A Transatlantic Voyage

This is not a letter from the Annex. Rather, we are out in the Atlantic, just coming into Porto Delgado, a town on one of the several islands of the Azores. Each has been formed by volcanic action. The island we are visiting today has more than one volcano. About ten years ago a site on the western side of the island became active and spewed ash for about 13 months, burying all of the habitation in that sector. The islands have quite diverse and interesting topographical features as we have seen simply from the slides and audio info given in advance of our landing here – all on our in-cabin TV set. Mark and I will go ashore a bit later this morning and walk about the town of Delgado. These islands are Portuguese, though for us tourists it makes scarcely any difference: the euro is the medium of exchange, and, language is not a difficulty in ports where much of the economy is focussed upon the arrival of folks (as the Americans say) like us.

For those of you to whom I have not given the full lowdown about this trip, I will spell out the amazing package that we bought into several months ago after seeing it offered in the Saturday Star travel section. Because transatlantic journeys are repositioning ventures for all of the cruise ship companies – to the Mediterranean in the spring and back to the Caribbean for the winter – deals abound to tempt customers to take the long sea trip with them. Thus they are always less expensive than a cruise of comparable length for any other itinerary. So our package: we were flown to Barcelona (actually to New York and then to Barcelona on American Air – not my favourite); were given two nights in a very good hotel adjacent to the old part of the city, and so wonderfully located for walking about; then, a fifteen night cruise in a balcony suite, visiting Valencia – easily the loveliest of the places visited, Cartagena – with a massive inner city of marble-laid pedestrian streets for walking and shopping at high-end places (we went to a grocery store for some staple items), Malaga – from which we boarded an inter-city bus to Granada on spec to visit the Alhambra (all sold out so we just walked the town, had lunch, and returned – lovely ride across the countryside), and, Gibraltar, the big rock with one very long shopping street dedicated for the most part to British goods.

Since leaving Gibraltar we have had two days at sea and have crossed three time zones. Each of the past three days has been 25 hours in length. We are now only three hours ahead of Toronto time and are gradually making our way back. Today, as I mentioned above, we will stop at Porto Delgado from 8 AM to 5 PM. Overnight we sail on to Horta, another town on these islands. Then we will have a further six days at sea before reaching Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Our package will send us back to Toronto via New York again, flying with, I believe West Jet. All of the above, including taxes, was purchased for the remarkable price of $2700 each. I tell you all of this as a recommendation to consider this type of travel if time and pocket allow.

It’s been an interesting trip throughout. I wasn’t entirely well while we were in Barcelona. I may have picked up a bug of some kind en route but it passed within a few days. I was able to get about nonetheless and found another area of interest to the east and south of the old town – also an older area full of meandering alley-like streets, old churches and squares, but in some way less tourist-ridden and more in use by locals. Each of the four days of our quick visits to the cities on the journey down the coast of Spain has had its own moments of interest and of frustration. The latter relates to some minor snafus not worth mentioning as well as to the differences in ways that Mark and I do things. We have found that our initial forays into a town work well. We decide upon the places to visit and the means of arriving there. We walk about and take in the local flavour. After an hour or two, however, our companionable air breaks down as the differences in our interests and tolerances become apparent. We have learned that at this point the best plan is to go our separate ways. And so we do.

At sea finding rhythms that suit us is easier. We have basically spent the past two mornings very much as we would have done on a weekend in Toronto: breakfasting when nature urges; Mark to the gym for a work-out and me for a walk on the promenade deck (about ½ mile per circuit); reading and writing (Mark working on drawings); basically giving one another lots of space and quiet. I managed another episode to post on my other current blog, the one about the Holocaust. I brought a few of my books on the subject along on our journey, knowing that I would have time to do more reading. I don’t seem constitutionally able to have a prolonged period in which I am not doing some species of study. I become restless and dissatisfied with everything if I attempt to put that part of my brain to one side. So I persist. With this particular focus I am teaching myself more about a piece of the history of humankind that has interested me for decades. Writing about it is my way of pulling the pieces together in my own mind. I post it as a way of putting it forth for anyone who might also be interested. I recognize that it not easy stuff to contemplate and that many will decline my offer. But that is alright. If you, dear friend, happen to be one of those who would rather not be a recipient of those posts, please feel free to tell me so, and, if you could and would like to tell me what your thoughts are about this focus, I would delighted to receive them.

My interest in history began when as a young teen I discovered, and subsequently devoured the historical novels of Thomas B Costain, a Canadian author who lived in Brantford, ON. These books opened universes for me that spread out from my suburban existence in the western section of Ottawa. They opened up not just geographical spaces but ones of cultures and eras. I entered into each in the way that my grandchildren now embrace the fantasy literature that is so prevalent for their generation. My bedroom was for a couple of years in the basement of our house; this seclusion allowed me to read well into the night, fantasizing the world into which Costain took me. I imagined actually being there, in fact, longed for the possibility to travel back (as shown in later movies) into each of these eras to experience for myself how other people lived and thought. As an adult I have focussed particularly my reading and thinking on totalitarianism as experienced in Germany, Russia, Japan, and China. Power is an issue that always interests me: who gets to do and to say what to whom, and, how did that particular instance come about.

Well, enough about that. We will return to Toronto on November 3. Other than our yearly visit to the Michigan Halls for American Thanksgiving late in that month, we will be in TO until November 29 when we decamp for the winter in Puerto Vallarta. Come south everyone. You will love it. All the best.