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Star Clipper Notes By Geoff Edwards
This is a rough diary of a trip on Star Clipper, 4 masts, 21 sails, 360 feet long with a crew of 70, pampering 170 passengers. The crew was a jumble of 24 nationalities. We started in Cannes, France, which to tell the truth looks alot more glamorous in the paparazzi photos during the film festival. Once the stars blink out, it’s just a bunch of rich tourists, eager retail employees, and wide-eyed yacht crew. Looking for dinner the first night, I wondered the streets near the waterfront and found three or four restaurants all offering the same menu; mussels, fish or meat dishes, and pizza. All was expensive if you were not Euro enhanced. Thoughts about Cannes: It must be quite dismaying to spend 50 million on a yacht, come to Cannes, and find you are the cheapest boat on the block. I saw some 70 yachts of all description, and all in a tidy row, and all BIG. Some even had helicopters perched on the top deck. By the way, isn’t yacht a funny looking word? French truck drivers cannot drive well without a cigarette in their mouths. French window manikins are far more attractive than ours. The few beggars I encountered spoke to me in French. For all I knew they might have been saying, “I have a condo for sale.” Actually, I decided that is exactly what they said and thus assuaged my guilt in passing them by. First day/night (Saturday) Boarding took about 20 minutes in a tented area in hot and humid weather. The first boarding allowed was 4 PM, and there was a line waiting for entrance into the boarding area. Four positions were manned at a long counter, each handling a separate transaction. One, passports; the next credit cards; etc. Water, slices of watermelon, and punch were available for perspiring passengers, but all envied the cold, damp towel passed from brow to brow of the officers handling documents. Each passenger got an old fashioned metal room key plus an ID card. Of course, I left my key in the room when I went to dinner. I was just so accustomed to having a multifunction “card”, that the key, did not compute. There is no 24 hour main desk on Star Clipper, but a waiter dialed a secret number, and in minutes a crewman opened the cabin door for me.
Dinner was five courses plus sorbet. You can choose the Chef’s selection, or either of two main offerings. Steak, baked potato, and a vegetarian dish are always available. You don’t have to fly blind either. Each night, the appetizers and main courses are on display along with the night’s menu. Service, although friendly, is leisurely and dinner takes close to two hours. The soup on this ship is just wonderful. I have it for lunch, dinner, and wish they served it for breakfast What our wine steward lacks in charm, he makes up in height. I suspect his premature balding is due to scraping his head under some of the dining room overhangs. His name, (drum roll) is Igor. We set sail at 10 PM, literally. The massive canvas slowly rose skyward, and we slipped silently out of Cannes. Sunday Calvi, Corsica, France It is a lovely sunny morning, sea calm and, even though the breeze is light, we are making 15 knots. There is no diesel thumping away, and the deck, except for scattered conversation, is quiet. My Clipper Deck cabin, in contrast, vibrates slightly with the hum of the generators. My cabin is right across from the Sloop Shop, and just a few feet from the dining room, but once inside, I never hear a sound. As I write this I am wearing a sweater. The air conditioning is automatic and there is no temperature control. At night I am not sure whether I am sleeping or hibernating. Both my sink and shower drains are clogged; maybe with ice. Since the shower floor is but a lower area of the bathroom floor with no sill, my showers must be quick or the whole bathroom floor is at risk of inundation. My cabin steward, Mauricimo, says he will report it.
We arrived at noon and anchored off Calvi, a seaside resort with what seemed like hundreds of quaint outdoor restaurants. The long shopping alley incorporated a hodgepodge of boutiques, T-shirt shops, and a boulangerie or two. I wandered the town, but declined climbing the many stairs leading up to the Citadel. A brisk breeze filed our sails at our 6 PM departure and we zipped away at 23 knots. It had been a hot day ashore, and after a tasty dinner, my energy, and thanks to Maurisimo, my sink, and shower were drained. Monday At Sea To get Internet access you have to get an Internet card that can be swiped at the computer. This must be purchased from the purser. To get to the purser, you must enter the miniature store; the purser’s office an adjoining room just big enough for two desks and a machine or two. One of the women manning (or should I say “personing”) the desk doubles as the store saleslady. Apparently, the Internet card must be activated when it is sold, and that can only happen when there is a viable signal. So far I have been told “Come back later” five times. I think I’ll take my chances on shore. To go through some of the exit doors from below to the deck area, you have to step over a 12 inch bulkhead. My shins ought to be completely healed by tomorrow. All the meals are good, and the press group is fun and interesting. I solved my air conditioning dilemma. Above the bed there is a vent, and on the vent is an open-close adjustment. My vent was wide open; it is now almost closed. Tonight I shall sleep without the weight of two duvets and a thick wool blanket. Tuesday Capri, Italy This is my fourth day aboard and I just found the tag board next to the gangplank. There are small circular tags on a peg board, one for each cabin. When you leave the ship, you turn the tag to the dark green side. When you return, you turn it back to the yellow side. That way, prior to sailing, the ship’s staff knows who is back and who is possibly still onshore. Most of us are using the system. The press group numbers four, two women, me, and a guy who wants to remain anonymous and aloof from the group. I ran in to him during the trip, and was happy to support his decision. The two women have their husbands along, and both are interesting guys. One is the lead attorney for Federated Department stores, and the other is a former editor of the Baltimore Sun. although there is no assigned sitting, we usually seek out a table served by Fritz, a native Saint Lucian. He has a sense of humor, and he and I always have a few laughs at dinner. Capri is an island south of Napoli, and just off the Sorrento peninsula. Today’s tour featured a boat ride to the East side of the island, then a minibus up to Anacapri. As we stepped from the Star Clipper onto our motor boat, our guide Cecelia handed each a sticker with the number 1 on it. She said remember you are group number one. The boat was small and did not handle the sea well, making photos guesswork at best. As we passed tall limestone cliffs, Cecilia pointed out various famous grottos. I think it is fair to say, what is one man’s grotto is another man’s hole in the hill. We circled back to Grande Marina to get a minibus up the winding mountain road to Anacapri, a village of some 4000 farmers, fishers, and vendors. Cecilia said, “OK, group number 1, follow me.” She then held up a paddle with the number 2 on it. This, for me, answered the question, how do you know you are in Italy? The men in Capri speak in very loud, and angry voices while vigorously waving their hands at each other. My first thought was, here’s a fight for sure. As it turns out, it’s just their way, and they could well be saying something like,”Nice day, isn’t it?” The minibuses went up a winding road with a precipice on one side and a rock wall on the other. There is not enough room for a minibus going up to pass a minibus going down; but they do. For me, the highlight of this tour was a chairlift from Anacapri to the top of Monte Solaro. From 2000 feet, the view of Naples Bay is breathtaking. As Star left the harbor, we dieseled out to sea passing the east side of the island where Bill Gates’ yacht was parked. I couldn’t make out the name of distant yacht, but I think it is “Reboot”. Wednesday Lipari, Aeolian Islands So far we have anchored at each port. Fortunately, the sea has been relatively calm. The ship’s tenders pull up to an undersized 2 by 3 foot platform at the bottom of the debarkation ladder. There are two steps up on the tender, than another step up from tender to ship. Even with no swell, some of our less than spry passengers have difficulty negotiating the transfer. I reached shore and started searching for the Internet. Almost no one here speaks Although the Internet prices were only 5 euros an hour, the clothing in the different stores was quite expensive. Simple math is the more yachts in the harbor, the higher the port prices. On our way again, and at 11 PM we cruised by Stromboli, a continuously active volcano that drew “oooohs” and “ahhhhs” from passengers and crew alike. Every 5 minutes or so, a jet of red fire belched hundreds of feet into the darkness, then subsided to a dull glow of expelled lava; then another inferno exploded skyward. Think “Old Faithful” from hell. A minor annoyance was so many people taking so many photos from so far away using their camera’s flash. Besides lacking logic, it somehow seemed irreverent. Thursday Giardini Naxos, Sicily Twenty-five of us took the tour to one of the craters of Mt. Etna. We started at sea level (duh), and using a combination of bus, 4-wheel drive minibus, and some sturdy footwear, went to 10,500 feet to gaze down at the 2002 eruption crater. The dicey, crumbled lava path was along a narrow ridge, a nasty drop to either side. A stiff wind didn’t help. A woman in front of me slipped and slid into home, but was unscratched. She held tightly to her husband the rest of the hike. I wished I could do the same. Although there was no fire visible in the crater, a scratch of the surface gravel produced steam and hot fingers. Our guide said it was 300 degrees Fahrenheit just a meter lower. Hard to believe, but I had no urge to substantiate what seemed to be a bit of a exaggeration. The 2002 eruption went hand in hand with an earthquake, and there was a lot of structural damage, especially in Santa Venerina. Each eruption, according to our guide, is good for the economy; the government sends substantial funds for restoration, resulting in work for all. We passed a home whose outside wall was now just a pile of bricks. A scaffolded church sat waiting for repair. A local government building had obvious damage. All of this damage from four years ago. I saw no workers. While we were scrambling Mt. Etna’s slopes, Star Clipper “stay aboards” were water skiing, sail boating and scuba diving. Returning to the ship I banged my leg on the side of the tender. This opened up an old wound, and put a good pair of pants on the laundry list to erase the bloodstains. I asked the purser where the nurse’s office was located; she said she would send the nurse to my cabin. Moments later the nurse knocked, entered, and took a look at my wound. Her first question was, “Why is it bleeding?” I had no answer. She then applied iodine and an adhesive patch. We made an appointment for 10:30 AM tomorrow. At dinner I saw the nurse again. She was in charge of salad.
So far, we have had calm seas and feel little motion, although there is a noticeable “tilt” when the sails are full. After breakfast I again tried to get an Internet card. The assistant purser did not know if we had a connection or not. She called a number and asked if we had Internet access. Whoever was on the other end of the phone did not know, but would check with the electrician, who, it turns out could not be found. “Come back later.” At 10:30, I waited for Cristina, the nurse to come to my cabin. At 10:50, I asked the purser’s office to call her. A few minutes later she appeared and apologized saying she had forgotten because she was busy arranging the flowers. Some more iodine, another adhesive patch, and she asked me if the wound was itching, because when it itched, it meant it was healing. It was not itching. Wet set an appointment for tomorrow fort 5 PM. This time I am to meet her on deck where she will be helping with the snacks. After much opening and closing the air vent I have found that perfect temperature between freezing, and can’t breathe. It may not sound like much, but to me it is a huge accomplishment. Saturday Kerkyra, Corfu, Greece I left the ship and headed toward a huge yacht at the end of the pier to take some photos. Someone behind me shouted, and a Star Clipper crewman came running up behind me. I had forgotten to turn over my tag. It seems now we all are using the system. Before i even got close to the boat, I was stopped by a Greek soldier who said In town, signs, banners and billboards were all in the Greek. Although I had no idea what they said, it gave the impression of many fraternities in the area. For the first time ever, I used an ATM machine. Actually, I was heading to a bank to exchange money, but the bank was closed. There was a note on the door, mostly in Greek, but with a date and in English, the words “On Strike”. The ATM swallowed my card and the screen filled with, yup, Greek. I panicked. Thankfully, the Greek did a fast fade and language choices appeared. A click on English, then on 40 Euros, and out popped the bills. Whew. After a bit, and some very helpful shop keepers pointing fingers in different directions I found NetOikos. Fast machines and not very expensive. Cristina was on appetizer duty when I next saw her. She immediately transitioned into nurse mode, and came to the cabin to put another dressing on my wound. I had this nagging notion that she might put a toothpick in my leg. She was disappointed to hear “no itch”. Tonight is Toga Night and there is a prize for best outfit. All the passengers, except one, are looking forward to a festive evening. I saw women from Star Clipper at the Old City shops buying all kinds of accessories for their “sheet”, for that’s what has been left on our bed along with three pins and “how to” instructions. OK, I’m the one who is not looking forward to the night. As simple as they sound there is no way I can follow these directions: Pin one end of it to your waist. I wore a t-shirt and white pants and told everyone I was a Philistine. First prize turned out to be a Star Clippers DVD……about, well, Star Clippers. Second prize was a belt. Saranda & Palermos, Albania We have 120 passengers on board, 35 from the U.S. For some reason most of the tours require 25 participants or they are canceled. Many of the Europeans are familiar with the territory so go off on their on, but today we filled two buses. Few have been to Albania. I took the tour to Butrint, an archeological site of a town that developed in the 6th century BC, and by the 4th century BC became a city of some 10,000. The Greeks, Romans, and the clergy all had a shot at it, but the marshes outlasted them all. It was designated as a World Heritage site by UNESCO in 1997. I am not much for old walls, but this tour sliced through a chunk of the countryside, and I wanted to see the Albanian villages and landscape. Our bus left Serande (Albanian spelling), and climbed the narrow road through what was once a fishing village, and now is a resort in mid-boom. Sophisticated hotels and condos were outnumbered by macro duplicates under construction. In contrast, fruit and vegetable stands lined the route, seemingly selling the same produce. There are more Mercedes per square foot in this country than in Beverly Hills. After the communist regime failed, the tax on imported used cars was very low, and Mercedes were the deal of the day. Our guide held a hand microphone, and with heavy accent and gravely voice gave us an historic view of Albania. He seldom referred to the passing scenery, and was a bit annoyed when a couple of times I interrupted and said, “What’s that?” Every ten minutes or so, his cell would ring. He turned his back to answer, but still kept the microphone in his hand and by his mouth. I understood his Serbian about as well as I understood his English. As we continued toward Butrint, roughly eighty percent of the buildings we passed were under construction. Private homes are completed as capital is available. Build the first floor, live in it, and when more money is accrued, build the next story. Some of the finished structures had what looked like scarecrows on the roof. In times of the Ottoman Empire, these manikins were believed to ward off evil. Times, and beliefs have evolved, but hey, no sense taking any chances. I saw one building with a scarecrow next to a satellite dish. I wonder which programs didn’t get through the juju. As expected, Butrint was decaying foundations, and some restored remains. We spent about an hour and a half climbing around, then boarded the bus to meet Star in Palermos. The 42 mile winding road was bumpy and very, very narrow. Our bus and any oncoming truck or bus had to negotiate passage. First both vehicles stopped in a kind of Albusnian standoff. Next, one or the other, sometimes both, backed up to find space wide enough to permit a scrapeless encounter. This kind of confrontation happened again and again. It took two and a half hours to make the one hour trip. Long time on a bus, yes, but the scenery was worth it; valley farmland, high forested mountains merging into bare cliffs, and dome like hills; here and there, grazing burros, cattle, and goats, and, every so often, a village. Once in a while we passed cemeteries where the dead, like in New Orleans, were entombed above ground. Of course it’s not the high water table, but the solid rock a few feet under the soil that makes this necessary. We frequently passed huge piles of household trash cascading off the road and down the steep bank. Neither trash heaps nor cemeteries were in proximity to town, nor to each other. Kotor, Montenegro Just about a month ago, Montenegro, in a close vote, declared its independence from Serbia. No longer will the Montenegro sailors be called Serb Marines. (I’m so sorry!) Kotor proper is within a fort; streets are narrow and accommodate only scooters or pedestrians. Shops are inset into the high inside walls, and it’s impossible to tell what shop is ahead until you come upon it. No one I came across spoke English, particularly the clerk in the “Apoteca” where I mimed mouthwash. She smiled and got me a bottle of Hexoral. The label was in German, and it wasn’t until I got back to the ship that I got it translated by a German woman who is a homeopathic medic. It is gargle. The Internet café, part of the Red Bull cafe had four terminals. At one point my connection slowed way down. The attendant simply unplugged my computer and plugged it back in again. When Windows loaded it asked for a user name and password. The attendant just stared at the screen….and it was in his language. He then walked away. I took a shot and clicked on Explorer. Bingo, back to the Internet I went. Oh well. No one clocked me in, but I figured I was on for about 30 minutes. One Euro took care of it. I headed back to Star just as a thunder storm sent most of Kotor scattering for shelter. For some reason this had been an exhausting day and it was bed at 10 PM; the ship sailed at 11. My cabin phone rang at about 11:10. The light over the bed had burned out, and by the tine I stumbled to the phone, no one was there. Wrong number; after all who would be calling me this late, or at all? Minutes later, phone ring. Stumble, stumble; no one there. Back to bed a bit steamed. Delicate knock on the door. My head out and a lovely lady said, “They are looking for you. Did you forget to turn your tag over?” Although it’s comforting to know the damn system works, it’s unsettling to be the only tag impaired passenger aboard. Tuesday Korcula, Croatia Korcula is said to be one of the best preserved medieval towns of the Mediterranean and is the birthplace of Marco Polo. Basically a fortress, entrance is through a ancient archway opening on a square, with narrow stone pathway spokes. Apartments are behind the high walls that edge the stone corridors. The drying laundry hanging from some of the windows wrenched me out of any medieval muse. A wide esplanade dotted with outdoor cafes circled the walled city. The tables had a view of the mountains, the sea, and sunbathers on the rocks below. Small shops had signs with arrows pointing up constricted passageway steps. Art, jewelry, and some clothing stores seemed carved into the alleys stone sides. I went into the city hoping to find a Croatian shirt or light sweater. I, instead, bought a pair of Oakley sunglasses. I wish I knew why. Wednesday Dubrovnik, Croatia My brother was in Dubrovnik years ago when it was still part of Yugoslavia. I am sure it has changed, but it is difficult to imagine much alteration in the old city, except there are only 300 of the previous 3000 still living within its walls. I wondered about and did some magic. I bought a hip pair of pants at a boutique where we could not communicate. I had no idea what the sizes were. There was just one pair of pants that I liked, and they fit. Amazing, that a small thing like this can feel like such an accomplishment. A few of us were sitting having lattes at an outdoor café, watching the action at a farmers’ market of dazzling fruits and vegetables, when the Cathedral gong stuck twelve. Before the last bong had faded, hundreds of pigeons came out of nowhere. Some landed, some circled, some dove and pulled up at the last minute, but, apparently at noon, this was their territory. The ride to Dubrovnik airport was uneventful. At the Austrian Airlaines ticket counter, after my bags disappeared into the baggage tunnel, I was told that I was 2 kilos over the weight limit. To this day, I have no idea what weight a kilo is. There was a lot of consulting, phoning, shaking of heads, and then the agent said that if I were just going to Vienna it would be OK, but since I was connecting to Copenhagen, Croatia Airlines had to be consulted. I pride myself that I did not ask why. A bit later, she said everything was in order, because Croatia Airlines would not answer their phone. In Vienna, we were taken by bus to the International Arrival Gate. There passports were inspected, and all hand stuff put through the X-ray channel; shoes could stay on, but watches had to come off. From there it was a hike to the gate for the flight to Denmark. Once again we went through passport and X-ray scrutiny. From there it was show your boarding pass, down the tube and on to THE SAME PLANE. This was an incredible trip. I would go with Star Clippers again in a moment. I liked the personal aspect; the crew knowing your name; the easy opportunity to meet other passengers for a drink or dinner. This was not just a cruise, but an experience.
Epilogue The wound has yet to itch. Fritz called me at 3 AM PDT 07/27/06 to ask me how I was doing.  |
Star Clipper
My cabin, a category two with 129 square feet, easily defined the word “tidy”. Although cramped relative to today’s cruise ship cabins, it did have all that was needed, and gave me the feeling of being on a yacht rather than a cruise ship. The TV had four channels; BBC, a German channel, and two channels of Star Clipper promotion. The BBC reception was spotty.
Lunch buffet was the best I’ve encountered in a long time. I loved a dessert dish named Baked Cheese. Kind of like bread pudding, but not really. While I filled my plate with Baked Cheese, a sturdy woman from Belgium stood staring at the variety of sweets. “You have to pick,” I joked. “No,” she said, “it’s like window shopping for me. I look, but I don’t buy.” She had never heard of Baked Cheese either.
Friday at sea