who is that . . .

we got home late last night. Twenty three hours after we awoke, and this morning, when all I wanted to do was sleep in, I heard them from my nice cozy bed. An ever so faint murmur at first, then a slight rumble. I curiously stepped to the top of the stairs. There was a definite babble from the hallway below . . . somewhere from the vicinity of our unpacked luggage.

The closer I got the more distinct the noise, until I realized it was tiny voices. Our clothes to be exact. "Let us out!" they shouted. "We're squished!," yelled one particularly clear voice. And then the chanting started. "Wash Us!", they roared over and over again, their voices no longer timid. The litany was getting so loud Bear had come to investigate. Yes, I felt sorry for them, packed like sardines wearing remnants of dripped olive oil, tiramisu, crumbs of biscotti, mussel infused butter splatters, and shiraz stains. They were a miserable bunch. Did I take pity? No, not I of the black pitted little heart, I turned on my heel and marched back to bed, pillow over my head to drown out their complaints. I will deal with them later . . . and suffer, I am certain, the consequences all summer long . . . wrinkles that refuse to release, shrinkage, bleeding . . . vengeful creatures that they are. In the meantime, I will dream of this:



Bonifacio, France. Ah!

homeward bound . . .

5:30 a.m. wake up we're off to catch a plane from Barcelona to Frankfurt, then Frankfurt to Orlando.  Yay!   Not that I didn't love the cruise but God bless Auntie Em.  She was right.  And just when you think things are winding down.  There is one more goodie under the tree

Holy mashed potatoes, Batwoman!!

sete . . .

maybe I want to go home and that is why I didn't enjoy Sete the way I should have, but it was old and dirty and full of dog poop.  What is it with France and dog droppings?  I love Greece and their famous cats . . . cats who bury their business, not leave it on the sidewalks like so many land mines . . .

But Sete is the Venice of France . . . a peninsula attached by a roadway. 

 We wanted to walk to the top of the mountain but sometimes concessions are called for, so we settled for this view.  That's our ship in the distance.

 And then we found a market and things were looking up:

 

and this oddity . . .   things were definitely better.

and when we sailed away and looked back, all was forgiven:

sorry for the fuzz.

sanary-sur-mer . . .

let me never leave France!  What a hidden gem.  Perfecto! 

Do you think it was because this was our first sight?

or because of this gorgeous bay?

 or these quaint sights?

I took hundreds of shots of side streets, olive oil shops, us slurping, boats.  But all I can say is it should be on everyone's bucket list and I want to go back.

St. Tropez . . .

another miscalculation on my part.  I was expecting something else.  Not as neat as Cannes or Sanuary-Sur-Mer but amazing shopping.  Really good ambiance.  I will add a few shots later but in the meantime, check it out if you ever get a chance.

olbia . . .

OK, not on the top of my list.  Definitely should have taken a tour to the Costa Smeralda.  Olbia reminded me of some poor, grubby, forgotten town.  Sigh. 

But of course I had to keep clicking away:

 and then there was this guy . . .  it really wasn't his fault.  Truly!

Can you stand the story, she asked, while forging on?  The  9TS was not feeling well and so we plopped down in the middle of a square and in the course of taking in our surroundings, there was a small cafe.  Slurp!  We wandered over and enjoyed.  Finally, I asked the waiter where the bathroom was.  We sort of had a language barrier.  I don't speak any dialect of Sardinian and he spoke no English.  I am so happy the word 'beer' translates so well.

He gave me a key and pointed to a door.  The door didn't need a key but let me into a little foyer, with two doors.  Both named.  Not in English, nor Italian nor French.  No universal pictures.  Hum.  I chose door number one.  No key needed.  Now as an aside, the 9TS has been suffering with a UTI for almost a month now, which mean we have seen the inside of a lot of bathrooms on this trip.  Some more rudimentary than others.  This one belonged in that category.  I found myself facing a porcelain hole in the floor.  A sort of bowl with foot markers on either side.  Ut oh.  I did the best I could and fled. 

Now in retrospect, it could have been that the key fit the lock in the other door.  I may have been in the men's room.  Who knows.  Why did I have to leave my camera with the 9TS???

We hotfooted it back to the ship and assuaged ourselves with chocolate shakes while napping in the shade. 

portofino . . .

I love this place.  It was the only port we duplicated from last summer's visit and it made me happy, happy, happy.  I'm not sure if it is the coloring, the weather, the walk through the woods, the idiosyncrasies or what.   Katie came with me and we headed out to Santa Margherita Ligure through the woods.  I still didn't make it all the way before my feet were screaming obscenities at me, came back on the road below.  If I win the lottery, I am going to spend my time between here and Oia.  Promise. 

Look at the colors:













 
Look at the views:

 
 Look at the  . . . huh?