• Chuck Cook
  • Glenda Cook

Viking World Cruise

We had the privilege of participating in the innaugural round-the-world cruise for Viking Ocean Cruises onboard the Viking Sun. Read more
  • Georgetown, Malaysia

    March 28, 2018 in Malaysia ⋅ ⛅ 84 °F

    Georgetown, Malaysia, on the island called Penang, was once a major link in the chain of British colonies that protected the Moluccan Strait. We began the day by visiting 3 temples in Georgetown. The first was a Buddhist temple called the Kek Lok Si Temple. It was extravagantly beautiful, especially in its gardens. Then we saw a Thai Buddhist temple and a Burmese Buddhist temple right across the street from each other. The Thai temple contains one of the largest reclining Buddhas in Southeast Asia. The Burmese temple across the street contains one of the largest seated Buddha statues. We went to lunch at a seaside resort that is part of the Sands Hotel chain. It includes the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas and the Marina Bay Sands in Singapore. After lunch we saw a lovely collection of butterflies housed in a structure like an aviary, so that the insects could be seen in their natural environment. Unfortunately, a heavy downpour began as soon as we stepped out of the bus. However, with umbrellas and plastic ponchos we were able to manage. A butterfly landed on the finger of a little girl fro Australia. She refused to leave the aviary until the butterfly chose to fly away: she did not wish to disturb it. Only after two hours did the butterfly flew away and freed the Australian family to leave. Finally we toured the back side of the mountain on the island of Penang, admired its lovely hills and valleys, and stopped at a vegetable stand where our guide gave us information about durians, mangosteens, guavas, and jack fruit. The last thing on our itinerary was a visit to a typical, traditional Malaysian village, where our guide explained indigenous building techniques in this damp, hot climate.Read more

  • Phuket

    March 29, 2018 in Thailand ⋅ ⛅ 88 °F

    The beach here in Phuket, Thailand looks beautiful. It could be any beach on the French Riviera, or in the Caribbean. But on December 26, 2004 this lovely beach became a killing zone. We know because we saw it on TV. An undersea earthquake off the coast produced a tsunami that drowned a total of some 240,000 people around all parts of the Indian Ocean.

    We all remember Phuket, the video of the “drawback” preceding the tsunami, the little boy running out to collect shells newly exposed, the water covering the child and washing him out to sea. We remember the horror that cut Christmas short that year. Today the tourists on our bus, me included, were busily snapping shots of the beach, trying to stand exactly where the camera took the shots on that horrible day. We asked our guide about the tsunami—“Did you lose any friends or relatives in the disaster?” He admitted that he had lost loved ones in the tragedy. But what our guide told us next surprised us. He said that the only reason attention was focused on our current location, Phuket, is that this is where the international press corps happened to be located: ensconced in the high-rise resorts here on the beach. The damage and death were far worse elsewhere. Tragic though it is, only 250 died in Phuket. Low-lying Phiphi island just southeast of Phuket was completely covered by the wave. Every structure and every person on the island were destroyed. The island was washed clean. Of everything. Around 5,000 people died there. Khao Lak just north of here lost about 3,000 people. But no reporters were there. The world never heard about these places.

    I learned only today, as I was preparing this post, that the epicenter of the earthquake was just off the coast of Aceh Province in Indonesia. I was surprised. We were actually there just last week, but it did not occur to any of us tourists to ask our guide about the tsunami‘s effect on Indonesia. He even made a passing reference to “the tsunami,” but no one asked him about it because we knew that the really bad stuff happened at Phuket. We had seen the video. There had been no news video from Indonesia in 2004.

    It was the deadliest tsunami in history and probably the third largest tsunami ever. The loss of human life here in Thailand was terrible—without question. Yet in Indonesia the death toll was 165,000. In Sri Lanka the death toll totaled over 35,000.

    But we remember Phuket.

    Because that’s where the news reporters were.
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  • Passover in the Bay of Bengal

    March 30, 2018, Bay of Bengal

    We were invited to participate in the Passover Seder onboard the ship tonight by our new friends Ira and Carol Barrows from Pennsylvania. I’ll bet that this was the only seder being held in the whole Indian Ocean. The crew and staff of the Viking Sun are amazing. They prepared a sumptuous meal and served it to eighty Passover celebrants without intruding into the ritual. Special thanks to the chefs, cooks, and servers. These Vikings are remarkable!Read more

  • Reflections on East and West

    March 31, 2018, Bay of Bengal

    It’s another sea day on our way to Chennai (formerly called Madras) in India so I have had some time for reflection. I’ve been thinking about history, what it is, and what it is not. I am increasingly persuaded that the “adults” in my life, whether teachers or pundits or experts, have not told me the whole story. Maybe they didn’t know the whole story. However, on this world cruise I’m being reminded that the chain that goes back through Europe to Rome, to Greece, to Egypt, to Mesopotamia is really just half of the story. We were told that the area now occupied by Iraq was the “Cradle of Civilization.”

    Oh, really?

    This Viking world cruise has reminded me that we have documents and artifacts going back at least as far in time, telling the story of China, India, Africa, and even Polynesia. Maybe it’s true that we have not known about the Dravidian or Harappan civilizations for as long as we have known about Sumeria or Babylonia, but we do know enough to realize that there were advanced, urban, literate, highly technological cultures throughout Asia. There were military and economic events that affected as many people as the exploits of Alexander (was he really “Great?”) by kings and generals whose names we never heard. There were kingdoms and principalities in Cambodia and Africa and Guatemala unknown to us Americans that rivaled those of the Egyptian Pyramid builders. They studied hydrology, navigation and medicine and brought these to a level not attained in Europe until the nineteenth century. There were Polynesian navigators that make the travels of Herodotus and Odysseus look like weekend excursions. In the fifteenth century AD Columbus bumped into America by accident. However, in the eighth century BC Polynesian sailors were making regular, deliberate, repeated, planned voyages from Taiwan to the Marquesa Islands and elsewhere in the South Pacific. These same Polynesians had figured out how to live in a way consistent with the climate and natural resources in their environment—something that “Western Man” has not yet figured out how to do. Bamboo huts and coconut palm roofs are not primitive; in this climate they work. The materials are close at hand, plentiful and biodegradable. Such construction is not accidental; it is deliberate and purposeful.

    We have been taught to think of the era after the fall of the Roman Empire as the dark ages. Yet if they were dark, they were dark only in Europe. During the “dark ages” Admiral Zheng He in China was building ships as large as modern ocean liners, and had established regular trade with every country between China and Africa. While European doctors were still bleeding their patients with lancets and leeches, Muslim physicians such as Al Razi were advising those caring for the sick not to use medicine if simple rest or a change in nutrition would suffice. He also taught that hygiene was important, and that no caregiver should do anything that might injure or weaken a patient.

    I could go on. However, the point is that even the best educated among us have been told only half of the story. I doubt that the omissions were deliberate, but, nevertheless, I feel as though I need to start first grade again.

    The older I get, the less I know. There’s a big world out there. For almost seventy years I’ve been looking at only the western half of it.
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  • Chennai

    April 1, 2018 in India ⋅ ⛅ 86 °F

    Notes from Chennai (formerly called Madras)

    India note # 1: India loves bureaucracy. As a former British colony, India fell in love with forms and stamps and approval letters and multiple documents, and layers and layers of supervision. Even after completing an exhausting application for visas last summer before the cruise even started, four of the staterooms onboard failed to receive an e-landing card from India immigration. Ours was one of the four. So we were told that we would simply have our visas hand-processed.

    Simple.

    At immigration station number 1, the uniformed immigration official didn’t know what to do with us, so he called his boss. The boss didn’t know what to do with us, so he called his boss. This boss couldn’t get his scanner to work and Glenda was kind enough to start trying to tell him what he needed to do to fix it. I don’t think he spoke English, but that didn’t stop Glenda. She kept at it.

    I avoided the temptation to ask her politely to shut up, because even if the boss had been able to get his scanner to work, it would not do us any good. The problem was that we did not have a landing card that could be scanned—even if equipment were working properly.

    I whispered, or I tried to whisper, “Glenda, for God’s sake, don’t start trying to play Nancy Drew right now!” He looked at Glenda funny, then asked me, “Who is Nancy Drew? That is not the name on this visa!” He finally stamped our document, signed it and sent us to the next station, telling us that there would be no problem.

    Yeah. Right.

    “Move here. No, here. Stand in line here. Now stop. Wait here. Now move over there. Wait. Now get in this line.” This whole process, complete with multiple bosses, was repeated 3 more times. Four times in all. The last boss was a big, heavy guy with a big black mustache, a sharp looking military uniform and 3 stars on his shoulder boards. I figured he must be a Lieutenant General. At some point in the process, it got funny. Glenda started laughing—not just tittering, but guffawing out loud. Hooting. I shushed her, and she laughed louder. I turned red and tried desperately to get her quiet, as visions of a hot, humid Indian prison danced in my head. She laughed so hard she had tears in her eyes. People were looking at us. I was dripping sweat and felt like I was about to die until I glanced up and saw that Lieutenant General Moustache was getting tickled too. I think they all thought that Glenda had, well, a problem. He stamped our landing cards, patted me on the shoulder while shaking his head, and we were on our way.

    The good news is that we get to do this 3 more times, once in Cochin, once in Goa, and once in Mumbai, because we still don’t have the right landing card.

    India note # 2: Cows are cool. If you die and come back as a cow in India, you wander around in people’s yards and the folks pat you on the rump and give you stuff to eat. They won’t kill you or eat you because you’re sacred. Altogether, not a bad deal. Just don’t come back as a cow in America. Cows don’t have as strong a labor union there.

    India note # 3: (Church wonk warning): St. Thomas is here. One of the main reasons I wanted to come to India was that I hoped to see some evidence of the Apostle Thomas (remember “doubting Thomas”?). I have known since seminary of a very strong oral tradition linking St. Thomas with India and the so-called Mar Thoma Church. The tradition holds that he arrived here in 52 AD and brought Christianity to India. I had hoped to see some traces of Thomas, but didn’t really expect to find any. Certainly Thomas was not high on the hit parade of any of my shipmates. However, five minutes after our bus left the port and entered downtown Chennai, we passed a big, white Catholic cathedral. Our guide pointed it out and said that it contains the grave of the Apostle Thomas. Bingo. For me, everything else we do in India is frosting on the cake. For me Thomas was the cake.

    India Note # 4: There is some really old stuff here. We drove to the seaside town of Mahabalipuram to see not just one, but a collection of Hindu temples that go back to the sixth century AD. This is genuinely old stuff—some of the oldest Hindu iconography in existence. We actually walked inside the Holy of Holies of the so-called Shore temple. Though the temple has been deconsecrated, I think there are still some venerable old spirits who call this place home. Oh yes, it just happens to be located on the seaside site of a first century port which appears on some old Roman maps.

    India note # 5: You gotta honk your horn constantly when you drive because there are no traffic lights. By the way, they drive on the wrong side of the road here. And there are lots of scooters carrying 3 or 4 people. But it’s cool. It works.

    India note # 6: (For adults only) Hawkers are very persistent. As you walk from the bus to—anywhere—some very nice, wonderful, but very poor people will walk alongside you, trying to sell you little statues of Buddha or Krishna, little necklaces or drawings or trinkets. They will always say that they sculpted or painted or wove the object themselves. Maybe they did, but I doubt it. One huckster of limited English skills, approached Glenda with a set of heavy cardboard circles, each beautifully painted and lacquered. If you folded the top down each showed a lovely picture of a different bird or animal. If you folded the bottom up, it showed one of the 245 sexual positions of the Kamasutra, some of which could be performed only by a contortionist. Glenda wasn’t sure that the salesman understood her English, but she looked him in the eye, put her hand on his shoulder and said in her sweetest Southern drawl, “Honey, I’m 66 years old, have a hip replacement and arthritis. Now, really, what do you think I’m going to do with this?”

    India note # 7: The people here are really nice. Over 90% are Hindus, which means that they are relaxed, non-violent vegetarians. Well, they are relaxed and non-violent once they stop driving and honking their horns. They smile at you, and they wave at your bus as you pass. Even the kids. Yeah, the beggars and the hawkers can be a bit aggressive, but they’re just trying to make a living too. I saw some young men at the temple. They saw my camera and I saw theirs, so we just smiled, then took each other’s photos, then laughed and waved as we parted. In spite of all the crowding and poverty, I think I like this place. It’s certainly not America, but for the people here it all somehow works.
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  • Viking Spirit

    April 2, 2018 in India ⋅ ☀️ 88 °F

    People ask us why we love Viking. This morning luggage had to be offloaded for the folks going on an overland excursion. The general officers worked alongside the room stewards to haul luggage off of the ship. Love Viking’s team spirit.Read more

  • Muziris

    April 4, 2018 in India ⋅ ☀️ 90 °F

    Glenda was invited by the teacher to snap a photo of her class at the school attached to the Church of St. Thomas. The town of Muziris is off the beaten tourist track, and everyone seemed genuinely happy to see us Americans. Even with very crowded, hot, humid and sparse resources in schools, their literacy rate is 100%.Read more

  • Cochin

    April 4, 2018 in India ⋅ ☀️ 88 °F

    Today we landed at the southwestern Indian port of Cochin. We went to the place where St. Thomas landed in India in 52 AD in the little town of Muziris. Before it silted up, Muziris, rather than Cochin, was the major port here in southwest India. Muziris was the dockside market where the Romans would come to buy pepper, cardamom, cinnamon, nutmeg and other spices. Jewish merchants established a trading post and a synagogue here in pre-Christian times. There was already a Hindu temple here whose origin is clouded in prehistory. The oral tradition here is that Thomas used that temple’s ablution pool for his first baptisms. OK, I know this is oral tradition, and you must view that with a skeptical eye. Take it with a grain of salt. Somehow I think that Doubting Thomas would be pleased for us to remain a bit skeptical. Whether this story is true or not, there is no doubt that a Christian church has been on this spot since Roman times.

    There was one bit of tradition that certainly sounds to me as though it may be true. A few blocks down the street from the church stands a Jewish synagogue that predates Thomas’s arrival. We visited that synagogue today. There is a story here that on one occasion Thomas happened to be singing an old Jewish folk song that was immediately recognized by the Jews in this synagogue, who began to sing it with him. It’s unlikely that later Christians, who had a continuous feud with the synagogues, would have made up such a story. Flavius Josephus lists the sects of first-century Judaism as Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, Zealots (Sicarii), and Nazarenes (Christians). The Acts of the Apostles also mentions that it was the practice of the apostles to attempt to introduce the gospel in Jewish synagogues in the towns they evangelized. In the year 52 the separation between Christianity and Judaism was not yet complete. This folk song story seems to me as though it might be credible. There is more to this story about St. Thomas and the beginnings of the Mar Thoma Church that I will share with you after we return home.

    We visited not only religious sites today, but also a traditional home, as well as a historical palace that the government preserves as a museum. The name of this province in southwest India is Kerala. By the way, the accent is on the first syllable. It’s KER-a-la. It is not pronounced like the name of our town on the Outer Banks, “Corolla.” One unusual feature of the culture in Kerala is that traditionally it was matriarchal. Property and inheritance were determined by one’s mother, who was regarded as the head of the household. In ancient times even the kings in Kerala were not succeeded by their sons. They were succeeded by the sons of the king’s eldest sister. If she had no son, the king’s mother and sisters chose a male to succeed the king. No question though, the women were in charge. The Jewish synagogue here has one feature unique in all of Judaism. The building has a gallery in which women could attend the synagogue services. As far as we know, allowing women in the synagogue was unknown elsewhere in Judaism. Remarkably, on sabbath and on holy days, the Torah was read not from the bema, but from the women’s gallery! Kerala certainly gave its own spin to Hinduism, Christianity and Islam. When the Portuguese arrived, they were a bit uncomfortable with the way the Mar Thoma Church had become, well, “Keralized.” So they just took it over, snatched it from the Bishop of Antioch and put it under control of the Bishop of Rome. It became Roman Catholic. But that’s another story.

    One result of the historical superiority of women in Kerala is that even today, women have a much higher status here than in the rest of India. In Kerala there are 1,068 women for every 1,000 males, and female infanticide is unheard of. While infanticide is technically illegal in all of India, it is still practiced quietly, not only through abortion, but by “accidents,” such as kitchen fires that occasionally kill baby girls. Such accidents are neither questioned nor investigated by the police.

    We finished the day by visiting a small cooperative that makes cloth on hand looms. Today they were making cloth to be used for elementary school uniforms. I will reserve my judgment regarding the working conditions. The system they have in place works for them.

    Another institution which may seem strange to Westerners is Indian marriage. Our guide explained the system by which marriages are arranged for young people. He has a happy marriage of five years and, yes, it was arranged by the families of the bride and groom. However, he closed his explanation by saying, “If you can’t have whom you love; love whom you have.” In India, as a whole, the number of males vastly outnumbers that of females, and the murder of one member of a newly wed couple by a jealous suitor is not unknown. The divorce rate for arranged marriages and love marriages is about the same.

    We encountered other distinctive elements of Indian culture today. Just as in Chennai, the traffic here was unbelievably frenetic and a wee bit scary. The bureaucracy here is still maddening. Immigration for Glenda and me today hit a little glitch, though it didn’t take nearly as long as it did yesterday. Clearing the ship to leave port, though, was a delayed by a big glitch.

    We found a lot to love about Kerala, Cochin, and especially Muziris. We did not find the grinding poverty, nor the beggars, that were everywhere in Chennai. Our guide confessed that though it is proscribed by Hinduism (Don’t become attached to material things: they’re an illusion), Keralans like to have nice houses and yards. There is almost a 100% literacy rate here, and every child starts school with both the kid and his family fully expecting the student to end up as a physician or an engineer. Most do. Consequently, there is a brain drain from south India. The best and the brightest go to Europe or America to get jobs. In America, to get to the top of your profession you have to be very bright—one in a million. However, in India you have to be one in 1.34 billion. The parents know this, and so do the kids. The CEOs of Google, Microsoft, Nokia, Adobe and a host of other companies in Silicon Valley are from south India. No accident.

    India is diverse. It’s strange that the language here in Kerala is Malayalam. People here cannot understand the Hindi spoken in the nation’s capital of New Delhi, nor the Tamil spoken in Chennai. Each of these languages even uses a different script and a different alphabet. Half the people here in Kerala are Christians or Muslims. India is larger than Europe, contains 200 languages and as many different ethnic groups. If India existed anywhere else in the world, it would be its own continent with two dozen different nations. Yet somehow Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Roman Catholics, Protestants, Communists, capitalists, socialists, vegetarians, carnivores, women, men, and a couple of hundred different ethnic, gender and linguistic groups have found a way to accommodate their regional and cultural differences to become one nation. The people here don’t just tolerate each other’s differences, they absorb each other’s differences.

    India can be both tearfully beautiful and frighteningly ugly. She can lull you into a dreamland, then leave you lost in a dark nightmare. She is lovely and she is dangerous. As different as India is from American “normal,” despite the poverty and the bureaucracy, despite the white-knuckle traffic and murderous working conditions, the fact that India exists as a single nation—that fact alone—means that India has achieved something remarkable.
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  • Goa, Jesuits and Hippies

    April 6, 2018 in India ⋅ ⛅ 81 °F

    Today we called at the port of Mormugao, our gateway to the Indian state of Goa. People have been mining the mountains here for the last 10,000 years. In the third century BC this area was part of the Maurya Empire ruled by Buddhist Emperor Ashoka of Magdha. This port was frequented by Roman and Chinese traders for a thousand years before any European ever heard of it.

    Mining is still important here. This area produces considerable amounts of iron, manganese and bauxite (aluminum ore). Unfortunately the Indian Supreme Court stopped all mining here last Monday because the government says the mining companies have not paid enough in taxes. The mining companies say that they have paid all their taxes, but they have just not sent in the proper bribes to the right officials. Stay tuned.

    This place was the first area colonized by a European nation when Vasco da Gama came in to trade here in 1510. The Chinese had been peacefully trading here for over one thousand years, but had never sought to dominate, nor to influence local politics. Vasco da Gama, on the other hand, took advantage of a local power dispute and brought his military and naval resources to bear against the less friendly of the adversaries. Less friendly to the Portuguese, that is. The Portuguese liked it so much here that they stayed until 1961. So Goa was the first place in Asia to be colonized by a European power and the last place to be given its independence. The Portuguese were here for a total of 451 years. Goa still bears the marks of its Portuguese overlords. There were times today, especially in the town of Margao, when I had to keep reminding myself “This is India, not Brazil.” It still feels Portuguese.

    Goa was ground zero for the hippies in the 1970’s and 1980’s. For the first time, America became aware of Hinduism. Lots of folks of my generation, including the Beatles, became enamored with the sitar of Ravi Shankar and the spirituality of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. People started (thoughtlessly) to use words like “karma.” They even started reading translations of the Bhagavad Gita and the Kamasutra. Or they pretended to. Everyone was advised to “Drop out, tune in, and turn on,” as the tide of Eastern spirituality, the drug culture and free love washed over a generation. Well, it washed over a certain segment of affluent American youth. Some of us were never affected because we were poor enough to be forced to go out and get jobs, or to go to Vietnam. For us less affluent kids in the South, Haight-Ashbury might as well have been on Mars. Still, the media likes to spread the myth that we were all druggies back then. We weren’t, but for those who were, Goa was the place to be.

    Like the rest of India, the climate here is lush and hot. Everything grows here. The towns are full of busy-ness and activity. The pace, even in little Panaji, is frenetic. It’s amazing! And wonderful! While Goa holds all of the same extreme contradictions found in the rest of India, the cities of Panaji, Vasco, and Margao are fascinating places to visit.
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  • Mumbai

    April 7, 2018 in India ⋅ 🌙 82 °F

    I feel as though I just got thrown out of the spin cycle of an existential washing machine. I do not know how to begin to describe Mumbai (formerly called Bombay). Everything about it is overwhelming, especially the contradictions.

    We started to notice the contradictions when we went in the morning to the Elephanta Caves. Carved by hand in the sixth century out of the inside of a mountain, they contain the oldest and purest Hindu iconography in the world. As you enter, on your right side stands a twenty-foot-tall sculpture of Shiva doing the frantically active Dance of Creation. To show his activity and motion, the sculptor had to give him eight arms, twisting like serpents, like a series of strobe-light photographs. Limitless activity. On your left hand side is a carving of Shiva as the King of Yoga, floating on a lotus leaf, all his powers directed inward, sitting in quiet meditation, in perfect inactivity. The other carvings show Shiva as both creator and destroyer, both joyful and angry, both male and female. We see Shiva containing these extreme contradictions, just like Mumbai, and it is overwhelming.

    In Mumbai screeching poverty lives side-by-side with dripping opulence. In neighborhoods where some individual family homes are 27 stories tall and cost $2 billion each, workers collect, clean, iron and deliver untold millions of pieces of laundry every day with no errors. None. The launderers do not know how to read nor write. Nor do they feel abused. It is their karma. They genuinely believe that they did some evil in a previous life that has made this drudgery their fate, and they accept it. We see a city that contains such extreme contradictions and it is overwhelming.

    The frenetic traffic is overwhelming. So is the densely packed queue of people that flows unbroken down the sidewalk on the way to the train station for the two-hour ride back home at the end of every work day. The senses are overwhelmed by smells of curry cooked by a sidewalk vendor, mixed with the sickly sweet smell of jasmine, and the smell of mangoes on a tree in a peaceful park surrounded by diesel fumes and garbage. The sound of traditional Indian music comes from a vendor’s stall, competing with the hardest metallic rock coming from the next stall, both being drowned out by the cacophony of honking bus, car and motorbike horns. It is overwhelming.

    The contradictions of Mumbai overwhelm not only the senses, but also one’s emotions. Children, old women, fathers trying to make a living—all are trying to sell a necklace or bracelet or purse or carving. They are standing outside of bus windows and in the middle of insane traffic, holding up their wares and asking for a buck or two. You want to buy everything just to help them, and when you say “no” they smile and show you something else. And amid all of this activity emaciated dogs wag their tails, and cows wander in and out of wild traffic. Every block or so you see carts drawn by an ox, horse, woman or man right in the middle of the chaos called Mumbai. The people here live harder and work harder and laugh harder than in any place I have ever seen. India is not a holiday spot, it is a lesson in survival. India is not a vacation; it is an education. If you have a speck of a soul, you cannot come to India and leave unchanged. It is overwhelming.

    The emotional overload continues in the home of Mahatma Ghandi. You see letters he wrote to Einstein, Hitler and Roosevelt trying to avert World War II. You are reminded that although his only two weapons were non-violence and the truth, he defeated his world’s strongest superpower by expelling the British from India. Non-violence: is this weakness? Or strength? Or both? Is this contradiction? Is it wisdom? Is it Shiva?

    You read the newspaper article about his assassination, how he saw the deranged man in front of him holding the gun, how he folded his hands in the typical greeting, how he smiled and greeted the man knowing what was coming, and then how he willingly took the bullets. While still smiling. Such contradiction!

    Mumbai’s contradictions are more than the emotions can contain, wider than the mind can resolve. This city is utterly overwhelming.
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  • Security at Sea

    April 7, 2018, Arabian Sea

    Paramilitary forces from Norway have very quietly come aboard in the middle of the night. Concertina wire has been strung around the outside of the Promenade Deck. At night I heard some light and sound countermeasures being tested. They include a few copies of “Silent Sam,” a paramilitary dummy. Water hoses are prominent out on deck. Looks as though we are ready to cruise into a rough neighborhood. Piracy is a real concern here.Read more

  • Muscat, Oman

    April 10, 2018 in Oman ⋅ ⛅ 82 °F

    We have left hot, humid, loud and chaotic India and have arrived in hot, arid, pristine and peaceful Oman. The only thing India and Oman have in common is heat but Oman’s dry desert heat is much more comfortable.

    The Sail-in to Muscat really was amazing. It was like sailing into a dream or a movie set. Vaguely, out of the fog materialized faint forms of castles and palaces. All were white. All were modern, yet oriental with their endless expanses of narrow, pointed arches. In flat, white bands they lay peacefully along the harbor’s edge. As we sailed in closer, their shapes became clearer, and the tan castles became visible on the craggy mountains surrounding the bay. Then we saw the filigreed monument a hundred feet tall, standing on top of another pinnacle, making the monument appear even taller. It is also white, and as you close in on it you see that it is unlike any monument you’ve ever seen before. It is not a monument to war, generals, or vainglorious politics. It is a monument to frankincense, one of life’s simple pleasures. Sailing into Muscat really is like sailing into a dream. This is arguably the most beautiful city in the world.

    Oman is an absolute monarchy. The Sultan (King) is the Head of State, Head of Government, Secretary of Defense, Treasury, Interior, Health, Education and Commerce. He overthrew his very backward father in a bloodless, palace coup in 1970, capitalized on the nation’s oil reserves, and never looked back. Omanis are among the world’s wealthiest populations.

    We have entered a world of white and beige, clean buildings with no litter, or hawkers or beggars. All buildings are a shade of white to light tan because the Sultan decreed that it should be so. The result is a beautiful, pleasing sense of harmony among all of the buildings in Muscat. Besides, the Sultan felt that multicolored buildings would distract drivers. There are no slums or poverty and everyone is employed. There is very little crime because no one needs to steal. The Sultan is the supreme ruler. Period. And his subjects think he is doing a grand job. I wouldn’t argue with them.

    We first visited the Sultan Qaboos al Said Grand Mosque, which he built in 1998. Even in the hot desert climate the marble of the mosque is cool to the touch. The Islam here is unusual. Most of the Islamic world is divided between Sunni and Shi’a. Yet Oman follows a third way called Ibadi, that actually predates the Sunni-Shia division. In fact Omanis will let you know quickly that their version of the religion is the oldest, purest form of Islam on the planet. It is moderate, accepting of other religions, and does not dare to question the sincerely held religious opinions of others, whether they are Muslims or not. They honor the faith of Christians, Jews, Hindus, and other Muslims.

    After visiting the lovely mosque the Sultan has provided for the Omanis, we headed to the souk, a market filled with vendors selling silver, gold, spices, clothing, brass, jewelry and food. You can go into sensory overload in a souk. Finally we headed to the royal museum and palace before heading back to the ship. The museum has an excellent exhibition not only of Omani customs, furnishings, weapons and jewelry, but also of this nation’s ancient seafaring traditions. We don’t often think of the people on the Arabian peninsula as sailors, but Omanis have lived on the sea as traders since prehistoric times. I kept thinking of Sindbad the Sailor from A Thousand and One Nights. The Romans called this place Arabia Felix, “Blessed Arabia,” and distinguished this place from the rest of Arabia. The main distinction as far as the Romans were concerned was the fact that this is the only place in the world that produces frankincense. Romans used it in everything from perfume to incense, and it was so expensive that ordinarily only kings could purchase it.

    Arabia Felix, indeed! Happy Arabia. All is well in Oman, for now at least. However there may be a snake hiding in this Eden. The Sultan is 77 years old. The citizens here do not know whether he is married or not because the Sultan’s private life is, well, private. Very private. He has no children, and the tradition here is that the Sultan must be succeeded by a son. If the wives (plural) of other Islamic monarchs do not produce a male heir, then those Sultans usually have a harem of mistresses and concubines who will. Yet, Sultan Qaboos has no children. Another serpent in the Garden is that oil reserves under Oman are expected to be depleted in about 20 years. This is one of the reasons that the Sultan is seeking to boost tourism as quickly as he can. Indeed, we were made to feel like royalty here. So come if you can, but don’t wait too long. In another couple of decades things could get rather stormy here in “Happy Arabia.”
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  • Consumables Onboard

    April 12, 2018, Gulf of Aden

    Thus far on day 119 of our 141 day world cruise, here are some consumption totals for a ship of 1300 persons, both passengers and crew.

    26,456 pounds of bananas
    200,000 eggs
    166,000 pounds of beef
    89,000 pounds fresh fish
    10, 303 gallons of milk
    25,000 containers of yogurt
    18,740 pounds of French fries
    17,737 pounds of rice
    56,000 pounds of potatoes
    4,189 pounds of strawberries
    300,000 bottles of water
    55,000 rolls of toilet paper

    AND ......

    80,000 bottles of wine

    Lord only knows how much coffee, poultry, sugar and liquor have been consumed.

    Now I know why all of us have clothes that seem to be shrinking a bit. I’m guessing that the damp, salty ocean air causes cloth to shrink. That must be it, because no one onboard is overeating.

    God bless the provisions team that plans, orders and loads all of the supplies needed to run the Viking Sun. This team has to deal with customs officials, and consumption levels must be constantly monitored as well as availability of items in our ports of call around the world. Quality control and delivery logistics in addition to the cost of these items keeps this team quite busy. They also work closely with the executive chefs and the culinary team to make sure that all the ingredients needed for the world cruise menus are available. The provisions team is also responsible for sourcing and maintaining an inventory of wines, other beverages, toiletries, chemicals for the laundry, bed linens, glassware, plates . . . the list is exhausting. And they labor out of sight below the decks and under the water line. Truly they are the backbone of the ship.
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  • Aqaba, Jordan

    April 17, 2018 in Jordan ⋅ ⛅ 79 °F

    We spent the day docked at the Southern Jordanian port of Aqaba. The Old Testament refers to this place as the land of Midian. Among its claims to fame are the tombs of Moses, on Mount Nebo, and that of his brother Aaron. We also got to see the Wadi al Run (Valley of the Moon). It was here that Lawrence of Arabia mounted his successful capture of Aqaba in World War I.

    The high point of our trip today, however, was the ancient Nabatean city of Petra (meaning “rock”), the name the Romans gave it when they discovered that it was a city carved out of very living rock. This Nabataean city reached its zenith in the third century BC., with about 35,000 inhabitants. Like the temple we visited in India, nothing in Petra is brought into a structure or assembled within it. Everything is carved out of a sandstone cliff side.

    As we were driving back to the ship this afternoon, the sun was about to set on the western face of these Jordanian mountains. The long, red, afternoon rays of the setting sun warmed these jagged sandstone hills to a rich, rose color. I believe I have never seen a sight any more beautiful. I think it is safe to say that as far as natural beauty is concerned, Jordan may be the most beautiful country in the world.

    On the way back to the ship the Viking crew was kind enough to arrange a little Bedouin party for us. We stopped at an overlook from which we could see the entire Jordan River Valley. General Manager Sujith Mohan, and Restaurant Manager Dejan Gami entertained us in their best Bedouin garb, complete with kaffiyeh.
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  • Luxor, Egypt

    April 18, 2018 in Egypt ⋅ ☀️ 100 °F

    On Wednesday we docked at the port of Safaga and drove to the southern Egyptian city of Luxor to visit the temple complex at Karnak and the Valley of the Kings. The temperature was about 106 degrees F, and the air was extremely dry. Karnak, which was called Thebes in ancient times, is amazing. It was the capital of the New Kingdom, lasting from 1550 to 712 BC. The site contains a complex of 10 temples, each of which is large enough to hold about 10 European cathedrals. It is hard to imagine the size of the temple at Karnak without actually experiencing it. It boggles my mind to think that this enormous city of religion was visited by no one but the priests and royalty. Common people woshipped in much smaller local temples near their homes. These temples must have been mysterious, beautiful, and awe-inspiring.

    At the Valley of the Kings Glenda fulfilled a childhood dream. When she was a little girl she would often fantasize that she was discovering the tomb of a pharaoh. Several years ago when we came to Egypt, she had hoped to have that experience at the Great Pyramid. However its passageways are simply unadorned empty shafts and she was disappointed. Today she fulfilled her dream. As we entered the tomb of Ramses IV we were in awe. The hieroglyphic inscriptions are beautiful, and the colors are still alive and fresh. We were not allowed to photograph the interiors of the royal tombs, but I hope you can go on the internet and see photos of the tombs of Ramses IV and, of course, Tutankhamen. On my Facebook post I have Included a virtual reality presentation of the tomb of Ramses IV. Nevertheless, one must see the beauty of this place to believe it.
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  • St. Catherine's Monastery, Sinai

    April 19, 2018 in Egypt ⋅ ☀️ 73 °F

    On Friday we reached the high point of the entire cruise for me—St. Catherine’s Monastery in the Sinai Desert. We had been here before in 1994, but back then the monastery did not admit visitors. Additionally, back then everyone on our bus except Glenda was sick with food poisoning. Glenda had eaten only salted peanuts and nabs that she carried with her.

    The monastery is in the middle of absolute, freakin’ nowhere. We had to drive through the desert for 3 hours to get to St. Catherine’s. It was begun by St. Helena, mother of the Roman Emperor Constantine, on her tour of the Holy Land in 330 A. D. She spent two years in the Middle East collecting relics, and attempting to determine the locations of events mentioned in the Bible. There is a mountain here where God gave the tablets of the law to Moses. This is Mount Sinai. Or at least that’s what the folks here told Constantine’s mama. Oh, by the way, they also have the burning bush here, and a well that Moses dug.

    OK. Sounds good.

    However, there are a few other things that attracted my attention to this place. First, it contains the oldest library in the world still in existence. Secondly, it contains the oldest Christian icons in the world. Thirdly, it MAY contain the oldest Christian Church in the world. But the really important thing for me at St. Catherine’s is a Biblical manuscript written in the mid-fourth century by the monks here. Because it comes from Sinai, it has become known as the Codex Sinaiticus. It is the oldest copy of the Bible in existence. It is so important that the abbreviation for its name is the Hebrew letter A (Aleph). As far as Biblical textual studies are concerned, this is the alpha text.

    The story of the discovery of this document is “colorful.” In 1844 a German Count named von Tischendorf, with too much time and money on his hands, decided to go to the Middle East to, well, discover stuff. Young European aristocrats were into that kind of thing back then. He returned to St. Catherine’s in 1859. While at the church here, Count vonT said he found a sheaf of old papers lying on the floor with a bunch of other garbage, and noticed that one sheaf was written with Greek capital letters. He knew that such uncial (capital letter) manuscripts were older than others, so he stuffed them into his knapsack. Then he took/bought/stole the manuscript. When he returned to the University of Leipzig—Surprise! Surprise! He had the oldest copy of the Bible ever found. OK, a few books of the Bible were missing, but almost all of it was there.

    Egypt cried “Foul!” So did the monastery. And the argument began. Then, under very uncertain circumstances, the codex mysteriously showed up in Russia. To complicate matters, Stalin sold it to the British Museum in 1933 and they staked a claim to it. Then strangely, in 2003 a letter appeared, supposedly written in 1859 by the Bishop of Alexandria, which documents the sale of the manuscript to von Tischendorf. The fuss and the furor would make a novel that I don’t want to write in this post, but it really got nasty. The good news is that by the time of the mid-20th century all of the concerned parties decided to be nice about sharing the wealth. When I was in seminary we had photocopies of the manuscript on microfiche. Now it’s widely available on the Internet. The parties concerned have even agreed to share the document itself. Sort of. Part of Codex Sinaiticus is now in Leipzig, part at the British Museum, and (hooray!) part of it was allowed to come back home to St. Catherine’s Monastery.

    Today first we went to the library and museum, then to the church. We are most blessed to be allowed to come here. The wonderful people of Viking Cruises have no way of knowing how much they are enriching our lives.
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  • Suez Canal

    April 20, 2018 in Egypt ⋅ ☀️ 77 °F

    Transiting the Suez Canal was interesting, especially since we had begun our cruise with a passage of the Panama Canal. Unlike the canal in Panama, the Suez Canal, being a sea level canal, has no locks. One photo I took seeks to emulate a photo of the Rhine River that fetched the highest price ever offered for a photograph.Read more

  • Alexandria, Egypt

    April 21, 2018 in Egypt ⋅ ⛅ 72 °F

    Today we saw Alexandria, Egypt the way the locals see it. While we were in the Valley of the Kings, Chuck had an eye issue develop. His right eye suddenly had lots of floaters on one side. We waited to see if they would clear up and when they did not, he went to the medical center onboard. While the doctor onboard did not see anything obvious, he could not check for a detached retina. Since we have two sea days coming up, today Viking arranged for us to be picked up by a driver who took us to an ophthalmologist in Alexandria. Our driver Mohamed took wonderful care of us as he got us to the doctor, translated questions and answers, took us to the pharmacy and then delivered us back to the ship. It was fascinating in the waiting room. A child was there whose eye had swollen shut. Another kid looked as though he had been kicked in the eye by a horse. And while we all waited to be examined, we looked at a TV screen that showed a live feed of pilgrims circling the Ka’aba at Mecca. It was great. The young ladies working at the front desk all giggled demurely when I commented, through Muhammad’s translation, that I loved the many different, beautiful ways they had tied their head scarves. All is well and there are no serious issues. Just more floaters for a while. Everyone from Viking and in Alexandria was absolutely wonderful to us.Read more

  • Arabian Night

    April 22, 2018, Eastern Mediterranean

    Tonight was Arabian night as we sail toward Valletta, Malta. I wore the dishdasha I picked up in Oman. Coffee in the sunroom will never be the same. Glenda says that these Arabic women are onto something. With the scarf you don’t have to spend time fixing your hair.Read more

  • Valetta, Malta

    April 24, 2018 in Malta ⋅ ☀️ 50 °F

    There is no place in the world like Malta.

    It’s hard to know where to begin in describing Malta. One could start at 5200 BC when Neolithic settlements were here. Or one might start with the event described in the Acts of the Apostles when St. Paul was shipwrecked here and converted some of the local population. You could start in Africa or in Europe. This little group of islands in the middle of the Mediterranean between Sicily and Africa contains cultural elements of both places.

    Maybe you should start with their language—Maltese. It is the only Semitic language written with Roman letters. It is spoken nowhere else in the world. It sounds something like Arabic, but it looks like Latin, except for lots of strange consonant combinations, like double x’s, for example. It’s weird. And if all of that were not strange enough, Malta hosts the Military order of St. John Hospitallers, an order of knights like nothing else in the world.

    This order of knights requires some explanation. As Muslim armies began to conquer North Africa and move into Europe in the eighth century, Malta was strategically important to Christendom. Being a tiny place, however, Malta later became a royal plaything, given to several noble European couples at various times as a wedding present after the Muslim tide receded.

    In the sixteenth century the strategic advantages of Malta became rather important again. Piracy (and Islam) again became a problem in this part of the world, and Charles Vof Spain, who happened to own Malta at that time, really did not have the resources to deal with the troubles occurring here. Back during the Crusades there had been an order of Knights Hospitallers commissioned by the Pope in Rome to build hospitals for crusaders who were injured in the holy wars against Muslims. Later, when the fighting near Jerusalem died down, these knights built and operated hospitals and inns for pilgrims to the Holy Land. Periodically, though, things in the Holy Land would heat up, and the Knights Hospitallers of St. John were not above picking up sword and armor in their efforts to keep the Christians in Palestine and in the Mediterranean safe. They were healers, but they were also fighters.

    By the sixteenth century most of these knights had been recalled from the Holy Land back to Rome, but they were still under the control of the Pope, and they were still a commissioned military force. Spanish King Charles needed an army in Malta, and the Pope said that he just happened to have one Charles could borrow—the Knights Hospitallers of St. John.

    Charles gave Malta to The Military Order of the Knights of St. John. They came here and set up military rule and started, well, to kick you-know-what. They got rid of the pirates and restored stability. At first the local population was pretty happy with the change. Things here improved under their martial law. Many churches were built (as you might expect), trade increased (the Knights Hospitallers had connections), and things were pretty good for a couple of hundred years.

    By the beginning of the nineteenth century, though, the Maltese got tired of the heavy-handed rule of the knights and welcomed Napoleon’s takeover of the islands. The Knights Hospitallers of St. John were called back to Vatican City. Within just a couple of years, the French had used up Malta like an old Dixie cup, and the Maltese asked for the British to oust the French. Lord Nelson was happy to help, and Malta became a British colony around 1815 until Britain gave Malta independence in 1964.

    There are lots of very interesting things about this lovely place. One of the most interesting things is that the Military Order of the Knights of St. John Hospitallers still exists. Though they do not have a nation to rule, the Military Order of the Knights of St. John Hospitallers are still a sovereign nation—with no nation! They still reside within the Vatican. A small group of them is now back in Malta, but without political power. They attend the meeting of the United Nations General Assembly, where they have voice but no vote. With the possible exception of the Vatican itself, they may be the oldest sovereign entity in the world.

    Malta is beautiful. Queen Elizabeth II of England and Prince Phillip spent their honeymoon here, and I can see why. She still says that her year in Malta was the happiest time of her life. The land is lovely, but so are its buildings. We saw dozens of churches, palaces, and other baroque buildings whose opulent glory defies description. We went to three different towns on the island: Valletta, Mdina and Mosta. Each of those has a church that too beautiful for words. I will simply say that there is no place in the world like Malta. I’ve got to come back here and stay about a month.
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  • Wandering Around Valetta, Malta

    April 25, 2018 in Malta ⋅ ⛅ 63 °F

    Because political instability caused Viking to cancel our port call in Tunisia, we get to spend an extra day just wandering around the lovely streets of Valetta. One of the high points of our visit today was a peek inside the Church of St. Paul Shipwrecked. According to the Acts of the Apostles, Paul found refuge here after his boat sank. The church is out-of-the-way, not too large, and absolutely beautiful inside. We also visited the Grand Master's Palace and its extraordinary collections of weapons it the armory.Read more

  • Cagliari, Sardinia

    April 26, 2018 in Italy ⋅ ⛅ 59 °F

    We arrived on the island of Sardinia today, and spent the morning in its capital, Cagliari (whose name is accented on the first syllable: KAHL-ya-ree). This is a beautiful place with an illustrious history. It was founded in historical times by the Carthaginians, yet like so many places in Europe, the remains of Neolithic settlements abound. For 400 years it was owned by the Aragonese kingdom, which became part of Spain. Since the early nineteenth century it has been part of Italy. It is a lovely island with wonderful wine and cheese. One claim to fame is that per capita Sardinia has more people over 100 years of age than anywhere else in the world. It is unpretentious. Sardinia has its struggles with a youth unemployment rate of about 40%. Land here is cheap. In fact, one small town is selling homes for one Euro, if you will employ local labor to renovate the building. Still, this place is charming.Read more

  • Algiers

    April 27, 2018 in Algeria ⋅ ⛅ 63 °F

    Had it not been on the itinerary for our world cruise, I probably would not have come to Algeria. However, I am very glad we came.

    Much of the time allotted to our excursion was spent at the Independence Memorial in Algiers. I was struck with how so many things called attention—how many comments from our guide, and how many signs, parks, buildings and institutions—all called attention to the War for Independence that ended with the expulsion of the French in 1962.

    I remember that war. I remember following it on television. I remember the intense partisanship shown not only by native Algerian Muslims, but also by the French. On one hand, Algeria belongs to Algerians. On the other hand since the 1830’s Algeria was not merely a French colony, it was actually part of France. The three provinces of Algeria were actually three French states, like Bordeaux or Provence or Alsace. The result in the 1950’s and 60’s was intense guerrilla warfare not only by the Arabs, but also by the French. When the French government under President Coty couldn’t handle the situation in 1958, Parliament, in an extraordinary move, called General Charles DeGaulle out of his twelve-year retirement to keep France whole. Yet by 1959 DeGaulle saw the handwriting on the wall and said that Algeria must be independent. Four French generals then staged the Algiers Putsch of 1961 in which they attempted to foment another French Revolution. They wanted to topple the French government and imprison DeGaulle. They actually dropped paratroopers in Algiers, sent paratroopers ready to drop over Paris, and intended to take over all of France. DeGaulle stopped them just before the Champs Elysees could become a combat LZ. When it was all over 1.5 million people were dead in a struggle for independence that lasted from 1954 until 1962.

    Since then Algeria has struggled, first, as a republic. Corruption killed it. Then in a relatively free election the Islamic Salvation Front came to power in 1991. It decreed that Algeria was a theocracy with no ruler but Allah. Arts, music, and education were squelched, as in other nations ruled by Islamists. They cancelled all future elections. The people wouldn’t have this, so another long civil war ensued. Some 200,000 people were killed. As a result, Algeria is no lover of political Islamism. Algerians have been there; done that; and got the T-shirt.

    Abdelaziz Boutaflika was elected President in 1999, and has removed from the Constitution the two-term limit for the office of President. So now Algeria has a dictator. Still, he may be doing some good. This police state is now stable. He has made several Presidential decrees calling for such things as equal rights for women, religious freedom for all Algerians, and an end to discrimination based on race, creed or color. It is of interest to note that there is a Catholic Church here left over from the French that still has a small congregation of Christians. In the church, Notre Dame d’Afrique, there is an inscription saying, “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us Christians and for the Muslims.”

    Now Boutaflika is even encouraging free enterprise and entrepreneurship. These changes look to me very much like the state capitalism now advocated by the Chinese government.

    Algeria is not a free nation. The police led our bus procession through the streets today. We could not leave our guide. We could not even walk on the pier where our ship is docked. Algeria is still struggling. The people here are wonderful. They waved happily at our busses. We are the first big passenger ship in here since a spate of violence occurred about a year ago. Algerians are glad to see tourists again.

    As we entered the port of Algiers four fishermen on the quay saw me on the veranda and shouted “Where you from?”

    I yelled back, “USA.”

    They flashed big smiles, and started shouting, “America number 1! America number 1! Allahu akbar! America number 1! Allahu akbar!”

    Algerians want desperately to be a nation—a real nation, with commerce and education and art and culture and a history of something other than bloodshed. However, there is a part of the Algerian people that just seems tired. Tired of the violence. Tired of being used. I pray that their spark of hope has not died out completely.

    Coming here today was not so much entertaining as is was educational. Though I would not have chosen Algeria as a destination, I am very glad we came to this beautiful place to meet these lovely people. And I pray that God will be kind to them. Lord knows, they deserve some peace.

    Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us Christians and for the Muslims, especially those of Algeria.
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  • Cartagena, Spain

    April 28, 2018 in Spain ⋅ ⛅ 72 °F

    Cartagena in Murcia has been a major seaport on the southeast coast of Spain since the ninth century B. C. As its name reflects, its recorded history stems from the Carthaginians. It was won by the Romans, who built a lovely theater here that has been excavated in the 1990’s. There is Roman stuff everywhere—in the streets, at the port, under the city.

    This was a hotly contested area after the Muslims came in during the eighth century. The Kingdom of Castille under Alfonso X (El Sabio), whose writings I once read in school, gained control of this part of the Iberian peninsula in the twelfth century. He was noted for inviting Christian, Jewish and Muslim scholars to study in his court. In Concepción Castle there is a wonderful exhibit about Alfonso, showing some of the actual books, illuminated manuscripts and legal documents from that period. This area went back and forth between Muslims and the “most Christian” kings of Castille until 1492 when the merger—uh, marriage—of Ferdinand and Isabella drove all the Semitic people, Muslims and Jews, out of their new wholly Christian kingdom called Spain. Miguel de Cervantes lived here in Cartagena, or rather he was enslaved here by Moorish slave traders. Europeans were bought and sold as slaves by the Muslims well into the nineteenth century until the Barbary pirates were defeated by the new United States and Sweden. Knowing that Cervantes was a slave gives an entirely new perspective on the story of Don Quixote.

    We visited Concepción Castle, the old Phoenician walls, the Roman theater, and finally stopped at a restaurant called La Taranta where we had some of the most delicious stuffed peppers imaginable. This is my idea of the best possible way to spend a day.
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  • Malaga, Spain

    April 29, 2018 in Spain ⋅ ⛅ 59 °F

    We docked at the southern Spanish city of Málaga today. On our previous trip here, this was our jumping-off place for Granada and the Alhambra. Today we chose instead to tour the hinterlands of Andalusia, and for the whole excursion we were enraptured with the sheer magnificence of the terrain. The name “Andalusia” was earlier something like “Vandaluz,” and comes from the name of the tribes of Vandals who settled here when the Romans left. Our course crossed and re-crossed the Guadalhorce River several times. This quiet, sleepy stream was given this name by the Moors, who were here for over 700 years until 1492. The name in Moorish means “River of Silence.” It is indeed a place of peace.

    We began with a breakfast in a small country inn near Pizzara attached to a citrus grove with the delightful name “Juanito Orange.” Then we went for a wine tasting in the village of Álora at a winery that won the gold medal for Spanish wines last year. Finally we had a tapas lunch amid the grand mountains of El Chorro, the canyon that is officially called El Desfiladero de Los Gaitanes. The picturesque little village has only 75 residents. As though the grandeur of the mountains were not enough, it so happened that every few miles we came across Roman or Phoenician ruins. It amazes me that the folks here say, as though it is perfectly ordinary, “Oh, yes, down at the end of the block just past the drugstore is a wall. It’s not too old. It’s Phoenician but it only goes back about 2500 years. There’s one much older on my uncle’s farm.” For them it’s really no big deal. For me, it’s huge.

    I had a nice conversation in Spanish with a couple here on vacation with their two young sons, aged 7 and 5. The family were about to catch the train back to their home in Granada. As this world cruise is winding down, it seems that the wonderful folks at Viking Ocean Cruises have saved the best for last.

    Tonight we attempted to photograph Gibraltar as we passed.

    Some observations:

    1. Every government is like a company, but it is a monopoly. Every government wants you to think that it is doing the best possible job at managing the nation’s affairs. The fact is the United States government also makes that case, but when one travels outside the United States one sees other government that are actually doing a better job of managing its nation’s affairs than the United States government is doing.

    2. The American notion of democracy does not work everywhere.

    3. All people everywhere will use the resources available to feed, clothe, and shelter themselves as best they can. No one culture is better than another.

    4. It is a very Eurocentric view that one can “taste” Moorish culture by going to Spain. If one simply crosses into north Africa one finds that he can still bathe in Islamic culture.
    The old Islamic culture is still thriving, is still beautiful, and is still viable in places like Oman, Abu Dabi, and the United Arab Emirates.
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