The Magical Mystery Cruise - Leisurely Lisbon

 

The bow of the ship was crowded at dawn as Oceana glided up the Tagus River and under the April 25^th. Bridge into Lisbon.  I had been really excited in April 2009 when I had sailed into this port for the first time on Arcadia.  This time I knew what to expect but it was still a thrill wondering whether the highest point of the ship really would pass underneath without hitting anything! We passed through safely but then for some reason did experience minor problems when it came to tying up at Quay do Tobaco.

This morning I needed to head off to the western part of the city in search of the Jardim do Estrela where apparently the English Cemetery could be found.  Trying to pick up the names of the tiny streets on a tourist map is virtually an impossibility so I just walked west along the promenade hoping that at some point I would be able to identify a main road on the map.  Old trams whizzed by me and at one point I heard the strains of “Jingle Bells”.  I looked up to see one of the trams being driven by Santa himself – the tram was full of young children having a whale of a time.

Eventually I reached a train station and having managed to locate this on the map I was then able to head off uphill towards the Basilica dos Estrela and the Gardens.  On the way I passed the main Government buildings and to my horror noticed that there was a large demonstration in progress in the square outside.  Police were stationed at every street corner and I began to worry that perhaps they might close the roads off as had been the case in Athens.  I pushed the thought to the back of my mind – lets try to find the cemetery first.

I struggled on uphill and there before me was the Basilica with the entrance to the gardens just opposite.  The gardens were very peaceful and I wandered round them about three times before admitting to myself that the cemetery was not to be found.   A group of cleaners stood leaning on their brooms and chatting so I wandered over and with my very best Portuguese accent asked for “Cemeterio dos Ingleses”.  For once somebody understood my question and I was immediately directed outside the garden and across the road. 

I stood outside the high walls and looked at a sign indicating that I had found the Anglican Church of St. George and the English Cemetery.  Thank goodness I had come straight from the ship and not left it until this afternoon for I noticed that the opening times were only from 10am to 1pm and that the cemetery was closed completely on a Saturday.  On entering I found myself in a cemetery shaded by trees and abundant vegetation.  The sections were  surrounded by neatly trimmed box hedges and the colours of autumn were everywhere.

The cemetery was far too large for me to photograph all the graves but I did take pictures of the some of the very old inscriptions. When I return to the UK perhaps I may find some interesting stories to relate about the English merchants in Lisbon who lie buried here.  For researchers who may follow in my footsteps in the future it is worth noting that this particular cemetery is provided with toilet facilities.  Another fact worthy of note is that the No. 28 tram from central Lisbon stops right outside the Basilica and Gardens – certainly better than undertaking the 1 ½ hour walk as I had done !

I am pleased to report that the police had not closed off any roads and I was able to return to the ship for lunch with no problems.  In the afternoon I wandered into the main square and purchased a couple of wonderful scarves at a very reasonable price.  I was continually aware of my camera and bag as back in 2009 this was the one port of call where pickpockets had been rife.  Passports, wallets and handbags had all been targetted which was such a shame. 

As we sailed out of Lisbon the Commodore gave us news that the weather was set to deteriorate for our remaining voyage to Southampton.  Boy, was he right.  As I write this we have experienced 48 hours of gale force winds and the Bay of Biscay has done what it is famous for – it tossed this ship about all over the place.  Forget everything you read about these large modern ships being fitted with stabilisers and therefore not being subject to extremes of movement in rough seas.  True, stabilisers are fitted.  True that they do reduce the sidewards roll of the ship.  However, they do nothing to stop the pitch from bow to stern - and reducing the sidewards roll is not the same as preventing it altogether.  As I lay in bed last night the movement was so severe that wine glasses came flying from one end of the cabin to the other, just missing my head. Clock and spectacles were thrown to the floor from the bedside table and I just managed to catch a glass of water preventing that too from being catapulted into the air.  I donned my travel sickness wrist bands !!

The Magical Mystery Cruise - Valencia, Spain

There are to be no stories about trying to find cemeteries in this episode of the blog, in fact the day was just spent playing the typical British tourist.  The shuttle bus dropped us off in the centre of town and as I waited to alight I heard one of my fellow passengers acost the driver in an angry voice – “Well where are the shops?”.  The driver did not speak English – at least not when spoken to in such an ill mannered way !  Outside another of the passengers pointed out the general direction of “the shops” and the rather rude gentleman replied “Well why didn’t he say so”.  Sometimes I despair of my fellow countrymen.  As I alighted I turned to the driver and said “Gracias” in an accent that I hoped he would understand.

Our drop off and meeting point was on the banks of the former Rio Turia opposite the Trinidad Bridge.  The river burst its banks on 14 Oct 1957 and led to the worst flooding in Valencia’s history.  To ensure that such a disaster could not happen again the river was diverted around the city.  The old river bed has now been laid out to gardens, sports areas and children’s play areas.  I would have liked to explore the gardens but time did not permit so I concentrated instead on the old part of the city.

Somehow I managed to negotiate the maze of narrow streets and found myself outside the old market.  At 9.30 am it was a hive of activity with the locals eager to buy the freshest fruit and vegetables for their day.  The colours were spectacular and the fresh smell something I will long remember.  What has happened in England?  How come we have lost our markets?  How come the youngsters only want to eat horrible ready prepared food instead of wonderful healthy options. Indeed, how come our supermarkets are full of artificial looking fruit and veg where each item has to be exactly the same dimensions as everything else and where nothing tastes of anything anymore?  I marvelled at the sights before me and took many photos of wonderful displays with their vibrant natural colours.

Having returned to the ship for lunch I ventured out in the afternoon for a walk.  From the looks of the map the local beach was not too far away.  Outside the port gates were the old, highly decorated warehouses.  I looked at the road and noticed markings that looked like grid markings on a race track.  Suddenly it dawned on me – this was the Valencia Formula 1 Grand Prix Circuit !  Having determined that at this point in time there was no danger of an F1 car roaring down on me I ventured out a little further and found myself standing on the actual track – WOW, what a thrill (even without any cars).  My walk to the beach took me round about a third of the F1 circuit and I imagined Jenson and Lewis racing round here in their wonderful Maclaren cars. 

The palm lined promenade soon came into view and beyond it stretched mile upon mile of yellow sand.  Here and there were groups of children and young people playing ball games but for all intents and purposes the beach was deserted – even though the sun was shining brightly.  I managed to capture one shot of a fisherman standing at the water’s edge with a couple of sailing boats out on the turquoise water.  I hope it looks as good when I download it from the camera onto the computer.

I made my way back to the ship after yet another fascinating day.  There is only one more port of call for this cruise and that’s Lisbon.  Three days after that it will be back to Southampton and onward to dismal Croydon.  But at the moment let’s look forward to Lisbon where I need to find the “Cemeterio dos Ingleses” !!!!!!

The Magical Mystery Cruise - Sicily, Land of the Godfather

Our port of call in Sicily faces the Strait of Messina and carries the same name.  During the second world war Dad passed through Messina on his way from Egypt to Italy.  Up on deck at dawn as the city came into view I tried to pick out which of the buildings Dad would have seen and imagined how he might have felt with the clouds of war hanging over the city.  My own approach could not have been more different – here I was on a luxury P&O cruise liner whilst Dad would have been on a very basic troop carrier.  But enough of the war – how did I spend my day in the Land of the Godfather?  Needless to say it involved yet another adventure trying to find a cemetery!

As I entered the terminal building I found a tourist information booth was just opening up.  I asked for a map and enquired the way to the “Messina Cimitero Monumentale” in Via Catania.  As always I received a surprised look – obviously cemeteries are not on the normal tourist trail.  On this occasion I received excellent help and the exact route to the main gate of the cemetery was pointed out on the map. The young lady even wrote down an Italian phrase that I should ask for within the cemetery so that the Office could point me in the right direction.  I was told I could take the light rail from outside but said I would prefer to take the half hour walk.  It was far too early for anything to be open but this was fine as it gave me a chance to negotiate the streets with ease and soak up a little of the atmosphere from the imposing architecture.

I reached the cemetery with no problems and spent a little while wandering around wondering where on earth the “Foreigners” section was in this huge Sicilian cemetery.  In the end I had to admit defeat.  I made my way to the main gate and noticed a small office with the word “Portiere” over the door.  An emaciated gentleman stood outside and I enquired of him the way to “Zomo Inglesi” in my best British accent.  Obviously he had no idea of what I was trying to say!  I tried several more times, each time adding more of an Italian lilt to the words.  He waved his hands about in frustration trying to tell me that he spoke no English and did not understand what I was asking.  Then all of a sudden the penny must have dropped and he shouted excitedly “Campo Inglesi?”.  Just as excitedly I nodded my head and repeated the words that he had said – hoping aganst hope that this was actually what I wanted.  He took me over to a small mini bus that was parked by the gate and which was filling up with passengers who were loaded down with bunches of flowers.  The Portiere spoke to the driver and I was told to board the bus.  I did as I was told – goodness only knows where I was going to be taken!

As I boarded I noticed that there should be one seat free at the back – unfortunately the three passengers taking up this back row were of such a size that they took up all four seats.  There was a two seater row in front of this but these two seats were taken up by one lady with masses of flowers.  The driver shouted at her to make room for me to sit down (at least this is what I think he was saying).  She shouted back in a very angry voice and I told her it was “OK” I would stand.  Then an elderly Turkish gentleman tried to get up to offer me his seat but again I said it was “OK” – how could I take a seat from him?  So, mini bus full and me standing with head bent we set off into the heart of the cemetery.  We climbed and climbed and negotiated many hair pin bends before coming to a halt at the very top of the steep hill.  Most of the passengers alighted carrying with them their flowers and I was able to take a seat.  I enquired as best I could whether this was where I was meant to get off but the driver shook his head and had an animated conversation with the one other passenger who was left.  I heard the work “Inglesi” several times so they were obviously talking about me and my mission.

We set off again this time going down hill and negotiating more hairpin bends.  I had completely lost my sense of direction by this time and just hoped that by some miracle I would be able to find my way out of the cemetery when the time came.  The bus came to a halt and both driver and passenger pointed out a small pathway between the trees.  I thanked the driver profusely – but what was “thank you “ in Italian, I had forgotten and just smiled broadly and said Thank You many times. I made my way down the path, peered over the wall and noticed some dilapidated English graves on the other side.  Then I came to a gate outside of which was a notice stating that in 1925 King George V and Queen Mary had visited the graves of the British soldiers and sailors who were buried here.  I had found the section I was seeking !!

Inside I found the graves of English, French and German.  It was a very showery morning and large droplets of rain fell on my head from the trees.  My feet were becoming wetter and wetter as I was having to plough my way through overgrown vegetation.  A family of locals noticed that I was taking photographs and this sparked their interest and they wandered in.  I doubt that they had ever entered this section before – they did not stay long.  I spent an hour doing what I could to photograph the headstones and then bid my fellow countrymen farewell.  I now had to find my way out of the cemetery.

Fortunately, right next to the “Foreigners Section” I spotted a side gate which seemed to lead out of the cemetery onto a lane.  I was now at quite a low level and I reckoned that if I followed this narrow lane downhill then it SHOULD lead me back to the main road, Via Catania.  Thankfully it did.  Phew I had not become totally lost.

Back on the right track I passed the main gate and popped in to thank the Portiere for his help.  The only Mediterranean phrase for thank you that I could think of was “Gracias” but wasn’t that Spanish?  Oh well, Gracias and Thank You will have to do. He seemed to be delighted so he must have got the drift of what I was trying to say.  I found my way back to the ship for a sorely needed cup of coffee.

At noon I was in the main square to watch the clock spring into life.  The rampart lion roaring and waving his flag, a cockerel screeching to the gathered crowds and the twelve apostles circling.  All of this was done to the chants of a priest and the strains of Ave Maria – most impressive. 

The afternoon was spent wandering the little back streets of Messina.  Every corner revealed new shapes or new colours.  What photo opportunities.  But then the rain came down in torrents and I got drenched.  Back to the ship soaking wet but with such very happy memories of Messina.

The Magical Mystery Cruise - Katakolon, Gateway to Ancient Olympia

Katakolon is a delightful little port packed full of small local shops selling an array of tourist tat. However, every now & then can be found a shop selling unique handmade jewellery.  Behind the main street is a lane where the local tavernas are situated and at the opposite end of town is a small pebbled beach. I spent the afternoon soaking up the local atmosphere.

The morning had been taken up with visiting Olympia, the site of the Ancient Olympic Games and the spot where the Olympic flame will be lit in a few months time on the start of its journey to London.  This is a totally ruined site but it was quite beautiful at this time of year with the warm colours of the autumn leaves carpetting the ground.  The athletes in the family might be interested to here that I stood with my feet on those ancient marble starting blocks and gazed down the track as the competitors would have done over 2,000 years ago.  I would love to be able to report that I ran the short track but unfortunately I was weighed down with a camera bag and water bottle so this was not possible.

The Magical Mystery Cruise - Athens, City of Myth & Legend

Bombarding my readers with lengthy tales from Greek mythology is not my intention – I will leave that to the Greek tour guides who drone on endlessly on the subject.  Instead I will give a very brief impression of my visit.

Oceana berthed in Piraeus at dawn and my lasting memory will be of the chanting which floated up from the Greek Orthodox church of St. Nicholas near the quayside.  St. Nicholas is the patron saint of the seafarers and this was his Feast Day.  Lines of people queued to enter the church and in the evening there was to be great celebrations in the square.  My day was to be spent in Athens and I had taken the precautions of booking the “Athens on your Own” trip so that I would be assured of no problems with transport. A few truly adventurous passengers were to take the local train into town but I decided against this – just in case there should be any problems in the afternoon for the return trip.  As it happened I was so pleased that I took this decision – but more of that later !

The journey into Athens took just 30 minutes and our local organiser turned out to be a lady from “back home”.  She had met a Greek student whilst she was at university in the north of England way back in the 1970s and had lived in Athens since 1974. As we approached the city centre she offered to show the best entrance for all those who wanted to go to the Acropolis.  Was there anyone who wanted to go anywhere else?  Naturally, I always have to be different from the crowd so up shot my hand.  I was asked where I was hoping to visit so I replied “The First Cemetery” !!  Oh dear, that gave her problems.  I knew roughly where it was but not the precise location of the street.  As is always the way the tourist map which had been provided was nowhere near detailed enough to show all the street names.  Well, it appeared that she didn’t know the precise location either so off I set on my own for another of my little adventures.

I headed off in the direction of the Temple of Olympian Zeus and the Stadium because I had been given to understand that the cemetery (which has a Protestant section) was located in the streets behind these edifices.  I spent an hour climbing the hilly streets in this section of town but on this occasion failed miserably in my quest.  I refrained from seeking help from any gentlemen with cars in case I should be whisked off as was the case in Malta.  At one point I did ask a young man on a scooter but he had no idea of what I was asking – how does one pronounce “A’Koimitirio Athinon” ?  Obviously not as I was trying to say it !

In the end I had to give up and decided to “do” some of the more normal sight seeing venues.  The Temple of Olympian Zeus was a sight to behold and often overlooked in favour of the more impressive Parthenon.  Massive marble columns towered over me but even more impressive were the pieces from the collapsed column which lie on the ground just as they fell centuries ago.  My photo for this will have to bear the caption “Whoops, knew I shouldn’t have leant against this pillar”

Again, cats had taken up residence within the ruins finding that the low broken columns made ideal perches for sun bathing.  At one point I sat on the grass to eat the cheese rolls that I had brought with me from the ship for my lunch.  I made instant friends with one of the cats !  From my vantage point I looked up at the Acropolis with the Parthenon gleaming in the sunlight.  Everything that I had read said that if you see nothing else in Athens see the Acropolis.  I’m afraid that phrases such as this instanly put me off as I am such a rebel.  I looked at my watch and found that I had another two hours before being due back at the meeting point to catch the coach.  Oh well, I might as well play the typical tourist and climb to the top of the Acropolis.  All I can say is that I did just this.  It was one hell of a climb and when I got to the top I found that the Parthenon was adorned with two large cranes and loads of scaffolding.  It did absolutely nothing to inspire me.

Also on top of the Acropolis can be found the smaller but beautiful temple called the Erechtheion.  Now this was something to be seen.  The Porch of the Caryatids contains six larger than life statues of maidens carrying the entire weight of the porch’s roof on their heads.  No cranes nor scaffolding to spoil the scene here.

So the time came to make my way to the coach and be whisked back to the ship.  Other passengers told of riots occuring at Parliament Square in Athens and of roads and stations being closed.  Those who had taken the train suddenly found that they had problems.  The stations that were open were absolutely jam packed.  A train would draw into the platform, open it doors but be unable to disgorge its passengers or take on more because of the over packed platforms.  Apparently one British lady was pushed onto a train in the crush and the doors closed before her husband could board – screams of panic ensued !!  That night as I watched the news on the TV it showed the demonstration in Athens and of tear gas being used on the protestors.  It was obviously some divine fate that made me climb the Acropolis instead of walking up the road to Parliament Square to see the guards in their wonderful costumes.

The Magical Mystery Cruise - Haifa & The British Cemetery, Israel

We had been advised by our excursion team on board that it was not a good idea for ladies to go ashore on their own in Haifa.  I queried this as I could see no reason for such extreme precautions in what I considered would be a modern western city.   As it turned out I DID go ashore alone and actually felt ten times safer than I do every day on the streets of Croydon !

I wanted to try to find the British cemetery which I understood was quite near the centre of town.  A guy at the local tourist information desk could not find it marked on the map (can they ever !) but told me roughly where it was and what buses I could catch.  From the looks of things it seemed to be just up the road so I said I would walk.  I was advised in rather guarded terms that it was in the Arab quarter and that the bus would be better.  I walked !!

As it happened it was just fifteen minutes walk away and none of the locals gave me a second glance.  The cemetery seemed to consist of three sections – The Templar Cemetery which was that of the original German settlers dating back to 1869; the British Commonwealth War Graves Cemetery with graves from both the First and Second World Wars; and a final section which housed two large World War Monuments. All of these sections were immaculataly maintained.  The Templar Cemetery with lush vegetation and the other two sections with carefully maintained lawn.

The caretaker of the Templar Cemetery was very helpful and friendly and insisted that I sign his Visitor’s Book.  I then spent an enjoyable hour photographing the British war grave headstones.  By this time it was getting rather hot and I knew that I should head back to the ship for a break.  On the way out I noticed a rather battered looking metal gate at the rear of the cemetery.  I ventured up, peered inside and saw what appeared to be a fourth section of the cemetery.  This area had the appearance of not being cared for at all.  Granite chips took the place of lawn and there was no lush vegetation to soften the harshness of the sun.  Many of the crosses from the headstones were broken and lay on the ground.  I started to look at the inscriptions and to my surprise found that this was actually the old British Cemetery proper.  Here lay the civil servants, the railway engineers, the wives and children and – most impotantly of all – those members of the British Palestine Police who had given their lives during the 1930s.  I forgot that the sun was beating down on me (and that I desperately needed the loo!) and set about photographing these headstones.  The light was far too bright for the camera to be able to pick up some of the inscriptions but I did what I could.

On the way back to the ship I was overcome by sadness at the sight of this cemetery.  These poor souls were hidden away at the back as if their presence was an embarrassment.  I promised myself that after lunch and a short rest I would return in the afternoon.

At 2pm I returned and noticed that the sun was now casting shadows on many of the headstones and that the shadow made the inscriptions stand out from the bright stone.  I photographed all the headstones again in the hope of getting some better pictures.  Every five minutes or so I heard the monotonous clanging of a bell and realised that there must be a level crossing nearby and the bell was to warn of an approaching train.  A passenger train would pass and silence would reign for 3-4 minutes until the bell clanged again.  This time it would be a freight train and then silence for another few minutes. I ventured to the far side of the cemetery and noticed that the embankment was slowly crumbling away.  In a few years the graves on this side of the cemetery could find themselves rolling down the embankment onto the track.  This was definitely a folorn spot and I could find nothing good to say about it.  I laid my hand on the headstones and told them they had not been forgotten but in my heart of hearts I knew this was not the case. When I get home I will research as many of them as possible and do what I can to keep their memories alive.

The Magical Mystery Cruise - Massada & The Dead Sea, Israel

This was going to be an extremely long day as the drive to Massada was to take 3.5 hours from the northern port of Haifa.  I was up at 5.30am and off the ship by 7.30.  Today we had a wonderful Israeli guide who was friendly, helpful and informative.  What a change from yesterday.  We took a south easterly route to start with through the Yizreel Valley and then on past Mount Gilboa.  I was amazed to see how the efficient Israeli irrigation system has turned barren countryside into fertile growing areas – crops and fruit were in abundance.  Then we headed south through the Jordan valley and the countryside took on the appearance that I had been expecting – dry desert with rocky hills rising steeply from the roadside.  There in the distance was a small town nestling on the plain and this turned out to be Jericho.  A few miles further on we made a stop at Qumran which is the area where the Dead Sea scrolls were discovered and there at the foot of the valley was the Dead Sea itself.  The lowest sea on earth, so full of minerals that it is impossible to sink. 

Our next stop was at Herod’s Palace in Massada – way up on the top of the mountain.  A cable car ride was necessary in order to get to the top but then we had an incredible one and half hour tour of the site.  This was absolutely “out of this world” and thoroughly enjoyable.

After that it was off to lunch in a resort hotel on the banks of the Dead Sea and those who wanted to could try the experience of floating in the mineral laden waters.  I spent my time looking for photo opportunities but I did have the most wonderful buffet lunch – with wine.

By the time we left the shores of the Dead Sea at 5pm it was pitch dark and the drive back to Haifa seemed very long and tedious.  But what a day, what sights, what experiences.

Magical Mystery Cruise - Kyrenia, Northern Cyprus

During all those years when I was holidaying in Cyprus never once did I visit the place that I most wanted to go to – Kyrenia.   In those days it was not possible to cross the border in Nicosia and travel from Greek Cyprus into Turkish Cyprus.  Now the wall has opened up and at last I was able to make the trip.

I had hoped to bring news of a wonderful hour and half spent wandering the streets of this interesting town and of finding the old British cemetery which is marked on maps as “Ingliz Mezarligi”.  The cemetery is a fifteen minute walk from the central square so an hour at leisure would have been heaps for me to visit.  Alas, on this occasion, my plans were not achievable due mainly to the complete and utter disorganisation of the tour.  As we drove into Kyrenia after leaving the ruins of Bela Pais (which had included a 25 minute queue to use the one ladies loo !) I spotted the cemetery on the outskirts of town.  My excitement mounted and I was ready to jump off and speed away as soon as the coach came to a halt in the square.  However, as the guide showed us our meeting point I was greeted with the news that we had only 30 minutes at leisure !!!!  This was absolutely ridiculous and I was more than disappointed as I knew that there was no way for me to get to the cemetery.

Everything about the day was a disaster.  The female Greek Cypriot guide was abrupt and unhelpful in the extreme.  Time was wasted at both Bela Pais and at the restaurant.  Lunch itself was a complete shambles.  No proper arrangements were made for comfort stops during 9 hour day.  In fact so many complaints were made about the excursion that P & O had to resort to refunding us 33% of the cost – but the refund in no way made up for the fact that I had been able to see so very little of the town I had gone to see !!

Lets pass over this and move on to Israel.

The Magical Mystery Cruise - Kusadasi (Bird Island), Turkey

This was the second of our replacement ports of call and not having been able to do any research I had very little idea of what to expect.  I had three options 1) stay on board the ship all day – 2) take a very expensive organised excursion – 3) wander around the local area and try to find something of interest.  Option 1 was not a contender as I could never visit a port and not get off to see something of the area.  As there were some short tours on offer I decided to combine both the remaining options i.e. a tour in the morning and a short wander around town in the afternoon.

The tour I opted for was called The Glory of Ephesus.  What or where is Ephesus??  The city of Ephesus dates back to pre-Ionian times when the Carians and Lelegians lived in a wide plain near the Temple of Artemis, one of the seven wonders of the Ancient World.  St. John is said to have written his Gospel here and it is also meant to have been the last home of the Virgin Mary.  The ruins of this very ancient city are only ten miles away which is why Kusadasi has become known as The Gateway to Ephesus.

Our first stop was at the Basilica of St. John where I was greeted with the sight of tall pillars rising into the sky.  Huge chunks of highly carved marble dotted the ground lying where they had fallen from pillars centuries ago.  Here and there were large round earthenware water pots whose deep orange hue contrasted vividly with the white of the marble.  The guide spent 45 minutes explaining the history of the site and then allowed 10 minutes for photo taking.  Having been on a number of excursions in the past I know how frustrating this can be so right from the outset I set off on my own snapping picture after picture so that I have my own memories of the place.  From the ruined walls I looked down to see one single pillar rising from the plain below.  Apparently this is all that survives from the once impressive Temple of Artemis.

Then it was onto Ephesus proper and what sights were in store for me there.  The Temple of Hadrian; The Library of Celsus; The Marble Street.  The tour took us through the main thoroughfare from the high hillside entrance down to the plain.  If I had strayed too far from the guide there was every chance of getting lost here but whenever possible I struck out on my own for a few minutes.  It was during one of these “stolen” moments that I came across an American photographer.  She had two cameras strung around her neck the most impressive of which would not have looked out of place in a museum.  I asked her about it and she told me that it had belonged to her grandfather and that it still worked as good today as it had 55 years ago when he had purchased it.  In fact it took much better pictures than todays digital varieties.  She told me that she was a freelance photographer from a little town called York – New York (!!).  Apparently she was as frustrated as I was with having to stay with a guide but she had the flexibility of being able to return the next day when she hoped to visit much earlier in the morning when the light would be better for her photographs.  I bumped into her again on a couple of other occasions during the morning when both of us were again “stealing” time from the guides. At one point we both discovered one of the city’s cats who was posing unashamedly on a ruined pillar. It was lovely to see a livng animal amongst all the ruins but I bet her photograph will make mine look amateurish.  Who knows, perhaps one day I may come across the one she took in National Geographic and be able to compare them!

Well, the excursion may have been expensive but it certainly gave me the chance to take some wonderful photos – and I loved meeting the lady from the little town called York.

After lunch I took myself off into the local town of Kusadasi and walked around the harbour and out to the fortified island which was reached by a causeway.  This again proved a good vantage point for taking photos and yet again I came across cats who were desperate to get into my pictures.  I think I may have to rename this blog The Cruise for Cats. 

I have no regrets at visiting Kusadasi instead of Port Said.  It was wonderful to have the opportunity of seeing the ruins of Ephesus but I don’t think there is anything in Kusadasi itself which would ever draw me back.

The Magical Mystery Cruise - Medieval Malta

When I heard that we were to call at Malta I knew that there was just one place that I had to try to visit – the grave of Detective Sergeant Harry Battley who was killed in an air crash off Lampedusa in 1945.  I have been researching Harry for years so to come to Malta and not find him would be so sad.  The small cemetery was at Mtarfa but where was Mtarfa and would it be possible for me to find my way there and back to the ship in the few hours that we were to be in port at Valletta?  The easy option would be to hire a taxi for the day but that always proves highly expensive – and why take the easy option when there are probably more adventurous means !!

As always I was one of the first down the gangplank and headed off for the 20 minute UPhill climb into town.  I noticed the buildings were ancient and beautiful.  Pinkish, yellowish blocks towered up four or five stories above my head and all were dotted with balconies of various design and colour.  The streets were narrow and almost deserted as the city had not yet awoken.  I spotted a small grating at street level out of which poked the cheeky the faces of several kittens who had taken up residence in the vaults of the church.

After several false turns I managed to find the Tourist Information Office and enquired about the cemetery at Mtarfa.  Oh yes, there was a British Cemetery there but none of the tourist maps showed where exactly it was and none of the staff were able to point out its location on the map.  I was told that I could catch the No. 51 bus to Mtarfa and that the driver would be able to point out the cemetery when I got there.  For someone who always plans her journeys to the nth. degree this was not very reassuring!!  So there I was in a strange country heading for the bus station to get on a bus that would take me to a small village miles from the coast.  I must have been mad but when a grave calls there is nothing for it but to go !  I found that I needed to buy a one day travel pass for the princely sum of 2.60 Euros from the ticket office.  Then there was a 25 minute wait for the No 51 which I noticed went to Mtarfa via the ancient cities of Mdina and Rabat.  When the bus arrived I was almost carried on amidst the hustling, bustling locals.  The ladies were in fine voice and shouted and laughed about everything around them.  Off we set in the rush hour traffic heading out of town in a westerly direction.  I followed our course as best I could on a very basic tourist map and after 40 minutes found we were entering Rabat.  The next village - the last on the route - was Mtarfa.  I enquired of the bus driver the way to the British cemetery but he had no idea !  Great – now here I was in the interior of the country with no idea which direction to make for.