Zuiderdam May 12 to July 22: Across the Pond and Beyond

[VMax1700]

1 hour ago, Dr.Dobro said:

I failed to note the source of this image, probably just after Pearl Harbor, showing a stereotyped Japanese stabbing an American cowboy in the back, while Hitler and Mussolini yuk it up. Given the fact that the American is also a stereotype, could it be British?

Polish extraction and moved to USA in 1940 .  Arthur Szyk.

[Dr.Dobro]

4 hours ago, VMax1700 said:

Arthur Szyk

Thanks for the help! It was indeed Szyk, and more examples of his wartime work can be found by googling Arthur Szyk American Art Archives.

 

[Dr.Dobro]

For centuries, Englishmen and women have been heartened when the white cliffs of Dover came into view as their ship or ferry crossed the English Channel at its narrowest point. The unmistakable and majestic cliffs meant homecoming, whether it's from a holiday jaunt to France or after a years-long, bloody campaign against fascism.

That yearning for home was captured beautifully in 1942, when Vera Lynn recorded "The White Cliffs of Dover," looking forward to a return to normalcy after victory in World War II -- an outcome that was very much in doubt at the time.

 

There'll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover
Tomorrow, just you wait and see

 

There'll be love and laughter
And peace ever after
Tomorrow, when the world is free

 

The shepherd will tend his sheep
The valley will bloom again
And Jimmy will go to sleep
In his own little room again

 

There'll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover
Tomorrow, just you wait and see

 

Fun fact: Bluebirds are a North American species, and there are none in England. The lyrics were written by Nat Burton, an American. Some Brits say, well, it's symbolic of the blue uniforms of the Royal Air Force. But no matter how you slice it, it's a beautiful sentiment.

Dame Vera Lynn is quite a story in herself. Her most beloved song, "We'll Meet Again" (1939), expressed similar feelings about a better future, and I think that phrase is hard-wired into the British soul. Queen Elizabeth, in what turned out to be her final address to the nation, used it to rally citizens against the threat of Covid -- and Dame Vera, over 100 years old, was alive to hear it. She passed in 2020 at the age of 103, remembered as "The Forces' Sweetheart."

 

Well, that's a long preamble, but sometimes I get swept down into these rabbit holes. Our plan for Dover was a simple one: to visit Dover Castle, where the annual World War II Weekend was being held. The castle dates to the 11th century, and it has long been called "the key to England" for its strategic position. It played that role during the war, when it was heavily fortified and had underground tunnels added for munitions and hospital care.

English Heritage, the nonprofit that manages the castle and many other historic properties, threw quite a party. Here are some scenes from the observance.

 

Vintage military vehicles were on display, like this U.S. Army supply truck...

...and a Royal Air Force jeep.

Motorcyclists gave a demonstration of precision driving.

Performers sang songs of the Blitz years, including a few Dame Vera tunes.

Should I feel a little creepy that faux German soldiers were on hand? I spoke to the one of the re-enactors, who seemed like a regular bloke; he said the uniforms (with no National Socialist insignias) only come out for events like this, when someone has to play the bad guys. Still, it felt strange.

Karen met a young woman whose mother, grandmother and great-granny all were nurses. She is not one herself, but she honors them by portraying a U.S. Army nurse at events like this. Note the "victory curls" in her hair.

This gentleman displayed his well-preserved "Anderson shelter." More than 1.5 million of these small-bedroom-sized units were distributed starting in 1939 to British families in areas likely to be bombed. They were designed to be partially buried in the back yard. The shelters could not withstand a direct hit, but the corrugated design was effective in dissipating the wave of force that typically does more damage than the actual explosion.

On a rise next to the castle is a Roman pharos, or lighthouse. Built in the early 2nd century -- wow! -- it is the oldest standing structure in Great Britain and one of only three remaining Roman lighthouses in the world.

The only bad thing about the day is that it was the beginning of a national school holiday (the school year runs to mid-July, followed by a six-week break) and the town was choked with vacationers. And Dover was already notorious for its truck traffic that builds daily near the channel tunnel and ferries. The shuttle from the ship to the town center and castle was shut down because the circuit took over two hours.

So we walked the two miles or so, climbed that lung-busting hill to the castle, walked back, and slept very well that night. Not bad for a couple of old farts.

 

[oakridger]

I love the pictures of the WWII equipment and reenactors. 

 

~Nancy

[BetsyS.]

Thanks for the great reporting and beautiful pictures. 😊 Is the Starlink up and running?

[Dr.Dobro]

7 hours ago, BetsyS. said:

Is the Starlink up and running?

No idea. The Have It All package includes access to the 2nd tier (of 3) internet service, and it's fine for my needs -- basically websites and email, but no streaming. It glitches occasionally, but the performance is comparable to what I have at home.

[BetsyS.]

Dr. Dobro -Thanks for the update.  In the past, sometimes HAL internet was hit or miss.  I'm glad it is better now. 😊

[Dr.Dobro]

This morning we were up early for our sail-in to Rotterdam, the second city of the Netherlands and the busiest port in Europe. Bombed mercilessly during World War II, Rotterdam rose from the rubble with a rich palette of modern architecture, and its meticulous city planning has become a model around the world.

The Rotterdam port is right next to the original Holland America Line headquarters. Our cruise line, celebrating its 150th anniversary this year, started as a shipping and passenger company and transported hundreds of thousands of Dutch emigrants to the U.S. in its early years.

 

At the other end of the pier is the impressive new Erasmus Bridge. 

But our destination for today is the Hague, about 30 minutes away via a magnificently efficient rail system.

Amsterdam is officially the capital of the Netherlands, but the parliament (called the States General) meets in the Hague, where you will also find the prime minister's office, countless embassies, and even the home of King Willem-Alexander and Queen Maxima. So Amsterdam seems to be clinging to glories of a bygone era.

 

Unfortunately, the Binnenhof complex that hosts the government buildings is shut down for major renovations to the building exteriors and central plaza. So we were restricted to seeing just the exterior of the complex, right on the shore of Hofvijver Lake in the city center.

We took a walk on narrow, cobblestoned streets through pretty plazas full of cafes. One of the plazas includes 't Goude Hooft (not a typo), an inn that dates to 1432.

 

 

We had a good time at the M.C. Escher Museum, which is really a twofer attraction. One, you can see over 200 creations by the famed graphic artist, a master of illusion and impossible reality. And two, you get to tour a building (constructed in 1760) that served as the royal palace of Queen Mother Emma and her successors starting in 1896. The royal family sold the building to the city in 1990, with a condition that it be used only for cultural activities. Enter Escher.

He was not widely appreciated in his lifetime (1898-1972), but his work has elicited many a "Wow, man" from generations of inhaleurs d'herbe. He was the master of tessellation, which I learned is the technique of covering the entire surface of the artwork with interlocking geometric shapes. But Escher's geometry features much more: plants, animals and people and objects of many kinds.

I am tempted to think of this as a visual pun -- a mantis praying over the body of a bishop -- but of course Escher didn't speak English.

Queen Mother Emma had a vigorous taste in chandeliers.

We continued our walk to the International Court of Justice and its Peace Tower, but we were a little disappointed. There was no access to the buildings or even the grounds, and so we contented ourselves with a visit to an underwhelming visitor center. Even the smallest national parks in the U.S. have visitor centers that convey more information.

But we stopped in our tracks when we saw what appeared to be a message left by an American Indian, "Big Chief White Horse Eagle," who visited in 1922 at the age of 108.

How nice, we thought, an Indian leader devoted to peace, seeking out a leading monument to peace. There is also a grainy photo of the chief, in full Plains Indian style headdress and regalia, standing with some officials.

 

But hold on. He was 108 and physically able to withstand the rigors of sea travel? And he had enough mentally acuity to converse with some high-falutin' Europeans who probably regarded him as a savage and an oddity? Seeds of doubt propelled me to the interwebs, where I found a New York Times obituary (June 16, 1937) that said White Horse Eagle "said he was" 115 and smoked a peace pipe with every president from Grant to Coolidge.

 

But I also turned up a recent "Remember When" type article from the Peninsula Daily News in Port Angeles, Wash., which recounted his long-ago visit to tribes on the Olympic Peninsula and pretty much called him out as a fraud. He claimed to have graduated from Yale in 1871 and starred in football there (Yale's first team played in 1872) and that his string of peace-pipin' presidents stretched back to Lincoln. Hello, George Santos? I'm wondering if the World Court was punk'd.

 

And finally, I want to leave you with one of the most astounding things we have seen on this or any other cruise. (drumroll)

 

Where I live in Connecticut, most homes use oil heat, and the oil is delivered by a tanker truck, which uses a long hose to fill the tank in the basement.

Well, in the Hague, we saw a Heineken truck delivering beer to a bar via a hose running into a basement window. Mirabile dictu!

That will do for today, compadres. Talk to you again soon.

 

[Dr.Dobro]

We learned a new word today: tombolo. It means a sand spit that is attached to land masses at both ends.

 

The picture below was taken from a high vantage on the Isle of Portland in the English Channel. Portland is a "tied island" connected by the Chesil Beach tombolo to Weymouth, visible in the distance.

The cruise port offered a free shuttle to Weymouth, a resort town with a long and crowded shopping street with a good variety of locally owned businesses.

 

 

 

But the big draw of Weymouth is its beach right in the heart of downtown. You have to admire the Brits determined to have a Frankie and Annette experience despite the cold and wind. Tents and wind barriers abounded, and let's just say the typical beach attire eliminated any risk of sunburn. But kids dug in the sand, people waded in the icy water -- a few even took the full-body plunge -- and a good time seemed to be had by all.

We came to Weymouth for just a quick look around before hopping on to the Portland Coaster, a double-decker bus that makes an hourly circuit between downtown Weymouth and Portland Bill, the southern tip of Portland. (A bill is a beak-like promontory or headland. Another new word!)

 

On the way to Portland, we saw runners putting in their miles along the top of the tombolo. Must be difficult to run in sand -- maybe they crave a tougher workout.

We passed a large manicured lawn-bowling court. Not sure if this is bocce or some British variant.

And we were surprised to pass Olympic rings, until we learned that sailing events were held on the bay below during the 2012 London games.

We hopped off the Coaster at the Portland Bill lighthouse and started a hike northward along the west side of the island, which is just four miles long and two miles wide.

Some plant was blooming a crazy yellow, painting the landscape beautifully.

Portland is famous for its granite quarries, which provided stone for iconic buildings like the United Nations in New York and St. Paul's Cathedral in London. It looks like they even cut rock right out of cliffs at the water's edge. I guess that rig atop the cliff is to haul up stone. I'd love to see how they did it.

Hey, look -- a Ukrainian flag! Mother Nature has joined the cause.

We turned east so that we could cross the island and return to Portland Bill by walking back south on the other shore. This brought us through a little commercial area, and waddaya know, there ahead of us is the Eight Kings pub. It was like the sirens calling to Odysseus: "Step in and have a pint."

We wound up spending an hour and a half in the joint, having a great time with a small crew of locals. It turns out that virtually no one from cruise ships goes up to Portland; they all go shopping in Weymouth or get on tour buses to Stonehenge. Every time someone walked into the pub, it was announced that "These two came up from the ship!" We compared notes on Britain and America with lots of fun-poking. The inevitable question came: "Do you own any guns?" I think they found it hard to believe that we weren't packing heat right then and there.

 

We learned that you must not utter "the R word" on Portland lest calamity ensue. You can say bunny, or "long-eared pie," but legend has it that the critters dig burrows that make the quarries unstable. Maybe our legs were being pulled, but we honored the custom.

 

Right outside the Eight Kings was a classic red U.K. telephone booth. We have seen these all over the place, and we just assumed that cell service wasn't as ubiquitous here as it is in the U.S., where public phones have virtually vanished. But lo and behold, this booth contained an AED defibrillator.

Later on, we poked into a few other booths to find them repurposed as ATMs, little take-a-book and leave-a-book libraries, and even a few that still had phones.

 

We completed our hike, grateful when the lighthouse came back into view at last, and caught the last circuit of the day for the Portland Coaster. Karen's Fitbit clocked us in at eight miles walked. Bed never felt so good!

[BetsyS.]

Thanks for the report and great pictures and for the picture of your wife!  She looks great! I like her hat!

[VMax1700]

1 hour ago, Dr.Dobro said:

Not sure if this is bocce or some British variant.

'Lawn Bowls' is the name of this sedate sport in UK/Ireland

[Dr.Dobro]

It was another perfectly sunny day as we stopped at Falmouth, in Cornwall on England's southwest coast. Its name derives from its position at the mouth of the River Fal, but we were delighted to learn that the town was once known as Pennycomequick (and there is another town still named that near Plymouth in Devon).

 

It was a short day in port, so we planned a suitably simple day out. We hopped this little passenger ferry across the wide estuary to St. Mawes, where an artillery fort built under Henry VIII in 1540 stands guard over the water.

The wide rivermouth forms a huge harbor that was strategically important as an anchoring place, and Henry did not want a foreign fleet setting up shop there.

It is actually one of two forts built simultaneously; the other, Pendennis Castle above Falmouth, can be seen in the photo below, one mile away. The two forts (both are called "castle," but they're really not) could launch a deadly cannon crossfire against any interlopers.

The uphill walk from the ferry landing to the fort is a nice stroll past shops and hotels, including this beautiful thatched-roofed accommodation.

We enjoyed wandering the four levels of the central tower and the three rounded battlements, and the grounds offer a nice seaside stroll. The property is managed by English Heritage, a historical preservation trust.

 

 

After our return by ferry, we walked down Falmouth's shopping street past the pretty St. George Arcade. England's patron saint is depicted over the entrance slaying his dragon.

We never realized before that St. George did his dragon-slaying in the nude.

This was a first for Dr. Dobro: a thrift store with a couple of actual dobros in the window.

Falmouth was our first encounter with the pasty (pronounced like pass key), a Cornwall staple that's now enjoyed across the U.K. Uncooked meat, potatoes and vegetables (there are many variations) are placed on circular flat shortbread, which is folded over and crimped shut, then baked. Good stuff!

Another odd thing we saw was the King's Pipe, located next door to the Dog & Smuggler Pasty and Tuck Shop. It was used by Customs to incinerate tobacco being smuggled in during the 19th century.

It reminded me of the event years ago when police in Oregon incinerated a huge amount of marijuana they had seized. There was some concern over a flock of terns that flew in from the Pacific and passed through the great cloud of pot smoke. But there was nothing anyone could do. That day, no tern was left unstoned.

 

Bah-da-bum. Will write again soon.

 

[Dr.Dobro]

We made a return visit to Cork, Ireland -- one of several double port visits on this cruise, a consequence of stringing several segments together. Poor us, huh?

 

Once again we had only a drive-by view of Cobh, which looks like a lovely place but one we seem destined never to visit.

Our two calls for Cork were changed to the decidedly less photogenic Ringaskiddy, and several years ago another visit was changed to Dunmore East. But after the shuttle-bus disaster of our first visit to Ringaskiddy, HAL was true to its word that it would work with local authorities on future calls. The shuttles were plentiful this time.

 

We have a mission on this visit: to meet up with Colin, a frequent Cruise Critic poster. When packing for this cruise, I stupidly failed to include half of the two-piece power cord for my CPAP machine. I posted a question here about general delivery type services at post offices in the British Isles. Colin jumped in and volunteered to have the cord sent directly to him, which my son did. And true to his word, Colin met us in Cork and completed the delivery. So a huge thanks to Colin for that! And I am sleeping much better.

 

It is a rather short port day, so we did not have a big tourist agenda. We spent an interesting hour at the Nano Nagle Museum, which tells the story of a religious sister who pioneered education for the poor in the 18th century. She had to operate in defiance of the Penal Laws, which oppressed Catholics by depriving them of property, jobs, political participation and education.

 

This is a "penal chalice" from that era. It could be quickly disassembled into small pieces and hidden away.

Nano Nagle is interred in a cemetery on the grounds of the convent she founded.

Her order, the Sisters of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary (known nowadays as the Presentation Sisters) is now established in 24 countries, including many communities in the U.S. and Canada. I had never heard of the order, but several communities are not far from our home.

This modernist stained glass window in the Cork convent portrays Nano Nagle and her mission to educate the poor.

Not far from the museum is Holy Trinity Church. On our first visit, we had thought this was St. Fin Barre's Cathedral, only to have a local tell us, no, that's just a regular parish church. Nothing special to see there.

We passed a few murals we had missed before and took a photo of the truly weird streetlights in Cork. We're left wondering about Box of Frogs.

 

 

 

So that's our story for today, and we're sticking to it.

   

[BetsyS.]

Colin - Thank you for helping Dr. Dobro. That was very kind of you!

[Dr.Dobro]

After an overnight sail north on the Irish Sea, we pulled into Dublin, Ireland -- or actually Dun Laoghaire (pronounced dun-leery), a southern suburb about 10 miles from the city center.

 

We had enjoyed an extended visit to Dublin on a previous cruise, and with more use-it-or-lose-it shore excursion credits to burn, we signed up for a river cruise along the Liffey through the center of town. So we slapped on our dork dots and hopped on the excursion bus.

 

It was immediately apparent how Dublin had grown and modernized in recent years. The mix of old and new was apparent everywhere we looked.

The Convention Centre Dublin has a gigantic glass atrium leaning into its granite front wall. A local joke is that it illustrates the correct angle to hold the glass when pouring yourself a Guinness.

There are 21 bridges over the River Liffey, and the second newest is the Samuel Beckett Bridge. It was designed to evoke Ireland's national symbol, the harp (you can win a lot of bar bets with people who swear by the shamrock), and the huge structure somehow turns 90 degrees to allow large boats through.

The top of the Custom House displays one of the last remaining depictions of the Royal Coat of Arms of Ireland, displaying the harp flanked by a lion and a unicorn.

The coat of arms was adopted in 1800, when Ireland was merged into the new United Kingdom, but fell into disfavor as the always fraught English-Irish relations worsened. By the early 20th century, most examples had been vandalized or destroyed. A new symbol -- a golden harp on a blue background -- was adopted when the Republic of Ireland broke away in 1943.

 

Of course, there is much pain and suffering in the history of Ireland, and a poignant example is the fleet of "coffin ships. A replica of one is pictured below.

During the Great Famine of the 1840s, with London turning a mostly blind eye, one million Irish died and two million fled, mostly to North America. The coffin ships were the cheapest transportation available, but the passengers -- many sick with malnutrition and/or cholera -- suffered terrible, crowded conditions in the holds, with meager rations and rape and other abuses carried out by the crews. It is estimated that one-third of the passengers died, their bodies heaved into the sea to feed the sharks that had learned to follow the ships.

 

A notable pair who survived were Patrick Kennedy and Bridget Murphy, who married in Boston and gave rise to an American political dynasty.

We had a brief stop at St. Patrick's Cathedral, the national cathedral of the Church of Ireland (no, it's not Catholic). The adjacent St. Patrick's Park looked like a popular gathering place on this sunny day.

On the cathedral grounds is a statue of Sir Benjamin Lee Guinness, grandson of the founder of the famed brewery. He grew up in the family business and when he took over in 1855, he undertook a great expansion (much of it into the British market) and became the richest man in Ireland. Between 1860 and 1865 he spent 160,000 pounds on a restoration of St. Patrick's, which had fallen into disrepair.

The Irish are dedicated to the preservation of the Irish language. (We were calling it Gaelic. but we learned that simply Irish is now the preferred term.) The language had been falling toward extinction, but now it is routinely taught in schools, including some that provide total immersion.

All over Dublin, city buses provide an invitation to visit the American wonderland of New Jersey. If tourists are expecting anything like the Isle of Jersey, I think they'll be disappointed.

Apparently one bus was so crowded that this person took a siesta on the back deck upstairs.

Back in Dun Laoghaire, we attempted to visit the "Irish Sistine Chapel," the Oratory of the Sacred Heart. It is a small, circular World War I memorial, with every inch of the interior painted with Celtic imagery by Sister Concepta Lynch. She spent 16 years on the project, starting in 1919.

We had read that it is only open on special occasions, but the fresh-faced staff at the town information center assured us we could get in. They were wrong, and all we could get was this picture of the exterior.

 

Dun Laoghaire has a robust street art scene. I am convinced that the model for this one is Arlo Guthrie.

 

And we'll sign off for today with the uplifting message below. Seems very appropriate for cruise passengers, right?

 

 

[Divi]

I enjoy your posts very much. Excellent writing. 
Thank you

[QuattroRomeo]

Agree! Your narration really adds to our appreciation of your adventures!

[Dr.Dobro]

There's no getting away from the Beatles when you visit Liverpool, England -- and that's okay with us.

I had two romances with the Beatles. As a nine-year-old, I got swept up in the juvenile joy of Beatlemania, just a fad that no one thought would last. But it all started to feel a little silly when I went to see "A Hard Day's Night" among screaming girls right there in the theater.

 

So I turned away from the Beatles at what turned out to be the worst possible time: the middle period, when the group pulled the plug on their life-in-a-bubble touring and frenzied live shows. They retreated to the studio to produce albums like Rubber Soul and Revolver. Those records showed new musical depth and sophistication, but I let them pass by.

 

I was sucked back in when the Sgt. Pepper album exploded onto the scene in 1967 (the Summer of Love) and changed everything in the world of popular music. I was hooked again at the worldly age of 13, and Beatles music has been in the soundtrack of my life ever since.

 

The Zuiderdam pulled into the Royal Albert Dock, a warehouse district that has morphed into all things touristic. Just steps from the pier is a larger-than-life statue of the Fab Four, dedicated in 2015 on the 50th anniversary of their final Liverpool performance.

The sculptor had some fun with his creation. Paul McCartney is portrayed with a camera and camera bag; he was long married to Linda Eastman, of the Eastman Kodak fortune, a noted photographer in her own right. The belt of George Harrison's overcoat includes Sanskrit writing, a nod to his devotion to Eastern mysticism. The sole of Ringo Starr's shoe displays "L8," evoking the Liverpool 8 postal code for "the Dingle;" this was the poverty-stricken area of public housing where he grew up poor and so sickly that he had only a few years of education. And in John Lennon's hand are two acorns, recalling the time when he and Yoko Ono sent a pair to the leaders of every nation, asking them to plant the acorns in a gesture toward world peace.

 

Karen and I had considered taking a tour bus around town to go here, there and everywhere to see Penny Lane and Strawberry Field and the Lennon and McCartney homes that are now administered by the National Trust. But it's a big city with a lot of traffic, and we opted for own little magical mystery tour on foot. It was a good choice.

 

We walked up to nearby Mathew Street, home of the legendary Cavern Club, the dank basement where the Beatles performed hundreds of times in their youth. It was destroyed when British Rail bought several properties in connection with an underground line beneath the River Mersey. (There is a "New Cavern Club" across the street, just steps away.)

Cilla Black's statue stands at what was the original Cavern's entrance. She was a hat-check girl at the club and became a pop star in her own right after Lennon introduced her to manager Brian Epstein. Her first hit, "Love of the Loved," was a Lennon-McCartney composition.

This "Liverpool Wall of Fame" commemorates all the Number One singles charted by local artists. A certain foursome dominates the list, but it's surprising how many other acts came out of the scene.

 

Around the corner is the Hard Day's Night Hotel, a 110-room, four-star affair. The lobby is lavishly decorated with Beatles memorabilia, including this bust of Lennon that we rather liked.

Of course, there is an inevitable cheesy element to all this. Right across the street from the hotel, you can visit an optician called Johnny Goggles.

Back at the Albert Dock, we had a great time at "The Beatles Story," a multimedia museum that follows their entire career, both as a band and as solo artists. Visitors walk through the timeline with an excellent audio guide, narrated by Julie Howe (Lennon's half-sister) and featuring voices of the Beatles and several contemporaries.

The Star Club was the sleazy sailor bar in Hamburg, Germany where the young Beatles (Harrison was just 17) got toughened up with an exhausting performance schedule in two long residencies. McCartney later called the experience "800 hours in the rehearsal room."

The cramped stage at the Cavern was re-created in this exhibit.

Just three years after the depths of Hamburg, the boys were making their momentous American debut on the Ed Sullivan Show.

You can even walk through a yellow submarine.

We passed a sweets shop with this window display made up of 15,000 jelly beans. Harrison famously told some teen magazine that he liked the candies, and joked that Lennon had stolen his stash. For months afterward, the Beatles were pelted with rains of jelly beans at their performances.

Right nearby the Beatles Story is the Tate Liverpool. a branch of the esteemed London art museum, but I have to say I was a little disappointed. Contemporary art is my go-to choice, but the selection here was a little too-too for my taste. At least admission was free.

The Albert dock displays the propeller (or one of them?) from the Lusitania, the Cunard trans-Atlantic liner torpedoed by a German U-boat in May 1915, just off the southern coast of Ireland. The ship sank in less than 30 minutes, and 1,198 passengers and crew were lost, including 128 Americans. The tragedy built public support in the U.S. for its eventual entry into World War I.

Overlooking the whole magilla is the impressive Royal Liver Building (pronounced lye-ver), built in 1906 and one of the first buildings in the world to use reinforced concrete. Atop the twin clock towers are the 18-foot-tall "Liver birds," named Bella and Bertie.

The birds now overlook a waterfront with gleaming new structures -- all in all, a most pleasant place to spend a port day.

 

There's a dark stain on Liverpool's past: its leading role in the triangular slave trade of the 18th century. Manufactured goods from Britain were traded in West Africa for slaves, who were then transported to the Caribbean and North America. The enslaved people were exchanged for rum, sugar and other goods, which were then carried back to Liverpool. Before Britain finally abolished the practice in 1807, an estimated 650,000 Africans had been transported on Liverpool-based ships. All by itself, Liverpool accounted for 40 percent of the entire European slave trade.

When we came across this monument to Admiral Horatio Nelson, we thought that the four manacled prisoners around its base were enslaved people. Maybe this is some reckoning with the past, we were thinking. But the four are just symbols of Nelson's four greatest victories, including Trafalgar.

 

Well, this one went a little long, didn't it? So we'll just sign off for now. On to other adventures.

[QuattroRomeo]

Long is good!!

[oakridger]

59 minutes ago, QuattroRomeo said:

Long is good!!

 

It is when the writing, content and humor in Dr. Dobro's posts are like attending a great enrichment presentation......and pictures!   Maybe HAL can sign up @Dr.Dobro as an onboard presenter!!!  I would love to see more of that type of offering on HAL.

 

~Nancy

Edited June 13, 2023 by oakridger

[cunnorl]

Thank you for taking us along. I am really enjoying your posts and pictures.

[Dr.Dobro]

We continued northward and enjoyed a really pretty morning sail-in to Portree, Scotland, on the Isle of Skye in the Inner Hebrides. Cloudbanks were draped delicately over the green hills, but the sun burned them off by the time we reached our anchorage out in the bay.

 

 

We rode a ship's tender into a lovely little harbor with multi-colored storefronts along one side.

We took a short hike up onto a headland called The Lump, which offers a pretty view all around, including some of the other islands. The lumptop boasts a natural amphitheater that was used for hangings in the good old days. Now it serves as the arena for the local version of the Highland Games and for an annual music festival.

Also on The Lump is the Apothecary Tower. It's a little stumpy as towers go, but it does provide a nice view after you climb the spiral staircase inside.

They also play shinty in Portree, though not on The Lump. We had been hoping to see a shinty match, but there seem to be no professionals; players work at their jobs all week and beat each other up only on the weekends.

What is shinty? Glad you asked. It's a ball-and-stick game similar to hurling in Ireland -- so similar that hybrid rules have been established to let Irish hurlers play against Scottish, um, shinters? Shinty-ites? Shiites?

 

Anyway, I have managed to learn one actual fact about shinty by looking at a sports page, and I love it. You know how in baseball, they'll say "First pitch at 1 p.m." In football, you'll hear "Kickoff at 2 p.m." In basketball they say "tip-off", and in hockey it's "the puck drops." And shinty? You'll hear "Throw-up is at 3 p.m."

Continuing our walk around Portree's small town center, we stopped in to a corner store where we were smacked in the face by a rack of newspapers. We've often heard of the tabloid press in the U.K., but this line-up of urgent headlines really brought it home. Still, you have to give them credit; newspapers are dying every day in the U.S., and these seem to be in robust competition.

I remain on the edge of my seat to find out whether Hamza will pull the plug on the bottle shambles. Maybe he'll get help from Prime Minister Fishy Rishi.

 

Portree is famous as the place from which Bonnie Prince Charlie made his escape dressed in women's clothing. I have the typical American's education in European history, which means I know next to nothing. But apparently in 1745 there was an attempt by the deposed and exiled Stuart clan to reclaim the British crown. The Jacobite Rising made some headway, with Charles Edward Stuart (the Bonnie Prince) and his forces capturing Edinburgh, but they suffered a decisive defeat at the Battle of Culloden. The prince escaped and became a fugitive with rewards of thousands of pounds on his head. A Jacobite sympathizer, Flora MacDonald, hid him in Portree, then disguised him as a servant named Betty Burke and spirited him out of town.

As I read up on this, it seemed unlikely that any kind of romance had time to develop between Charles and Flora, but local touristicians play up the doomed-love story, citing their last heartbreaking farewell on the site where the Grand Hotel now stands. A reportedly awful 1948 movie, "Bonnie Prince Charlie," did the same with David Niven and Margaret Leighton portraying the alleged lovers. (The female lead had been offered to Deborah Kerr, which might have helped.) Niven, who shaved his trademark mustache for the role, recalled the film as "one of those huge, florid extravaganzas that reek of disaster from the start."

So all in all, a rather quiet day in a rather quiet place. But the scenery was great, the weather was perfect, and the people were friendly. I'll take more of that, please.

[QuattroRomeo]

Thank you for expanding  my travel vocabulary, which now includes: lumptop, shinty and throw--up!!!

 

I couldn't help but wonder what they use as a term for what we call "throw up"... (Apparently, it is "boke"...)

 

And, that certainly is quite an array of tabloid newspapers!

[Dr.Dobro]

Whenever it makes sense time and location wise, Karen and I like to rent a car on our port visits. We love the flexibility it affords us, being able to stop, look and explore whenever we like. And the cost of the rental plus gas usually is less than an equivalent shore excursion for two.

 

We decided not to do that in the north of Scotland. It's not so much the driving on the left (we did that in Australia and New Zealand) as it is the single-track roads, where only one car can get by at a time. The decision on who pulls over and who proceeds seems to depend on a blend of hand signals, the size of the respective vehicles, and testosterone. This handout we got in Portree pretty much clinched it for us.

So we found ourselves back on the shore excursion bus after pulling into Kirkwall, in the Orkney Islands in way northern Scotland. It's a half-day jaunt to see an excavated Neolithic village that's around 5,000 years old.

 

Skara Brae, older than Stonehenge, is the remains of 10 homes the ancient people dug into the earth, some connected by passageways. The houses even included rudimentary sewage systems, with conduits that could be flushed out with water to carry the waste to the (very) nearby ocean. People lived here from approximately 3180 to 2500 BC.

The settlement was discovered after a violent storm struck the coast and took away much of the ground cover in 1850. The owner of the land, the Laird of Skaill, did some amateur excavation, but it was not until the area was raided for artifacts in 1913 that more organized preservation efforts began. Lately a seawall has been installed to prevent further storm damage, but people are worried it may not be sufficient. the water is right there.

A unique feature of the homes is the stone-built furniture, including shelves for storage and sleeping areas segregated by stone slabs. A hearth is positioned in the center of each.

 

Historic Scotland, the agency that manages Skara Brae, constructed a model to show what the homes might have looked like. After looking around inside, I decided that I have rented apartments that weren't a hell of a lot worse.

 

The homes lie virtually in the front yard of Skaill House, where the laird lived, and people can tour the mansion as part of their admission.

Life certainly was good for the old boy, and I guess it's fortunate that he had the resources to protect the ruins. 

 

 

We travel a short distance to the Stonehenge-style Ring of Brodgar, believed to date back to 2500 to 2000 BC.

There are 27 standing stones remaining out of the original 60, which formed a near-perfect circle with a diameter of 341 feet.

The stones were stood up in a ditch 10 feet deep carved out of the rock, which must have involved tremendous effort. But why? Theories abound, but most agree the site had religious significance.

 

We are hurry-upped back onto the bus so that we can get back to the ship in time for another set of passengers to take an identical afternoon tour. We spent the rest of our day in the town of Kirkwall, which is laid out around the magnificent St. Magnus Cathedral.

The first construction was in 1137, and it continued in fits and starts over the following 300 years. It is not the prettiest or most ornate cathedral, but its sheer massiveness distinguishes it.

Great stone columns and arches define the interior, and the exterior stonework is also impressive. The overall impression is one of sheer, massive weight.

St. Magnus is surrounded by a classic old graveyard, and right nearby are the remains of the Bishop's and Earl's Palaces.

This biker dude offered tours for two on the high seats of his rig. Better bundle up and hold on tight!

We snagged a photo of the rare bovine-marine parlay before getting back on board.

We passed this pretty lighthouse on our way back out to sea.

It had been cloudy most of the day, which paid off in a glorious sunset. I was hoping for the elusive green flash, but not today.

That's all I got right now, folks. Will file again soon.

 

[Dr.Dobro]

It seemed odd not to have a pier in a city the size of Edinburgh, capital of Scotland, but at least the tender ride in was interesting. Actually, it was not on one of the ship's lifeboats, but aboard a local excursion boat that pulled right up to the ship. So we got a great open-air view of the Forth Bridge, a railroad bridge across the Firth of Forth (honest). The bridge is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

After a while, you start to get the feeling that UNESCO hands out these designations like Little League participation trophies. But the bridge, built in 1896, is some sort of architectural marvel as "the world's first major steel structure." It is also the site of the Loony Dook, a New Year's Day charity swim by several Scots of questionable sanity.

 

It was a short bus ride into the center of Edinburgh, where we set out to do what all newbies do: walk the Royal Mile. The route runs along a high ridge in the center of the city's Old Town, stretching between Edinburgh Castle at the top and Holyrood Palace at the bottom of the hill.

 

The Royal Mile is full of magnificent buildings and interesting monuments. It is also "plastic Scotland," as one local in another port described it. He said that every other shop on the Mile is a souvenir shop, but that was clearly an exaggeration. It is only every third shop. And even at the very beginning of high season, it is absolutely choked with people. I will endeavor to be positive, because here there be many amazing things. But this is industrial tourism.

Edinburgh Castle, originally a royal residence (David the First started the construction in the 12th century), has been mainly a military garrison since the 16th. Beseiged 26 times in its history, it is the beating heart of Scottish pride.

 

The plaza in front of the castle is the home of the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo in August, and during our visit, the yearly erection of viewing stands was going on amid the tourist crowds.

Here's what it looks like when the Tattoo is in full swing.

Just down the hill is the Cathedral of St. Giles (patron saint of lepers), also known as the High Kirk (church) of Edinburgh.

The building was started in the 14th century, but it has a significant recent addition: the Robert Burns window (1985). His signature is displayed at the bottom center.

Burns, born in 1759, is Scotland's national poet and internationally renowned despite the fact that most of his work, in a Gaelic-English mix, is unintelligible to the layman. A well-worn joke has a new doctor getting a tour of a Scottish hospital, and when he hears patients spouting language like "an auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter to gie ane fash," the doc supposes this is the psychiatric ward. Nae, he is informed; that be the Serious Burns Unit.

 

Intelligible or not, Burns is revered in Scotland, and memorials of many kinds have popped up all over the country. The one in Edinburgh must be the grandest.

Pipers dotted the Royal Mile, playing for coins. I was not sure whether people paid to get them to keep playing or to stop. But they gave us enough of a screechy warning that we were able to give them a wide berth. I don't know which Scotsman said it, but I love it: "Ye don't play the pipes, laddie. Ye wrestle the beast into submission."

This was interesting: of all the statuary we have seen depicting men and horses, none has shown a man trying to get his steed under control. Until now.

It turns out this is Alexander the Great breaking in his enormous and mighty steed Bucephalus. Why in Scotland? Who knows -- all part of the magic of the Mile.

 

We passed the Tolbooth Tavern, occupying the ground floor of a building that surely had higher aspirations than ale.

And then there is the new Scottish Parliament building, with modern architecture that has been a flashpoint for debate. Not necessarily for the design itself, but for the fact that it has been plopped down right next to the historic Old Town buildings.

Something interesting we noted about Parliament: flying alongside the city flag, the Scottish flag, and the Union Jack was the European Union flag. Scotland voted against Brexit a few years back, so the EU flag seems like a jolly old poke in the eye for London. We also passed a building that houses several government offices (in a former penitentiary, heh) where the EU flag was displayed alongside two Scottish flags, with no Union Jack in sight. Two referenda to separate Scotland from the U.K. have failed, but the sentiment must still be strong.

Right across the street from the Parliament is Holyrood Palace, the official residence of the British monarch in Scotland. Queen Elizabeth set up shop here for a week or two every summer, and her body lay in state here before being brought to London for her funeral. The palace includes the apartments of Mary, Queen of Scots, open for public tours.

Not on the Royal Mile but nearby is the 200-foot-tall Sir Walter Scott Monument, dedicated to the writer (born 1771) of "Ivanhoe," "Rob Roy" and other novels, along with many plays, poems and histories. The touristic literature notes that the heavily Gothic structure is the second tallest monument to a writer in the world -- runner-up to the Jose Marti monument in Havana. Go figure.

We were surprised to see that the headquarters of Britain's beloved soft-serve ice cream, Mr. Whippy, is in Edinburgh.

Quite the touristic gantlet we ran today! Hopefully we will survive to write more.

 

Edited June 19, 2023 by Dr.Dobro
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