Go Greece Lightening!

Going into this voyage, I always wanted to visit 4 major countries, of them Greece was my number 2 (after Egypt).  I was sold after having watch my Big Fat Greek Wedding and genuinely could not wait until our ship reached port. 

Oh, I need to interject something (that has absolutely nothing to do with anything).  When I say our ship, its possessive in its tone.  For instance the administration for warned us about how we (the voyagers) will become attached to this floating kingdom, how we’ll consider it to be “home” and refer to as such.  No lie, I do it daily.  I ask my friends when are they coming back “home”, or refer to me going back “home” at such and such a time.  After spending all day out on the town, I can’t wait to open the door to my room and lie in my bed.  Its funny really, how in all the traveling and experiences of new and foreign places, how one clings to something that is familiar… psychology man…psychology…

Anyway, the morning of the July 13, 2009 we arrived in Piraeus, Greece, which is the city adjacent to Athens (they actually seem to run all together).  In my high anticipation for this port, I must admit I was a little disappointed at first by Athens.  It wasn’t the fact that it wasn’t a great city, but the fact that it was too much like a city that I had seen before.  Athens, and I apologize for my belittlement of it, is just like New York City (in my humble opinion, and I love New York but not in Greece… do you understand what I mean…  I just didn’t feel like I was in Greece) except for the signs.  The signs!  For me it was like living Disney’s Hercules.  Most people may consider themselves knowledgeable of the Greek alphabet (alpha, beta, delta, gamma, etc.)  I too thought I knew, however I was wrong, and I would challenge others.  When looking at a sign were these letters are used to form words rather than acronyms, I didn’t know what sound the theta made.  This was the first country, since the beginning of my travels that I could not read the signs.  And not to the extent that I didn’t know what it said, because in Spain, in Italy, and in Croatia, I did not know exactly what the language was spelling out to me, however I recognized the letters.  In Greece, I felt completely illiterate (well at least until I looked down or flipped over the menu and saw the English translation). 

My first day in Greece I had a Semester at Sea trip to tour the city of Athens and the Acropolis.  The best part of Greece, I think, is the ancient historical aspect of it.  It’s amazing to me, to have read Greek mythology, and the texts of Socrates and Aristotle, and to walk the very same grounds (tens of thousands of years later).  We were given a brief history of the origin of the city, (how the goddess Athena, who sprouted full grown from the head of Zeus, is commemorated by this town) and of the ruins.  To the naked eye, what we gazed upon may have been viewed as simply a bunch of gravel and chipped rock, but those of keen sight, saw the remains of masterpieces, temples of white marble, constructed by the hands of average men, without the use of modern technology.  The grounds of the acropolis are under going a massive and extensive restoration project, so a lot of the temples, such as the Parthenon, are covered in steel cages because of this. 

All in all the antiquity of Athens was lost to me in the bustle of the metropolis.  In my mind, I had envisioned a place frozen in the time of great philosophical and political advancement, where the citizens wore togas and strappy sandals (I’m not talking about a literal image, but you get the jest).  And maybe that was my ignorance, but I was surprised to see how cosmopolitan it was, with the backdrop of ancient architecture (like the pillars that used to be the foundation for the temple of Zeus), posed a major contrast, for a McDonald’s or Citi Bank.  I was ready to venture to the more placid lands of the Greek Isles. 

That night, my one night in Athens, my friends and I decided (because of an early ferry ride to the island of Mykonos) to take it easy and just do a little Karaoke.  I did a special rendition of Mariah Carey’s Always Be My Baby and Whitney Houston’s Saving All My Love.  Two words: standing ovations

The next morning we woke up bright and early for a three-hour ferry ride to the island of Mykonos.  It was beautiful.  When I think of Greece, I envision (besides men in togas) white buildings with royal blue awnings and shudders, and that’s exactly what Mykonos delivered.  It seemed a world away from Athens.  Although Mykonos was prescribed to us as a touristy area, I was none the wise.  About 200 SASers went to the same island, and I didn’t see any of them except for the one’s whom I had traveled with.  The hotels were modest, not towering buildings with “Hilton” or “Best Western” engraved on the front, but discreet edifices that contained a sanctuary.  

In Mykonos we ate maybe some of the best gyros every prepared, laid out on the whitest and sandiest beaches, and swam in the bluest water ever.  At this point of the voyage, I have swum in the Atlantic Ocean (Spain), the Mediterranean Sea (Italy), the Adriatic Sea (Croatia), and the Aegean Sea (Greece).  The water of the Aegean is not just blue; it’s an aquamarine, a deep sea-foam green, and a dark navy blue.  The salt causes your body to float, so much so, that it seems impossible to drown.  My friends and I were in about 20 feet deep water but it seemed so shallow, because you could see clear through to the bottom.  I have never seen a beach so beautiful. 

(Please note: my apologizes for a lack of better adjectives rather than: beautiful, amazing, or great… most of the time I’m at a lost for words and that’s saying a lot)

In Greece, there is such a thing as paradise, and it’s a 5 Euro boat ride over to its location.  Honestly, after the first day in Athens, Greece (much how Croatia was…) was a vacation, or how the Europeans like to call it, a holiday.  Truly it was.  We hopped on a motor boat to Paradise beach and danced the night away, and when I got tired I swam in the sea some more and perched myself atop a rock in the middle of the water and emulated Ariel (The Little Mermaid). 

The next day we walked around the city of Mykonos, visited Little Venice, the Windmills, and Zorbas (if you’ve seen my Big Fat Greek Wedding, then you know what I’m talking about).  I also did a little bit of shopping, because it seemed that Greece was eating my stuff, on Paradise I lost both my sunglasses and my belt, I don’t know how, I just know they’re gone.  We partied a bit more that night and watched the sunrise over the sea. 

The following day we returned to Athens and it was hot.  Like a hot, I have never experienced before, but probably will soon get very acclimated with in Egypt and other later ports.  I loved Greece, everything about it really.  Even the unexpected metropolitan aspect of it.  I want to go back, I want to go back everywhere I’ve been so far.

My one complaint of Greece is that I didn’t have enough time.  I know you may think, well you don’t have that much time any of the ports really.  But for the first time in Greece, I felt like I didn’t see as much, or do as much as I wanted.  And because of that, I have some unfinished business to handle.

Kunas and Kebabs in Croatia

As you, all know I suffer from a chronic case of procrastination, which causes me to write this Croatia blog during my one day at sea in route to Turkey.  I just left Greece, which has officially left me exhausted and I can barely re-coop and definitely do not have the time to.  I’m a little under the weather and was a little behind in my class (I had to finish the Leviathan), so I needed to do some catching up. 

When we see each other again, please do not look at me strangely, but I may not look like the Shannell that you once knew or remember seeing.  Yes, I am still charming and beautiful (LOL I kid) but I am about five shades darker and about 8 pounds thinner, and thick eyebrows (due to the fact that I lost my archer).  In America I have realized that Black women of the darker variety often times compete with their lighter counter parts, because we are made to feel less than adequate because of our skin tone.  Some men in America find themselves to be only attracted to, if not more attracted to those red bones.  So we (the dark skin women) hide from the sun in order to, dare I say, not get any blacker.  We are plagued with the constant turning of the inside of our forearms in and out to see how light we used to be. 

But here in the Mediterranean I bask in the sun, I let its raze kiss my skin and turn me a deep chocolate brown.  I’m embracing my color even more now and I realize that everyone around me is too.  I have received too many compliments from my shipmates and from the citizens of the country on how beautiful I am and the complexion of my skin is; and shoot, if they like it, I LOVE it.  That was just a side note because too many times, at home, I have been told that I was cute for a dark skin girl, like that was an odd occurrence for a darker skin woman to be pretty, compared to someone with fair skin. 
(BTW I will write an additional blog about the race relations on this ship… man its… IDK)
But I digress.

Anyway, back to the story at hand, I realize in my last blog that I had a number of typos and for that I truly do apologize.  I did not proof read my entry, because it was overdue, and I was extremely tired (I keep saying that and with good reason because I am but…) and had a lot to do with getting ready for the sea Olympics and class that I was rushing.  Again I apologize if any of you had trouble comprehending, I will do my best to make the appropriate corrections this time and on any following entry. 

Oh yeah, I never have time to tell you about on ship life.  Because truly in comparison it fails to the port experience, but it to is interesting and maybe I’ll have time to dedicate a full blog to just those crazy happenings alone.  But just to keep you up to speed, we had our sea Olympics (I told you about this previously), my team did not win, sadness, but it was really a wonderful experience, and much needed break.  I participated in the synchronized swimming and relay races (we were robbed on both accounts) I have tons of photos and videos though.

Okay seriously now, concerning Croatia, I did not know what to expect.  I remember back in the early 90s (when I was like 5, yeah my memory is that bomb) hearing about the war-ridden area fighting for its liberation.  So I’m thinking it’s going to be a desolate place with dirt roads and meek habitats for the locals, I just really didn’t know.  Boy was I ignorant!  Croatia, more specifically Dubrovnik, may be the most beautiful place on this planet.  I will be returning and that’s final.  It was small but charming.  Not busy with the bustle of city life, but homey, neighborly, and safe.  I truly have never felt so safe in a place.  I didn’t even wear my money belt!  The water was so clear cascading against the pebble beaches, guarded by mountainous terrain, laced with houses shingled in red roofing. 

I must admit Croatia seemed more like a vacation and less of an educational experience.  I did learn a lot from watching the people and experiencing the place first hand, but it was more so really drinking everything in and basking in it, because when you ask the citizens of Croatia: “what would you recommend I see/do” and they say: “Go to the beach”… that’s what you do and you don’t argue about it.  So that’s what I did I went to the beach as soon as I got of the ship the first day in port, but not before I exchanged some US dollars for Croatian Kuna. 

Now previously, we’ve had to use Euros in these other European nations, where the dollar is weak.  But here in Croatia 5 Kuna equal 1 US dollar and I was a Kuna-aire.  I had a massive bankroll, or so I thought, I didn’t realize that the items would be more expensive.  Like for example a bus ticket (one-way) was 10 Kuna, which is 2 US dollars, and that tends to add up over time, but it just felt better to you spirit to know that you’re money accounted for more in this country so hey…

After my trip to the beach, we walked around the Old city, which still has remembrances of the war, bullet holes in buildings some chipped roofing and what not.  I walked the city walls, which is this massive trail along the perimeter of the city; it’s the most breathtaking view ever gazed upon, and the most thigh-tightening exercise ever engaged in.  My legs were BURNING!  Let me tell you something about the heat in Croatia…  I am not a sweater, as in it takes a lot for me to perspire, but about five minutes in the sun wearing nothing but my bathing suite I was sweating buckets.  It was that hot!  Like I tried to cross my legs and slipped. 

The stay in Dubrovnik seemed much longer and we made friends with a lot of the locals, because unlike the other ports we stayed in Dubrovnik the entire time.  I didn’t venture out the city overnight, and the only trip I did take was a day trip to the island of Lopud, which was an hour ferry ride.  My feet really couldn’t take the pebble beaches that much (oh speaking of my feet… um they are badly bruised and blistered, but its all worth it!  I suffered from a case of chin splits, but I’m a trooper) anyway, so the sandy beaches of Sunj on the island of Lopud were a treat.  However, I almost drowned.  Now this is not meant to alarm you!  I consider myself an okay swimmer; I have my breaststroke down pack.  The beach of Sunj was like a wave pool times 12.  It was shallow, that’s what got you, you could walk out 100 meters from shore and your feet could still touch the bottom, but the waves were rampant in this one section of the sea.  In this section was a rope, and me and my friends were like… hmmm that’s weird but whatever, were frolicking then out of nowhere at about 15 MPH forty-five waves crash consecutively into me, my mouth is full of salt water, I can’t sea, I lost my scrunchy for my hair, and almost my bathing suite bottoms, I feel the rope wrap around my ankle and I panic for about 1.5 seconds, than I realize that’s how people drown for real for real.  So I grab the rope, detangle it from my foot, and do arm over arm on it all the way back to shore.  Then the light bulb hits me… that must happen all the time because the rope was strategically placed there for fools like me, to help them get back to shore when standing in that death trap unknowingly.  I’m alive and well! 

The following day I went with my friend, Angie to meet her parents.  They were on a cruise and set it up so that they could meet our ship in Dubrovnik, they took us out for lunch, and we walked around the city a bit more… then we went cliff jumping.  I’m tapping into my inner Anglo (wink wink)!  Croatia is known for its beautiful rocky scenery and high cliffs, there is even a world competition hosted by Red Bull.  These cliffs are anywhere from 20 to 95 feet high to the water.  Now the cliff I jumped off of may not have been but about 16feet, but it felt like 116 feet and I almost peed on myself!  It was a line of those waiting to jump of the summit, and I just kept letting everyone pass me, trying to seem polite, one guy cycled 5 times before I finally conjured up enough courage.  Another guy lectured me to jump off, because he was so tired of me procrastinating my fate.  But I finally did it, and on the five-minute fall down, I felt accomplished.  The jumping off part was easy, no body told me getting back up on the cliff was the hard part, with the current pulling you every which-a-way you can’t function, so this lady who reminded me of the Virgin Mary grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the rocky steps to safety.  Awww Dubrovnik! 

That’s last part that I want to address about Croatia is their food, now I really didn’t dabble in the delicacies that much, but what I do know is that they make delicious pizza by the slice, and wonderful kebabs.  Not on the stick, but wrapped in pieta bread, with lettuce, tomatoes, garlic sauce, chilli sauce, and a little seasoning salt…. Mmmmmmm Delish!  I got one every night while in Croatia, to the point where the kebab man (who had side burns like Wolverine) knew my name and what I wanted before I ordered, now that’s dedication to service!  Farewell Croatia, you’ve been good to me, and until next time…

The Godfather didn't prepare me for this!

I like to begin all of my blogs as though we’ve already been engaged in a deep conversation about our days.  So, forgive me if I seem to ramble. 

But anyway, this entry is for my Italian adventure.  We spent a total of 5 days and 4 nights in this wonderful country filled with bread, pasta, wine, and pizza, divided between two ports in Civitavecchia and Naples.  I prepared for this venture with a marathon of the Godfather and a prayer with my rosary. 

Civitavecchia (pronounced CH-VI-TEE-VEC-KEY-AH) is a small seaside town and a 50-minute train ride to Rome.  So, I hopped on a train for 4,50 Euro to Rome and explored the ruins.  Being that I thoroughly enjoyed my stay in Spain (I mean the scenery, the weather, and the people were beautiful) I was a little disappointed in Italy.  Rome was grand but only until we took about a 20-minute walk away for the train station.  Oh and another thing it was hot and humid just like the southern states in America.  Seriously!  We were told that the Mediterranean weather was arid and dry heat, that during the summer months it wasn’t raining season so that we should not expect any showers.  The DEVIL IS LIE, um….  I spent two days and one night in Rome.  And lets say that we endured flash floods and an apocalyptic hailstorm… 

Okay, I’ll rewind and start were I left off.  During our pre-port lecture we were told to be very aware of our belongings, be self contained, blah, blah, blah; because Italians are master pick-pocketers, and that it’s the one’s that you would least expect.  Like an 8-year old gypsy girl, who looks harmless but will steal all your Euros (which 1 Euro is  the equivalent of 1.49 US dollars).  Now I’ll be (excuse my French) DAMNED if an 8-year old gypsy girl steals my money, after I’m still on edge from having lost my camera, so I was talking no prisoners.  But petty crime must be rampant in Italy, because it was even advised on the kiosk in the train station when buying our tickets to be aware of pick pocketing. 

After we arrive in Rome, we went to check into our hostel and drop off our things (it was a little sketchy, but you win some and you lose some with those places, but that’s why we only spent 1 night in Rome, because originally we reserved a bed for two nights, but the people we’re iffy so we rolled out after visiting the Vatican…  I’ll get back to that…)

[side note: I type …(ellipses) after a lot of phrases to leave room for open though]

After we checked in, we went to this pizzeria, because guess what pizza was invented in Italy, and guess what I get a hot dog…  I know forgive me, but I just wasn’t in the mood.  It was good though (don’t judge me!)  After our little food excursion, my roommate and I make our way to the metro station (subway) to go to the Colosseum.  And who strolls up to us as we try to figure out the Latin on the ticket kiosk, in some pink peddle pushers and a white tank top, with pigtails on either side of her head?  Yes, the 8-year old gypsy girl!  Her mother (that heifer) was sitting about 10 feet away from us on the stairs with a new-born in a red stroller waiting on her little demon child to collect.  First, the girl gives us the sinister look and says something in Italian that I couldn’t make out.  So, I’m keeping my distance making sure I don’t turn my back on her, but she kept entering my little personal bubble.  My roommate tried to complete the transaction, and this heifer hits the cancel button.  So, I politely turn around in the direction of her mother, and make a gesture to her that I will black both of her little girls eyes and choke her out in on the cobble stone of the station, since it was a language barrier, I demonstrated by bringing my fist to both of my eyes, then wrapping the palm of my hands around my throat, with my tongue dangling from the left side of my mouth.  I think you got the point and called her off, (but I think you may have put a hex on us with her rosemary plant in her hand)!  I could care less, but like I said before I’ll be damned, cause I fight kids, and trifling mamas. 

[side note: I promise I’m not violent, I just don’t taking kindly to people who steal and kill]

After that ordeal, we get into the train, and it was tight!  I got to know a lot of strangers personally.  I see why they say beware because its easy for someone to slipped their hand into you pocket and you be none the wise, because everybody is intruding in everyone else’s bubble.  I kept my Euros in my bra, I figure I notice a hand slipping near the “girls”.  We finally make it to the Colosseum in one piece and with all of our currency, and it was colossal.  The Roman ruins are surreal.  The copper statues having turned green with age, the scale of the monuments, and the detail of the carvings are magnificent.  It’s amazing to know the time in which these masterpieces were created and understand the ingenuity of it. 

We walked along the streets toward the Pantheon, which was horded by tourist (please note that I am NOT a tourist, but a world traveler).  However, it did not take away from its regal glory and grandeur.  And that’s when the sky opened up and it rained.  So, we ran through the cobble streets to a street side café and ordered a bottle of red wine. 

The rain subsided and we walked to the Trevi fountain.  If you’ve never heard of it google it.  The images don’t do it justice, it is truly something you must take in first hand.  But it was beautiful, the sculpture and detail of the images is magical.  I made a wish on 5 Euro cents and drunk in all of the splendor.  Italy was beginning to gain some points compared to Spain, ancient architecture wise, and definitely food wise. 

Our next stop was the Spanish steps, which are across from the high-end fashion boutiques of, Yves Saint Laurent, Gucci, and Dior (all a bit too expensive for my blood, but to each his own). 

Sweaty and hot from having walked miles around Rome we headed back to the hostel to get showered and dressed for a nights out.  Our first day in Italy, was Canada Day, which is their version of the American Independence Day.  So, in celebration we went to a pub-crawl. 

The next morning, bright and early around 8am (2am est) we went to the Vatican and well I speechless (good thing I’m typing).  I don’t really think that I have the words to describe it, so I’ll just tell you what I saw, with my very own eyes.  Because you go through life hearing about these masterpieces, learning about the technique, and the artist, but now its real.  I witnessed St. Peter’s Basicillica, Michelangelo’s Pieta, and the Sistine Chapel.  Yes, the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel!!! We snuck pictures, because no photos were allowed, but I needed proof.  It was… it was… divine, and glorious.  I purchased postcards at the Vatican souvenir store, but ran into some issue over stamps, so those of you who so politely emailed me your address, I have you’re Italy post cards, they’ll just have Croatian stamps (I know too ghetto)! 

Well the Vatican will have you pooped, so we grabbed a delicious sandwich and headed back to the hostel for a nap before we hopped on a train back to Civitavecchia.  That night me and a couple of friends went out to explore the town.  We ate at this fruit bar where you can order watermelon and pineapples by the slice/half… it was so good, the watermelon was so sweet.  Then we went down to the pebble beach and walked along the pier and just sat for a while and watched the moons reflection off the water.  I know its getting a little poetic but sometimes you just have to watch God and drink it all in.  Speaking of drink, Italy has some great gelato, which is ice cream but its extra creamy and sweet.  Mmmmmm DELISH.  Anyway I can’t read or speak Italian so when ordering I’m just pointing at the different flavors of ice cream, now the ice cream I got this night on the picture had cake and a glass of wine, I don’t know what I was thinking, I was just more focused on the cake cause it looked like tiramisu so I got two scoops, fast forward twenty minutes later I had a little buzz… they spiked my ice cream. 

The next day my roommate and I took a train to Naples, which was the next port of call for the ship.  We decided to leave earlier and meet the ship in Naples the following day and just stay in a hostel, after we climbed Mount Vesuvius, which is an active volcano and wiped out the city of Pompeii a long time ago (google it for more details on the history).  Yeah I climbed this very mountain.  Please note that the city of Naples is referred to as the armpit of Italy.  We heard a many of horror stories about this town people getting mugged, people being made offers that they can’t refuse, and people sleeping with the fishes (yeah I made it plural).  The city is dirty and a bit gritty but charmingly so.  I wouldn’t make it a vacation destination, but it was a good experience. 

When we went to take the bus to the mountain we walked into this “travel agency” and I use that term loosely because I’m certain that that whole gig was a cover up for the mob.  Seriously.  It was like 4 Italian men sitting outside on vespas, two little boys were playing soccer sitting on the bench right out front.  When we walked in, behind the desk was a tall dark haired man with a white collard button up, stone -washed jeans, and gray snake skin boots (I remind you its hot and humid in Italy).  His hair was slicked back and when he talked his head moved from side to side and his chin tilted toward the ceiling.  To the right of him was another short and stocky guy, with a hair chest.  I’m just sitting there like their running numbers and I hope nothing big goes down, because I would hate to be an innocent bystander.  I’m all caught up in my thoughts and the next thing I know, I hear Michael Jackson playing.  The Godfather (the gentleman sitting behind the desk with the greasy hair) had youtubed Michael’s “You are not alone” and was singing along to it.  I watched him in amazement, and by the chorus, we were singing a duet. 

Now everybody knows how I feel about Michael Jackson.  You don’t bad mouth him in my presence, you just appreciate his music, so in hearing about his death (I was in Seville, Spain); my heart broke, and I mourned him by listening to the every Michael Jackson song on my iPod (including the Jackson 5 Christmas album).

Back to the story at hand.  The bus comes and takes us up a thousand meters.  Now the road on the mountain is rocky and narrow and this man was driving like a bat out of hell; wipin’ around corners, honking his horn, and smoking a cigarette while shifting gears.  I thought we were going to fly off the summit.  But we made it to the top, and had a 30-minute hike to the summit.  I’ve never hiked before; I didn’t even bring any running shoes with me.  So, in my Chuck Taylors, I suffered a mild stroke, but I made it to the top, sweaty, dusty, and calve muscles just a burning, but accomplished.

After the hike, we go and find our hostel.  We were afraid that this one would be as sketchy as the other one we stayed at in Rome, but we were pleasantly surprised when we walked in (after we walked up five flights of stairs, after having climbed a mountain, because it was a strange man standing at the door of the elevator and he didn’t look like a bellhop) and it was bright with butterflies on the and sepia pictures of the city.  The host asked us where were we from and we told him America, and he stops and says: “Do you like Obama?”  I smile and shake my head yes, and he broadly grins and proudly exclaims: “I love Obama, I have a t-shirt!”  That’s so special, I think and speaks volumes about our President.  What made the night even better though, was that they cooked us pasta…  FOR FREE, and it was DELISH!!! So with a full belly I sat on the balcony and watched the hustle of the city, read a couple of chapters of Tar Baby for my class and fell asleep. 

Bright and early the next morning we trucked it to the port to get back on the ship and drop our stuff off.  It was about a 25-minute walk, but we kind of got lost so it took us about 35-minutes.  We finally made it; I took a shower and headed to the beach in Sorrento.  My friends and I take the shuttle bus to the front of the port and ask the driver how to get to the train station, he points us in the direction of the bus, so we head to the bus stop and wait.  Now in America and in Spain one can purchase a bus ticket on the bus.  But you CANNOT do this in Naples, Italy.  The bus arrives, we get on, make a long story short, the guy comes to check our tickets, we don’t have one he tries to makes us pay a 37,45 Euro penalty charge for a 1 Euro fair.  We’re like nope its not going down like that, he’s trying to take us for a ride and possibly traffic us because we get off the bus and he follows us too.  Ask us for our passports and I’m like that’s a firm hell no, you’re not selling my passport on the black market.  He pretends to call the police and says that he’ll give us a deal if we cooperate, and I’m like this is a bad scene from the Sopranos and I just start running down the street, the 3 other girls I was with quickly follow and we ditch him.  True story!  Now we’re a little shaken, so we’re hiding behind fountains and buildings while walking down the street, but we finally make it to the train station and finally make it to the beach in Sorrento.

If you have every seen the movie Under the Tuscan Sun, that’s where we were.  It was so beautiful and I ended my trip by swimming in the refreshing waves of the Mediterranean sea.