The Honeymooners, Day Seven: Olympia Has Fallen

Our first port of call was Katakolon, Greece.  According to the Norwegian Cruise Line website, "This quaint little seaside town on the Ionian Sea is the gateway to Ancient Olympia, where Greek mythology was born and the first Olympiad was held. You may still be able to hear the distant echoes of the ancient Greeks cheering as you tour the ruins of one of the most important and exciting sanctuaries of antiquity."

That whole echo thing sounded a bit cray-cray, but we awoke early that morning and hopped aboard an Olympia-bound tour bus all the same.  Olympia was added to the registry of UNESCO World Heritage Sites in 1989, and ya'll know I love to collect those.  I'll spare you the suspense: No echoes were heard.  I did hear static, though.  Lots and lots of static.

This was the first tour I had ever done (outside of a museum setting) that used wireless transmitters and receivers to provide a tour to a large group of people.  I must say I wasn't a particular fan of the technology.  Drift too far away from your guide,  and you are rewarded with and earful of static…which a shutterbug like myself will do without without fail.  I spent the majority of the tour snapping photos until I heard static, running ahead to reunite with the group…snapping photos until I heard static, and repeating.  As tours moved quickly to keep up with their guides, I found myself weaving in and around crowds of people just as rushed for time and static avoidance and perfect photos as myself.

A particularly troublesome spot was the Altar of Hera.  As you can see, this is the most boring photo ever taken.  As the static grew louder in our ears, a dozen tourists clamored for space around this thing trying to find an interesting angle.  I don't think any of us found it.  So why is it so important?

It is from this altar that the Olympic flame is lit.  The tradition began in 1936 during the Berlin games at what is considered the start of the contemporary Olympics.  The torch is ignited months before the opening ceremony via sunlight and parabolic mirror.  The torch travels around Greece on a short relay and then begins its journey to the host city following a ceremony at the Panathinaiko Stadium in Athens (which we will see in the next post).

The altar stands at the east end of the Temple of Hera, a Doric-style temple featuring a single row of columns along each side (six on the narrow sides, sixteen on the long sides).  When it was  originally constructed, the temple contained wooden columns, but they were eventually replaced by limestone.  The temple was build around 600BC and was destroyed by an earthquake in the early 4th century AD.
Legend tells that the disc of the Sacred Truce was kept within the confines of the temple.  The disc contained the text of a truce agreement made between all of the Greek cities that suspended hostilities for a specific period of time so that competitors could participate in the games without fear for their safety.

Pictured here is the Stadium,  which was estimated to have a capacity of 45,000 spectators.  Many tourists like to take their shoes off and run the length of the track.  They looked silly, but appeared to be having fun.  We were content taking photos.

Some other random pics from the day that did not have useful plaques from which to lift information follow…

TJ apparently found is name on this stone, but it's all Greek to me.

Hera may have had her own house of worship, but her husband was not to be outdone.  The Temple of Zeus featured six columns on the narrow and thirteen columns on the long sides.  The labors of Hercules, Zeus's son, were depicted on the twelve interior slabs.  The temple was destroyed by the earthquakes of 522 and 551AD.  

Inside the Temple of Zeus, one used to be able to find the ivory and gold statue of Zeus, sculpted by Phidias, which was lauded as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.  It is said that the statue resided at the western end of the temple and stood over 40 feet tall.  The Olympics were abolished in 392AD by the Christian Emperor Theodosius I of Rome, who saw the games as a pagan rite.  It is theorized that the statue was moved to Constantinople (present day Istanbul) at this time, where it was ultimately destroyed in a citywide fire in 475AD.  Another school of thought says it remained in Olympia, where it perished by fire in 425AD.  Either way, Zeus went out in a blaze of glory.  To the left is a conceptualized rendering of what the statue may have looked like that can be found in The Archaeology Museum of Olympia, which we also happened to be our final stop of the day.

The Archaeology Museum of Olympia's permanent exhibition contains finds from the Olympia excavations dating from prehistoric times to the Early Christian period.  The museum features a noteworthy collection of sculpture, bronze, and terracottas.

Although there were many fine pieces in the museum, we were in instantaneous and mutual agreement

that the showstopper was Hermes of Praxiteles, a marble sculpture depicting the messenger of the gods carrying the infant Dionysos, god of wine and madness.  The statue captures the duo in the middle of a journey to the Nymphs, to whom Hermes had been tasked by Zeus to deliver Dionysos.  It is speculated that the missing arm held a bunch of grapes, a symbol associated with the future god of wine.  Reproductions of the statue could be seen throughout the remainder of our travels in Greece, and have even popped up in archaeological sites we have visited in Israel.  None hold a candle to the original.

The statue was discovered in 1877 during an excavation of the Temple of Hera and is attributed to Praxiteles (4th century BC).  A noticeable lack of historical replicas indicates that, despite the statue's prominence in the modern day gift shop circuit, it probably wasn't one of the artist's most revered pieces at the time.  Even so, and I'm sorry, but...

The Nike of Paionios depicts a winged woman leaning forward, her cloak waving behind her, wings open, right foot resign upon an eagle - a symbol of Zeus.  This imagery gives the impression of her flying descent from Olympus to proclaim victory. The statue was an offering to Zeus from the Messenians and the Naupactians for their victory against the Spartans in the Archidameian war, circa 421BC.

The main gallery featured sculptured ornaments from the Temple of Zeus.  There were 42 figures decorating the two temple pediments.  This collection is one of the best surviving ensembles of ancient Greek works and are dated circa early 5th century BC.  The eastern pediment depicts the chariot race between Pelops and Oinomaos, with Zeus featured as the dominant figure.  The western pediment depicts the abudcion of the Lapith women by Centaurs, and Apollo takes center stage.

And now, some random museum shots…

It's apparently a federal offense to the photos of yourself posing with sculpture inside museums, because everywhere we went in Greece, people yelled at us for trying.  This is most devastating Managed to sneak a couple though, just because we're hard core.  (Also, if it actually IS a federal offense, we were framed.)

And with that, it was time to get back on the bus.  It was a great day overall.  We were able to check a city off of the bucket list and saw some amazing museum pieces that we weren't expecting at all.  I wasn't a fan of the audio tour and do feel that the tour scene in general really detracts from one's enjoyment of an experience from a time management perspective, but for cruise ship vacationing, it really is the safest option, as excursions booked through the ship insure you against missing your ride due to late arrivals back at the docks.

We returned to the ship that evening exhausted and in need of refreshment, so of course we stopped at at the bar.

Bartender:  "Did you go on any excursions today?"
Me:  "Yeah, we went to Olympia."
Bartender:  "And?  How was it?"
Me:  "Very poorly maintained.  Everything fell down."
Bartender:  "Hah.  Olympia has Fallen."
Me:  "That's a terrible movie," and then, turning to TJ "He just named my blog."
TJ:  "I know."

The Honeymooners, Days Five Through Fourteen: Washy Washy, Happy Happy

We awoke from our fourth restful slumber in Rome on the morning of January 8th, grabbed our luggage, and walked back whence we initially came: Roma Termini.  After diligently studying the departures board, we decided that we had plenty of time to settle in for a leisurely bite to eat before our train left for Civitavecchia, the port town 80km northwest of Rome from which we would embark on our 10 day Mediterranean adventure.  

Finishing our brunch, we meandered over to the automated ticket machine.  As I was carrying a more burdensome load of luggage that consisted of an ornery duffel bag that enjoyed frequent nosedives off of the top of a wobbly rolling suitcase, I trailed behind TJ by some great number of yards.  I arrived at the ticket booth just in time to see TJ accepting assistance from someone who claimed to work at the train station.  The gentleman's help consisted of the complex task of confirming that the tickets we already planned to buy were in fact the tickets that we should buy, and pointing at the credit card slot.  Once the tickets printed, our new friend stuck his hand out.  TJ, confused, asked what what he wanted.  I explained the obvious:  the man did not work for the train station, and he wanted a tip.  "Oh. Well, I don't have any money.  Can you tip him?" TJ asked, wandering off towards the terminal.  Slack jawed, I opened my wallet, looked at my options, and bitterly let go of 20 euros, the smallest denomination I possessed.  We then realized that our train would be leaving in four minutes…and that it was on the absolute opposite side of the terminal.  Much running occurred.  We arrived just in time, and even managed to validate our tickets, which was beneficial, as attendants made rounds this time. 

The train ride was uneventful.  I sat next to a young Filipino man who, as it turned out, worked on the ship.  We made polite conversation and then never saw him again once the train arrived.  Sitting in front of us was what appeared to be an American couple from the midwest.  Or maybe they were brothers.  But they were definitely gay.  We made polite conversation with them as well.  We saw them several times each day of the cruise, but none of us ever bothered to say hello.  I suppose it had been a boring train chat.    

Our ship of choice this time around was the Norwgian Jade.  As we had only sailed with Carnival in the past, we weren't quite sure what to expect, though we did know that Norwegian was (supposed to be) a step above.  

On the surface, it all seemed pretty similar to us:  The dining room had a tacky floral glass pattern.  The stateroom was small and uninspired, yet efficient.  

The lido deck had a pool and a couple of jacuzzis.  We spent our evenings dancing and imbibing in the "club." 

TJ continued his tradition of entering contests on cruise ships.  This time it was a dance-off, and his partner was a crew member who looked exactly like Anna Kendrick.  He won fourth place, and an ugly t-shirt. 

We also met two gay couples and their lady friend that had come all the way from Venezuela.  We spent time with them every day, whether it be a quick breakfast, evening drinks, or uncomfortable dips in the still-to-cold-to-swim-because-it's-January pool.  It's always fun to make new friends on cruise vessels.  It helps to break up the monotony of the sea, and makes you feel like you're at home.  We're all Facebook buddies now, but sure to never see each other again.  Such is life.  

None of the above was any different than some variation of what we had experienced on our prior travels with Carnival.  So what, exactly, did Norwegian's perceived extra level of prestige offer us?

So glad you asked:

PROS:

• The ship was multilingual.  This makes sense, as it departed from Italy and catered to a primarily European audience.  All announcements were given in Italian, French, Spanish, and English.  This made for an incredibly long, yet necessary, muster drill.  Evening entertainment was generally in English, but conducted in a way such that language wasn't crucial to one's enjoyment (i.e. concerts, magic acts, dance routines).
• The itinerary was stellar, and the shore excursions were just what we had hoped for.  
• One of the perks offered upon booking our stateroom was a complimentary bottle of champagne and a plate of chocolate covered strawberries.  They were yummy.
• Midnight roomservice BLTs  

CONS:

• Another perk offered at the time of booking was a $300 onboard credit.  When we arrived, we only received a third of that amount.  When we questioned this, the response was basically, "Tut-tut!  It said up to $300.  We got youuuuu."  No explanation was offered as to how one could have achieve the maximum credit.  
• The month prior, TJ made dining reservations for the ship's churrascaria on the evening of departure.  After realizing that the next day was our actual anniversary date and therefore a better evening for the reservation, he was disappointed to learn that the reservations could not be altered until we arrived on the ship.  Upon arrival we learned that reservations could not be changes with less than 24 hours notice without penalty.  Wait.  What?  
• Fortunately, the restaurant was closed that night, so they "generously" allowed us to reschedule for the following night anyway.  The food was subpar.  Here, and just about everywhere else.  
• The ship's acceptance of multiple languages and cultures did not extend to the dining staff, which consisted of an almost 100% Asian workforce.  The ship attempted to promote cleanliness in the dining facilities as a way to mitigate the risk of food-borne illnesses.  In their efforts, members of the waitstaff (again, mostly Asian) were required to stand at the entrances to eateries with a bottle of spray sanitizer and recite the phrase "Washy Washy, Happy Happy" immediately before squirting the pungent solution at passersby.  Perhaps we are overly sensitive, but this seemed really inconsiderate to people of Asian decent, as it is a common tool in racism to make fun of their English abilities in such a manner.  We felt justified in our reaction on the train ride back to Rome ten days later when, while discussing the trip with a Chinese-American couple from California, the wife proclaimed "That ship is SO racist!"
• The hand sanitizer set off a previously unknown allergy with such zeal that I thought I was coming down with the flu.   Luckily, TJ recognized the probable cause and, after switching to a strict regimen of hand washing and gel-dodging, I was back to normal within 24 hours.  
• The crew's sanitation efforts were for naught.  By day eight an unknown but likely high number of travelers were confined to quarters with stomach bugs of unknown origin.  We luckily escaped the illness but spent the rest of the cruise being very careful about our food intake.

Things could have been worse.  The ship was rotating from an eastern to a western Mediterranean itinerary when we disembarked, and travelers had been offered, at time of booking, to do two back-to-back cruises so that they could experience both journeys.  When we embarked, I thought it sounded pretty awesome and was jealous that we weren't doing it.  By the time we disembarked, I could think of no greater torture.  

We're already pondering our next vacation, and even our next cruise.  (In fact, I'm so behind on this blog that we've actually already taken another, shorter cruise…and sadly, that boat made the Norwegian Jade look like a dream. More on that in due time.)

We aren't sure where our next long cruise will take us…but it probably won't be on a Norwegian ship. 

Not that it was all bad.  As I said previously, the ports of call were spectacular.  Now that this ugly business is behind us, let's get back to the fun stuff.  See you next time! 

The Honeymooners, Day Four: Vatican City Should, Technically, Be Called Vatican Country

January 7th, our final day in Rome before heading out to sea, was spent walking to and from the next country over.

Vatican City, although landlocked by the city of Rome, is a 110 acre city-state with a population of less than 1,000 and a government all its own, with the Pope as its head.  The smallest country in the world, Vatican City runs a tax-free system in which revenue is generated by museum admission fees, stamp and souvenir sales, and charitable donations.

They don't, despite popular rumor, have their own passport stamp…which is absolutely the lamest things about this place.  Well, that, and the fact that you aren't allowed to take photos inside the Sistine Chapel.

We spent several minutes searching for a coffee shop near the entrance and then, failing that, spent several more minutes ensnared in the grasp of a tour promoter who tried (unsuccessfully) to convince us that the lines would be too long for us to see everything that we wanted to see without his assistance in skipping the lines.  We decided to risk it.  Everything turned out okay.

We've experimented with vacation methodologies over the course of our travels and, generally, what works best for us is to just go somewhere and wander around, perhaps using a brochure as a guide to hit the highlights.  On this particular day, and for whatever reason, we opted for a new approach, which was to pay for the official guided, pre-recorded, audio tour.  Big mistake.  TJ was able to feign diligent listening skills for a considerably longer period than myself, having managed to only make it so far as the third point of interest before turning the device off altogether.

I did manage to glean that my newfound favorite sculptor, Bernini, had played a significant hand in the creation of St. Peter's Square….which I failed to photograph in any meaningful way.  Hah.

The photo to the right is the view looking out from the entrance to St. Peter's Basilica.  The four-thousand-year-old Egyptian obelisk has stood in the center of the square since 1568.  Bernini designed the square around it approximately 100 years later.  The panoramic shot above provides a view of the square and the basilica from Via della

Conciliazione, the street by which we left Rome and entered Vatican City.  Bernini's contribution consisted of two large semicircular colonnades that create the appearance of an oval-shaped, inclusive arena from which a gathered populace could witness the Pope's public appearances.  The design has been likened to two arms reaching out from the church to embrace the crowd.  The Nativity scene and the Christmas tree are, obviously, considerably newer additions, and quite probably seasonal ones at that.

St Peter's Basilica is a late Renaissance church that has been long regarded as one of the holiest

Catholic sites.  Catholic tradition states that this is the burial site of Saint Peter, one of the twelve apostles of Jesus Christ.  It is believed that Saint Peter's tomb is located directly below the basilica's altar.  It's a bear of a thing to get a photo of, but I did my best.  You may judge my efforts by glancing to the right.

It is also thought that the first Pope and Bishop of Rome is interred within the basilica.  For these reasons, a church has been located here since the days of the Roman Emperor Constantine the Great, and numerous Popes have been laid to rest on these grounds.

There are four major holy relics associated with the basilica.  A statue representing each relic is set within one of four pillars that support the dome:

L:  Saint Helena holding the True Cross and the Holy Nails (Andrea Bolgi)

R:  Saint Longinus holding the spear that pierced Jesus's side (Bernini)

The altar, which stands above Saint Peter's tomb, 

rests directly below the basilica's dome

 L:  Saint Andrew with the St. Andrew's Cross (Francois Duquesnoy)

R:  Saint Veronica holding her veil with the image of Jesus's face (Francesco Mochi)

Michaelangelo's Pietà is located within the first chapel on the north side of the basilica.  The marble sculpture is arguably among the most famous in the Vatican's collection, and is the only piece the artist ever signed.  It depicts Jesus cradled in his mother's arms following the crucifixion.  Commissioned for French Cardinal Jean de Bilhères as his own funeral monument, the sculpture was moved to its current location in the 18th century.

The basilica is ripe with gorgeous works of art, both inside and out.  Here are but a sampling of the photos I took, themselves but a sampling of what could have been taken.

Upon exiting the Basilica we were again accosted by a tour guide that assured us we would be unable

to successfully visit our onward destination without his help.  I quickly walked away and propped myself up on this wall, where I casually waited for TJ to make his escape.  He took this picture as he finally made his way over to my hideout.  It's one of very few that I like of me from the entire day, so you have to look at it, too.

We continued on to our next stop, the Vatican Museums.  Along the way we met a third, far more clever tour guide.  Instead of pitching his tour to us, he merely said "If you are going to the museum, you have to buy tickets over there."  We took one step toward the ticket booth, then turned around and asked if these were entry tickets or tour tickets.  They were of course tour tickets, and we made a beeline for the door.

The Vatican Museums display works from an enormous collection built by the Roman Catholic Church throughout the centuries.    The museums were founded in the 16th century by Pope Julius II and include 54 galleries in total.  Fancied as a sort of grand finale, The Sistine Chapel is the final gallery on the circuit.  But you can't take pictures of it.  Sigh.

Anyway, here are some neat things I was able to photograph:

These fresco fragments come from the lost decorations of the Basilica of the Holy Apostles in Rome.  They date back to circa 1480, when the church was rebuilt on orders from Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere, the future Pope Julius II.

The original composition showed the Ascension of Christ among angel musicians and praying apostles.  The frescoes were detached in 1711 when Pope Clement XI ordered restoration work to be carried out, but only 10% of the work survived.

Fourteen fragments have ten put on record in the Vatican collections, but the largest parrot of the fresco, the figure of Christ, went to the Quirinal Palace (Staircase of Honor), where it remains to this day.  I don't think I will ever see that piece in person, as it happens to be located in the home of the Italian president.

Next up is Transfiguration, by famed Renaissance painter Raffaello Sanzio.

As is often the case with masterpieces, it steals the show and the adjacent paintings get no love whatsoever.  In solidarity with the lesser-knowns, I'll simply move on…but this next piece is my absolute favorite.

Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden by Wenzel Peter is so stunningly beautiful that I simply had to buy a tacky refrigerator magnet to bring home with me.  I've cropped the image so you can better see some of the detail, but surrounding Adam and Eve are approximately 240 different animals representing Europe, Africa, Asia and Oceania.  There are also birds from both the Old and New Worlds, demonstrating the painter's scientific competency.  Pope Gregory XVI was a great admirer of the artists and in 1831 purchased twenty of his paintings to decorate the Papal State Apartments.

As it turned out, the Sistine Chapel doesn't own a monopoly on painted ceilings.  Here are some of my favorite examples from throughout the galleries, which were literally wallpapered with art.  A special treat was being able to watch the curators carrying out restoration work.

Due to poor planning, the camera battery died soon thereafter…but not before we perused the gift shop and found a marble replica of a bust of Narcissus that we just had to have.  In Greek mythology, Narcissus was a hunter renowned for his beauty.  The story goes that he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a pool one day and fell in love with it.  Unable to bear the thought of leaving the image behind, he stood there until he died.  Not only was it a gorgeous replica, but we also thought it would be an absolute hoot for a gay couple on their honeymoon to buy an idol to narcissism.  The only problem was, we had somehow missed the original during our museum jaunt.  We quickly retraced our steps through the sculpture galleries, taking a few more shots along the way:

And, lo!  There he was!  Isn't it beautiful?  The reproduction is even more stunning, as it is, well, newer. Made from bonded marble directly from a cast of the original, the reproductions at the Vatican are as close to authentic as you are ever going to get, and of a much higher quality than those at your standard street corner gift shop.  Content with now having seen the original, we wandered back to the gift shop where we...

…chickened out and didn't buy it.  Cost was a factor (fairly expensive for a knock-off), as was weight. We were a long way from the hotel and neither of us wanted to carry the heavy thing.  We were also concerned about having to lug it around on a cruise ship, a return trip to Rome, a flight to Tel Aviv, and a cab ride to Jerusalem.  Woo!  I grow tired just thinking about it.  

As we were readying ourselves to leave, I discover that the camera had enough juice in it to snag one more photo, and I'm SO glad it did!

The Martyrdom of Saint Stephen, by José Clemente Orozco, is a striking enough painting on its own.  But the wave of nostalgia that it brought back from Guadalajara was priceless. 

The camera died just as the picture was captured.  I think perhaps this was the afternoon that we went to another museum that featured a temporary Emperor Augustus exhibit, but they didn't allow photography anyway.  And in this "pics or it didn't happen" society, that's all she wrote.