The Archbishop of Split Doesn't Like Dogs

We leave Zadar after lunch and spend the rest of the afternoon cruising the Croatian Inside Passage towards Split. I never knew Croatia had an Inside Passage. I never knew Croatia was made up of over 1000 islands. True confessions, before the Bosnian War I'd never even heard of Croatia. How many Shih Tzus have visited Croatia? People have dogs here, of course. This is the Dalmatia Coast, famous for --you guessed it -- Dalmatians. We just haven't seen one, yet.

Split is old, too. Half of it is walled, the so-called Old City. In 295 CE the Roman Emperor Diocletian decided to retire here and built a palace for himself, where he lived until 313. Subsequent Roman rulers also used it as a summer home until Rome fell. The palace was abandoned for a while, and then the locals moved in. Some of their descendants are still there, living in apartments purchased by their ancestors. Can you imagine living in Diocletian's palace?

 

Diocletian's mausoleum is inside what is now the Cathedral of St. Duje, one of the oldest in the world. Xingxing and I aren't allowed in. Arrangements have been made in advance, but that doesn't matter. Our guide -- a sturdy, dour woman wearing incongruous red patent leather shoes -- is not helpful. The Archbishop of Split doesn't like dogs, she snaps. So what are we supposed to do? I ask her. Go back to the ship, she says. I don't want to do that. So we wait outside until the group emerges. She's not pleased to see we're still here, but she clearly isn't game to stop us from rejoining the tour.

We finish our tour at the 100 year old Ostarija Tavern, where the walls are covered with old artifacts and photographs of historic interest, none of which are explained by our guide, who is already stuffing her face with local prosciutto, cheese and apple strudel. 

We cruise on to Hvar, where we have an AzAmazing evening. This involves a long walk and a number of shallow, poorly lit steps to a venue where we are seated so far back we can hardly see the stage, which  turns out to be a blessing. It was supposed to be a cello concert. In fact, it is a horrible, awful racket. Streaming videos, throbbing heavy metal and the cellist -- Ana Rucner -- bashing hell out of a cello beneath flashing colored lights. People close enough to see what was going on called it musical pornography. When things are good, I say so. This isn't  good. This isn't even bad. This is bloody dreadful. We're both glad when it's over and we can make our careful way back to the ship.

Excuse the Confusion!

IYou're noticing that all of this is somewhat out of sequence. And that my blog from Zadar doesn't include any photographs. Let me warn you -- unless I can untangle the technology, my blog from Split won't have any photographs, either.

We are experiencing what the television channels call technical difficulties. First of all, the internet service aboard ship is slow, and tends to cut out at crucial moments. Also, it's expensive. You buy a certain number of minutes, fiddle around trying to log in, try to upload something and then when you're almost done you run out of minutes, you're automatically logged off and since you didn't finish what you began, you have to start all over again. This is frustrating, especially when your stuff simply disappears into cyberspace, where nobody can hear you scream.

I also made the mistake of buying a mini IPad just before I left. I love it. Unfortunately, I can't drive it very well. In particular, I can't persuade it to talk to my iPhone. So the photos I take with my iPhone go up into the "cloud" and stay there. That's where the photos of Zadar and Split are, at the moment.

But I shall soldier on.  Watch this space. Sooner or later, I'll get it together.

Zadar: The Sea Organ

We wake up in Croatia, at Zadar. The Azamara Quest is a smaller ship, so we're able to moor right alongside the pier, rather than having to drop anchor in the harbor and use tenders to go ashore. This is great, because we can get off the ship and do our morning walk as easily as if we were at home. So after we've had breakfast in bed (another joy provided by the Azamara Quest) we set out.

There's a concrete landing, with steps leading down into the crystal-clear sea. There's a large, glass circle set into the concrete, and some other, smaller circles. Further along, there's a park. It's quite early, and very beautiful and serene. Suddenly, I hear music. It is strange, unearthly music. It sounds like something you'd hear through the windows of a cathedral. It stops for a moment, then starts again. Where is it coming from?  Not the ship, I'm sure of that. And it can't be a radio, because there's nobody here except us.  We continue walking, and the music fades away. Xingxing eventually does what dogs do, and we walk back towards the ship. But this time, there's no music. Did I imagine it?

The mystery of the music is solved at the beginning of our tour of Zadar. In fact, it is Zadar's biggest tourist attraction, the thing that has lured cruise ships to the city. It is a Sea Organ, a unique musical instrument designed by engineers and musicians to be played not by human beings, but by the sea itself. When we disembarked, we'd been standing on it!  Several dozen pipes have been laid beneath the stone steps and when there are waves, the action of the waves compresses the air in the pipes and creates the music I heard earlier. But of course, you have to have waves. When the cruise ships come in and the sea is calm, our guide tells us, they sometimes have to wait for a passing speedboat to create a wake and activate the organ.

Zadar is very old. In fact, its name means, Already Existed (before the Roman Empire) and people have lived here since 1000 BC. Old Zadar has a ring road, but the rest is for pedestrians only. The main street was built by the Romans, and still has some of its original cobblestones. It is just wide enough for ten soldiers to march abreast.  There are coffee shops everywhere. We visit the Benedictine Convent Museum, which houses the gold and silver treasures that weren't stolen during the Venetian Fourth Crusade, as well as some wonderful Renaissance paintings, including a Carpaccio.  The nuns are a bit taken aback by Xingxing's presence, but when the guide explains he's a service dog, they bless us both.

The Adriatic Adventure Begins

 The plan for this morning is San Marco Square (before the crowds) and then return to the hotel, check out and board the Azamara Quest in time for the lunch buffet. One of the things I love about cruises is that you never have to worry about where you're going to eat. It's always there and it's always delicious.

  

By now, Xingxing knows his way around the hotel environs so well that he's even got a favorite spot to do what dogs do. He settles in so easily. He's such a good traveler!

Early morning is a good time to visit San Marco Square.  You really get a sense of the sweep and majesty of it. The elegant, flanking  colonnades on three sides and the magnificence of the domes and spires (even half-covered in scaffolding as they are now) of the basilica itself forms a space that is both majestic and inviting, quite different from the forbidding immensity of St. Peter's at the Vatican. There aren't a lot of people around, although Florian's seems to be open. I consider sitting and having a cup of coffee, just to say I did it. But the point of Florian's is people-watching and at the moment, the pigeons outnumber the people. So we walk around, window-shopping in the long arcades as the square gradually comes to life.

We've booked a water taxi to take us to the ship.  There is also the option of public transport, a vaporetto. We see people heading for the vaporetto landings, dragging their wheeled suitcases behind them along the cobbles. It's much less expensive, public transport. But not at my age, not with a suitcase in one hand and a dog in the other.  I did all that when I was young. At this point, I reckon I've earned the right to enjoy a bit of luxury.

Once we've reached the docks, there is a long, long walk to the terminal. We take it slowly, but it is a really long walk. Finally, we arrive. Boarding is a complicated business, but when they see Xingxing, Azamara staff make it easy for us. There's only one glitch, right at the very end of the process -- an Italian customs officer won't let us leave Italy unless I show her Xingxing's passport. EU residents have pet passports. But Americans don't. And this woman has never seen a service dog, much less a service dog boarding a cruise ship.  But eventually it gets sorted out.

When Xingxing sees the gangplank he gets really excited.  He remembers. I'd wondered if he would. Then someone calls out, Xingxing!  They remember him, too!  He's thrilled. I'm thrilled. What a lovely greeting, I think.

We haven't got a balcony, this time. But our stateroom is huge, and there's a big, square window. There's a big mirror facing the bed, and I take a photo of us. They've put Xingxing's potty box in the same place as last time, as well. We enjoy a glass of champagne (well, I enjoy it) and then we visit the buffet.  Our Adriatic Adventure aboard the Azamara Quest is about to begin.

Venice:The Missing Blog

   Whoops! We've lost an entire blog in cyberspace!

So let's try this again: Our first full day in Venice.  Art and pizza.

After breakfast and the morning walk, we're ready to tackle the Academia. We've got our tickets and we need to be there at 10.30 am, although once we're there we can stay as long as we like. I think this is a really good idea, only admitting a certain number of visitors at a time. 

It's an easy, interesting walk, past little shops and sandwich places, over tiny bridges and through cobbled alleys to St. Stefan's square and the Academia Bridge. 

 I've brought the muzzle, but nobody says anything about needing it, so it remains in my bag, unused. The actual building is smaller than I expected. All my life I've been hearing about this museum, so I guess I thought it would be enormous.

The exhibition halls are on the second floor. You can rent an audio commentary for $6 and although it doesn't cover everything, it's pretty good.

This is Renaissance art. The patrons are Catholic and the subject is The Bible. Artists expressed piety (genuine or feigned) rather than themselves. Even so, they allowed themselves an amount of artistic freedom. Veronese's Last Supper -- complete with dogs, buffoons, drunkards  and even Germans -- got him hauled up before the Inquisition. They gave him three months to "fix" the painting. Instead of repainting it, Veronese simply changed the title to Feast at the House of Levi and everyone was happy.

After two hours of art, we make our way back up the shallow steps of the Academia Bridge and down into St. Stefan's square. Half a dozen cafés are serving lunch al fresco and we allow ourselves to be tempted by Art Blu Cafe. The fresh, hot, thin-crusted pizza is delicious, and a generous serving of red wine completes the meal. Xingxing is happy with a bowl of cold water.

We see quite a few dogs in Venice, mostly on leashes but sometimes not. They all seem to be pretty well behaved.

I could walk the streets all day, just looking at the shop windows. But Xingxing has had enough. So we return to the hotel, where Xingxing curls up at my feet as I check my mail. Xingxing looks up at me. His eyes say, Let's get on the bed and take a nap. 

Maybe we should save San Marco Square for tomorrow morning, when it will be less crowded. Suddenly, a nap sounds like an excellent idea.

The Venetian Experience

This hotel was originally two separate palaces which have been joined to create the Westin Europa and Regina. One of them was the Casa Alvisi, which belonged to a New Yorker who became a famous Venetian hostess who was the model for Mrs. Prest in Henry James' The Aspern Papers. Our room is on the second floor and small, but quite elegant. The two, shuttered windows open onto an air shaft, so there's no view. There's no clock either, which I find a bit odd. And no ice. Henry James would not have been impressed.

We breakfast on the terrace overlooking the Grand Canal. It's a breakfast buffet, and I am intrigued by the thin, lacy, translucent Venetian bacon. So is Xingxing. The sea gulls like it, too. One of them swoops down and snatches some from the startled diner next to us. Little motor taxis potter back and forth on the canal.  Opposite, the white domes and cupolas of Santa Maria Della Salute gleam in the morning sunshine. I just sit and and watch the Venetian world go by. Xingxing is more interested in the bacon.

This morning we retrace our steps across the Academia Bridge to go to the Peggy Guggenheim museum. I notice that there are hundreds of padlocks attached to the railings of the bridge, although I have no idea why and make a mental note to ask the hotel Concierge about this. The most interesting thing about the Peggy Guggenheim Collection is not the art -- although there are a couple of interesting, early Jackson Pollocks -- but the villa itself. You get a real sense of what it might be like to live here. The dazzle of water and light, the airiness. Of course, it wouldn't hurt to be fabulously rich. There's a black and white photograph of Peggy in her bedroom, sitting on a four-poster bed with a Calder mobile dangling overhead, looking happy.

After a light lunch we explore the small garden near our hotel, just past the water taxi station. In the old days it was the site of the city granary.  The little garden that was subsequently built on the site was originally private, but now  it's open to the public, a shady little enclave of gravel paths and benches. I thought Xingxing might like a change from the concrete and paving stones, but he makes it clear he prefers the Campo San Moises where tourists queue up for gondola rides. 

The 9-hour time difference has affected each of us differently.  I'm having trouble sleeping at night, and find myself needing an afternoon nap. Xingxing is sleeping well enough, but seems a little bit off his food and needs to poop at odd intervals. Just as well we have these few days to adjust before boarding the Azamara Quest.

  

Venice: A Cacaphony of Smells

A water taxi whooshes us across the bay (or whatever it is that surrounds Venice), past other islands and into the Grand Canal, and deposits us at the Westin Regina and Europa. I immediately take Xingxing for a walk.

He is ecstatic.  He is so excited that he's running in little circles.  So many dogs!  So many smells! He doesn't know where to pee first! Nor is he willing to let a single, savouy stone pass untouched. It's all paving stones and no grass, and I guess the odors last longer. We procede from light post to corner to hydrant, Xingxing lifting his leg every five seconds.  The pump soon runs dry, but that doesn't stop him. He is in ofalactory heaven, and it's all I can do to drag him back to the hotel.  Now I know how he must feel when I'm standing and stare at scenery, or paintings. He wonders, What is she looking at? Just as I'm wondering, What is he smelling? 

Having paid an arm and a leg to be allowed to check in early (it's basically 5 AM for us) I am now too excited to take a nap.  As soon as I unpack, we set out to see the sights.  Xingxing is all for exploring every wonderful stink along the way, but we do manage to get as far as San Marco Square, which is wall-to-wall tourists.

Strange as it sounds, everything is smaller than I'd expected.  The buildings are lower, the streets are narrower and the scale is extremely navigable.  When I look at the map I've been given, things that look as if they'd be miles from one another are within twenty steps.  There are no cars.  This is definitely a city for walkers.

I have no idea how Xingxing is going to handle the time difference, which is nine hours.  My plan is to give him his dinner at five in the evening, and see what happens.  I'm not a bit hungry, so I content myself with popcorn and a Scotch. Xingxing eats his dinner with relish.  So far so good.  We're both asleep before dark.

At 4 AM, I am awakened by the canine equivalent of, Ahem!  Xingxing is sitting on the floor, staring at the door.  Can you at least hold it until the sun rises? I ask him.  No. He can't. He has to go. He has to go now.

I scramble into my clothes and we go downstairs. The lobby is deserted. But the door is open, so we proceed out into the courtyard in back (the Grand Canal is in front) of the hotel.  As always, Xingxing needs to find the right spot.  And there are so many spots to choose from!  He drags me into the narrow, dark alley that leads to Calle Barozzi, where the gondolas pick up their passengers. He doesn't mind that it's dark.  He sees with his nose, sniffing, pausing, peeing, still searching for the elusive spot.  I'm a bit nervous. The streets are deserted.  Is this safe? 

The streets are quite different, at night.  I suddenly feel that the city has breathed a sigh of relief and is enjoying this respite from tourists and tourism.  It's as if the ghosts have come out to play.  I don't mean this in a scary sense. It isn't scary at all. It's sort of magical.  We make our way down Via XXII Marzo, past the designer shops. Finally, Xingxing squats.

Back at the hotel, the door is locked.  There is no buzzer, no bell.  I peer inside. The lobby is empty. I tug at the door. It is definitely locked. Suddenly, someone appears and opens the door.  He had to go, I explain weakly. The man who opened the door for us looks a bit bemused.  Probably thinking, Crazy Americans!