Europe
Through the Eyes
of A
Princess
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Note: Princess Cruises sold the Island Princess earlier this year. However, the Pacific Princess, a twin of the Island Princess, sails the same itineraries.
When the disturbance began, we were standing on the time-worn stones of the Plaza del Obradoiro, trying to frame the best picture of the 18th-century baroque facade of the magnificent Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. Off to our left, a rhythmic chant of many voices began to rumble, seeming to rise from the stone-walled streets. The roar became louder, a crescendo of harsh sounds, and it quickly became obvious that the source of the noise was a large mob, and it was coming toward us.
We began to edge our way toward the Hotel de los Reyes Catolico, along with scores of other tourists, and suddenly the mob - - actually about 40 young adults and teenagers - - burst around the corner of one of the streets leading to the square.
The young people looked like a visiting cast from "Les Miserables." Their dress was worn, their faces weary and streaked with sweat and grime. A dozen or so were barefoot, and a few of those had bandaged feet. They suddenly stopped chanting, their emotions seemingly spent, and then they slowed to an unsteady pace and made their way to the center of the square. There, they turned toward the grandiose cathedral and its statue of Christ and St. James the Apostle. Some of the young people, too weary to continue, collapsed on the ground, but most knelt facing the cathedral, bowed their heads in silence and extended their arms, turning the palms up.
"Pilgrims," our guide explained. "They are pilgrims. They have been hiking the Way of Saint James. It is a tradition, a coming-of-age for many young people in our country."
The pilgrims were the latest arrivals in what has been a very long tradition in Santiago de Compostela, a medieval city in the Galician area of northern Spain. Since the ninth century, pilgrims - - including St. Francis of Assisi, El Cid, Louis VII of France and James III of Scotland and England --have made their way to the grand cathedral, which was built on the reputed burial site of St. James. The cathedral is the third most holy site in Christendom, after Jerusalem and Rome. The arrival of the pilgrims brought a piece of history to life, just what we sought when we decided to take our two sons - - Clayton, then 21, and Jonathan, then 17 - - on a European cruise that we hoped would introduce them to the wonders of the Old World.
We've cruised with them in Caribbean and Alaskan waters, but they had reached the age when they needed to see other cultures and places where history was made. We decided to make their first trip to the Old World a cruise that would take us to six countries - - England, Ireland, France, Portugal, Spain and Morocco. And our encounter with the pilgrims was just one of many adventures that would take us to legendary castles, churches carved out of mountains, cities with a smugglers' reputation, exotic bazaars and neighborhoods whose crooked streets are lined with 14th-century homes.
We decided on a cruise for several reasons: First, the travel between places of interest was done by the ship, leaving us more time to enjoy our trip; second, after the daytime touring, the ship offered additional activities and entertainment; and, finally, we could separate from the boys and enjoy our own vacation without feeling we had to be with them every moment.
We chose our cruise after reviewing the European offerings of the major cruise lines. The 14-day "Iberian Odyssey" on Princess Cruises' Island Princess offered the best of all worlds, a European sampler journey that would cover 3,981 statute miles (3,461 nautical miles) while taking us to 11 cities.
The 26-year-old Island Princess, sister ship to the Pacific Princess (the celebrated Love Boat of television fame), carried 640 passengers, almost all of them American. The age range was more mixed than we had encountered in a previous Princess Cruise, which was dominated by senior citizens. This time, the passengers were nicely spread over every age group, including perhaps 40 or 50 who were younger than 20.
We began our journey with a three-day stay in London and then a shuttle bus trip to Southampton, where we boarded the Island Princess. Our ship sailed westward, bound for the next day's visit at Falmouth, in Cornwall in the southwestern tip of England. There we took a tour to the Charlestown Harbor, a tiny, stoned-walled harbor village with a very interesting Shipwreck & Heritage Centre featuring artifacts and relics reflecting the area's maritime past and the more than 3,000 shipwrecks that have occurred off the Cornwall coast.
In the afternoon, we visited the village of Polperro, a former smugglers' haven trapped between two mountainous fingers of land. The village is a popular destination, offering crooked, cobblestone lanes, whitewashed buildings and a small harbor whose tides are so extreme that the boats there are often left sitting on the mud of the harbor bottom.
We then cruised past Land's End and turned northwest to Ireland for a sail up the River Lee and a visit to Cork. The major attraction here was not Cork, a gritty commercial city, but a legendary castle five miles outside of town. After a drive through emerald-green fields of grass and clover, we came to Blarney Castle, the 15th-century fortress constructed by the King of Munster. The castle is magnificent, overshadowed only by the serene beauty of the surrounding fields -- laced with streams -- and graced with flower gardens and groves of trees. Here the boys trudged up the narrow, worn stairs to the castle tower to bend over a railing and kiss the Blarney Stone, which legend says bestows the kisser with the gift of eloquent speech.
While waiting for some eloquence to take hold, we sailed south, through the Bay of Biscay and up the Gironde River to Bordeaux, France, a city we had wanted to visit for some time. Unfortunately, we didn't note ahead of time the day we would arrive, for it was Sunday and everything, except the churches and one coffee bar, was closed. We had better luck in the afternoon, when we took a bus tour to St. Emilion, a picturesque city with cobblestone streets, steep hills and small, pastel-colored houses with red-tile roofs. St. Emilion was another stop for pilgrims making their way to Santiago de Compostela in Spain, but is better known today for the fine wines that come from its surrounding vineyards.
Those wines are featured in numerous shops and cafes in the village, but the major attraction in the small city was not so visible to the eye. Our guide stopped by the city hall, picked up a large key and then led us down a steep, cobblestone lane to a walled garden and a small wooden door. Using the key, she opened the door and led us into the hidden wonder of St. Emilion: the Eglise Monolithe, a subterranean church carved into the side of a limestone cliff.
"We think workmen probably enlarged a grotto or small cave when they started the church in the ninth century," our guide said. The work continued for several centuries, and the church was also used as a burial ground, probably for religious leaders, she continued. Indeed, several tomblike excavations - - looking much like small, rectangular bathtubs - are visible today. "One of the neighbors discovered these catacombs when he broke through a wall while enlarging his cellar," our guide told us. "The bones were removed and reburied in the cemetery."
As we continued walking back through the cavern's passages, the incredible extent of the church became clear. We made a turn, went up some steps, passed through a doorway and entered a large, cathedral-sized room with columns, statues and even altars, all carved from the limestone. "During the war, the church was used for shelter and for hiding people from the Germans," our guide said. "It is still used for services and special events."
The cathedral is a majestic achievement, and the appeal of its cool darkness was even more apparent to us after we had left it, only to be stunned by the summer heat and blinding sun. After an hour's browsing through the village shops, we returned to the bus for a stop at the Chateau Taillefer, a nearby vineyard, and wine tastings.
Our next stop was Pasajes, on the north coast of Spain near the border with France, and it is one of the more dramatic ports we have ever encountered. The narrow entrance is flanked by steep walls of sharply tilted layers of rock that towered over our ship. Once through this intimidating passage, we discovered a long, narrow harbor dominated by hills on all sides. On one shore are small houses, marinas and restaurants while the other is an industrial port. It's all very picturesque, and the perfect introduction to the Basque country of Spain.
From Pasajes, we took a tour to Pamplona, the famed location of the "Running of the Bulls" (although we were there a week after the annual festival). The spectacular, two-hour bus ride took us past heavily forested mountains and through valleys with fertile farmlands dotted by beehive-shaped haystacks. The walled city of Pamplona was filled with interesting architecture, but our local guide, who was supposed to be fluent in English, wasn't, and much of the time we had no clue as to what we were seeing.
After a pleasant lunch - - shrimp, salad, roast chicken, fried potatoes and a potentially addictive dessert made of goat-milk yogurt - - we spent the ride back to the ship grousing about the unsatisfying tour with our fellow passengers.
By this time, about halfway through our cruise, we had arrived at a shipboard routine. Daytimes, when we were not touring, were spent around the pool or on the upper sun decks, reading, playing Scrabble or just gazing at passing boats or shores. After dinner we passed on the nightclub scene, preferring the late movies or stage shows for our evening entertainment, while Clayton and Jonathan were beginning to gain a reputation on the karaoke circuit.
Our next port of call was Lisbon, a city we had visited before. This time, however, we knew we wanted to see the Castelo de San Jorge, which sits on a bluff overlooking the city and port. The castle, built on fortifications believed to have been started by Romans many centuries ago, has 10 towers and outstanding views from its ramparts.
After the walk around the castle and the gardens, we set out on foot through the Alfama neighborhood, which gives a strong feel for what the Lisbon of the Middle Ages looked like. The 14th-century Moorish and pre-Inquisition Jewish homes here are scattered amid a puzzle of crooked streets, cobblestone steps, tiny shops and public fountains where women continue to do the family wash. Our guide's advice had been: "If you get lost from the group, just keep walking on any street as long as it goes down. Then you will find the main part of the city."
Many of the houses of stone, stucco and time-worn boards were close to falling down, but our guide told us that change is coming to this historic area. "The European Union is paying to fix up many of these houses," she said, pointing to construction barricades and EEU signs boasting of the plans. "It is controversial. Many people do not want to leave while their homes are being repaired." "But are they changing the houses?" we asked. "No," she said. "Some houses need work to keep them from falling apart; some just need plumbing or electricity."
In contrast, the Baixa, the main commercial section of Lisbon - - which we finally came to after our walk through the Alfama - - is drearily pedestrian, filled with banks, stores and far too many vendors. We grabbed a light lunch and headed back to the ship.
The sail down the Tagus River to the Atlantic Ocean is dramatic, offering great views of the heroic statue of Prince Henry the Navigator, who launched world-circling expeditions of exploration in the 16th century, and the towering statue of Jesus Christ on the opposite shore.
Once we reached the open sea, the Island Princess turned south for our next port of call, Gibraltar.
We had visited this British colony before, and found it more a shopping center with a mountain backdrop than a must-see destination. The four of us spent a half-day wandering the heavily commercial streets before deciding that the calm of the ship was more attractive. After all, we must rest up for our next country -- Morocco.
Casablanca was the most exotic port of call on this trip, but also the one that forced us to go with our heads instead of our hearts. Our hearts told us to take the excursion to Marrakesh, a trading center on the edge of the Atlas Mountains. But the trip promised to be grueling -- a 3 1/2-hour bus ride each way. The tour directors were helpful here, advising us that the buses we would be using were not great and the ride could be hot.
Despite our interest in seeing Marrakesh, we reluctantly decided to take a short morning walk around Casablanca and its outdoor market and then join a bus tour to Rabat, the capital city that is only a 75-minute drive north of Casablanca.
But our visit to Casablanca was a reminder of the uglier side of the world. A security crackdown was underway during our visit. Our cab was stopped twice by police, once even inside the harbor area for a complete car search. The searches came at a time of several terrorism and suspected-terrorism incidents: Basque separatist bombings in Spain, the downing of TWA Flight 800 and the Olympic Park bombing. It was unsettling, but by the time our bus arrived in Rabat, the sight of cars being searched on the roadside seemed commonplace.
Our visit to Rabat was marred by a more mundane tourist problem: camera failure. Our zoom lens suddenly stopped working and then fell completely apart. This minor disaster came just after we arrived in Rabat, a modern city surrounding a very old city.
Our first stop was the Great Mosque, where the royal family prays. The king's palace was a short distance away, but we were not allowed near it. Our next stop was the Mausoleum of King Mohammed V, an ornate white marble complex of Islamic design with grand views of the city. The mausoleum is watched over by the Royal Guard, some of whom are mounted on horses in traditional, high-backed saddles. The onyx sarcophagus, located on the first floor of the mausoleum, is viewed from the mezzanine by visitors while other guards, dressed in flowing capes and carrying ornate rifles and swords, stand nearby.
After this visit to the tomb of the father of Moroccan independence, we took a short drive to the Old City for a brief shopping and sightseeing tour of the Moroccan folklore center and the Kasbah, built on the old site of a ribat (fortified monastery) built on a hill overlooking the town. Legend says the city got its name from this monastery.
Our return to the ship was by the coastal road, which offered a view of the vast cemeteries extending from the old city walls to the Atlantic shore and the newer, American-like suburbs popping up around the beaches.
That night we sailed at sunset from Casablanca. From the open deck at the stern of the ship, the city skyline was dominated by the enormous King Hassan Mosque, a vision in green and gold. We fixed our gaze on this lighted monument for more than 30 minutes until it twinkled and vanished in the dark as the ship turned north toward Spain.
After the ship docked in Vigo, on the northwest coast of Spain, we made our visit to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. Before the pilgrims made their appearance, we took a tour of the cathedral, beginning with the Romanesque Portico of Glory, which features a larger-than-life figure of Christ above a statue of St. James the Apostle, both of which are flanked by stone angels and depictions of people who represent the redeemed. On the column below St. James is a hollow in the stone, a spot worn by countless pilgrim hands.
After another day at sea, it was time for our final port call, this time to the Brittany coast of France and Mont St. Michel. Our port call was at St. Malo, a lovely and lively medieval city. The fabled Mont St. Michel, a holy site for a thousand years, was an hour's drive from the port. Though the day there was cold and blustery, by the time we returned to St. Malo the sun had reappeared, lifting our spirits.
We had wondered privately whether Clayton and Jonathan appreciated all the art, history and stories we had encountered in our two-week European sampler. Despite years of language study, neither of the boys had spoken a word in Spanish or French, despite many opportunities to do so.
It was on our minds as we sat down in a sunny cafe in St. Malo for a final meal in France before our last night on the ship and the return flight home. As we studied the French menu, Jonathan turned to us and said, "Let me order."
And he did, in French.
For more information about Princess' cruises in Europe, call a travel agent.