Mediterranean Cruises

Into the Ancient World

Following a cold sojourn in Dublin, I decided to treat myself to a cruise in the Mediterranean. I found one on the S.S. Azur of Paquet Line that was especially well-priced—two weeks out of Toulon for just a few hundred dollars. It would take me to some places I hadn't visited before—Sicily, Israel, Capri—and some old favourites—Egypt and Greece. I was looking forward to the warm sun and the relaxing days at sea, and figured that since the line was French the food was certain to be good.

Toulon is the main port of the French Navy, with a reputation for being a tough town. I stayed there just a night before sailing, so didn't have time to do much exploring. I did notice that a lot of the locals seemed to be North African. The next day I took a taxi to the port and caught my first glimpse of the ship, an ocean-going car ferry that carried freight and passengers to Dakar, Senegal in winter. The atmosphere before sailing was festive, with people bustling around, sorting out luggage, meeting old friends, anticipating the voyage ahead. The ship was well-kept, and I was happy with my small cabin. I hurried back on deck once my luggage arrived to watch us sail, and drink some of the complimentary champagne. My fellow passengers were mainly older and French, as expected, well-dressed and not overly friendly to a woman travelling alone.

At dinner I was seated with some fellow young Americans, and a dark-haired midsized man named Bernard who was the master of ceremonies for the line. There was also an American couple. Our host Bernard spoke American English without a trace of an accent—we learned that he had lived in Louisiana for a time, through some French government foreign aid program spreading French culture. Later we found out that he was equally fluent in British English, German, Italian, and Dutch, with a smattering of other languages. This polyglot capability that some Europeans have is one of the qualities I find most attractive, so I was soon smitten. The dining room had windows that gave us a view of the passing scenery, and I that first night we sailed between Corsica and Sardinia, wooded islands rising out of the blue sea. It seemed like an excellent start to the cruise.

The first port was Siracusa, Sicily, an old Roman settlement. Bernard invited me to tour it with him and a French diplomatic couple he had befriended, and I gladly agreed. The town seemed to be asleep—it was mezzogiorno, the three-hour lunch hour of Italy when almost everything shuts down. One of the places we went to see was closed because of "sciopero," which made me giggle because it reminded me of the many places closed by strikes during the year I spent in Bologna. Bernard wanted to buy shoes during our visit, and at the store where we stopped the clerk asked whether he was Italian, his Italian was so good. I was proud that I had at least been able to tell the French couple what "sciopero" meant—strike, or greve in French. Although we weren't able to see much in Siracusa, I did find the scenery gorgeous and vowed to return to Sicily at a later date.

We had a whole day at sea before reaching our next port, Alexandria, Egypt. I was a fan then of the books of Lawrence Durrell, especially his Alexandria Quartet set before the Nasser revolution, when Alexandria was still a very cosmopolitan city. By now the cosmopolitan flavour was gone, but the lure of a slightly decrepit ancient port remained. We had two days in Alexandria, and the first day Bernard invited me and the two girls from California to join him in a visit to the Pyramids at Giza by taxi—we split the cost. He undertook the negotiations with the driver, fortunately, a chore which I gladly relinquished. Egypt is a fascinating country, but one where tourists are often besieged by drivers, guides and souvenir sellers.

We set out along the desert road—it was July and very hot and dry. My fellow tourists were two pleasant but unsophisticated college girls from California, who had received the trip as a present from their parents. We drove past the occasional palm tree, but once we were beyond the city limits it was mostly empty desert stretching away on both sides. Bernard told us there were only a couple of places en route where we could stop to refuel and buy drinks. Because of the dryness the heat was not uncomfortable, but he warned us we needed to drink frequently to avoid dehydration. When we reached Giza after some harrowing driving through Cairo traffic he suggested we lunch at the Mena House, a luxury hotel with a view of the Pyramids that was then operated by the Oberoi chain of India. It was impressive, with its British colonial architecture and turbaned guards inside. It made me feel that I was stepping back into the days of the British Raj. I still remember what I had for lunch—delicious sea bass with curried rice. Afterwards, we walked over to the Pyramids and had our pictures taken atop camels. Bernard had served in the camel cavalry during the war in Algeria, so he was comfortable with the beasts, but I find them a little too tall for my taste.