V.C. Williams's Blog

During our 2018 Moroccan trip, we took the train from London to Paris and then to Barcelona. But when we arrived at Gibraltar, an English-speaking British territory, I had to reveal my talons for the first time. It’s a bit of a story, so sit back and enjoy the read.

After visiting Barcelona, we realized our timeline would force us to zip through the rest of Spain with one short overnight stop in Madrid. Again, our hotel booking source let us down with photos and descriptions that didn’t match reality. I admit, I failed to read the traveler comments. I should not have dismissed them, and that’s my advice to you. Don’t. I still believe that travelers’ comments are usually made by high-maintenance folks who expect champagne on a beer budget. However, spending time reading the reviews can be helpful. I didn’t do that. The hotel we reserved in Madrid turned out to be a hostel. We were the oldest folks in the place, and I think the host took pity on us and gave us a nice room with a private bath. We were grateful, indeed. However, if one was late getting back after a “night on the town”, or just dinner out in our case, one had to wrestle with a tricky lockup system to get back inside. After a few frustrating minutes, we finally succeeded and all was well.

When we arrived in Madrid, our taxi driver was not able to go down the street to our “hotel”, but had to drop us about a block away because of construction. That wasn’t too bad and we were able to scope out the shops and restaurants that we may want to explore later on. The next morning, we walked in the opposite direction, dragging our luggage through a small town square where folks were having coffee and reading the news. Sadly, we had no time to stop and chat, but trudged on to a taxi stand nearby. Before long, we were on the train to Algeciras at the southern edge of Spain on the Mediterranean. From there, we took a bus to the Gibraltar border. We did a lot of walking to the bus and from the bus to the border (Larry remembers the bus driver as especially rude), where we walked some more to the customs station, and finally arrived on a street overlooking the Rock of Gibraltar. We assumed (you know what ‘assume’ means ) that taxis would be available once we went through customs. No, they weren’t. We walked some more. I don’t remember why I didn’t retrieve our hotel reservation and call them for a pickup. But I didn’t. Or maybe I did with negative results. We finally stumbled (really stumbling by now) onto a sign that had the numbers of various taxi companies. We called a few with no answers, but finally succeeded. We waited for what seemed a very long time before the guy showed up. We heaved a sigh of relief as we fell into the back seat. We told him where we wanted to go, and what do you think he said? “That hotel? It’s pretty old. I rarely take anyone there.” We shook our heads and confirmed that’s where we wanted to go.

The first thing we saw upon arrival? STAIRS from the street to the main entrance. I looked for a ramp, but there wasn’t one. (We silly entitled Americans) Because of Larry’s injured knees, stairs were anathema. But we managed to get into the lobby, and our host seemed none too happy to see Americans in her establishment. We stood there for probably two minutes or more, her only customers, while she and her husband had a spat around the corner from the check-in counter. Very uncool. When she handed over our key, I asked if the bath had a shower or a tub. “Of course, there is a shower in all our rooms, inside the tub.” Arguing would mean finding another hotel, and we weren’t up to it. Then I asked how to find the elevator for the second floor. “There is no elevator to that floor. You’ll have to take the stairs.” (This is where the talons came out.) I glared at her. She seemed unfazed that Larry was standing behind a walker. “The stairs aren’t that steep.” After a firm discussion, we were given a third-floor room which was accessible by elevator. Finally, in the room, I checked out the bathroom. The tub rim was the highest I’d ever seen. I could barely get into it with two good knees! Oh well. The unexpected joys of travel. It’s all an adventure, right?*** By the way, the following pictures are from my exploration of the caverns carved inside The Rock, from where Brits guarded the Straits of Gibraltar during WWII. The people you see are mannequins. It was muggy, musty, and incredibly fascinating.

Later that afternoon, we went exploring and found a small shopping district close by. Larry was hoping to find the music store where he and his mother found his first drum kit back when they were living in Morocco. He was sure the store was called “The Red Room” and that it was on that street. Larry vaguely remembered the area, but the store was gone. He asked a guide later about the store, and the man remembered there had been such a music store in Gibraltar. We stopped for a snack at an outdoor cafe before returning to our luxurious accommodations. We passed a shaded square where workmen were taking a break under a large tree. I can’t remember what they were working on, but Larry stopped and talked to them a while. All of them were from Spain and appeared to be happy working in Gibraltar. They said the money was good.

The next day, we found a bus tour that took us all over the 2.6 square mile territory. On one side was a huge white mosque with a tall minaret, where the bus stopped for about 15 minutes for a rest stop. I’ve included some pictures of our 2022 visit, too, which add to the sites to be seen in this small, intriguing place. I have to say that our overall experience in Gibraltar was not that friendly, which was unexpected and surprising. Most locals we met were abrupt and unsmiling. Our experience on this particular journey had been the opposite. I have no explanation for it. The bus took us around the back and up the twisting road to the top of Gibraltar, where the views were spectacular. Many tourists were winding their way up, too, and when we were held up in traffic, the notorious Gibraltar Barbary Macques, wild, free-ranging, and tailless monkeys, playfully jumped to open windows, chattering away and holding out their little hands. One tried his best to crawl past the bus driver and into the bus, searching for any treats the tourists might have handy. But the driver managed to prevent him from getting very far. These monkeys have been part of Gibraltar for centuries.

When we stopped for the tour inside the Rock, Larry said he’d wait for me outside. The only problem, unknown to us, was that the tour group exited at a different place, far from where we entered. Our group had no guide, but were allowed to freely zig-zag throughout the many rooms that were used by the troops garrisoned there during WWII. We exited at a spot overlooking the Atlantic where big guns, still in place, guarded the Straits between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean. Not knowing what to do, our small group of about six or seven followed a dirt road down a steep hill to where we thought the bus would pick us up. All the while, I’m worrying about my husband, sitting and wondering where the heck we are. The bus finally showed up and, again, the talons came out to ensure the driver drove back to pick up Larry, patiently waiting all alone, for our return. The whole thing wasn’t very well organized. Come to think of it, this kind of thing has happened too many times in our travels. I’ll tell you all about it sometime.

These are pictures from our 2022 cruise. Larry and I were talking about why our first experience in Gibraltar was so unfriendly. He thinks that because so many of these places are overwhelmed with tourists, especially from cruise ships, they have become somewhat intolerant, even though income from tourism is huge. I’m sure you may have read that some popular European destinations have begun to limit the number of cruise ships allowed. I can understand that. In our travels, we’ve been astounded at the number of tourists, especially Americans, clogging the streets of beautiful, historic places.

I’ll finish with pictures of the only place in the world where a major highway intersects an international airport runway. The one on the left is a photo I took as our bus drove over the runway. Pretty incredible! Despite having to get tough a couple of times, I’m not sorry we visited this fascinating, historical corner of this marvelous world we live in. Learning and exploring are always good. I hope you enjoyed my travel memories. Like and comment below or visit my website at: https://vcwilliamsauthor.com/ I’ll see you next time!

In March 2018, we traveled by train from Paris to Barcelona. It is 516 miles and might have taken over eight hours to get there. We arrived at the Paris train station early, and while we waited for our train, we enjoyed croissants and freshly squeezed orange juice. I don’t know why we don’t have those marvelous orange-squeezing machines in the US! I never tasted any orange juice this good before. Raised on the frozen concentrate kind and later on quart jugs found in the grocery store, I had no idea what fresh-squeezed orange juice really tasted like. What makes this story ironic is that when I lived in Mesa, Arizona, I was surrounded by orange groves. I certainly wasn’t going to hand-squeeze the oranges. Why didn’t I see them in Denny’s or Coco’s restaurants? Well, I’m spoiled now. I’ve enjoyed it again in our other travels, but that first experience in the Paris station remains the best. I wonder what kind of oranges they used?

We finally boarded the train for our long journey. I don’t remember when we arrived or where we stayed, but the next day, we did our usual and walked to where we could find the Hop On Hop Off to see the city of Barcelona. It is a gorgeous city, with many city squares scattered throughout. At this time, Larry was hobbling on a walker with a recovering knee stress injury that he suffered while recovering from his other kneecap fracture/surgery. Stuff happens. Before we left on this journey, he got a cortisone shot and a knee brace. He did well, but because Larry doesn’t like his picture taken, I have several of the walker instead. He thought that since our last name is Walker, that would be a good substitution. Another irony.

We hopped on the bus and wandered around, getting off at the intricate, incredible Sagrada Familia, the work of architect Antoni Gaudí. The building began in 1882 under the guidance of Francisco de Paula del Villar. He resigned in 1883, and Antoni Gaudí transformed it into his vision, with Gothic and curvilinear Art Nouveau forms. When he died in 1926, the church was less than a quarter complete. With private donations funding it and allowing for interruptions for wars, the work continues. It is hoped this massive work of art may be completed in 2026. And it is massive. We were fortunate to return to Barcelona in 2022, when we visited this cathedral for most of a day. We still didn’t see all its corners, naves, and spiral staircases. Everywhere one looks, one sees incredible carvings, delicate figures, flowers, stars, and endless dioramas of Biblical scenes. It’s an active church, too, with a magnificent altar, and pews where one can sit all day if you like. My neck began to hurt as I craned my head in every direction, far up to the ceiling, following impossible strands of concrete arches and columns unlike anything I’d ever seen.

When we left, there was more to see outside! The entire edifice is a monument to Gaudí’s imagination and incredible designs. I don’t know what the All-Mighty thinks about such structures. The early church, as seen in the Bible, was content with a seat on the floor in someone’s home or a rock or tuft of grass near a river or lake.

There was so much to see, it was hard to pull away from this place. But we continued with our Hop On Hop Off and saw more of Barcelona. We enjoyed the scenic drive along the harbor finally hopped off to find some lunch at a beautiful marina where a whole line of outdoor restaurants bordered the marina. We examined the menus for each and made our choice. Thinking back, I don’t know why I snapped some pictures but missed others. I’ve always been told that pictures are more interesting if people are in them. People we know. But there are times when the splendor of a particular place requires no one to interfere with its beauty. I need more of that sometimes. Don’t we all?

We enjoyed our visit to Barcelona and would love to see more of it. These visits were just too short to do it justice. I hope you enjoy my memories of our travels, and that you will return again. Like and Comment or visit my website at: https://vcwilliamsauthor.com/

By the way, I have a new ‘Cozy’ murder mystery available on my website. DREAM OF A MURDER. It’s about a retired couple on a world cruise who get a little too nosy when their neighbor is thrown overboard in the dead of night and a friend gets beaten up in Cadiz. Check it out! It’s murderous fun. Find more information here!

I have always wanted to see Paris and…No, not die, but to wander its avenues and smell the chestnuts in the rain. To be honest, I could say almost the same thing about any iconic place in the world. My husband always says travel isn’t the destination but the anticipation. I totally disagree. Travel that involves going anywhere more than a hundred miles from home isn’t a simple, no-brainer process for me. Preparing to be away from home for than a few days causes me stress, and the older I get, the more stressful it is. I hate packing, ticking off my endless lists, and making sure we have clothes to fit the climate, enough meds, and chargers for our electronics. Not to mention our Passports, reservation info, and other necessary paperwork. I’m old-fashioned and haven’t completely transitioned to digital. What if I lose my phone, or what if it crashes? Traveling light? Hah! On this trip, we tried it and I think we did pretty well. But when I slung that backpack over my shoulders, I felt like I was hauling a load of cut marble down the mountain for Michelangelo to carve. You can’t believe the stuff I crammed in there. Instead of liquid shampoo, I packed the nifty bar shampoo – so much lighter and smaller. Pfft. I didn’t use it once. I made a clothesline out of rubber bands so I could hang up my rinsed-out undies and fast-dry pants and tops. I used it once in our rustic but nice hotel in Marrakech where I scoured the streets for an ATM.

OK, I’ll quite complaining. The anticipation of travel isn’t fun, but once I’m on my way, I can’t be happier. It’s too late to turn back, and my brain quickly moves from stress level to relaxation. After traveling via the Chunnel from London, we arrived in Paris late in the afternoon. By the time we got a taxi, the lights of the city were like starbursts as we drove to our hotel. I didn’t want to miss a thing. No, we didn’t stay in a luxury hotel near the French Quarter or any quarter that I remember. What I remember is the kindness of our host and the familial, cozy atmosphere of the tiny hotel blocks away from the Sacre-Coeur. As we traveled from the train station, we drove near overhead railway tracks, and as trains passed by, the clacking of the wheels gave us their greeting to this ancient, beloved city, filled with diverse cultures and people from all over the world. I found it enchanting. After checking in, the young clerk, an immigrant from Tunisia, showed us to the lift, a caged affair, barely big enough to fit three adults and our luggage. It reminded me of the hotel elevator scene from Charade, filmed in Paris. Our room was bigger than the one Audrey Hepburn had, spacious with large paned windows and a lovely bathroom that was almost bigger than the one I had at home. The fixtures weren’t up to date, but they worked just fine and added to the Parisian ambiance. The next day we walked to a small cafe for buttery croissants and café au lait. We sat outside under some trees (mandatory), enjoying the views and just being there. Ahh… Paris!

That evening we had a reservation for a dinner cruise on the Seine. (Just like Audrey and Cary’s in Charade!) We hoped for a window seat, but another couple got there earlier. We were seated with two couples, tourists like us. Both couples were American and, like us, from the Southwest! We had a wonderful time gliding down the river and being served a lovely three-course dinner. It was fun and I highly recommend it. The views were heavenly, especially as the sun began to set. Getting pictures was difficult, but I did my best.

The next day, we had a lunch reservation on the second floor of the Eiffel Tower at the Madame Brasserie restaurant. We took a taxi, and there it was in all its glory. It’s so much larger than I imagined. There was some construction of some kind going on, and the entrance from the street was blocked off. So, with Larry still nursing his bad knee, I trotted around the back to figure out where we needed to go. After navigating over a makeshift path of grass, dirt, and concrete, I found the entrance to the tower and walked back to where Larry was patiently waiting. We were soon on an elevator to the restaurant, and again, I was a little disappointed we didn’t have a clear view of the city from our table. But that didn’t stop me from wandering around to find those views. It was spectacular. Across from our table was a French couple who were also visiting Paris. Larry struck up a conversation with them, and when he said we were Americans, they were confused because Larry’s French is so perfect. Of course, if they had heard me talk, they wouldn’t be confused anymore.

After our delicious lunch, we stepped outside to enjoy the views from our iconic perch. Sadly, just about every outside railing was screened in for safety’s sake. Its too bad that is necessary. It was a beautiful day and we couldn’t have asked for more. After wandering around there for a while, we came down the elevator and decided to take a Hop On Hop Off around the city. So, back to our winding path to the main street where we’d seen a ticket kiosk for the bus tour.

We sat back and viewed all the beautiful sights of Paris, Notre Dame, the Moulin Rouge, the Louvre with its glass pyramid, and many more. Driving through the busy streets of Paris was exciting, and I remembered my son telling me about their driving trip to Paris when he and his wife were living in Germany with the Army. My daughter-in-law was pregnant and they got caught in the notorious traffic ring, known as la Périphérique, around the Arc de Triomphe, where twelve lanes of traffic merge into one crazy roundabout near the Champs-Élysées. Round and round they went until she couldn’t take it anymore and began to cry. I believe she wondered if she would end up giving birth in that endless ring of traffic! Our bus went through that roundabout, too, and it was mystifying how anyone unfamiliar with it can survive. But these adventures are a gift, and it’s why we love to travel.

Our visit to Paris was over too soon, as our train to Spain was waiting. We hope we will return someday and spend more time there. And maybe it will be the right season to smell chestnuts roasting. I hope you enjoyed my memories of Paris! Like and comment, or visit me at https://vcwilliamsauthor.com/. I’ll see you next time!

In 2018, we took a challenging and exciting journey from London to Morocco. We thought we had every detail of travel, hotels, sights to see – everything planned and ready to go! We even booked dinner on a Seine river cruise and lunch at a restaurant on the second floor of the Eiffel Tower! We flew to London and took a taxi to our booked hotel near the train station, from where we would take a train through the Chunnel to Paris. We’d both been to London before, and the idea of going to Paris this way was too exciting to resist. How fun is that? We figured out an itinerary of stops, and I spent many hours searching for moderately priced hotels at each place. Of course, Larry thought sleeping on a park bench, like he did when he first visited London at the age of eighteen, would be fine. Big NO on that idea. I used a well-known online booking service and thought everything was in good shape. When the taxi dropped us off at our hotel, our first thought was that we had the wrong address. No hotel we’d ever seen looked quite like that. (Except for one in Argentina – another depressing story.) We checked in and were given a key to our room. The way the front desk clerk greeted us, one would think we were checking into a prison. That should have been our first clue. As usual, Larry asked for extra pillows. Zilch. Is there a restaurant nearby? Shrug. The only thing it had was an elevator, and with Larry’s bad knee, we were grateful. Ever the optimists, we were sure the room couldn’t be all bad. We had no idea what we were in for.

We opened the door and gasped. Our room was smaller than the one above, and not this nice. This is the same hotel, but after our review, they must have spruced it up a bit. Or maybe they’re still using the same pictures that suckered us in the first place. It was a small space with no table. It might have had a chair. It was claustrophobic. A 3/4 twin-sized bed was shoved against the wall, with no windows, and no closet, not even a hook or two. That bed made me think of the movie Barefoot In The Park, where the newlyweds’ bedroom was too small for a full bed. That is where the similarity ended. I examined the bed, and the sheets seemed reasonably clean. But really, who knows? The walls weren’t this clean, but it did have a TV on the wall. The adjoining bathroom was larger than the bedroom. One wall was devoted to the “walk-in” shower with no curtain. I think there were four thin towels, but we needed two to mop up. There was nothing to prevent water from flowing into the rest of the bathroom, which was probably the plan since another drain was in the middle of the room. If we had not been completely exhausted after our long flight from Phoenix, we would have left. In hindsight, the park bench might have been a better option. I raged at the online site and looked at my printed reservation. Of course, the pictures were nothing like the real thing. Larry called to see if there was a better room. Of course, they were “booked up”. Ha! We left to find a place to eat and, upon our return, asked the clerk to call a taxi for us the following morning at a certain time. He nodded and appeared to make a note. Helpful. We slept right to left that night, hoping nothing creepy would awaken us.

We survived the night and were downstairs early, eager to escape our cell with the electrocution-friendly swamp. Larry asked if our taxi had been ordered. Yes, of course. It will be here soon. We waited. We went out to the sidewalk. And waited. Larry asked again and got a shrug. We decided to walk because the station was only a few blocks away. Thankfully, an empty taxi came along and we flagged it down. With Larry on a walker and me hauling the luggage, it wouldn’t have been a pleasant stroll. We arrived at St. Pancras International Station. That’s when our stay in London improved dramatically. We walked in, searching for where to go next. We were barely in the door when a customer service agent approached, asking if Larry would like a wheelchair. He scowled, but I convinced him that it would be easier for both of us. The young lady was more than accommodating and offered to take us to a lounge to wait, suggesting that coffee and croissants were available for free. What was even better, Larry detected her French accent, and before you knew it, he heard her life story, and she became our new best friend. We made ourselves comfortable in the lounge, a very nice area, and we were soon served. We were quite early for our train, so the snack was a nice treat. The agent left, saying she would return when it was time for our train and would take us there herself. It was great!

We were soon escorted to our train, and we settled in, ready for the fun experience of traveling under the English Channel and on to Paris. At first, we saw London cityscapes and then the English countryside, the tracks running behind houses and buildings, and I looked over fences into people’s gardens. Then the sounds and the light in the train changed. We were in the Chunnel! I don’t remember how long the journey was, but it was not as long as one might think. We were now viewing the French countryside. Even though it didn’t look a whole lot different than the English countryside, it was a surreal experience for me. This was my first time in France, and I examined every farm, every cottage, every highway, and every vehicle. To me, it was different. I wanted to soak it in as only a first-time visitor can. I was disappointed when we slowed down as we entered Paris, approaching the station. I didn’t want it to end quite yet. After our dreadful hotel experience, this train trip swept away all those ugly images. I wasn’t ready to let go of our lovely train journey. Since we booked our hotel in Paris on the same online site, I was worried about what we would find. However, I was prepared to insist on another hotel if we were similarly disappointed. I don’t require much and certainly don’t require luxury. My grandparents were cotton farmers in the Arizona desert during the Great Depression, and I learned to make the most of what we had, a little or a lot. As long as it’s clean and safe, that’s all we need.

It was a relief to arrive in Paris. We took a cab to our hotel, and it was small, but the room made me think of an opera set, like La Boheme, a garret high above the city. No more flooded bathrooms and a bed to stretch out in. The young man on the front desk was friendly and helpful. What a relief! We walked outside and saw the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur de Montmartre right at the end of our street.

We had lots of plans for our stay in Paris. Managing a walker made it interesting. Check back next time and see what happens! Thanks for reading my post! Please leave a Like and Comment. Visit my website and sign up to receive regular updates. https://vcwilliamsauthor.com/

Back in October 2018, Larry and I had a wild idea to make a train journey. We’d done road trips with our fifth wheel and a few cruises. But we wanted to do something special. Larry spent his teenage years in Rabat when his father was with USAID. He wanted to show me Morocco and the places he loved. We decided to fly to London and take the train from there. We visited many beautiful places, which will appear in future travel posts. This entire trip turned out a little more challenging than we anticipated. When we planned it, we thought Larry would be completely recovered from his broken patella. Not quite. That knee was better, but in the recovery period, he stress-fractured the other one. But that was not enough for us to delay this trip. No, sir! Not us.

Arriving in Algeciras, we took a taxi to a hotel complex where we were told we could catch a bus at 2 a.m. to the ferry terminal. The taxi dumped us at the hotel, and we went into the lobby to wait for the bus. Not our first mistake. We waited and waited. Larry found out we were in the wrong place and we had missed the bus. Oh no! We hired a taxi, confident we would make the ferry. The taxi driver must have taken the scenic route. We traveled for miles and miles and finally arrived at the ferry terminal just as the ferry was finishing boarding. Not only that, but the tide was out and we had to walk a long distance to the boarding ramp. With my backpack and dragging a roller bag, I raced ahead so the ferry didn’t leave before Larry could make it to the ramp. As I climbed aboard, I saw a taxi drive up to deposit two primo passengers. Larry was about halfway to the ramp, and the crew was ready to pull it up. My pointing and agitation convinced them to wait a few more minutes. But it all worked out. Our luggage was stowed, and we settled in for the two-hour ride to Tangier. We got some coffee and watched the sun come up over the Mediterranean. The long day faded away.

In Tangier, a taxi took us to an old, shabby train station next to a beautiful new train station, which was not yet open. The old railroad terminal, if you can call it that, had no snack vendors or machines. There was nothing to eat, which was disappointing. They also did not take credit cards, and we had used most of our Moroccan cash for the train tickets. I took off walking to find an ATM. Since it was still early, the streets were practically empty, and everything was closed. Some people came by and I asked for the nearest bank or ATM. With their direction, I finally found one, got my cash, and hurried back to the train station. It was unsettling walking around a quiet, empty city, as if it had been evacuated and we didn’t know why. Finally, on the train, we passed through Kenitra. When Larry’s family first moved to Morocco, they lived in Kenitra, where Larry attended high school at the US Naval base there. Except for the sign above, Larry wouldn’t have known we were there. The town was unrecognizable. The Rabat of Larry’s youth was also long gone. Too many cars and buildings. We finally arrived in Rabat, and after settling into our hotel, I found a cafe around the corner and brought back roasted beef kababs with curried couscous. Larry felt at home.

The next day we rented a car and drove around. Larry wanted to find his old house. We got lost, instead. But it was fun. That’s what travel is for, right? We drove toward Fez, stopped for lunch, where we enjoyed a scrumptious tagine meal. I thought I’d seen some trucks here in Arizona piled high with hay bales. We have nothing on the Moroccans. It’s hard to see, but this small truck was piled so high I was sure it would tip over in a slight breeze. And by the way, even though there are striped lanes on the highways, no one pays attention to them, especially away from the cities. We’d try to pass one of the piled-up trucks when, at the last minute, it would veer over toward our little car. We had to keep a sharp watch for sure. When we returned to Rabat, we made another stab at finding Larry’s neighborhood. We wandered around with no success. Finding ourselves in the heart of the city, we also noticed that many streets had no signage. We had no idea where we were. Waiting at a stoplight, Larry yelled out to a cabbie in Arabic. He asked if the man knew where our hotel was. The man smiled and said, “Follow me.” I believe he had a fare in his backseat, too, but we followed him right to our hotel. Larry thanked him, and he drove away.

We left Rabat and decided to drive to Marrakech and spend the night. When planning this trip, we were going to backpack. Larry’s knee intervened. Traveling light and cheap, I had a clothes line and soap. I tried that out in our downtown hotel bathtub in Marrakech. Clothes hung all over the place, and it worked! With clean clothes, we drove out the next day toward the edges of the Sahara and the Atlas Mountains. The road south was being rebuilt, and we crawled through massive construction and detours through the mountains. We stopped at a cafe at the top, where we ate French fries. We probably ate something else, too, but that’s all we remember. There was a patio that overlooked the valley below, and I got a picture of a cat dangling in a tree over a drop-off. He seemed perfectly content. We drove on but decided to stop at a little B&B oasis that I found listed on my phone. We called and they had a room for the night. We got directions to our turn-off, but the road became a maze of huts and alleyways, and again, we were lost. We began to have second thoughts. A man on a motor scooter asked if we needed help. He looked like the guy with the monkey from the first Indiana Jones movie. We were Americans, and he thought he would get a big tip. Larry bargained with him, and he reluctantly agreed to lead us to the B&B tucked away in a grove of palm trees. It was a beautiful place. The couple who owned it were French and enjoyed talking French with Larry. I was happy just trying to figure out what they were talking about. It’s a lovely language.

We would have liked to stay another night, but they were booked, so after a wonderful breakfast, we packed up to do some more sightseeing. Everywhere we saw women leading a donkey loaded with twigs, I suppose to sell. Other women set up tables to sell dyed silk scarves. We headed for Ouarzazate. It is a desert town well known for its movie studio. Many movies have been made there over the years. Lawrence of Arabia, The Man Who Would Be King, The Last Temptation of Christ, The Living Daylights, Gladiator, and many others were filmed here. Ouarzazate was once a main crossing point for traders into northern Morocco and Europe. We found it modern and a great place to stock up on snacks and other traveling supplies. The hotel where we spent the night was also run by a French couple who were friends with our previous night’s hosts. When we drove up to a large, wooden gate in the middle of a tall wood fence, somehow our host knew we were there and appeared to help us with our luggage. He escorted us to a small covered reception area near the pool, where we were served tea and pastries. It was delightful.

The hotel had a small dining room where dinner and breakfast were served every day. I don’t remember what we ate, but it was all good. After our night there, we decided to splurge on a “nice” hotel for two or three days before our flight back to London. I don’t know why I don’t have any pictures of the place, but I did get one of Larry relaxing at the pool. It was a lovely place, but I remember now that our walk-in shower flooded the entire bathroom. I had to bank it with towels all the time. Just like our super cheap hotel in London. That’s another story. Going into town, we passed a guy offering camel rides. Larry convinced me to stand near the camel for a picture. I wasn’t too enthused, but I did it. Oh, here’s a picture of a truck carrying two or three layers of sheep. The way that guy was careening around the curves, we were sure our windshield would get splattered with one. We survived. It’s all good adventure! I won’t tell you about the woman we almost ran over. It seems pedestrians just walk into the street, no matter what the traffic or the traffic cop is doing. Scary.

That was a great trip. Even with the knee and the unplanned events, we had fun and are so glad we did it. Stay tuned for future posts about the rest of the trip. Like and comment if you want to share a thought or question. Thanks! Visit my website to sign up for future posts and information about my other writings. https://vcwilliamsauthor.com/

On August 6, 2024, we visited Heimaey in the Westman Islands of Iceland. We arrived at our expedition ship in Reykjavik on the 5th and sailed south to this small town that is a little challenging to get to. After circumnavigating Iceland, we arrived at Heimaey a second time from the east. Heimaey’s harbor may be entered and exited by one way only. Our captain guided our small ship through a narrow channel, bordered by high cliffs on either side, like in the photo above. To make it more interesting, the Captain backed the ship in since there was no room to turn around in the small harbor. Larry and I stood on our little balcony and twisted our heads back and forth as the ship inched its way into the harbor. It was quite narrow about halfway through, but the channel finally widened into the harbor where we docked for a beautiful, sunny day of exploring.

The morning of the 6th, Larry brought me a coffee. I was so impressed with the size of the ceramic cup, I took a picture of it. I have traveled all over the place, and this is the first time my husband brought me a coffee that wasn’t in a paper cup. Not only that, but the coffee was to my exact order. I was soon spoiled. Later, we boarded a bus to view this small place of beauty and remarkable history. We drove by a golf course and viewed volcanic islands that host teams of geologists every year. Remote with barely room to pitch a tent, they come regularly, finding all kinds of geological wonders that reveal the history of these islands.

We continued our drive to the spot where we could see the puffins. The guide told us the area was a traditional nesting area, and we should be able to see a lot of puffins. These are seabirds that feed by diving into the ocean. They are short, stocky birds known for their unusual and colorful beaks. They love to swim but also fly. They flap their wings rapidly, about 400 times a minute, as they fly low over the ocean’s surface. There was a walkway from the parking lot, up a steep incline to a little viewing shed/platform where we could view the puffins and take pictures. We were warned to keep our distance, but the more adventurous decided to ask for forgiveness and jumped barriers to crawl down the side of the grassy slope, full of rocks and crags, to get a better photo of the puffins. If one got too close, the puffins flapped their short wings and ran away. But no one fell into the ocean, broke a leg or scared too many puffins. We got our pictures and hiked back to the bus. Like penguins, it’s fun to see these animals in their natural surroundings.

Next, we visited a very unusual museum, nestled at the base of a huge cliff that marked the stopping place of a destructive lava flow. Edfell Volcano, or in Icelandic, Hill of Fire, erupted on January 23, 1973. The Eldhiemar Museum, opened in 2014, is unique in that it was built over the ruins of a house that was physically dug out from the lava. Another house, still partially buried, stands near the entrance. It was strange to view the shell of this house, with odds and ends of furniture and kitchen implements amid burned walls, heaps of ash, and leftover lava deposits. It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. In addition to this relic, the museum displayed photos and video reenactments of the eruption. It was a desperate situation for the 5000 residents since the massive lava flow threatened to block the harbor. Reliant on the fishing industry for their income, it would be disastrous for the people of Heimaey.

After leaving the museum, we drove through the vast lava fields and saw how close the town was to total destruction. After temporarily evacuating the population in Winter in the middle of the night, a feat in itself, pumps were brought in to pump seawater directly into the advancing lava flow to protect most of the town and the harbor. One of these life-saving pumps is on display, as shown above. The photo to the right shows how close the lava got to wiping out the town. Even with about 400 homes destroyed, the residents were not defeated. They used heat from the cooling lava flows to provide hot water and electricity. They used the extensive ash or tephra to extend the town’s small airport runway. There was so much of the stuff, it was also used for landfill, on which 200 homes were built. Now that’s turning lemons into lemonade.

On our return visit almost a month later, we walked around the town and visited a SeaLife Beluga Whale Sanctuary. The sanctuary received two 12-year-old female belugas from Shanghai Chengfeng Ocean World Zoo. The 34,455 sq ft, 30 ft deep open-air holding pool near the harbor is perfect for the whales to swim, dive, and explore. There is also a museum where we viewed the whales, plus plenty of sea birds. The sanctuary also conducts a puffin rescue every year when the young puffins, trying their wings, fly into buildings and windows, knocking themselves to the ground. Citizens are prepared and gather up the stunned baby puffins to deliver to the sanctuary to be examined before they are safely released.

We enjoyed our visit to Heimaey, and I highly recommend it to any of you with a hankering to see Iceland. The people are friendly, and the Island is filled with beauty everywhere you go. I just wish there was a better way to get there other than taking Icelandic Air. (Another story) Too bad there isn’t an affordable ferry! I hope you enjoyed my post. See you next time. Visit my website at https://vcwilliamsauthor.com/ to sign up for future blogs and other writing updates.

In late 2021, we decided to take a World Cruise. We flew to Fort Lauderdale and boarded our ship on Christmas Eve. 2021. Yes, it was a crazy idea, but it gave us a chance to see parts of the world that we might never have the opportunity to see. Part of the desire was also wrapped up in the serious need to “get out of town” after living through the crazy, scary 2 years of COVID. This cruise line was willing to venture forth if we passengers were willing to comply with their strict rules. First, we had to provide documentation that we were fully vaccinated and agree to comply with their unusual shipboard edicts. Considering that several countries in the world were still locked down, and that hundreds of thousands of deaths were reported in the US alone, we were lucky to be able to go anywhere. We were required to wear masks in all common areas and submit to a “spit” test daily. The masks came off after six weeks, but the spit test continued for the entire trip. We feared the “phone call” telling us to get ready for the hazmat team and our removal to a quarantine cabin. It didn’t happen for us, and the rules were a trifle for the pleasure of seeing the world, where we could get in, that is.

One of our stops was Panama City, where we visited a church, covered in golden and ornate religious icons. There was a beautiful, intricate diorama of Jerusalem that was extraordinary. I don’t remember where it was, maybe downstairs in the church. The pictures below are a few of the views of Panama and the canal.

One thing about traveling on a cruise ship, especially one that openly caters to so-called “rich Americans”, was that we didn’t fit in. We do not have multiple homes, and we drive a 2013 Buick Encore and a 2005 Nissan pickup that my Dad used to drive to get the mail in town. Of course, on a long cruise of this type, being friendly is important since we’ll be with these people for a long time. We met quite a few friendly people who mainly wanted to tell us how many cruises they’d been on, how many homes they have, and how much of everything else they have. $$$$ We sat with them in the lounge, drink in hand, and listened dutifully. Did any of these people ever ask one question about us? Such as, “Where are you from? What is your background? What do you hope to see on this cruise, or how many children do you have?” You know, the standard, polite questions. They were not interested. It wasn’t all bad. Sometimes they could be very entertaining. We did meet a few couples who didn’t fit that mold. Thank goodness for them!

This cruise got all mixed up because of COVID. Originally, after going through the Panama Canal and on to Angeles, we would pick up some new passengers and head to Hawaii. But Hawaii was still closed, in addition to several stops further west. The itinerary needed to change. It was a dicey time. After leaving Fort Lauderdale, our captain was concerned because people kept breaking our excursion rules (no independent wandering), and our sick numbers got pretty high. Our stop in Cartagena, Colombia, was cancelled because we had too many in quarantine. The Panamanians could also block our entrance into the Canal. The Captain chewed out the passengers, saying that if we didn’t shape up, we’d have to return to Florida. That was a scary idea. Many other cruises had already experienced such sanctions. But we behaved, made it through the Canal, and soon sailed up to Puntarenas, Costa Rica, where we rode a bus into a quaint village to be entertained by colorful dancers. It was a picturesque little village. I can admit now that we broke the rules and ran across the street to a little market to pick up some goodies. But we kept our masks on.

After visiting Cabo San Lucas, we arrived in Los Angeles. We had to make an emergency trip to a Dentist, and returned just in time. Because the passengers had already demonstrated they couldn’t be trusted out on their own, we were locked down for the rest of our three days in LA. But the passengers were always, always treated like royalty. When we got the new itinerary, the cruise line gave everyone the option of getting off with full credit for another cruise. Instead of heading west, we backtracked to Panama and took a right to South America. Not too bad of an exchange! Many exciting stops were added that more than made up for the change. Some got off, though, mainly because they’d already seen those places. We ended up with a small cohort of passengers, fewer than 500 on a ship that normally carries 900. Nice! In the meantime, we were making friends with the crew. When Larry’s birthday came up, one of the crew arranged for a cake to be delivered to our ocean view dinner table that night. After the cake arrived, five servers gathered around and sang Happy Birthday in Spanish! It was fun. We decided to keep our distance from some of the more overbearing passengers, but with a smile. One man on our floor told us this was his eighth world cruise and then instructed us poor hayseeds on how to navigate an airport and baggage claim. I don’t know why he thought we might need that kind of help, especially out in the middle of an ocean. I gave kudos to my airline pilot husband (retired) for his restraint. This same man told us he had a suitcase full of cameras and would be pleased to sell us one for $300. We considered it, but after some research, we discovered his price was inflated by 50% at least. After turning him down nicely, he wasn’t so friendly. I don’t get such behavior. Oh well.

Our next adventure was crossing the Equator, which every ship celebrates with the arrival of King Neptune and related hijinks. With the many sea days, we suggested that the ship hold a passenger talent show. King Neptune, I mean the Cruise Director, thought that was a great idea. Larry considered doing a drum solo, but having not played in a few years, decided he might need more practice than there was time for. Several other passengers stepped up, making for a diverse and entertaining show.

Well, that’s my story of how we went to sea, evaded COVID, and changed course. It was all good, and we had a great time. Larry will never forget his experience sitting in the steam room with another man, who revealed he’d just been released from a two-week quarantine. Just a tad unsettling. That man became a good friend. We’ve been asked if we would do a World Cruise again. We began on Christmas Eve, 2019, and arrived home in mid-May 2022. The answer is No. We loved seeing many wonders of our remarkable, diverse, delightful world. It was an incredible journey. We met lovely people and viewed cultures that are very different from ours. We all need that kind of experience, and I urge you to get up and go somewhere to see how alike we humans are. But we decided it was too long to be away from home. We love traveling. We also love our home. The photo below is the Pacific side of the Panama Canal, where, as you see, ships of every kind wait for their turn.

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Toward the end of August and our final days in Iceland, we took a bus from Akureyri to the jaw-dropping and awe-inspiring Godafoss Waterfalls. I’ve been to Niagra Falls and it is all that and more. But nothing prepared me for these falls and the beautiful surrounding landscape. Akureyri is situated within a fjord at the northernmost edge of Iceland, that is marked by numerous fingers stretching northward to the Arctic Circle. One can understand why so many rent cars in Reykjavik and drive the “Golden Circle” route. There are wonders everywhere. The peace one finds is a visceral experience. We have those experiences here in the USA, but we have to look for them. Even our most beautiful places are no longer unmarked by mobs of tourists, souvenir shops, and fast food vendors. And that’s too bad. With its growing popularity, all these tourist conveniences will begin to show up in Iceland, too.

These falls are considered “standard” in the realm of waterfalls. They measure 39 feet high and 98 feet wide. They may be standard in size, but their beauty is outstanding. It is one of the many sights located along the “Golden Circle” main highway. In modern Icelandic, the name may be the Waterfall of the god or the Waterfall of the chieftain. One expert suggests that the name derives from two crags at the falls that resemble pagan gods. When we arrived, we could hear the waterfalls in the distance. It was windy that day, as usual in Iceland, and we chose to take the path to an overlook of the falls. There was another option, a 1.8-mile walking path that loops around the waterfalls. Several from our group chose to take that path which we could see from above as we walked to the overlook. It was quite rugged in places as it rose and dipped between rocky crags of what appeared to be volcanic rock.

After viewing the falls, the bus took us further inland to Myvatn Lagoon and Nature Baths, a privately owned geothermal lake that has been developed as a tourist destination. Any of you who may have visited Reykjavik have likely heard of the Blue Lagoon which is very popular due to its close proximity to Reykjavik. Myvatn Lagoon serves tourists like us or those driving the Golden Circle. We saw several families, some in travel vans, who were there to spend the day. A small buffet-style cafe serves hot and cold drinks, and sandwiches, if available. A souvenir shop is also inside the main facility. Locker rooms were available for those who wanted to change into swimsuits and take the plunge. Because this water contains sulfur, I decided against it. People in Iceland use geothermal water in their homes, but most of it is “scrubbed” to remove the sulfur. Towels were provided, but most in our group brought their own. Larry and I got coffee and sat outside in a picnic area overlooking the lagoon. Just 65 miles south of the Arctic Circle, the air wasn’t exactly what I would call balmy. But, it was nice to see people of all ages from far-flung places all over the world enjoying this special place. Men usually jumped in but women tended to walk down the steps into the water. I’m sure that after leaving their towels on a chaise lounge, they were anxious to feel the warmth of the water. The area is still being developed and if we return one day, I’m sure it will look much different. We didn’t see it, but their website says they have a swim-up bar. What’s better than a geothermal lagoon and a shot of alcohol? Brain addling for sure. I never could figure out those who liked to have an alcoholic beverage while sitting in a spa. I think it’s a sign of false prestige.

When everyone was dry and dressed, we rejoined the bus for the long drive back to Akureyi and the ship. We were disappointed that the blue skies of Godafoss Waterfalls did not go with us to Myvatn Lagoon. But that’s Iceland for you. Summer was fast disappearing with winter scheduled to arrive in late October or earlier. We would now begin our cruise around the eastern shore of Iceland, with more wonders yet to see. I hope you’ve enjoyed my memories of our visit. It was an incredible trip.

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Stopping in a narrow fjord on the northern coast of Iceland, we tendered to this fishing village on a sunny morning in late August 2024. We landed at a small dock and walked into the village to see a demonstration and participate in chopping off heads of fish pulled from a ‘boatload’ of fish, salting them down, and throwing them into a barrel. But before rolling up our sleeves to chop fish, a family ran down from an upper floor of the house nearby and broke into a polka-type dance while one played the accordion. According to custom, an accordion was played back in the day while the ‘herring girls’ worked at their salting stations or on their breaks while they smoked a cigarette and gossiped about the handsome fishermen. When the music began, the family members grabbed partners from among the tourists and a few more joined in. Everyone laughed at the merry-making in the small space between barrels of fish and salting stations. It was so crowded I gave up on trying to get a decent picture. That happens when one is short in a crowd of Nordic and other tall people.

After the dancing, our host leaped to the sluice table and greeted the tourists, making us feel very welcome, indeed. He spoke about the fishing industry in Siglufjorour, a small village of about 1200 residents. It may be less than that, now. Their fishing industry peaked in the 1940s and 1950s when hundreds of shipping vessels lined the docks two and three deep. Herring were offloaded and processed around the clock. As you see from the pictures, that isn’t the case now. One lonely fishing vessel. This little village loves the cruise ships and the tourists. Why did the fishing industry dry up? There are a few factors. First, overfishing led to the collapse of herring stock in the 1960s. The village still relies on fishing, but it continues to decline. Iceland is trying to help the area by improving land transportation and promoting tourism. The dreaded phrase “Climate Change” is another factor in the industry’s decline. Herring do not thrive in the warming Arctic waters. That’s a fact. The above factors led to changes in the Arctic ecosystems that contributed to the decline in fish stocks.

After learning about this little village, the fish choppin’ commenced. A teenage boy and girl demonstrated before stepping back to let the tourists try. There were a decent number of folks willing to dive in. The local family threw fish on a conveyor tray from which folks pulled out a fish, chopped off the head, and left it on the sluice where water washed it down into a large barrel at the end. The headless fish were salted in trays at the side of each worker and placed in a barrel. Maybe these newly trained people could be used in the cruise line’s kitchens to help out! Everyone seemed to have a lot of fun. I left them to it while I observed and took pictures.

After experiencing the manual labor of fish processing, we walked down to the Herring Era Museum, Iceland’s largest maritime museum. This is quite a place. The villagers transformed the monster fish processing factory into this museum, adding additional buildings as it grew. Many of the tools and equipment are still preserved. Artifacts and photos reveal the significance of this industry to Siglufjorour and Iceland. The herring industry contributed over 44% of its total export income. Thousands of men and women arrived every season lured by the good pay. The women worked in the factory reducing the herring into meal and oil. The ‘herring girls’ were housed on the upper floor of the processing station. The most fascinating place to us was the intact fishing vessels inside The Boathouse. It contains ten boats that are ‘docked’ between piers and we walked around to view the different fishing vessels and ships. One can climb aboard the largest ship to explore. We heard the sounds of seagulls and waves breaking lending to a realistic atmosphere.

I don’t know about you, but as we walked around this little village, thinking about where we were was a surreal experience. To think this born and bred Arizona gal was walking around in Iceland of all places! I looked at the map but it didn’t sink in. We were in a fishing village located at the red squiggle on the map above. Incredible! We are forever grateful for our travel experiences. There is nothing like hitting the road to clear the head and remember the important things in life. It’s certainly not what’s on the news tonight. This earth of ours has been spinning for eons and I don’t think some crazies will change that. These people of Siglufjorour lost their livelihood but found a way to survive. Thanks to all of you who read my post today. I have more to tell you about Iceland and its many wonders. I’ll see you next time! Take a walk and stay sane!

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