Lucca, Italy. May, 1988

I have not seen my friend Antonio in almost 25 years. We met for the first time in 1984 when I was touring Italy solo, taking trains all over the place, from Venice to Palermo. When I got off the train in Lucca, Antonio was there waiting for me. We’d never met before, but we’d corresponded frequently (in the days before email) and exchanged artworks through a network of mail artist connections. I remember staying at his parents’ house, touring the city, visiting him in his graphic design studio, meeting his girlfriend Roberta (in orange, above). I have not seen him since visiting Lucca in 1988 (Antonio is holding a wineglass in the photo) with Nick and Miriam. If all goes as planned, Antonio will be coming to meet us in Portovenere today with his wife Anna Maria and his children Suzy and Tiziano. I cannot wait to see him again, to meet his wife and his son and daughter.

Noto, Sicily. May, 1988

Sicily is such a wonderful study in contrasts. The life-loving music and food that enhance day-to-day life. The solemn widows who wear black for the rest of their lives. I remember the trip that Nick and I took to Noto, southwest of Siracusa. Monumental buildings made of local golden stone, richly filagreed ironwork everywhere you looked. Jay and I were in Sicily for a day last year when our boat stopped in Messina, then on past the still active volcanic island of Stromboli that we saw erupting in flames in the dark night as we sailed by. Today’s stop is slated to be Portoferraio on another of Italy’s islands, Elba (of course there’s a Napoleonic museum), 12 miles off the coast of Tuscany, and in the same archipelago as the island of Giglio (where that ill-piloted Italian cruise ship ran aground last year. Yikes!)

Off Civitavecchia, Italy. October, 2011

Today we’re headed into what has been the port of Rome for centuries, Civitavecchia. Last year when we arrived here, we headed subito to the train station and sped into Rome proper. This time, as we’re aiming to sail out again in the afternoon, we’re hoping to spend some time in this busy port town. There’s a market (of course) and also a local flea market to be explored. And we’re hoping that we’ll be close enough to Rome that the lunch menu at some little trattoria might feature the Roman specialties we fell in love with on past trips: spaghetti cacio e pepe and carciofi alla giudea. Fortunately I not only know how to order both in Italian, but can easily ask for lo stesso ancora. The same again.

Capri, Italy. October, 1984

Today we’re planning to dock at the storied Isle of Capri and then head up, up, up via funicular to the top of the mountainous island. It’s way up top where you’ll find the jet set who turned Capri into a millionaires’ paradise many decades ago. I suspect the real jet set has long abandoned the place to the hordes of tourists that descend upon it daily. When I was there almost 30 years ago, I remember walking back paths through groves of lemon trees to the palace of Emperor Tiberius, staring at the cliff from which he threw his enemies to the coastal rocks below. Also, more gently, the kind boatman (a shoulder shrug, a nice tip) who took me into the Blue Grotto after the last official boat had left, affording me a quiet and private view of this natural wonder. I suspect now, three decades later, such privileges may no longer still be so easily available.

Messina, Sicily. October, 2011

Ah, the golden fried pleasures of arancine. Rice balls that contain, in the classic preparation, meat and tomato sauce, lovely melted cheese, peas. We’d first enjoyed these treats at Galleria Umberto, the Sicilian American pizzeria and tavola calda in Boston’s North End. Because it was a popular item that sold out quickly, the counter man would regularly call back to the kitchen, “Sam! More arancin’!” (And how many times did we have a piece of pizza or two waiting for Sam to deliver?) Here in Sicily, we made a beeline to a busy downtown snack bar filled with university students on lunch break. No Sam, but plenty of arancin’. Today, we’re slated to be back in Messina, hoping to see the Caravaggios we missed last year, and you can be sure where we’ll be heading for a little something, a little qualche cosa di buono.

Sea of Marmara, Turkey. October, 2011

Oh, look at Dr. Blake, so comfy and cozy, already settled into our spacious stateroom on the Wind Surf. Last year at this time, we’d just sailed out of Istanbul and were headed south to Asia Minor, the Greeks Isles, Athens. This year, if all goes as planned, we’ll be spending today sailing around the boot of Italy, ready to arrive tomorrow in Sicily. The customary at-sea day on most Windstar cruises provides a nice time to just relax, read, maybe use the fitness center, have tea, do the things you might not normally do when busy in port. Well, it’s almost time for dinner. Better put on shoes, Jay.

Istanbul. October, 2011

Today, our planned itinerary should find us sailing into the fjord-like port of Kotor in Montenegro. (I do like saying Montenegro.) I know little about it beyond the fact that it has been at times ruled by Venetians, Ottomans and a few others. (Sounds good to me.) And that because of its embattled past, the city is surrounded by fortified walls. Also that it has no national currency but uses the euro as its money even though Montenegro is not part of the European Union. And I was delighted to see that we will be arriving on a market day. It seems that every new place I go, I love to head to the market. I see real people (vs. tourists) there, hear the language, watch the interactions. Here’s a small fruit and vegetable market (one of many such) that we visited in Istanbul last year at this time.