Thursday, September 22, 2011

These are worth way more than a thousand words...

I'm still basking in the memories of last month's Pineda family cruise (don't worry, more updates and pictures are coming soon - I'm just a little slow.  Scroll down to earlier posts to see updates).  Those pesky on-ship photographers annoyed the hell out of us, but we finally broke down and decided to pose for them.  Little did they know we had our own special brand of glamour shot in mind. 

Here we are in all our airbrushed glory!  Yes, we also did a "real" pose, but it was nowhere near as interesting as this "dramatic" action shot.  The photographer didn't think we were serious and we literally had to force him to take the shot.  I think the results speak for themself, no? 

I mean, seriously, a red velvet chaise with matching red curtains?  Is this a cruise ship or a French whorehouse?

We actually couldn't believe how nice this picture of mom and dad turned out.  Now you can all see where we get our photogenic tendencies from. 
Ah, the (in)famous Northern Lights Dining Room.  So many memories of mediocre, but enjoyable meals with head waiter, Sirima (sweet but slow), and waiter, Stanimir (a sarcastic but lovable smartass). Here we are on formal night.  I guess that's why they added the extra fancy floral border to the picture.  Classy (barf).


Wednesday, September 7, 2011

I'm back!

Yes, my lovelies, I’m indeed back in the country and overflowing with tawdry tales of my European adventures, not to mention a dapper new hat from our day in Positano, Italy (me left - snazzy, huh?).  For my readers in the northern Jersey area, I hope my silly blog entries can at least bring a smile to your faces during your continuing recovery efforts in the aftermath of hurricane Irene. 

I’ve been taking copious notes and writing furiously while in Europe, but with the ridiculously expensive internet rates on the cruise ship and my hours scurrying from ancient ruin to ancient ruin, I’ve not been able to publish any of my adventures in real time.  Therefore, please check back regularly as I’ll be updating like a fiend over the next week or so, uploading blog entries and posting photos.  I’ll publish under the actual dates of travel, so make sure to scroll down to make sure you don’t miss a single delicious detail. 

Trish and I actually returned to our beloved Queens apartment on Monday night, following an exhaustive and nausea-inducing 10-hour flight, stopping over in Geneva for literally an hour to change planes.  Don’t worry, we still managed to haul ass to the duty free shop and purchased our weight in Swiss chocolate. 

Earlier that morning, 5:30 AM Barcelona time (that's 11:30 PM Sunday night for you East Coasters), we pried our eyelids open for the 30-minute cab ride to Barcelona airport.  Trish and I were going to head out late Sunday night for one last jamon sandwich and gelato on La Rambla (that's me on the left, actually on a street just off La Rambla, but you get the idea) but instead spent most of the evening packing and re-packing our bags to ensure we’d be under the 50-pound weight limit. 

With our portable hanging scale in hand, we furiously juggled trinkets, socks and dirty underwear between our three suitcases in order to avoid paying an extra fee.  We finally got under weight, but the effort left me literally dripping with sweat.  I appreciate the efforts of the Spanish government to limit energy use, but I am a spoiled American and want my room Arctic cold, dammit.  Turn up those thermostats!  Although I do give my Spanish homies props for installing nifty energy-saving key slots in each room, which automatically shut off the electricity unless you insert your key in the slot. 

The ride to the airport the next morning was uneventful, with just the gorgeous views of the city rushing by our cab window in the early morning darkness.  Oh, and also the view of the nasty couple playing tonsil hockey in the cab next to us.  Boy, those Spaniards sure are...um...romantic(?).

Check-in was quick and painless, except for the shenanigans of the Spanish gentleman ahead of me at security.  It seemed he had never flown before and kept setting off the metal detector, each time removing another metal article from his person before walking through the gates and again setting off the alarm - first some keys, then his watch, then some coins and finally his belt.  Unfortunately, with his belt also went his shorts - down to around his knees.  A middle-aged, overweight, Spanish dude’s hairy ass crack in red bikini underwear was not exactly the last image of Barcelona I wanted to take away with me.

I forced myself not to sleep on the flight so that I could go to bed at a regular hour once we arrived back in NYC.  Those changing time zones wreak havoc with your sleep cycle, not to mention your stomach.  So Thor, Hannah and an episode of House later (I started Battle LA, but the skittish camera work had me reaching for the barf bag), I was coasting into JFK, tired but happy to be home. 

It turns out our apartment was unscathed by the hurricane thanks to our landlord who was kind enough to shut all the windows that I had inadvertantly left open in my haste to escape the city amidst my earthquake panic.  Seriously, an earthquake and a hurricane within the same week?  What next, locust and plagues of hail and fire?  Anyway, two weeks with minimal airflow left the apartment warm, humid and musty like a homeless dog in the rain.  So after hauling our suitcases up the three flights of stairs, we flung open every window and Lysol-ed the shit out of place. 

And what's the first thing we do after turning on the TV and peeling off our dirty traveling clothes?  Call friends and family?  Wax nostalgically over shots of the Trevi Fountain and Tower of Pisa?  Of course not, silly, we order Chinese food!  After ten days of incredible pasta, the freshest seafood in the world and the most decadent desserts imaginable, I just want to sink into my sofa in my underwear with a pair of chopsticks and a pint of house special fried rice. 

I've now managed to stay awake for nearly 24 hours straight thanks to all the time zone crossing.  Though it's been an amazing trip, I'm thrilled I'll be able to collapse into my own dirty, damp bed tonight.  Where is our trusty cabin stewart, Lito, when you really need him?  Probably off at some towel-animal folding seminar.  Oh well, I’ll change the sheets when I’ve finally unpacked all my luggage, which shouldn’t be more than a month or two. 

Speaking of luggage, my fellow passengers were not as conscientious as I had been with their packing.  Apparently, our flight from Geneva to JFK was overweight, so the airline randomly pulled luggage off the plane in an effort to reduce our chances of falling out of the sky and thereby providing a lovely International feast for the Atlantic shark population.  Oh, those pesky weight restrictions.  As of this writing, we’re still waiting for our floral print Le Sport Sac filled with souvenirs and contraband French cured sausage from the farmer’s market in Arles.

Tomorrow morning I'll be bitch-slapped back into reality, answering phones and once again kowtowing to the financial elite in investment bankerland.  It's still good to be home.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Aix en Provence

With the success of our self-guided tour of Arles, Trish and I decided to ditch the group completely in Aix.  So after our guide, Sandrine, announced the bus departure time, we split from the group and headed out into town.  Our bus buddies followed suit and headed out on their own as well, shopping for back to school clothes for their teenage daughter. 

After wandering around a very modern mall complex, Trish and I found our way to the older, more interesting part of town.

The beautiful Hotel de Ville looks like a movie set.

The square in front of the Hotel de Ville.

Yet another gorgeous church, the Cathedrale Saint-Sauveur.

Perhaps the greatest find on our Aix-ploration was the Undiz store.  We left with half a dozen pairs of men's graphic underwear, some for friends and some for me.  I can't believe some enterprising person hasn't yet tried to open a franchise in the states.  This store would make a killing with a Chelsea boutique.  The gays would devour these clothes like a muscle daddy prowling for twinks at the black party.

We ended our day of underwear shopping with a stroll down the Cours Mirabeau, one of the main shopping thoroughfares in Aix, stopping along the way for a gelato.  In line, we spotted our bus buddies, Patti and Brian, and their children, Natalie and Jeff.  Patti was wondering where she could get a to-go glass of red wine for the bus ride back to Marseille - my kind of gal.

We finally met back up with our bus and tour group at the Fountaine de la Rotonde

On the ride back to the port of Marseille, we had an underwear viewing party in the back of the bus for Patti and her family.  They were quite impressed.  Of course, we were showing off our newly purchased Undiz, not the undies we were actually wearing.  That would just be way too weird, even for us.

Through the course of our conversation, we also discovered Patti's deep hatred for Fox News.  Yes, Patti and her middle American Michigan family are liberals!  I mean, seriously, what are the chances?  No wonder we became instant buddies.  Her daughter, Natalie, even had an Obama-themed Birthday party.  Now that is some hardcore shit.  

It seems Patti is also a quasi-celebrity.  She's written books for American Girl Place and has appeared on Dr. Phil as an expert on girl's body image.  You go, girl!

Back on board for our final night at sea, we took some time to hang out on mom and dad's balcony.

We couldn't relax for long.  Our packed bags had to be in the hallway and ready for sorting and pick-up by 10 PM that night.  Above, Trish cannot quite figure out how we are going to get all our newly purchased crap into our suitcases.

Here are the seven - yes, seven - pairs of new shoes I managed to purchase along the way.  Shoes take up a hell of a lot of space in a suitcase.  What the hell was I thinking?

This Afternoon's Itinerary:
Drive to Aix en Provence
Shopping
Cours Mirabeau
More shopping
Drive back to Port of Marseille

Next day in Barcelona

Arles

Is it really almost over?  After a week at sea, stopping at some of the world's most famous ports and cities, we finally made it to our final stop, Marseille, France, before returning to Barcelona.

With energy (and finances) running low, Trish and I decided to head out on one of the more moderately priced cruise-sponsored excursion (our first cruise excursion of the trip), to Arles and Aix en Provence.  Juan and Val took on parent duty, deciding to stay close to the ship and exploring downtown Marsaille with mom and dad instead of heading out to the countryside with us.

So early Saturday morning, we boarded our luxury coach, welcomed by our sour-faced tour guide, Sandrine.  If the French are actively trying to combat their perceived hatred of American tourists, Sandrine did not receive the memo.  Our friendly "good morning" was greeted by stone-faced silence. 

We headed to the back of the bus.  For some reason, the other members of our group filed into the front half of the bus leaving the back third empty.  Oh well, more room for us - until another family decided to make their way back as well.  We were feeling territorial until Trish and I realized it was the same friendly American family that snapped a picture of us in Pompeii (the last photo in the Pompeii blog entry).  Of course, we instantly struck up a conversation and spent most of the ride to Arles kibitzing and trading tour stories.

About an hour later, our bus pulled into the small town of Arles, all set up for market day.  The bus parked by the Rhone river, the inspiration for many Van Gogh and Gauguin paintings.  Waving her trusty tour marker above her head, Sandrine began our walk through the historic downtown.  The monument above marks the entrance of the old wall surrounding the city.

The streets of Arles are lined with flower-covered homes.  Just like the quaint streets of my own hometown, Astoria, Queens.  Not.

Arles has its own Coliseum - a bit of a let down after touring Rome's famous Colosseum.

This is the inside of the Coliseum with Sandrine sputtering on about invading hordes and animal cruelty.  I stopped listening after the first Goth invasion.

I wandered away from the group long enough to get this shot of the architecture under the Coliseum.

On our way to the ruins of the Roman Theatre (I didn't get a picture of them because the gates were locked and we couldn't really see anything from the outside walls), I spied this lovely door.

These columns are all that are left of the original Roman ruins in the town square.  Provence has been invaded so many times by so many different people, their citizens must have one hell of an identity crisis.  

Place du Forum also marks the center of the old town, where Van Gogh and Gaugin hung out and got fucked up on absinthe. 

Onward to the main square, Place de la Republique.

Again, we find another beautiful church, the Church of St. Trophime.  Yawn.  Only kidding, God.

Below is a detail of the carvings above the door.  Pretty.

I don't want to sound like spoiled brat, but after having a private guide in every other city the past week, I just couldn't help but be annoyed by our group of galumphing, ill-mannered tourists.  I now see why Sandrine is so sour.  Our back-of-the-bus buddies lost their patience as well and decided to escape the tour.  They quietly disappeared down an alley to explore on their own with Trish and I jealously looking on.

After zoning out to the strains of Sandrine's droning history lesson, Trish and I decided to escape as well, leaving the group in the town square in order to check out the market.

Trish poses in the square (church on the far right), with our group huddled around the obelisk, unaware we'd made our escape.

Some fresh fish in the market.

We clearly made the right decision by ditching the group and heading to the market.  We loaded up on local goat cheese and bread from a local farmer, befriended the only Asian vendor in the market (scoring the Asian discount - i.e. free food), were hypnotized into purchasing even more cheese and cured sausage from a dreamy Bradley Cooper lookalike, bought some trendy outfits from a pair of super cool French designers, and loaded up on all things lavender at a tiny boutique off the main drag.

These are the biggest paella pans I have ever seen.

Since we abandoned the group, Trish and I took our time to leisurely explored the city streets on our way back to the tour bus.  Above is the cute little bungalow I'll be retiring to when I win the Mega Millions.

Trish decided she'd move in a couple blocks away at this charming abode.

We made it back to the bus with time to spare, so we hung out by the Rhone where the river cruise ships were docked.  The lions behind Trish are the ruins of a bridge that once spanned the river.

Here I am on the banks of the Rhone with Arles in the distance.  This view inspired Van Gogh's famous Starry Night.

This Morning's Itinerary:
Dock in Port of Marseilles
Bus tour with guide Sandrine
Drive to Arles
Tour Coliseum
Roman Theatre
Place du Forum
Place du Rebublique
Church of St. Trophime
Visit market
Explore streets of Arles
Hanging out on the Rhone

Next day in Barcelona  

Friday, September 2, 2011

More Palma...

After a morning hanging out at churches, Trish and I decided to ditch the parents and explore the city on our own.  Of course, we made sure to show mom and dad the taxi stand first so they could get back to the ship after their own leisurely exploration.  But we only had a couple of hours left before we needed to re-board the ship and a whole island to cover, so we bid the parents adieu and made a beeline for the shopping district. 

Above, Trish poses in front of some tropical foliage in the square near the cathedral.  The climate is great for palm trees and hibiscus, not so much for hiking around town.

Above, Trish strikes a pose in front of the famous 100 year old olive tree in Plaza de Cort.

Isn't Old Town Palma charming?  Looks like a movie set, no?  The shopping is incredible, particularly if you're into leather and shoes.

Here I am just outside the Plaça Major, one of the larger town squares in Palma, surrounded by vendors, tourists and tapas restaurants.

Some gorgeous architecture and fancy lamp post inside the Plaça Major.

Here's another quaint Palma side street.  Just down the way, on the left, I purchased my second pair of shoes for the day.

I just liked the carvings outside this church in Palma.

The name sign outside of the church.

Here's Trish, new shoes in hand, heading down the cobblestone street toward more shopping.  Our greatest shopping find? C&A department store.  It's like the Old Navy of European discount clothing, except way trendier and of much better quality.  They must pay their sweatshop workers a few pennies more than Kathy Lee.  My purchases include two more pairs of shoes. Yes, that indeed makes a total of seven new pairs purchased this trip, in case you were counting.

I have no idea where this is, but I liked the sculpture.

Those stone buildings at the top of the hill are the towers of Bellver Castle, where we started off our day this morning.  I got this shot on the elevated ramp to our cruise ship.

The Carnival Magic and me.  A perfect pair.

A panoramic view of Palma's bay, filled with the yachts of the rich and famous.

Trish smiles for the camera as we sail away from Palma.  According to our dinner hostess, we were the first cruise to dock in Palma in over three weeks.  Apparently, weather conditions prevented the last two scheduled dockings from happening.  I'd have been four pairs of shoes short had we also sailed past Palma.  Not sure if that's a good thing or not.

This Afternoon's Itinerary:
Afternoon of shopping.  That's it - just shopping!

Next day in Arles and Aix

Palma

After a much deserved rest day at sea, we pulled into Palma de Mallorca, an island off the coast of Spain known as a playground for the rich and famous (as well as the poor and unknown, like us).  Its most notable inhabitants are Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones who count Mallorca as their second home.  Must be nice.  Unlike Mike and Cathy, a mere mortal like me will have settle for a single, treasured trip to this stunning island.

Trish and I decided to take care of the 'rents for the day, allowing Juan and Val a day to explore on their own.  After beating down a few aggressive tour guides attempting to sell us personal tours of the island, we made our way out of the terminal and to the taxi stand.  I did some research the day before and decided we'd cab up to Bellver Castle, overlooking the city and bay (above).  It's one of the world's only circular fortresses.

We lucked out with an English-fluent cab driver (Juan and Val weren't so lucky and didn't get to the beach as they had hoped).  Though the internet said the Castle was a short cab drive from the port, it didn't mention the lack of a taxi stand at the Castle.  With mom's double-replaced knees, a walk down the mountain to catch another taxi or the bus was not an option.  Fearing we'd be trapped in paradise for eternity, we made a deal with our driver to come back for us in half an hour.  Fingers crossed that Mallorcans are honest.

Here I am with the 'rents standing outside the castle with a group of Disney cruisers.  The Disney Magic was docked next to us in the port.  I was only a little bit jealous.

Inside Bellver Castle

Trish admires the buff statues in the inner courtyard.

Just another shot showing some architectural detail of the open central courtyard.

Here I am relaxing on the second floor of the castle.  I know what your thinking, "Damn, Fausto, that's a bright shirt."  My dear blog minions, jealousy ill suits you.  Is it my fault I have the personality to carry off a bright yellow and teal plaid shirt?

With only five minutes left before we were due to meet back with our cab, we raced up to the third and top floor of the castle for this incredible shot of the city and bay.

On our way out, Trish modeled in front of one of the curved outer walls of the castle.  We were only slightly un-nerved by the sight of the deserted mountain road.  Not a cab (nor any other wheeled vehicle) in sight.  Oh shit.  But a few restless moments later, our trusty cab rounded the bend. 

The next stop on my self-planned itinerary? - The Cathedral of Santa Maria of Palma, or Le Seu.  Our trusty and well-tipped driver dropped us off on the back side of the cathedral so mom wouldn't have to climb all the steps by the front entrance.  Money can't buy love, but it sure can buy loyalty.

Here's a view of the bay in Palma from the back of the cathedral.  The Disney Magic (black hull) is blocking our ship from view.

Oh, those lovely buttresses.

Le Seu is a gothic cathedral, which I suspect explains all the freaky little gargoyles on its exterior.

The impressive front face of Le Seu.

Mom's dwarfed by the front door.  Because the street was so narrow, I had to lay on my back in the middle of the road to get this shot - only for mom.


Some fancy-ass buttresses.

One of the side chapels in the main cathedral.  So sparkly.

This mural is above one of the entrances to the main cathedral.

The morning sun streaming through the stained glass window above the Gaudi inspired altar.  Pretty impressive.

I don't know exactly what this is, but it's pretty.

This is my favorite picture from the trip.  It's the inside view of the front door to the cathedral.  I didn't even have to photoshop it to make it look like that.

This Morning's Itinerary:
Dock in Palma
Cab to Castell Bellver
Cab to Le Seu

Next day in Arles and Aix, France
"I'd rather be nine people's favorite thing thana hundred people's ninth favorite thing."

Jeff Bowen, Lyrics "[Title of Show]"