Chapter 6: Civitavecchia, not Rome
Rome: Been there, Done That
21.09.2023 - 21.09.2023 75 °F
View Fjords & From Barcelona on Cunard on paulej4's travel map.
"Civitavecchia"
Thursday, September 21, 2023
If your cruise itinerary says "Rome," what it really means is that you will be stopping at the Port of Civitavecchia. It takes less than an hour by train to reach Rome but one has to add in waiting for departure from both ends of the trip when planning. So, it pays to understand that between three and four hours of your day at Port Civitavecchia will be devoted to land travel. The rest of it will be devoted to the scrum of tourists vying for a selfie, wildly waving their stick around to perch the Trevi Fountain in just the right spot over the scorpion tattoo inked upon their left shoulder.
Upon awakening--at 7:15, thank you, I pulled back our curtains to see 14 large tour busses lined up beneath our Deck 7 balcony. After coffees, I looked again at 8:45 and nine more coaches lingered awaiting passengers.
Having been there many times, we decided to forgo Rome and stay in the city of Civitavecchia itself. If you've never been to Rome, skipping it is a crazy idea, insane; one you should dismiss entirely to go see the colosseum, Vatican, parthenon and all the rest of what is truly one of the most beautiful and interesting cities in the world. But, if you've been to Rome--maybe several times--then consider staying closer to your ship after your arrival on the Tyrrhenian Sea. Dating to 100 A.D., Emperor Trajan built this harbor after the area was absorbed from the Etruscans. [float=left]
If you make that choice, you can forget about alarm clocks, lines of tourists lobbying for the best seat on the bus or train and, perhaps most importantly, being herded into a shop where the promised "best price" is actually the spot where the tour leader gets a storeowner gratuity for having brought 42 customers inside.
Staying in Civitavecchia, one finds that The Piazza Della Vista (Square of Life) is fun; the walk from there to Fort Michelangelo is easy. The restaurant and food market scene is vibrant with the Mercato Di Civitavecchia on Piazza Regina Margherita a must see. Lots of tourists skip Il Ghetto di Civitavecchia, built at the end of the 17th century by Pope Innocent XII to "host the Jews." They never came. WOW! Somebody wanted us! How unusual but appreciated. Why in the world did we not show up?
But we did; to Cibus Hostaria Romana. Pasta, ravioli, saltemboca, vino; all wonderful. We were the only native English speakers on the sidewalk--except for an ancient gentlemen sporting a Viet Nam Veteran baseball cap and earphones connected either to his music or--more likely--his hearing augmentation device. The other tipoff that he was an American was his insistence on bottled beer and a full cup of ice for his water. Not that we were eavesdropping on him, it's those dog ears of Paul's that I told you about. Nothing escapes him. Opting for the place because virtually every table was filled, we were not disappointed. The place is precisely two miles walking from the ship's docking spot or a five-minute ride on the "every-twenty-minutes" shuttle bus. Lunch was awesome, worth every calorie and trust me there were plenty. Beyond the food, the experience was much more what we are about. Off on our own, exploring the town, falling into a local place to eat, enjoying the vibe and watching the people. There really wan't that much to explore in the town. The shops looked very nice and high end but were all closed until 4pm. i know that is the custom in much of Europe. I can't imagine taking off 3 hours for lunch and then going back to work. I think my productivity would be about zero on that kind of schedule. Not to mention, when you depend on tourists for business, those hours just don't work. Oh well, who am i to judge. Lunch at one's desk with one hand on a sandwich and one on your keyboard might not be the best either.
Walking from Cibus to Ourbus, we passed a shop where, inside the display window, B4 spotted a colorfully packaged manual pasta machine. "I sold a zillion of these," she said, reminding me of her days as the gourmet cookware buyer at Macy's New Jersey. If, per chance, you've yet to be regaled by her story of the Simac electric extrusion pasta machine fiasco of 1978, "The first overseas merchandise return in the history of the company" and her near professional downfall, ask her about it. It's a great story, particularly so if you're an expert in alternating current fluctuations and the contrast between European and American measuring cups. i loved my job as the gourmet cookware buyer for Macy's. From that Simac electric pasta machine i went from no profile to a peacock and then to a feather duster all in the course of about 6 months. I did pull it out in the end so regained some of my former recognition. I'm a good problem solver. I still love the category and love to cook, albeit i am not getting the James Beard award. Any of you who have been in my kitchen know i have every gadget imaginable and ovens that do a lot more than just bake. It is my creative outlet. i experiment on Paul who always says 'this is great': he is really the sweetest man ever and i am very lucky. But i have warned him, that when he tells me that, he risks being served it again so best to be honest.
Of course, the waterfront hosts "Unconditional Surrender," the massive sculpture of a sailor kissing a nurse--a depiction of the famous Life Magazine Alfred Eisenstadt Times Square end-of-World-War-II photo. It's "Kitschy" and I think there is another just like it in Sarasota.
If you are more adventuresome, there are many Etruscan sites just outside of town. For us this less exhausting and much shorter day was just the ticket. We experienced a sidewalk eatery enjoyed by locals and got a flavor of the place in today's terms rather than what was happening in the time of Christ.
We made it back to the Queen just in time to slip into something comfortable and take the secret elevator to Deck 12 and the opportunity to once again be served tea and scones and, for B4, a decadent chocolate ganache creation proudly served by a white coated team of waiters serving not from their cart but, given the culture here, their trolley. Ever the purist, I again opted for tea and a scone with a precise dollop of clotted cream. Getting to Deck 12 is not so easy. As we've mentioned, the elevators are confusing. To find the right elevator we walked back and forth the length of the ship a couple of times. Now what is a head scratcher about that is that we passed multiple staff people that could have directed us. I mentioned that and got no response. That male gene that does not allow for asking directions just boggles my mind. i know it is related to the one that clicks the remote control endlessly. I think it is present from birth and i've yet to meet a man that doesn't have that gene. If they were gifted with Waze emblazoned in their brains it would be fine, but they are not.
Earlier in the day I took advantage of a service enhancement not available on most cruise ships: the guest laundry. Free of charge with laundry soap provided, it offers a way to save a few hundred dollars on a two-week journey by doing a wash yourself. I do it at home, I do it at sea. Paul not only does the laundry at home, he irons the sheets and then makes sure they are tight by strapping them down under the mattress. He doesn't allow me to touch any of that as he does not think i do it right. Who am i to complain, not a word of resistance from me. He does the dishes as well as the laundry. I lucked out! With the savings, perhaps we can acquire an outrageous eyeglass frame for B4 to bring home. A great idea!
One nice feature of sailing on Cunard in Queen's Grille is that they suspect you may wish to communicate in the old-fashioned way with personalized stationary and, perhaps, a quill. Our stationary snafu featured a misspelling, particularly eerie since I followed a long line of Barrys who romanced the Queen prior to my naming as knight of the realm.
For those who don't know, maintenance aboard ship is a constant activity. There is a full-time crew of painters who, with their buckets and rollers, can be spotted on deck putting a clear white coat on whatever has been mussed. In port, one normally sees those same blokes hanging from a rope tidying up the hull. Day before yesterday I ran across a greaser who was lubricating cables and gears involved in the lifeboat lowering process. And, today, on my way to the guest launderette, I took note that some folks down the hall were being redecorated. All of that happens during the course of any and every cruise--most of it invisible to guests; there is no logic to forgoing revenue by having a vessel languish in port while maintenance or minor refurbishment is being done. I was once on a cruise--it may have been aboard this ship actually--where new carpet and a crew of installers replaced every square yard during the voyage. Those guys worked at night so as to not disturb the paying customers. By doing this work around the clock and every day of the year, the paying customers keep on paying with no potential revenue producing day skipped. If anyone would notice maintenance and cleaning it would be Paul. He is neat to the point of OCD. As he says, the house can be shown to a real estate agent on 5 minutes notice. No piles, nothing out of place. For that reason he is not permitted in my office or bathroom. We do not live by quite the same standard. But i know he loves me because he will leave my pile of papers on the kitchen counter for good week before he puts them somewhere i can't find them. His attention to detail and what he notices is as keen as his sense of hearing.
Up on Deck 12, far from the cheap seats, we note that even here the tendency to adorn one's body not with jewelry but with ink is becoming or has already become the norm. Sleeves were once made of fabric. Finding the human body, particular one of the female persuasion, to be a work of art in itself, I see no need for such permanent accessorizing. And I admit to being mystified by the choices people make. Unlike with art where one spies a particularly fetching piece and must have it, tattoos seem to come about with a need for the ink itself with the choice of motif an afterthought. Bizarre geometric patterns, serpents, Asian characters saying one thing or another (trusting that the tattoo artist is sure it says "hope" and not "hate") are everywhere. Both my children are tattooed, one more extensively than the other, and I love them neither more nor less because of that choice. And, surely, they are in the majority while I languish behind. Neither pierced, nor inked nor unusually shaved, I settle for freckles, surgical scars and ever increasing approaching ubiquitous skin tags attesting to my advancing years. I remind Paul that i too am tattooed but my tattoos have a purpose as permanent eyeliner and eyebrow enhancement.
Before dinner it was EOS String Trio in the Grand Lobby who were doing a Beatles medley on violin, viola and cello. Then dinner was great, Dover Sole for both of us. Both sisters Mary and Jo with their table on our port side and couple Lisa and Mike with their table on our starboard side were in the dining room at the same time so the conversation for us was both left and right. Quite nice. We needed to be out of the dining room and into the Royal Court Theatre by ten to see just the Revolvers doing a "Sounds of the Sixties" show. Big hit: everything from Roy Orbison to The Beatles to The Monkeys to Simon and Garfunkel. All us ancients had a ball. I'm not certain whether it was the music or the waves but the place was surely rockin'.
Can't wait for them to perform again in two nights.
The mystery of the day was a delayed departure from port. One couple did arrive only a couple of minutes before our scheduled 7:00pm departure. I was standing on our balcony sipping champagne at the time while B4 was blow drying and joined with several other balcony onlookers in giving them a sarcastic ovation for making it back, albeit just in time.
But then, the gangway did not get pulled as it should have so we could make our port departure time slot. We waited. Two white clad officers and two dungaree clad seamen waited on the pier while nothing happened. Then the announcement came over the PA. "Will Owen (and some last name I didn't quite hear) contact the purser at extension xxx or come to the front desk immediately." That's when it became clear: we were missing a passenger. It is up to the Captain what to do in such a situation. He (she) can order an immediate departure or can decide to wait. There are a lot of factors in play: tides, port departure time slot (there are other ships that need to depart as well), distance to the next destination, etc.
But we waited. That's unusual. If you miss the ship, you miss the ship. Then the unexpected finale to the entire affair. A third officer rolled a large red suitcase, a small black case and a carry-on bag down the gangway and parked them next to the fence. A couple of minutes later came a small red suitcase, another bag and some miscellaneous other items. Then came a woman. Alone. We were not close enough for a clear image of what was happening to clarify the situation but, safe to say, she appeared, well, troubled; maybe in a bit of an emotional haze. She and all that baggage were loaded into a black van and off she went. We too, went on our way...a half hour late.
What transpired? We don't know and nobody will tell us, I am certain of that. Was "Owen" her traveling companion? Did something happen to him? Does she know what that might have been. Is he missing, injured, drunk, unconscious by the side of the road, smitten by a local Italian girl and eloped with her to the nearest island? Was the woman his wife, or his date, or maybe even his mother or sister? Nobody knows.
