE

Monday, April 11, 2011.

We left the house at 7:08 am and arrived at our hotel, the Hyatt Summerfield Suites, in Fort Lauderdale almost exactly nine hours later. It was a routine trip except for Stew's being patted down at the Phoenix Airport. He had already taken off his coat, jacket, belt, and shoes to be x-rayed along with his luggage, and he held his glasses, dark glasses and pen in his left hand before submitting to a full body scan. Then he was whisked aside to assume the position—arms out, legs spread. The scanner found his wallet and passport pouch, both of which he examined closely. Then, running his plastic-gloved hands up Stew's leg toward the crotch, he discovered a suspicious bulge, which turned out to be a handkerchief and two sheets of Kleenex. Nothing was in Stew's rear pockets, so the scanner gruffly concluded that the 76-year-old was not a terrorist. I know that we feel a lot safer now.

Remember...few blog entries during our 16 night cruise to Barcelona.