Garda, Lake Garda, and Homeward

Monday 5 July 2003. We are on the last leg of our last look at Lake Garda on the last day of our holiday. Let's hope it lasts...

Hey up... At the time of Napoleon the French armies gained control of much of northern Italy. Having gotten back on board the Leger coach this is what we see as we approach the town of Garda. The blighters are still here! So, singing a well-chosen Abba song we wave gaily as we pass...

Garda has a curved bay facing onto the lake and is altogether another reason why we don't want to go home again so soon. "Do you know how much rain we get in our Lake District?" I demanded of a French dragoon, casually swatting his sabre aside. His eyes crossed. It wasn't his sabre...

We followed the curve of the lakeside into town. Bars and gelateria all over the place. An excellent last stopping point for the holiday.

And in the town, more pavement cafes and bars. There was a parish church dating back to the 6th-7th centuries, though it was rebuilt from 1530. Unfortunately the money ran out and the church didn't get finished until 1764. We deferred a visit for a chance of a sit down with a glass of Aperol...

Then it was back on the coach and the return to Riva del Garda, passing through more of the road tunnels through the cliffs as we approached Torbole. I think I mentioned that a few years later the tunnels would be used for a car chase scene in the 2006 Bond film Casino Royale. Somewhere along this bit an Aston Martin car had to be fished out of the lake with a crane after a stunt driver had a slight mishap...

We got off the coach in Riva and then had a surprise as a bunch of determined chaps came round the corner, legging it for all they were worth. Were they still after Bond? No, he wouldn't be here for another two years, it was a running race. We soon noticed TV cameras all over the town.

Not long afterwards the runners had spaced themselves out nicely as the fit ones pulled away and the less fit ones puffed and panted behind. I puffed and panted from behind a nice ornamental glass dish with ice cream, pineapple, strawberries and fresh cream... It was hard going...

Tuesday 6 July 2003. We were picked up at Riva and driven to Verona airport for our flight back home to Manchester. I think I'm right in saying this was the first time we had boarded a plane the old-fashioned way, by walking out onto the tarmac to climb the steps instead of walking along an air corrider to step onto the aeroplane on the level.

Our flight would take us up over the Dolomites and the Alps which, it must be said, is better than flying into the side of them. Join us on another holiday soon!

Lake Garda and Northern Italy, 2003 Index

Our First Day in Valetta, Malta

Hmm, a bit of a photo-fest for my readers today! This entry sets a record for the blog so far with 32 photos attached to a descriptive entry! There was one entry with a lot of photos of record albums without much description but I'm not counting that!

It's Sunday 31 August 2014 and, after a day at sea as we sailed on the Thomson Majesty from Corfu, we dock in the port of Valetta on the island of Malta.

Once the boat is safely parked (I know, I know...!) we are eager to be off and exploring. We've not taken up the option of going on a tour today as this is first visit to Malta and having done a bit of research we reckon we will be well rewarded with just walking from the ship. And so it proved to be.

Valetta city is set on a rather high hill. We could have just walked up it, but expending vast amounts of energy right at the start of the day seemed downright silly when, just along the road a bit, there is a lift that takes you up from ground level to er... ground level... But a good twenty storeys up to the new ground level! The lift costs one euro. We thought this was for each person for a one-way trip, thus two euros for up and down, but the descent is as cheap by lift as it is to jump from the top and the consequences are not quite as drastic. We paid our euro each and were whisked at high speed into the air. Then the attendant put us down and told us not to run off until we had our tickets which we needed to get through the barriers to the lift...

The lift took us up to a sort of park. Through these pleasing arches are a garden and refreshment stall and on this side, to the right of the photo is a wonderful panorama of the port and harbour of Valetta.

The viewpoint also overlooks a battery of guns one of which fires every day at noon and at four o'clock in the afternoon. We'll be back at noon for the firing, but for now we turn through one of the arches to have a look at the garden.

Now it's no good whatsoever expecting me to say anything remotely intelligent about any form of plant life. Despite three years and a bit working in a college of agriculture and horticulture, I still refer to anything totally green as a "plant" and anything with coloured bits amongst the green as a "flower". It's stood me in good stead for 60 years and I'm unlikely to change now!

The walls of the garden afford some stunning views over the city and harbour. The harbour seems to be huge. Opposite us are two deep inlets with forts on the promontories. The city was fortified by the Knights of the Order of St John, who had been kicked out of Rhodes by the Ottoman Turks and set to with a building scheme in Valetta, determined that it should not share the same fate.

They rebuilt their strength until Suleiman sent his army of 40,000 Ottomans against the Knights, who numbered 700 knights and 8,000 soldiers. The city but not the fortress was destroyed and when the Ottomans finally withdrew having heard of the landing of a supporting Sicilian force (but without realising it was relatively small) there were a mere 600 men still standing for the Knights of Malta.

We left the garden and walked into the city, admiring the taste of the street furniture. There are several post boxes and phone kiosks around the centre of Valetta. The day was hot - at least it was hotter than Blackpool - and we started to think of finding somewhere to drink.

The land slopes away from the city centre and there are several excellent views down to the harbour far below.

Miss Franny found a Costa coffee shop - that part-time job sniffing for illegally imported drugs at Blackpool Airport has stood her in good stead... An English woman in the line before me asked for a "latte".
"Only milk?" came the cautious query.

The Bibliotheca or National Library of Malta, flanked by Caffe Cordina, itself housed in a sumptuous building, once the Treasure House of the Knights of Malta, then the Grand Hotel, then a casino.

The Guard's Building facing the Palace in St George's Square. This building was in the sun and the Palace in shadow...

However, crossing the street we enter the Palace. This was the Grandmaster's Palace under the Knights of Malta. Valetta was in fact named after Grandmaster Jean Parisot de Valette, the founder of the city. The Grandmasters lived here, several of them enlarging the palace. During British rule it became the Governor's Residence, then it became the Prime Minister's Office and is currently housing the House of Representatives pending the completion of a new parliament building.

The entrance leads into the Neptune Courtyard, named for a statue of Neptune that I either missed or I was standing in a totally different courtyard/palace... If so, I have no doubt someone will tell me... Off this courtyard you can look round the Armoury, with a fine collection of weapons of the Knights of Malta, though apparently only a fragment of what they used to have after the attentions of the thieving ratbags of Napoleon's army - more of whom later.

We didn't go into the Armoury or the State Rooms because we wanted to catch (figuratively speaking) the noonday gun back at the battery. On the way out through the gateway I noticed several plaques on the wall commemorating various Royal visits. The ceiling was also worth a look (below).

During World War II Malta suffered unbelievably heavy bombardment from the Luftwaffe who flew over 5,800 bombing sorties, dropping six and a half million kilograms of bombs - almost as much as the entire UK was hit with during the Battle of Britain in September 1940. King George VI awarded the George Cross to the entire island in recognition of their bravery and suffering.

We left the palace and trotted down one of the streets leading downwards towards the harbour and waterfront. We came across this memorial to Dun Mikiel Xerri who helped lead a revolt against the occupying French forces of Napoleon Bonaparte and was one of 49 men captured and executed on Palace Square on 17 January 1799. Napoleon's forces were welcomed at first as the rule of the Knights had become quite oppressive. However in short order conditions became worse for the islanders and many were starving from lack of food. Xerri protested at the treatment of the population and paid the ultimate price.

We got this far down to the harbour and realised we were going to have to climb the hill again to see the noonday gun fired! At this point we swerved sideways with a steep flight of steps leading down before us and, turning again, started to climb back upwards.

It was a Sunday, so most shops remained closed and some of the streets were quite deserted. The buildings though were very pleasing to the eye. Walking back up was punctuated by short stops and clicks from the camera shutter!

How rude...

We arrived back at the battery garden with time to spare and took another look at the gorgeous views spread out before us. We sat, thankfully for a while, enjoying a drink at the open air cafe.

About ten to twelve we moved back to the balcony over the gun battery and eventually this chap came out and attached a detonator cap to one of two guns which, since we were last here, had had their breeches uncovered (I say, steady on...) and had been loaded with a charge.

The firing of guns at noon and four o'clock carries on a long-standing tradition. Many towns across Europe would fire a gun at noon, signalling the population to sit down and eat their lunch. At times of curfew, another gun would be fired by the authorities to say "Ready or not, here I come..."

I felt sorry for this chap really. He played his part extremely well, and remained glued to his pocket chronometer to be able to pull the lanyard exactly on the dot of 12 o'clock. That time came, he yanked: and nothing. A bit of a crack as the detonator went off and a small puff of smoke.

"Misfire!" he shouted and crossed to the second gun to attach another detonator and lanyard.

Without any ceremony he yanked the lanyard and I clicked the camera shutter. The roar was loud enough to make me jump and move the camera a little. But it gives the impression I wanted with the smoke and flame coming from the gun's muzzle!

We took a last look from our vantage point and returned from ground level to ground level via the lift. The Thomson Majesty was leaving at 5:00pm and by then we had lunched, lazed about reading and changed for dinner early enough to come back up to the Promenade Deck to watch us move away from the dockside.

We enjoyed the sun and the view of Valetta from the ship as we slid past small and large boats and cargo ships. The Valetta Pilot was onboard, there to offer advice if needed and the boat bumped up and down beside us on the waves which the Majesty disdained to notice. A moment of excitement as the pilot boat pulled in, the Pilot jumped across safely and the boat peeled off to return to the port. Tomorrow we will be in Sicily at the port of Trapani.

Italian Flavours Cruise Index

Ajaccio Corsica, Napoleon's Birthplace

Monday 20 May 2013. The Thomson Dream heads gently towards the berth at Ajaccio, Corsica.

We watched from the Promenade Deck until we were safely at a standstill and then went down to have breakfast and to get ready for the day. We were just going to get off the ship and look round Ajaccio independently.

David took a photo of the rest of us standing on the waterfront with the Thomson Dream behind us.

We started with a brief glance at the marina before heading up towards the building where Napoleon Bonaparte was born. On the way we wandered through a street market where we found this quite impressive display of olives. Not a big fan of olives - but they will play a further part in this entry.

David! No - seriously!!! Why would you do this to me?!? I was taking a photo of Napoleon's birthplace. As it is a tall building I turned the camera on its side to take a portrait format photo and of course the camera banged on the peak of my cap. So I turned it sideways out of the way for a couple of seconds and the dastardly clicky monster takes advantage... I'll get him back...

The home of Mr and Mrs Bonaparte was above a shop - currently a tanning / health type establishment. I'm not sure which window his first wails came from but the building now houses a museum to Corsica's most famous son.

We returned down to the waterfront and took a road train round the town which dropped us off for 15 minutes at the main monument to Bonaparte also seen above. Fran decided to zizz on the train at this point. Jeannie and I watched as David - the one with the bad knees - charged up the steps of the monument as though storming the massed ranks of Wellington and Blucher at Waterloo. The 15 minutes were fast approaching. We waved at him to come down. He waved back and disappeared around the back of the monument at the top...

We got back to find the driver pinioned within the safe grasp of Miss Franny. "I made him wait!" she said cheerfully. Mopping his tears and taking a reassuring bite of his onion, he bumped us back down the hill...

We went back up through the town to arrive at a pleasant and extensive square with a large statue to some general or other and a modern collection of ponds and fountains. At regular intervals we could hear thunder rumbling at us from over the sea. Yet the sky was clear and sunny. The morning was wearing out and we made our way down back through the town, stopping off to buy a few souvenirs - Miss Franny protects the paintwork of the fridge by completely covering it with fridge magnets.

I stopped to try out the hand-wound music boxes in front of the souvenir shop, turning round to see something of a crowd who had gathered to listen. It's all in the wrist action... Perhaps they don't get out much in Ajaccio - though I suspect many of the onlookers were off either our ship or one of the others that had docked that morning.

I suggested a glass of wine at one of the pavement cafes along the front.
"By heck!" cried David admiringly, "Who are you and what have you done with John Burke?" Tsk! Just because I'm not into spirits or cocktails! Anyway we got a bottle of wine between us and the waiter brought a platter which contained some slabs of toast and a dish of what looked like...
"Did a horse do that?" asked Miss Jeannie.

We decided it was crushed olives - see! I told you they would play a further part in the plot! They looked revolting but they tasted quite nice on the toast. There was still quite a bit left in the dish once the toast was gone and none of us could quite bring ourselves to lick it off the spoon...

We waved goodbye to the glamorous restauranteur who waved cheerily to us then turned to say something foreign to the waiter. I'm not sure... but it could have been "Well done with that horse poo, Claude!"

Highlights of The Mediterranean Cruise Index

Ajaccio, Corsica

Monday, 16 May 2011. The Thomson Destiny sails into Ajaccio on the island of Corsica.

We have not booked an excursion for this day and set off by walking around the harbour, which gives us this great view of the Destiny. Halfway up the chimney stack is a small bar that gives great views in all directions, though with only limited space so after having a look we didn't bother with it again.

The Clipper Bar was our favourite, with its nautical theme and ropes, halliards and mock ratlines as decoration. More or less from the same spot, but taken after twirling round to face the other way. Ajaccio was absolutely lovely.

We walked the full width of the harbour to where the harbour wall sheltered the moorings from the sea and then went back to the centre to explore the town a little.

Old street furniture - one of my great pleasures! Street lighting, signboards, road signs, advertising on walls, bollards, traffic lights, street name plaques... In England the latter are disappearing rapidly from our cities as new modern builds go up and owners or architects refuse to have them "disfigured" by street names. Madness. And maddening for strangers to a town or city, trying to find out where they are in relation to the map they are using.

A last look at the port and harbourside before we head into the town for a look round. There are statues of Napoleon Bonaparte all over the place. He was born in the town over a little shop a short way from the waterfront, which I think was either a dress shop or a tanning salon when we went past it - I should have taken more notice!

This statue has him dressed as a Roman emperor, one of his favourite fantasies so I believe - Josephine must have had an exciting time of it... This diminutive would-be Alexander the Great conquered a sizeable portion of Europe until his march into Russia ended disastrously and even once defeated and imprisoned he managed to escape and gather his devoted armies until he was finally defeated for good by Wellington and Blucher at Waterloo in 1815. Without him where would Sean Bean be today...?

So many inventions and everyday sayings came out of those horrendous war years when the whole of Europe including England were either conquered or convinced it was only a matter of time before he turned his attention their way. Tinned food, rifles, baguettes, "Going off at half-cock", "freezing the balls off a brass monkey" - actually the stand of brass on a fighting ship that held cannonballs ready for use.

We found a small road train and took a trip on it for a couple of hours for a very reasonable price. And look at the phone box too! Nice that a town so proud of Napoleon can find place for a reminder of the country that brought him to a halt!

We sat right at the back of the road train so that every little correction of steering at the front made us sway out into the middle of the road or to the kerb... A small party of French or Corsicans came late and a tiny woman squashed beside me. The commentary wasn't working so well in our carriage so they sang instead, doing drum and symbol noises for added effect. It was very jolly! At first...

The train stopped for photos at a few places then retraced its way along the coast back to where we had got on. The little woman was by now dozing and in grave danger of actually resting her head on my shoulder. I say, this entente cordiale is fair enough, but... with the memsahib sitting on my other side you know...

We returned to the ship and I had time to risk ridicule again by sketching the harbour wall from the Promenade Deck. From Corsica our next stop is Toulon. In Napoleon's time it was a huge French Naval Base - it remains so today, but during NB's war it was the scene in 1793 of a would-be rebellion in favour of restoring the French King which was foiled, resulting in the British Navy under Admiral Sir Samuel Hood, having to scarper as Napoleon retook the city. Napoleon was wounded and missed the brutal massacre of Toulon's rebels. Around 800-2000 people were shot or bayonetted to suppress the rebellion against... er... the rebellion.

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